The Logic of the Strong
No answer came, but the counseling session had already begun.
I pulled the Osrender from my front pocket—the quill pen Yurion had given me last time. It could serve as both weapon and writing tool, though I mostly used it as a pen. The writing feel was excellent.
“First, I’d like to record our session. Depending on what we discuss, I might share it with your father. Do you consent?”
“Do whatever you want. You’d play it for him anyway even if I said no.”
“If you don’t consent, I won’t record it. And I won’t show it to anyone.”
“……”
“Do you consent?”
Lena glared at me for a long moment before turning her gaze away. She stared blankly into the air, then muttered, “Fine.”
“Thank you. Earlier you said you hit him simply because he was staring at you. Was that really the only reason?”
I asked while taking out my client notebook.
Still no reply. Lena Caligus kept her mouth shut and simply stared at me.
“Was there another reason? Did he threaten you?”
“……”
“How have things been between you and your father lately?”
Question after question met with silence. In that stillness, I considered why Lena Caligus had become so twisted.
There were many possibilities.
Perhaps it’s simply a trait common to barbarians in their growth period.
The kingdom claimed all races were equal, yet clear differences existed between them. Long-lived elves tended to be more relaxed and optimistic than other races, while dwarves—who had spent ages crafting weapons—often showed obsessive or paranoid tendencies. Every race carried its own distinct characteristics.
Barbarians were no exception. Having survived in harsh environments, they leaned toward aggression, and that violence and hostility became especially pronounced during adolescence.
But Lena Caligus takes it too far.
No matter how aggressive barbarians were said to be, they didn’t beat someone half to death just for looking at them.
It could be rebellion born from trauma.
People carrying deep trauma manifested its aftereffects in countless ways—crushing depression, anxiety, or outward aggression. Yet none of that justified violence.
Wrong actions must be called wrong, plainly and firmly.
Especially with someone like Lena, who was prone to self-pity, a sharp rebuke was necessary. If left unchecked, she might rationalize her outbursts by thinking, I’ve suffered enough, so a little deviance is allowed, and her sense of law and order would erode further.
“Lena, do you understand that what you did was wrong?”
“What exactly?”
Her tone was hostile, but the fact that she answered at all was a small step forward.
“Assaulting someone is wrong. No matter the reason.”
“Why? He was weak, so he got beaten. Isn’t that his fault for being weak?”
Anger and disgust leaked through Lena’s curt reply. At first glance, that fury seemed directed at the weak.
I could read the true emotion beneath her words.
She thinks she lost her mother because she herself was weak.
It was an understandable conclusion. Even Draksan, who hadn’t been present at the scene, had been driven to intermittent explosive disorder by his own helplessness. Lena had been forced to watch her mother die right in front of her. The sense of powerlessness she felt must have been far greater than her father’s.
When faced with something incomprehensible and unbearable, the human mind twists itself trying to make sense of it. Eventually, she had come to interpret the tragedy as her own fault for being weak.
From that distorted reasoning, a dangerous belief had taken root: hatred of the weak and worship of raw power.
At its core, it was simple.
Self-loathing.
The person Lena truly hated and raged against was herself—the powerless girl who had been unable to save her beloved mother. That was likely why she had attacked the patient in the same ward. Seeing someone weaker than herself reminded her of her own past weakness, so she lashed out, trying in a twisted way to prove she was no longer powerless.
I stared straight at Lena. She stared back, her eyes brimming with hostility.
“So you’re saying that because your classmate was weak, he deserved what happened to him?”
“Yes. You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”
Lena sneered.
I smiled and nodded.
“Is that so? Then let me ask you something.”
I raised the Osrender. To anyone else it looked like nothing more than a quill, but I pointed it at her.
“If I’m stronger than you—if I can beat you—does that mean I’m allowed to treat you however I want right now? To hit you, or even kill you?”
“Sure. Go ahead. Though I doubt you could.”
Lena met my gaze without flinching.
“I can subdue you. I simply choose not to.”
“Then—”
She shot to her feet.
“Shall we test that?”
Crack!
Dust gathered around the index finger she raised, instantly forming a solid stone. It hovered, ready to fly at me. I didn’t so much as blink, simply watching her.
“Sit down.”
No need for long speeches. No need to get angry. Strong reactions would only twist her already distorted personality further. Speaking calmly, without a trace of amusement, was enough.
In the silence, Lena glared at me as if she wanted to kill me. Her eyes burned with murderous intent—the same hunter’s gaze Draksan had once shown when he couldn’t control his rage. Yet compared to Draksan at his worst, or patients like Gwangrang, she was almost docile.
“Sit down.”
“……”
After a long stare, Lena sank back into her chair.
I smiled again.
“Let’s continue. Lena, what thoughts or feelings come up when you think about your father? What about your mother?”
She gave no answer to the question about her mother. Only her eyebrows twitched.
She had no intention of responding at all.
I asked a few more routine questions—whether she was eating well, how she was getting along in the ward, whether she was sleeping. Lena never answered once. Finally, I stood up.
“I’ll come back tomorrow, Lena. I hope things go better than today.”
It had gone exactly as I expected.
Counseling was never going to be easy. Treatment would be just as difficult.
* * *
“That’s everything from my last session with Lena.”
I played the recording for Draksan.
“……”
After listening, Draksan’s body began to tremble. His eyes lost focus—the first signs of intermittent explosive disorder. I quickly grabbed both his shoulders.
“Draksan, breathe.”
“Hah… hah… hooooo…”
After several deep breaths, clarity returned to his gaze.
Lena’s twisted personality was visibly worsening his condition. Anything involving his daughter made it nearly impossible for him to control his anger, and lately even unrelated matters seemed to set him off quickly.
Of course. It’s his own child.
Draksan let out a long sigh and finally spoke.
“I’ll… take responsibility and educate her properly.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
Draksan fiddled with his axe, then set it down.
“Before… I lost control and swung my axe. Rather than let her keep hitting and tormenting others, I was going to cut off her fingers. That’s how my tribe traditionally punishes such things.”
Barbarian society enforced strict discipline. Break someone’s fingers for striking another, cut out their tongue for speaking out of turn. It struck me as somewhat barbaric, yet I understood the reasoning. In harsh environments, strict rules were necessary to maintain the community.
“But that won’t do. I’ll try correcting her with ordinary corporal punishment. I’ll take responsibility and—”
I shook my head.
“Corporal punishment is likely to backfire.”
“She’s beyond words at this point. Only pain will make her into a decent person.”
Draksan’s eyes trembled. Even he didn’t truly want to beat his own daughter.
“It might sever your relationship with her, but if it’s for her future, I’m prepared to—”
“The relationship isn’t the real issue.”
I paused to gather my thoughts.
“Lena has talent for magic. According to Eris, she ranks within the top five at the academy. I visited the academy myself the other day and confirmed her grades.”
“H-how good are they?”
“In the most recent practical magic exam, she placed first in her class. Across the entire student body, she’s in the top ten.”
A brief smile flickered across Draksan’s face before vanishing, replaced by gloom. His feelings must have been complicated—his daughter was excelling at school, yet he couldn’t simply be happy about it.
“Her good grades are a positive thing. At the same time, they’re also a problem.”
“Yes… even if she’s skilled, she needs to become a proper person first…”
“That’s one issue, but there’s something more serious. You probably noticed it from the recording—Lena has developed a twisted belief system centered on the logic of power, shaped by her trauma.”
“Yes, it seems that way.”
Draksan nodded.
“If you punish her physically, she might change her behavior temporarily. According to the logic of power, she would be the ‘weak one’ and therefore have to obey the stronger Draksan. That’s exactly the problem.”
“Why is that a problem…?”
“Because it would mean you’re reinforcing the very belief system she clings to.”
I glanced at the report card I’d brought from the academy. At the beginning of the semester, Lena’s grades had been average and her personality described as introverted and passive.
Following her own logic of power, she acted submissive while she saw herself as weak.
Then, at some point, her grades had shot up dramatically. At the same time, her personality had turned sharp and aggressive. Once she began to see herself as strong, she flipped like a switch and became violent. It was clear evidence that her distorted beliefs ran deep.
“There’s one thing I’d like to ask, Draksan.”
“Yes?”
“How has your relationship with Lena been lately? How often do you talk?”
Draksan thought for a moment, his expression darkening.
“We haven’t talked much. I’ve been busy with work…”
“Are you really that busy?”
His job as security at the counseling office wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t so demanding that he couldn’t spare time to speak with his daughter.
Draksan lowered his head.
“We don’t talk often, no. Even before the incident, talking with her was always my wife’s role. Disciplining her was mine.”
“And that discipline sometimes involved corporal punishment, I assume.”
“Yes… I had no choice…”
“Have you ever told her that what happened wasn’t her fault? Offered her any words of comfort?”
“Those words… felt too awkward. And bringing up that day at all is simply too painful for me…”
Lena’s hostility toward Draksan was especially strong. Now the reason was clear. Their long silence and emotional distance had allowed her inner hatred and misunderstandings to fester.
“You need to make an effort. If things continue like this…”
I organized my thoughts for a moment.
“Once Lena grows a little more—once her magical skill surpasses yours and she believes she can overpower you with force—she will try to dominate you. After that, she’ll act like a tyrant, because according to the logic of power, she will have become the ‘strong one.’”
Draksan’s face grew darker with every word.
“Then… what should I do…?”
“You have to teach her that following the logic of power is not the right answer.”
I took out the Osrender and moved it with psychokinesis.
Whoosh!
After dipping the nib in ink, I wrote random characters on a blank sheet using only my mind. The letters came out perfectly.
“Fortunately, I have a method.”