Between Herculean Strength and Frailty

My left hand held the butler's, and my right held the maid's.

As the three of us walked side by side with hands clasped, warm, indulgent smiles showered down upon us from every direction. Perhaps because of my small stature, people seemed to mistake us for a young, happily married couple taking their little girl out for a stroll.

"Ah, look at them. Must be in the prime of their youth."

"Honeymooning at Mount Shinjung, are they? Must be mighty confident in their skills."

"A butler and a maid. Looks like a pair of retired adventurers employed by some noble house."

The murmurs drifting past were thoroughly entertaining.

"What do you two think?" I asked, looking up between them.

"To be mistaken for the husband of a maid as breathtaking as Miss Leaf is an honor beyond measure," Jona replied smoothly.

"……The honor is mine as well," Leaf said.

Perhaps because their emotions were running a little too high, their grips tightened with every word they spoke. I was glad they were getting along, but it was starting to crush my tiny fingers. I really wished both of them would rein it in.

"The waiting line is quite long," Jona observed, glancing ahead. "Shall we wait?"

"Please go enjoy yourselves for a week," Leaf offered stoically. "I will hold our spot."

Our maid had a terrifying knack for inducing guilt. Leaving a single maid stranded for an entire week in the middle of a crowd of burly, roughneck examinees ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠while I went off to play? I would look like an absolute piece of human garbage.

"Please set up a table," I said.

"What do you intend to do, Milady?"

"I'm going to wager one gold coin on arm wrestling matches for queue tickets."

If I won every match, I could shave off a whole week for free. Honestly, sometimes my genius frightened me.

"...And what shall be the nature of this wager?" Jona asked.

"Arm wrestling."

Granted, at mealtimes I might look like a sickly, delicate maiden who could barely lift a spoon or a cup of water, but that was only after grinding out grueling training regimens until I was completely drained! Right now, having rested comfortably in a carriage for two straight days, my body felt light as a feather. A simple arm wrestling match was child's play.

On the outside: a frail, dainty, sickly little girl.

On the inside: an absurd, min-maxed pile of early game Strength points.

Anyone who judged this book by its cover was in for a very rude awakening.

"Please take care not to break the furniture," Jona cautioned. "We borrowed the table in exchange for drumming up business, so any damage must be compensated out of pocket."

"Okay~."

Evidently convinced that this spectacle would boost tavern sales, the innkeeper had eagerly promised to promote the arm wrestling event on our behalf.

"Gather 'round, folks! A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" the inn's barker bellowed across the square. "Defeat this wealthy young adventurer lady in arm wrestling and walk away with one whole gold coin! The entry fee? Any queue ticket with a lower number than the young lady's current spot!"

At the barker's shout, the crowd stuck in the endless waiting line swarmed in like storm clouds.

"Hey, pal! You serious?"

"Look at her. She's tiny!"

"Me first! Let me go first!"

"Get out of the way, you idiot! I got here before you!"

The marketing had worked like a charm.

Throb.

With a faint ache behind my temples, a familiar interface window flickered to life before my eyes.

This was a dynamic event, triggered directly by the player's own proactive choices. Considering the modest rewards that came with clearing them, the more dynamic events that cropped up, the better.

Winning an event like this builds reputation.

Reputation, fame, or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠titles—collecting them was always a net gain. Every passive possession effect boosted your raw stat score by at least one point, and as those points accumulated, they translated into permanent stat upgrades.

Without an explicit status window in this world, I couldn't see the exact figures with my own eyes. But with the sharp intuition of a veteran min-maxer, I could calculate the expected returns and gauge precisely how much my parameters were increasing.

Something like 'Monstrous Girl: Passive Effect, Strength +2 points.' Probably around that ballpark.

The young man who had earned the honor of being my first opponent pumped his fist in the air, grinning from ear to ear. The collective groans of disappointment rippling through the crowd made it painfully obvious they already assumed he had won.

"Ready…… Three, two, one. Begin."

The instant Jona lifted his hands from our clasped fists, the young man hauled back with all his might, his face contorting with exertion.

"Hnnnnnngh!"

"Hahaha! What's that guy doing?"

"Hey, don't hold a pretty girl's hand too long, creep!"

"Look at the butler's face. You keep that up, he's gonna cave your skull in."

"Is that guy a lolicon or what?"

While the young man turned crimson all the way to his ears, I felt absolutely nothing. Having completed a full title-grinding regimen at the training grounds, there was no earthly way I would lose to some run-of-the-mill adventurer.

The game's stat progression mechanism functioned as follows:

From 1 to 9, every 1 point invested yielded a +1 increase to the stat.

From 11 to 19, every 2 points invested yielded a +1 increase.

From 21 to 29, every 3 points invested yielded a +1 increase.

Following this exact curve, from 91 to 99, it required 10 points per +1 increase.

Meanwhile, milestone thresholds—the tens digits like 10, 20, and 30—required an investment equal to that milestone's numerical value just to advance by a single point.

Starting out, I had barely scraped together a base Strength stat of 20. On top of that, I had relentlessly farmed title bonuses. By my veteran calculations, my estimated Strength was currently sitting pretty at 29.

Converting a Strength stat of 29 back into raw points came out to well over 75 points. A baseline body of Strength 20 (worth 47 points) had accumulated an additional 27 points to park comfortably at a stat score of 29.

One thousand swordsmanship drills: Strength +1 point.

One thousand archery drills: Strength +1 point.

One thousand unarmed combat drills: Strength +1 point.

At ten thousand repetitions, another +1 point each.

At one hundred thousand repetitions, another +1 point each.

At one million repetitions, yet another +1 point each.

Repetitions were counted by individual motor motions: one slash, one thrust, one arrow released. By performing 10,000 repetitions per motion each day, across three distinct techniques per martial discipline, that alone tallied up to 90,000 repetitions daily. Adding in advanced sequence forms easily pushed my daily grind past the 100,000 mark.

Having maintained that relentless routine for thirty consecutive days, my cumulative total sat at three million repetitions. Four milestone tiers multiplied by three disciplines yielded 12 raw points.

Factoring in the overarching 'Martial Arts Mastery' metric—which tracked all martial repetitions regardless of whether they were blade, bow, or fist—granted an extra 3 points. Then came the minor titles: 'Destroyer of Training Dummies,' 'Drawing Bows Till Hands Bleed,' and 'Heavy Bag Burster,' which contributed another 12 points.

All told, the titles I had methodically farmed provided a combined total of 27 Strength points.

And some wet-behind-the-ears rookie thought he could overpower that?

Not a chance in hell.

SLAM!

"Winner, the young lady!"

"Aaargh!"

"Man, what an embarrassment."

"Just how little do you hit the gym to lose to a kid?"

"No, shut up and try it yourselves! That's not a little girl's grip!" the youth shrieked, clutching his bruised wrist.

"Boooooo!"

"Go home and cry to your mama!"

Hounded by the merciless chorus of jeers, the young man flushed bright red and vanished into the crowd. The clerk inspected the ticket the boy had put up as collateral and barked out the number.

"Number 925!"

Seriously, an inn waiting queue reaching Number 925 was completely absurd. If this had been an ordinary establishment housing long-term guests, waiting would have taken a month, not a week. The only reason the turnaround was down to seven days was because examinees were constantly cycling out after taking their exams with the senior proctor. Of course, without the proctor here in the first place, a crowd like this never would have formed. From the innkeeper's perspective, this was a once-in-a-lifetime gold rush.

"Next challenger must possess a ticket lower than Number 925! Hey, big-headed brother over there! Number 920? Who are you kidding with a five-spot jump? You, bald gentleman! Number 850? Step right up!"

The second challenger was a man with a scalp so smooth it practically reflected the sunlight. His entrance gave me a moment of genuine pause.

Bald guys are dangerous. What if he trained so relentlessly that his hair fell out?

Even if someone lazily practiced a single martial art at a pace of 30,000 motions a day, ten years of discipline would accumulate to 109,500,000 repetitions. Passing the ten thousand, hundred thousand, million, ten million, and hundred million marks would trigger five separate stat bonuses. On top of that, their overall martial practice counter would tick up concurrently, granting another five bonus increments. Tossing in the incidental milestone achievements along the way would easily tack on at least another 20 points.

That's a grand total of 30 points. Even if his natural baseline was a mundane 10, that would push his Strength to a solid 19.

If he had trained longer, mastered multiple disciplines, or possessed superior natural muscle mass, the possibility of encountering a formidable rival capable of matching my 29 Strength wasn't entirely zero.

SLAM!

"Winner, the young lady!"

Well, turns out this guy had just suffered from premature male pattern baldness.

Riding that unstoppable momentum, I tore through a nine-match winning streak, dragging our queue position all the way down to Number 97. By that point, the people in line finally began to realize that my physical power was anything but normal.

"Where on earth does a tiny body like that hide so much brute force?"

"Has she mastered one of those legendary Mana Cultivation Techniques?"

"She looks like a highborn noble lady. It's entirely possible."

"Tsk, another spoiled rich brat treating us like playthings."

"Still... shouldn't she be exhausted by now?"

A petite girl under 140 centimeters tall casually snapping down the bulging, vein-popping forearms of grown men? The utterly surreal spectacle had whipped the crowd into a frenzy, sparking private betting pools on the side. The innkeeper stood nearby, his jaw hanging slack with a greedy grin plastered across his face. The tavern was taking a tidy ten percent handling fee for holding the wagers to prevent welching.

"Mister Innkeeper," I called out sweetly.

"Haha, our little good luck charm! Can I get you a bucket of cold water? No, forget that—lunch is on the house today, my treat!"

"Keep the lunch. Let's split it fifty-fifty."

"Huh? Wh-whatever do you mean, little lady~?"

"I saw you taking a rake off those side bets."

When I narrowed my eyes and pressed the point, the innkeeper's face twisted into an expression of sheer agony.

"Seventy-thirty," he countered.

"If we don't go halves, I'm reporting you to the local lord. Running an illegal gambling den and exploiting a delicate, frail young maiden as a cash cow."

The innkeeper looked ready to burst with objections—namely, which part of a pint-sized monster like me qualified as 'delicate' or 'frail'—before abruptly freezing in terror. Standing right behind me, Jona was glaring down at him with an icy, murderous intensity, silently commanding the man to choose his next words with utmost caution.

A butler whose stats dwarf mine isn't someone you want to mess with, old man.

I remembered the time I had thrown a tantrum because a dish couldn't be registered to my food compendium. Jona had effortlessly overpowered me with raw physical force and shoved the food down my throat anyway. Ten straight meals of grilled spinach and stir-fried cucumbers, neither of which yielded a single codex entry... A grueling era of humiliation and oppression that I never wished to revisit.

"I'll... I'll give it to you……" the innkeeper squeaked.

"Hehe. Pocket money secured."

You could never have too much gold.

"Milady, you have exerted yourself considerably," Jona said gently. "We should conclude for today and rest."

"Mmm…… So we're sleeping outside after all?"

Tsk, what a shame.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had really hoped to secure a room today. Still, once fatigue fully set in, Orknodi's body would trigger the 'Frail Young Maiden (Exhaustion)' debuff, and I had no desire to push myself into that state. Unlike the safe confines of a training ground, this was an open street. It wasn't the kind of place where I could comfortably expose my vulnerabilities.

"A person of such delicate health as Milady must rest thoroughly when the opportunity arises," Jona declared solemnly.

The examinees standing nearby exchanged looks of pure, unadulterated disbelief, clearly wondering if the butler had lost his mind.

"Delicate? Her? With that demonic strength?"

"She's a total monster in a dress."

THUNK!

Something struck the tree trunk right between the two grumbling adventurers with lethal velocity, embedding itself deep into the wood.

"My deepest apologies," Leaf stated smoothly. "As someone unaccustomed to the duties of a maid, my hand slipped and I accidentally threw my self-defense dagger."

The adventurers shuddered, swallowing hard against the lump in their throats. Leaf glided over to retrieve the blade, leaning down to whisper a few quiet words into their ears. One adventurer's knees buckled, sending him slumping pathetically to the dirt, while the other let out a strangled squeak and bolted for dear life.

"Miss Leaf, what did you just tell them?" I asked curiously.

"I informed them that the Head Butler is ten times stronger than I am."

"Whoa."

Jona was ten times stronger than Leaf. Which meant Leaf was one-tenth of Jona.

"So you're not actually all that strong, Miss Leaf."

"……"

"Would you like me to teach you a few workout routines sometime?"

The candy I was given before bed that night tasted remarkably bitter.

The next morning, I woke up with an awful stomachache.