Boy, Have Ambition (1)
About four months had passed since the day Ethan touched my chest.
The season, which had been spring back during the masquerade, had turned over twice without my noticing, and autumn had already arrived, the leaves beginning to turn crimson.
And as the tree fruit and the evening sun ripened, many changes came to Ethan and me as well.
First of all — I had finally escaped the status of a commoner maid and been granted noble rank as the daughter of a baronetcy.
The family name remained Rosewood, my original surname, unchanged.
And the names of my fake parents, created to prove my status, were settled as Lewis Rosewood and Marianne Rosewood.
Naturally, neither of them actually existed; they were a ghost family that existed only on paper. And the one real member of that family — me — wasn't an actual noble either, just an outsider, which made the whole thing about as "paper noble" as it could possibly get.
That said, the status came backed by Princess Seraphin's influence, so in practice there was no real problem passing as nobility. Besides, a baronetcy without even an assigned fief gave anyone much reason to dig into my background in the first place.
As long as I didn't use it for any shady schemes and used it for exactly one purpose — attending the Academy — nothing much would likely ever come of it.
Incidentally, my own name had changed too, with a middle name added to make it a bit more aristocratic.
Lilith Blackwood Rosewood.
The method was to insert the main family's house name — Blackwood — as the middle name. That was the most common way middle names were formed anyway, so I didn't think too hard about it.
When he first heard the middle name I'd chosen, Ethan did look a little flustered.
"Lilith Blackwood... Lilith Blackwood... Lilith Blackwood..."
He seemed to keep repeating my name and middle name like he was entranced by them, so at first I thought it meant I wasn't supposed to use it.
When I tried to change it, though, he just told me to keep it as it was, so I did.
An exclusive maid taking her master's family name as a middle name was a little odd, admittedly, but I was technically nobility of the cadet branch as well, so it wasn't anything that would actually cause a problem.
If anything, this middle name would serve as definitive proof of the relationship between me and Ethan.
The number of idiots who assumed I was just some baronet's daughter-cum-maid and tried something with me would certainly shrink.
And then, there was Ethan.
In Ethan's case, nothing dramatically different had happened over the three months.
He simply continued training and studying refinement day after day, and spent his time with me exactly as he always had.
Aside from a bit of added muscle, he hadn't even grown taller — just a hair taller than me.
Apparently his growth period had ended, because I doubted he'd get any taller from here.
As for the strange behavior Ethan had shown for three days after touching my chest, it had visibly diminished since I laid out my new condition.
At the very least, he no longer got distracted during his sword duels with Harold from having nothing but my chest on his mind.
"...Maid."
"Yes, my lord."
"Today is the sixth day of the week, which means it's the day of my sword duel with Father..."
"Yes, I'm aware."
"...You're coming to watch, aren't you?"
"You ask a question with an obvious answer, my lord."
"Yeah, right. Nothing weird meant by it. Just curious."
He made these overt displays of desire now and then like this.
But this level of expressing it was fine. As long as he didn't go around broadcasting to everyone that 'something had happened' between us like before, that is.
It seemed my condition — that he could touch them if he landed a valid strike on Harold — had properly taken root.
For that alone to firm up his resolve like this... well, Ethan really is a man, I suppose.
Had I been a woman, watching his attitude shift just for the chance to touch a breast might have disgusted me. But with my memories of having been a man, I only found Ethan's attitude endearing.
Compared to an average man's libido back in my old days, his was right in the appropriate range.
Quite frankly, the fact that he didn't try to use force or power to grab them against my will spoke well of his character, too.
Had I been in Ethan's position, I would have found it hard to hold out myself.
I also thought setting the condition at "one valid strike" was fairly reasonable.
At first I even considered demanding outright "victory in the duel against Harold," but no matter how I looked at it, that was too brazenly toying with him.
By setting a goal that dangled just barely out of reach, I figured Ethan would throw himself into sword practice with a real sense of purpose, and my scheme had worked exactly as intended.
Of course, since I'd set it so tantalizingly close, it wasn't impossible to achieve — there was always some chance Ethan's hand would find its way to my chest again.
...Well, even if he somehow pulled it off, how many times could he possibly manage it?
It was September now, so no matter how you counted, there was at most half a year left until Academy enrollment.
Ethan and Harold's duels happened twice a week at most, so even adding them all together, only around fifty remained.
And watching him go three months without his blade ever touching Harold's body, landing a valid strike was clearly still a matter for the distant future.
Besides, once he entered the Academy, the duels with Harold would end entirely — there'd be no touching at all after that.
"Maid."
"Yes?"
"You absolutely must come watch this afternoon's duel."
"...Is something special expected to happen, by any chance?"
"...I think today, I can get one over on Father."
...What nonsense is this boy spouting first thing in the morning?
Watching Ethan declare victory with an oddly overflowing confidence today of all days, my head filled with questions.
And along with them, a faint but unmistakable seed of unease began to sprout in my heart.
...No way. It couldn't be.
It's not as if a Sword Master is the name of somebody's pet dog.
...Even for Ethan, that's a bridge too far.
And so, the afternoon duel.
Just as always, Harold and Ethan faced each other across the training ground, and the duel began.
The observers, as ever, were me, Dietmeier, and one of the Blackwood family's healing priests.
Harold, coolly taking his stance as he regarded his son with eyes as sharp as tempered steel, and Ethan, fixing his gaze on his father with eyes full of blazing passion.
In an atmosphere that felt strangely tense today, Ethan's body was the first to launch itself toward Harold.
-Dada-dak!
He closed the distance to Harold in a single burst of rapid footwork, then swung his sword in a wide arc straight at him.
It was an obvious, transparent strike anyone could have read — but for all its predictability, it carried real weight and heft.
Of course, there was no way Harold would fail to parry a strike that simply dumped raw power into a clumsy overhead blow with the same sword.
-Kkang!
With the crack of the two wooden swords colliding, both men dropped back a step to reset.
Since Harold had watched Ethan's movement to the very last instant before reacting, it took him slightly longer to recover his stance — but Ethan's skill was still too lacking to exploit that opening.
Instead, Ethan once again stolidly squared up and swung his sword at Harold.
The arc of his blade had changed compared to before, but the fundamental problem remained: it was, in the end, just another simple strike.
-Kkaang!
Harold parried Ethan's second strike just as easily as the first.
Watching it, I couldn't help feeling a twinge of disappointment.
...Judging by this alone, I have absolutely no idea what's supposedly changed.
He'd dropped that cryptic line about feeling like he could land a strike today, so I'd actually been on edge — and what met my eyes was a duel more deflating than I'd expected.
Honestly, his usual duels, flailing away at full power, had been more entertaining to watch.
But the way Ethan fought now was no way to fight a Sword Master.
A battle of clashing swords, traded blow for blow, each side bleeding out roughly equal stamina and aura.
In a contest of simple strength against strength like this, the one to tire first was obviously going to be Ethan.
...And here I got all worked up for nothing. He said it felt like he could win today, so I genuinely thought I might have to sneak into Ethan's room tonight.
With that thought, I resigned myself to spectating a deflating, energy-sapping fencing match.
Ethan started reacting strangely at the moment the swords locked for the fifth time.
-Hwiiiing!
Just like every exchange before, a bland strike came flying in head-on, and Harold squared up to receive it.
I watched on, estimating that another two or three clashes would settle the bout —
— and what unfolded before my eyes was a movement from Ethan I had never anticipated.
-Tadak!
...He dodged?
Contrary to my expectation that he would, of course, clash blades and grind away at Harold's stamina again, Ethan suddenly pivoted on his foot and evaded his father's strike entirely.
Then, in one fluid motion, he abandoned the pose of a heavy overhead blow, shifted to a shortened grip, and whipped his blade back toward Harold's body.
Don't tell me — everything until now, all that "stamina trading," was just a setup to lull Harold into letting his guard down for this one strike?
Only then did every piece of the puzzle click into place.
His deliberate persistence in a style of combat that disadvantaged him. His confidence this morning, declaring that today of all days he could land a strike.
There was no way this couldn't land.
Even a Sword Master like Harold — against this single moment, this brilliantly aimed thrust into empty air, he had no choice but to take the hit.
With that thought, the instant Ethan's wooden sword was about to connect with Harold's flank—
-Kkaaang!
"......?!"
As if he'd been waiting for it all along, Harold's prepared blade caught Ethan's final attack, deflected it utterly, and Ethan's sword was knocked skyward by the Sword Master's steel.
How...?
...Wait, that doesn't make sense. He blocked that?
No matter how fast his reflexes were, there was no way he could have read it before Ethan's movement changed — was there?
And even if he'd sensed something the moment Ethan's movement shifted, it would have been far too late to react.
The response was so impossible that for a split second I wondered whether Harold, like Seraphin, could see the future.
But thanks to Harold's explanation, the mystery dissolved far more easily than expected.
"In that final strike, your eyes were looking elsewhere, Ethan."
"...Ah!"
"If you intend to bait your opponent into complacency and strike them by surprise, you must hold your gaze steady until the very last moment before you turn your body."
"...I see."
"Even so, the attempt itself was admirable. I couldn't read your intent until halfway through. ...Had you tried a similar gambit a month ago, I might have been fooled."
"...I'm sorry?"
"...We'll end today's duel here. Tidy up the training ground and head back. If you'd like to stay and train more, you may."
"......Yes, sir!"
Though he had, regrettably, failed to land his strike, this was a rare occasion of Harold offering praise alongside comfort — and Ethan, for his part, seemed more or less mollified by it.
...Phew. That was almost an actual success.
Part of me wanted to give him something for effort, but a promise was a promise.
Setting a valid strike against Harold as the condition had truly been an excellent choice.
Given the reserves of strength Harold had shown today, it looked like there'd be no granting Ethan access to my chest at least until Academy enrollment.
...Still, that last strike just now — what a waste. A real shame.