Weakest Beast Tamer Gets All SSS Dragons

Chapter 726: Chapter 726 – Taming the Fifth Year – Their Hand – 2

Finally, the day had arrived.

The students had a specific space to practice, a private ballroom reserved for fifth-year students. It was elegant but not ostentatious, with polished wood floors and mirrors on the walls so couples could observe and correct their form.

Luna didn’t want to show up.

Every fiber of her being screamed to flee, to fake illness, to find any excuse to avoid this moment. Her wolf had been pacing in her shadow all morning, picking up on her anxiety and reflecting it back amplified.

But she was Luna.

Luna never runs.

No matter how difficult the situation, no matter how personal it becomes, a Starweaver faces their challenges head-on.

So she breathed deep, verified that her posture was perfect, that her expression was neutral, that no traitorous emotions filtered through her mask.

The armor of composure that nobles learned to wear like second skin. The protection that let you function even when everything inside was screaming.

And she entered the hall.

Ren was already there.

Standing in the center of the practice floor, dressed appropriately for the occasion in simple but well-cut formal clothing. Not the ostentation of some nobles, no excessive embroidery or status markers. Just something elegant in its simplicity.

He looked… good.

The observation arrived unwanted… Unhelpful.

Making this harder than it already was.

Ren was looking at her directly.

Not with the intensity she feared. Not with anger, accusation, or visible hurt at weeks of cold distance and rejected attempts at connection.

Just… looking.

Waiting.

His mana was calm and steady. Not the turbulent mix she’d expected after everything that had happened.

Other students were in the hall too, practicing with their own assigned partners. Music played softly. Instructors moved between couples offering corrections and advice.

But in that moment, for Luna, they might not have existed.

All her world had reduced to this moment.

To this decision.

Ren extended a hand.

Still silent, without saying a word, simply inviting her to practice while looking at her steadily with those eyes that saw too much, that understood too much.

Eyes that had learned to read her despite all her efforts to remain unreadable. That noticed things she thought she’d hidden successfully. That made lying feel impossible even when lying was the kindest option.

Luna froze at the entrance, her shadow wolf pressing against her feet from her shadow in silent support. The beast’s presence comforting but unable to make this easier.

One step forward meant confronting everything she’d been avoiding.

Everything she’d built walls against. Every conversation she’d dodged, every moment of connection she’d carefully prevented. All of it waiting to crash down the moment she got close enough for her walls to fail.

One step forward meant risking that he’d see through all her lies and half-truths and see exactly how desperate, scared, and lost she really was.

See past the composed heiress to the girl who cried alone in her room. Who counted ceiling patterns because sleep wouldn’t come.

But Luna Starweaver doesn’t run.

Never runs.

The code that had sustained her through everything. Through her mother’s death and her father’s absence and her uncles’ schemes and the impossible weight of expectations she couldn’t quite meet.

So she breathed deep.

Adjusted her posture to absolute perfection. The noble bearing that had been drilled into her until it became automatic.

Let her mask settle firmly in place. The Luna everyone expected to see rather than the Luna who existed underneath.

And gave that step forward.

Then another.

And another.

Each step requiring active choice and active courage. But the chance to flee to safety didn’t exist anymore because the dance was mandatory and avoiding Ren forever was impossible.

Until she stood in front of Ren, looking at that extended hand that represented so much more than a simple invitation to dance.

It represented a connection she’d been desperately trying to cut but had never really managed.

Luna raised her gaze, finding Ren’s eyes.

He still wasn’t saying anything… Just waiting, patient and unwavering.

Not demanding nor forcing. Just… there.

Present in a way that suggested he’d wait as long as it took for her to decide. That he wouldn’t push but also wouldn’t pretend this was simple or easy or anything other than exactly what it was.

Giving her the option to take his hand.

Or to flee.

Knowing, probably, exactly what each option meant.

The hand looked strong and capable, big from combat training. Not the soft hands of someone who’d never worked, but evidence of someone who’d earned capability through effort.

It was steady… Wasn’t trembling or showing any sign of uncertainty.

Luna closed her eyes for a moment, gathering all her courage.

‘Mom,’ she thought desperately, ‘if you can hear me… tell me I’m doing the right thing.’

She could almost imagine what her mother would say. Could hear that voice in memory even if she couldn’t hear it in reality.

“Love isn’t something to hide or contain, my star. Love is to shout from the mountains, to write in the skies, to show without shame!”

Her mother wouldn’t have hesitated. Wouldn’t have built walls. Would have taken that hand immediately and declared her feelings so loudly everyone would be embarrassed.

But Luna wasn’t her mother.

Luna had learned restraint.

She opened her eyes.

And looked at Ren one more time.

Really looked…

Past the surface to the person underneath who’d somehow become important enough that avoiding him hurt more than facing him.

His expression hadn’t changed. Giving her all the time she needed to make this choice.

Luna took a breath. Felt her wolf press in encouragement. Felt the weight of her mother’s memory and her father’s absence and her uncles’ schemes and everything else pressing down.

And made her choice.

She reached out.

Her hand trembled slightly despite all her efforts at control. A small betrayal of the nerves she was trying to hide. Physical evidence that her composure was performance rather than reality.

Her fingers touched his palm… Warm and solid.

Real in ways that made everything else feel less substantial.

And then she completed the connection.

Her hand slid into his.

Fitting together in a way that felt both foreign and familiar. Like something she’d done before in dreams or past lives. Like coming home to a place she’d never been.

His fingers closed gently around hers.

Not grabbing.

Not restraining.

Just… holding.

Secure without being restrictive. Present without being overwhelming.

The contact sent something through her… Not electricity exactly.

Just awareness. Hyper-consciousness of every point where their skin touched, of the warmth radiating from his hand into hers, of the steady pulse she could feel in his wrist.

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