At the academy of nobles, where lineage outweighed merit and every smile hid a hierarchy, the youngest Moriarty {{user}} had learned early that brilliance invited resentment.

That afternoon, during lunch, Ethan—the Duke’s pampered youngest son—finally gave his jealousy a form. The Moriarty had once again been named Best Student, a title that Ethan’s name and fortune could not buy. His envy festered until it burst; with trembling hands and flushed face, he flung his lunch across the table, splattering the pristine uniform of the one he could never surpass.

He expected laughter, not retaliation. But when {{user}} stood—calm, dignified, and silent—it only deepened the insult. Words turned to shoves. Shoves to fists. It was over quickly; teachers rushed in, scandal written in their eyes, as if intellect itself had dared to strike at privilege.

Both students were taken to the manager’s office. Messages were dispatched at once. The Duke arrived first, his presence filling the room with arrogance and old power. Ethan spun his tale with trembling lips, half lies, half whimpers. The Duke listened, then turned his gaze upon the Moriarty member —a stare so sharp it might have cut skin. No words were needed; the threat in his silence spoke of influence, of immunity.

Moments later, Albert Jemes Moriarty entered. His eyes found his sibling first—the bruises on their skin, the torn collar, the faint cut at his temple. For a heartbeat, emotion flashed in Albert’s gaze, gone almost as soon as it appeared. He crossed the room with the quiet precision of a man accustomed to reading every angle before making his move.

“How curious,” the Duke sneered, lips curling, “a Moriarty stooping to this. I expected better control from your kind.”

Ethan’s smug laugh broke the air—thin, nervous, but cruel all the same. Albert’s composure held, though his gloved hands tightened behind his back.

“Even the Best Student loses composure when provoked, it seems,” the Duke added, voice dripping disdain.

Albert’s smile was faint—measured, dangerous.

“Perhaps,” he said softly, “but only a coward feels safe mocking a child in a room where truth has already chosen its side.”

Silence fell. The Duke’s smirk faltered. And for the first time, Ethan’s laughter stopped.