The Cursed Extra-Chapter 88: [2.36] How to Ruin Someone’s Life (While Looking Incredibly Pathetic)

Chapter 88: [2.36] How to Ruin Someone’s Life (While Looking Incredibly Pathetic)

"The greatest weapon isn’t a sword. It’s a reputation you never wanted in the first place."

***

The main courtyard was loud. Not the good kind of loud, like a festival or a tavern brawl. The bad kind. The political kind.

Students from all four Houses clustered around the central fountain in their little tribes. Aurum kids held court near the fancy benches, their golden pins catching sunlight like they’d paid extra for that effect. Probably had. Argent students argued about mana theory while eating pastries that cost more than my monthly allowance, waving their hands around like the fate of the world depended on who could sound smartest. Vermillion members sat in the shadows, watching everything, saying nothing, being generally creepy about it. Their crimson robes pooled around them like spilled wine at a dinner party nobody wanted to attend.

And House Onyx? We hunched over our sad little meals at the margins, trying not to exist too loudly.

Perfect.

I spotted Rhys immediately. Hard not to. His earth-brown hair and weathered face stood out against all these groomed noble kids like a stray dog at a pedigree show. He sat alone on a stone ledge near the eastern wall, eating what looked like yesterday’s bread and an apple that had given up on life. Wrinkled. Spotted. Tragic.

His father’s spear leaned against the wall beside him. Never far from reach. The Iron-Root herbs had vanished from his pack. Sold, probably, to fund his sister’s medicine through whatever desperate channels a scholarship student could scrape together.

Everything was going exactly as I needed it to.

Time for Act Two.

I took a deep breath. Squared my shoulders with deliberate awkwardness. Let my face transform into something that screamed "grateful idiot who doesn’t understand social boundaries."

You know the look. The one that makes people want to cringe away but can’t quite manage it.

"RHYS BLACKWOOD!"

My voice rang across the courtyard like a bell made of pure embarrassment. Heads turned. Forks stopped halfway to mouths. Debates died mid-sentence. Everyone wanted to see what fresh disaster was about to unfold.

I rushed toward him with the grace of an overexcited golden retriever, stumbling over a crack in the cobblestones that may or may not have been intentional. My academy robes billowed dramatically behind me. Several Argent students snickered. Good. Let them.

My arms spread wide like I was about to hug him in front of literally everyone.

"My savior! My hero! My dearest, most noble friend!"

Rhys went rigid. Every muscle locked up. The apple fell from his hand and rolled away across the cobblestones. His face, already lean from skipped meals, went white as fresh parchment.

"No," he whispered.

Too late. I was already upon him.

I reached for his hands, trying to clasp them like some religious zealot who’d finally found his prophet. He jerked backward so fast he nearly toppled over the ledge. His spear clattered against the wall.

"Get away from me."

"But I must thank you!" I declared. Loud. Loud enough that even the Aurum kids near the fountain could hear every syllable. "Yesterday, in the western woods, you saved my very life! Without your intervention, those ruffians would have—"

"Stop talking."

His voice cracked like a whip, but his face told the real story. Fear. Desperation. The growing horror of a man watching his carefully built invisibility shatter in real time.

Sorry, buddy. Nothing personal.

His green eyes swept the courtyard, counting the spectators like a soldier counting enemy forces. Some pointed. Some whispered behind their hands. Others just laughed openly, not even pretending to hide their amusement.

The commoner boy who’d spent months being nobody was suddenly the center of attention.

And not the good kind.

"I cannot stop!" I pressed on, letting my voice climb into registers of overwrought emotion that made even me want to punch myself. "Honor demands recognition! Courage deserves reward! To remain silent would violate the very foundations of noble conduct!"

I produced a leather pouch from my robes. Heavy. The unmistakable clink of gold coins shifting against each other. That sound. Universal language. Several nearby conversations died as students craned their necks to listen.

"Please." Rhys’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. All that earlier sharpness, gone. "Don’t do this."

But I was already pressing the pouch toward him, holding it at an angle that caught the sunlight. Making sure everyone could see exactly how substantial it was.

"A life-debt must be repaid! My father, Lord Aldric Leone, would have my head mounted on the family gates if I didn’t show proper gratitude to the brave soul who saved his heir! The honor of House Leone demands nothing less!"

Rhys stared at the pouch like it was a live snake. His hands stayed firmly at his sides. His fingers curled into fists that trembled slightly.

"I don’t want your money."

"Want?" I laughed. Let it carry that perfect note of aristocratic bewilderment. The confusion of someone who genuinely couldn’t comprehend why anyone would refuse gold. "My dear fellow, this isn’t about want! This is about honor! About tradition! About the sacred bonds between noble houses!"

God, I’m insufferable. This is art.

The courtyard held its breath. Dozens of students frozen in place. Even the fountain seemed to quiet down, like the academy itself wanted front-row seats to this disaster.

"The Code of Noble Conduct clearly states," I continued, voice going pompous as a dusty librarian, "that a life-debt incurred by a member of nobility must be acknowledged through appropriate compensation to the savior, regardless of their station. Paragraph seven, subsection three, if I recall correctly."

I didn’t recall correctly. I’d made that up completely. But nobody here was going to check.

"To refuse such compensation," I added, "questions the honor of the debtor’s house. Implies the debt itself was somehow invalid or unworthy of recognition."

Rhys’s jaw worked silently. Muscles tensed and relaxed. He was trying to find words that might get him out of this nightmare.

His eyes swept the crowd again.

I saw him spot Vance Thorne. The Aurum heir smirked from behind a cluster of his House members, one hand pressed against his temple where a fresh bruise hid beneath carefully arranged hair. Marcus and Garrett flanked him, nursing their own wounds.

Professor Blackthorne watched from the corridor entrance. His scarred face gave away nothing.

Even some faculty had emerged from the administrative wing to observe the show.

"Also," I pressed, stepping closer with the persistence of someone too stupid to read social cues, "to reject such an offering implies that the savior’s actions were insufficient to warrant recognition. That the risk they took, the courage they displayed, all of it was worth nothing."

I tilted my head. Let my eyes go wide with innocent confusion.

"Surely you don’t believe your heroic intervention was worthless?"

Checkmate.

If he refused the money, he insulted House Leone’s honor. If he accepted it, he confirmed the story. Either way, everyone now knew that Rhys Blackwood, commoner scholarship student, had beaten the living hell out of three noble sons in the woods.

Including Vance Thorne.

You’re welcome, by the way.