The Fault Lies with the Mistaken
Abel Rothschild didn't, of course, return to the infirmary after leaving the principal's office. Instead, he headed straight for the training grounds. Many areas had been completely or partially destroyed by the enemies' attacks, but he paid them no mind. His goal was set. He would strike at the enemies who hadn't yet escaped. To do that, he needed to prepare.
For revenge? No. He had to clear them out quickly and shout victory instead of defeat—that was the only way the academy could return to normal. Many doubted the academy would reopen anytime soon, but that's exactly why Abel saw hope in it. Even in a situation like this, the academy endured. Whether this world was a superpower tale or a romance fantasy, that much never changed.
The academy will be back up and running in a few months. If this genre is romance fantasy, it'll happen even faster. So before then, let's hunt down those Ability Supremacists or whatever they call themselves and rack up some experience. That's the best gain right now.
He'd accepted it now. This world wasn't the superpower story he'd imagined. Sure, it had the ability tag, but at its core, it was romance, not battles. He'd pitied those who mistook it for something else, only to realize he'd done the same. At first, there was despair and frustration—everything he'd done felt wasted. But on second thought, being a romance fantasy didn't change much. Abilities didn't vanish. They remained the key measure of worth. Just looking at the current situation, he could guess how relationships would develop, twist, and tangle through those abilities.
What Abel had wanted was to become one of the top figures in an ability-user world. If it was a genre full of blood and battles, fine—but if it was one of love and jealousy, at least he wouldn't worry about losing family or loved ones. It even meant he could focus even harder on honing and building himself.
This is an opportunity. Yeah. You all enjoy your romances. I'll steadily climb up in the meantime.
To do that, he needed academy life. And for that, he had to chase down the fleeing enemies—not necessarily wipe them out, but deal them a heavy blow. As a bonus, racking up merits would boost his reputation, with zero downside for him. Decision made, all that remained was pushing himself mercilessly.
Recalling Jureung, that formidable foe, Abel dove into his long-forgotten routine of a hundred thousand sword swings. Even without abilities. Even without Physical Enhancement. He'd face them with stamina and experience alone.
After the series of incidents at the Continental Academy, students began to trickle away. Most were scions of important families from various nations. Better to call them home before suffering more harm abroad, their families judged. But not everyone left. Some stayed despite orders to return—out of pride as ability users or nobles. Others burned with vengeance against the Ability Supremacists. Or they had goals at the academy they refused to abandon unfinished.
"Found you, Irshu."
"Tarshu. Found you."
In that sense, these two sisters—the Winter Duchy princesses—fell into the latter category. They had one reason for coming to the academy: to find a stronger, more perfect warrior. If possible, invite him to the duchy and naturalize him. If not, at least forge ties and return home bearing his essence.
From the start, the two princesses had checked every senior student one by one. But not a single man satisfied them. All fixated on abilities, possessing only half-baked strength—no true men among them.
Then one day, they finally found him. The ideal man. One suited to the Winter Duchy. The perfect warrior they must claim, even if just for his essence, dragging him to bed if need be.
"Heard you were hurt."
"You're not hurt."
Rumors had already spread through the academy. Freshmen had held off powerful enemies to the end, buying time for faculty and upperclassmen to repel the Ability Supremacists faster. And at the center was someone the princesses knew well.
Humm! Whumm!
In the utterly ruined training grounds, a forsaken space, he swung his sword. He'd healed cleanly through treatment, but the body's damage didn't vanish entirely. The shock, pain, fear, and terror from that day lingered deep in memory. That's why some ability users broke even when they could fight on—they couldn't endure anymore. Their patience hit its limit. They were ability users on the outside, but ordinary people within.
More common than you'd think, especially those without prior fractures. Part of academy experience built that endurance. You had to get hurt to gain patience. Collapse to learn to rise again. It wasn't easy—that's why ability users avoided it.
But that man—Abel—was doing it so casually.
"Even if the body's healed, the mind remembers."
"The mind doesn't forget the body's wounds."
Abel swung without pause, using no abilities. Did he see what others called victory as defeat? Pushed back without abilities, now he sought to win without them? Every motion, every expression radiated unyielding will. Not a victor, not a loser—just a man striving to grow stronger.
The princesses recalled Abel's true face from not long ago.
"A man who never crumbles himself, no matter how enemies shatter him."
"A man who never yields to any attack or setback."
That's him. That's the one. Irshu and Tarshu exchanged glances. Four years might not have been enough, yet they'd found him in under four months. Now, either bring him to the Winter Duchy or take his essence home.
"Who speaks first?"
"I'll go first."
Meanwhile, the princesses remembered their talk with Abel. No speaking together—one at a time. Now they had to please him, so rules to follow. And they were glad to.
"Abel Rothschild."
Irshu stepped forward first, and spotting her, Abel brightened. Then, about to call her name, he sighed "Ah." He glanced at the princesses, gauging, then cautiously spoke.
"…Lady Tarshu?"
"Irshu."
"Ah."
From Abel's view, it was a bit unfair—they were too identical. Twins should have subtle differences: stride, breathing, tiny habits, aura. But these two were one being from the start. No one could tell them apart.
"Sorry. Lady Irshu."
"It's fine. Always like this."
To Irshu, it truly was fine. But to Abel, not at all. Her flat tone sounded dissatisfied today. So he blurted something to soothe her, figuring it worked for bad moods.
"Well, you see. Ahem. You two are so identically beautiful, I got confused."
"…Beautiful?"
"Yes. Lady Irshu."
"Nice to hear."
Irshu's lips curved faintly as she took Tarshu's hand. Tarshu smiled lightly at Abel too. Hollow smiles, soulless to him, but still.
"What're you doing?"
"Just loosening up. Reflections from this incident, and prep for what's ahead."
"What's ahead?"
"Prep?"
Irshu and Tarshu tilted their heads in unison. Even the angle matched. Too identical for twins, Abel thought, deciding to share the news.
"It'll be official soon anyway, so no harm telling you early. The academy's pursuing the ones who did this."
"That's it."
"Revenge."
Revenge. Yes, the big word. But not for Abel. More important: experience fighting ability users on the edge of death. Fame and status as an ability user from repelling them. The new strongholds that followed.
Just because it's romance fantasy doesn't mean I have to play romance. I'll stick to superpower path.
Better this way. With Seria, too many worries. Those four guys wouldn't let her go. They'd block her, maybe even invite her to their families or nations. Alone was easier. He'd trained solo from the start. Tracking enemies? Solo was best…
"I want in."
"I'll go too."
"…Pardon?"
Irshu and Tarshu sidled up, each claiming one of his hands.
"Come with us."
What kind of development was this? Abel could only panic for real.