The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

Book 2: Chapter 25 - Gossip [Part 1]

If we all said to people's faces what we say behind one another's backs, society would be impossible.

- Honoré de Balzac.

"Come now, what is it, Hughes?" Seraphina asked, voice laced with mild exasperation. Still, the forced smile she wore glowed with such vibrant elegance that it deserved to be captured in oil paint or shaped from marble by the hands of a master sculptor.

"Ah—Seraphina... you don't mind if I call you that, do you?" he ventured in a hushed tone, glancing around as though expecting a librarian to materialize and scold them both. "We're both in the Wisteria, after all…"

Never in his life had Hughes been so glad for such serendipity.

"Yes, yes, of course," she murmured, wondering why she was so quick to grant him leave to use her given name. "What is it you need?"

"Well," he began hesitantly, "it's about Riconetti. One of the passages says, 'no man may come after that is a man at all.' I'm having trouble understanding that..."

Seraphina resisted the powerful urge to roll her eyes. How could he be so, well, obtuse and stupid? Their teacher had already explained that it was a misquote, its meaning distorted through a famous and flawed translation. Still, she caught herself, remembering her sense of responsibility. Hughes, with his wide, earnest eyes and apologetic smile, compelled her somehow.

"Show me the question again," she commanded, hoping to expedite the process. He looked so utterly lost—like a lamb that had strayed far from the safety of its flock.

Hughes handed over the text. With a sigh, Seraphina scribbled the necessary explanation in the margins. "Now do you see?" she asked, tapping the paper.

"Amazing," he breathed, bobbing his head in admiration. "You make it look so simple."

Pride flickered in her chest at his directpraise—though, in truth, his lack of grasp of the subject matter was what made it seem easy by comparison. Nevertheless, she could not help but feel a small swell of satisfaction.

Then Hughes swallowed, squaring his shoulders. "I have a confession to make... and a request."

Her brow rose. "Yes, Hughes? Out with it."

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He closed one eye, half-flinching as though he feared a sudden slap. "Perhaps you could help me with this other problem, too?"

Seraphina groaned. "This really will be the last time. You need to learn to solve these on your own. By the Goddess, how did you ever get into the Academy in the first place?" she asked, genuinely baffled.

Despite her admonishments, she spent the remainder of their free period guiding him through each troublesome question. Books spread out around them like walls of knowledge, the library's hushed atmosphere broken only by their whispered exchanges. When the bell finally rang, marking the end of their respite, Hughes practically glowed with triumph as he gathered his things and followed her into the corridor.

Seraphina's mind flicked briefly to Gravens—the tall, dashing sort the other girls swooned over—and to the train of admirers who always seemed to hover around her. She also thought of all the sycophants and hangers-on that were always surrounding the Crown Prince to whom she was betrothed. Hughes could never compete with their looks or bearing. He simply was not on the same level. And yet, as she studied the grateful smile lighting up his face, a secret part of her found his earnest determination... disturbingly endearing.

Little did she know, at that very moment, Hughes was relishing a victory he dared not put into words. He could not match Sir Gravens or the Crown Prince in status or prowess, but he had something else—a steadfast heart captivated by Seraphina from the first instant he laid eyes on her, a devotion so deep it twisted his very soul. He would climb this impossible mountain, he told himself, even if each step felt like a miracle.

***

Mathematica class felt never-ending that day, and the simple problems presented, at least for the young noblewoman, did little to help Seraphina keep her focus. Her eyes kept wandering, and she fought off yawns for most of the hour. Back in her home country, lessons were shorter and varied in pace. But here, in this quasi-medieval world's equivalent of a high school, they believed in lengthier sessions, certain that such would help them develop greater powers of concentration.

While most of her classmates fumbled with their abaci and muttered over sums, Seraphina, with cool ease, solved every problem in her head. Their teacher, Mistress de Alalucia—an austere woman well past her prime, with salt-and-pepper hair pinned in a severe bun—was the very picture of suspicion at first. Yet there was no denying the truth of the numbers. Grudgingly, she had to concede that Seraphina was simply "gifted," serving as a sharp reminder of just how exceptional the girl who ranked first truly was.

It gave the girl a little time to clear her mind and just think of nothing for once.

No sooner had the bell rung than Fleur, Amanda, and a whole cluster of well-born girls swarmed Seraphina in the corridor, praising her for what they considered near sorcery. Between curtseys and excited giggles, Seraphina caught sight of Hughes still hunched over his desk, face pinched in frustration. A twinge of pity tugged at her, but she had her own audience to entertain.

"And you can do it all in your head?" Fleur asked, dark eyes alight with curiosity, hands clasped as though praying for enlightenment. "How? What ever is your secret?"

For a heartbeat, Seraphina didn't quite know how to explain. How did a hawk teach landbound creatures to fly? She smoothed her robes, her perfect features frowning before responding. "Practice regularly, break down problems, learn shortcuts, spot patterns—truly understand the concepts, don't just memorize formulae or methodology. And, well…" She paused, nearly slipping into the word "talent" but catching herself just in time. "…the biggest secret is that I, of course, practice a lot. Much more than I should."

A thrilled round of playful clapping rose from the girls.