A Mate To Three Alpha Heirs-Chapter 189: Without Breaking Any Rules

{Elira}

~**^**~

MONDAY.

By the time the last bell rang, I felt like I had been holding my breath since morning.

Lunch had been a circus with eyes following me from table to table, hushed voices whispering "that’s her" like I was some rare creature on display.

Both lectures today had been worse. Professors pretending not to notice the restless curiosity in the room, students sneaking glances whenever I shifted in my seat.

By the time I got to my locker, I just wanted air—quiet, unbothered air.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and shut the locker door, the metallic clang echoing through the hallway.

Just as I was about to head toward the small training hall, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and glanced at the screen.

Lennon’s name stared back at me.

I blinked, surprised. He never called before training. He usually just waited to ambush me with one of his teasing grins.

"Hello?" I answered, adjusting the strap of my bag.

His voice came low but brisk through the line. "Elira, don’t come to the training hall yet."

I frowned. "Why? Did something happen?"

"Just listen," he cut in quickly. "Go to the school library. Pick a shelf, any shelf. Pretend you are reading. Stay there for fifteen minutes. Then after that, you can come straight to the hall."

"What—"

He hung up.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the screen as if it could explain his sudden cryptic tone.

"What in the moon goddess’ name was that?" I muttered under my breath.

A few students passed by me, chatting, their laughter trailing down the hallway. I just stood there, feeling caught between curiosity and irritation.

But I knew Lennon. If he was being mysterious, it wasn’t just to annoy me — well, mostly not. It meant something was off. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

I sighed, tucking my phone away. "Fifteen minutes, then the training hall," I repeated softly to myself, like a small promise.

The library wasn’t far. Just tucked near the east wing of the academy, quiet and dim with the faint smell of parchment and old ink. As soon as I stepped in, the silence felt like balm against my skin.

A few students were scattered around the long tables, heads bent over books or notes. The librarian barely glanced up from her desk.

I wandered down an aisle until I found myself in the history section—rows and rows of forgotten legends and old pack records.

My fingers trailed along the spines until one caught my eye: Origins of the Bloodline Wolves.

I pulled it out, opened a random page, and sank into the nearest chair.

But I couldn’t focus. My mind kept circling back to Lennon’s voice—calm, clipped, urgent.

What could possibly be happening that required me to hide in the library for fifteen minutes?

I drummed my fingers against the page and checked the time. Just five minutes had passed.

My pulse wouldn’t settle. I tried reading again, this time landing on a paragraph about "wolves of rare lineage." The words blurred together.

I shut the book softly. I still had ten minutes left.

Whatever this was, I could only hope it wasn’t trouble. Because if it was, I already had a strong suspicion that Lennon was involved — and Zenon was going to kill him for it.

---

By the time I reached the small training hall, an extra five minutes were up. I checked my watch and then opened the heavy doors. Then, I walked in and shut the doors.

Lennon was the only one here, with a faint crease between his brows. No grin this time. That alone was enough to unsettle me. I inclined my head towards him.

"You are here," he said as he made his way to me.

"What’s going on?" I asked, setting my backpack on the floor. "Why did you want me to waste fifteen minutes pretending to read in the library?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Because we needed to make sure you weren’t being followed."

That froze me. "Followed?"

Before he could answer, the door at the back creaked open, and both Rennon and Zenon stepped in. The tension in the air sharpened immediately.

Rennon closed the door carefully behind them before saying, "Lennon noticed a few students have been monitoring your movements since Friday."

My pulse stuttered. "Monitoring me? Why? I haven’t—"

"It’s not about what you’ve done," Lennon interrupted, voice low and steady now. "It’s about what they think you’ve done."

Rennon nodded, his expression grave but calm. "We’ve been hearing a lot lately—whispers about your acu-point strategy, and how your duels are going too well for someone who ’barely knew how to throw a punch’ before this contest began."

My throat felt tight. "The rumors."

"Yes," he said softly. "And you need to know something else—the professor’s council has banned the use of the acu-point tactics during any further combat rounds."

The air left my lungs. "What?"

Zenon’s voice cut in, flat and unyielding. "Anyone caught using it will face disqualification."

"But... that was the only move that worked for me," I blurted before I could stop myself. My words sounded desperate even to my own ears.

Lennon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We know, which is why we are going to work around it and train you differently. But you need to understand, Elira... things are getting complicated now."

Rennon stepped forward, gentler in his tone. "From now on, no one—not even your closest classmates should know that we are training you personally. Do you understand?"

I stared between the three of them, my heart thudding. "But my friends already know I come here every day after classes."

"That’s fine," Lennon said quickly. "They don’t need to know the details. Just be careful what you say. There are people waiting to twist your progress into something ugly."

I swallowed hard. "You think someone is trying to sabotage me?"

Rennon’s gaze flicked to Zenon before returning to me. "We don’t think, we know."

Zenon’s silence was heavy, his expression unreadable as always. He crossed his arms, his voice steady but carrying an edge that made me stand straighter.

"You are a target now, Elira," he said. "Every win earns you more attention, and not all of it is admiration."

I felt the truth of it settle deep in my chest. Every pair of eyes in the cafeteria, every whisper in the corridors, all made sense now.

I exhaled slowly. "So, what do I do?"

Zenon’s gaze didn’t waver. "You train harder. You get better."

Lennon smiled faintly at that, his fire returning for a heartbeat. "And you learn how to win without breaking any new rules."

"Okay," I straightened and nodded.

Then, Zenon motioned toward the middle of the hall—the familiar mat spread out beneath the high ceiling lights.

I swallowed and stepped forward, shrugging off my backpack and my jacket. Lennon was already stretching his shoulders, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth again—that one expression that somehow made me both irritated and nervous at the same time.

Rennon stayed off to the side, a notebook in hand as if this were a lecture instead of training. His calm gaze swept from Zenon to me.

"We are focusing on endurance and precision," he began, "The contest doesn’t demand that you destroy your opponent, only that you hold them down when the clock stops. That means balance, awareness, and control."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered.

Zenon’s sharp gaze snapped to me. "Say it louder."

My shoulders tensed, but I still repeated my words. "I said it’s easy for you to say."

"Then make it easy for yourself," he said coldly. "Start."

Before I could even adjust my stance, Lennon lunged. His movements were quick, not the playful sparring I had grown used to.

This was sharper, deliberate, like he wanted to shake the hesitation out of me.

I dodged left, barely avoiding his sweep, my breath catching as he pivoted and came again. I dropped low, ducking under his arm and rolling to the side.

"Good," Rennon said quietly, still scribbling. "She’s anticipating better."

"Not good enough," Zenon replied, his voice cutting through the air. "Lennon, press her harder."

Lennon grinned—the kind that promised trouble, and lunged again. I jumped back, blocked, and barely kept my footing. He was faster this time and more unpredictable.

My breath came shorter, sweat breaking across my forehead. Every few seconds, I would hear Zenon’s voice—calm, precise, impossible to ignore.

"Don’t flinch."

"Your stance is too wide."

"Keep your center steady."

Each command hit like a pulse through me, pushing me to move sharper, quicker.

Lennon tried to grab my wrist; I twisted away and used his momentum to shove his shoulder instead. He stumbled half a step. My heart leaped.

Rennon nodded from the side. "That. That’s what you use—weight redirection. He is stronger, but you are smaller and faster. Use his own balance against him."

I focused on that. Every time Lennon reached, I evaded, redirected. My body started remembering patterns—duck, pivot, grab, release.