The Night the Laundry Bucket Overturned
Even before the laundry room door opened, the stench escaped first.
It was a foul odor, like a boiling mixture of rotten straw, stale soap, and mud mixed with horse manure.
Lya was the first to rush inside.
"No."
Her voice was quiet, but it was enough to cut through the laughter echoing inside the laundry room.
The cloaks belonging to Ronan's team were strewn across the floor.
They were the four gray cloaks issued for the practical training exam in the Monster Forest. Black water dripped down them. The emergency bandages Lya had spent all night drying were half-soaked beneath the cloaks.
Brown stains bled along the edges of the white cloth.
Lya's hand hovered in the air, freezing in place.
"Those are the bandages we need to bind wounds in the forest tomorrow."
The three upperclassmen standing at the back of the laundry room laughed.
The tallest cadet among them casually nudged a bucket with the toe of his boot. The bucket was already empty, and dirty water was sluggishly trickling along the grooves in the floor.
"The failure team can just wear wet rags. You're all going to run back crying from the entrance of the forest anyway."
Ben grit his teeth.
Dorman gripped his shield strap and prepared to take a step forward.
Ronan lightly blocked Dorman's arm with the back of his hand.
"Don't raise your shield yet."
"But, Ronan..."
"They weren't trying to start a fight."
Ronan looked down at the floor.
The filth hadn't spilled in a random direction. It had been directed precisely toward the drying rack where the cloaks hung. There was even a mark showing where the bucket had been paused before being tipped over.
Cerise was already crouching, examining the floor.
"They turned their ankle outward."
She pointed the tip of her scabbard at a wet mark next to the bucket.
"The person who kicked it used their right foot. They put their weight into it and dragged their heel. This was no accident."
The upperclassman's laughter subsided slightly.
"Does a lady from a prestigious knightly family spend her time analyzing footprints in a laundry room?"
Cerise looked up.
"I did not see footprints. I saw the habits of a coward."
The surrounding freshmen gasped at her words.
Neris did not touch the bucket's handle. Instead, she bent down and brought the tip of her nose close to the inside of the handle.
"Wax."
"What?"
"There is warehouse wax on the handle. The cheap kind used to seal supply boxes. There is no reason for it to be on a laundry bucket."
Ronan looked at Neris and asked.
"Do you smell the box too?"
"The northern warehouse. Old cedar. And the wool of new cloaks."
Neris's eyes drifted toward the ceiling.
"The probability that they hid them behind those clotheslines is high."
The tall upperclassman laughed harshly.
"Are you writing a novel? Some useless trash rolls in here, hides behind girls, and plays detective."
Lya picked up the wet emergency bandage.
Water droplets trickled down her wrist.
Her voice was strangely calm.
"Watch your mouth."
"And what's a little healer girl going to do about it, even if she acts tough?"
"This cloth is the first thing that touches anyone when they get hurt."
Lya took a step forward.
"What you ruined just to mock Ronan isn't my hands—it's someone's wound tomorrow."
The laughter in the laundry room died instantly.
Ronan stepped up beside Lya.
However, he did not block her path.
"Lya."
"Don't stop me."
"I won't."
Ronan let out a brief chuckle.
"I'll set the stage. You do the talking."
The moment Ronan took a step back, Lya stood in the center of the laundry room for the first time.
It was not a position of someone being protected.
It was the stance of someone determined to reclaim the bandages she would protect with her own hands.
Lya's fingertips trembled slightly.
She did not put down the wet cloth.
"Return our cloaks and bandages to how they were. And tell us who pushed the bucket."
The upperclassmen looked at each other and laughed again.
"And if we don't want to?"
Before Lya could answer, Ronan looked up at the ceiling.
Four thick clotheslines hung from the laundry room ceiling. The middle line ran through a pulley to the wall near the warehouse. It was an old mechanism designed to hoist heavy laundry all at once.
At the end of that line, there was an extra, small knot.
It looked strangely new.
Ronan took a deep breath.
The pure mana of the atmosphere gathered at his fingertips.
A single silver blade, his One Sword, manifested over his right shoulder.
Its edges still trembled slightly.
But the tip of the blade did not waver.
"I don't cut people,"
Ronan said.
"The only thing getting cut is your little secret."
The tall upperclassman's face stiffened.
The Phantom Sword rose into the air.
The tip of the blade did not cut the clothesline.
Instead, it nudged a rusted nail head next to the pulley shaft by half an inch.
Creak.
The ceiling mechanism tilted.
The hidden tension released.
A dull thud echoed from behind the northern wall.
Thud.
A wooden box that had been hidden behind the clotheslines slid forward.
The bottom of the box blocked the groove in the floor.
The stream of filth that had been flowing toward the cloaks lost its path.
Ronan's sword moved a second time.
This time, it lightly scraped the gap between the stones next to the stream on the floor. A new groove opened, redirecting the blocked water in the opposite direction.
The filth began to flow backward.
It was slow at first.
Then, the waterlogged cloaks hanging on the clothesline swayed under their own weight.
The lid of the box rattled open.
Brand-new gray cloaks spilled out.
They were cloaks stamped with the academy's official seal.
They were completely dry—the very cloaks that should have been assigned to Ronan's team.
"Huh?"
Someone let out a dumbfounded gasp.
The dirty water flowed along the floor groove and poured directly into the box.
One new cloak was soaked first.
Soon, a second and a third drank in the brown water.
The tall upperclassman lunged forward.
"Stop!"
Ronan curled his fingers.
The Phantom Sword descended right in front of the senior's feet.
The blade didn't touch him.
Instead, it lightly tapped the handle of the bucket lying on the floor.
The bucket rolled over, blocking the path of the senior's boot.
He slipped.
A lump of wax and a small warehouse key tumbled out of his coat.
Clink.
The sound was quiet.
But everyone in the laundry room heard it.
Ben moved first.
He picked up the key with a handkerchief, avoiding stepping on it.
"It's the key to the northern warehouse. There's cedar dust on the tip."
Neris narrowed her eyes.
"It matches the scent I detected earlier."
Cerise lowered her scabbard.
This time, she wasn't taking a stance to challenge them to a duel.
She was blocking the upperclassmen's escape route.
"If it was an accident, why did the key fall from your pocket?"
The tall senior's lips trembled.
"That's... the supply team's duty..."
"You hid the supplies you were in charge of, ruined someone else's gear, and called us trash when you got caught."
Ronan cut him off.
His voice wasn't raised.
"I'd say your own words just tripped you up."
The gazes of the surrounding freshmen pierced the upperclassmen.
Some shut their mouths, unable to laugh.
Others looked back and forth between the soaked cloaks of Ronan's team and the new cloaks in the box.
Lya walked forward.
She dropped the filth-soaked emergency bandage in front of the tall senior.
"Wash it."
"What?"
"Because you ruined it. Hand over the new bandages, and wash this one yourself. With your own hands."
The senior's face flushed bright red.
"Why should I do such a—"
Ronan tipped the bucket upright with his toe.
"You said it yourself earlier. Tell them to just wear wet rags."
Dorman chuckled softly.
Ben couldn't help but shake with silent laughter.
Cerise did not laugh. Instead, she stared straight at the tall senior.
"Take it with you. Just as you suggested."
Neris added.
"Also, wax does not wash off easily in water. You will have to scrub for a long time."
As soon as she finished speaking, a freshman at the back of the laundry room burst out laughing.
The laughter spread quickly.
But this time, the laughter was not directed at Ronan's team.
The three upperclassmen knelt on the floor.
At first, they reached out reluctantly. But when Lya pointed to the box of clean cloth, they silently pulled out the new emergency bandages and cloaks.
One by one, the items stamped with the academy seal were returned to Ronan's team.
Ben counted the items.
"Four cloaks, six emergency bandages, and two herb pouches. They all have our markings."
Dorman received his new cloak but didn't put it on right away.
He picked up the wet cloak and dropped it in front of the seniors.
"Please wash this as well. If my back gets wet tomorrow, I won't be able to hold my shield properly."
Dorman, who usually kept his shoulders hunched, spoke with a voice that rang clearly against the laundry room walls.
Ronan didn't step in to correct him.
Because Dorman had voiced his own share of anger.
The sound of wet cloth being scrubbed echoed through the laundry room.
Scrub, scrub.
Scrub, scrub.
The hands that had been mocking the failure team just moments ago were now scrubbing away the filth.
Lya watched them until they were finished.
Only then did she take Ronan's wrist.
"Did you overdo it?"
"A little."
"That's a lie."
"Well, not a lot. Just enough for Lya to notice when she grabs my wrist."
Instead of answering, Lya wrapped his wrist even tighter.
This time, it wasn't a bandage.
It was a wet handkerchief.
Ronan didn't pull away.
Cerise crossed her arms beside them.
"Next time, calling for me before you speak is also an option."
"If you handle it with your scabbard, I feel like the laundry room would end up in worse shape."
"I do not cut people."
"And I didn't cut the pulley."
Neris reached out between the two of them.
"I need to record the trembling of your wrist."
Lya's eyes narrowed.
"Treatment comes first."
"Observation can also be a part of treatment."
"Don't say that in front of a healer."
Ronan slowly raised both hands.
"I only have one wrist, and the laundry room is still slippery. Let's take turns."
Only then did Lya let out a small laugh.
It was a very brief laugh.
But to Ronan, it felt as if they had reclaimed that laugh even before the emergency bandages.
Dorman shook out his new cloak.
Ben checked the seals and the quantity.
Cerise stood by the door, ensuring the upperclassmen couldn't escape.
Neris scraped the remaining wax from the bucket handle into a small glass vial.
Lya refolded the clean emergency bandages.
And this time, she stood beside Ronan without hesitation.
"Tomorrow in the forest, I'm keeping these bandages right next to Ronan."
The room fell quiet.
Lya did not back down.
"If someone gets hurt, we'll use them first, but I'll be the one keeping them. That way, I can catch Ronan the moment he tries to act tough."
Ronan nodded.
"Then I'll leave it in your hands."
The phrase "failure team" was never uttered in the laundry room again that night.
Instead, a different warning quietly spread.
If you mess with Ronan's team, your dirty hands will be exposed.
And along with them, everything you tried to hide.
Outside the laundry room window, the night rain had stopped.
The clean cloaks were hung back on the line.
Although the stench of filth lingered, no one avoided the cloaks of Ronan's team anymore.
Lya folded the last emergency bandage and tucked it into her shirt.
Ronan looked up at the ceiling pulley one more time.
The trembling of the silver blade was already gone.
In its place remained only the silence of the drenched upperclassmen and the clean gray cloaks they would take into the forest tomorrow.