CICN 79

Chapter 79

The items spilled across the floor were nothing more than junk.

A pencil with its lead snapped, a pen broken in two, half-filled notebooks—odds and ends barely worthy of being called belongings.

In truth, calling them “belongings” was generous. They were closer to trash.

The gathered students, expecting something else entirely, froze in confusion.

The one most shocked was Izriella.

“Th-This can’t be right…”

The moment Ibi opened the box, she had secretly rejoiced. At last, she thought, the girl would give up and reveal the stolen goods.

But inside the box were nothing anyone would ever bother to steal—things most wouldn’t even bother to pick up if given for free.

“No! This isn’t possible!”

Izriella tore through the items scattered on the floor. But no matter how much she rummaged, there were no bracelets, no trinkets, none of the valuable possessions she had imagined.

Then her eyes caught on a paper envelope, carefully folded and tucked away. Unlike the rest, it had clearly been hidden with some care.

That must be it!

Snatching it up, Izriella ripped the top open.

The contents spilled to the ground.

“Wait… are those…?”

Startled voices rose once again.

“Cookies?”

“There are other snacks too.”

Crumbled cookies littered the ground, releasing a sweet, buttery scent.

Izriella stared into the empty envelope, aghast. Only crumbs remained.

“No… this can’t be happening…”

Desperately, she snatched the box from Ibi’s hands and shook it out. But nothing fell.

Her confident demeanor collapsed in an instant.

When she looked back, the classmates who had joined her in tormenting Ibi had already stepped back, fear written across their faces.

The same students who had cheered her on moments ago now looked at her as if to say, You must have been wrong about this.

Holding Ibi in his arms, Clois rose to his feet. The accusation of theft was shattered. Now what mattered was tending to her injuries.

“Wait! Where do you think you’re going?!”

Izriella lunged, grabbing at his clothes in desperation. But when Clois glared down at her, she flinched and let go—though she did not back off completely.

“Ibi Elden isn’t the only liar here!”

She had failed to brand Ibi a thief, but she was certain of one thing: this man was not Professor Cyan Roshen. Her brother had checked the records over and over.

Pointing an accusing finger, she shouted, “You! You’re a fraud!”

Arcel and Ruska bristled, ready to rush forward, but Clois shook his head. He wanted to hear how much she actually knew.

“Our family investigated everything. Professor Cyan Roshen is a geologist, over seventy years old, and long since retired to his hometown due to ill health! So how can you claim to be him? Tell us—are you really Professor Cyan Roshen?”

Her shrill voice echoed.

Clois answered evenly, “You’re right. I am not Cyan Roshen.”

The room erupted with murmurs.

Finally!

Relief flooded Izriella. She had been floundering after accusing Ibi of theft only to come up empty-handed. But at least this man was an impostor—that much had to be true. And now, he had admitted it himself.

He couldn’t escape. Students surrounded them on all sides, and the Academy’s staff had arrived to block the corridor.

In Clois’s arms, Ibi trembled and whispered, “Professor… you’re not?”

“Ibi, I—”

Perhaps she felt betrayed. Clois hurried to explain.

But then Ibi asked, her voice breaking, “Does that mean… we can’t meet anymore?”

Clois’s throat tightened.

She wasn’t angry at the lie. She was afraid that if he wasn’t truly her professor, she would lose him forever. Her green eyes trembled with that fear.

“Step aside!”

The staff began pushing into the room.

Izriella drew herself up proudly and pointed.

“Seize that fraud! He’s been colluding with Ibi, that lowborn brat, to impersonate a professor—”

“Why call her lowborn?” Clois cut in.

“Because she’s from the orphanage, of course!”

“And why should being from an orphanage make her lowborn?”

“I… well…”

Caught off guard, Izriella faltered. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Because… just… look at her!”

She scrambled for justification, then seized on the scattered junk.

“See? Picking up things others throw away, eating scraps! If you search harder, you’ll probably find things she did steal!”

At that, Ibi finally spoke.

“No! I never stole anything!”

Her frail voice shook as much as her body, but she forced herself to continue.

“They were all things people threw away. Everyone here just… tosses them aside. So I thought it was okay to keep them… to collect them…”

Her voice dwindled to a whisper.

The Academy’s students were all children of nobles or, at the very least, wealthy families. They had the luxury to discard without care—snapping a pencil and throwing it away, tossing aside a notebook with just a page or two filled.

And Ibi had gathered those things.

How humiliating it must have been to confess, before everyone, that she survived on what others discarded.

The scent of broken cookies lingered in the air, bitter in Clois’s chest. For the other children, they were nothing but waste. For Ibi, they were treasures, carefully wrapped and tucked away—meant as gifts for the friends she had left behind in the orphanage.

So that’s why she didn’t want anyone to see inside the box…

Even a child had pride. To admit she collected castoffs was unbearable, especially when those scraps were lovingly prepared to be sent as “presents” to the children still living in poverty.

As Clois’s heart twisted with regret, Ibi gazed down at the mess on the floor.

Since coming to the Academy, her life had been full of blessings.

There were bullies, yes, but there were also kind people—Professor Cyan, Irene, Arcel, Ruska, Professor Malles.

She slept in a warm, soft bed each night, ate as much delicious food as she wanted, and had endless books to read.

It was like paradise. And each day, she wrote letters to her friends back at the orphanage: about what she saw, what she learned, who she met, and what she ate.

But eventually, her hand would falter.

I’m the only one living so well.

Her friends were still rationing potatoes, still quarreling over a single tattered book. And she alone was living a dream.

Guilt drove her to share even a piece of her happiness.

That was when she noticed the abandoned pencils on the classroom floor—discarded though they still had use. She picked them up, gathered them, and even salvaged cookies the students tossed away at mealtimes.

Not stolen. Merely rescued from the trash.

Just then, a sharp voice rang from the doorway.

“What is going on here?”

Seraphina swept into the room, shoving past the crowd. When her eyes landed on Clois at the center, she gasped.

“Your Majesty! What is the meaning of this?”

Your Majesty?

The words left the onlookers stunned.

And then, all at once—

“……!!!”

A shock greater than anything yet rippled through the gathered students.