Summoned a Hero But Got a Villain Instead-Chapter 94: Clara Lysandra

The moment Clara Lysandra sat down at the table, the quiet background chatter of the dessert shop’s patio died instantly.

It wasn’t a slow hushing. It was sudden. Total. Complete. Like a conductor had abruptly cut off an orchestra mid-note.

Every head turned. Every conversation stopped. Every pair of eyes fixed on the two figures at the secluded corner table.

A wave of quiet, frantic murmurs immediately filled the void. Spreading like wildfire.

"Who is that guy?"

"Wait... is that Clara Lysandra? With a boy? Actually sitting with a boy?"

"No way. That can’t be true. Don’t you know? She’s the Ice Queen. She doesn’t even look at guys. She rejected the duke’s son last month."

"So doesn’t that just prove it? The reason she’s so cold to everyone else is because she already has someone! It makes perfect sense!"

Clap.

A boy at a nearby table slapped his forehead with both hands. Dawning, tragic realization spreading across his face.

"Wait, it makes sense! That’s why she rejected my proposal last semester! My stupid ass thought I was too ugly! But she was already taken!"

His friend scoffed loudly. "Don’t be so stupid. She rejected not only you, but half the male population of the academy. Maybe more. And ’rejected’ is a very small word for the soul-crushing, public humiliation she delivered to every single one of them."

"We can talk about that later! Just look at her! She’s... she’s smiling!"

"Wait, she can smile too? I thought her face was frozen."

"Is she possessed? Should we call a priest?"

The whispers were completely justified.

Clara Lysandra wasn’t just an ordinary girl. She wasn’t just another rich student.

Her status as the headmaster’s daughter was a closely guarded secret among the top families. A secret kept for her safety. But even without that knowledge, she was an icon. A living legend within the walls of Silverleaf Academy.

She was the picture of cold, untouchable beauty. Like she belonged to a different, more perfect world. A world where mortals weren’t allowed.

Her hair was long. Raven-black. Polished like expensive silk. It caught the light when she moved. Her skin was flawless. Pale. Perfect. Not a single blemish or imperfection. Her eyes were cool, intelligent grey that seemed to analyze and dismiss everything they saw with noble boredom. Like nothing was worth her time.

She moved with grace that was both captivating and intimidating. Every step calculated. Every gesture perfect. A queen who’d found herself trapped among commoners. And she knew it.

She was the dream of every boy in the academy. The fantasy they whispered about in dorm rooms. And the nightmare of every girl who had to stand in her shadow. Who had to compete with perfection.

And she was utterly, completely, famously alone. By choice, people said. Because no one was worthy of her attention.

Clara, who could hear a few of the whispers, simply ignored them. Her entire focused attention was on the masked boy in front of her.

"Hello, glutton," she said. Her voice was low. Amused.

Dante looked at her for a single, long second. His eyes, visible above the crude mask, held pure, unfiltered annoyance.

Then he ignored her.

He picked up his fork. Took another slow, deliberate, utterly blissful bite of his Moon-Berry Cheesecake.

Clara’s smile tightened. Just a fraction.

"Ignoring me, huh?" she said. Her voice was still light. But now laced with a thin, sharp thread of steel. "In this academy, people would trade their family fortunes just for the chance to have a five-minute conversation with me."

Dante didn’t bother to reply.

He finished the last bite of his dessert. Savoring the sweet, creamy flavor. Before finally placing his fork down.

He looked at her. His expression was that of a man who’d just been rudely interrupted from a very important task.

"Look, whoever you are, miss," he said. His voice was flat. Dismissive. "I’m not interested in you, or your talks. My business here is done. And I’m leaving."

He stood up.

"Wait," Clara said. Her voice sharp. Commanding. "I have things to know."

"And I don’t have time for that," Dante replied. Turning to walk away.

"You know," Clara said. Her voice suddenly became as cold as ice. "I’m the daughter of the headmaster of this academy. And the little stunt you pulled in the courtyard, using magic in an unauthorized area to assault four noble-born students... you can be expelled for that. Permanently."

Dante froze.

He wasn’t surprised that using magic would get him expelled. He wasn’t even part of the academy yet.

What stunned him—what sent a jolt of cold, hard, utterly unwelcome adrenaline through his system—was her status.

The headmaster’s daughter.

The one person in this entire world who could walk up to the ultimate authority figure and point a finger at him.

She knew his face. She’d seen him without his mask in the courtyard.

His entire carefully constructed plan of being a quiet, unremarkable side character—of hiding his true power from the world’s leaders—was now in the hands of this one unpredictable, dangerously intelligent girl.

He slowly turned back to face her.

"Let’s hear what you have to say," he said. His voice was a low growl. "But not here."

Clara’s smile returned. Small. Triumphant.

"Fine. But didn’t you hear all of them?" She gestured vaguely to the dozens of students who were now openly staring. Their phones out. Probably recording.

"They won’t leave us alone. They’ll follow us to the ends of the earth."

"Yeah," Dante sighed. A wave of profound annoyance washed over him. "That’s why you’re a pain in the ass. A fucking attention magnet."

He closed the distance between them in two quick strides.

Clara’s eyes widened in surprise. A faint, almost unnoticeable blush rose on her cheeks as he came close. Invading her personal space.

He reached out and took her by the hand.

"If you feel like puking," he said. His voice was low. Urgent. "Don’t puke on me."

He activated his skill without warning.

Void Step.

The world dissolved around them.

For Clara, it was a feeling of pure, impossible dizziness. Disorientation. One moment, she was on the patio of the dessert shop. Surrounded by people and light and noise. The next, the world had folded in on itself. Twisted. A dizzying, sickening lurch. Like she didn’t exist for a moment. Like she’d been erased from reality and put back.

They reappeared in the middle of a busy street several blocks away. The people around them gasped and pointed in shock as two figures materialized out of thin air. Out of nothing. Impossible.

Before she could even process what had just happened—before she could think or speak—he did it again.

The world lurched.

And again.

Another jump. Another impossible shift.

He used the teleportation skill multiple times in rapid succession. A series of short, gut-wrenching jumps across the city. Each one making her stomach flip. Making reality bend. Leaving the screaming, chaotic crowd far behind them.

Buildings blurred past. Streets changed. The city became a smear of light and color.

They finally came to a stop in a small, deserted playground on the outskirts of the city.

The only sound was the gentle creak of a swing set in the night breeze. Back and forth. Empty.

Creeeak. Creeeak.

"Are you fine?" Dante asked. Letting go of her hand.

Clara stumbled. Her hand flew to her stomach. A wave of nausea washed over her.

She looked at him. Her usual cool composure completely shattered. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of terror and deep, exhilarating awe.

"What... what was that?" she gasped. "A teleportation magic?"

"You can say that," Dante replied. His voice was noncommittal. "But not exactly."

"It’s the rarest of the rare magics," she said. Her mind, even in its shocked state, already analyzing. Dissecting. "A Unique skill. And you used it multiple times in a row. With no chant. No cooldown. Who the hell are you?"

"Leave all this questioning," Dante said. His patience clearly wearing thin. "And tell me what you want."

Clara took a deep, steadying breath. Her noble composure slowly returning.

"Well, about that," she said. Her grey eyes narrowing. "I wanted to ask the same question. Who are you?"

Dante looked at her carefully. At her intelligent, questioning gaze. At the determination in her eyes.

He made a calculated decision. Weighed his options.

His identity as a hero would be revealed in a month anyway. At the grand tournament. The battle with the kingdoms’ champions. The leaders of the world already knew who he was. His face. His name. His power.

To hide it from her now would be pointless. Wasteful. And potentially dangerous. An act of defiance that could backfire badly. She could go to her father. Could expose him on her own terms. Better to control the information himself.

A controlled release of information was the most logical path. The smartest move.

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "You’ll know anyway in a few more weeks. Everyone will."

’The battle will be on the academy grounds,’ he thought. ’They’ll all know who we are then. Everyone will see us fight. However, they won’t know that it’s a bet. A fight to the death. A wager where we either win our freedom or die trying. They’ll just think it’s a demonstration. A way to see the potential of the new heroes. A show.’

"But you have to promise me," he said. His voice became low. Serious. Threatening even. "You won’t say a word of what I’m about to tell you to anyone. Not even your father. Especially not your father."

She took a long moment. Her analytical gaze searched his face intensely. Looking for lies. For deception. For any sign he was playing her.

Then she gave a slow, deliberate nod. Accepting his terms.

"I promise," she said. "As long as you’re not a devil worshipper, or some kind of shape-shifted demon. Or working for the Fallen."

"What do you think of me?" he asked. A hint of amusement crept into his voice despite the seriousness.

"Ah, sorry," she replied. A faint, almost unnoticeable blush returned to her cheeks. Embarrassed. "But there are possibilities, looking at your skills and your power. You have to understand. Teleportation magic. That level of water control. It’s not normal."

"Fine," he said. "I’m neither of those things. Not a demon. Not a devil worshipper. Not anything evil."

He paused. Let the weight of his next words settle in the quiet, moonlit playground. In the empty space around them.

"I’m not of this world."

She looked at him with new, intense curiosity. Her eyes widened slightly. Processing. Understanding dawning.

"I’m a hero," he said. His voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. A simple statement of a terrible, impossible fact. "One of the ones who was summoned to your world a few days ago. From the trial."

She froze completely.

Her cool, noble mask—the one she’d worn her entire life—finally, completely, utterly shattered.

Her mouth opened slightly. No words came out. Just shock. Pure, overwhelming shock.