Prompt: After Spade - after losing Undine - Noelle decides to return to her roots to increase her power, focusing entirely on her Valkyrie Dress. To complement and further hone the acrobatic, agile battle style it grants her, she officially takes up dance.
Fate, as it often does with these two, pulls Asta along for the ride.
—
The training hall was empty.
Noelle stood alone in the center, her boots placed neatly by the wall, her bare feet brushing against the cool stone floor.
Her breathing was calm. Controlled. Measured.
She lifted her arms, spine straightening, fingers poised.
Then she moved.
A slow step forward. A turn. A glide.
The hall echoed with nothing but the sound of her movements—the whisper of feet, the faint swish of her clothes, the soft exhale from her lips.
She leapt—light as air—and spun midair before landing in a controlled crouch.
Another breath. Another rise.
She wasn't using her magic, not yet.
This was just her body. Her will. Her own stubborn pride.
You always called it foolish, didn't you? she thought, To dream of grace when you're trained for war.
But her mother had danced.
Acier Silva, the Dancing Princess of the Battlefield.
The name was whispered with awe even now. A woman who cleaved through armies with the elegance of falling snow. Who flowed like water and struck like lightning.
Noelle could barely remember her face.
But she remembered the stories.
She remembered her siblings' silence when the topic arose—cold, clipped, buried under years of grief and pride.
She was perfect. You'll never be like her.
Noelle's jaw tightened.
She lifted one leg and held it in a delicate arabesque. Balanced. Focused.
Then she moved again.
Faster this time—steps weaving into turns, arms shaping the air, her body slicing space with a rhythm she'd only just begun to learn.
It wasn't perfect.
She stumbled once.
She gritted her teeth and caught herself before she could fall.
Again.
A spin.
A jump.
She raised her arms like wings and imagined herself in the air—armored, fierce, beautiful.
Like her mother.
Like the warrior she wanted to be.
The Valkyrie Dress had taught her the importance of movement—fluidity, freedom, force behind grace.
But dance… dance added something else.
A deeper control. A subtler balance. An elegance that didn't just support power, but became it.
And there was something more.
Something quiet.
Something soft.
A memory, maybe. A dream.
Noelle touched her chest and looked down at her reflection in the polished marble floor.
Will you be proud of me, Mother?
Will they stop comparing me to you… if I become something entirely mine?
She didn't want to replace her mother.
She didn't want to chase her shadow forever.
She wanted to forge something new.
And if it took hours of bruised feet, sore muscles, and silent halls—
She'd do it.
Alone, if she had to.
—
The forest was quiet.
Only the chirp of crickets and the soft rush of the nearby river filled the air.
Asta exhaled slowly, stretching his arms behind his head.
He hadn't meant to wander this far.
The war was over, but his thoughts still lingered—memories of battles, of lives saved and lost, of everything that could've gone wrong.
He just needed to breathe.
To move.
So he walked.
No sword. No mission. Just him, the trees, and the moon.
And then—something caught his eye.
A soft shimmer, far through the brush.
He stepped quietly, careful not to disturb the leaves underfoot.
At first, he thought it might be magic—some leftover trap or faint ward.
But no.
It was light.
Moonlight, reflected off the surface of a wide river glade.
And there—right there on the water—was someone.
A girl.
A silver blur in the dark.
Asta froze.
His heart skipped.
Noelle.
She stood atop the river as though it were solid ground. Water barely stirred beneath her toes.
She was barefoot, her cloak tossed beside the trees, her hair cascading loose down her back.
And she was moving.
Spinning, stepping, gliding across the moonlit water as though it welcomed her.
Every motion delicate. Controlled. Like a language only she could speak.
Asta's breath caught.
He ducked instinctively behind a tree trunk, hidden by shadow.
He didn't mean to spy.
But he couldn't look away.
She turned, extended a leg, and pivoted midair in a silent leap. Her reflection danced with her—two Noelles swirling under a silver sky.
He'd seen her fight.
He'd seen her angry. He'd seen her cry.
But this—
This was something else.
She looked… weightless.
At peace.
Completely untouchable.
Asta's fingers curled against the bark.
His throat tightened.
She was so beautiful it almost hurt.
Not because of how she looked—though, yes, she was stunning—but because of what he saw written in her every move.
Determination.
Loneliness.
Yearning.
Each step on the water was a secret. Each spin was a truth she never dared say aloud.
He could see her jaw tighten with effort. See the sweat cling to her brow.
She wasn't dancing for anyone.
She was dancing for herself.
For something deeper.
For someone she'd lost.
Asta swallowed.
He knew that look.
He'd worn it too.
She jumped again, arms reaching skyward, then dipped into a graceful fall—only to twist out of it mid-drop and land with a light splash.
Like a feather on still water.
The ripples spread outward in quiet circles.
Noelle stood tall, breathing hard, chest rising and falling with each breath.
She didn't see him.
She didn't hear him.
But Asta saw everything.
And it lit a fire in his chest he didn't know what to do with.
His heart thudded so loud he was scared she'd hear it.
He bit his lip and slowly crouched lower behind the brush.
He knew he should leave.
This was private.
Sacred.
Not meant for him.
And yet… he stayed.
Because in that moment, he knew.
No spell. No attack. No magic.
Nothing had ever hit him this hard.
Noelle leapt again—just once—her body cutting through the air like a streak of starlight.
And Asta's heart broke a little.
Not from pain.
But from awe.
She didn't need him.
She didn't need anyone.
And yet, somehow, he'd never wanted to be needed so badly.
She slowed.
Her feet gently touched the riverbank. She breathed through her nose, her arms lowering, her shoulders rising and falling.
Asta ducked behind the trunk.
He could hear her footsteps now. Moving toward her cloak. Toward her boots.
He waited.
Waited for her to disappear into the trees again.
Once she did, he finally exhaled.
He didn't move for a long time.
Then slowly—hesitantly—he stepped into the clearing.
The water was calm now.
Her footprints were gone.
But he could still feel her there.
Like the air itself remembered her.
Asta stood on the riverbank and stared at the ripples she left behind.
He didn't smile.
He didn't cry.
He just whispered one word under his breath.
"…Wow."
—
Noelle collapsed to the grass, panting.
Sweat clung to her skin. Her muscles ached.
She stretched her arms overhead and lay flat, staring up at the starry night sky.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
But it wasn't just the physical exhaustion.
It was everything.
The memories. The pressure. The need to prove she was more than a name, more than a royal, more than the weakest link in her family.
She wasn't weak anymore.
She'd never be weak again.
Even if no one sees me do this… even if they never know…
I will.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
Unaware of the shadow just beyond the pillars.
Unaware of the boy who saw everything.
Unaware that, in his heart, her dance had already cast a spell.
And the magic had taken root.
—
From that night on, Asta returned.
Always hidden.
Always silent.
Always careful.
He told himself it was just curiosity.
That he wanted to learn why she danced.
Why she trained so hard when no one was watching.
But he knew the truth.
He came because seeing her made his heart ache in the most beautiful way.
Because when she danced, she was more than a royal.
More than a fighter.
She was… Noelle.
And he had fallen for her without even realizing it.
—
Noelle adjusted the ribbons on her ankles and took a slow breath.
The studio was empty. Just how she liked it.
To push her skills to new heights, Noelle sought guidance from the royal capital's most esteemed dance instructors.
She became a daily visitor to one studio in particular—the very same where her mother had once trained.
Every step she took across its polished floors felt like tracing the echoes of the past.
Mirrors lined the wall, stretching her reflection into a dozen ghostly versions of herself.
Her palms were already sweating.
She tightened her fingers, raised her arms, and moved.
Step. Spin. Extension. Leap.
The floor obeyed her rhythm.
Her mana wrapped around her in soft pulses, lifting her lightly off the ground as if it understood.
But today… something was off.
She stumbled on her second turn.
Her landing faltered.
Again.
Again.
She growled under her breath and forced the movement a third time, but it didn't flow.
It hadn't flowed in days.
She landed hard and stayed still, panting, sweat sliding down her temple.
"What am I missing?"
She hated saying it aloud.
But she knew what it was.
Her instructors had said the same thing, over and over.
"You've mastered your solo form. But dance—real dance—requires another body. Another rhythm."
A partner.
Noelle grimaced.
The very idea made her stomach twist.
Not because she didn't see the logic.
But because of who had started coming to watch her train lately.
Not quietly like before.
No.
They were loud.
Smiling nobles who tried to impress her with empty compliments. Warriors who claimed they could match her in battle and in ballroom.
All of them wrong.
None of them understood.
None of them cared about the movement itself—only the image.
The status.
The fame of being next to her.
After her accomplishments during the Spade Kingdom War and the Elf Incident came to light, Noelle Silva had become one of the most sought-after maidens in the kingdom.
Once dismissed as a royal failure, she was now treated like a trophy wife—a glittering prize to be won.
And Noelle hated it.
The nobles' gazes slithered over her, thick with poorly repressed lust and greed.
Their stares alone made her skin crawl, her stomach churning as if she might vomit.
She had clenched her fists, magic flaring at her fingertips—Sea Dragon's Roar itching to blast them all into oblivion.
She wanted to disappear every time one of them entered the studio.
But she didn't.
She endured.
Like her mother had.
The Dancing Princess of the Battlefield hadn't let court whispers stop her, either.
Noelle stared at her reflection again.
Then slowly turned toward the door.
It was cracked open.
She frowned.
Her heart skipped.
No one was supposed to be here this early.
She stepped quietly into the hall.
Footsteps echoed to the left—quick, then stopping.
When she turned the corner, no one was there.
Just a window open to the early morning air.
She bit her lip.
She had a suspicion who it was.
And it made her chest tighten.
—
Asta clenched his fists behind a wide tree trunk and lowered his head.
He was getting careless.
He didn't mean to show up early.
Didn't mean to get that close.
But watching Noelle struggle had shaken him.
She looked frustrated.
Tired.
He wanted to help. To tell her she didn't need to face it alone.
But he didn't know how.
What could he offer her?
He couldn't dance.
He couldn't guide her steps or catch her if she stumbled.
He wasn't elegant. He wasn't trained.
He was just Asta.
The peasant boy.
The magicless one.
But the more he watched, the more a knot formed in his chest.
Because other guys were watching her too.
Flirting.
Circling.
Offering their hands like she owed them something.
And every time one of them smiled at her, Asta felt it.
That pull in his stomach.
That quiet burn.
He didn't want to admit it.
But it was jealousy.
The sharp kind.
The irrational kind.
The kind that made his hands tremble.
Noelle didn't belong to him. He had no right.
But still—
Still.
The thought of someone else standing beside her on that stage—
Holding her hand.
Matching her steps.
Lifting her—
It made his blood boil.
He didn't even realize he was moving until he stepped into the courtyard.
Straight toward the studio.
—
Noelle heard the door open behind her.
She tensed, arms crossed over her chest, already preparing to dismiss whoever it was.
But then—
"Asta?"
He froze in the doorway.
His eyes wide.
She blinked.
He looked like he hadn't planned to be there. Like he'd surprised even himself.
"I—uh…" He scratched the back of his neck. "I heard what your instructors said."
Noelle's cheeks turned pink.
"Were you listening again?"
Asta flinched. "N-not on purpose! I just—" He exhaled. "I was passing by."
She narrowed her eyes.
"I've seen you 'passing by' every other morning."
He didn't deny it.
Didn't look away.
His voice dropped a little when he spoke again.
"They're wrong, by the way."
She raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"The nobles. The guys trying to impress you."
A pause.
Noelle looked away, arms folding tighter.
"…I know."
Asta took a breath. His fingers tightened at his sides.
"I could do it."
She blinked. "Do what?"
He stepped forward.
"Be your partner."
The words echoed through the studio.
Noelle stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
"You?"
"I know I'm not trained," he rushed, stumbling over the words. "And I probably won't be good at first. Okay—probably really bad. But I can learn. I'll train. I'll practice every day."
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
He looked so serious.
So certain.
And for a moment, she couldn't breathe.
"You're not just saying this because—" she stopped.
His expression softened.
"Noelle… I've been watching you for weeks. Not because I wanted to spy or anything like that. I just…"
He looked down.
"You're amazing when you dance."
She stared at him.
Completely frozen.
"I didn't understand it at first," he continued. "But then I saw you out here—on the floor, under the chandelier. It felt like…"
His voice got quieter.
"…like I was seeing the real you."
Noelle's heart stuttered.
Asta looked up.
Eyes clear.
Voice firm.
"I want to help. If you'll let me."
The silence stretched.
Then—
"…Fine."
Asta blinked. "Wait, really?"
She turned away quickly, trying to hide her face.
"I said fine. Don't make me repeat it."
He grinned, heart soaring.
But she raised a hand before he could celebrate.
"Don't think this means anything. You're my partner, not my fan club."
"Right," Asta said, smiling wider. "Got it."
But she turned slightly as she walked toward the mirror.
And for the briefest second—
She smiled too.
—
Noelle regretted everything.
Not the offer.
Not exactly.
But the moment Asta tripped for the third time during warm-ups, knocking over a decorative lamp with a yelp and an apologetic wheeze—
She reconsidered her entire life.
"I'm fine! I'm fine!" he said, untangling himself from the folds of her old practice curtain.
Noelle pressed a hand to her forehead.
"This was a mistake."
"No, it wasn't!" Asta beamed up at her from the floor. "I'm getting better already!"
"You haven't even stood properly yet."
He paused. "...I meant mentally."
Noelle sighed.
Hard.
But then she saw the way his shoulders straightened as he climbed to his feet.
The way he dusted himself off and turned toward her again, unshaken.
And she couldn't help it.
She smiled.
Just barely.
Not that he noticed.
"Alright," she muttered, walking back to the center of the room. "Let's go again."
—
Their first real session was chaos.
Asta didn't understand tempo.
He had no idea how to hold his posture without looking like he was mid-squat.
He kept stepping forward when she expected him to step back.
And when she tried to guide his hand placement—
"Don't hover like that. Just place your hand on my waist."
His face turned red.
Her ears turned red.
They stood in awkward silence for five seconds before Asta's hand made contact like he was defusing a mana bomb.
Noelle rolled her eyes. "It's just dance."
"I know!" he said. "It's just—uh—you're… not just anyone."
Her stomach flipped.
She scowled to hide it. "Shut up and count to four."
—
The next attempt ended with him spinning her the wrong direction and nearly launching her into the wall.
"Sorry! Sorry! I didn't know you'd move so fast!"
"Why wouldn't I? You spun me like a battle axe!"
"I thought that was the move!"
"You thought wrong!"
They argued.
They bickered.
They tripped over each other's feet.
And yet—
Neither of them stopped.
—
By the end of the week, Noelle was sore in ways she hadn't expected.
Not physically.
But emotionally.
Every time Asta caught her by the hand, or steadied her after a misstep, her pulse betrayed her.
Every time he laughed at himself, she wanted to laugh with him.
Even when he frustrated her, she felt lighter than she had in months.
And that terrified her.
—
It happened during a mid-turn pause.
She noticed his hand shaking slightly at her lower back.
He didn't say anything.
Just focused, eyes narrowed, sweat on his brow.
Noelle stepped away quickly.
He blinked. "Was I doing it wrong again?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she crossed her arms and stared at him hard.
"Why are you doing this?"
Asta tilted his head. "I thought we already—"
"No," she interrupted, voice firm. "Why are you really doing this?"
He looked confused. "To help you train?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You're a terrible dancer."
"Getting better though!" he said, too brightly.
She didn't smile.
Her voice dropped to something softer.
Something almost scared.
"You offered to be my partner. You keep showing up. You're not even good at this. So why?"
Asta looked down.
His hands curled at his sides.
"…I didn't plan to," he admitted.
Her breath caught.
"I was walking," he said slowly, like it cost something to speak. "One night. Just walking through the woods."
She froze.
His voice was quiet now.
Like a memory he'd locked away.
"And I saw you."
He didn't look at her.
"Dancing on the lake."
Noelle's breath hitched.
"You didn't see me. But I saw you."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"You looked… free."
She didn't speak.
Asta kept going.
"I'd never seen anything like it. It wasn't magic, but it felt like it."
Noelle stared at the floor.
"You were alone, but it didn't feel lonely. It felt… beautiful. Like you were reaching for something."
She looked up slowly.
He met her eyes.
"And I wanted to understand it."
Her voice cracked before she could stop it.
"So you started spying on me."
Asta winced. "I know it sounds bad."
"It is bad."
"I didn't mean to—! I wasn't trying to—!"
He sighed.
"I couldn't stay away."
She didn't speak.
The silence between them thickened.
Then—
"…What else did you see?"
He blinked.
Noelle's gaze didn't waver.
"If you were watching me all this time… What else did you see?"
Asta's throat bobbed.
"I saw how hard you train."
She waited.
"I saw how frustrated you get when you can't match your own expectations."
He took a step forward.
"I saw how you move like you're chasing someone you miss."
Another step.
"I saw your strength."
He was close now.
"But I also saw your fear."
Noelle's lips parted slightly.
"And I just… I wanted you to know that you don't have to do it all alone."
She stared at him.
Then whispered,
"I didn't think anyone saw that."
Asta smiled faintly.
"I see everything you try to hide."
Her face burned.
She hated how warm that made her feel.
She hated how badly she wanted to believe it.
But she didn't back away.
This time, when he offered his hand again—
She took it.
—
They practiced slower after that.
Not because Asta was improving—he was, but barely.
But because something delicate had settled between them.
Something they didn't dare disturb.
A brush of fingers lingered longer.
A glance lasted a second too much.
They didn't speak of it.
Not yet.
But the silence between beats said enough.
Asta counted aloud—softly, almost reverently.
Noelle followed.
Their feet moved in tandem.
Their breath synced.
For a single moment, they stopped thinking.
And simply danced.
—
The fifth time he tripped over her foot, she didn't scold him.
She just caught him by the collar before he could fall flat on his face and said, "You owe Count Vardy a new rug if you rip that."
Asta blinked up at her.
"Sorry," he said, breathless.
"Don't apologize," she muttered, brushing dust off his shirt. "Just stop stepping on me."
"Trying!"
They straightened at the same time.
Too fast.
Too close.
Her hand was still resting against his chest.
He didn't move.
Neither did she.
"…You know," she said, eyes flicking to the side, "normal people would've stopped coming back by now."
Asta laughed, quietly.
"Guess I'm not normal."
She smirked. "Understatement of the year."
Then, softer—
"But you're still here."
He looked at her.
She didn't look away this time.
"Why are you really here, Asta?"
Asta blinked. "Didn't we already have this conversation?"
Noelle snorted. "If you consider your stuttering from before a proper answer, you're a bigger idiot than I thought."
He hesitated.
Then exhaled.
"Do you really want to know?"
Noelle didn't speak.
But the way her eyes held his—steady and unmoving—was answer enough.
Asta nodded once.
Walked over to the bench in the corner.
Picked up something wrapped in cloth and carefully unwrapped it.
Inside was a worn notebook.
And a pencil with bite marks along the sides.
Noelle blinked. "Is that…?"
He nodded again. "I started keeping notes."
"…Notes?"
Asta flipped it open.
Held it out.
She stepped closer and read.
"Tuesday: She spun three times with no water displacement—must be balancing her mana in her feet. Amazing."
Her brows rose.
"Friday: Slipped when trying that crescent-arm thing, but smiled when she landed. She looks happiest when she's not thinking about winning."
Her cheeks warmed.
"Sunday: I think her mom must've danced like this. It's not training. It's grieving."
She stopped reading.
Asta didn't say anything.
The silence pulsed between them like a heartbeat.
"How long have you been watching me?" she asked.
His voice was quiet.
"Since the night by the lake."
"You already told me that. Which night?"
"T-the 7th of last month."
"You know the exact date?"
"O-of course, I'd never forget it. Ever."
Her breath caught. And then she bit down on her lip and whispered.
"What stuck out to you most?"
He nodded.
"Moonlight. You. The water barely rippling."
He met her gaze.
"It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."
Noelle's mouth opened—then shut again.
Her heart was thudding so hard it almost drowned out his words.
Almost.
"I didn't mean to spy," Asta repeated for the eight time today. "I just… couldn't walk away."
Noelle didn't speak for a long time.
Then she looked down at the notebook again.
"You really wrote all this down."
"I couldn't help it."
"…Why?"
He took a slow breath.
"Because it made me feel something."
She looked up.
"You."
He stepped closer.
"Your dancing. It made me feel peace. And hope. And… things I didn't have a name for."
Noelle's eyes glistened.
Asta's voice lowered.
"I've fought against demons and devils. I've fought with legends. I've held a sword that connected me to my idols."
He reached up—hesitated—then let his hand fall.
"But nothing's ever stopped me in my tracks like seeing you dance that night."
Noelle tried to speak.
Failed.
Her lips trembled.
"But," he said quickly, voice raw, "I know I'm not—y'know—what you deserve."
Her brows furrowed.
"I'm just a peasant. Magicless. Loud. Clumsy."
He laughed, bitter and soft.
"You're a princess. Royal. Elegant. Fierce."
He looked away.
"I didn't expect you to say yes when I offered. I didn't think I had a chance to be near you like this. But I wanted to try anyway."
Her voice came out quieter than she meant.
"Why?"
"Because I love the way you move."
He paused.
Then whispered,
"And I think I'm starting to love everything else too."
Noelle's breath hitched.
Her throat felt too tight to speak.
But something inside her cracked.
And melted.
"You idiot," she said, blinking fast.
Asta flinched. "Yeah, I know—"
"No," she cut in, stepping forward.
"You absolute idiot."
She pressed a hand to his chest again—right over his heart.
"You think I don't see you too?"
He stared at her.
"You think I don't hear how your voice always lifts when you're encouraging someone?"
She stepped closer.
"You think I don't notice how you never back down, even when you're afraid?"
His breath caught.
Noelle's words softened.
"You think I don't admire you?"
Silence.
"Because I do."
She looked down.
Her voice trembled now.
"You were the first one who ever looked at me like I wasn't broken."
Asta's eyes widened.
"You never gave up on me. Not when I pushed you away. Not when I was too scared to say anything."
She finally met his gaze.
"And all this time, I've been trying to be strong enough to stand beside you."
Asta swallowed hard.
"But I don't have magic," he said.
"I don't care," she whispered.
"You're still my strongest partner."
Asta's breath shuddered.
"…Noelle."
She reached up.
Touched his face.
"It's not your feet I wanted in sync with mine."
Then she leaned in.
Foreheads touched.
He closed his eyes.
So did she.
No words passed between them.
Just breath.
And warmth.
And quiet understanding.
They stayed that way until the sun dipped below the horizon.
—
That night, they didn't dance.
They just stood in the studio, close enough to feel the other's heartbeat.
Noelle held the notebook close to her chest after he gave it to her.
She hadn't let go since.
When she read the last line scribbled in the corner of the final page—
"I think I've been in love with her since the lake"—
She didn't cry.
Not really.
Just a few tears.
And a smile no one else had ever seen.
—
The next morning, they showed up at the studio early.
Too early.
Noelle yawned behind her hand. "You really don't sleep, do you?"
Asta grinned. "Sleep is for people not training to survive a lift."
She snorted.
Then immediately regretted it when he nearly dropped the book of choreography.
"Okay," she muttered, "maybe you do need to sleep."
But she didn't stop smiling.
The studio was quiet this time.
No one else.
Just scuffed floors, a wall of mirrors, and the sound of two heartbeats slowly learning to match pace.
"Let's start from the top," Noelle said, tying her hair up.
"Where's the top again?" Asta asked, already sweating.
Noelle sighed. "Right after I spin and before you panic."
He laughed and nodded.
"Got it."
They moved to the center.
She raised her arms, poised like a swan.
He tried to copy the position.
Failed instantly.
"Do I look like a swan?" he asked.
Noelle studied him for a beat.
"…You look like a goose."
Asta gasped.
"A royal goose," she added quickly.
He smirked. "Now that's more like it."
They began again.
Step. Turn. Spin. Hold.
He was getting better.
Still clumsy.
Still offbeat.
But his strength wasn't the problem.
It was rhythm.
"Stop thinking like a swordsman," she told him. "This isn't about power. It's about flow."
"But what if I treat it like combat training?" he offered.
She raised a brow in slight suprise. "Dance-fighting?" Coincidentally or not, that's exactly what I've been doing all this for.
"Exactly!"
She considered it.
Then nodded.
"Alright. Imagine I'm your opponent."
He blinked.
"Do I… punch you or…?"
"No, you match my movements."
She stepped forward.
He stepped back.
She spun.
He pivoted to follow.
Her hand slid along his arm.
He tensed.
"Relax," she whispered.
He tried.
Failed.
"Again."
They moved together.
Again.
And again.
Until something clicked.
His footing steadied.
His breathing slowed.
He wasn't just reacting anymore.
He was listening.
To her steps. Her breath. The subtle shifts in her body.
"Now you're getting it," she murmured.
"I am?"
"You're dancing with me. Not just around me."
He looked up.
Her eyes were shining.
He grinned. "I'll take that as a win."
Noelle didn't say anything.
But her smile said enough.
Later, they practiced lifts.
Asta insisted he could already handle them.
She raised both brows.
"Prove it."
She leapt.
He caught her.
Perfectly.
Except…
"You're holding me like a sack of potatoes," she mumbled.
"Am not!"
"Are too."
"Your form's too stiff."
"I'm literally holding a human being over my head!"
She rolled her eyes.
But she didn't ask to be put down.
Not right away.
Because even with the awkwardness, there was trust.
She could feel it in the way his grip never faltered.
He could feel it in the way she didn't hesitate to jump.
They tried again.
Over and over.
Until their timing sharpened.
Until the falls stopped.
Until it didn't feel like practice anymore.
Just motion.
Breath.
Connection.
One evening, they sparred instead.
Noelle lunged with a water blade.
Asta dodged, spinning behind her with surprising grace.
She turned sharply.
"You used the turn from yesterday's routine."
He blinked.
"I did?"
She nodded, impressed. "It worked."
He grinned.
"Guess dance is good training after all. Kiato might've been on to something!"
They kept going.
Clashing. Dodging. Moving in circles.
Until their battle began to look less like combat—
And more like choreography.
By the end, they were both panting.
But smiling.
"Not bad, partner," she said.
He tapped his forehead. "Thanks, teacher."
They high-fived.
Then accidentally held hands too long.
Neither said anything.
Until they broke contact too fast.
Noelle turned away, face pink.
Asta scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly silent.
The air buzzed with everything left unsaid.
At night, she read the notebook again.
Sometimes aloud.
Just to tease him.
"'Her eyes shone like starlight against the lake'," she recited one evening.
Asta buried his face in a pillow. "Stop."
"'If I ever got to hold her hand, I'd never let go'."
"Noelle—"
"Too bad you let go after two seconds."
"GAAAH!"
She laughed so hard she cried.
He joined her.
Eventually.
Other times, she'd write in the margins.
Little scribbles.
Like:
"Idiot. I did notice you watching."
Or:
"You should've said something sooner."
And once:
"Me too."
She never told him what she wrote.
But he noticed the pen was always warm from use.
By the second week, they danced without thinking.
One moved.
The other followed.
Sometimes she'd close her eyes.
And still never miss a beat.
Because she could feel him now.
Not just beside her.
But with her.
Like armor.
Like magic.
Like home.
One day, she tried something new.
A blind leap from the ledge in the studio's side chamber.
Asta saw her take the step—
—and bolted forward before he even thought.
He caught her midair.
Arms locked tight around her waist.
Their chests bumped.
Her hair brushed his cheek.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
No words.
Just—
"You always catch me," she whispered.
Asta swallowed hard.
"I always will."
She didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
They stayed like that.
Suspended.
Like they were still dancing.
Even without music.
—
The day of the royal ball arrived.
One held in honor of the victory in Spade.
It was quite ironic that most of those responsible for the victory—the ones who had actually fought in the war (aka the Black Bulls)—weren't invited or present.
Instead, the hall was filled with nobles and royals who had cowered when the Ancient Demon encroached on the kingdom, yet now made it all about themselves.
As a royal, Noelle Silva was naturally present as an exception.
And she would do more than just watch.
Clover Castle glittered beneath an autumn twilight, its banners rippling high in the evening breeze.
Nobles poured in from every corner of the kingdom, their finery dazzling, their conversations full of rumor.
Whispers of the performance spread quickly.
"The Silva girl is dancing?"
"I heard she has a partner."
"Who'd she choose?"
Noelle stood backstage, nerves humming like mana in her veins.
She adjusted the silver trim of her dance gown—elegant but mobile, designed for both grace and movement.
She smoothed her gloves.
Fidgeted.
Stared at the curtains.
Her heart pounded.
Not from fear.
But from anticipation.
Because tonight wasn't just a performance.
It was a promise.
A step forward.
A confession she couldn't speak—but could show.
The music would begin, and the rest would follow.
Asta stood beside her.
Out of place in a fitted black uniform with no sleeves, but still somehow radiant.
His sword calluses were hidden by white gloves.
His breathing was steady.
But his thoughts were chaos.
He glanced at her.
Noelle's hair shimmered silver under the lantern light, her violet-pink eyes focused ahead, unshakable.
She looked like royalty.
Like a goddess.
Like someone too far away to reach.
But then she turned.
Met his gaze.
And smiled.
That smile undid every knot in his chest.
They walked onstage as the ballroom fell silent.
The first notes of the waltz echoed through the gilded hall.
Nobles leaned forward.
Asta extended his hand.
Noelle placed hers in his without hesitation.
They moved.
Graceful.
Effortless.
A whirl of silver and black across marble and candlelight.
Noelle spun, her dress like liquid moonlight, and Asta caught her mid-turn, guiding her through the rhythm they'd practiced again and again.
They weren't dancing for the court.
They weren't dancing for applause.
They were dancing for each other.
Every step a conversation.
Every touch a memory.
Every breath a silent, aching truth.
He lifted her in a spin.
She arched back, trusting him completely.
Gasps echoed.
But neither heard them.
Because the world had faded.
Just music.
Just motion.
Just them.
Noelle landed lightly, chest to chest with him.
Their hands locked.
She felt his heartbeat.
He felt hers.
Perfectly synced.
He whispered.
"I'm not afraid anymore."
She blinked.
"What?"
"I was always scared… I didn't belong beside you."
He turned them, stepped into the next motion.
"But dancing with you… fighting beside you… laughing…"
Another lift.
This time, slower.
Tender.
He looked up at her like she was everything.
"Now I know the truth."
She held her breath.
"I've always been in love with you, Noelle."
The music slowed.
A hushed violin note stretched into the air like a held sigh.
She stared down at him.
Heart wide open.
Then smiled.
Tears shimmered at the edges of her lashes.
Not from nerves.
Not from pressure.
But from the quiet, overwhelming joy of hearing him say what she'd felt for so long.
She leaned down.
And kissed him.
Mid-dip.
In front of everyone.
Gasps rippled through the audience like a wave.
Some clapped.
Some shrieked.
A few fainted.
But none of it mattered.
Because she kissed him again.
Softer.
Longer.
When they parted, he was blushing so hard his ears turned crimson.
She giggled.
"I've been in love with you too, idiot."
The final notes faded.
They stood together, hands clasped.
Breathing hard.
He whispered, "So… was that the ending?"
She grinned.
"No."
She pulled him closer.
"That was the beginning."
Thunderous applause erupted around them.
But neither moved.
They just stood there, forehead to forehead, lost in each other.
Afterward, as the nobles swarmed the hall with questions, neither cared.
Because they slipped away, hand in hand.
To the courtyard.
To the moonlight.
To the place where a girl once danced alone on water—
—and a boy first fell in love without knowing what it was.
Noelle stepped onto the fountain's edge.
Balanced.
Graceful.
She looked back.
"Asta."
"Yeah?"
"Dance with me again."
He smiled.
"I thought you'd never ask."
And under the stars, they did.
No music.
No audience.
Just two souls moving as one—
—for love.
And for forever.