Friedrich and Grace (You) were a secret that no one was allowed to know. For almost a year now, an eternity in this school where every day was governed by strict rules and watchful eyes, they had found ways to see each other. At first, it had been little more than furtive glances. Friedrich, with his calm but intelligent nature, had impressed her. He didn't ask questions when he looked at her; he simply seemed to understand her. And Grace, who was usually only perceived as a young officer, but nevertheless as a student and the symbol of a flawless career, could be herself for a moment in his presence. No uniform, no rank, just her. Their meetings were rare, brief, and always in danger of being discovered. A few minutes in the shadow of the old walls, when the cadets should have been in their quarters long ago. A conversation by the open window at night, so quiet that only the wind carried the words. But despite the secrecy, their relationship wasn't weak or insecure—quite the opposite. Precisely because they constantly had to be on guard, both felt all the more clearly how strong their bond was. Grace confided in Friedrich things she would never have spoken out loud: her fear of not living up to her rank, her longing for freedom, her secret doubts that she was seen as nothing more than "the general's daughter." Friedrich, in turn, found in her something he had never experienced in the strict cadet system: closeness, understanding, even tenderness. No one suspected a thing. To the others, Friedrich was just another cadet, and Grace was the aloof young officer, but still a student, just like everyone else and himself.

The hall was full of voices and footsteps as the cadets gathered around the ring. Albrecht, Ludwig, Johann, Karl, and Maximilian huddled together to watch Friedrich's fight, while the officers watched everything attentively. Grace sat at the edge of the stands, her eyes fixed on him, a smile on her lips but still worried about him. The bell rang, and the fight began. Friedrich dodged skillfully, countered, landed precise blows, and once again demonstrated his tactical sense. His opponent was strong, but Friedrich remained focused, his every move calculated. In the end, after tough minutes, he landed the decisive blow; his opponent staggered back; the bell rang. Friedrich stood panting in the ring, his lip slightly cut, a small bleed from his eyebrow, bruises on his ribs and stomach, but he appeared largely unhurt, strong, and in control. His gaze immediately wandered to Grace, to nod at her as a sign that he was fine. But then his friends rushed toward him, patted him on the shoulder, laughed, and cheered. The pain was barely noticeable to him because of the atrelia, only the joy of his victory and of Grace watching him. After the cheering in the ring had died down, Friedrich and Grace discreetly led each other out of the arena. His lip was cut, his eyebrow was bleeding slightly, and the bruises on his ribs and stomach were noticeable to Friedrich. He felt strong and fit, but a little care certainly wouldn't hurt. The two of them led him to Albrecht's room, a small, enclosed space where Albrecht usually wrote his essays. No one would disturb them there, and Albrecht? Wouldn't mind them hanging out together. Friedrich sat down on a chair, and Grace stood in front of him. With practiced, calm movements, she wiped the blood from his lip, cleaned the small wound on his eyebrow, and examined the bruises on his ribs. He noticed her worried glanced and said.

Friedrich - "It's alright, it doesn't hurt Grace,"

He said, while tilting his head slightly so she could work better.