A Spar Before the Semester

I lay on my bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Every last errand in Tirhi was finished, and I had finally made it back to the dormitory. The entire carriage ride home had been one long barrage of grateful thanks from the two girls—more than enough to leave my mind thoroughly frayed. Trapped inside a moving coach with no chance of a cowardly escape, they had tormented me without mercy.

I'm seriously exhausted…

I wanted nothing more than to gift my worn-out body and soul the simple mercy of sleep, yet even this moment of rest felt like a waste of precious time. The world of Hero Con Brio was no longer the game I once knew; it had become the reality I now had to survive.

Reality never flowed exactly as planned. Anything could change at any moment, and with every change came the possibility of new threats. Things had started well enough that fretting excessively was its own problem—but letting my guard down completely would be pure idiocy.

Prepare in advance. Stay ready.

That was simply common sense for me now.

"Inventory."

I swept my gaze through the reassuring expanse of my inventory and pulled out the item I had stashed at the very end: ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the parchment I had received from Dahlia Campbell that afternoon at Begonia Restaurant. The memory of her retrieving it made me flinch reflexively, but I forced the image aside and unrolled the sheet.

As expected of the Information Guild. The parchment laid out in meticulous detail the location and scale of the dungeon I had requested.

"Damn it. Looks like I'll have to revise the plan a little."

The place had a solid density of mid-tier monsters for decent experience, and more importantly it hid a gimmick I absolutely needed right now. I had wanted to go no matter what—but for the moment it was impossible. My skill level was still razor-thin, yes, but the bigger issue was something else entirely.

I have to go back to school at this age…

Barely any time remained before the new term began. I had no confidence I could clear the dungeon and return on schedule, so I had no choice but to put it off until later.

"Status window."

"Holy shit. I'm ridiculously proud of myself…"

Looking at the status window brought tears to my eyes. The growth I had bought with near-death crises had transformed my stats beyond all comparison with the beginning. And this was the result of a single week. For a character who had only just finished the tutorial, the numbers were astonishingly high. Line up every freshman and compare stats, and I would easily sit inside the top five percent.

Yet now that this was reality, even these figures could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not quiet my unease. I still had to gamble my life against a mere weakened mid-tier monster, and the game's later stages only grew steeper and more merciless. Of course I trusted the protagonist and his party to handle the major incidents ahead—but I still needed to be strong enough to protect my own skin. Growing stronger was not a choice; it was mandatory.

I felt the sharp need for a more solid growth plan.

"Hah… Now what?"

Tonight, it seemed, I would no longer have the luxury of sharing a bed with sleep.

My mornings came early.

More precisely, the mornings of the man who had become Taylor Winchester came early. Even the usually boisterous Hero Academy dormitory, forever crowded with students, lay wrapped in pure silence at this hour. I rose blankly, opened the window, and filled my lungs with the cool dawn air. After a quick wash I circulated mana to force my mind fully awake, then pulled on the newly issued uniform. Standing before the mirror, I straightened every last crease until the look was perfect.

"Mm. Flawless."

A black-haired youth—rare in this world—gazed back at me from the glass. The overall delicate lines made him look a touch frail, yet the face itself was striking enough to hold its own anywhere. Anyone watching me praise my own reflection might have recoiled and labeled me a narcissist.

Tch. Let them think whatever they want.

In this damned body, the only things that truly satisfied me were the Winchester name and the face sitting on my neck. So I might as well enjoy what I had; it lightened the heart, if only a little.

Preparations complete, I left the room and walked the now-familiar corridor toward the academy's shared student training grounds. The grounds stayed open around the clock, yet even so, students who came at this hour were rare.

"Rare," of course, still meant there were a few others besides me.

William, for example.

"Young Master, good morning!"

"…Yeah."

I answered with a casual nod.

So this guy suddenly decided to start training at this hour…

I had wanted the grounds to myself so I could focus without distraction, but I could hardly kick out someone who had every right to use ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a public facility. The reason I had abandoned the dungeon for lack of time was precisely this: training the newly acquired skills and adapting to the stats that had skyrocketed overnight.

That was how the training began. The first day ended without incident. On the way back, however, I happened to run into William—and from the next morning onward his face started appearing during my dawn sessions. Today marked the third day of these shared workouts. He always kept a respectful distance and trained quietly, so it was not a real problem… yet the discomfort was real enough that I wished he would just disappear.

Nothing I can do about it, I told myself, and tried to ignore him as I prepared to start. Then the bastard suddenly did something unexpected. William fixed his eyes on me and began walking straight over.

"…Do you need something from me?"

He had always stolen glances from afar while carefully maintaining distance, as if determined not to interfere. Approaching me like this was a first, and it left me genuinely puzzled. He came right up, then abruptly bent at the waist in a perfect ninety-degree bow.

"Young Master Winchester, I am well aware this is presumptuous. Even so, there is something I must earnestly request of you."

"Go ahead and speak."

He hesitated a beat at my permission, then voiced a request I never saw coming.

"Please spar with me."

"Oh?"

What's gotten into him all of a sudden? A spar, out of nowhere?

I stared at William's uncharacteristic behavior. Apparently he took the silence for refusal, because he hurried on.

"I was deeply impressed by your martial prowess during the recent battle. Before the semester begins, I would like one last chance to cross blades with you."

His already lowered head dipped even further.

"…Is that so."

Like hell it was.

That clumsy mess of a fight impressed him?

I had twisted and strained with pathetic stats just to scrape out a victory. Which part of that had been "impressive"? If he was going to invent a reason, he could at least invent a better one. I had no idea what the justice-obsessed fool was thinking when he asked for a spar, but trying to read a fool's mind was itself a fool's errand. I simply gave up understanding.

Still, after turning it over carefully, I arrived at a different conclusion: Not bad at all, actually.

Might as well check once, right?

William, true to his role as the protagonist of Hero Con Brio, possessed the S-rank talent called Effort. In the early story he received no skills at all and believed himself inferior to everyone else. That very belief drove him to work harder than anyone, and in the end that effort shone, elevating him to the ranks of the world's strongest by the late game. The talent that let him become anything through sheer hard work—an absurdly overpowered, protagonist-grade cheat. The key that unlocked it was the terrorist attack at the entrance ceremony.

Originally a weakened hellhound was supposed to drop into the auditorium; the justice-obsessed hero would throw his life on the line to protect his classmates, cling to survival until the arriving heroes rescued him, and the whole affair would end with minimal casualties ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thanks to him. But then the variable named "me" appeared, and reality refused to follow the original script. What had been a few lines of text became a catastrophe unfolding before my eyes, so I struck first and took the hellhound down before it could descend. I felt no regret. I had lacked the power to prevent the attack, but I had possessed the power to suppress it—so I did. Any human, let alone a hero, would have done the same. As an ordinary civilian I simply was not selfish enough to stand by calculating odds while people died and bled in front of me.

Still, the thought of how the future I knew might now change left me a little uneasy. Spilled water cannot be gathered again, and a reality that has already happened cannot be undone. What I had done was fixed. Since things had come this far, I decided I might as well find out what skill the tutorial-cleared protagonist had awakened.

"If you insist that much, I'll accept the spar."

All right, come at me, newbie.

This veteran will personally check just how good you really are.