The Rival's Rivalry: A Heated Conversation Over Hot Chocolate

"Did you hear?! Rie sparred with a third-year and won!"

"What kind of garbage is that? If you're gonna talk, get it right — she didn't just win. She demolished him."

"I'm trying to spare the third-years' feelings! Getting wrecked by a freshman is humiliating enough. You've got to sugarcoat it if you want people to like you."

"Yeah, right. From where I'm standing, every senior from second year through fourth is going to be watching all of us like hawks."

I was on my way out of the lecture hall after humanities, and the whispering behind me was enough to drive me out of my mind.

I'd seen Rie's expression change when she heard what I said yesterday, but I'd taken it for nothing more than a flash of irritation at being provoked. Never in my life did I think she'd take a third-year apart within a month of setting foot in the academy.

From what I'd heard, Senior Michael was a swordsman of real reputation even among the third-years. Heir to the house of Viscount Israab — a family that had produced outstanding knights for generations. And Rie had ground that pride of his into the dirt. Not just beaten him. Crushed him so thoroughly there was no putting the pieces back together.

There ought to be a sense of proportion. Making an enemy of the Israab family is the last thing we—

I stopped. I had, for a moment, forgotten which house Rie belonged to. There were exactly two marquisates in the entire kingdom. Hers was one of them.

"They say if you work hard and pull good grades, you get a full scholarship… God. Of all the years to enroll, I had to pick the one with her in it. I feel like an idiot."

"What can you do? And Lucian's got it even worse than we do, doesn't he? His grades are way better than ours, but he's weak in practical combat. That's why he's always stuck behind Rie."

"True. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Just saying, though — if Lucian is supposed to be Rie's rival, that's actually horrifying. He's got an opponent he couldn't beat if he died and came back to life."

If you know that, could you maybe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shut up? My mood was already sour enough without the running commentary. They were clearly talking among themselves, so why the hell could I hear every word?

I had walked through the gates of Minerva Academy with a head full of rosy dreams and a heart ready to burst. Then a girl who hadn't shown her face in years had the audacity to enroll in the same class, and now she was preparing to slurp down my entire happy academy life in one sitting.

I sighed, long and deep, but my feet carried me faithfully toward the campus café. The hot chocolate here had turned out to be far better than expected, and I'd been stamping my loyalty card every single day since the morning I arrived — showing up like it was a job.

"Let's see… next lecture is philosophy, isn't it?"

I opened the textbook and gave it a light once-over. To anyone watching, it would have looked like I was just killing time. But the ability I'd gained after being reborn in this fantasy world made even a glance produce results that defied all reason.

That was the theory of innate human goodness. I'd heard it a hundred times before.

I'd felt it from the beginning: this was unmistakably a fantasy world, and yet it was barely any different from the one I'd left behind. Strip away the fact that the era was roughly modern, and that magic had flourished in place of science, and you were looking at the same place.

I closed the book. I already had every question I would ask in philosophy class mapped out, and every answer I would give.

Becoming Rie's rival was something I wanted no part of. That said, playing the fool — pretending to be incompetent — didn't suit me in the slightest. And more than anything, there was a full scholarship for academic excellence. Letting that slip through my fingers would hurt too much.

I was slurping my hot chocolate in a blissful daze, savoring this miraculous blessing of sugar, when someone gave my shoulder a light tap and dropped into the seat across from me.

"Chocolate again, like a little kid. Don't you ever get sick of that?"

"What are you doing here? Didn't you say you had a lecture?"

"There was one, and then there wasn't? I guess that's how I have to put it. The professor got called away on some urgent trip, so class is cancelled for today. Could've at least given us a heads-up. Everyone showed up and sat there waiting, and then — cancelled."

"The semester hasn't even been going a month and he's already pulling this? What a paycheck thief."

The young man sitting across from me — Roark Vickenmeyer — snorted and told me I had that right.

Our fathers were close, so Roark and I had fallen into friendship almost by default. More than that, his title was an honorary nobility that couldn't be inherited, and maybe because of that, he had none of the vanity or self-importance that clung to most of his class. It made him far easier to get along with.

"Honestly, though, a free period is pretty nice. Wait. This is bad. How long has the semester even been going? Hey, Lucian. I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"I wouldn't call it abnormal, but yeah — you're in trouble. A first-year, already skipping out."

"I can just work hard later! Anyway, that hot chocolate looks amazing."

"Don't even think about it. I may be flexible about other things, but I am serious about chocolate."

"You saying that just makes me want it more. One sip."

For the record, Roark knew perfectly well that I was a maniac for chocolate. He knew that if he so much as eyed my cup, I would go stone-faced and refuse him. The only reason he was doing it anyway was to get a rise out of me.

Not a chance.

"You want to drink from the cup I was using? I didn't take you for that kind of guy, Roark. It's not like you're broke. Don't tell me that's your preference? There's this thing called an indirect kiss — want me to walk you through it in detail?"

"Whoa. Crossing a line. Watch your mouth. That is not it, Lucian."

He backed down immediately, same as always. I'd heard there were nobles here and there with a taste for other men, but fortunately Roark was a friend with a very firm idea that men ought to like women and women ought to like men.

There were places that asked for those kinds of relationships to be recognized, and I could accept that well enough. I just happened to be, like Roark, on the side that didn't care for it personally.

In the end Roark ordered a hot chocolate of his own, brought it back to the table, and only then produced the real reason he'd sat down.

"You heard, right? About the beautiful young lady of the Haniel family who enrolled with us."

"What young lady. Just call her Rie. Did you forget the headmaster's address? Inside the academy, noble or commoner, everyone is a student. We're even in the same year."

"Come on. I'm an honorary noble at best — I can't just throw her name around. And she's the one who took down a third-year. As a fellow student in the Martial Division, I ought to show a little respect."

Oh, that's rich — the words surged up and I swallowed them just in time. Roark was a little short on wisdom, but he was a monster in the strength department. If I said something like that and he answered with a hearty laugh and a friendly shoulder massage, I was fairly certain my body would come apart.

He had done it once already. Wandered over while I was reading, started kneading my shoulders in the name of a massage, and the next day I had such a crick in my neck I couldn't turn my head for days.

"Come to think of it, you said you knew that young lady from before, didn't you?"

"My father handled a lot of diplomatic work. There was some overlap with the Haniel family."

Which meant I had been invited to the Haniel estate with him more times than I could count. At first I'd assumed Marquis Haniel simply took a great liking to my father. Then the rumors filtered back: Rie had been the one asking them to invite me, over and over.

And then the two of us would pick up wooden swords and go at it, every single day. The victories, of course, had all been mine.

"Hey, Lucian. You want another hot chocolate?"

Roark had been sipping his drink in silence for a while. When he finally spoke, it was with a careful, sidling little tone. I set my cup down hard enough to make a sound.

I knew it. I knew he'd pull this.

"What is it. What are you about to ask me for?"

"What are you talking about? When did I say I was asking for anything?"

"The way you're talking, the way you're sitting, the whole atmosphere — it's all 'I'm about to ask a favor.' I've known you for years. You think I can't read that?"

"…You're not like, interested in me, are you? Why do you have all that figured out?"

Does this idiot need his skull cracked open before he starts making sense?

I picked up my cup, nice and slow, and made a show of getting ready to swing it. He waved both hands at once and insisted he was joking. Then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he cleared his throat — ahem — and finally, finally, got to the point.

"So, I've got a swordsmanship lecture in a bit."

"The point, Roark."

"It's the first sparring session since classes started, and my opponent just happens to be… that person."

"That person?"

"That person from the Haniel family. Lady Rie."

Roark's opponent was none other than Rie. I looked at him for a moment, then smiled, bright and pleasant.

"Do your best. Oh — and my condolences. To you, and to all your future children."

"…I'll take the condolences for me. Why are my kids getting dragged into this?"

You're asking because you don't know? Because that thing of yours might get smashed before you ever get a chance to use it.

I didn't say a word. I just sat there snickering, and Roark's face curdled on the spot. Then his hand clamped down on my shoulder.

"Been a while since I gave you a proper massage, hasn't it?"

On any other day I might have yelped and begged for my life with all the overacting I could muster. But the one who needed to bow his head right now was not me. It was Roark.

"Excuse me. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠don't think you have the basics of asking for a favor quite down yet."

I said it with a grin, and sure enough he clicked his tongue and let go. Then he stood up, without anyone asking, and came back with another hot chocolate. A man who had clearly paid tribute more than once or twice in his life.

"So. Your opponent is Rie. And?"

I sipped the fresh cup. Roark scratched the back of his head.

"I was hoping I could get some advice. I know you're a complete disaster in actual combat, but when it comes to watching someone, reading them, picking out the weaknesses and the counters — you're unbelievable."

"Right, so I'm weak in practicals, but everything else is— hold on. What did you just say?"

"It's the truth. Don't you think it's about time you accepted it, my friend?"

Accept what, exactly. That so-called practical combat was the reason every day of my life was a stress headache. The worst part was that Roark wasn't even lying, which left me with nothing to throw back at him. I grumbled a string of words that meant absolutely nothing, and he waved it all aside with a brisk anyway.

"How am I supposed to beat the genius young lady of the Haniel family?"

"You're not. Obviously. You couldn't beat her if you died and came back."

"…No 'you can do it if you try'? No comfort of any kind?"

"There is nothing more foolish than planting false hope."

"Yeah, okay, fair. But I at least have to last a few exchanges, don't I? I've got some real confidence with a sword. That's how I got into this academy in the first place."

"So what you're actually saying is you want to keep your pride as a student of the Martial Division."

Roark admitted that was exactly it, without any fuss. I understood him, honestly. He had been counted as one of the more promising first-years this time around. In the Martial Division, if you ranked people by the sword alone, he probably landed somewhere in the top ten.

Unfortunately, his opponent was a monstrous prodigy of a girl who had just taken a third-year apart. Of course he was tense. Of course he was nervous.

The problem was that when I tried to think of a way to actually help him, nothing useful came to mind. With anyone else's swordsmanship, the strengths and the weaknesses laid themselves out in front of me the moment I looked — clean, obvious, spread open like a diagram. Rie's sword was the sole exception. I had never found a single weakness in it. Forget a counter. I couldn't even work out how to block and endure.

There is one thing I barely managed to catch, but…

Even that wasn't a way to win, or a method of breaking her down. Calling it a weakness was a stretch. At best, it was a gap just wide enough to snatch the offensive for a single breath. Nothing more.

I sat with it for a moment, then remembered what Roark had said: winning wasn't the point. In that case, maybe the tiny opening I had managed to find would be of some use after all.

"Roark. Listen carefully. Big brother's about to give you something that'll be blood and flesh to you."

"I'm all ears, sir."