Backhand Discipline
“Gonna draw it?”
“...”
My gaze shifts to Tom’s sword.
His hand gripping the hilt trembles with raw emotion.
The students from the brick house, who’ve seen Tom’s temper firsthand, murmur in the tense standoff.
Tom’s got his weapon in hand, while I’d have to draw mine from my back—a setup where any ordinary person would think he holds the absolute advantage. But Tom himself, facing me, feels his disadvantage all too vividly.
“Draw that thing, and it won’t end pretty?”
Blocking Gilbert’s noogie. That hand chop I landed so fast he couldn’t even track it.
It’s the moment he can’t deny or ignore the gap between us anymore, no matter how hard he tries.
I take a step toward Tom.
He instinctively steps back from the brick house entrance, his foot sinking into the desert sand.
“What’s got our friend so pissed? Worried I’ll head out and roll around with Lete?”
“Kuh...”
Just imagining it must hurt his brain—Tom’s eyes twitch at the corners.
Lete’s face flushes at my words, and seeing that seems to drive him even madder; he bites down hard on his bleeding lip.
Ah, what a pain in the ass.
I let out a sigh and shift my gaze.
I call out to the girl hanging her head in embarrassment.
“Lete.”
“...Y-yes! Did you call me?!”
“Tom’s not your boyfriend, right?”
“Absolutely not! He did something like a confession once, but...”
If it’s a confession, just call it that—what’s this “like a confession” business?
Anyway, at least she considered the bare minimum.
Reconfirming the info we’ve swapped in our chats with Lete—check.
I step closer to Tom again, looking down at him with curiosity.
“If he’s not your boyfriend, what’s it to him if I roll around with you or not?”
“You just showed up out of nowhere and...”
“I’m giving you water and food, aren’t I? Wanna watch your mana-less friends suffer out here in the desert?”
“I can get food and water too!”
“Tch... Do your hotheaded bullshit outside the dungeon, yeah?”
Tom’s already past the point of salvaging his impulsive screw-up.
With his classmates and Lete watching, no way he’ll back down with words alone—I can feel it. So I wipe the smirk off my face.
As the air turns murderous, Tom grips his sword tighter with shaking hands.
I stop Gilbert, veins bulging on his forehead as he steps up, then continue in a low voice.
“I’ve been letting your edgy bullshit slide, trying to laugh it off or understand. Figured you just don’t get how serious this is without experience.”
“...”
Civilians living normal lives only hear about low dungeon survival rates—they don’t feel it in their bones.
Like watching foreign disasters on the news.
Even with all the reports, no visible dimensional rifts spewing monsters right in front of them. Everyone thinks they won’t be the unlucky one.
Fine by me.
Seeing Lete’s friends stay bright and cheery? That faith works for me.
Facing harsh reality head-on is for those aiming to clear dungeons.
I don’t want to create this kind of vibe.
“I think we should all laugh it off together in tough spots like this. I might thrive in a brutal atmosphere, but I don’t prefer it. Got it?”
Slap! The second hand chop.
Tom’s body jerks from the hit to his cheek. His feet lift slightly off the ground—not my imagination.
“Kuheok...!”
Pent-up blood splatters the sand, and his legs wobble.
A hand swung too fast to react. He uses his drawn sword like a cane to steady himself.
“Sword? Draw it if you want. You’ll die the second you do.”
I press him with raw mana, warning and overwhelming, closing in on the staggering Tom.
In his vision, I loom larger, a mountain making him doubt if his sword could even scratch me.
Then the third blow.
Crack! I grab Tom’s collar as his legs buckle from the cheek slap, yanking him upright by force.
“Can’t even dodge this, but how you gonna handle ambushes from below? You said you could get food, right?”
“Ugh...”
The fourth.
His sword slips from his hand.
No one dares step in amid the heavy mood.
“Regretting acting on impulse? Now you feel the skill gap, realize you might actually die—no courage to draw now, huh.”
“S-stop...!”
“I’ve been soft, not calling you out on your bitching, so you never expected this. But in a dungeon, we make it clear.”
The fifth.
Slap! Blood bursts from Tom’s mouth, splattering my uniform.
His cheek swells like a deflated balloon, puffed out of shape. His dilated pupils signal fading consciousness.
“Rohan. What about the little shit?”
Gilbert and Dick approach—they saw this coming.
I exhale deeply and lay out the plan I’d considered.
“Gotta smash his sword and restrict him. Force mana exhaustion, or neatly break an arm for a splint.”
“Aye! Breaking an arm or leg and tying him up’s best. Desert Shark bones are tough—clean ‘em up for splints.”
“Mana exhaustion’s a pain to manage. Breaking bones is the way~im.”
Gilbert and Dick nod quick.
Trained nonstop at Orion Academy on monoliths and monsters—they know hesitation is poison.
Disciplining instead of killing or banishing? That’s mercy from me.
Crystal clear.
“Make it clean. Minimize aftereffects.”
“Aye! A fracture’s fine for a young, healthy lad. Slap some salve on a broken bone at his age, and it’ll knit right up.”
“Leave the small stuff to us and handle your business. We’ll cover the meal tab.”
“Thanks. Appreciate the hustle.”
In this mess, Gilbert and Dick are rock-solid.
Without them, I’d have gone way colder on Tom’s stunt.
“Lete. Let’s go.”
“Ah, y-yes...!”
No mood for goodbyes to the brick house crew.
I leave with Lete just like that.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Over the dune, out of sight of the brick house.
Only now do I ask what’s been bugging me—plus, lighten the heavy air.
“Lete.”
“You called?!”
“What was that ‘confession-like’ thing earlier?”
“Oh, that...”
“No need if it’s hard to talk about.”
Lete shakes her head—no such thing.
Maybe the words and scene wouldn’t come back to her; she speaks only after we descend the slope.
“Lots of fancy talk, but boiling it down: only guy at school on my level is him. If I want a man, it’s gotta be him—somethin’ like that imda.”
“Hilarious. Kinda got talent, in a way.”
“Heard it outta nowhere after high school started—didn’t get it at first imda. Friends nearby heard and got mad; that’s when I caught on imda.”
I can picture Tom’s antics crystal clear.
Image this strong after so little time? Talent, kinda.
“Your ‘friends,’ huh. Scared Lete’s pals for nothing. Not what I wanted—kinda sucks.”
“Nah. They’re probably hyped, chattering up a storm imda.”
I smirk at Lete’s confidence.
“Heard Tom’s the son of the dojo across from yours. Known him since you were kids?”
“Not that close, but yeah, known him since little imda. Dojos trained together once or twice a week back then imda.”
“Hmm...”
“Tom’s got a huge ego, spits words sharp—no friends but me imda. Thought he’d wise up with time, but same class in third year? Worse imda.”
Got the setup and dynamic.
“Still surprised, though.”
“What about imda?”
“Thought you might stop me midway.”
Lete shakes her head, dead serious.
“Even if you’d drawn and sliced him, I wouldn’t say a word to you, senpai. I know words and actions carry weight here imda.”
How deadly a dungeon is. Lete gets it after facing Desert Sharks head-on.
No skills? Can’t even imagine the horror from the start.
“Figuring that out already? Sharp judgment, Lete. That dimensional rift in Academy City help?”
“That experience sharpened my situational calls, yeah imda. Plus, self-studying for Orion Academy—picked up stuff imda.”
“Oho.”
Atta girl—wanna praise her.
As I marvel, a faint vibration rumbles from under the sand.
Monsters drawn by our voices and footsteps.
“Lete.”
“Felt it imda!”
“Wanna handle it first? Wanna see you use mana. I’ll jump in if it’s dicey.”
Lete nods, brimming with confidence at my look.
“Got it imda...!”
Bold reply, but one worry nags the girl.
The rush from facing me calms now—okay to awaken the succubus and tap mana?
Lete hammers it home: keep control post-transformation.
Then she activates the skill.