Emilia was acting… strange. Granted, Olivier wouldn’t generally describe her as anything other than strange—seriously, what sort of girl has the confidence to invade a classroom and behave as though she belongs there when she isn’t enrolled in the school, let alone the class?—but her performance this class had been even odder than usual.
Usually, Emilia was loud and vibrant, filling the room with carefree happiness that enamoured her to some students and made her a villain to others—some of the students were just too stuffy, seeming to think that laughter or smiles in any class as inappropriate. While the girl didn’t belong in the class, Olivier couldn’t deny that if she were actually enrolled, she would do well in it.
He might not actually grade the assignments she submitted, but he did read them. Even if her participation in class didn’t count towards her grade, she still did so, somehow managing to toe the line between being a wallflower and being too much of a presence in the class, as though Olivier’s entire being weren’t somehow always honed into her, regardless of how quiet she was.
That
quiet, however, was usually somewhere between polite and rude—a leaving of space for the students who were actually being graded to speak and contribute to the discussion, and a silent derision that practically vibrated out of her whenever someone said something particularly stupid.
One of his students was currently saying something ridiculously stupid about how attempts by the government to outlaw hacking ones’ Censor were completely appropriate, the example that had come up—how those with several irregular deviations deemed
high risk
sometimes hacked their Censors in order to escape laws that put restrictions on them, regardless of whether they’d ever actually done anything deserving of such restrictions—apparently a
perfect example of why all hacking should be illegal.
According to this student, anyone found with a hacked Censor should be sentenced to hard labour.
The boy was working on a degree in political science, and Olivier worried for the future of their country. Emilia, however, was quiet, despite her own powerful opinions on hacking and association with laws that only effected a small portion of the population.
Emilia was quiet, withdrawn, and something was wrong.
Was it just that she was finally giving up on convincing him to take over her case? As much as Olivier would argue that she should give up, this sullen mood didn’t suit the beautiful young woman, even her generally sloppy posture more loose than usual. Was it really just that? Or had something else happened? Given that she’d still shown up for class, surely she must not have given up? Perhaps this was just her newest ploy? Seem like a small kicked animal, so he’d take pity on her?
It wouldn’t work—Olivier had enough control of himself not to let her manipulate him like that, even if seeing her so sad made his skin itch to pick her up and tuck her into him. She was so small and delicate that she would fit against him—could easily be tucked under his chin, his hands left to roam her body and cup that glorious ass that she rarely covered enough, her cheeks hanging out and just asking for someone to fall to their knees to worship them.
Fucking stars would he like to worship that ass, bury his face in it and lick, fuck his fingers into her tight hole until she was begging him to fill her up.
As much as her offering sex in exchange for her help on her case was inappropriate, if he didn’t take the case, perhaps they could do… something. How, he had no idea. While he had had sex before—and was perfectly aware of exactly what sort of sex he preferred—those instances had been surface level, people with similar interests meeting to explore their mutual kinks and laugh about how awkward they were together, all so one day, they’d be confident in their abilities with an actual partner.
If he were forced to try and pick someone up—someone like Emilia, who tossed her hair and had every boy in class, even those who disliked her, begging to be allowed between her legs—Olivier would have no idea where to start. He was awkward and stilted, and while he did okay in court and in front of his students, in front of anyone else? In front of the bratty silverstrain that consumed his thoughts even when he was trying his best to forget she existed?
In front of that girl, he was liable to fall apart. Perhaps, that would be for the best. Not only would she turn him down—silverstrains might be known for having insatiable sex drives, but while Emilia was open about her enjoyment of sex, she did have standards, turning down the boys with less desirable opinions when they attempted to ask her out—but she would realize how much of a blubbering idiot he could be and stop trying to make him take her case.
Then, she would leave, taking her sunshine with her, and he…
The door at the back of the classroom opened softly, several of the students glancing back, interruptions in their class practically unheard of. Several weeks into class as they were, everyone recognized the bodyguards that his mother insisted he keep around—he was
too valuable
for them to risk losing, the killer in his classroom
making them nervous
, according to his mother—and turned back as one of the bodyguards leaned against the wall, his jaw tight.
Apparently, something was wrong. Olivier ignored him. The last time
something
had been wrong, everything had, in fact, been fine; rather, his bodyguard had run a background check on a young woman who was chatting with him and deemed her
inappropriate company
and come to scare her off. The poor girl, who had only been curious about his experience at law school, as she determined what to do for her own degree, had indeed been scared off.
Perhaps it wasn’t just that he himself was off-putting that made making friends difficult, but that his bodyguards’ were intimidating people away from him? Not Emilia, even though he had actually instructed his bodyguards to scare her off. Rather than be scared off, the little girl had laughed and attempted to chat with them. They hadn’t cooperated—they were profoundly unlikeable people, all hired by his mother for a mixture of their abilities and severity—and Emilia eventually given up, made a vague comment about how they weren’t even close to being the scariest people she knew—perhaps unsurprising, as Olivier knew she was a similar age to two of the Laprise heirs and may have known them in passing.
Since then, she had made a game of making his bodyguards’ lives miserable. Where she was getting so many skills designed to prank people, Olivier had no idea. Some of them weren’t even D-Tect approved skills! While he wasn’t one for making assumptions, given her—usual—passion for arguing over hacking related issues, perhaps she knew someone capable of creating skills? Halen Mhrina, a young hacker who had started his business, Hail, while still in compulsory schooling, had lived in The Penns since he was a teenager. Hail was known for its unique skills and Censor functions, so perhaps he or his company were behind the skills?
Legally… it wasn’t
exactly
illegal to be using skills that hadn’t been approved by D-Tect, and as long as no one was harmed by the skill, it was unlikely SecOps or The Black Knot would look into their use. Considering Emilia’s current legal troubles, however, Olivier didn’t think her using unapproved skills was the smartest thing, but he had patently refused his bodyguards’ suggestion that they sue her for damages—she’d ruined a few shoes—all of which he’d replaced—and just generally made a menace of herself.
While he wasn’t in a position to help with her case, he wasn’t about to let his bodyguards ruin her life more just because they couldn’t figure out how to block her skills. Having never spent much time training with more than standard skills himself, Olivier didn’t particularly understand the implications of her so easily getting through their defences—something said bodyguards were continuously complaining about—but he had still filed it away into the back of his mind, just in case.
Just in case
what, he had no idea. It wasn’t like he was taking her case. Still, perhaps once the court date arrived—it had been pushed back into next year for a variety of reasons—he would meet with whichever lawyer she settled on and give them his thoughts on the case. Just a business lunch. Nothing official.
Slowly, the class wrapped up, so different from the usual energy of this particular class. Half the time, Emilia ended up in an argument with someone—himself or another student, usually one who needed to be called out for some horrible opinion or another—or had to be physically removed from the class. While Dean Vickers wouldn’t let him keep her out of the classroom, either he didn’t know Oliver occasionally manhandled her out of the room when she was being too disruptive, or he understood that, sometimes, she just had to go.
The girl, for her part, took such treatment well, teasing him and laughing and smiling like it had been her plan all along to see how much she could push before being removed. Sometimes, she playfully fought in his grip; sometimes, she let her body fall limp, forcing him to heave her over his shoulder to get her out.
Olivier never really knew what to expect with the brat, but certainly, ending the class early because she was still so contained wasn’t something he had ever expected.
Maybe she was sick?
A few students made their way to the front of the class to speak with him on this or that as the class ended, others bouncing off to their next class or to meet friends at restaurants, the library or the dorms. So happy. So free. When Olivier had imagined his own time at university, back when he was still young and naive, he had hoped for those same feelings, for some small sliver of normalcy. It had never come, and now it was too late.
Soon, he would be forced into the workforce, working himself to the bone until his mother arranged a match for him. Arranged marriages might not be something commonly done in Baalphoria, but his mother had
expectations,
and the fact that his younger brother was gay and very much refusing to even consider continuing the family line, had left him to do so, but only with someone she deemed worthy.
The de la Rues weren’t purists, but they definitely believed their family deserved only the best, and for him, that would likely mean a polite, soft-spoken young woman. Maybe someone from The Penns or the small group of Sub-30s who lived in Roasalia, most of whom he knew and had no desire to spend the rest of his life with. Maybe a new-gen sub-30, if his mother came across one she liked—unlikely. Regardless, his future wife would be subservient to his mother—someone who would work with her to
keep him in line,
as though he were a naughty child throwing a tantrum, rather than a grown man who just wanted to live his own fucking life.
A chorus of gasps and squeaks and tumbling drew everyone’s attention to the back of the classroom, where the students who had been leaving had alternately frozen or scooted backwards, some of them knocking over desks and dropping bags. Emilia, who had a habit of lingering in her seat until most people left, or she had a chance to beg him to take her case again—it varied by the day and their collective mood and dislike for one another—frowned at the door as whispers began to spread.
“Hyrat clones.”
“What are they doing here?”
“Is someone in trouble?”
“Maybe it was that thing with—”
“Shh!”
“Shut up!”
“There’s no way they can know about that! Not if you keep your mouth shut!”
Olivier frowned at the group having that particular conversation, wondering what they were hiding. The Hyrat clones, at least when they were wearing their own faces, only visited people who needed their Censors hacked, information hiding in their minds that needed to be forced out. As a result, while the clones were feared, most people never considered they may be visited by them. The fact that this group were worried was worrisome itself, something Emilia also seemed to have noticed, her attention having shifted from the doorway to the group, a frown marring her adorable face.
By the doorway, Olivier’s bodyguard had straightened, his posture rigid as though he were preparing to defend his charge against an attack by the trio of clones lingering outside the room—perhaps they were why the man had come inside, his other two bodyguards standing just as rigid in the hallway?
“Something wrong?” the one clone asked, just barely visible between the mass of students still edging away from the door, his surprisingly cheerful voice holding the telltale lilt of someone from The Penns. “Isn’t class over?” They swayed, attempting to see around the group, but likely having no luck—it was a relatively big class. “We’re just waiting for someone. Don’t worry, we won’t bite~”
.
!
Arc 8 | Chapter 278: Something’s Wrong… Not That I Care!
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