That Elementary School Kid
“Kkigigigik—!”
Even with one arm gone, the monster’s roar still carried plenty of volume. It scraped its remaining foreleg across the cave floor, scales rippling over its massive shoulder as its center of gravity sank low. It was gearing up to charge. How did I know? I’d taken that exact stance hundreds of times—from the sword’s side of things, anyway. Monsters that dropped into that posture almost always came barreling straight in, a full-body, do-or-die tackle.
“Byeori! Get back—!”
“Master, stay behind me!”
No way was I hiding behind my master’s back. A sword’s job was to dance in front of her hand, always.
“Kkigigik—!”
The monster lunged. The entire cavern shuddered. I didn’t dodge. I only shifted half a step sideways. Its bulk swept past, leaving its flank wide open. The angle felt familiar—only this time the blade, not the hilt, was in my hands. I raised the borrowed sword, recalling the exact strike I’d used to sever its other foreleg.
One problem.
Crack—
A sound came from inside the hilt that definitely shouldn’t have been there.
“…Agh!”
Modern swords had no backbone. Even a cheap mass-produced one should at least handle this much without whining. Sorry, but you’re going to have to hold together a little longer. You’re a sword—you know this isn’t the time to quit.
“Huu…!”
Of the five sword strikes I knew, I picked the most brainless and reliable one: a downward cleave that simply crushed everything with raw power. Whose technique it had originally been didn’t matter. Right now it was mine.
Clang—
The moment the monster turned its head, the blade split its skull lengthwise, scales and all.
“Gigi… gik….”
The massive body folded at the knees a beat late.
Thud—
That was the end of it. Two exchanges total—one to take the arm, one for everything else.
“…Phew.”
I lowered the sword. A hairline crack ran along the cheap blade. Sorry, buddy. At least you got to experience something good—born a mass-produced sword and still managed to take down a B-rank. That’s something to be proud of, right?
I gave the blade a few gentle pats.
Click—
In the sudden quiet, a shutter sound echoed from somewhere.
“……”
I turned.
Click-click-click—!
That was a mistake. The whole scene had just been captured—maybe even the fight itself.
“B-Byeori!!”
Nayeon ran over and scooped me into her arms. Too late. We fled the cave like fugitives, feeling the stares of the other hunter teams drilling into our backs.
*
The morning after we returned from the gate, the office air felt off. Jihyun looked like she hadn’t slept, downing coffee nonstop. Nayeon kept glancing at me, her eyes subtly different from yesterday. Not that I could blame them. I’d caused quite a scene, and both of them had either seen it or heard about it.
“…Byeori, you were that strong?”
Nayeon asked carefully.
“Hmph. I told you I was strong.”
“You did, but… I didn’t think it would be to this extent.”
Her expression hovered somewhere between admiration and worry. Understandable—twenty thousand won worth of scrap metal turning out to be capable of one-shotting a B-rank would surprise anyone.
Jihyun, on the other hand, had no room for admiration.
“That’s not the problem. Someone took photos in there yesterday. If those spread—”
“They didn’t figure out I’m an ego sword.”
“How can you be sure? What if— what if they did?!”
Well, there was one place where rumors spread fastest. I dragged Jihyun’s footrest over to the computer. She’d been startled the first time she saw me using the internet, but after watching me a few times she’d gotten used to it. I climbed up with some effort and opened the Hunter Gallery.
If last night’s incident had been posted anywhere, it would be here. And sure enough, it was sitting right at the top of the real-time best posts.
……That elementary school kid.
I found myself repeating those three words. It wasn’t exactly a special nickname. Since no one knew her class or name, everyone just kept calling her “that kid, that kid,” and eventually it stuck as the way to refer to me. From the famed sword Byeori to “that elementary school kid.” Last time it was “retired sword” or whatever… Why did the gallery always give me nicknames like this? To the country’s first S-rank artifact, no less. Still, it was a hundred times better than being recognized. If they figured it out, I’d be dragged straight to the government for forced re-enlistment… and this time with no discharge date. No comments were better than hate comments. Anonymity was better than hate comments.
Anyway, one thing was certain. I scrolled up and down again. Nothing. Nowhere in the comments was there any suspicion that I was an ego sword. No talk of national strategic weapons—just “some unidentified strong kid.” We’d avoided the worst-case scenario Jihyun had feared. The world saw me not as a sword, but as some suddenly appearing prodigy. That was good enough.
I turned toward the sofa and reported the result.
“They didn’t figure it out. Everyone’s just surprised that ‘that kid’ took down a B-rank.”
Jihyun finally let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.”
Long. Very long. But Nayeon, of all things, got worked up over something else entirely.
“That elementary school kid? Who’s calling our Byeori just ‘a kid’! She’s this pretty and this strong—there has to be a more stylish way to refer to her!”
“…Senior, that’s not the important part right now.”
Nayeon looked genuinely indignant. Apparently, the world failing to recognize me was more upsetting than the fact that my identity hadn’t been exposed. This person’s anger points were always just a half-beat off from everyone else’s. I chuckled and turned back to the gallery. In the corner of the screen, the chat window blinked.
SweetTour.
Hadn’t seen her in a few days. Long time no chat.
Of all times, she had to ask about that? I’d figured she’d seen the post. This person spent all day in the gallery; whenever she messaged, a reply came right back. No way she’d missed a post that big. Still, it felt awkward. Same as last time with the retirement talk—I had to pretend it was someone else’s business. Couldn’t let it show, though.
What did I think? I was awesome! Super cool! If I’d known it wouldn’t get exposed, I would’ve dropped a better line! …But I couldn’t say that, so I kept it as nonchalant as possible.
After that, SweetTour stayed quiet for a long time. Strange. Normally she’d ramble on for at least three more lines whenever swords came up. Today she just dropped “probably nothing much?” and went silent. People had off days, I guess. Must be my imagination. Still, it nagged at me a little. She was the first person I’d actually talked to after three years of only listening to others talk about swords, so without realizing it I’d grown a bit attached. When someone like that suddenly went quiet, I couldn’t help glancing at the screen again.
“…Huuung.”
It was probably nothing. If something was up, she’d message first. Thinking that, I closed the chat window.
***
At that same moment, on the opposite side of the city, in the private training room on the top floor of a certain guild.
A woman was staring intently at her phone screen. Beyond the window stretched the distant city nightscape. The height was one most guilds could only dream of. Dozens of priceless famous swords hung on wall mounts. The person who owned all of that was frozen before a single photo on an internet community.
The unidentified child who had cut down a B-rank in a D-rank gate. Everyone else had scrolled past, treating it as just some peculiar elementary school kid. She couldn’t do the same. No—at first she had. She’d chuckled, thumbed it away. But the finger that moved to the next post came back on its own. Once. Twice. By the third time, even she had to admit it. Something in that photo was holding her. She didn’t know what, exactly.
Only after staring at the child on the screen for a long while did she finally understand.
It was the color.
The hair that flowed down to her waist, sharp and vivid blue like a blade’s edge. The pale silver eyes that had turned toward the camera while gripping the sword.
“……”
She knew that color. A very long time ago, back when she was still called a rookie, there had been a sword that fit her hand perfectly. When she sharpened its edge, a vivid blue sheen would rise, and above it a quiet silver light would flow. She had named it herself. Byeori. A name she had given with care. It was the day a rookie finally met a sword that truly suited her. As she sharpened the blade and gave it a name, she had vaguely thought they would stay together for a long time. She never imagined that “long time” would end so soon.
The light on that sword’s blade had been exactly the same shade as this child’s hair.
“…No way.”
No way, what? Even after saying it aloud, she couldn’t find the words to follow. The only sentence she could attach was something ridiculous like “did the sword turn into a person?” She wasn’t the type to indulge in fantasies, so she quietly swallowed the rest. Besides, that sword had broken. After passing through several owners, it had snapped in two in an A-rank dungeon last year and been discarded. A broken sword was finished. She knew how absurd it was to make such a fuss over a single matching hair color. Plenty of kids dyed their hair blue in this world. So why couldn’t she look away from the photo?
She zoomed in on the child’s face and stared for a long time before suddenly finding herself ridiculous and setting the phone down. Then she picked it up again anyway. When she had let go of the sword back then, she hadn’t thought much of it. Now, a single photo of a child whose hair resembled that blade’s light made her chest sink. If that sword had become this child…
“……”
Enough with the fantasies. Wasn’t she wasting time? After sitting like that for a while, she finally opened her phone. To the person she occasionally exchanged pointless sword talk with these days. The one she’d met by chance in the gallery, whose name and face she didn’t know. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to confide this to that person in particular. Maybe because, lately, that was the only one she could talk to about swords without feeling awkward. The only one who would understand this stifling feeling.
The reply came back nonchalant.
Strangely, that single indifferent line put her a little more at ease. Right. It was probably nothing. She was the only one making a fuss. A broken sword turning into a person? She had to say things that made sense.
She had no idea that the person she had just confided in was that very sword. The sword she had believed broken and discarded was now alive and well somewhere in this city, and had just comforted her. She never found out. For a long time afterward, she simply stared at the photo of that elementary school kid.