Thread 5 – Buried Promises. [0.5. Red Thread of Fate]
On November 26, 2024 By Fang Dokja In Arc 0.5. Red Thread of Fate
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Trigger and Content Warning
This story contains themes and elements that may be distressing or unsettling for some readers. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to the following content:
1. Toxic Relationships and Power Struggles – The narrative portrays strained interpersonal dynamics, particularly involving a sense of superiority, resentment, and underlying tension between the characters, which may be uncomfortable for some readers.
2. Manipulation and Control – There is an ongoing sense of manipulation, with characters subtly attempting to assert control over one another, which could be disturbing for readers sensitive to themes of power imbalance.
3. Fate and Predestination – The concept of being bound to someone by a metaphysical force, especially when the character resists and rejects it, may be distressing for readers who are sensitive to themes of fate or forced connections.
4. Mild Swearing – The narrative includes occasional use of foul language, particularly as characters express their frustration, anger, or resentment.
5. Emotional and Psychological Strain – The character experiences significant internal conflict, including intense frustration, anger, and resentment, which could be triggering for readers sensitive to themes of emotional distress or mental health struggles.
6. Discrimination and Dehumanization – The character’s harsh and judgmental views towards another character, including graphic descriptions of their appearance and behavior, may be distressing for readers who are sensitive to themes of dehumanization or body-shaming.
7. Obsessive Thoughts and Fixation – The character is fixated on another character, exhibiting obsessive thoughts about their appearance and behavior, which may be uncomfortable for readers who find themes of obsession or mental preoccupation unsettling.
8. Violence and Aggression – The character’s internal monologue includes thoughts of physical aggression and a desire to harm another character, which may be disturbing to those sensitive to violent language or ideation.
9. Self-Entitlement and Narcissism – The character exhibits an entitled, self-centered worldview, with dismissive attitudes toward others and their feelings, which may be triggering for readers sensitive to themes of narcissism or toxic behavior.
10. Toxic Relationships and Power Dynamics – The story portrays a power imbalance and tense relationship between the character and another character, with the character feeling superior and resentful of the other, which may be uncomfortable for those who are sensitive to toxic interpersonal dynamics.
11. Existential Themes and Nihilism – There are themes of existential questioning, where characters grapple with the meaninglessness of their situation, and feelings of detachment or apathy that could be triggering for readers sensitive to nihilism or despair.
12. Mild Swearing – The narrative includes occasional use of foul language, particularly in moments of anger and frustration, which could be triggering for readers who are sensitive to profane or aggressive language.
13. Manipulation and coercion – The characters are forced into a challenging situation by a figure of authority, creating a sense of emotional manipulation and power imbalance.
14. Forced proximity and teamwork – Characters are thrust into situations where they must collaborate despite strong personal dislike and discomfort, leading to tension and awkwardness.
15. Emotional distress – Characters experience frustration, anger, and emotional discomfort as they are placed in a highly stressful situation that forces them to confront their issues.
16. Humiliation and discomfort – One character feels humiliated and trapped in a situation they are forced into, creating moments of discomfort and strained interactions.
17. Physical discomfort or threat – While the focus is primarily emotional and psychological, there are moments of implied physical distress related to the situations the characters are thrust into.
18. Cynical humor – The narrative contains dark or sarcastic humor, including moments of biting wit and grim amusement at the characters’ expense.
If you are sensitive to any of these topics, it is recommended that you proceed with caution or reconsider reading.
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Status: Draft #1
Last Edited: November 26, 2024
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Reine’s footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridor as he made his way to Principal Damien Parlor’s office. The school’s majestic, yet cold, architecture only seemed to enhance the sense of foreboding that hung over him. He didn’t mind the isolation; in fact, it gave him space to think—space to wallow in the growing sense of unease that had taken root in him ever since Deon had arrived at Bona Fide Academy.
She’d been a problem from the start, but now… now it felt different. Everything felt different.
Reine ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, pulling a breath in through his nose as he tried to calm the storm churning in his chest. Noah had seen it. He knew something was up. And worse, Noah wasn’t letting it go. That irritating, perceptive bastard had been poking at him all day, pushing and pushing, until Reine’s thoughts were so tangled up that he could hardly focus anymore.
The truth was, Reine knew what the problem was. He wasn’t an idiot. He was just… avoiding it. Avoiding the undeniable fact that Deon wasn’t just some freak in his class. There was something more. Something bigger.
That damn thread.
It wasn’t just a joke his parents had used to lull him to sleep when he was younger. He could see it. He could feel it, like an invisible tug that latched onto his heart every time he saw her, every time their eyes met. A crimson string, stretched taut between them, far too real to be ignored, but too absurd to even comprehend.
The red thread of fate.
“Destined to be soulmates,” his parents used to say with those ridiculous smiles, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His mother would chuckle softly, her delicate fingers brushing against his hair, while his father, with that knowing glint in his eye, would tell him that he too had felt the pull when he first met his mother, how their red thread had guided them to one another. A love so deep, so inevitable, that nothing else in the world mattered.
What a load of crap.
Reine’s teeth ground together as he pressed his hand against the cool metal of the door handle to the Principal’s office. He was no fool. He’d never been one to believe in fairy tales or these so-called predestined fates. He was Reine Albertine, the charming, untouchable playboy. The golden boy, the one who didn’t need to be tied down by some ancient, metaphysical string. He loved freedom. No one told him what to do—especially not some stupid string of fate connecting him to a girl like her.
Deon Fonias. The freak.
She wasn’t his soulmate. She wasn’t even close. There was no way in hell he’d ever be tied to that corpse-like excuse for a human being. He despised her from the moment she stepped foot in this school. Her dead eyes, that look of indifference—like the world was something that had passed her by, like he was something beneath her notice. She made him feel… insignificant.
But that red thread never went away.
He could feel it, even now, as he stood outside the door to Principal Parlor’s office. It tugged lightly at the edge of his chest, pulling him in the direction of that girl, as though her very existence was a cruel joke that the universe had decided to play on him.
“Destined enemies,” Reine muttered under his breath, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
Was this it? Was this his fate? To be bound to that freak, that nobody who didn’t even acknowledge him? He was Reine Albertine, the prodigy, the golden child. He was destined for greatness, for women, for everything—not for some weirdo who thought she could take his spot in the rankings, who thought she could stand there like she owned the place.
No.
This had to be some kind of sick joke. There’s no way. There was no way the universe would be so cruel. He would never marry her. He would never—
The thought of it twisted his gut, and his pace quickened.
He could feel his blood boiling now, the familiar rage bubbling up inside of him as he stomped toward the door. Why was it always her? Why did everything seem to point back to her? What had he done to deserve this, to be linked to that thing?
“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, his voice low but strained, as if trying to convince himself that it was all just some mistake. But deep down, he knew. He knew that this wasn’t just some passing issue. This was something bigger. The universe was toying with him. And he couldn’t stand it.
He threw open the door with a force that made it bang against the wall, his expression hard as stone. The Principal looked up from his desk, his calculating eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Reine’s presence.
“You’re late,” Principal Parlor said, his tone even, unfazed by Reine’s entrance.
Reine didn’t bother to respond, his gaze already flickering toward the side of the room. Deon sat there, hunched over a pile of paperwork, her posture as lifeless and detached as ever.
Her.
Reine’s heart skipped a beat. The thread tugged again, stronger now, like it was pulling at the very fabric of his being. His hands clenched into fists, and he had to fight the urge to slam something against the wall.
“Well, Albertine?” Principal Parlor’s voice broke through his thoughts, smooth and probing. “I trust you understand why you’re here. You and Ms. Fonias are to complete this project together. No help from outside sources. No distractions.”
Reine forced himself to focus, ignoring the tremor of frustration that threatened to overtake him. “Fine,” he said, his voice clipped. “What’s the project?”
The Principal slid a thick folder across the desk, his eyes glinting with something darkly amused. “You’ll both be working on something… delicate. And I expect results, Albertine. No half-hearted efforts. You and Ms. Fonias have earned your punishment. Make the best of it.”
Reine’s eyes flicked to Deon for a moment, her lifeless gaze lifting to meet his. For a brief, horrifying second, he saw that damn thread in her eyes, stretching toward him, pulling him closer against his will.
He gritted his teeth. He would not let this be his fate.
But the thread was there. He couldn’t escape it.
This is a joke. This has to be a joke.
His parents had spoken of it like it was a gift, a blessing. But to Reine, it felt more like a curse. And if it meant he was tied to Deon—that freak—he’d rather burn the entire world down than accept it.
He would break it. He would destroy it.
Because Reine Albertine was no one’s pawn. Not even fate’s.
Not for her.
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The sterile silence of the office felt like it was suffocating him. Reine couldn’t even look at Deon without feeling the strangling, suffocating weight of the red thread binding them together, a reminder that he was stuck with that freak—not just physically, but in some twisted, invisible way. Her silence was the most deafening thing in the room, and her lack of acknowledgment was somehow worse than anything she could have said to him.
Her indifference was like a slap to his face, and all he could do was channel that rage into his work, scribbling answers and filling out the necessary forms with professional precision. But his mind? His mind was a storm of chaos, swirling back to that damn thread and to what had been said to him time and time again over the years.
Reine didn’t even notice when his pen stopped moving, his hand resting on the paper as he stared at the nothingness in front of him. He was back in that damn café again, listening to his parents go on about their “fate”, their so-called “destiny”—all the sappy crap they’d tried to pound into his skull from a young age.
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It was a lazy afternoon, the sun casting a warm glow through the windows as Reine sat in the living room, trying his hardest not to roll his eyes. His parents were in their usual state—cuddled up on the couch like some overplayed rom-com cliché, all lovey-dovey and starry-eyed as they recounted their “soulmate story.”
“You know, darling,” his mother cooed, squeezing his father’s hand as she looked over at him with that sentimental expression. “We met in a little café in Paris, remember? I was reading my book and you just—“
“—had to talk to her,” his father interrupted, grinning like a love-struck idiot. “It was meant to be. I saw her sitting there, completely absorbed in her book, and I knew right then. I knew she was the one.“
Reine couldn’t help but let out a silent groan. His mother’s voice was soft, like honey, but the way she and his father gazed at each other—it made him want to hurl. Romance? Sure, he liked sex. He liked the chase, the thrill of getting what he wanted, and then moving on. But love? That was for suckers, for people who had time to waste on stuff like “destiny” and “finding the one.”
“It was all fate,” his mother continued, leaning her head on his father’s shoulder, looking like the most annoyingly content woman on the planet. “The red thread of fate, darling. You know the story, right?“
Reine’s eyes drifted to the ceiling. Oh god. Not this again.
“The red thread of fate,” his father said in his low, romantic voice. “It’s an ancient Chinese belief. You and I, we’re bound by this invisible thread, connecting us across space and time. No matter where we go, no matter what happens, it’ll always bring us back together. It’s not just love, son. It’s destiny.“
Reine had heard the story so many times before, it felt like a broken record. He wasn’t interested. At all. He didn’t need to be bound by some damn invisible thread to know what he wanted—he made his own destiny. He didn’t need fate tying him to some girl like the one his parents spoke of. He’d carve his own path.
“And you’ll know when you meet her,” his mother continued, her eyes sparkling. “She’ll be the one. Just like your father was for me.“
Reine snorted under his breath. Yeah, right. The one. His parents were lucky, or maybe they were just naive. The world wasn’t about finding “the one.” It was about finding the next fun thing, the next beautiful woman to toy with, the next thrill. He’d had enough of his parents’ rom-com fantasies.
“It’s like the threads of fate are already woven,” his father said, his voice getting that dreamy, far-off quality. “You’ll meet her, and you’ll know. The moment you do, everything will fall into place.“
Reine’s mind wandered back to his latest “project” he’d been having fun with, another woman who didn’t know what hit her, another conquest. That was his destiny, not some ridiculous thread. He wasn’t some fairy tale hero, destined to fall in love at first sight.
“But what if it’s not like that for me?” Reine interrupted, his voice dismissive, more out of boredom than anything. “What if I don’t want to be some… cheesy, tragic hero? What if I just want to live how I want to? Like, I don’t know… not be tied down by some stupid invisible string?“
His parents didn’t miss a beat. His father chuckled softly, his smile deepening with that same ridiculous romanticism that drove Reine crazy.
“It doesn’t matter what you think now, son,” his father said with a shrug. “The red thread doesn’t care about your plans. It will find you. Trust me. It found us, and it’ll find you too. One day, you’ll see it for yourself.“
Reine rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t fall out. He was never going to get behind that crap. That wasn’t for him.
Fate?
Destiny?
That was bullshit.
Reine wasn’t interested in any of that. The only thing that mattered was what he wanted, when he wanted it. He wasn’t going to let some mythical red thread ruin his plans or tie him down.
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The present slammed back into him, the cold air of the office biting his skin. He was sitting there, glaring at Deon from across the room, his thoughts still locked in that memory, when the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks.
Deon. The damn red thread.
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And now here they were, together. In a small room, doing this ridiculous paperwork. The red thread was real, and for whatever reason, it was tying him to her. That girl. The one who didn’t even care enough to acknowledge him, the one who had zero respect for his status, his achievements.
The same girl he was supposed to be destined to be connected to, according to the thread.
What a joke.
He looked at Deon, really looked at her, and a small, bitter laugh escaped his lips. She was so far removed from everything he wanted, everything he dreamed of. She was nothing like his parents’ story, nothing like the pretty girls he always kept at arm’s length.
This was wrong. This was all wrong.
But the thread was there.
And Reine couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doomed to be dragged into it, no matter how much he hated it.
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Reine’s pen moved steadily across the paper, his attention flickering only occasionally toward Deon as he worked. His thoughts, however, were far from focused on the assignment in front of him. His eyes kept darting back to her—that thing, that freak sitting across from him. He couldn’t stop himself from glaring at her, openly judging, his gaze sharp and disgusted.
What in the actual hell was God thinking? This was his future wife? He was supposed to be connected to her? He scoffed under his breath, disbelief gnawing at the edges of his mind. She looked like a creature straight out of some twisted nightmare, some tragic tale of a forsaken, forgotten soul—and this was fate?
Reine stared at her, really stared this time. She was barely there—so fragile, so thin. Her body looked like it might collapse under the weight of a gust of wind, her skin pale and sickly, as if she hadn’t seen sunlight in years. Her white hair hung in stringy clumps, barely brushing her shoulders in a way that screamed unhygienic, neglect. And those eyes. Blood red, like a warning signal to everyone around her, like some creepy little vampire girl who had stepped out of a horror flick. What a mess.
It was like someone had created the most unnerving, least pleasant version of a human being, and that thing was supposed to be bound to him by some invisible thread.
Reine snorted softly under his breath, a twisted, bitter laugh escaping as he turned his attention back to the paperwork. What was even the point? There was no way he was ever going to be tied to something like that. She didn’t even act like a person.
His eyes flickered back to her again, unable to look away from the trainwreck sitting just a few feet away. Look at her, he thought, his mind reeling with disgust. Her tiny frame barely filled the chair, the girl so small and frail, it was like she was fading into nothingness, vanishing from the world one day at a time. Her face was too pale, like she had never been alive. It made him shiver just looking at her.
It wasn’t just her appearance—no, it was everything about her. The way she moved—or rather, didn’t move. She sat there, hunched over, her thin fingers working mechanically, her face completely expressionless. It was like she was dead inside. Not a single flicker of emotion, no curiosity, no energy, no life. Was she even aware of the world around her? Did she care? Did she even know what it meant to be alive?
No way, Reine thought, narrowing his eyes. Not my type. Not even close.
His usual conquests, the girls he’d been with—they were nothing like this. He liked them beautiful, confident, lively, at least willing to acknowledge his existence. He loved the attention, the flirtations, the challenge of getting them to fall for him. That was how it worked. His type? Tall, blonde, curvy, busty, striking, full of life and charisma. Nothing like the skeletal freak in front of him. Deon didn’t even make eye contact. She didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge him, like he was nothing. The audacity. The disrespect.
He was Reine Albertine. The prodigy, the golden child. He was practically royalty, even at seven years old. He had everything. Looks. Charm. The whole damn package. And yet here was this… this thing—ignoring him like he was just some random nobody.
She doesn’t even get it. He clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around his pen, though his face remained perfectly calm, too composed for the emotions swirling inside of him. She doesn’t even see me. She doesn’t see what I bring to the table. She’s too busy playing dead to notice anything, including me.
He wanted to scream. He really did. He wanted to throw something at her, make her feel his presence, force her to acknowledge him. But he couldn’t.
He was better than that.
So instead, he bit his tongue, focusing on the paper in front of him. His hand moved swiftly, the pen dancing across the surface with practiced efficiency. But his eyes kept flickering back to Deon. He couldn’t help it. It was like a car wreck he couldn’t look away from.
What kind of sick joke was this?
He was supposed to be connected to her. To that. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel anything for her—let alone the romantic crap his parents had told him about. Soulmates? The red thread of fate? Not with her. Not ever with her.
Deon was a freak. A malfunction in the system. She was the antithesis of everything he was supposed to be connected to. His parents would never understand. They wouldn’t get how this was a curse, not some miracle. He wasn’t meant for this, wasn’t meant to be tied to her. And yet, here they were—forced into the same damn room, forced to sit together in silence.
The irony was too much.
What was God thinking? Reine couldn’t stop himself from asking the question again, the thought gnawing at him. What was it that had brought this girl into his life? Why was he bound to her?
He wasn’t supposed to be her partner. He wasn’t supposed to care. But the thread, the invisible connection—it was there. And as much as he hated it, as much as he wanted to rip it out of his life, there was nothing he could do about it.
For now, all he could do was glare.
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Principal Damien Parlor leaned back in his office chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk, a half-smirk playing at the corner of his lips. From behind his cold, disinterested facade, he was quietly reveling in the chaotic little drama unfolding before him.
He’d watched Deon and Reine for the past hour, sitting there in stony silence, both working with a diligent focus that didn’t seem to match the tension in the room. Ah, Damien thought, his grin stretching wider despite himself, this is perfect. The two couldn’t have been more different if they tried. Deon, with her zombified expression, like she was trudging through some miserable dream she couldn’t wake up from, and Reine, the golden boy of the academy—handsome, composed, exuding confidence—who looked like he was about to implode every time he so much as glanced in her direction.
Damien couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. It wasn’t loud, of course, because that would betray his carefully crafted image. On the outside, he was the epitome of cold professionalism—stoic, aloof, and always in control. But inside? Inside, he was a full-fledged, die-hard fan of the most chaotic, dramatic love stories ever. And this… this was golden. Reine, the calm, collected, and utterly unshakable playboy, was completely unraveling, all because of that tiny, pale little girl with the blood-red eyes who couldn’t seem to care less.
Damien’s lips curled further. Enemies to lovers, huh? He could already see it. The sparks, the frustration, the unspoken chemistry that only someone who’d watched as many romance dramas as he had could detect. Reine was practically bursting with hatred, but Damien could see how it gnawed at him, the way it festered. He’d seen it a thousand times before. This was how it started. At first, it was all disdain, and then—then—it would turn into something else entirely. Oh, he’d seen it happen too many times with too many other kids.
The real fun hadn’t even started yet. Reine had no idea what he was in for.
Damien’s eyes flicked over to Reine again, who was studiously filling out his paperwork, though the tightness in his jaw told another story. Reine was so ridiculously meticulous that it almost seemed like an act. He was trying so damn hard to pretend like this didn’t bother him. And it wasn’t just Deon’s presence. It was everything about her. She was like an irritation he couldn’t scratch, a wound that wouldn’t heal. Every little thing she did—from not acknowledging him to sitting there like a blank slate—drove him crazy. And it was obvious. It was like watching someone trying to hold in a tantrum while they were being forced to do something they hated. Hilarious, Damien thought with a gleam in his eye.
But, Damien leaned forward, his smirk never quite leaving his face, what would be the best way to keep this going?
Sure, he could let them finish their punishment paperwork and just have them sit there in silence for the rest of the day, but where was the fun in that? What really worked to push their little enemies-to-lovers narrative forward? What would force them to work together—really work together—and bond over their mutual dislike? Because, let’s be real, the only thing that seemed to get Reine’s blood pumping these days was Deon’s existence. She was the thorn in his side. The thorn that was apparently fated to stick around.
A light bulb flickered in Damien’s mind. Yes, of course. What better way to fuel the fire than with competition? Reine hated losing. That much was clear. And Deon—well, Deon seemed to exist on some other plane of indifference, so the idea of getting one up on her would certainly rankle Reine’s feathers. Damien could practically see the sparks flying already. A challenge, something that would force them to face each other—work together—and still not like each other. It was perfect.
He made a mental note to assign them some physical tasks—manual labor, perhaps. Something that would tire them out, that would make them rely on each other’s skills. Working together for something practical would force them into close proximity. He could already imagine the awkward silences between them, punctuated by sharp glances and barely concealed resentment. Oh, it was going to be a blast.
And yet, as much as Damien reveled in his own plans, he couldn’t help but be fascinated by Reine’s reaction to Deon. The kid was good at hiding it—he always had been, smooth and calculated, as polished as the perfect playboy. But Damien wasn’t fooled. He could see right through him. Reine was used to being the center of attention, the golden boy, the one everyone adored. He was tall, muscular, with those sharp blood-red eyes that made people either flock to him or quake in fear.
And here was Deon—so tiny, so fragile, so unlike any of the people Reine surrounded himself with. It was a collision of worlds, and Damien knew Reine didn’t know how to handle it. But that was exactly what made it so entertaining.
“Ah, the great Reine Albertine,” Damien mused quietly, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “So perfect in every way… except when it comes to her.”
He chuckled again, the sound muffled by his hands as he leaned back, pretending to study the papers in front of him. This was going to be fun. Reine had no idea what he was in for. But then again, that’s what made the whole thing so satisfying. Damien didn’t even need to push too hard. Reine would get there on his own, driven by his own pride, his own refusal to lose. Deon would simply be the spark that ignited the fuse.
He kept his face neutral, still watching them from the corner of his eye, pretending to ignore the delightful chaos that was about to unfold. But inside, Damien was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.
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Principal Damien Parlor steepled his fingers under his chin, his dark eyes glinting with hidden amusement as he watched Reine and Deon work in complete silence. The tension in the room was almost tangible, like the aftermath of a thunderstorm waiting for another bolt to strike. Reine was clearly fuming, glaring coldly at Deon whenever he thought no one was looking. Meanwhile, Deon—oblivious as always—was lost in her own bubble, scribbling away like the rest of the world didn’t exist. The contrast between them was absolutely chef’s kiss.
“What to do… what to do…” Damien muttered under his breath, his lips twitching upward in a barely concealed grin. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more entertaining than the last. He leaned back in his chair, pretending to review some papers, but in reality, he was crafting a masterpiece. His masterpiece. The Greatest Forced Bonding Experience of All Time.
He could already picture it. The romance tropes. The awkward, begrudging teamwork. The biting insults that would eventually give way to reluctant camaraderie (and, if the gods of chaos were kind, outright denial of mutual attraction). He rubbed his hands together under the desk, giddy at the sheer number of options available to him.
“Let’s see…” he murmured, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully as he stole another glance at the pair.
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Option 1: Festival Preparation Chaos
Trope potential: Forced proximity, accidental hand-touching, romantic atmosphere they both hate.
Damien could assign them to help with the upcoming academy festival. Decorating the grounds, setting up stalls, running logistics—the works. He could already see Reine rolling his eyes at the menial labor while Deon silently soldiered on like the unbothered little gremlin she was.
And, oh, the possibilities for disaster! Maybe Deon accidentally spilled paint on Reine’s expensive clothes. Maybe Reine snapped at her for not following “proper festival aesthetics,” only to trip over her ladder and crash face-first into a pile of streamers. The entire thing would be bathed in fairy lights and the scent of candied apples, a textbook rom-com backdrop they’d both loathe.
Damien grinned wider. “Accidental hand-touching while passing decorations,” he muttered gleefully. “Yes, yes, that’s classic. And a shared umbrella when it inevitably rains.”
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Option 2: Monster Hunting
Trope potential: Survival scenarios, trust-building, “Oh no, I saved you, but now we’re stuck together in a cave.”
Another favorite of his—send the pair out on a monster-hunting assignment for the academy. The task would require teamwork, no matter how much they hated it. Picture it: Reine charging ahead with his golden-boy confidence, only to realize Deon had already outsmarted the beast with a single, silent move.
The best part? The inevitable trope of forced closeness. Maybe a cave-in traps them together, forcing them to huddle for warmth in the bitter cold. Reine would be mortified, and Deon would probably fall asleep mid-argument.
Damien chuckled quietly, his eyes gleaming. “And, of course, the classic ‘I didn’t need your help, but thanks anyway’ moment.”
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Option 3: Community Volunteer Work
Trope potential: Opposites attract, “They’re so good with kids,” accidental soft moments.
This one had immense potential. Pairing up Reine and Deon for volunteer work at a local orphanage or hospital? Comedy and feels. Reine would be his usual charming self, basking in the adoration of the kids, while Deon… well, she’d probably scare a few at first, but Damien had a sneaking suspicion the little gremlins would warm up to her odd, silent ways.
The real fun would come from the accidental moments. Reine catching Deon gently helping a child, looking uncharacteristically soft. Or Deon catching Reine sneaking candy to a sick kid when no one was looking. They’d hate to admit it, but they’d be begrudgingly impressed with each other.
“Oh,” Damien whispered, his grin turning wicked, “and the kids could totally ship them, calling them ‘mom and dad.’ That’d kill them both.”
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Option 4: Cursed Artifact Retrieval
Trope potential: Bickering leads to discovery, “Oh no, I fell and now you’re holding me awkwardly.”
A high-stakes mission involving a cursed artifact would really turn up the drama. Navigating traps, deciphering ancient texts, and, of course, barely escaping danger together.
Damien tapped his chin. “Picture this: Deon solving a puzzle in five seconds flat while Reine stares in disbelief. Then, the floor collapses, and Reine has to catch her mid-fall. The slow-motion eye contact. The ‘don’t let go.’ Classic.”
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Option 5: Cooking Class
Trope potential: Domesticity, accidental physical contact, “Look, I’m not trying to kill you, but…”
Assigning them to help in the academy kitchens could be a hilarious disaster waiting to happen. Reine, the perfectionist, would undoubtedly insist on making the perfect dish, while Deon, with her blank-faced nonchalance, would just… throw things into a pot and somehow end up with a masterpiece.
Cue the arguments, the accidental food fights, and the inevitable moment where Reine had to guide Deon’s hands with his own because “you’re doing it wrong.” Damien practically squealed internally. “And a flour fight,” he whispered. “There must be a flour fight.”
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Damien leaned back in his chair, his grin now a full-blown beam of mischief. There were so many options, and each one promised endless entertainment. He’d have to decide carefully, of course. Which one would maximize both their suffering and their growth? Which would make the best story for him to gloat about later?
He glanced back at the two children. Reine was still glaring daggers at Deon, who remained blissfully unaware, staring at her paperwork like it was the only thing in the universe that mattered.
Damien stifled a laugh. “Oh, you poor kids. You have no idea what’s coming.”
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Principal Damien Parlor was not a man who acted on impulse. No, he was calculated, methodical, and utterly obsessed with the art of pulling strings to create the most delicious chaos. After meticulously reviewing and mentally discarding countless ideas for the past hour—festival preparation, monster hunting, cursed artifact retrieval—he finally landed on it.
This wasn’t just an assignment. This was his magnum opus.
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The paperwork finally ended. Reine and Deon sat in stifling silence, each in their own worlds. Well, sort of. Deon’s world appeared to be a vast, empty void where thoughts went to die. Her eyes stared blankly at her desk as if it held the meaning of life. Reine, on the other hand, was clearly simmering beneath the surface. His glances at Deon were frosty enough to cause hypothermia, though she seemed impervious to his cold rage, continuing her work as if he didn’t exist.
Damien rose from his desk, his movements slow and deliberate. With all the gravitas of a judge about to deliver a death sentence, he placed a thick folder in front of each of them.
“Open them,” he said, his voice as emotionless as ever.
Both children complied. Deon, with her usual dead-eyed detachment, flipped through the documents without a flicker of interest. Reine, meanwhile, scanned the pages with growing disbelief. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he read on. By the time he reached the third page, his knuckles were white from gripping the papers too hard.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Reine finally said, his voice sharp and low, like the edge of a dagger.
Deon didn’t respond, as usual, her expression remaining unbothered.
“Silence,” Damien said coolly, silencing Reine’s outburst before it could fully ignite. “Let me explain.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing slowly, his imposing figure looming over the two children. He spoke with the measured tone of a strict military general outlining a war strategy.
“You will be tasked with organizing and leading the Winter Royal Ball.”
Reine stiffened in his seat.
“This isn’t just any ball,” Damien continued, his gaze piercing. “It is the most prestigious event hosted by Bona Fide Academy, attended by esteemed guests from across the kingdom. Nobles. Royals. Dignitaries. Everyone who’s anyone will be there.”
Reine’s hands clenched into fists, the veins on his temple visibly throbbing.
“You will plan the event from start to finish,” Damien went on. “Everything from venue decor, catering, security arrangements, guest lists, and performances, down to the most minute detail.”
Deon remained silent, her expression unchanged as she flipped another page.
“And,” Damien added, his voice dropping just slightly, “you will also perform a dance. Together.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Reine’s face darkened considerably, his blood-red eyes burning with barely contained fury. “…What?”
“A dance,” Damien repeated, his tone unyielding. “A symbolic one to open the ball. It is tradition. You two will be the stars of the event.”
Reine looked like he wanted to throw the folder across the room, but his self-control held firm. “And if we refuse?” he asked icily.
Damien didn’t even blink. “Then you’ll fail to complete your punishment, which means you’ll owe the academy double the amount of debt. Do you really think you’ll be able to pay that off, Mr. Albertine?”
Reine inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he glared daggers at Deon, as if this entire situation was somehow her fault. Deon, predictably, didn’t even look up.
“This is ridiculous,” Reine said, his voice barely above a whisper, though the venom in it was palpable. “You can’t seriously expect me to work with…” His eyes swept over Deon with open disdain. “…her.”
Damien allowed a brief pause, savoring the tension like a fine wine. “Oh, but I do,” he said simply. “You are both equally responsible for the damages caused during your laboratory fight. It is only fair you work together to repay that debt.”
Reine bit back a retort, his sharp glare shifting between the Principal and Deon. Meanwhile, Deon flipped another page, completely unbothered.
Damien turned on his heel, walking back toward his desk. “You may find the task difficult,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But consider this an opportunity to… grow.”
Reine’s lips curled into a bitter smirk. “Oh, I’ll grow something, all right. A tumor.”
Damien ignored him, suppressing a smile. Inside, he was practically vibrating with glee. Oh, this was going to be good. The forced proximity. The inevitable bickering. The slow, begrudging realization of each other’s strengths. And the dance! The gods themselves would weep at the sheer trope perfection.
“Well?” he said, turning back to them. “Do you have any questions?”
Deon, as expected, had none. She closed the folder, leaned back in her chair, and stared blankly at the wall like her soul had already left her body.
Reine, however, stared at Damien like he wanted to kill him, but managed to force out a tight, “No. Sir.”
“Good,” Damien said. “You’re dismissed.”
As they left the office, Damien waited until the door clicked shut before allowing himself to grin.
“Oh,” he said to himself, “this will be legendary.”