Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby! - Chapter 195

Chapter 195: Lessons in Leadership
If someone had told me that my reward for preventing a revolution would be a week of enforced schoolwide harmony, I might have let the bread riots go just a little bit longer.

Instead, here I was: seated in the Headmistress’s office beneath a portrait of a scowling ancestor and a surprisingly judgmental cactus, listening as Headmistress Weller outlined my doom with all the warmth of a frosted dagger.

“Peace Week,” she said, enunciating each word as though she’d bitten into a lemon. “You’re in charge, Elyzara. If the school ends up in ruins or we discover a single clandestine magical duel in the girls’ lavatory, you’re out off the student council, out of the magical archives, and your House loses seventy-five points.”

My mouth went dry. The archives were my lifeline: without them, I’d never know what storm was truly gathering beyond these walls.

Headmistress Weller narrowed her eyes. “We expect not just peace, but unity. Understood?”

I nodded, as gravely as one could nod when one’s knees were shaking.

She waved a hand. “Dismissed. And for goodness’ sake, fix your tie, you look like a revolutionary who lost a fight with a wardrobe.”

As I stumbled into the corridor, Velka and Riven waited, Riven holding a suspiciously wriggling satchel.

“Good news?” Velka asked, hope and dread perfectly balanced.

I winced. “Peace Week. We’re in charge. If we fail, no more magical archives.”

Riven’s face fell. “But that’s where they keep the—”

“Yes,” I said grimly. “The secret revolution records, the restricted spellbooks, and my favorite nap corner.”

Velka arched an eyebrow. “So what’s the plan, O Fearless Leader?”

The plan, as it happened, was chaos disguised as team-building. With Mara (who believed snacks were the foundation of civilization) and Elira (who had volunteered only under duress and threat of interpretive dance), we divided duties for Peace Week.

Monday: Empathy for Evil Overlords

Riven’s idea, of course. He staged a puppet show with sock puppets disturbingly reminiscent of my parents: one wore a crown stitched with golden thread, the other a cape made of an old handkerchief. There was even a sock Elyzara, complete with a scrap of silver hair and an expression of profound exasperation.

Riven’s voice soared through the auditorium:

“Why do evil overlords wake up grumpy? Perhaps it’s all the early morning revolutions! Remember, even tyrants have feelings. Sometimes, all they need is a cup of tea and a legally binding peace treaty.”

The students howled. Even the Headmistress cracked a smile. Velka, beside me, leaned over and whispered, “If he does impressions of us, I’m hexing his shoes.”

“He did one of you already,” I replied, “but he got the smirk wrong.”

Mara, meanwhile, had taken charge of the snack booth “Free Cookies for Civility!” with the zeal of a sugar-fueled general.

“No handshake, no cookie!” she barked. “No truce, no truffle! You yes, you, with the scowl smile at your neighbor or it’s celery for you.”

Lines formed quickly, peace treaties were signed on napkins, and by lunchtime half the school was mildly ill from goodwill and caramel.

Tuesday: How to Protest Without Exploding

Elira’s workshop, theoretically. In practice, it involved students crafting protest signs that could only sparkle, not combust, and learning basic negotiation spells (“No setting your opponent’s robes on fire, please!”). To her horror, Elira’s example protest “Fewer Frogs in the Dorms!” became an instant meme, and that evening a giant inflatable frog was found lounging in the Headmistress’s bathtub.

I tried to hold it all together smiling at students I barely knew, refereeing between rival houses, chasing a runaway protest sign down three flights of stairs, and pretending I wasn’t deeply, desperately afraid of failing.

[Leadership is ninety percent making mistakes gracefully,] the system noted, [and ten percent remembering not to eat the poisoned canapés.]

“Thanks,” I muttered. “Very reassuring.”

By Wednesday, cracks began to show. The “Cookies for Civility” tent was flattened by an enchanted windstorm no one saw who conjured it, but Riven was there, and rumors spread faster than jam on toast. The puppet show’s finale was sabotaged, with the Elyzara sock mysteriously replaced by one that sang (badly) about tax evasion.

Mara cornered me after lunch, flour streaking her cheek. “Someone’s trying to ruin this, Zara. And the whispers are about Riven.”

My heart sank. Riven my first friend in this world, my most loyal and chaotic ally. He’d never betray me. Would he?

Velka watched me carefully as I paced the empty corridor that night, anxiety prickling like a rash beneath my uniform.

“I don’t believe it,” I said, voice raw. “But everyone’s talking. Even Elira’s suspicious. If the Headmistress thinks he’s behind this…”

Velka laid a hand on my arm. “Then you defend him. Publicly. Even if it costs you.”

I shook my head. “But if he did do it if I protect him and he’s guilty what kind of leader does that make me?”

“The kind who trusts her friends,” she said softly. “Or the kind who’s brave enough to admit when she’s wrong.”

That night, sabotage escalated. The Peace Parade’s floats enormous enchanted paper cranes ran amok, raining confetti and singing anthems of civil unrest. I found Riven in the gymnasium, trying to wrangle a wayward crane into submission with a broom and a desperate look.

He froze when he saw me, guilt and fear flickering across his face.

“Elyzara, I swear I didn’t do it. I know everyone thinks I did, but—”

I hugged him, tight. “I believe you. But you have to tell me everything you know.”

He nodded, voice trembling. “Someone’s using my spells. I showed a few first-years how to animate paper last week they must’ve copied them. I’m so sorry.”

My chest hurt, but not from betrayal. From relief.

I turned to face the students gathering outside, murmurs rising. “It wasn’t Riven,” I called, voice steady. “He taught others, yes but he didn’t sabotage the parade. If you want to blame someone, blame me. I put him in charge, I approved the spells, I’m the one responsible.”

Murmurs rippled, some uncertain, some angry but a few, blessedly, nodded.

In that moment, I learned something ugly and true about leadership: it meant carrying the blame, even when it wasn’t fair. Especially then.

Afterwards, Velka found me alone in the library, staring at the forbidden archive doors.

“You did the right thing,” she murmured, sitting beside me, their presence a balm on my frayed nerves.

“I feel like I’m losing everything,” I admitted. “Every time I try to fix things, I break something else. Maybe my parents were right. Maybe I’m not meant to lead.”

Velka took my hand, threading our fingers together. “Maybe that’s what makes you different. You care. You listen. You admit when you’re wrong. The school sees that even if they don’t say it yet.”

I let myself believe her, just a little.

Peace Week limped to its end. The school was battered, the students fractious, the archive doors still tightly shut. But there were moments small, shining ones where something like hope broke through. A second-year and a fourth-year laughing over burnt cookies. Rival houses holding a truce long enough to clean up parade feathers. A puppet show’s closing scene, in which Riven’s sock-queen and sock-overlord finally signed a friendship treaty over a cup of tea.

The Headmistress summoned me once more. Her expression was unreadable.

“Well, Miss Elyzara. You didn’t deliver peace. But you did deliver honesty, loyalty, and the best school puppet show in a century.”

I held my breath.

She smiled very slightly. “The archives remain open. Use them wisely. And, please, keep your friends from summoning any more inflatable frogs.”

As I left her office, Velka was waiting. I leaned against her, weary but hopeful.

“Ready for the real revolution?” she asked, voice teasing.

I squeezed her hand, smiling at the memory of sock puppets and wild paper cranes. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

We slipped out into the cool corridor, the evening sun casting golden squares across the marble. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The hush of the school after a week of improbable chaos felt almost holy if you ignored the distant sound of Mara barking cookie orders and the faint chorus of “Peace Parade Forever!” echoing from the quad.

Velka squeezed my hand. “You did it, you know. You held it together.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a sigh. “Barely. If there’s an award for Most Disastrous Peace Week, I think we’re shoo-ins.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, her eyes warm, “but there’s also no one else I’d rather share the disaster with.”

The absurdity of it struck me: me, the awkward princess, entrusted with peace by a school that still wasn’t sure if it loved or loathed me, and Velka, fierce and loyal, at my side. Together, we’d survived puppet politics, snack diplomacy, and a suspiciously magical windstorm just another week at Arcanum Academy.

We reached the main staircase, where Riven and Mara were waiting, deep in heated debate over which cookie recipe best inspired “cross-cultural harmony.” Mara was waving a wooden spoon for emphasis, Riven brandishing a jam-stained napkin like a treaty.

“Ah, our fearless leader returns!” Riven grinned, seeing us. “Care to weigh in on the eternal battle: double-chocolate truce cookies or lemon-zest reconciliation bars?”

Velka smirked. “Why not both?”

Mara beamed, triumphant. “See? That’s leadership.”