Demo Class (3)
Serena finished her meal with the other young ladies in the dining hall, dabbing her lips with a handkerchief as she rose from her seat.
"Huh? Lady Serena, where are you off to?"
"Time for my major class."
"Already?"
"Yes."
"Lady Serena, what’s your major, anyway?"
"……."
At the young lady's question, she offered a meaningful smile that said don't ask any further.
It was a fact that would come out soon enough anyway.
Serena changed into her training clothes in the changing room and tied back her silver hair tightly.
The box she'd brought that morning caught her eye.
He didn't say to bring a sword.
So she would go empty-handed.
She left the changing room and headed for the second training ground.
"Zeke Clayman, right?"
"What's he like? Ever heard of him?"
"Nah, I'm taking Instructor Dios's class anyway."
"Yeah, same here."
Around twenty students were already waiting on the training ground.
As soon as Serena appeared, all eyes turned to her.
"Gasp!!! S-Serena Yohayden... Lady?!"
"For real? Here?"
"This is the knight department though......"
"No way... a minor? Wait, no—this is major class today!?"
Even though she'd steeled herself to come, the pressure was immense.
Not the usual gazes of admiration and envy, but ones filled with doubt, suspicion, and shock.
Most of the people here were men.
Including herself, there were only three women total.
And even they were people she had no prior dealings with.
They're all commoners, I guess...
The gender ratio was absurdly skewed,
but there was nothing to be done about it.
Among commoners, there were a fair number of women who turned to military service for a living
or took up the adventurer profession.
But why would a noblewoman, raised delicately in a greenhouse with every luxury,
throw herself into the sweat and blood among rough men to hunt monsters or duel with swords?
Of course, female knights or generals from noble houses weren't entirely unheard of.
But their numbers were as rare as wizards.
It was only natural that she'd initially mistaken Zeke's confession about his general for a man.
Even when they existed, they were usually from minor baronies or viscountcies.
Or daughters from swordmaster families
that had no sons or couldn't adopt heirs.
So for the daughter of a top-tier duke's house to choose the knight department as her major to learn the sword?
These stares were inevitable, in a way.
It's fine. I knew this was coming.
Her father's face, trying to dissuade her from wielding a sword, flashed briefly but vanished.
Thud—
Thud—
Thud—
Thump.
The man with his usual icy expression.
Zeke Clayman had arrived.
He set down a large box in one hand on the ground.
And in his other hand... something brown that looked like a club...
Huh? What is that...?
Serena narrowed her eyes.
"B-Bread?"
It was so utterly unexpected that the words slipped out.
The stares that had been on her shifted entirely to the bread in Zeke's hand.
A cloth at the handle end fluttered, reading Hilais Bakery ♥.
The students began murmuring.
Serena suddenly recalled the time he'd wielded a flower to demonstrate swordsmanship.
No, Instructor! Not even for you!!
Was he planning to demo swordsmanship with bread now...?
It would certainly have impact!
Is that allowed!?
Serena had planned to pretend not to know Zeke at all today,
but she couldn't hide the shaking in her eyes at his eccentricity.
Zeke, unperturbed, swept his cold gaze over the students.
"Everyone here now?"
"His Highness the Second Prince hasn't arrived yet."
The green-haired man standing behind him answered.
"Tardiness then. Start class."
"......Shouldn't we wait a moment...? Ah, no. Understood."
The green-haired man stepped back to standby.
Zeke stepped forward.
"I'm Zeke Clayman, swordsmanship instructor at Lamieli Academy."
"......"
"You're about half of the first-year majors who just enrolled."
"Yes, sir!"
"Right. Class begins."
Zeke opened the lid of the box he'd brought.
"Sandbags. Four per person."
"Uh...... sandbags?"
"Why...... those...?"
As the students voiced confusion,
a group of men strode boldly into the training ground entrance.
The boy at the front drew eyes whether one liked it or not.
A leisurely gait exuding authority.
A sharp nose. Bright blue eyes.
Golden hair fluttering as if unconcerned with trifles.
Even a subtle smile enjoying the surrounding attention.
The Second Prince, Rosnante Leonine.
Zeke pulled a pocket watch from his pocket, checked the time, and looked back at them.
"You're late."
"I was a bit delayed practicing swordsmanship."
Rosnante replied brazenly, acknowledging it without a hint of apology.
Zeke stared him down piercingly.
The Second Prince glared back without yielding.
"Class time isn't set to your schedule. You're harming the other students."
"......"
"First class, so I'll let it slide. Don't be late next time. Get your sandbags and take your places."
The atmosphere froze as if doused with cold water.
Serena held her breath watching it unfold.
Of course, Zeke wasn't wrong.
But he was the Second Prince.
A top candidate for crown prince, already building his faction,
of the empire's exalted bloodline.
Another title: genius of the sword.
They said he could already hold his own against active knights.
It was the first day of real academy life,
but the Second Prince's fiery temper and arrogant attitude were already infamous, whispered about everywhere.
Even in other joint classes, his tardiness was accepted as a given by professors and all.
Zeke was the first to call it out.
Instructor, what are you planning...?
Serena looked at Zeke with worried eyes.
Zeke eyed the Second Prince with thinly veiled disgust.
So fucking thrilled to finally meet you, you bastard.
He'd finally encountered the culprit who dumped him into this romance novel world.
Ah, another blond-headed fucker. Minus one point.
Of course, from the guy's perspective,
he'd just written the damn thing, and it was the reader who couldn't hold back after 5,700 characters of ranting who was at fault.
He hadn't stalked the serialization harassing the author—he'd skimmed casually and raged just once!
Then suddenly, scratching his balls at home, he'd plummeted into this romance-fantasy world.
No way his feelings toward the guy were positive.
Personally, he wanted to drag him into a back alley and beat the shit out of him right now,
but Zeke knew now: this world needed pretext.
Fine, fine. He's the Second Prince... And I do need to pull this punk into my class.
Acting on impulse could bring imperial guards charging in, forcing him to fight the empire solo.
No more dark fantasy bullshit like that.
But with solid pretext? He could probably grab the guy's head and spin a triple axel thrice.
Needed to test that.
Tch. Let it slide for now.
Zeke settled for burning the Second Prince's image into his eyes.
Class first. Go easy. Easy. For now... Half-force on these meatbags.
He reaffirmed inwardly and addressed the students.
"Warm-up with stamina training."
Hah—
Huff—
Huff—
Breath burned up to her throat.
Ragged gasps escaped uncontrollably.
The sandbags dragged at her ankles like they were pulling her to the depths.
Same bags on her wrists made her arms hang limp,
looking just like undead zombie monsters.
How long do I have to do this crap!
Second Prince Rosnante sweated buckets, grinding his teeth.
His initial leisure gone, his once-glorious blond locks sodden like rotten seaweed.
"Grrrh! Huff. Huff. Gonna die. Fuck."
"Hah. Hah. Oh god......"
"Heok. Heok. Whoosh—!"
Noble students beside him groaned vulgarly, lifting heavy feet.
Dignity be damned—their looks matched the commoners training alongside.
No one was running anymore; they all dragged their feet.
"What're you doing. Run."
"Urk! It, it hurts!"
The sword instructor trailed behind, prodding the laggards' backs with his baguette, urging mercilessly.
I came to learn swordsmanship, not spin laps like this!
A sword instructor taught swords.
Rosnante knew basic stamina's importance.
But that was personal time,
not for a sword teacher to meddle in basics.
This brutal training didn't build bodies—it wrecked them.
That damn bastard...
Off-putting first impression aside,
insulting him casually before others,
wielding a baguette like a weapon.
Ordering sandbags from the start sparked rebellion,
but he'd accepted to judge after class.
This mess.
Had anyone ever treated him like trash in his life?
No, absolutely not.
Nobles didn't grovel in dirt like plebs.
I'm the empire's blood, Second Prince Rosnante Leonine! How dare a mere instructor!!
Then, a count's son walking beside spoke.
"Hek, hek, Y-Your Highness. Heok. We, we gotta, say something, right?"
"Huk. Huk. Wait. After laps. I'll, handle it. Huk."
"Heok. Un, understood. Heok."
"You there, quit yapping and move."
Zeke cut in from behind.
Crunch.
Grinding teeth, Rosnante moved his feet.
You dogshit fucker!!!
Finally, after twenty-five laps, stamina training ended.
Nobles and commoners alike collapsed in heaps,
gasping raggedly.
"C-Can't... do more—."
"Feels like puking...... Sky's always been yellow, huh."
"Grrrrrh......"
Groans and whimpers filled the ground, but Zeke's face remained pitiless.
"Tch, took too long."
Something snapped in the Second Prince's head.
He glared at Zeke and shot to his feet.
Truly, nothing's as reassuring as a madman on my side!
Students eyed him expectantly.
Zeke watched, eyebrow twitching.
"What?"
"We came to learn the sword."
"I know."
"This training just wrecks our bodies! And a sword instructor skipping swords on day one for stamina torture? Overreach!"
Students nodded in agreement.
Zeke turned and said,
"Eric."
"......Yes."
"Is a sword instructor doing stamina training overreach?"
"......Well......"
Truthfully, stamina training wasn't overreach.
Swordsmanship classes overall were Zeke's domain,
methods his to decide.
Just unprecedented in sword classes.
With highborn scions as students,
other sword classes focused solely on swordplay.
Sandbags had been provided but unused—until now.
Zeke glanced at the Second Prince, then whispered to Eric.
"Go to the principal's office now. Fetch the principal. He won't like incidents. He'll come."
Eric's eyes widened, nodded, and limped swiftly out.
Predicted this from the glares during training. Can't even endure this and you snap, punk...
Zeke turned back.
But looking at him now, he wants to throw down... Use the principal as witness?
Sudden thought, but not bad.
Most nobles here were the prince's lackeys.
Even fair duel,
he could rile them against Zeke.
But academy-sanctioned duel?
First Prince's rival attended, non-lackey nobles too—
legitimacy secured.
Plus, ask principal how much he could beat a royal without issue.
Instructor challenging royal student first lacks pretext... And how to drag this into my class obediently...
Zeke narrowed his eyes at the blond head.
Provoke a bit first.
"Heard it's not overreach. All class authority is mine. A student's can't infringe."
"......"
"I get your thinking. Stamina separate, sword class just swords. Right?"
"......Yes."
"You lot collapsing after twenty-five laps qualified to say that?"
Zeke's taunt boiled Rosnante's head.
You didn't wear sandbags!
This guy knew nothing.
"Is running with sandbags natural!? If bodies break, you take responsibility!?"
"Yes. I will."
"Like hell!"
Fuming rage boiled over.
Couldn't endure.
Originally, no plans this far.
Skilless fool just crushing spirits early.
His skill surpassed academy instructors.
Bow moderately like others,
even weaker ones worth learning from.
Words wouldn't cut it.
"Zeke Clayman, I challenge you to a duel."
Rosnante bit his lip.
Zeke nodded.
"That's banmal."