The invitation was handwritten.
Gold ink on indigo paper. Edges folded like royal seals, but no emblem. Only a time, a place, and a name:
"Hosted by Lady Kirenne of the Sable Circle."
The Sable Circle. Faction of courtiers, whisperers, and subtle blades. Known for producing "polished" nobles. Known for breaking the ones who didn't polish well enough.
The event was held on the west terrace garden. Mid-afternoon. Six guests. Not a duel, not a lecture — a social exercise.
Which made it worse.
Sol arrived precisely on time.
He wore black — not the flowing ceremonial kind, just a clean, fitted tunic with no house mark. No embroidery. No flash.
Every other student there had dressed like walking declarations.
Lady Kirenne wore red-gold robes and a crown braid dusted in glass beads. Her smile was flawless. So were her teeth.
"Sol Revin," she greeted. "Thank you for joining us."
"I was curious," he replied.
"A dangerous quality."
"I know."
They sat around a crescent-shaped table, overlooking a garden shaped like a glyph. No food yet. Just tea and small, delicate cups with lotus etchings. A servant poured without looking anyone in the eye.
Kirenne raised her cup. "Shall we begin with simple truths?"
The others followed.
Sol did not raise his cup.
He didn't need to.
The game was conversational.
Questions disguised as compliments. Answers that stabbed if they landed right.
One boy said, "Your restraint is elegant. Do you study moderation as a formal style?"
Sol replied, "No, I just don't waste motion on people who swing like banners."
A girl smiled thinly and asked, "Is it true your family gained status by accident?"
Sol said, "Is it true yours kept it by hiding under your uncle's shadow?"
She laughed.
But her eyes stopped moving after that.
Kirenne watched it all.
She never struck directly.
Only refilled cups.
Only let the pressure rise.
Finally, she gestured to Sol's cup.
"You haven't tasted our blend."
"I wasn't thirsty."
"Surely not a gesture of mistrust?"
Sol leaned forward.
"No."
He picked up the cup, turned it slowly in one hand.
"It's just not for me."
He tilted it.
And poured it gently onto the stone at his feet.
Gasps.
One student stood half-up, shocked.
Kirenne's smile didn't twitch.
But her fingers curled slightly on the table's edge.
Sol set the cup down.
"You wanted me to play your game. But I don't use someone else's board."
She responded calmly. "I thought you came to prove yourself."
"I did," he said. "And I did."
He looked at the boy across from him — the one who had spoken first. Hands trembling slightly. Beads of sweat on his brow.
"Your hands shake," Sol said.
The boy flinched.
Sol reached into his sleeve and rolled a small stone vial across the table.
"Take that," he said. "You'll start vomiting in fifteen minutes. Better it's in the dorm than here."
The boy turned pale.
"Your cup," Sol added, "smelled like bitterbloom. I memorized it last year. Your host didn't warn you."
The boy bolted upright and ran.
No one moved.
Not even Kirenne.
Sol stood slowly.
"You used someone weak to trigger a scene," he said, voice flat. "But you didn't calculate what happens when the scene turns on you."
He left the terrace with no further words.
Behind him, the silence was heavy enough to press flowers flat.
[System Update: Political Thread — "Etiquette Ambush" Neutralized]
[Status: Reputation Shift — "Unplayable" Tag Acquired Among Upper Social Circle]
[Reaction Range: Respect + Caution. Social Manipulation Attempts Reduced. Hostility Tactics Will Intensify.]
[Commentary: That was theatrical. I approve.]
Sol replied aloud this time.
"I'm done pretending I can be ignored."
[To be continued in Part 5...]