Rejection
“Urgh…!!”
After stretching my arms out wide, I glanced back down at the book I'd been reading nonstop since leaving the training grounds.
Royal Genealogy
This book chronicled the 600-year history of the Derpart royal family, detailing every king who had ascended the throne along with their queens and concubines.
With no solid leads on the possessors yet, I'd started by hunting for any who'd tangled with the royals—but so far, nothing promising had turned up.
Looking at cases like Nana Pongpong Bro, Primitive Jessica, the possessors' names all seemed to be slight tweaks on the weapons or techniques they championed.
But several hours into the book, no likely candidates had emerged.
'Assuming they show up every century, that leaves 500 to 300 years ago, or maybe 100—skipping 600 and 200…'
Even zeroing in on those eras yielded no names that screamed "possessor."
They probably hadn't made direct marriage alliances with the royals themselves. More likely, their descendants had slipped in as queens or concubines, influencing things indirectly.
That would've been a lead worth chasing, but with the sheer number of queens and concubines—and no easy way to investigate—it was practically impossible.
'Alright, let's tally up the prime suspects for who might've possessed folks around here…'
Unlike me, the Royal Academy's Sword Saint fans were a pack of lunatics spouting utter nonsense.
Quickdraw Zoro, cheerleader for the rapier—a weapon with AIDS-level infection risk.
Kimtor, almost certainly Primitive Jessica.
Sword Length = Skewer Length, pushing the pinnacle of inefficiency with two-handed greatswords.
Bondage Master, who dared call a lowly whip "sexy" while ignoring the supreme beauty of the katana.
Jeon Geonhyeop, stanning Granlans—a weapon that doesn't even exist in reality—as the strongest.
And don't forget the maniac claiming shuriken were "swords" and ninja shuriken masters were unbeatable. Nickname was definitely Butkage, right?
'Thinking about it now, aside from me, not one of those idiots picked a decent username.'
Current: (World's Strongest Sword Art Battōjutsu)
100 years ago: (Unknown)
200 years ago: (Top AIDS Carrier: Rapier)
300 years ago: (Unknown)
400 years ago: (Unknown)
500 years ago: (Unknown)
600 years ago: (Brute-Head Special: Hammer)
Excluding the nonexistent Granlans, the top suspects were two-handed greatswords, whips, and shuriken.
'Open slots: 100 and 300 years ago, plus 400 and 500. That's one more spot…'
Pondering who it could be, I suddenly recalled the one idiot I'd dismissed out of sheer absurdity.
Gingotokang, preaching that all martial arts culminated in transcending weapons—making bare hands the strongest.
Just thinking about that trash still made my blood boil; my hands were shaking with rage.
I mean, common sense: if bare hands beat an armed opponent, it proves that human is strong—not that bare hands are.
When I pointed that out, the shameless bastard fired back: "By that logic, Battōjutsu is strong because the user is—not the art itself, right?"
I spent a solid five hours explaining why Battōjutsu was superior, but the moron just wouldn't get it.
Eventually, for my own sanity, I blocked him. But a guy spewing that drivel? He'd absolutely yammer nonsense right up to the final chapter and get isekai'd into the novel.
'Suspects narrowed down, but how the hell do I track 'em…?'
If only the library had a "History of Trash Weapons"—but the librarian confirmed no such book existed.
“Haa…”
Closing Royal Genealogy, I sighed and rubbed my face. Standing to stretch, I felt eyes staring intently from afar.
'…Who’s that?'
Glancing over, I spotted Hori on tiptoes, clutching a thick book, sneaking up silently.
She was clearly trying to prank me, but telegraphing it that obviously meant mission failed.
I waited until she reached for my shoulder—then spun around.
“Hey, Hori!!”
“Ack…!”
Her prank backfired; she stumbled back, startled, and asked,
“H-how did you know?! I muffled my footsteps…”
“Anyone could spot you staring like that—even a blind man. What's up?”
“N-nothing happened! I just spotted you by chance…”
Hori plopped down beside me and eyed the book I'd just closed, puzzled.
“Royal Genealogy… Odd choice. I figured you'd be buried in Battōjutsu books.”
“I've wrung every scrap of Battōjutsu knowledge from books already. What's yours?”
“Th-this? It's nothing…”
She trailed off, hiding it behind her. Suspicious.
Anticipating my grab, she bolted up—but I snagged her collar first.
“Hand it over. Let's see what it is.”
“Eek…!”
Yanking the book free, I froze at the cover.
100 Most Toxic Poisonous Plants in Human History
“……Hey.”
“Ugh…!!”
I'd half-expected it, but damn—she was really reading this. And those plants? Probably destined for my stomach soon.
“……Why this book?”
“W-well… You seem resistant to poison lately, so I was researching stronger ones for reference—ow…!!”
Before she finished, my pointer finger—yanked from my pocket—thwacked her head.
Clutching her skull, Hori slumped and gazed up with teary eyes.
“Ian…!! That hurts…!! You wanted stronger poisons for training—why hit me?!”
“Eh, it's not lethal or anything. Just pissed me off.”
Imagining her gleefully brewing side-effect potions (originally none) from that book? Unbearable.
“……I know preaching won't change your mad scientist ways. But don't cross the line.”
“No worries there! I never make potions I can't drink myself!!”
“Haa…”
Sighing, I kept digging for possessor clues in hero tales from across the lands.
Hori pitched in after her own research, but closing time hit with zero leads.
“Nothing after all…”
“Yeah, sorry for the wild goose chase.”
“No biggie. But why hero tales?”
“Eh… Looking for someone—or rather, their descendants.”
“Descendants?”
The original possessors were either dead or past their prime; I couldn't prove Battōjutsu's superiority by cutting them down.
But smashing their heirs—who'd inherited their arts? That'd seal it.
“……Just a thing.”
“Hmm… Not sure I get it, but good luck!!”
“…Yeah.”
With Hori's encouragement and no gains, the day ended.
“Yaaawn…!!”
Next morning, I dragged my groggy body up, yawned, and faced the bathroom mirror.
Research had cut my Battōjutsu time; makeup session left me with just two hours' sleep.
My reflection screamed exhaustion.
“Should've skipped the sleuthing and just drawn my sword…”
No use regretting; time wasted was gone. Clock ticking toward class, I donned my uniform and headed to the S-Class building.
“Hey, is that him?”
“Looks like…”
“Dodge before eye contact!!”
Word of yesterday's minor scuffle had spread; same-year students scattered at my approach.
Hmm… Proper deference from non-Battōjutsu users. The awe and fear it deserved.
Basking in it, I reached the S-Class dorm. At the class door, raw hostility pulsed from beyond.
Too blatant for an assassin—probably Jessica.
Dtahak…!!
Jessica, who only knew head-on fights against superiors, learning ambushes?!
Tears welled at her growth.
To honor her first sneak attack, I flung the door wide—defenseless.
But waiting inside was…
“You're finally here!!”
Jessica, hammer in hand, legs crossed casually.
No battle stance, no ambush vibe.
Rising gracefully, she aimed her hammer at me.
“You were a real piece of work yesterday!! Today, I'll cure that arrogant streak!!”
“Haa…”
Thought she'd grown with that ambush idea—but nope, still baby Jessica from day one.
“Jessica, give back my tears.”
“What nonsense!! If you won't come to me, I'll come to you!!”
She swung; I leaned back, dodging effortlessly.
Her speed and power had soared since we met—but I hadn't slacked either.
Our gap? Wider, if anything.
“Hammer confiscated.”
Grabbing her wrist mid-swing, I squeezed till her grip loosened—snatched it.
“Ah!!”
She flailed for it; I held it high.
Our 20cm height difference meant she couldn't reach.
“Ugh!! G-give it back!!”
“You'd beg enemies like that too?”
Our "serious" duel devolved into playground antics; she charged, pouting.
No real martial training beyond basics—her strikes barely grazed me.
“Use a one-hander? Train unarmed combat. A shield in the off-hand changes things, but now you're idling a limb. And kicks are practical in real fights…”
“Shut up!! We're fighting—why coach the enemy?!”
“'Cause this ain't a fight.”
Shoving her off, I tossed the hammer back. She glared, fuming.
“Face reality, Jessica. Think you can beat me at your level?”
“W-with aura…!!”
“Can't I use it too? Point is, 1v1? You lose. Got it?”
Bombarded by facts, she pouted.
“……So what now?”
“Ditch 1v1s. Something else where you might actually win.”
“Something else?”
A month from now: Marina's labyrinth trial. Teams (up to 10) race to the deepest level amid monsters.
“First to the core wins. Loser obeys winner's one command.”
(I'd solo it, no team.)
She eyed me suspiciously.
“……Why suggest something where you lose? No—never mind!! You're mocking me, so you think I'll fail!!”
“Esakta! (Correct!!)”
“Dunno what that means, but it's insulting… Fine. If I win, what do you demand?”
“Battōjutsu, obviously!!”
If she lost, she'd become my disciple—endless days drilling perfect Battōjutsu theory, honing draws nonstop.
Her face drained pale; she shrieked.
“N-no way!!”
“Huh? What?”
“No inhuman penalty like that!! I'd sooner let you defile this body than accept!!”
“……Huh??”
Weird? She should've jumped at it.
Why refuse?