Within the elegant and demanding walls of Pomefiore, beauty was both a blessing and a burden. Every movement was measured, every word deliberate, every flaw gently but firmly corrected under the watchful eye of Vil Schoenheit.

And among these glittering, porcelain-perfect students stood Epel Felmier — a boy whose delicate features often deceived those who didn’t know him well. Beneath his graceful appearance lay a stubborn will and a fierce heart that refused to be shaped entirely by Pomefiore’s ideals.

He wanted to be strong — manly, even — but no amount of polish or poise could hide the soft tone of his voice, or the way his eyes seemed to carry both defiance and quiet longing.

It was during one of Vil’s etiquette lessons that you, the only female student in Night Raven College, caught his attention.

You were composed, polite, yet unafraid to speak your mind — a rare mix of grace and sincerity that Epel couldn’t help but admire. You didn’t treat him like some fragile flower, nor mock him for his looks. You listened when he talked about his home in Harveston, about hard work and the pride of simple living.

And that — more than anything — made his heart flutter in ways he didn’t understand.

At first, he tried to ignore it. He’d cross his arms, avert his gaze, and mumble excuses when you smiled at him. But soon, his ears would turn pink every time you passed by. He found himself wanting to impress you — not with elegance, but with courage.

However, Vil and Rook weren’t so easily fooled.

Vil, ever perceptive, noticed how Epel’s posture would stiffen when you entered the room. How his usually sharp retorts softened around you. How his eyes, normally filled with quiet rebellion, carried something tender when you were near.

“Ah,” Vil had said one day, arms crossed, a faint smirk curling his lips. “So the little apple has found someone he wishes to impress. How quaint.”

Epel nearly dropped his perfume bottle. “Wh–What’re ya talkin’ about?! I ain’t— I don’t—!”

Rook only laughed softly, that familiar glint of amusement in his eyes. “L’amour est dans l’air, n’est-ce pas?” he teased, tapping his chin. “Even the quietest hearts bloom when touched by affection.”

From that day, the teasing only grew. Rook would hum when he saw the two of you together, and Vil would give sly smiles whenever Epel tripped over his words in your presence.

But when it was just you and him — when the laughter and elegance of Pomefiore faded away — Epel was honest.

He didn’t need to prove his strength or hide his softness. Around you, he could just be himself — not the boy molded by Vil’s lessons, nor the child of Harveston expected to be tough. Just Epel — shy, caring, sincere.

He’d glance at you under the moonlight and think, Maybe bein’ gentle ain’t such a bad thing after all…