257 - The Nameless Swordswoman

The Academy Tournament for the elementary division—from second grade up to high school second year—consists of ten rounds of 5v5 matches, one per grade level. Watching the highest-level high school second-year matches, it's brutally intense. Those seventeen-year-old hot-blooded youths live and die by honor. Fueled by an obsession to win at any cost, they always deliver pulse-pounding spectacles.

That said, the elementary second-grade matches aren't any less popular. And why is that? Because...

Thud! "Waaahhh!"

During practice sparring with Yuna, Ji-hye tripped over her own feet, scraping her face on the floor—and now she'd finally burst into tears. Matches like this always end with one side in tears. The humiliation of defeat, the emptiness, the shame, plus a dash of physical pain? For eight-year-old kids, bawling their eyes out is par for the course. And even in just practice, Ji-hye's face was a total tear-streaked mess. Adorably so.

"Waaahhh! It huuuurts!"

"A-Are you okay?"

"Waaah... hic... sob..."

Yuna rushed over to check Ji-hye's face. One cheek was already swelling red.

Yuna cast the healing spell I'd taught her before. It aids wound recovery, but Ji-hye cried out even louder in pain.

"Seo Yuna! Don't cast it that hard on a kid!"

"Isn't this how you do it? It heals faster this way."

"No, come here. Look—your tissue regeneration circle's gone past green into red."

Ji-hye must feel like someone just slathered alcohol on an open wound right now.

I sat Ji-hye down comfortably, stroked her cheek while sitting beside her. Her face looked much better already.

"Nami..." Ji-hye glared at Yuna through hiccuping sobs.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Seo Yuna's mean..."

"Yuna just wanted to heal you fast. Don't hate her too much."

"Okay..."

Ma Ji-hye, daughter of Detective Ma and now in Class 2-B. At just over 120cm tall, she's petite, but until last year, her aura control was top-tier in her grade. Now, with Class A kids getting specialized training and picking up tricks, her position's getting shaky. Needing to crack the top five must have her anxious.

Yuna scratched her head and flopped down next to Ji-hye.

"Sucks that Nami can't compete. Nami's super strong..."

"Aim for next year."

"Heehee...!"

"Why're you laughing?"

"It'd be hilarious if you still don't hit 121cm next year too."

"Hey."

"You're so mean to Nami, pfft...! Cough cough!"

Ji-hye snorted, then choked on her own spit. Guess my teasing perked them right up.

"Ji-hye, wanna hit the snack bar for ice cream? Yuna, you keep practicing with Si-hu. You got stamina left, right?"

"Whaaat? I'm tiiired... Fine, get me a Marble ice cream."

"Si-hu?"

"Anything's fine."

"Anything? Then I'll grab the cheapest. C'mon, Ji-hye."

"Up we go! Wait, lemme grab my glasses."

Ji-hye's bobbed hair bounced as she dashed off. Thought she was wiped out a second ago—kids recharge fast.

Autumn, but daytime temps showed no sign of dipping below 30°C. I popped open my white floral parasol from home and stuck close to Ji-hye on the way to the snack bar.

"Who d'you think'll make the second-grade team for the tournament?"

I pondered Ji-hye's question.

"Si-hu ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and Yuna are locks, right?"

With their high mental age, they have innate mana sensitivity. Ji-hye nodded easily, probably recalling her fresh loss to Yuna.

"The other three? Hard to say. But you've got a real shot, Ji-hye."

Everyone else was neck-and-neck; no ranking 'em till they sparred. I Ha-ru, Kim Han-gyeol, Ma Ji-hye, Ko Kyung-won, Hong Jun, and so on.

"Ji-hye, got any worries lately? Made lotsa friends?"

Being in the other class, she rarely hung with our group outside lunch. And she'd only talked to Han Se-ri in first grade—now split up, I worried a bit. Her parents mentioned the same to me.

"I gotta make Class A in third grade... Don't wanna get split from you guys again."

"Got it."

Seferon Academy's system is ruthless. As a mid-year transfer, Class A has 21 kids. So every grade change, at least one gets bumped. Twenty fighting to hold seats, sixty clawing up—efficient maybe, but decades ago it'd be a human rights scandal on the news. Sometimes I wonder if I'm too rigid, but I can't help pitying the kids.

Korea's all about sacrificing the many for elite few. Then piles insane responsibility on those elites, demanding idol-level "perfection" in everything. Bad for both sides. At least since Gu On-yu took over as principal seven years ago, things softened—but we get crushed in tournaments now, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drawing flak from the foundation. Kids struggle in middle/high school from not adapting to cutthroat competition; other principals hate her for it, they say.

"What d'you think of the principal, Ji-hye? Good or bad?"

"She's awesome!"

"Why?"

"She treats us to burgers or ice cream sometimes."

"Ah... That explains it."

Kids wouldn't grasp education policy anyway. Still, respect to all teachers grinding behind the scenes for them.

"Practice time's too short, though. And they pick reps three weeks before matches? How'm I supposed to train 'em properly? Right? Here, Melona."

"Thanks, Nami! Nom nom! But no Si-hu ice cream?"

"Oops. Guess I'll split my Twin Pops."

"Poor Si-hu... But you kinda pick on him, Nami."

"Do I? Anyway, Ji-hye—wanna stick around for more spars?"

She shook her head vigorously. Kids these days lack grit. I'm holding back, but old-man mindset's creeping in more lately.

"Huh? Who's that?"

A bunch of guys in black suits clustered inside the gym. Definitely not academy staff.

Si-hu and Yuna sat quietly in a corner, eyeing them.

"Who're they?"

"Dunno. Showed up mid-spar."

Among the suits stood a girl in different garb: white dobok top, navy skirt hiked to navel-level. Black sash cinched tight at her waist. She turned our way, high black ponytail swishing after. Surprisingly baby-faced.

"Younger than I thought."

"Huh? Young? She looks way older than us!"

Ji-hye questioned my mutter. Yeah, to you kids, she's a big sis. Must have foundation/academy clearance to enter elementary grounds. I was about to text Principal Gu On-yu when they approached us first.

Translation magic?

The girl placed hands on knees, bowed her head in greeting.

The Katsuhata school, first to adopt the 1st Circle unique magic Adella, swept the Japanese Emperor's Cup undefeated. Its principles were so novel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that theorists worldwide scrambled to develop similar spells. That's Adella's core flaw.

'Adella's truly revolutionary. If only it could be used solo...'

Why must an assistant be mandatory for amplification and transmission? Is solo casting truly impossible? It solves Japanese swordsmanship's limits, yet useless in solo formats like national exchanges. Lamentable.

Then rumors spread late on Japanese nets: its creator's an eight-year-old. Sparked by an exported variety show. Most figured adults propped up a "genius girl," but Emika disagreed.

'Just check ourselves.'

If NoName's the real creator, she'll know Adella's limits. Brainstorm together, improve it further. Japan's future's at stake.

The Korea trip went smoothly. Fans mobbed Incheon Airport hearing the heir was visiting. Media speculated her purpose. They toured Seoul spots to deflect, waiting for buzz to die—then hit the real target: Seferon Academy.

'Why do Koreans outsource talent training to foreign institutions?'

Unthinkable in Japan. Emika entered the gym pondering that. A redheaded twintail girl relentlessly pressured a boy—no breaks. But he held firm: magic shields for vitals, aura counters otherwise. Talent rivaling "fist"-focused heirs.

Emika watched their spar, impressed. 'But where's NoName?'

Principal said she'd be here post-class. The group waited; Si-hu and Yuna noticed them.

Screeech—the door opened. A girl entered with two ice creams.

Emika stood, turned. 'So tiny...!'

Twintails nearly dragged the floor. Unique hair ties drew the eye. NoName. "Nameless" in Japanese—a hermit vibe straight from anime. Emika's heart raced. But protocol for foreigners, age no matter.

She bowed, introduced herself. The reply wasn't what she expected.

"So, who're you?"

Emika's face fell at Nami's question.

"I'm from the Katsuhata school..."

"Heard that already."

"Katsuhata Emika."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I won the Emperor's Cup this year... You really don't know me?"

"Hmm... Not ringing a bell..."

"Emperor's the Japanese emperor, right? Like, his beer belly or something?"

"Yuna, shh..."

Emika and her entourage scowled. But Nami and Si-hu reined Yuna in before it escalated.

"We've come to discuss unique magic with Miss Nami."

"Ah, should've led with that."

Nami snapped her fingers, enlightened. Emika sighed in relief.

"You came all this way to spar with me!"

"Pardon?"

"Whoa, sparring Nami?"

"No way!"

"Huh? That what it means?"

Si-hu piped up late. Whatever—Nami grabbed her wrist, dragged her to the gym center. Handed gear, even set up an aura barrier herself.

"W-Wait just a sec!"

Being led by an eight-year-old, now forced to fight. Where were her escorts? Six-year gap—even the age-spread Emperor's Cup never saw that. No handicap? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Absurd.

Her suits cooled off by a massive fan the kids fetched, sweating in summer suits.

"Katsuhata Emika."

Nami called from opposite, snapping her focus.

"Y-Yes, Miss NoName."

"Watched the national exchange—impressive stuff. Real talent."

"Ah... You saw that... Th-Thank you..."

Emika's cheeks flushed. That tourney was her shame. So many wins—why that clip?

"Hold on... You said you didn't know me...?"

Her eyes widened. Seeing the exchange meant recognizing her, right?

"Oh! Kinda coming back now... Or not... We'll see once we spar, yeah?"

Nami grinned innocently.

"Say if you need a wooden sword, Nameless Swordswoman. I'll wait."