Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 233: Contrasting Circumstance

As expected, Cecilia was sleepy.

She hadn’t slept all night. Not a wink. As the result, her body was heavy with exhaustion now, her eyelids threatening to close with every slow blink.

There wasn’t any problem with her work at the conference. Everything was done, checked, double-checked, and bulletproofed to within an inch of its life.

She could have simply returned to her dorm, crawled into bed, and slept until the conference ended. The only reason she was still out here, still present, still visible, was Ruby and Nikolas.

She didn’t trust them. Didn’t trust that they wouldn’t sabotage her work, wouldn’t create unnecessary drama in her absence, wouldn’t use her withdrawal as an opportunity to spin narratives.

So she had gone the extra mile, made sure her contributions were visible, witnessed, undeniable. Multiple people had seen her working. Multiple people could confirm that everything she had touched was in order.

It was exhausting. But necessary.

That was when she spotted someone familiar.

Roarke Raul.

Of course he was in this scenario. The web of connections that bound this world together was too intricate to leave out someone so integral to Arkai’s story.

Cecilia didn’t like him. She couldn’t. Not after everything she knew. Roarke and Sienna, each in their own way, were abusers. Sienna had proven herself immediately, her intentions laid bare in the cemetery. But Roarke was different. More complicated. More gray.

She knew how ridiculous it was, this speculation. She knew that once someone was capable of abuse, they were always an abuser. Patterns didn’t break just because circumstances changed.

But what if the real world’s situation had made him a victim of circumstance?

What if Roarke truly loved Sienna? What if he was just as affected by her heat as Arkai was, helpless against the same biological imperative that had tormented the Wolf King for years?

What if his jealousy of Arkai, his hatred for a man who could never love Sienna the way she wanted, had twisted him? What if his love for her, his desperate desire to be the one she chose instead of Arkai, had made him vulnerable to her manipulations?

Because sometimes twisted by the ugliness of someone you loved, blinded by love itself, you became as ugly as them.

"Mr. Raul."

Cecilia approached him, her voice steady despite her exhaustion.

Roarke turned, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Yes...?" Recognition flickered across his features. "Oh, Miss Araceli."

"I’m sorry to bother you." Cecilia offered a small, apologetic smile. "I have a little request. It’s a bit embarrassing."

Roarke’s demeanor shifted immediately. Whatever he had been doing, scrolling through files on his crystal, organizing something on the go, he set aside, giving her his full attention. "Oh, do you want to move somewhere private before we discuss it?"

The offer was professional, appropriate. A student council member’s duty to a fellow student.

"No, nothing like that." Cecilia waved the suggestion away. "I’m just very, very sleepy right now. But I still want to be close to the hall, in case the committee needs further assistance." She paused, letting the request land. "I was wondering if I could borrow the Student Council Office’s couch. Just for a nap."

Roarke stared at her for a moment.

Then his expression shifted into something between disbelief and exasperation.

"What? Didn’t they say you’re done with your portion of work?" He threw a hand out in a gesture of incredulity. "I bet you did seventy-five percent of the booth placements, schedule, safety reviews, and protocols, right? Why don’t you just go back to your dorm? These idiots can handle it with your written instructions, man."

Cecilia chuckled. "You can’t be too careful."

Roarke’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t anger... it was something closer to disgust, the particular contempt of someone confronted with competence they couldn’t match.

"I hate people like you." The words were blunt. "It makes me feel like I’m a dumbass confused cockroach or something."

Despite everything, Cecilia’s smile widened. There was something almost endearing about the admission.

"Fine." Roarke sighed, already turning. "Follow me. I need to reorganize the President’s files anyway." He gestured vaguely toward the office.

"After you guys destroyed the wall, all those papers went flying everywhere. The ones that ended up outside might not be crucial, but they’re convenient papers. I can fucking swear, that prankster who locked you guys in there is especially messing with me."

He grumbled on as he walked, a stream of complaints about disorganized files and irresponsible pranksters and the particular hell of being the person who had to fix everyone else’s messes.

Cecilia followed, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the warmth of something that felt almost like hope.

Maybe this version of Roarke was different. Maybe in this world, with different choices and different circumstances, he could be something other than the man who had ruined Sienna’s life and broken Arkai’s trust.

Maybe.

Entering the student council office, Roarke moved immediately to the corner where the room’s magical heater sat.

He adjusted the settings, and within moments, a gentle warmth began to spread through the space. Not overpowering, just enough to take the chill off the winter air.

"Pick a spot." His voice was casual, uninterested, already focused on his task.

He didn’t even look at her as he walked toward the president’s desk. Not when Cecilia unbuttoned her uniform jacket and lay down on the sofa, draping the fabric over her legs. Not when she settled into the cushions, her eyes already heavy with exhaustion.

He simply sat behind the desk, on the floor, out of sight, and started opening drawers, pulling out files, organizing.

That casualness, that complete lack of interest, gave Cecilia the belief that she was safe.

Well. Even if she wasn’t, she would wake up before anything happened. And even if she didn’t, she could defend herself. The moment any threat approached, her body would respond.

She fell asleep.

And Roarke truly immersed himself in his work.

The files were a disaster. Papers out of order, documents misfiled, the organizational chaos that resulted from a wall being destroyed and papers flying everywhere.

He sorted, stacked, rearranged. The work was mindless but satisfying, the kind of task that let his thoughts wander while his hands stayed busy.

Only when he heard the door open, and then, distinctly, the click of it being locked, did he surface from his focus.

He stood up from behind the desk, files still in his hands, ready to greet whoever had entered.

The president stood there, frozen on the threshold.

And his eyes were fixed squarely on the sleeping girl on the sofa.

"What’d you lock the door for, man?"

Arkai flinched.

It was subtle. A minute jerk of his shoulders, a catch in his breathing, but Roarke noticed. This reaction, from this man? The stern, unflappable president who never showed emotion, who handled crises with the same calm composure he brought to morning greetings?

"Arkai?" Roarke’s brow furrowed, genuine concern bleeding into his voice. "You alright?"

But even as he asked, something else flickered through his mind.

Suspicion.

Bruh. This guy had just been locked in a room with this same girl a few days ago and now he was locking the door again?

What the fuck? Did he get addicted to something?

But Roarke was here. Standing right there. Holding files. Being very, very present.

Come on, man. Read the room.

"President." Roarke’s voice dropped to a low, deliberate deadpan. "If you’ve got a crush on someone, it’s creepy to just lock the room you’re in together, alright?"

Arkai’s face erupted.

Red. Deep, burning, impossible-to-hide red. The color spread from his cheeks to his ears to his neck, a tomato-like transformation that Roarke had never seen on any living human, let alone the famously composed Arkai Dawnoro.

Roarke’s brain short-circuited.

What?!

His half-assed, throwaway guess had been right?!

This northern frozen rock, this glacier of a man who never showed interest in anyone, who deflected every matchmaking attempt, who seemed utterly immune to the concept of romance—had a crush?!

Oh, shit!

Arkai’s glare snapped to him, sharp and warning. His index finger shot up, pressing against his own lips in an urgent shush gesture.

Roarke wanted to combust.

A wheeze built in his chest, a laugh so desperate and delighted that it threatened to escape whether he wanted it to or not. He clamped down on it, forced it back, held it in with every ounce of self-control he possessed.

But inside, he was screaming.

His bro actually liked someone!