Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 63. Amelia and Mia

Mia turned her head, her gaze landing on the one who had called her.

There, not far behind her, stood a girl bathed in sunlight—like she belonged in a painting rather than the real world.

Her silvery-white hair glistened under the soft golden rays, cascading smoothly down her back like woven threads of moonlight.

Crimson eyes gleamed with calm curiosity, and her uniform, neat and flawless, hugged her curvaceous figure like it was tailored for her and her alone.

Amelia Everhart.

Mia recognized her instantly.

Arawn’s—

No... Cassius’s fiancée.

The girl who would, in another version of this twisted world, betray him. Just like her own husband had betrayed her in her last life.

’Another beautifully wrapped dagger.’

The thought was enough to make her nauseous.

Her brother... Cassius had always been someone who bore pain in silence. Who bled behind closed doors and smiled like nothing was wrong.

And this girl—this delicate, ethereal beauty—would be the one to carve another scar into him.

And the world would applaud her for it.

How could Mia possibly like her?

No, she couldn’t. She didn’t.

Still, now wasn’t the time to show her fangs. Her brother had taught her how to mask emotions. And Isolde had refined that lesson into an art.

So she wore her smile like a crown and responded in her most refined, princess-like tone.

"Yes, I’m a Lancaster," she said with perfect posture and grace. "Did you have something you wanted to discuss?"

Amelia smiled politely, her tone friendly and reserved. "Nothing in particular. I was just... curious."

Mia maintained her smile. "Then I hope your curiosity has been satiated."

She turned away slowly, eyes drifting back to the central fountain, the soft gurgle of the water almost hypnotic. For a second, she thought that would be the end of it.

But no.

Amelia joined her, standing beside her like they were equals. Like they belonged beside each other.

Her words came softly, directed not at the fountain—but at her.

"Don’t take offense, please. I didn’t mean it in any offensive way. I was just surprised."

Mia exhaled softly. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even irritated anymore.

She was just tired.

Because she knew where this was going.

"You’re surprised," Mia said, "because I don’t resemble the Father or Mother."

Amelia hesitated for a moment before smiling wryly. "Frankly... yes."

There it was.

Mia nodded faintly. "So, you don’t trust me."

Amelia looked startled for a moment, then quickly shook her head. "No, I do trust you. No one in their right mind would use the Lancaster name without permission. They’d be dead by dawn."

Mia chuckled softly, not because it was funny—but because it was true. "That’s right."

Amelia tilted her head, a gentle curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Then... if you don’t mind me asking, how are you related to them? I mean... Father would never cheat on Mother."

’Mother.’

’Father.’

Hearing her say those words made Mia’s jaw tighten.

’Family, huh?’

That alone proved how far the game was pushing forward. This girl—this girl who would shatter her brother’s heart—was already aligning herself with the Lancasters. She was already calling her brother’s mother ’Mother.’

Mia was someone who believed in giving chances.

She believed people could change.

She believed that most things in life could be forgiven.

But there were lines.

Clear, burning, unforgivable lines.

And having lived through betrayal in a life before this one, she wasn’t going to sit back and let history repeat itself—especially not with him.

She didn’t want Amelia anywhere near Cassius. Not now, not ever.

But she didn’t need to start a war right here. No... Cassius would deal with it himself. And she had complete faith in him.

He would never fall for someone like Amelia.

She was not his type.

Mia tilted her head back, gazing at the sky, and spoke with calm finality.

"I don’t think that’s an appropriate topic during an entrance exam, Lady Everhart."

Amelia blinked at the formal tone. It wasn’t biting. It wasn’t cold. But it was unmistakably distant.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but Mia didn’t give her the chance.

"Oh," she added, her voice light and laced with quiet satisfaction. "And you won’t need to worry about familial ties."

She continued with calm finality, "I’m adopted."

For a fleeting moment, Amelia faltered. Her composure cracked—not entirely, but just enough.

A flicker of surprise widened her eyes and parted her lips ever so slightly. It wasn’t the kind of reaction one could hide easily, but to her credit, she recovered fast.

Her features fell back into that well-rehearsed expression of elegance and poise.

"Oh... that’s surprising," Amelia said, her voice smooth but now edged with a cautious undertone.

Mia merely nodded. Her crimson eyes didn’t waver. "Maybe it is. But that’s the truth."

But the conversation didn’t end there.

Amelia’s voice returned—gentle and curious, yet layered with something more. "What about Cassius...? He doesn’t have any problems with you coming into the family?"

Mia tilted her head slightly, studying her.

The girl in front of her wore the mask of an Everhart—polished, regal, practiced. But Mia could see the subtle hints behind it: the corners of her mouth too tightly held, the eyes that lingered a little too long.

Was that worry?

Mia’s lips curled slightly. "No. He doesn’t," she replied, voice unwavering. "He cares about me very much."

A simple answer, but its weight was undeniable.

Amelia’s smile returned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. Her lips tugged into something polite. "He does... huh."

Her voice was softer now. Almost more to herself than to Mia.

But before either of them could say more, a chime rang out—light, crystalline, and final.

The break was over.

The signal echoed through the garden, drawing out students from under trees, benches, and shaded walls. Free time had ended.

Mia didn’t look back at her. She simply smiled faintly and said, "I guess it’s time to leave."

And then, with all the grace her name commanded, she walked away—long, purposeful strides taking her back toward the towering exam hall.

Her uniform rustled with each step, her back straight, her presence unshakable.

Amelia stood still for a moment longer, watching her retreat.

Then, quietly, she exhaled.

It was a long sigh—deep and weary, like she had been holding her breath the entire time.

Eventually, she followed.

Back inside the examination hall, the atmosphere was a far cry from the serene gardens.

The massive chamber was drenched in a quiet tension. The faint scratching of quills on parchment filled the air like whispering rain.

Some students looked exhausted already, their heads cradled in their arms. Others stared blankly at their paper as if their souls had left mid-answer.

Mia returned to her seat without fuss.

She sat down, adjusted her quill, and began writing again—her movements smooth, mechanical, focused. Her break had done little to relax her. If anything, the encounter outside had sharpened her edge.

One by one, she breezed through the remaining multiple-choice questions. Though they appeared simple on the surface, many were designed to trip up even elite students—false choices masked by complicated wording, slight numerical discrepancies, or obscure historical references.

But Mia cut through the deception with surgical precision.

Click.

Her eyes glanced up at the clock suspended magically above the center of the hall.

Eighteen hours left.

And she had just finished question number forty.

A soft breath escaped her lips. "That was quite a hard one for a multiple-choice question," she muttered inwardly. "They sure are confusing..."

But there was no time to linger. The next section had appeared the moment she finished the last MCQ—her parchment reacting to the flow of her mana.

It was time for the queries. The real meat of the exam.

Her quill dipped again, and she began to write.

...

Q41. What is the difference between Skills and Abilities?

Ans: Skills are refined techniques honed through repetition and discipline. They can be self-taught, inherited through bloodlines, or even discovered in ancient dungeons. Mastery of a skill can elevate a fighter’s capabilities, and as one’s proficiency grows, these skills often evolve—granting access to Abilities.

Abilities, unlike skills, are explosive in nature—manifestations of intent and mana, concentrated into singular, devastating expressions. While a skill shapes one’s foundation, an Ability is a finishing blow—unforgiving and absolute. Their ranks determine not only power, but cost. A single use can cause serious repercussions to a weak user even resulting in death if mishandled.

Q42. Why is chanting the Ability name required during activation?

Ans: Chanting enhances output. While silent activation is possible, especially at lower ranks or with immense control, calling out the Ability’s name utilizes multiple vocal and physical conduits—lungs, tongue, air flow, even the resonance of sound.

Mana exists throughout the body. When chanting, it moves more freely—interweaving vocal resonance with internal mana to amplify force. It’s not just tradition; it’s optimization. A chant properly delivered can increase damage output by nearly thirty percent.

Q43. What is the key difference between a Rank ★★★ and a Rank ★★★★ combatant?

Ans: Beyond the raw power difference and reduced backlash from high-tier ability use, the primary distinction lies in mana manipulation. Rank ★★★ fighters are limited to the mana stored within their own bodies.

Rank ★★★★, however, can draw from the environment—pulling ambient mana from the air, earth, and even other sources. This makes them not only stronger but terrifyingly sustainable in prolonged battles. It marks a qualitative leap in combat evolution.

...

And so, she continued. One question after the next. Her quill danced, her focus absolute.

She didn’t take another break.

Not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to.

The thought of running into Amelia again irritated her more than the prospect of physical exhaustion.

That, and frankly... she was bored of wasting time on meaningless pauses.

...

Twelve hours passed like a slow-burning candle.

The parchment shimmered faintly. Her answers locked themselves in, one after another, glowing briefly before sealing.

Mia leaned back in her chair, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

"It’s done..."

She opened one eye, then the other.

The clock still had twelve hours left.

Her arms crossed over her desk, and she rested her chin on them.

"Now I just have to wait... twelve excruciatingly long hours," she muttered, her voice droll.

Boredom crept in, slow and steady.

And for the first time in a while, Mia found herself wishing something—anything—interesting would happen.

******

End of Volume 1: The Hollow