The Cursed Extra-Chapter 59: [2.7] Leo Got an Orchestra. I Got a Side Entrance and Public Humiliation.
"There is no try, there is failure and non-failure. Guess which one I am?"
***
Our carriage stopped at what could generously be called a side entrance.
Far from the crimson carpets and elaborate flower arrangements that greeted the important arrivals. While Leo got a red carpet and a small orchestra, I wasn’t joking, actual musicians with actual instruments playing what I suspected was his house’s ancestral anthem, we faced a simple stone archway marked by a bronze plaque.
"West Bastion - House Onyx."
The metal had oxidized to a dull green in places. Someone’s maintenance budget clearly went elsewhere.
A single servant waited by the entrance. He looked like he’d drawn the short straw and was already calculating how quickly he could complete his duties and return to literally anywhere else.
Students streamed past. Their conversations were a murmur of gossip punctuated by cruel laughter. They didn’t even bother to lower their voices.
Why would they? We weren’t important enough to warrant discretion.
"Is that really him? The Leone failure?"
"Failed his awakening, didn’t he? Heard he cried in front of the entire ceremony. Actual tears."
"My father says House Leone is one bad investment away from selling their name for scrap."
"Can’t believe they even accepted him. Charity admission, probably."
I stepped out of the carriage, deliberately catching my foot on the step’s edge. A stumble. A flail of arms that looked desperate rather than controlled. Just enough to draw expected snickers from the nearest cluster of students.
A young woman in Argent colors actually pointed. Her silver bracelets jingled as she called her friend’s attention to my display.
I recovered with a nervous glance around. Checking to see who’d witnessed my clumsiness. My cheeks flushed with manufactured embarrassment.
The answer was everyone who had bothered to look this direction.
Perfect.
Lyra followed with her shoulders slumped. Eyes fixed on the ground with the subservience of someone who had learned that meeting a noble’s gaze invited trouble. She carried our luggage, modest bags that suggested we couldn’t afford proper servants, with the resigned posture of someone long accustomed to her place.
No one spared her a second glance. Servants were furniture. Furniture didn’t warrant attention.
The main entrance doors were carved from single blocks of white marble. Precious metals formed patterns representing all four Houses in intricate designs that shifted when viewed from different angles.
Gold for Aurum dominated the center. A blazing sunburst pattern that seemed to pulse with inner light.
Silver for Argent coiled around the edges. Serpentine patterns suggesting calculation and patience.
Crimson for Vermillion formed ancient symbols that predated the current kingdom by centuries.
And there, in the bottom corner like an afterthought, the dull bronze of Onyx. Geometric patterns that looked practical rather than beautiful.
Even the decorative metalwork was a hierarchy. A constant reminder of exactly where everyone stood.
We joined the queue. Or rather, were shunted aside by students whose houses carried more weight. A boy in Aurum gold simply walked past me as if I didn’t exist. His shoulder brushed mine without acknowledgment or apology.
A pair of Argent students flowed around us like water around a stone. Their conversation never paused.
Important students first. The heirs and prodigies.
Lesser nobles second. Those with acceptable pedigrees.
Charity cases last.
I studied the intake process. Watched how each student was categorized and directed. Memorized faces. Noted who showed deference to whom. The subtle bows. The careful positioning. The way certain family names opened doors while others drew barely concealed sneers.
Information was currency. And I was here to get rich.
That’s when I saw him.
Prefect Alistair Valerius stood at the main reception desk like a judge presiding over his personal kingdom. His spine was straighter than a fresh-forged sword. His golden hair was so perfectly coiffed it looked like a helmet. Each strand positioned in a style that probably took an hour each morning to achieve.
He wore his Prefect’s badge like a medal of honor. The gold caught the light with every movement, positioned at exactly the regulation angle. His uniform was immaculate. Not a single wrinkle. Not a speck of dust.
Everything about him screamed overcompensation.
The cousin who got left behind, I thought. All the Valerius bloodline, none of the Valerius magic. All the name, none of the power.
That’s the wound that never heals, isn’t it? Being close enough to touch greatness, but never close enough to claim it.
I activated [Narrative Appraisal].
Name: Alistair Valerius
Level: 3
Class: [Administrative Enforcer]
Role: [Petty Authority Figure]
Authority: 3
Weaknesses: Pride, Resentment, Rule Obsession
Notable Trait: Compensates for lack of combat power through bureaucratic tyranny
Perfect. A small man given a small amount of power.
The most dangerous kind.
The queue inched forward with painful slowness. Each minute stretched into what felt like hours. Alistair processed each student like he was a clerk at the DMV of the damned, savoring his position with the relish of someone who had precious few opportunities to wield any authority.
He smiled at the important ones. Bright, genuine expressions that lit up his face when an Aurum heir stepped forward.
He remained coolly professional with the middling students. Processing them with mechanical detachment.
And his expression grew progressively colder as we approached the bottom of the social ladder. Ice forming in his gaze degree by degree.
Finally our turn came.
We approached his desk. Stepped into his circle of frigid bureaucratic order. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Whether that was magical effect or psychological pressure, I couldn’t tell.
His quill poised over his ledger like a scalpel. Ready to dissect and categorize another piece of incoming humanity.
His eyes flicked up. Assessed and dismissed me in the span of a heartbeat.
I saw it happen. The slight curl of his lip. The way his gaze skated over my worn clothes and uncertain posture before returning to his paperwork with a tiny, satisfied smile.
"Name." Not a question. A command.
"K-Kaelen Leone," I said. Added a slight stammer. Let my eyes dart nervously to the side like a prey animal checking for predators. Clasped my hands in front of me to hide their manufactured trembling.
"House Leone. I believe I’m expected?"
