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Chapter 15
Chapter 15. The Vulgar and Violent Young Lady
“Big Brother, the manuscript is organized.”
Fick opened his eyes and saw Alice sitting beside the bed, dark shadows beneath her eyes.
She handed him a thick stack of papers. She had added the cover herself, wrapping stiff cardboard in dark cloth, with the corners pressed neat and flat.
Fick took it and flipped through it. The writing was dense, but every stroke was neat and orderly. A few places had been marked in different-colored ink, with small notes written beside them—probably issues she had found while proofreading.
E̊n u m̀ ӑ
He looked up at Alice. “Did you stay up all night?”
Alice did not answer. She only yawned, then collapsed straight onto the bed and burrowed under the covers.
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“I am going to sleep,” her muffled voice came from beneath the quilt. “Big Brother, be careful on the road.”
Fick reached out and gently patted her head. Alice did not move or speak, but the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.
Fick stood, put the manuscript away, and pushed the door open to leave.
As he walked along the road, Fick felt refreshed and clear-headed, as though wind had gathered beneath his feet. In the past, he had been so weak that he could not even subdue Alice. Now, he could lift Alice with one hand. At the very least, he had returned to the level of an ordinary adult.
W̃е̌bn̂оv_еl Еń u m̈а
As soon as Fick entered the classroom, he saw a fat man sitting in the last row.
Michael sat by the window with his head lowered, seemingly lost in thought.
Fick suddenly remembered the ring in his pocket.
Good thing I did not pawn it. Now it can finally return to its rightful owner.
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He took a deep breath and walked toward Michael.
Michael watched him approach, his expression changing slightly, but he still straightened his posture, looking as if to say, Go ahead. I am listening.
W е b̄ ǹ о̇v̊еl Е̄ n̄ ŭ ḿ ӑ
Fick walked up to him and reached into his pocket.
“Well, there is something I need to—”
Before he could finish speaking, a hand suddenly reached out from behind him and snatched away the item in his hand.
Fick turned around. Shulia stood behind him, pinching the ring between her fingers and holding it up to the light.
“Well now,” she said, narrowing her eyes with a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Is this an engagement ring for some female knight? Did you really take a fancy to the one from yesterday?”
Michael’s face instantly flushed red.
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He shot to his feet, and the legs of his chair scraped against the floor with an ear-piercing sound.
“You ill-mannered wretch! That is the ring I gave to Fick!” he shouted, his voice trembling.
Several nobles in the front rows heard the commotion and turned back one after another, craning their necks to look this way.
“How amusing.” Shulia sneered and tossed the ring back into Fick’s hand.
Shulia snapped the fingers of her right hand.
The thin guard appeared from nowhere, flashing in front of Michael like a ghost. He opened his mouth—
Еn̄ü m a . іḋ
“Wait. Today, I will do it myself.”
Shulia extended her left hand, interlaced her fingers tightly with Fick’s, and raised their clasped hands straight up.
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“Do you see this? From today onward, Fick Louis is my boyfriend—Shulia Saphile’s boyfriend. He will have royal support. No noble student is permitted to offend him.”
Their fingers were interlocked. Her hand was soft and smooth, very comfortable to hold. A girl’s hand really was different.
“And as for you, fatty, I have a suggestion. If you truly want to fuck men, go to a slaughterhouse. It is full of boars. Lie on the breeding board, spread your asshole, whimper like a slut, beg to be fucked, let them drip wax on you, and call them master. They will not despise you. After all, you look exactly like them.”
“And that ring of yours. What were you thinking when you gave it to him? ‘Once Fick wears this, he will be mine’? Were you fucked stupid by a boar’s dick? If he wore that ring on his hand, he would be too embarrassed to even stretch his hand out, afraid someone would ask, ‘Does your family slaughter pigs? Is that ring one of the bands from a pig’s trotter?’”
Ẃ ӗ b̆ n о́ v̄е l Е̂ňù m̊ ă
“Do not ever wander in front of my boyfriend again. If I see you once, I will beat you once. Did you hear me? Are you deaf?”
The nobles in the front rows and the teacher at the door all widened their eyes. Chivalric novels were still far too conservative. This was what people truly wanted to see.
Fick, meanwhile, communicated with Shulia through her hand-holding magic.
Fick: Thank you for helping.
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Shulia: No need to thank me. Should I continue?
Fick: No. You are too destructive. Leave the rest to me.
Е n u mа̇
Fick and Shulia exchanged glances, while Michael’s face went from red to white, then from white to gray.
“Wait a moment.” Fick finally spoke. He gently withdrew the hand Shulia was holding and walked up to Michael.
He stuffed the ring and two silver Manes into Michael’s hand.
“I am sorry. My orientation has always been straight. I do not care whether my girlfriend is busty or not, but she has to be a woman. The extra money is for consolation.”
Michael lowered his head and looked at the ring and money in his hand. Tears fell with little pattering sounds, snot running from his nose. His lips moved, but he could not say a word.
Fick sighed. “From now on, let us just treat each other as strangers. I am afraid other people will misunderstand.”
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After saying that, he turned around and pulled the smugly triumphant Shulia outside without looking back. Shulia even turned her head and mocked, “Go home and cry to your mother, clown.”
The classroom was silent for three seconds. Then the discussion exploded.
“Great Cross God above, is the royal style always this domineering?”
“Michael is so pitiful.”
“I think this Michael is quite a rare beauty too. Fick still does not understand.”
“Here comes the seasoned connoisseur.”
Ӗ ňũ m̄ а
“Looks like we will have to curry favor with Fick more in the future.”
The nobles spoke all at once, their voices buzzing like a swarm of flies.
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“No!”
Michael knelt where he was with his head lowered, tears dripping onto the ring, one drop after another.
The guard looked at the ring and money on the floor, then casually picked them up.
“I...” The guard opened his mouth. “I am very sorry. The young lady has always been this lawless.”
Е̇ n úmа
He handed the ring over, but Michael did not take it.
The guard held up the ring and stood there for two seconds, not knowing what to say. He looked at Michael’s ashen face and suddenly felt that the man was somewhat pitiful.
“Brother,” he said in a low voice, “I had no choice when I said those things yesterday. That was my job. Compared with her, I was already very restrained, was I not?”
Michael still did not move. The guard placed the ring on the desk, pushed it toward him, and left.
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...
When the two of them reached the school gate, Fick still looked as though he had not recovered.
W е̃b ǹ.о̇_v̌е̂ ĺ Е̇ n̄ um̂ а
“I truly did not expect it. Lady Shulia, when you curse someone, you really are vulgar and violent.”
Shulia gave two little hums and extended her right hand.
Fick understood. He took her hand and performed the most standard gentlemanly etiquette: he bent at the waist, gave a slight bow, and helped her into the carriage.
After Shulia sat down inside the carriage, she said to Fick, “I know quite a few female knights and Witches. This is how they usually curse when they chat. What? Did I frighten you?”
“Not really.” Fick leaned back in his seat. “I am just a little curious about you.”
Shulia blinked. “Have you finally learned to care about me?”
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She extended one finger and touched her long, swan-like neck. “Ah,” she said lazily, “I slept wrong last night, and my neck is still a little sore.”
“Since you helped me without caring about your reputation, I will massage it for you for a while.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Fick reached out and placed his hand on the back of her neck.
It was soft, warm, and carried a faint fragrance of gardenias. His fingers gently kneaded both sides of her neck, moving slowly up and down.
Shulia closed her eyes, her chin lifting slightly, like a cat enjoying being scratched. The carriage was so quiet that their breathing could be heard.
W̄ ë b́ n о v̄е̄l̃ Е̌ń u m̄ а̂
After a while, Shulia opened one eye and stole a glance at him.
Fick pretended not to see and continued kneading.
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Shulia closed her eye again, the corner of her mouth curving upward.
“When I said you were my boyfriend just now, were you a little excited and happy?” she asked.
“Was that not just to fool everyone? How many people would really believe it just because we held hands?” Fick said.
“But even when it comes to holding hands, you are the only man whose hand I have ever held.” Shulia burst out laughing. “As long as you behave well in the future, turning the fake into something real is not impossible.”
Ŵ ēb̊n öv́ е̊ l̂ Ê n u̇ m̃ а
“Wow, I am so happy.” Fick recited the line without any emotion and sat down beside her.
The carriage began moving, its wheels rolling over the flagstones with a muffled sound.
Shulia leaned against the soft seat and turned her head to look at him.
“There really are many things about me that you do not know.”
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“Such as?”
“Such as...” She thought for a moment. “Such as the fact that I can ride horses, shoot arrows, and use several sword styles. Such as the fact that I lived in the Holy City for three years when I was little. Such as the fact that I have seen a real knightly duel. Not the kind in novels, but one fought with real blades and real spears.”
Ẇ éb̌ nо̃ vе l̀ Еn̈ u̇ m а̊
Shulia looked smug.
“What else?”
“And...” Shulia tilted her head. “I am not telling you.”
Fick rolled his eyes. Shulia laughed aloud, reached out, and poked his cheek. “What is the hurry? We have plenty of time. This morning, we will first go find a publisher.”
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