Chapter 132: Party Time
"First place — European All-Star Academy."
Adrian read from the floating text.
"Fifteen guaranteed student slots at The Silent Star Pool."
The room went quiet.
Stunned quiet.
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "For those unfamiliar — and that should be most of you, because this facility is classified at one of the highest level of the World Government — The Silent Star Pool is a pre-Cataclysm comprehension pool located in the IAR Restricted Sanctum beneath New Geneva, Switzerland."
He paused for effect.
"A single hour inside triples comprehension speed for any cultivation technique, spell, or skill. The pool is estimated to be over ten thousand years old. Its origin is classified as unknown. It was discovered during the construction of New Geneva’s foundations in the early days of the World Government and has been guarded ever since. Fewer than two hundred people have ever entered it."
"Ten C-Rank dungeon raid permits granted to the academy. For context, C-Rank dungeon permits are normally restricted to national military forces only. No academy on Earth currently holds more than two."
Lucian filed that away. C-Rank dungeons meant C-Rank resources. C-Rank resources meant faster growth for everyone.
"Full access to the IAR Sealed Technique Archive. This archive contains over two hundred cultivation techniques and spell scrolls ranging from A to S-Rank, collected over three hundred years from fallen dungeons and extinct clans. The academy may copy any twenty techniques per year."
Ryan nearly choked on his water. Twenty S-Rank techniques per year. The entire Research Department would collectively lose their minds.
"Twenty Sky Grade Mana Gathering Pills for each of the fifteen selected students."
Sky Grade. Two tiers above the pills Lucian had been using. The mana absorption rate of a Sky Grade pill was roughly ten times that of a basic pill.
"Five King Grade Body Tempering Pills for each of the fifteen selected students."
"Five hundred thousand credits to each of the fifteen students."
"And finally — one S-Rank defensive barrier matrix installation for the academy grounds. This is a permanent fixture. Once installed, it will provide the academy with a defensive barrier capable of withstanding sustained assault from Grand Core Realm cultivators. In practical terms, no beast horde or dungeon break will ever threaten the academy again."
Adrian let that sink in.
"Second place — Chinese Vanguard Institute."
"Fifteen guaranteed student slots at The Silent Star Pool. Five C-Rank dungeon raid permits. Access to the IAR Sealed Technique Archive — may copy ten techniques per year. Ten Sky Grade Mana Gathering Pills. Three King Grade Body Tempering Pills. Two hundred thousand credits to each of the fifteen students."
"Third place — American Apex Academy."
Sarah Mitchell raised her glass from the American table.
"Eight guaranteed student slots at The Silent Star Pool. Three C-Rank dungeon raid permits. Access to the IAR Sealed Technique Archive — may copy five techniques per year. Five Sky Grade Mana Gathering Pills. Two King Grade Body Tempering Pills. One hundred thousand credits to each of the fifteen students."
Adrian closed the display and spread his arms.
"That concludes the sixty-seventh International Champions League Award Ceremony. The party, I’m told, will continue until none of you can stand. Please enjoy yourselves responsibly — which, knowing this crowd, means not at all."
Laughter.
"Good night, everyone. And congratulations to all our winners."
The lights shifted — the formal white-gold illumination softening into warm amber and deep blue. Music started— a live band.
The Palazzo Dominus transformed.
The formal seating arrangement dissolved as people stood, mingled, drifted. Waiters appeared with trays of food and drinks — real food, not academy rations. Steaming plates of seared meat, crystalline glasses of wine and champagne, platters of fruit and cheese that probably cost more per serving than Lucian’s monthly expenses at the academy.
Clara grabbed Ryan’s hand and pulled him toward the dance floor before Lucian could say anything.
"Come on, little brother. You’re dancing."
"I don’t dance," Ryan protested.
"You do tonight."
They disappeared into the crowd. Clara’s silver hair caught the light as she spun, laughing at something Ryan said. Rose joined them a moment later along with the rest of the group.
Lucian found a spot against a marble column near the edge of the room. A waiter passed by. Lucian took two glasses of something red and strong and drank both himself.
Lucian finished his sixth glass and set it on a passing tray.
"Hey."
Mickey appeared beside him, also holding a drink, his tie loosened and his jacket slung over one shoulder. He looked more relaxed than Lucian had ever seen him.
"I’m surprised you don’t know how to dance," Mickey said, leaning against the column. "You seem like an all-rounder."
Lucian smugged. "I just don’t like to dance."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Mickey took a sip. "This tournament was a blast, man. We make quite the good team, don’t we?"
"I guess so."
"Come on, dance with me."
Lucian looked at him with a flat expression. "Nah. I’m not gay."
Mickey nearly choked on his drink. "What — no, that’s not — I meant as friends, you absolute — I have a girlfriend, bro. She’s back in Nigeria. I was talking about — you know what, forget it."
"You’re the one who asked me to dance with you."
"I’m talking about brotherly dancing. You know, like — you stand there, I stand there, we move our arms a bit, look cool —"
"That sounds terrible."
"It’s called having fun, Lucian. You should try it sometime."
Lucian raised an empty glass toward him. "I’m having fun."
"You’re standing against a column drinking alone at a party. That’s the opposite of fun."
"It’s my way."
Mickey stared at him as he gave up and said, "Forget it, man."
Mickey clapped him on the shoulder and wandered back toward the crowd.
The party continued.
Hours passed. The crowd thinned slightly as older guests — the officials, the clan representatives, the donors — began leaving. The students stayed. The band kept playing. The drinks kept flowing.
Lucian lost track of time somewhere around his ninth glass. The alcohol didn’t affect him much — vampire metabolism burned through it fast — but it took the edge off the lingering exhaustion from the finals.
Past midnight. Maybe one in the morning. The music had shifted to something slower, more intimate. The dance floor was less crowded now. Couples moved together in the dim amber light.
Clara had gone back to the hotel an hour ago. She’d kissed Lucian’s cheek and left with some of the group. At least, Lucian thought Rose had left with them.
He decided to head back himself.
Then he saw her.
Rose Chevalier was sitting on the steps of the Palazzo’s interior fountain — the one in the center of the venue’s main hall, surrounded by potted plants and soft blue lighting. She was alone. Her emerald dress was slightly disheveled.
She was absolutely drunk.
Lucian sighed.
"You’ve got to be kidding me."
He walked over. Rose’s eyes tracked him.
"Luciaaaan," she drawled, breaking into a sloppy smile. "You look so cute."
She reached up and grabbed his face with both hands. Before Lucian could react, she pulled him downward — directly into her chest.
"Come on," she mumbled into his hair. "They’re softer than Clara’s, right?"
Lucian’s face was pressed against her. The fabric of her dress was thin. What was beneath it was —
So soft.
He shook his head violently and pulled free. Rose giggled, her arms going limp at her sides.
"Alright. Come on. You’re going back."
He bent down and hauled her up.
"Hey — put me down — I can walk —"
"You can’t even open your eyes properly."
"I’m flying," Rose announced to nobody in particular as Lucian carried her through the thinning crowd. A few students glanced their way. Most were too drunk themselves to care.
The night air hit them as they stepped outside. Rome in summer was warm even at this hour. The streets around the Palazzo were lined with parked vehicles and idling drivers.
Lucian walked. Rose hummed something tuneless against his back, her fingers playing with the collar of his jacket.
"How far is the hotel?" she asked.
"Ten minutes."
"I can walk."
"You can’t."
"I caaaan."
"You’re drunk."
"...Okay, maybe a little."
They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Rose’s humming faded.
They reached the hotel. Lucian carried her through the lobby — the night staff glanced at them but said nothing — and into the elevator. Rose’s room was two floors below Lucian and Clara’s.
He swiped her keycard and pushed the door open.
He walked to the bed and dropped her onto it gently. Her emerald dress fanned out around her. Her hair spread across the pillow. She looked up at him with hazy green eyes.
"Thank you, Lucian."
"Go to sleep, Rose."
He turned to leave.
Her hand caught his wrist.
"Wait."
Lucian stopped. Looked back. Rose was sitting up slightly, the straps of her dress slipping off one shoulder. The dim light from the city filtering through the window caught the curve of her neck, the line of her collarbone, the rise and fall of her chest.
"Stay," she whispered.
"Rose—"
She pulled.
Lucian stumbled.
He collapsed on top of her.
The bed dipped. Rose’s legs parted as he fell between them. His weight settled against her body — his chest against hers, his hips between her thighs. The thin fabric of her dress and the tailored suit pants between them were the only barriers.
Lucian went rigid.
Because he could feel her. The warmth of her body through the clothing. The soft press of her breasts against his chest. And lower — directly lower — his dick was pressed against her entrance.
Rose’s breath hitched.
"Come on," she whispered. Her lips were close to his ear. Her breath was warm and smelled of wine and something sweeter underneath. "I know Clara is more beautiful than I am. But I’m sure I’m quite good looking, right?"
Lucian’s breathing was heavy. His body was responding to the warmth beneath him, the softness, the proximity.
"Yeah," he whispered back.
Rose’s hand slid up his chest. Her fingers found the collar of his jacket and curled into the fabric.
"Then stop holding back."
Lucian looked down at her.
Something in him — something he’d been keeping locked down since she grabbed his face at the fountain — stopped fighting.
He pushed the fabric of his suit pants to the side.