Frail and Sickly (Not Really)

In the aftermath of the previous day's commotion, the butler came to a stark realization.

The young lady entrusted to his care could never be treated like an ordinary child her age.

"Requesting additional manpower? You, of all people?"

"She is a child who requires a great deal of attention."

"The Boss will not be pleased."

"I am prepared to bear the consequences."

"Is she truly worth that much?"

"Her talent with a blade borders on genius."

"Oho."

"Her aptitude with a bow is nearly its equal."

"Then why request the dispatch of an assassin instructor?"

Jona chose his words with utmost care.

Unlike the Boss, the rivals attending the other "young ladies" would never let any weakness of Lady Orknodi slip past their notice. Jona was the sole butler granted the prestigious surname of Waihiemhai; fueled by jealousy and spite, the others ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would jump at any opportunity to tear into the young lady's vulnerabilities.

"Stealth and movements that preserve delicate balance are second nature to her. The young lady was born and raised an assassin."

"I see."

The butler reflected grimly in silence.

Plagued by a host of psychological afflictions—insomnia, avoidant personality disorder, and heavens knew what else—the young lady would find ordinary interpersonal relationships nearly impossible. If that were the case, she simply needed to take up a class where fractured social ties were of no consequence.

"An assassin wields both the sword and the bow."

"Good. Versatility has its merits."

The Supervisor reached his verdict.

"I shall dispatch someone."

"Thank you."

"However, should the instructor judge that the child lacks the requisite aptitude, a price will be extracted from you."

"I accept."

"You seem remarkably confident. Let us hope her talent measures up to your assurance."

With that, the deployment of an assassin instructor who would double as an attendant for Lady Orknodi was settled.

"Nighttime excursions are strictly forbidden. Nor will I permit any outing during the day unless you are accompanied by me."

I was thoroughly dissatisfied with the butler's treatment.

It wasn't a grievance that had started today, but ever since I got saddled with the reputation of a 'pebble-eating child,' his surveillance had skyrocketed. A pitiful child who could cause an incident at any waking second—that tragic narrative had crystallized completely in Butler Jona's mind, and he refused to leave me alone for even a moment. Thanks to his suffocating vigilance, the experience gain on my Stealth skill had ground to a dead halt.

"The young lady needs to value herself more. Those who do not cherish themselves will never receive precious treatment from others."

"Does being treated with care even matter? Everyone's born alone and leaves this world alone anyway."

Whenever I let even a shred of my original mindset from my past life slip out, the butler's gaze would cloud with heavy sorrow before hardening into solemn resolve. His eyes practically screamed: Damn it all... I have to treat this poor girl with overwhelming kindness.

How was I supposed to say anything when he reacted like that?

Hemmed in by his hovering, I threw myself into relentless training, yet for some reason, I found myself getting winded far too quickly and fatiguing with embarrassing ease.

Is it because this is a female body?

Back when I was an avid gamer, I had read an internet meme arguing that if you ever got isekai'd into a fantasy world, choosing a towering, muscular male build would save you countless hardships thanks to raw bulk and brute strength. Ever since, I had walked the solitary path of playing exclusively muscle-bound male characters. I had never once piloted a petite female avatar who looked incapable of taking a single solid punch. Naturally, the hypothesis that my sluggish stamina stemmed from the female character model felt quite persuasive.

Female avatars probably just suffered from lower base stat scaling. The solution, therefore, was simple: grind more stats. This sluggishness was unacceptable. I needed to launch an expedition to the neighboring village to farm Stat Stones.

"I want to go out. By myself."

"Absolutely not."

The problem, as always, was the butler.

"Lady Orknodi is frail. You are still tender in years, and your physical conditioning is far from sufficient to withstand the perils of the outside world."

"Still, I can proudly say I'm way stronger than any kid my age."

"In my eyes as your butler, you remain a very small child. Moreover, the opponents you would encounter out in the world are adults, not your peers."

Crushing me with unvarnished facts—how utterly unfair.

Then again, the RNG in this game possessed a notoriously vindictive streak; you never knew when or how the system would hit you with a streak of absolute bullshit. A few bad dice rolls compounding in succession could summon a lunatic storm of forced disaster far beyond any level-appropriate threat.

"Please finish your meal quietly. Eat well, train hard, and once I deem you strong enough, I shall permit an excursion under my supervision."

There was no helping it. At least the food was delicious. Collecting Stat Stones would simply have to wait until I enrolled in the academy and could secure official off-campus leave.

Still, wasn't I plenty strong already? My swordsmanship and archery proficiencies were skyrocketing day by day.

Just as I was nursing those proud grumbles, the water cup slipped clean out of my hand.

"Huh?"

"Look at that. How delicate must your arms be if you cannot even hold a simple drinking cup properly?"

"N-no, wait. That never happens...! I must have just drained all the strength from my arms by training too hard."

"I will hear no excuses."

"It's the honest truth, though...!"

Perhaps because fumbling a lightweight cup was entirely unthinkable, the psychological shock hit surprisingly hard. Right... what kind of outing was I dreaming of with a body this pathetic? For the immediate future, I resolved to tack on two extra hours of grueling strength conditioning to my daily regimen and grind like my life depended on it.

Had Jona attempted to stay awake around the clock to prevent the young lady from slipping out before the assassin instructor arrived, he would have ended up working himself into an early grave.

Unwilling to suffer such catastrophic overexertion, the butler had devised a quiet scheme.

If she exhausts her reserves during ordinary daily life, she won't have the stamina left to attempt any nighttime escapades.

Unbeknownst to Lady Orknodi, the weight of every utensil, piece of furniture, and everyday object she handled was being steadily increased with each passing day. The very water cup she had just dropped weighed no less than five kilograms on its own. Jona had hollowed out the wooden cups and concealed dense metals inside, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠progressively swapping manganese for iron, and iron for solid copper.

He had originally intended to halt the progression the moment she showed signs of collapse. Astonishingly, the young lady met every single weight increase head-on, enduring them all through inhuman, unyielding grit.

She truly possesses the innate disposition of an assassin.

Maintaining a single stance through grueling stakeouts or bearing heavy loads in complete silence were vital prerequisites for any operative. Though Jona was not privy to the precise curriculum of professional assassins, he reasoned that any assassin worth their salt ought to be capable of at least that much.

The instructor will surely be delighted.

Every mentor cherished a disciple whose growth proved rewarding. An assassin instructor would be no exception.

Even setting the instructor aside, this is an essential measure for the young lady's own welfare.

A pitiful young lady who had been swindled by a street magician into guzzling questionable concotions, and who had swallowed raw stones just to quell the gnawing ache of an empty stomach, desperately needed raw power. Human dignity was born from strength. He had to exercise the utmost vigilance to ensure she would never endanger her life through perilous odd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠jobs again, nor ruin her health with tragic, warped dietary habits.

With sufficient strength, she would never need to take on hazardous labor to earn money, and with that money, she could dine to her heart's content.

Grow strong, Lady Orknodi. For I never wish to witness a young lady under my charge cast aside for lack of power ever again.

May this young lady remain at his side for a very long time.

The butler prayed with profound, quiet sincerity.

Eating well, sleeping well, and training relentlessly.

By all accounts, I should have grown enough to earn the right to venture outside unaccompanied, yet today, as I was spooning soup, the silverware tumbled from my fingers.

"You are frail."

"Me?!"

"You are frail and sickly."

"Excuse me! Where on earth do you find a sickly person who wields a sword this well? I was sprinting like a gale earlier!"

"You dropped your spoon."

"Well, yes, I dropped it, but..."

"You are frail."

"Ugh..."

Infuriatingly, the butler wasn't wrong.

Lately, I kept fumbling items during meals, and occasionally, I would catch my foot on the hem of my clothes and stagger. My limbs felt so heavy at times that I caught myself wondering whether I had truly become this pathetic.

Did this character spawn with a negative trait or something?

Something like Clumsy, which dulled physical motor control, or Frail Constitution, which made a character prone to exhaustion and illness. In games like this, certain characters rolled negative traits at birth that imposed passive penalties on their physical parameters. I had never touched high-risk, high-return builds where you accepted debilitating debuffs in exchange for bonus perk points—it just wasn't my playstyle—but it seemed this body was an entirely different story.

So this is what playing with a negative trait feels like.

Never having touched such a build, I could only speculate. Even so, the experience yield was absurdly lucrative.

If I had been in a male body, robust muscle fibers would have braced my arms effortlessly, making the grind for skill proficiency painfully slow. In this delicate body, however, the slightest exertion set my forearms trembling—and the experience points practically cascaded in.

Female avatars have weaker base stat scaling, but in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exchange, their skill proficiency accrues way faster! Or did the negative trait grant a massive training efficiency multiplier as compensation?

The pace of experience gain was intoxicating enough to satisfy even the most demanding veteran min-maxer. If I had known grinding would be this efficient, I would have rolled a female character ages ago!

Still, mealtimes remained a grueling ordeal.

Perhaps because I had trained with every fiber of my being throughout the day, lifting a simple fork demanded an absurd amount of concentration. My hands trembling violently, I attempted to twirl the pasta, but my grip abruptly gave out, and I slammed the fork straight down into the crockery.

Craaaack.

A web of sharp fissures splintered across the ceramic dish.

"Frail indeed."

"...I applied too much force and cracked the plate, didn't I?"

"If one must exert enough violent force to shatter earthenware merely to manipulate a dining fork, one cannot be said to possess proper command over one's own body."

"...It galls me to admit it, but I can't even refute that..."

"Lest ceramic shards mingle with the noodles and cause internal lacerations, I shall transfer your meal to a fresh dish."

Was I... truly frail and sickly...?

Even though the physical stamina I demonstrated during combat drills was remarkably high, to think I had become a frail, sickly maiden. It sounded completely contradictory, yet the existence of an active negative trait made it make total sense. In fact, it was probably only because my base strength and stamina were so high that I was managing to withstand the debuff at all.

There was a very real possibility that Orknodi's body harbored a negative trait so monstrous that the moment she slacked off, she would end up bedridden, wheezing until she dropped dead.

"Say 'ah.'"

Well, I suppose I am a delicate, sickly young lady right now.

Setting all the negative traits aside, being fussed over and sheltered like this provided a strange, comforting sense of security. It felt like being a helpless chick nestled safely under the wing of a watchful mother bird!

Accepting a forkful of spaghetti patiently fed to me by my butler wasn't the end of the world, was it?

Without realizing it, I leaned just a little into being pampered.