The Cursed Extra-Chapter 115: [2.63] When Your Cover Story Has Holes (And Two Professors Are Looking For Them)

Chapter 115: [2.63] When Your Cover Story Has Holes (And Two Professors Are Looking For Them)

"The problem with lies is they require maintenance."

***

Lyra turned a page in her notebook. Her expression shifted from triumph to something more serious.

"Rhys Blackwood’s situation has worsened considerably. The isolation you predicted has manifested even faster than expected."

I said nothing. Waited for her to continue.

"The other scholarship students now avoid him entirely. They see him as contaminated by noble gold. Tainted by association with a Leone." She consulted her notes. "Thomas Hartwell from House Onyx actually crossed to the opposite side of the corridor when he saw Rhys approaching. Didn’t even pretend to be looking at something else. Just openly avoided him like he carried plague."

She flipped a page.

"Rhys has started taking his meals at irregular hours to avoid the crowds. He sits alone in the far corner of the dining hall. Always with his back to the wall. His roommate requested a transfer yesterday. The scholarship coordinator denied it, but the request itself is telling."

The news struck harder than I’d anticipated.

My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with my broken ribs. Rhys was already isolated. Trapped between noble contempt and common suspicion. My intervention had only deepened his social exile. Pushed him further into the lonely darkness where desperation bred.

Good. Desperate people make the best allies. The more isolated he becomes, the more valuable my lifeline will appear.

The thought felt hollow. Even to my own mind. A convenient rationalization masking something uglier.

Something that might, in another life, have been called guilt.

Since when do I feel guilty about using people?

Since you started seeing them as people instead of plot devices.

Shut up.

"What about the faculty?"

Lyra’s expression darkened. The satisfaction drained from her features. Her fingers tightened around her notebook. Knuckles whitening slightly.

"Professor De Clare has been asking pointed questions about your family background. She approached three different servants who used to work at the Leone estate. Asked specifically about any military connections or combat training you might have received."

She paused. Lips pressed into a thin line.

"She also formally requested access to the Leone family’s private records. The request went through the Headmaster’s office this morning."

My teacup halted halfway to my lips.

The ceramic felt suddenly cold against my fingers. The heat leaching away as if the tea itself was reacting to my unease.

Isolde is far more perceptive than I gave her credit for.

The washed-up military prodigy. Relegated to overseeing the academy’s dreg class. Supposedly content to drink from her flask and make sardonic comments about noble incompetence.

But underneath that mask of apathy lurked a tactical mind that had once commanded mercenaries.

A mind that was now, apparently, turning its attention toward me.

"And Professor Delacroix?"

"Worse." Lyra’s voice dropped. Carried the weight of serious concern. "She’s officially requested your original entrance examination scores from the archives. Not just the final results that appear on your official record. The comprehensive breakdowns. Including theoretical knowledge assessments and magical aptitude measurements."

The cup found its way back to the saucer without my conscious direction.

Oh no.

Laurana’s mathematical mind was working overtime. Attempting to reconcile the impossible equations of my existence. Her violet eyes had tracked me at the assembly with the intensity of a scholar examining a particularly puzzling specimen.

I’d dismissed it then as simple academic curiosity.

I’d been wrong.

If she obtained those records and compared them to my recent performance, the discrepancies would scream at her.

The original Kaelen possessed barely functional combat instincts. Theoretical knowledge limited to what a disgraced noble’s son might pick up from half-hearted tutors. Magical aptitude that barely registered on standard measurements.

My advanced understanding of combat theory. My knowledge of techniques I shouldn’t have seen. My strategic thinking that revealed itself in unguarded moments.

All of it would stand out like a beacon in darkness.

The original Kaelen barely scraped by on his entrance exams. Passed more through his family name than any demonstrated ability.

My advanced knowledge would be glaringly obvious to anyone who bothered to look.

"How long before she receives them?"

"Three days, according to the archive clerk I spoke with." Lyra’s voice carried quiet urgency. "The request must pass through the Headmaster’s office for approval, but Professor Delacroix’s academic standing makes denial unlikely. She rarely requests records. When she does, she’s never been refused."

Three days. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

The goblin assessment was in seven.

The timeline was compressing faster than I’d anticipated. Squeezing the space between present danger and future catastrophe until there was barely room to breathe.

Great. Two professors on my trail. Four students about to die. And I have exactly zero margin for error.

This is fine. Everything is fine.

I rose from my seat and moved to the window overlooking the academy grounds. The glass was cold against my fingertips. Winter’s chill seeped through despite the warming enchantments worked into the frame.

Students hurried across the courtyards below. Their movements betrayed nervous energy and mounting pressure. Even from this distance, I could see the way they clustered and scattered. Forming temporary alliances that would be tested in the warrens.

I could pick out the future dead just by watching how they moved.

The ones who walked alone.

The ones who flinched when shadows crossed their path.

The ones who looked at the academy’s towers with something like despair in their eyes.

My breath fogged the glass. Obscured my view of Rhys’s solitary figure crossing the eastern courtyard. He walked with his shoulders hunched. Head down. The posture of someone who expected attack from any direction.

"The original plan assumed I’d have more time to work indirectly," I said. Didn’t turn from the window. "The professors’ scrutiny changes the equation entirely. My intervention for Rhys needs to be more direct."

Lyra stood from her chair. The movement nearly silent despite the wooden floor. She joined me at the window. Her reflection appeared beside mine in the darkening glass.

Two ghosts haunting a world that didn’t know it was already dead.

"How direct?"

I returned to the desk without answering immediately. Studied the warren map with fresh perspective.

The Collapsed Mine section sat like a spider at the center of a web. Its tunnels connected to three other areas through a maze of passages and intersections.

The geography was my advantage. The timing was my weapon.

And the story itself was my enemy.

"The narrative wants Rhys to die in the Collapsed Mine section," I explained. Traced the fatal route with my finger. The parchment felt rough against my skin. "The Morgenthorne sabotage will trigger a cave-in that blocks the main exit around the 14:30 mark. Team 7 will be trapped with injured members and dwindling air. The secondary collapse is timed to finish them off before any rescue party can reach them."

Lyra’s gaze followed my movements across the map. Her eyes tracked each line I drew. Memorized the paths and chokepoints.

"You’re planning to be there when it happens."

It wasn’t really a question. She’d already put the pieces together. Already seen where my thoughts were leading.

That was the thing about Lyra. She didn’t just follow orders. She anticipated them.

"Not just there." The words carried more emotional weight than I’d intended. Slipped past my defenses before I could catch them. I heard the crack in my own voice. The hint of something that sounded dangerously like sincerity.

Careful.

I caught myself before the sentiment could fully surface. Forced my tone back toward clinical detachment.

"I’m going to save them. It’s a tactical necessity. Rhys alive and indebted to me is far more valuable than Rhys dead and martyred for Leo’s character development."