The next morning. Standing on the athletic field, Ruslan stared intently at the silver-haired boy standing diagonally in front of him.
Last night.
Realizing that on the day after Saint Raffgang’s feast day, all students would gather on the athletic field to hear the parish priest’s blessing, Ruslan didn’t sleep a wink and just waited for dawn to break.
As soon as the meal time ended and the bell rang, Ruslan rushed out to the athletic field and climbed up the back stairs to examine the hair color of the gathering students one by one.
Light hair colors like blonde or silver were fairly common in the northern regions of Ruslan’s homeland, but they were uncommon in the Empire with its many Easterners. As Ruslan guessed, even when all students had gathered, there were only two or three with silver hair.
Even those didn’t resemble that hair at all—they were either too short in length, too dark in color approaching ash gray, or completely straight and smooth without any curl.
If so, only that boy Ruslan had thought of yesterday remained.
<Sarka Hütivras>
He was the owner of the back view that Ruslan had been staring at intently throughout the blessing time.
Just like what Ruslan had picked up yesterday, softly curling and shining silver hair neatly combed back as Imperial nobles always did.
Proper attire with a white shirt covering the neck according to standard, a black tie, and a neat school uniform complete with vest and jacket.
A tall stature that seemed to rise slightly among the children standing in line, with an upright neck and straight back in a neat posture.
The skin on the nape of his neck was dazzlingly white like the wrist Ruslan had seen yesterday. His center was balanced without leaning to either side of his body, and his gaze was directed straight ahead. His long fingers clasped lightly behind his back were clean enough to be pale all the way to beneath the nails without a single callus.
That boy was always like that.
For a year and a half, Ruslan had never once seen that boy look disheveled or dirty, or fluster over something, or even laugh loudly and frivolously.
Always neat and calm, never showing irritation or excitement in any situation, and treating everyone kindly with a faint smile while maintaining an appropriate distance.
That was also the common attitude shared by the boys Sarka associated with.
They were completely different in quality from the thugs who were nobles in name only, like Bruce’s gang.
Bruce’s gang came from families that only had noble titles but no real substance, or from nouveau riche families who had bought their titles with money earned from the Industrial Revolution.
Bruce and his cronies always acted pompous and pretentious, building their pride by looking down on scholarship students from other countries or commoner backgrounds, but the boys in Sarka’s group were children who didn’t even feel the need to behave that way in the first place.
It was because they knew well that their power was so immense that no matter how hard the scholarship students tried, they couldn’t affect their world at all.
They were each children of core power figures evaluated as ‘the real power of the Empire.’ In wealth, fame, and political influence, not only Bruce’s gang but even the school professors couldn’t compare to these boys’ families.
Nevertheless, instead of showing off their power like Bruce’s gang or threatening with vulgar violence, they always treated scholarship students kindly and showed respectful courtesy to professors.
To Ruslan’s perception, the term ‘cultured noble’ referred precisely to the boys who associated with Sarka.
However, despite that gentlemanly attitude, ordinary students couldn’t dare approach them or pretend to be friendly.
It was because they instinctively felt ‘they were on a different level’ and became intimidated, or were already scared of possibly offending them somehow.
They too, as if it were natural for students to have such attitudes, stuck together as if forming an invisible room among themselves and showed little interest in other students.
Therefore, for over a year, Ruslan had never properly exchanged a word with the boys in Sarka’s group.
Among scholarship students he was the poorest, from the weakest country, and always so disheveled in appearance that he made professors frown—Ruslan and those boys lived in completely different worlds.
During class that day and in the cafeteria too, Ruslan only glanced at Sarka’s back.
There were mountains of things he wanted to grab him and sit down to ask about right away, but Ruslan had no idea what kind of excuse would arise for him to dare speak to that boy.
No matter how much he racked his brain, just imagining himself standing dumbly before that clean and neat noble boy made severe awkwardness wash over him.
Ruslan thought anew about how shabby he must look in the eyes of Imperial nobles.
Because he had cowered and buried his nose in books avoiding people’s gazes since childhood, his posture was always hunched, and though his hair was originally bright blonde, it had gradually darkened as he grew, becoming a messy mix of dull brown and gold splotched together.
His haggard and pale complexion from staying up all night in the library made the freckles on the bridge of his nose stand out more, and his dark blue eyes were hazy and murky from exhaustion.
Compared to his childhood when he was nothing but bones from not eating properly, in one year he had grown taller and gained some weight, but still among the Empire boys with their characteristic Eastern build, pale and thin Ruslan looked like an old straw doll.
Old shoes with leather half-rotted away, socks with pills, and a school uniform too large that was barely held in place with suspenders.
Even with just a sidelong glance, one could easily identify that Ruslan was a poor scholarship student of lowly origins.
How on earth could I manage to speak with that pristine noble boy without being unpleasant, even just a little naturally?
After agonizing for several days, Ruslan one day discovered a plausible opportunity.
The classical literature professor assigned a group project to be done in teams of six.
The group Sarka hung out with had five people.
When class ended, Sarka and his friends hesitated and looked around. Faint awkwardness appeared on the boys’ faces.
No one in this class was bold enough to mix alone with those boys to do a group project.
The moment he saw the boys making ambiguous expressions as their positions became awkwardly difficult, Ruslan jumped up before thinking about anything else and scurried over.
“If, if it’s okay, can I… do the group project with you guys?”
At the desperate voice that urgently burst out, the five dignified boys all turned their heads in unison.
Perplexed expressions appeared on the boys’ faces as if they had discovered a wild raccoon that had jumped through the bedroom window.
At those awkward gazes, Ruslan felt his face flush hot. He could tell what they were thinking just by looking at their eyes.
No matter how awkward the situation, they had never dreamed of having to do a group project with someone like Ruslan, whom everyone implicitly considered to be at the bottom of the grade hierarchy, a commoner.
Ruslan looked at Sarka with a desperate gaze, feeling his heart pound from tension, shame, and fear.
Sarka, that beautiful boy, was looking back at Ruslan obliquely with an expression of one eyebrow slightly raised.
The moment their eyes met, Ruslan unconsciously felt his breath catch.
He had known the boy was handsome from the first moment he saw him at the freshman oath ceremony, but facing him properly at close range, Ruslan realized he hadn’t noticed even half of the delicacy and elegance the boy possessed.
Thanks to his neatly combed hair, his sharply angular eyebrows and smooth forehead were fully exposed. His nose bridge extended sharply like a sculpture, and his white skin without a single blemish shone transparently like porcelain in the sunlight.
Beneath the shadow of his delicate eyelashes sat calm green eyes, and his slightly closed lips harmonized with his sharp jawline like a refined and ascetic work of art.
His slightly tilted neckline was as graceful as a stag’s, and every line of his body was neat and straight without any curved or twisted places.
Even the earlobe slightly exposed due to his combed-back hair was pale and clear—the boy was so neat and beautiful that he could be carved into a cathedral stained glass window without any sense of incongruity.
A boy so perfect without flaw and so elegant that it was embarrassing for disheveled and splotchy Ruslan to even stand near him.
On Sarka’s face, so white and elegant that one wondered if it was okay to be so clean, Ruslan could see puzzlement and slight absurdity rising. Ruslan’s heart truly melted from embarrassment.
Ruslan suddenly doubted whether Sarka even knew his name properly. It wouldn’t be surprising if he didn’t even remember who he was.
Frozen from tension, Ruslan flinched when he felt Sarka’s gaze, which had been looking at him with puzzlement, linger on his left eye area.
The eyelid he had gotten beaten by Bruce’s gang a few days ago was now swollen hideously with blue and yellow mixed together. Ruslan unconsciously raised his hand and covered his eye area while pretending to touch his hair.
“……”
Suddenly, as if confirming, Sarka turned his head to look at Bruce’s gang, who were glaring at Ruslan with nasty expressions from the back of the classroom.
As soon as their eyes met, Bruce’s gang also hurriedly turned their heads away. They probably didn’t want to offend Sarka and the boys either.
“……”
Sarka seemed to vaguely remember who Ruslan was only then.
After briefly silencing while thinking about something, Sarka finally looked back at his friends and suggested in a soft voice.
“……Alright, then I’ll pair up with Ruslan. Does the number match now?”
Ruslan looked back at Sarka with trembling eyes.
Sarka’s friends, who had been silent awkwardly, exchanged glances with each other, then soon shrugged their shoulders and readily accepted Sarka’s proposal.
“Alright.”
“Welcome, Ruslan.”
