The Fissure (1)
“Ah, it’s nothing. Ahaha….”
I was just about to brush it off with an awkward laugh when a voice like ice shards grinding together cut through the air from behind me.
“What do you think you’re doing there?”
I turned. Ricotta stood with her arms crossed, her expression frozen solid. Those sharp grey eyes slid past me and locked onto Basil—and the handkerchief in his hand.
Contempt dripped from her gaze, open and unfiltered.
“I asked you,” she repeated, voice colder still, “what you are doing there.”
Basil’s shoulders jerked and locked up under that tone.
“I-I was just… helping Saya, and I worked up a bit of a sweat, so…”
“Helping?”
Ricotta let out a short, incredulous scoff.
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even irritation. It was the pure, aristocratic displeasure of a master looking down at muddy footprints some servant had dared leave in her perfect garden without permission.
And that feeling sharpened into words that cut.
“I believe I made myself clear. Outsiders are not to interfere.”
She jerked her chin toward me—an arrogant little gesture that claimed ownership so blatantly it sent a chill down my spine.
“This is a matter between me and my helper. Do not insert yourself with your clumsy pity. Disappear. Now.”
…This was a relationship dynamic I had never once seen in the game. Completely twisted.
Ricotta wasn’t feeling romantic jealousy toward Basil. She was simply offended that some unknown commoner was approaching the person who was supposed to be assisting her. To her, that was overstepping.
The harder I tried to bring Basil and Ricotta together, the more she treated him as an obstacle blocking her path to me—and the harder she shoved him away.
Every effort I made to pave the road to a happy ending was instead stacking bricks into a massive wall between the two of them.
A bitter laugh almost escaped me at the sheer irony of it—then a familiar system window flared into existence right in front of my eyes, accompanied by a flash of light.
Major character relationships are diverging from the target trajectory.
Hidden Scenario — “The Fissure” has been forcibly activated.
Clear Condition: Within 7 days, convert the <Hostility> Ricotta feels toward Basil into <Curiosity> or higher.
Failure Penalty: The relationship between Ricotta and Basil will be permanently locked at <Hostility>.
…If I failed, Ricotta and Basil in this world would hate each other forever and never meet again.
…I’m done with endings like that.
Even in the game I had endured thousands of bad endings just to rewrite that nightmare.
That single reason was why I was still here now.
I’m stopping it.
My trembling fingers clenched tight. My fist locked solid.
I will stop it. No matter what.
With that resolve burning in my chest, Ricotta’s icy face and Basil’s flustered one crossed in my vision.
…First, I had to clean up this mess.
“My lady.”
The moment I spoke, Ricotta’s gaze snapped to me. Still cold—but something else mixed in now. A flicker of disappointment and betrayal that seemed to ask, You would dare take that commoner’s side?
“I apologize. Everything was my request to Basil from the start. If I have offended you, the fault is entirely mine.”
I took Basil’s arm and pulled him a step back with me.
Ricotta’s brow furrowed to a dangerous degree. She glared at the place where my hand touched Basil’s arm as if she wanted to tear it off.
“Saya.”
Her voice dropped even lower, more lethal than before.
“You seem to have forgotten whose ‘helper’ you are.”
One wrong step here and everything would collapse.
I forced myself to look completely unbothered—more than that, I met her eyes with deliberate confidence.
“I could never forget, my lady.”
Ricotta’s eyebrow twitched. I seized the opening and pressed on.
“My role as your helper is to ensure that your precious time is never wasted on trivial matters like this.”
I had only seven days.
If I clumsily bruised her pride now, it was over. I couldn’t clash with her. I had to use that very arrogance as my shield.
Ricotta stared at me with razor-sharp eyes for a long moment. Then she swept a look of pure contempt over Basil once more before returning her gaze to me.
“…Hmph. Remember this, Saya. There will be no next time.”
With that, she spun on her heel and vanished without a shred of lingering attachment. Only the chill in the air remained.
Only after Ricotta had been gone for quite a while did Basil carefully open his mouth. Guilt and confusion still tangled across his face.
“Um… Saya, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You’re the one who got the bigger shock, right?”
“I just… I feel like I got you into trouble because of me… I’m really sorry.”
He bowed his head and apologized with complete sincerity. As expected, this guy was a pure-hearted protagonist down to his bones. But right now that kindness was poison. To an arrogant noble like Ricotta, a commoner’s submissive posture only invited more contempt.
“Basil, this isn’t your fault. But if things stay like this, she’ll treat you like an insect until the day you graduate. Are you okay with that?”
“I… I don’t like it, but what am I supposed to do about it…?”
At this rate their relationship would never improve. They would remain locked in a permanent superior-subordinate dynamic forever.
Within the time limit I had to turn Ricotta’s <Hostility> into <Curiosity>. For that to happen, Basil needed to stop being “an unpleasant commoner” in her eyes and become “someone she couldn’t ignore.”
There was only one way: prove Basil’s existence in a domain Ricotta valued—something she could never dismiss.
The ducal house known as the Sword of the Empire. What they worshipped was strength.
“There is a way.”
My firm words made Basil’s eyes go round.
“In three days there’s the freshman integrated swordsmanship sparring practice. We’ll prove you there. Show her you’re not someone she can just ignore.”
“Swordsmanship sparring practice? But I’ve never even learned the sword properly…”
“It’s fine. You have your own way. Not the formal, etiquette-bound swordsmanship the nobles learn—the raw movements you picked up just to survive. That’s more than enough.”
Even in the game, early Basil had never received proper sword training, yet through endless practice and his unique improvisation he had toppled enemies stronger than himself. That was exactly what we needed now.
“Ricotta is the owner of a perfect, orthodox blade. In her eyes your movements will look unpleasant and grating. But at the same time, they’ll be something she’s never seen before—something unknown.”
If something grated on her, it meant it was getting under her skin. It meant she couldn’t ignore it. If I could create even that tiny crack, I could force my way through it as many times as I needed.
“…Do you really think I can do it?”
Hesitation clouded his eyes.
I gripped Basil’s shoulders hard.
“You can. Because I’m going to make sure of it.”
The academy’s massive sparring arena thrummed with the excited energy of the freshmen.
According to the set brackets, students stepped onto the stage one after another. Blades clashed, breaths mingled, and after cautious probing, cheers occasionally erupted.
I took a seat at the edge of the spectator stands—exactly where I had the clearest view of Ricotta.
She sat with perfect posture, as if the surrounding noise didn’t exist. She looked thoroughly bored, barely sparing the matches a glance.
But the moment Ricotta’s name was called, the entire atmosphere shifted.
She rose without a sound and walked to the center of the stage.
Standing there with her sword, she looked like a silent blade itself—neat, elegant, and utterly merciless.
Three exchanges.
Her opponent’s sword screamed as it flew into the air.
A refined strike. Flawless form. Perfectly Ricotta.
After a brief silence, explosive cheers burst from the stands.
“That’s Lady Ricotta for you!”
“I almost feel sorry for her opponent. They’re on completely different levels!”
Waves of admiration and applause rolled through the arena, but the person in question merely flicked her wrist as if brushing dust from the tip of her blade and lowered her gaze. Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face.
And at last, Basil’s name was called.
“Haaah.”
Basil let out a short breath and walked slowly to the center of the stage.
His opponent was one of the pure-blood circle noble brats. The guy locked eyes with his noble friends in the stands and tossed out an open sneer.
“Finally, the special-admission student makes his appearance. Let’s see just how pathetic a commoner’s swordsmanship really is!”
When Basil lifted the training wooden sword, more contemptuous words flew.
“Puhah! Look at that stance! Guess that’s what happens when a commoner who’s only ever held a hoe his whole life tries to hold a sword—he doesn’t even know how to grip it!”
Laughter erupted here and there among the spectators. A few noble students piled on with even more blatant mockery, while Ricotta, expressionless, kept her eyes lowered and idly examined her nails.