That's Not It
"That's not it."
"Puhahaha."
"Don't laugh, bro."
"Kuhahaha!"
"Ah, come on. I said don't laugh."
Despite Abel's plea, his older brother Eberin couldn't hold back his laughter one bit. And who could blame him? His little brother, who had seemed destined to live his life gripped by a sword and buried in training, had suddenly shown up with three girls in tow. Gorgeous ones, at that.
Jealous about it? Why would he be? No, right now was the perfect time to tease the kid. Eberin itched to remind him of all those bold childhood declarations about dying alone on the training grounds—see, this is why guys shouldn't talk big.
"So what did I tell you? Men are helpless creatures, right?"
"You're a man too, bro... Anyway, forget that. Seria's great and all, but I swear I have nothing going on with Irshu or Tarshu either. Why won't you believe me?"
He meant it. This wasn't some deflection or white lie. Eberin knew that. After over twenty years as brothers, the next head of House Rothschild wasn't fool enough to miss what his little brother was thinking.
And because he wasn't a fool, Eberin could see it plain as day: why the lady from their own kingdom, Seria, and the twin princesses from the Winter Duchy had followed his brother home. It was Abel. His little brother. One was smitten with her first love; the other two utterly captivated by an irresistible pull.
Whether Abel was clueless or just playing dumb, he waved it off wildly whenever the topic veered close. "No, no, nope."
"Fine, fine, drop it. Heard the news—you made waves at the Continental Academy. Gave our kingdom some real pride."
"What about the ones who came back first?"
"Some were shell-shocked, others debating whether to even return. Makes sense. Noble kids our age? Ability users or not, they're just flowers in a greenhouse. Witnessing death and injury like that... they're not handling it well."
Better this way. Useless ones might as well stay home. Abilities weren't child's play—they could turn into state weapons at any moment, yet these fools treated them so lightly. And from the looks of things, they'd clash with the Supremacists at least once more. The biggest betrayal risks? Exactly these cowards. Untrustworthy noble brats, to boot. Better to let them bail now than get stabbed in the back later.
"You're home after ages—rest up, Abel."
"Thanks, bro. But..."
"No time to rest, right? God, are you planning to live like this forever? Even people need to take breaks sometimes."
"Says the guy who's the most hardcore about it."
"That's 'cause I'm a non-ability user."
Unfortunately, Eberin lacked the abilities of his father the count, Lumine, or Abel. Considering most past heads of House Rothschild had been ability users—and two in his own generation, no less—inferiority might creep in. But Eberin harbored no such resentment toward his siblings. He simply gave his all as a non-user, preparing to inherit the headship.
"Oh, and introduce me to the future sisters-in-law while you're at it."
"Bro, that's not it."
When Abel returned to the Rothschild estate, everyone held out hope for a day or two. He'd left the family and fief for the first time. Traveled not to another kingdom, but the Empire. New places, new people—maybe some changes. He was a young man in his prime. Until recently, he'd pushed himself brutally, but perhaps romance would soften him now.
Clang!
Of course, by the third day, their hopes shattered with a collective 'Figures.'
For others, coming home meant rest. For Abel? Just a change of training venue.
"How's that, Bell? Good enough?"
"Perfect."
Faster. Even faster. Abel's sword shattered the light as it danced. Conveniently, Lumine wielded light manipulation. She'd fire beams; he'd slice them—honing precision and speed.
"..."
"..."
Irshu and Tarshu watched silently. At a glance, emotionless, blank-faced—like they were bored with nothing to do.
But inside those stoic expressions burned fervor. Behind the neutral gestures, fidgeting hands betrayed eager anticipation.
...As expected.
The best...
They still vividly recalled the academy battle. Terrors that had even the princesses tense. Yet Abel alone had smiled—not from ignorant bravado or cocky showboating, but genuine anticipation for battle. Eager to test his hard-earned growth. Not a bloodthirsty berserker, though. He knew his limits, sought paths forward. That thrilled Irshu and Tarshu even more.
"Heart's pounding."
"Chest's tingling."
That's true strength. Real power. Unstopping progress. Self-confidence and love, without arrogance. The source of endless growth.
"Mm. Time to head out. Bell."
"Guests from the church due soon. Thanks for the hard work, sis."
"You ease up too before coming in. Calling guests over and you're still out here?"
Lumine left first. Abel watched her go, pondering. Plan was another hour or two sharpening his sword sense. Without physical enhancement, he still couldn't wield it perfectly. His swordsmanship ability existed, but paled next to enhancement. Before, this might've sufficed. But Jureung's ability seal changed that. Even powerless—even sealed—he needed a fallback. Without it, all his efforts could crumble.
No more dead ends like this.
Bled countless times. Torn, broken, crushed. Finally awakened physical enhancement—not easily like others. Swordsmanship too: swung till his hands shredded, awakened late—barely above baseline without it.
Academy taught him: grinding alone wasn't enough. Rest helped. And crucially, new goals.
Just 'gain an ability' isn't enough? Tough nut.
Abel smacked his lips. Then Seria's voice piped up.
"Abel, training done for today?"
"Ah, Seria. Yeah, wrapping up. Sis headed in too..."
"Anything I can help with? That light training with Lumine-senior—I could do the same, maybe better."
"...Come to think of it, yeah. With your abilities, Seria, you might even outdo her—more variety."
Lumine's light was fast, bright, but limited in number. Post-awakening, Seria commanded dozens of flame butterflies. Direct them for 3D offense and defense.
Guests or no, motivation surged. Fire in his veins.
"Then, mind helping a bit, Seria?"
"Ah, yes! Anytime—leave it to me!"
Seria beamed, thrilled. Probably honing her own powers too, Abel figured. He took center stage, readied stance. She nodded, unleashed her new force.
Flutter flutter! Wingbeats. One butterfly? Silent. Dozens? Audible to ability senses. Plus intense heat and glow.
She's poured real effort into boosting her awakened power.
Not bad. Not points or lines—full area attacks. Controlled space for sure. Her growth could handle the Four's wariness. He could play supportive catalyst.
"Great, Seria! Way more butterflies than before—impressive!"
"Really? All thanks to you, Abel!"
"No, Seria. This is yours. Your solo achievement—pure growth."
Thrilling sight: someone climbing their own stairs. Abel grinned wide. A fellow ability user growing alongside? Electric.
And Seria fell for it. Face melting, control slipped. Butterflies boomed. Overload hit her hard.
"Hyak!"
"Aigoo."
Praise backfired—overexertion. Abel sheathed, leaped, caught her mid-fall.
"No overdoing it, Seria. Pace your stamina."
"Ah, th-that... uh..."
Rest first. He sat her down, catching breath.
"Next. Us."
"Us. Next."
Irshu and Tarshu stepped up, faces tinged with frustration. Sudden, but who refused training? Moved Seria aside, parried incoming ice shards.
"Waaah."
"Hwaaah."
Ten minutes later—twins collapsed in sync. Again? Scooped them up like Seria.
"Princesses need more stamina work too."
Seria too. Power up a notch and they crumple? Abel's earnest advice. That instant—Irshu and Tarshu's eyes sparkled.