The Timid One
Roland panted heavily, staring at his opponent.
Zeroa hid his entire body behind his tortoise-shell shield, his stance perfect with no intent to attack. Only his hesitant eyes peeked over the top of the shield—wide, nervous, and utterly innocent.
But from the attacker's perspective, Roland found those eyes infuriating.
The match had begun. Zeroa had repelled every strike so far with ironclad defense.
Roland had not let his guard down.
The new semester had left him entangled in the chaos of Philia and Rai's fight, earning him the academy's official title of weakest student. But the academy was full of boundless potential. Even the weakest could be plucked from its ranks, and it was common for hidden talent to explode into sudden growth.
The academy nurtured and refined talent, not just measured it. Zeroa had never drawn attention, yet he had listened faithfully in lectures and received private lessons from Rai every single day. Roland knew he visited Rai's house without missing a single session, training relentlessly.
In an environment as rich as the academy, only those who worked hard could grow strong. Since Roland himself was no slouch, he had faced Zeroa with full intensity, refusing to play around.
And now here they were.
Zeroa's shield had blocked every blow without a single effective hit, simply draining Roland's stamina.
Defense was more than just parrying. A truly good defense blocked while looking for openings, then counterattacked at the perfect moment. That way the opponent never knew when to strike, and every heavy counter etched itself deep into their mind, weakening their next attack.
Zeroa had executed perfect defense.
Enemies had panicked more than once from the sudden spear-like thrusts that erupted from behind the shield. The angle was hidden by the shield, impossible to time, and the direction unpredictable.
Once, the spear had emerged from the very bottom, skewering Roland's ankle with pinpoint accuracy. He had never seen such a trick coming and leaped like a startled cat, landing in a clumsy heap on the floor.
*Rai really knows how to teach.*
All through the match Roland had kept attacking, but the more he found himself on the defensive, the more he praised Rai.
How could someone so pure and timid learn such clever, underhanded tricks?
It was hard to counter even knowing the thrust was coming.
No, more accurately, it was infuriatingly annoying.
It wasn't fear—it was pure irritation. The stance was restricted by the need to hide behind the shield, and the power of the thrust was weak.
Yet every time it came, Roland's rhythm broke, his focus shattered. If the man behind the shield had been Rai instead of Zeroa, Roland would have been so furious he would have thrown in the towel by now.
Even when Roland tested for patterns and repeated the exact same counter he had seen, Zeroa never moved.
Roland had no idea what Zeroa was watching to predict the counter, and he had burned through both stamina and mana in frustration.
Even when Roland sat still to catch his breath, Zeroa kept his guard perfectly tight.
In real combat it was standard to let the opponent recover a little—give them time—but here Zeroa simply watched, utterly unfazed.
The win wasn't obvious, but if they kept going like this, Roland would still be exhausted for the next round no matter who won.
Roland sheathed his sword after a long moment of thought.
"Zeroa, you've gotten strong."
"Thank you..."
The voice was still completely lacking in confidence. From Roland's viewpoint, Zeroa could have sounded a bit more proud after taking no effective hits, but that was none of Roland's business.
Roland forfeited immediately and dropped to the losers' bracket.
The losers' bracket meant one win would take him to the third round. Hoping to reach it and avoid another meeting with Zeroa, Roland left the stage.
When the announcer called the winner's name, Zeroa finally lowered his shield, looking dazed as he scanned the stands.
Cheers rose from the audience for his unexpected performance, but the winner's walk off the stage was stiff and awkward.
*I really did it, just like the instructor said.*
Rai had been training Zeroa before the match.
He had started with simple sparring. Rai copied every move his opponent made, as if he were channeling the person himself.
He had claimed he could copy moves, but this felt like a miracle rather than mere imitation.
The moment the sword left its sheath, Roland's entire fighting style and even his techniques were perfectly mirrored. He even copied the breathing rhythm, claiming it was just habit.
Zeroa had seen it and gotten a chill down his spine while watching Roland do the exact same things during the actual fight.
Because he had seen it from Rai first, the imitation felt reversed.
After the short spar, Roland listened to Zeroa's analysis.
Zeroa had thought it through, and when he offered his solution, Roland pointed out the mistakes and successes, then told him to prepare counters.
The academy-trained tactics Zeroa presented were textbook perfect.
Rai added fine details and finished the plan.
Then he discarded it.
He gave new instructions for tactics and fighting methods. If it had been Aslan, he would have shouted that Zeroa should have spoken up earlier.
But Zeroa simply listened quietly and nodded in agreement.
He was a person who blended easily with others, and he had realized Rai was giving him this training.
Rai's plans contained things no book could teach.
For example, Roland had a habit of slightly opening his mouth and breathing in right before launching an attack, a tell probably from gathering mana. Striking at that exact moment with a thrust would be perfect.
Rai had advised using habit rather than just posture or atmosphere.
Of course Zeroa knew the principle—words were different from real application.
It was hard to read habits in practice, yet Rai had pinpointed it exactly.
Roland was methodical and planned ahead, though not to the extreme. He moved with his own system and carried genuine effort.
The result was a style that slowly wore down an opponent's stamina until they gave up first.
After hearing Rai, Zeroa had wondered if it would work, but when the shield stayed firm, Roland had forfeited.
Thanks to the tournament's rule allowing a second chance after one loss, Zeroa had advanced easily without much damage.
He had listened a thousand times to the advice to use the environment in battle, and now he nodded in understanding.
After confirming his third-round opponent, Rai told Zeroa he was lucky.
The fighting style would be different this time—aggressive, not defensive.
Seeing Zeroa tense again, Rai patted his back and said he needed to learn to enjoy winning. But Zeroa still didn't understand what "enjoying" meant.
Winning would be nice, but surviving the tension of battle was far harder.
Zeroa entered the stage facing Rai in the same "possession" style as before.
The opponent was a year ahead—more experience, more knowledge.
It felt completely different from facing another first-year.
The urge to hide behind his shield never left Zeroa, yet he took a deep breath, lifted the shield, and walked forward slowly.
This time the opponent smiled the moment he saw him approaching.
Zeroa had no idea if the opponent had underestimated him or felt competitive spirit rise.
The smile vanished instantly, and the opponent rushed forward like a blur.
After dozens of exchanges, Zeroa won.
The fight had been far more intense than the previous rounds.
He had blocked only vital points with the shield and ignored everything else. When the opponent attacked, he struck back—both ways.
It was brutal, tooth-and-nail combat.
The crowd watching from the stands roared in delight.
Zeroa, looking battered and half-dead, became the winner.
Only after taking terrible beatings did he ever leave the stage in such a state.
This was the first time he had ever experienced such fierce, pointless fighting.
After catching his breath, he looked around.
The people in the stands were cheering.
Rai raised a fist, laughing.
Zeroa, still dazed, raised his own hand in imitation.
The cheers grew louder.
In that moment, something electric raced down his spine and through his body.
Zeroa finally understood what "joy" felt like and threw his head back in a wide, tearing laugh.
Then he fainted.
Zeroa woke just barely in time, late by a hair, and became the winner.
He blinked up at the familiar ceiling, then sat up suddenly.
"Did I wake up?"
"Yes... I lost, right?"
"No, you won. You can go to the next round. Hey, who told you to fight so stupidly? I said aim for the waist, not the shoulder."
"I'm sorry... I was just so flustered..."
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rai slapped him.
Zeroa lowered his head.
The fight's details were hazy. He had swung at whatever he saw and taken whatever came.
Even with mana protecting his body, the sword was practice gear. If it had been a real blade, his limbs would have been ruined.
"Huh?"
Zeroa looked at his own body and realized something was off.
He had passed out, yet his body felt light. There were some bruises and lingering pain, but his condition was far better than expected.
"I fixed you up. Just barely within the rules."
Rai grinned.
The "barely" Rai mentioned was probably the line that crossed the rules.
Remembering Rai's usual philosophy that anything not caught was legal, Zeroa smiled faintly and thanked him.
Normally he would have been stunned, but after long days with Rai his personality had changed a little.
"Next opponent is the prude."
"Huh?"
Only one person in the academy was called "prude" by Rai.
Aria Shane Briqueville—the academy's beloved goddess.
Zeroa had missed their little snack break because training and the tournament were so busy.
Without snack time there was no chance to meet her.
Tears had streamed down his face as he prayed for the schedule to end quickly.
But the moment the schedule ended, the semester ended too—snack time was gone forever.
He had been genuinely happy to see her after so long.
But now he had to fight her, and that made him hesitate.
"You giving up too?"
Rai was rummaging through the infirmary medicine cabinet and hadn't noticed Zeroa's confusion.
"The prude. He's walked straight to the fourth round with a bunch of walkover wins."
"...Is that even possible?"
"Exactly. You guys all hate the prude so much? Everyone gave up without fighting, so he just strolled to round four. If it keeps going, he'll win without ever swinging a sword."
It was a chilling thought.
The tournament mattered. They needed to rank high for the future. Yet they had all forfeited against Aria, claiming they couldn't raise their swords.
Zeroa could understand the sentiment. Facing her, he probably would have given up too.
"The chance you beat the prude is less than 20%. Twenty losses to win once isn't the same as one win out of five—I've only managed to push you that far. You might as well resign now."
"Is Aria really that much stronger than me...?"
Zeroa looked down with disappointment in his eyes.
"She ate every miracle medicine they had since she was a baby. Poor thing, all dried up. Plus she's from a ducal house with excellent bloodlines and strict education. Surprisingly, she has a lot of real combat experience. You have zero winning factors left. At best, if you fight dirty, you might scrape 20%."
Zeroa knew he still had a long way to go.
The reason he had decided to get stronger was Aria. He had trained hard so he could stand beside her and fight with her.
After performing well in the tournament, he had hoped to close the gap.
But she stood high above him, unreachable, elegant and distant.
"Standing right beside you will still take more time."
"Really...? How do you know?"
Zeroa blinked in shock.
All he had told Rai was that he wanted to protect people. He had mentioned wanting to fight beside her, but he had never promised it to Aria herself.
"Yes, I'll wait. You must stand right beside me."
Rai copied Aria's words in that sweet, childlike voice and gave her a smooth smile.
Zeroa felt his cheeks heat up.
He had no idea what had happened, but learning that Rai knew about the two of them made him desperately want to hide.
Laughing softly at Zeroa's flustered expression, Rai said quietly:
"So are you going to fight? Or give up?"
"... ..."
Zeroa had no answer.
The announcement for round four sounded.
Aria stepped onto the stage.
Her sword was in her hand, yet she had never drawn it in combat.
She felt sorry for the weak opponents who couldn't even defend themselves.
Three walkover wins.
Every opponent who had faced her had stepped forward, declared they were surrendering victory, and then given up.
It was kind of them, but it was not why she had come to the academy.
Why did no one treat her like everyone else?
She was a knight. She had come ready to swing her sword.
Yet they looked at her differently.
Unable to trample their declared honor, Aria had let their forfeits become wins while her resentment grew.
She had even considered quitting the tournament.
But she stepped onto the stage without checking her next opponent.
Please don't forfeit this time, she prayed to the gods.
She looked at the Zeroa standing before her and felt genuine joy.
She had missed the happy snack break because she was always busy.
She had seen Zeroa perform well in previous rounds from afar.
Facing his firm gaze as he raised his shield, Aria's smile widened.
Zeroa's eyes were nothing like the soft ones she was used to.
They were the eyes of someone fighting for his life.
Mana surged from his body, and killing intent poured out with it.
For a moment Aria was stunned—Zeroa had never shown this side of himself.
But then her beautiful smile returned.
Even the staff member standing beside her was dazed, but Aria saw only Zeroa.
She raised her sword toward the Zeroa who was staring straight at her with murderous eyes.
A savage aura radiated from her blade and spread across the stage.
Zeroa answered by pulling up even more killing intent.
The stage was thick with ominous pressure, yet the two contestants wore the faintest smiles.
Zeroa had been waiting for this moment his whole life.