The Favored One

As we drew closer to the 1st District, even the back alleys grew clean. Drin and I, having entered the alleyway for our wagered duel, stood facing each other at a reasonable distance in a spacious, deserted spot.

Shring. Clack.

Drin drew the sword hanging at her right hip with her left hand, tossed it lightly into the air, and caught it with her right. She then pointed the blade forward with her right hand while tucking her left hand behind her back.

"Whenever you are ready, please come at me."

Rather than an expert looking to instruct a subordinate, she looked like a noble lady engaging in a sword fight for the very first time, her face alight with excitement. I could all too easily picture her getting swept up in the moment and thwacking me with the flat of her blade. Could I really trust her earlier promise that her "exquisite, high-class blade was far too elegant to wound a scrub like me"?

Well, even if I take a few hits from Drin, this wagered duel is a highly profitable venture.

As far as I knew, there weren't many swordsmen in the game with greater talent than Drin.

Actually, "not many" is an understatement. By the time the story reached its conclusion, she was ranked among the absolute strongest in the entire world. In terms of pure swordsmanship talent, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she was practically peerless on the continent. A duel with someone like her was an opportunity I couldn't afford to miss. Especially since I was currently worrying about whether my current skills would cut it for the Academy entrance exam.

My current skills. I wasn't talking about my Black Magic or Assassination Arts. In the civilized world, warlocks and assassins were undisputed scum, public enemies to be executed on sight. Showing off Black Magic and Assassination Arts during an Academy exam? That wasn't the behavior of someone saying, "I'd like to enroll here, please." That was the behavior of someone declaring, "And now, I shall destroy the Academy."

In other words, the skills I had to display during the Academy exam were swordsmanship and standard magic. However, while I could utilize Assassination Arts and Black Magic thanks to my system traits, I was a complete novice when it came to swordsmanship and magic that didn't receive those system corrections.

Why didn't they teach us swordsmanship and magic back in Korea?

Fortunately, Assassination Arts and swordsmanship both relied on physical movement. Similarly, Black Magic and standard magic both relied on manipulating mana. Even with Black Magic and Assassination Arts completely turned off, the muscle memory and mana-handling instincts remained within me.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

This ambiguous level and my two newly acquired skills proved it.

In the game, the minimum level to enter the Academy was 10. When I first arrived in Arien, my level was 13. Now, after clearing a quest, I was level 14. Since I met the level requirement, I figured I would pass the entrance exam without much trouble. This wager with Drin was the perfect opportunity to test that theory. If my skills could work against Drin, whose talent was elite even by the Academy's standards, then they would undoubtedly work in the exam.

Furthermore, this duel came with a side benefit: the winner got to ask the loser for any single favor. Normally, asking for anything more than a free meal would make the other person grimace, but if it was Drin, she would probably grant literally whatever I asked. The right to ask Drin Libringer for anything? It was practically a mini-Dragon Ball. It would undoubtedly be of immense help whenever I found myself in a tight spot while adjusting to this world.

And above all else... my **Squinty-Eyed Character** instincts were running wild. I was dying to see how that smug, overconfident Drin—who hadn't considered the possibility of defeat even for a fraction of a second—would react if she lost. I was practically trembling with anticipation.

Shring.

As I drew my sword, Drin gave me a slight nod of her chin. I slowly closed the distance and spoke.

"I didn't know you were capable of such provocations, Lady Drin."

"Since this is merely a light game, surely this much is acceptable?"

"That sounds to me like you admit it is normally forbidden."

"To lose one's composure while wielding a sword is to lose oneself. And since provocations are designed to shatter that composure, they are cowardly and should be avoided. Correct?" I snapped my fingers as I finished her sentence.

"A provocation that disrupts an opponent's composure is a perfectly valid strategy. There is no need to place unnecessary restrictions on yourself."

"Oh? An unexpected answer."

"Though, personally, it is not a method I prefer."

"Ah, as expected. Then what kind of method do you prefer?"

"An upright power that seeks no shortcuts and relies on no cheap tricks."

"The virtue of honesty, then? ...I must say, I like that very much." Drin expressed her genuine admiration. "If only I possessed your eloquence."

"Haha, flattery won't make me go easy on you, you know."

We both let out a soft chuckle. With that, the duel officially began.

I decided to exploit her self-imposed handicaps to the fullest: the fact that she couldn't move her feet, and that she could only use one hand, which severely limited her ability to shift stances. I would strike first from an angle that was difficult for her to defend, and then relentlessly press the offensive.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

"Whew..."

"..."

Yet, as the exchanges mounted, I was the only one growing exhausted. It felt as though I were throwing full-force punches only for Drin to casually deflect them with a single finger. It was like striking an immovable boulder with a cotton mallet.

"Whoops!"

Clatter!

Before long, my sword was clattering across the ground, and Drin's blade was pointed down at the dirt.

"You lasted seven exchanges."

"Whew... whew... Lasted...? I recall... whew... that I was the one attacking."

"Swinging your sword wildly does not mean you hold the initiative. The essence lies in reading your opponent's blade and seizing the flow of the battle."

"And when exactly did I lose that flow?"

"From the very beginning. You seemed to execute what you believed to be the optimal movements to exploit my weaknesses, but those 'optimal' movements felt excessively telegraphed to me. I could have exploited at least two openings, even if I reacted slowly."

"Haha, and here I thought that was my ultimate trump card."

If I remembered correctly, Drin's level was currently in the 30s, and her skill level was at 4. She was at a level where she should be discussing graduation, not admission. The gap between her and my current self—who had to worry about merely passing the entrance exam—was astronomical. My utter defeat was the only logical outcome.

"So, what is your overall assessment of my swordsmanship?"

"...It possesses a certain freedom, unfettered by rigid forms."

"You were thinking it's completely rootless, weren't you?"

She flinched.

"Such a pessimistic outlook is unbecoming. The attitude a swordsman must maintain is composure, not negativity. Do not confuse the two."

"But honestly, you did think it was rootless, right?"

"...Honestly, yes."

"Then, honestly, do you think I can pass the exam?"

Drin fell into deep thought.

"There are a few aspects of your swordsmanship that concern me. To make a proper assessment—"

"To do that?"

Instead of answering, Drin adjusted her stance and gestured with her chin once more.

"Come. Pour everything you have into this next clash, as if it were your last."

It seemed Drin intended to end the duel with this final clash. Already? I thought, but considering she was far more focused now than at the start, exchanging blows with her would probably leave me too exhausted to continue even if I wanted to.

If things go this way... If I gave it my all in this clash, I might barely squeeze a passing grade out of her. Drin offering me a hand to help me up as I lay exhausted on the ground... Yes, that would make for a pretty picture.

But it would mean losing the duel. Not being able to ask Drin for a favor? Having to grant her one instead? Honestly, that was fine. I had a completely different objective in mind. Specifically, seeing Drin writhe in sheer embarrassment after losing to me. Teasing Drin versus earning ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her recognition. Which should I choose?

A true squinty-eyed character only has one choice. The wicked, narrow-eyed schemer didn't need to deliberate for long.

I prepared to draw upon my skills as an assassin, keeping it strictly within the limits of what Drin wouldn't be able to detect. If I unleashed my full assassin techniques right now, she might catch on to my hidden identity. Therefore, all I needed to do was throw her off with an unexpected movement.

Dash!

I lunged at Drin in an instant. Just as she was about to react, I surged my prepared assassin capabilities.

"Ah!"

"Oh."

Drin let out a small gasp as she watched me. To her eyes, I had botched my footwork and completely lost my balance. In reality, of course, it was entirely intentional. I had executed False Step, an advanced footwork technique from my assassin skill set designed specifically to disorient the opponent.

Just as Drin, despite her pitying expression, ruthlessly moved to disarm me—

"Huh?"

Sensing something was amiss a beat too late, she desperately tried to alter her sword's trajectory and shift her stance. But it was already too late. My seemingly clumsy, flailing sword struck hers aside. My body, continuing its forward momentum—

Crash!

—tumbled right on top of her.

"Ow, of all times for my feet to get tangled—huh?" I muttered in mock frustration, pretending to only just realize that Drin was pinned beneath me. "Oh, hello there."

Meeting my gaze, Drin blinked once. Then, her eyes snapped wide open.

"What do you mean, 'hello'?! Get off me this instant!" she shrieked, clearly utterly scandalized.

"Ugh, my apologies. Here—" I scrambled up and offered her a hand. Though she glared at my hand with deep reluctance, she ultimately took it and let me pull her to her feet.

"Wait a second."

Before a thoroughly disgruntled Drin could say anything, I spoke up first.

"Uh...?"

I looked back and forth between where Drin was currently standing and where she had been standing just moments ago. Following my gaze, Drin did the same.

"You moved! You were definitely standing over there just a second ago, but now—well, this means I won the wager, right?"

Drin gasped in sheer disbelief. "That is completely unfair!"

"What do you mean unfair? The proof is right here."

"Invalid! This is invalid! That wasn't a display of your actual skill!"

"Haha, one cannot always rely solely on skill to achieve everything in life. Sometimes, a little luck and serendipity are necessary. Am I wrong?"

"..."

Drin opened her mouth to argue, but finding no words, she shut it and pouted.

"Then, once more."

"Hmm?"

"Let us do it once more. Best... best two out of three."

"Gasp...! How petty!"

Psssshh.

At the word "petty," Drin's face flushed so red I half-expected steam to start billowing from the crown of her head.

"P-Petty?! How could you say such a harsh thing...! And if we are talking about being petty, claiming victory in such a manner makes you far more p-petty!"

"Haha, since my victory is already set in stone, why on earth would I willingly give that up to accept a best-of-three?"

"I will grant you one more favor!"

"But I haven't even decided on my first favor yet."

Drin's entire body trembled. Anyone else would have erupted like a volcano by now, but true to her character, she was desperately holding it in.

"Y-You must lack confidence."

Suddenly, she shifted gears, attempting to look nonchalant as she threw a provocation back at me.

"Of course you do. You know deep down that you only won through sheer, petty luck."

As expected of someone who had proudly declared that provocations were not her preferred method, her attempt at one was utterly pathetic. Her delivery was as stiff as someone reading from a textbook, and she kept stealing glances at me to gauge my reaction. I decided to play along.

"How could you say such a thing?!"

"Hmph... If you are so frustrated, then prove it with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠your actions."

"You dare wound my pride? Fine!"

"Oh, so you accept?"

"...Actually, now that I think about it, I don't really have much pride to speak of, so it doesn't matter. I shall happily content myself with my single, petty, incredibly lucky victory."

"Aaargh!"

Unable to take it anymore, Drin collapsed to the ground. A pathetic groan escaped her lips.

Ah. Sweet. Absolutely delicious.

Watching her reaction, I could feel it. My very soul was being healed. I hadn't actually been wounded enough to need healing, but I was being healed nonetheless. The sheer therapeutic value of this moment far surpassed burying one's face in a fluffy puppy and inhaling its sweet, warm scent. What an absolute joy she was to tease. She was an absolute gem of a person, truly.

Right then and there, I made a solemn vow. Drin. If there is ever a time you need help, I will gladly do whatever it takes. And in exchange, I will use that as an excuse to tease you to my heart's content.