Chapter 15
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 15
The two boys didn’t seem to be exercising, much less training.
One was simply dangling from a pull-up bar. Then he’d climb onto the parallel bars, hold himself up for a moment, and swing his legs over to sit perched on top.
The other boy held onto the legs of the parallel bars, swaying slightly as he looked up and chatted about something.
Judging by their smiling faces, they were having the kind of childish conversation typical for their age. Ten, maybe twelve years old. The kind of talk that sounded useless to adults, but was the most entertaining, important, and serious thing in the world to children.
“Have you ever seen a turtle? I heard they’re super fast in the water. So if a rabbit runs on land and a turtle swims, who’s faster? Have you ever seen the ocean? They say it’s just water all the way to the end of the world. But the weird thing is, if you taste it, it’s salty, like somebody dumped salt in it. Must’ve taken a ton of salt, right?”
Though they were too far away for their voices to carry, that was exactly the kind of conversation they looked to be having.
A breeze occasionally blew past Rickert, who was perched on the parallel bars, causing his blonde hair to flutter and glisten in the sunlight. It had been a week since he’d entered the dorms of Beringen Academy. He and Boribori had apparently grown closer in that time, as Boribori laughed, shook his head, and chatted comfortably back and forth.
Someone was watching the two boys from a distance. It was Volka.
Volka still couldn't understand how Rickert—who looked like nothing more than a little brat—had defeated him. Had he used magic or something?
For three days, Volka couldn't escape the shock and embarrassment. On the fourth day, he began to ponder deeply: Why did I lose?
Putting his indignation and humiliation aside, he was genuinely curious. Why had he lost? No matter how he looked at him, Rickert was just a kid.
Even retracing the moment yielded no answers. There had just been a flash before his eyes, and then he’d passed out.
Unable to bear stewing over it any longer, Volka strode toward them.
Noticing Volka approaching, Boribori gasped and hid behind the legs of the parallel bars—though his body was far too big to be concealed. Looking like a frightened frog, he peeked out with half his face, staring intently at Volka.
Rickert, who had been laughing and chatting with Boribori, switched to an indifferent expression the moment he saw Volka.
“Hey,” Volka called out first.
“What?”
“Fight me again.”
“I told you, I lost.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Then what do you want? You said it doesn't end until someone dies or surrenders. But you won't surrender.”
“Haa… Fine. I surrender. I lost. Happy? Now fight me.”
“Sigh…”
Rickert let out a heavy sigh and hopped down from the parallel bars.
“Boribori. Get me some bandages.”
“Uh, okay!”
Boribori promptly ran to the dorm and brought back bandages. Having lost to Rickert and then been dumped by his girlfriend, Volka wrapped his own hands.
As it became clear the two were about to fight, the other kids in the training grounds turned to watch. It looked like a rematch, but judging by the atmosphere, neither Rickert nor Volka seemed particularly emotional. So, unlike the first day, the kids didn't swarm around to stir up excitement. They simply watched from a distance.
This time, they didn't bother taking off their shoes to step into the sand pit. They simply faced off at the edge of the training yard.
Unlike their first encounter, Volka was on high alert. He intended to take this seriously, without dropping his guard for a second. Keeping his fists at chest height, he tucked his chin and glared intently at Rickert. Rickert, on the other hand, merely stood at an angle, perfectly relaxed.
Volka moved his shoulders in a slight rhythm. Circling slowly around Rickert, he suddenly stepped forward with his lead foot to throw a punch.
Or rather, he failed to throw it this time as well. Rickert's fist slammed into his solar plexus before he could even finish the motion.
Thwack!
“Gugh!”
The air was knocked right out of him, and his vision swam. However, since it wasn't a blow to the chin like last time, he didn't pass out. It was a deliberate act of consideration on Rickert's part.
As Volka barely managed to regain his composure and force a breath in, he saw Rickert still standing there, just watching him.
“Why don't you try using your back foot? You're way too predictable.”
“W-what?”
“Look. You do it like this.”
Rickert threw a punch into the air, perfectly mimicking Volka's movement. It wasn't just an imitation—it was a flawless execution of the technique.
“You throw a punch while stepping out with your lead foot. Sure, it's good for a quick burst, but it's too obvious. The moment your front foot moves, all I have to do is hold out my arm, and you walk right into it. I can knock you down without breaking a sweat.”
Flabbergasted, Volka listened to Rickert's words as if spellbound.
“But this is what it means to use your back foot,” Rickert continued. “You pull your back foot forward first, then push off into the lead step. That lets you close a long distance in a single bound, making it much harder for your opponent to react. It deceives their sense of distance.”
Pushing off the back foot sounded strange, but when Rickert demonstrated it in a fluid, continuous motion, it looked remarkably cool.
“You need to start with controlling the distance, not just thinking about throwing punches. Anyone who actually knows how to fight has this down as a basic skill. The distance you're comfortable with, the distance you're not, how to close in, how to pull back, whether to fight up close or from afar… You don't know any of this. At this rate, it’d be hard for me to get hit even if I wanted to let you.”
Volka stood there, dazed. The same went for Boribori and the other kids watching.
“Alright, try again. For now, don't worry about punching. Just focus on closing the distance.”
Never having imagined he'd be getting a lesson, Volka remained utterly dumbfounded. He mechanically retook his stance and forced himself to concentrate. Following Rickert's advice, he focused on his footwork instead of rushing to swing his fist.
He feinted a few times, but Rickert just kept his eyes locked on Volka's and didn't fall for a single one.
Then, using his back foot as Rickert had taught him, Volka shot forward, closing the distance in one explosive movement. Just as the thought Now's my chance! flashed through his mind, his left leg buckled sideways.
Thwack!
“Argh!”
Volka squeezed his eyes shut. Where on earth did that small frame hide such destructive power? The kick felt like a swing from a heavy club.
He tried to pull back, but his leg wouldn't obey.
Tap.
Rickert's fist lightly touched Volka's chin. It was over. The gap in their skill was overwhelming—Volka felt it not in his head, but in his bones.
“That's why injuring the leg is fatal. Want to go again?”
“…Again.”
Rickert stepped back to reset the distance. Volka was limping.
From then on, it wasn't a spar—it was a one-sided beating. After his right leg was targeted, Volka could barely stand. With both legs throbbing, his focus was inevitably pulled downward. Unsure of where to block, he flailed his arms wildly, failing to defend against a single blow as he took hits to his upper and lower body alike.
Naturally, he began to curl up, eventually collapsing to the ground like a bug.
Rickert stared down at him quietly before unwrapping the bandages from his fists. He extended a hand and tried to help him up, putting an arm around his shoulder.
“Let me help you.”
Boribori, who had been hiding, hurried over to support him from the other side, but Volka weakly shook them off.
“I-I can walk on my own.”
He struggled to his feet, though even standing upright looked like a monumental effort. Taking several deep breaths to endure the agony, he forced himself to take one grueling step after another, stubbornly walking on his own.
Watching Volka's retreating back, Rickert felt a strange pull toward him. Last time, Volka had burned with fighting spirit, refusing to surrender. Now, he was dragging himself up to walk under his own power. Rickert liked that about him.
At the same time, Volka seemed pitiable—pitiable because he seemed determined to isolate himself from everyone.
Rickert followed behind Volka, and Boribori tagged along in confusion.
“Can I come hang out by your bed later?” Rickert asked, matching Volka’s slow pace.
The question was so absurd that Volka almost laughed, which only made his aching body hurt more. Grimacing, he managed to squeeze out, “I'm not interested in stuff like rabbit and turtle races.”
“…?”
“You can come if you want, but it won't be fun.”
Once inside the dorm, Volka leaned against the wall to walk. The kids in the hallway saw him and moved to their beds to clear a path.
Just then, half a dozen unfamiliar boys opened the door at the far end of the hall and walked in.
Upon seeing them, Volka stepped aside. Rickert and Boribori, following behind, naturally pressed themselves against the wall with him. Huh? Isn't Volka the leader here?
As the strange boys passed, Rickert’s eyes met those of the one walking at the front. He had silver hair that shimmered as if liquid metal had been poured over it and was so handsome he could have been descended from elves.
His default expression, however, was cold and completely indifferent to the world. Because of this, perhaps, he quickly broke eye contact with Rickert.
The group occupied the top bunks in the innermost section. After lingering for a moment, they exited through the back door.
“Volka, aren't you the leader?”
“What?”
“Weren't you rank one here?”
“I'm not rank one. I am the leader, though. Oof…” Volka groaned as he climbed onto his bed.
Rickert climbed up after him and sat on the edge of the bunk, looking down at the prone Volka. Since Rickert's eyes were already full of questions, Volka answered without being asked.
“That's the Ice Gang. The guys you just saw are ranks one through five here. I'm around twentieth. But I'm the one who connects the kids with jobs and gets them together when fights break out in the city. Those guys have zero interest in any of that. I've never even seen them talk to anyone outside their own group.”
In short, while Volka was the practical leader, there were others superior to him in raw combat.
“If they're not interested, why are they here?”
“Probably aiming to become Special-Grade. Or maybe even the Emperor's Champion. Aren't you aiming for something like that too?”
Becoming the Emperor's Champion was a pipe dream for most. It meant being granted nobility, allowing a bastard to eclipse the renown of their own family. They would no longer face persecution; in fact, most nobles would grovel before a Champion. As the Emperor's enforcer, a Champion held the authority to execute even nobility.
Rickert, however, had zero interest in such things. If anything, he harbored ill will toward the imperial family that had started a war a hundred years ago.
“Not me. I'm interested in something called Mana Drive… and the Codex. That's why I'm taking the Ancient Script class.”
From what Rickert had observed over his week here, the academy only provided basic instruction for combat skills like swordsmanship or unarmed fighting. For someone with no knowledge, those classes would make a world of difference, but that didn't apply to him. That was why he wanted to take Ancient Script, but there was no instructor. He had no choice but to wait until one was appointed.
The academy didn't have permanent teachers. Instead, people sent by the Guild would teach for a few months or a year before being replaced.
“…You've got a crazy streak yourself,” Volka said, dumbfounded.
It was one thing to be interested in Mana Drive, but paying money to take such a difficult and boring class was incomprehensible to him. In truth, plenty of kids at the academy were illiterate. They couldn't even learn the common script, let alone Ancient Script. In Volka's mind, only a lunatic would attempt it.
“Hahaha, that's the first time anyone's called me a lunatic.”
Having always been called an extraordinary genius, Rickert actually liked being called a lunatic. It meant Volka was seeing him as he was.
“So, can you show me around the city later?”
“…Sure, whatever. But I have classes this week. Let's go after that.”
“Boribori can come too, right?”
“Bori-what?”
“The guy who was with me. His name is Boribori.”
“…Fine.”
Rickert gave a slight grin and prepared to jump down from the top bunk, but Volka stopped him.
“Hey.”
“Huh?”
Volka seemed to have something to say, but he hesitated. Avoiding Rickert's eyes, he looked away and struggled to squeeze out the words.
“…Thanks.”
“For what? Beating you up? Don't tell me you—”
“No. For teaching me.”
Ultimately, this place was all about competition. The higher one’s rank, the more they guarded their knowledge. Teaching someone else was practically unheard of.
Though Volka had taken a beating, he had gained a genuine realization through Rickert’s instruction. At some point, he had hit a wall, unable to rise above rank twenty no matter how hard he tried. But listening to Rickert's explanation, a blockage inside him felt like it was finally clearing.
He was deeply grateful for that.
Rickert smiled softly.
“No need to thank me.”
With that, he lightly hopped down to the floor.
Watching the spot where Rickert had just been, Volka was swept up in an unfamiliar emotion. He was a strange kid. In this world, ignoring and bullying students weaker than you was the norm. It was a strict, hierarchical environment.
Yet Rickert neither flaunted his strength nor boasted about his victory. He didn't fit into this cruel, desolate place at all.
To teach him without asking for anything in return, to strike up a conversation with pure intentions… Volka had no idea how to react. He had almost never experienced pure goodwill or gentle, warm words in his life.
His father's violence, the ostracization by his half-siblings, his mother's indifference—Volka had grown up without even realizing these things were deep emotional scars. That was why feeling gratitude felt so alien and embarrassing.
Never apologize, never thank anyone. Volka didn't know when that tradition had started here, but he had taken it to mean that the strong were entitled to oppress the weak. The other kids seemed to think so too. If you were stronger than your opponent, you didn't need to thank them, even if you took something from them. If you beat them up or cursed at them, you didn't need to be sorry. Why? Because you were stronger.
But when Rickert said, “No need to thank me,” it didn't seem to carry that meaning at all. Then what did it mean?
Volka couldn't quite wrap his head around it. But amid the throbbing aches all over his body, he could distinctly feel a warmth blossoming in his chest.
Arc 4 – Don't Say Thank You. End.