Student? Or Training Dummy?
“Is that a student?”
“Aaaah! My back! My back! Pull gently!”
“Quit whining!”
Radianus was unceremoniously dragged out of the cafeteria in abject defeat. Every student inside burst into giggles at the sight.
Elysia let out a sigh of relief. “Phew... I almost choked if we'd eaten together.” She picked up her fork again.
Why is big brother acting like that...? Elysia suddenly recalled that morning. Last night, she'd snuck out and returned at dawn, only to notice—by chance—that the door to Radianus's room next door was ajar. Curious, she'd peeked inside, but the room was empty. The bed was stone-cold, not a sign of life. As if he hadn't come back all night.
Where did he go at dawn? And why does he keep complaining about his back hurting? Suspicious, but Elysia shook her head. Fewer run-ins with her brother at the dorm was a blessing in disguise for her.
“Dessert.” The waiter set down the final plate—a sherbet the size of a walnut. Kara popped it in her mouth and smacked her lips. It was refreshing, but her stomach was still growling.
“Ugh... Next up is swordsmanship practice. How am I supposed to train on this?” Kara grumbled, setting down her spoon. She'd heard morning sickness worsens with a change in routine, but thankfully the academy chefs were top-notch—no nausea in sight.
“I'll make sure dinner's a feast.”
“Yeah. Looking forward to it, honey. Pile on the meat. Like a mountain.”
We stood up.
“W-Wait! Eat dinner together too!” Elysia abandoned her half-eaten ice cream and trailed after us like a lost puppy.
The next stop for the ravenous barbarian couple: the training ground. The class was Basic Swordsmanship and Physical Conditioning. I was starting to dread how our rage at the academy's stingy portions would unleash itself in practical training.
* * *
My stomach's burning.
Lunch... meat...
Heading to the academy's First Training Ground for afternoon classes, that was all I could think about. The coin-sized steak from the cafeteria had long dissolved in my stomach acid.
A barbarian's metabolism is several times that of a normal person's. Especially for a massive frame like mine—it demands constant fuel. Today's lunch was basically fasting.
“Whoa... Is this the training ground? It's like a colosseum!” Elysia bounced around, exclaiming in awe.
She was right; the First Training Ground was magnificent. Open to the sky, afternoon sun poured straight down. The floor was special material for maximum traction. Precise lines marked it like a fencing piste, screaming real combat ready.
But my eyes kept drifting to the wall lined with training dummies. Knight orders or boot camps usually had crude straw scarecrows. Not Eterna Academy.
These were meticulously crafted: skeletons for frames, thick cowhide covering adult male size and weight. Perfect for real fights.
Definitely the empire's top academy... The detail's insane. Impressed, I approached one and sniffed.
Is that real leather? The faint hide scent smelled downright sweet. So hungry, I wanted to sink my teeth into its neck and chew.
My jaw clenched on instinct. Grrrrowl.
“Wh-What was that? From the dummy? Is it alive?!” A few passing guys turned pale and bolted at my stomach's roar.
“Barg, that hungry?” Kara stroked my arm, worried. Her eyes were sharper than usual from the meager meal too.
“Yeah. I could chew through that leather dummy right now.”
“Hang in there. Dinner right after class.”
We'd changed in the training ground's changing room into academy gym uniforms. Can't swing swords in stiff school clothes. Made from special stretchy fabric for max mobility, they clung like a second skin. Dark navy with silver lines—elegant for noble kids. Light, tough ebony guards at chest and joints. Swordmaster vibes.
Problem: skin-tight fit exposed everyone's bodies starkly. Noble heirs and ladies, used to hiding in tailored uniforms, averted eyes from each other's lines, flustered.
“Wow...” Elysia's gaze naturally went to Kara beside me. She was warming up in the thin uniform. Twisting her waist, stepping lightly—her flexible, toned muscles rippled beneath. Guards accentuated the 3D curves. Her abs protruded ever so slightly—Yeppe growing strong inside. But no sluggishness; she looked like a sleek lioness, vital and springy.
“Kara, you're really pregnant?” Elysia couldn't hold back, rushing over to poke at Kara's firm waist and belly line in wonder.
“How's your figure still so tight? I live on desserts, so my lower belly's a bit... ahem, anyway, I'm so jealous!”
Kara grinned at the praise, patting her belly lightly. “Still early—no big bump yet. Once it swells like a mountain, this shape's gone forever. Stare all you want now, Your Highness.”
“I want to stare forever, but...” Elysia glanced around nervously, whispering. “What if other guys in class start eyeing you? With bodies showing, stares are intense... You're the most eye-catching.”
Sure enough, some boys blushed and stole glances at Kara. Silver bob, perfect warrior proportions over the uniform—enough to spark sheltered nobles' curiosity. Even Kairun fell at first sight.
But Kara smirked at Elysia's worry, pointing right in front of her. “Doubt it. Hard to eye me up from there.”
“Huh? Why... Eek!”
Elysia followed Kara's gaze and hiccuped backward. A human wall blocked the sun.
“Ugh, starving... Serving that crap for lunch. Hurry up and end so I can eat meat.” I scowled, cracking my neck side to side. Crack, pop. The sound echoed.
Stretchy fabric worked a miracle—I fit the uniform without ripping. But no chest/joint guards in my size anywhere. Staff ransacked the storeroom sweating bullets. So here I stood: thin spandex on bare skin.
The result? Horrific. Pecs and lats bulged like living armor, veins pulsing. Every breath strained the fabric to screaming limits. Plus irritable hunger—my face was fiercer than ever.
Dare eye my wife. I swept a glare around. Boys peeking at Kara snapped heads away. None dared look again. They flinched at my slightest twitch, backing off.
Then Kairun approached from afar, face stiff. His uniform hugged a lean, wiry build—sharper than his usual slim look, like a proper swordsman.
...Did something happen at lunch again? He sighed at me, brow furrowed. Imagining Elysia snapping at someone, he asked cautiously.
“Barg. Why the face? Trouble at lunch?”
I replied in a deadpan, world-weary tone. “Nah... just... portions too small.”
“......Huh?”
“Steak was coin-sized. Stomach acid's bubbling up.”
Kairun chuckled in disbelief. “That's it?”
He rubbed his forehead, shaking his head. But he noticed classmates' stares at our North faction split two ways. Boys cowered like prey, avoiding us, staring at ground. Girls—the noble ladies—were different.
They “hid” faces with hands but peeked through fingers, blushing, at me. Raw, wild physique in just spandex—no guards. Primal allure absent from perfumed noble boys.
“Oh my, look at those muscles... The suit's gonna burst.”
“Scar's so feral. All northern guys like that?”
“Kairun's hot, but... that Barg guy... breath-taking.”
Whispers hit Kairun's sharp ears. He coughed awkwardly, looking up at me. “You're... surprisingly popular.”
“Huh? What—Ow!” I glanced around; Kara pinched my side, glaring.
“My husband's getting jealous vibes?”
“Kara, what'd I do?”
Boom!
“Quiet down, chicks!”
Before I could retort, a booming voice rang out. A man strode in with instructors in tow. Swordsmanship prof, Sword. Name screamed pride in his craft. Cropped silver-gray hair, scar from cheek to neck. Eyepatch. Less professor, more battle-hardened mercenary captain.
Sword smacked the wooden sword at his hip, scanning us sharply. “Rookies! Today, I'll show you what imperial swordsmanship is—and how brutal real combat gets!”
Students held breath at his charisma. He grinned smugly, gaze shifting... landing on me, blankly standing.
“......”
Mouth agape, he stared. Then whipped around, grabbing an instructor's collar. “Hey! Did I mix up class times? Isn't afternoon monster studies?!”
“N-No, Professor! First-years, first semester—Basic Sword Practice!”
“Then why's a monster dummy in the middle of the training ground?! In spandex! Do we dress monster targets now? Is monster studies even mandatory?!”
Familiar reaction. Just like the border tailor shop.
The instructor flailed, pale. “P-Professor! That's no monster dummy... It's the northern special admit! Student Barg von Wintersword!”
“......A student? That?”
Sword gawked, scanning me top to bottom. Me in clinging uniform, scowling hungrily. No guards—muscles knotted huge. Looked less human, more rare combat prop for the term.
Racism? Kinda like the tailor's first words at that border shop. Odd mix of familiar and pissed.