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The reception hall was flooded with students, faculty, and knights alike. The staff had stored away the regular tables and benches, and replaced them all with as many chairs as they could fit inside without causing a fire hazard, while still leaving some space left for their makeshift stage.
Sylvain may have used a lethal combination of his dazzling charisma, Dimitri’s royal status, and good old brute force, but he had managed to secure front row seats for him and his friends. He ordinarily didn’t enjoy exerting this much effort into anything unrelated to wooing women, but this time he made an exception.
“How in the saints’ holy names did the professor convince Felix Hugo Fraldarius to represent the Blue Lions in the White Heron Cup?” Ingrid asked, still flabbergasted. And justifiably so. “He hates participating in class! And social events! And dancing!”
“Apparently, the professor said something about it helping with his swordsmanship?” Dimitri shrugged, equally gobsmacked. As he should be.
“This is the best day of my life.” Sylvain grinned, eagerly awaiting the show to commence. Which was his goddess-given right.
The rest of their classmates all seemed to fall somewhere within the spectrum they’ve created. Dedue was as stoic and unreadable as ever, Ashe was just excited for the festivities, Mercedes was already clapping in earnest, and while Annette had been disappointed at first that she had not been picked, it was swiftly overtaken by a mix of offense and amusement that Felix had been her stead.
Apparently, Shamir, Alois, and Manuela would be the judges. Which didn’t make much sense to Sylvain. Shamir didn’t really seem like the type to care much about dancing. Alois didn’t look exactly like he knew what he should be doing either. And while Manuela was definitely qualified, one of the participants was going to be from her class, though she assured the audience she would be impartial.
The first one up was the Golden Deer House. When Hilda stepped onto the stage, Sylvain could hear Claude whooping somewhere behind him. She was wearing an adorable calf-length pastel yellow dress that bounced as she walked. The music started playing, an uptempo number that matched Hilda’s upbeat style. She held the hem of her skirt as she swayed, causing it to flow along with her movements, as if she were fluttering in the wind. She winked and blew kisses towards the cheering crowd, and even Sylvain couldn’t help but blush. She spun and twirled before them, before finishing her performance with a curtsy.
Hilda was met with rambunctious applause and she waved before sasahying back to her seat.
Up next would be the Black Eagles House. Dorothea strutted to the center of the stage, showing off a fancy floor-length rich red ballgown. In the corner of his eye, Sylvain could make out Edelgard’s flushed face upon seeing her. Sylvain thought Dorothea of all people competing was a tad unfair. Not only did she have a background in performing, but she used to be Manuela’s protege, even if the healer had reassured that she would be unbiased.
However, even objectively speaking, Dorothea danced like a work of art. The music she had selected was slower paced, and she matched the rhythm in tandem. Her motions were bold and drastic. She always did love to portray characters with a flare for the dramatic, after all. She hiked up her skirt, revealing a glimpse of her ankle, before sweeping the hem across the ground with a flourish. While Hilda’s performance accentuated her cuteness, Dorothea’s exaggerated her elegance. Striking one final pose, she finished with a bow.
She was met with a standing ovation, which she basked in for a moment, before floating back to her seat.
Now Sylvain felt somewhat guilty. While he had laughed at the idea of Felix dancing in front of everyone, even Sylvain wouldn’t want to follow up that performance. And with the Blue Lions House going last, everybody’s expectations would be through the roof at this point.
But then, Felix waltzed into the room and Sylvain’s jaw dropped.
He was wearing a deep dark navy blue traditional Faerghus-style toga. It was tied up asymmetrically, hanging over one shoulder with one side hanging by his knee and the other side hanging by his thigh. He had several bangles and bracelets on each wrist as well as both of his ankles. His hair was pulled back like usual, but instead of his regular practical bun or loose ponytail, it was done up in a braid. Felix noticed him immediately and glared at him, which was when Sylvain realized he was wearing make up, too. Black kohl had been carefully painted around his eyes, making his amber irises appear like burning coal.
Sylvain felt his cheeks warm. Felix had never been one to care for fashion. He certainly had a certain aesthetic, but he always favored practicality and function over style. Which made Sylvain wonder what type of dark magic his professor has placed his childhood friend under to make him agree to this.
And then the music commenced, a rapid staccato of notes and scales even faster than Hilda’s tune. And Felix sprang into action, as quick as he was on the battlefield. His feet stomped onto the floor like a war drum, thrusting his hands this way and that, as if he were throwing a flurry of punches. Sylvain wasn’t sure if he was witnessing a dance or a sparring session. And then the melody hit a key change, and suddenly Felix was gracefully spinning towards the audience, towards Sylvain.
Sylvain stared as Felix emerged before him, but his oldest friend merely squinted back as he leaned down and reached his hand out. Sylvain could feel Felix’s breath on his nose and instinctively closed his eyes, having no clue where this was going. But then he felt a tug at his hip, and by the time he had opened his eyes again, Felix had drawn the sword Sylvain had strapped to his hip.
While the vast majority of the Blue Lions were average with a sword at best, every single male student carried one around at all times. It was practically a part of their school uniform. It was inherit Faerghus paranoia to always be armed in case of an attack, rooted from the Tragedy of Duscur. And while Sylvain and most others from his class preferred to wield a lance, they weren’t very practical to carry around school grounds, so swords were deemed much more convenient. It was unsurprisingly one of the handful of Faerghus habits that Felix indulged in. Thankfully, a lot of the other students also seemed to drag various swords everywhere, so it wasn’t too out of place.
However, Sylvain still wasn’t sure why his best friend had just pickpocketed his sword in the middle of a dance performance.
But then Felix slashed the sword in an arc, right over Sylvain’s and Ingrid’s heads, causing them to yelp in shock. Felix’s piercing gaze never left Sylvain’s eyes as he danced, the sword becoming an extension of his arm as he went through different katas. Felix then glanced at Dimitri, who audibly gulped. Instead of walking towards the prince, he did a handspring into an aerial flip. And in one fluid motion, he had pilfered Dimitri’s sword, as well.
Now dual wielding, Felix switched fighting stances to reflect that. He mimed stabbing with one sword while bludgeoning another invisible opponent with the butt of the other. And then he swung one of the swords into the air, throwing it up in a way that it rotated, before backflipping over to Dedue. Even the prince’s retainer was too stunned to do anything as Felix stole his sword, too. And before the tossed sword could land and skewer a random onlooker, Felix launched another sword into the air to free one of his hands to catch the other, before repeating the movement.
Felix Hugo Fraldarius was juggling swords. Sylvain was now suspecting that the professor had not cast a spell onto Felix, but instead onto the crowd. This had to be some form of glamour.
Suddenly, a clap of thunder reverberated across the hall as flashes of light came crackling from Felix’s fingertips, causing the blades to glow azure with arcs of lightning, so only the hilts remained safely insulated. It apparently wasn’t enough to potentially impale himself, Felix just had to infuse his very conductible swords with electricity to spice things up. Felix then, still juggling his swords, did a front walkover towards Ashe, whose cheeks were now a brightly vibrant pink. Unlike the rest of his classmates, the freckled boy didn’t have the training experience or innate strength to lug around longswords or broadswords everyday, so instead he was strapped with a short-sword that could pass for a dagger or knife.
Ashe, the polite boy he was, offered Felix his sword shaft-first instead of waiting for the other boy to rob him. Felix, in between his juggling act, carefully readjusted the positioning of Ashe’s fingers so that the tip of the sword was pointed towards Felix. Felix kissed the flat end of the sword, before gradually shoving it down his throat, startling Ashe to lose his grip.
All of a sudden, the armrests of Sylvain’s chair was singed as a weak fire spell was emitted from his palm. Ingrid had crushed hers completely. He also vaguely registered Annette fainting and Mercedes praying underneath her breath somewhere in the background.
Felix swallowed the sword down to the handle, and only because the hand-guard couldn’t fit past his lips.
He tilted his head up, and with a flourish, he tossed every single sword up as high as he could one last time, even spitting out the one in his mouth. He stretched out both arms, grabbing the first sword with one hand and nabbing the second with the other. He then kicked a leg up, doing a perfect standing split to swiped the third between his toes. And he finished it off by snatching the fourth and final one in between his teeth.
The crowd was so awestruck, they forgot to even clap as Felix all but stormed back to his seat. Sylvain was no better. Even after countless of battles and glimpses of death, his heart had never beat so rapidly. He was sweating so much, he feared he would leave permanent stains on the chair. And for completely unknown reasons, his pants felt tighter.
Yet somehow, when Felix was unanimously deemed the winner, all he had to say was, “Nonsense.”