Going home after surviving a demon possessed elf-king, burning down half a dungeon floor, and becoming an unofficial elven war hero?

  Let me tell you—nothing in this world hits quite like flopping face-first onto your own bed and not moving for three days straight. And I mean it. No magic. No aura. No bathroom breaks unless someone physically dragged me. I think Gram might’ve levitated my corpse once to clean under me.

  Squad 7 returned to Casa de Lucien, otherwise known as the only pce crazy enough to let us crash without calling the military. My parents were thrilled, which for Kael meant giving me an eyebrow raise and muttering “You’re alive. Try harder next time.”

  Supportive parenting, you know?

  Sylvaria went back with her student council crew to the imperial pace for healing, political fluff, and apparently to be pampered by twelve servants with magic-cooling towels. We, on the other hand, were eating cold bread off the floor and arguing who would teleport to the kitchen.

  I lost.

  And nearly got knifed by Reille for summoning snacks just for myself.

  Speaking of Reille, she was in full territorial girlfriend mode ever since the “princess reward” moment. If I even looked like I was thinking about Sylvaria, I could feel Reille’s eyes burning a hole into my skull from across the room.

  At some point, she got into a whispered spat with her mom—Serena , terrifying war veteran, and now full-time instigator.

  I caught it mid-conversation.

  “Reille, listen,” Serena hissed in the hallway, right outside my door. “You’re worried the princess might snatch him?”

  “Yes! She said she’d reward him. You know what that means!”

  “Then sleep with him.”

  Reille choked. “MOM?!”

  “What? Hormones. He’s a 16-year-old boy with a magic core the size of a noble estate and a libido to match. Get in his bed. He sees you there? He won’t survive.”

  My soul left my body.

  I stared at the ceiling in horror.

  Reille entered my room ten minutes ter, muttering something about “I’m just keeping him warm,” dressed in sleepwear that wasn’t so much “pajamas” as “a war crime against my mental stability.”

  She flopped beside me, arms crossed, cheeks redder than a fire spell.

  “Don’t get ideas,” she mumbled.

  Too te. Way too te.

  The Proposal (Because Chaos Must Escate)That night?

  Let’s just say nothing sinful happened. But something important did.

  Because somewhere between the awkward hand-holding, intense cuddling, and me whispering “You know this is going to get me killed, right?”, Reille stared at me and said:

  “Let’s get married.”

  My brain blue-screened.

  “Sorry?”

  “When we’re 18,” she added quickly. “Not now. Later. But I’m serious. I don’t want the world to take you, Lucien. I want you. Not the manifestation prodigy. Not the sarcastic fire hazard. Just… you.”

  I blinked. “…You sure? I explode things a lot.”

  She kissed me on the cheek. “That’s my type.”

  I nodded. “Cool. Let’s do it.”

  And just like that, I was engaged at sixteen.

  Royal Summons and Squad RewardsA few days ter, we got summoned to the pace.

  Reille wore something formal, Eli looked like he hadn’t slept since the battle, and Gram showed up still wearing his “I blew something up five minutes ago” cloak.

  Sylvaria met us in the throne room, looking like she’d never gotten injured at all. Her eyes sparkled. Possibly with pride. Possibly with amusement. I never know with her.

  “Squad 7,” she said, “your rewards await.”

  First came the knighthoods.

  Eli, Reille, Endor, Serina Kaedwen—each one called forth and sworn under Sylvaria’s personal battalion, the most elite unit under the royal family’s command.

  The hall cpped. Some nobles muttered. One old dude fainted. It was awesome.

  Gram? He got his own alchemy b, sponsored by the crown. Fully stocked. Fireproof. And, of course, pced under Cassandra’s supervision. Because even royalty agrees Gram left unsupervised is a weapon of mass destruction.

  Then it was my turn.

  I braced myself.

  Sylvaria stepped forward, eyes narrowed like she was reading my soul.

  “Lucien Kael Wyrhart. Youngest individual in recorded history to reach Stage 3, Substage A: Manifestation… at sixteen.”

  The room lost its collective mind.

  Whispers, gasps, even a few nobles dropping their monocles like this was a damn py.

  “Due to your contribution in defeating the elven king, discovering demonic manipution, and saving the alliance treaty, I grant you the title of Arcane Prodigy of Welliston.”

  Which was a very fancy way of saying: congrats, your life is never going to be normal again.

  But I only nodded.

  Because it was time for my reward.

  The Dress of Sin (and Regret)“Princess,” I said with as much smugness as I could physically manifest. “You promised me one reward, did you not?”

  Sylvaria’s smirk twitched.

  “…Yes.”

  “I would like you to wear something.”

  “Lucien…”

  I raised a scroll.

  It was the blueprint of the most cursed battle outfit ever conceived.

  Part armour. Part skirt. Part midriff. Zero shame.

  It was co-designed by Gram (who thought it was a prank), Cassandra (who gave it fashion credibility), and me (who just wanted to see what happened).

  Sylvaria opened the scroll and didn’t blink. “You want me to wear this?”

  “For one full day. No cheating. No illusions.”

  Reille was already cackling.

  Cassandra fell off her chair.

  Even Ingrid wheezed and muttered, “I hate how good it actually looks.”

  Sylvaria? She just nodded. “Very well.”

  And the next day?

  She wore it.

  Full-blown armored corset, high-slit boots, enchanted ce, and an unnecessary but dramatic magic cape. She walked into the pace like she was going to war at Victoria’s Secret.

  The court lost its mind.

  Reille, gripping my arm, whispered, “Okay, you win. That was hot.”

  And I, Lucien the so-called Arcane Prodigy, nodded like a true gentleman.

  “Battle strategy,” I said. “Always keep your opponent confused.”

  Meanwhile, In SarnhildApparently news of our little dungeon adventure and the elf treaty had spread.

  Sarnhild’s court sent official letters of congratutions.

  Their magic divisions requested information on “the anomaly mage.”

  Rumors even said they wanted to send a delegation to meet me.

  I’m not worried or anything. I just want to go back to being a normal mage. One who eats snacks, studies slowly, and doesn’t have to kill a demon every semester.

  But I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Because the moment we got back to school?

  There’d be more announcements. More monsters. More princesses with “pns.”

  And probably more cursed fashion requests.

  Still… for now?

  I had Reille by my side. Squad 7 still alive. And a kingdom calling me hero.

  Guess being average can wait.