What Did You Do? (1)
The next morning, Walter was absent from the workshop once again.
Thanks to his absence, I’d had ample time to tinker with the bracelet to my heart's content. Before clocking out yesterday, I had slipped it on and repeatedly lifted and lowered heavy crates of spare parts, and a quick check this morning confirmed it was still functioning flawlessly. Surely this was enough to earn some high praise from Lady Aurélie.
Just as I was dusting off the lid of the box, the telltale click-clack of approaching heels echoed down the corridor.
“Hello. I’ve come for the bracelet I left yesterday.”
It was Aurélie, the voluptuous young lady I had been eagerly awaiting. Even though I was an academy employee, my daily life had zero overlap with aristocratic nobility, which made even a fleeting connection like this feel special. Above all, feasting my eyes on Aurélie's generous, Pacific Ocean-sized charms first thing in the morning was more than enough to keep me in high spirits for the rest of the day.
“Welcome, Lady Clermont. It’s right here, all ready for you.”
When I handed her the box, Aurélie lifted the lid and took out the bracelet.
“Looks good. Anything unusual to note?”
“None at all. The recharge is complete, and I took the liberty of tweaking the spell formula slightly. You should find it channels your strength much more smoothly than before.”
Aurélie froze, her hand pausing just as she was about to slip the band over her wrist.
“…What did you say?”
“P-pardon?”
Her icy tone caught me completely off guard.
“Say that again. You tweaked the spell formula?”
“Yes. The script was excessively long, so I cleaned it up a bit. I tested it out myself, and compared to before, it's far—”
“Hold on. Did I ask you for anything other than a recharge?”
Seeing the chill settle over Aurélie’s features, I snapped my mouth shut, belatedly realizing something was wrong. Her lovely face, serene just moments ago, was now twisted in a deep scowl. Wait. This wasn't the reaction I anticipated.
“Well, no, but I thought you’d be pleased if the performance improved—”
“So you changed it without even asking for my permission? Didn’t I tell you I needed this for today’s sparring duel?!”
Only when Aurélie let loose that lion’s roar did the gravity of the situation finally dawn on me. I had messed up. I had treated the bracelet as if it were my own personal project. I’d gotten so obsessed with optimizing its performance that the thought of asking the owner’s consent hadn't even crossed my mind.
“…I apologize. I should have asked you first. It was thoughtless of me.”
“Forget that. Show me what you changed and where.”
I took the bracelet back, placed it on the workbench, and pried open the housing. Peering inside, Aurélie’s brow furrowed even deeper.
“Where is the original spell formula plate? What is this?”
“I safely set the original aside. In its place, I installed a new spell formula plate inscribed with the revised script.”
“Don’t tell me… is this iron?”
“…Excuse me? Ah, yes, it is. I matched the dimensions of the original—”
“Ha. Unbelievable.”
Before I could even finish my sentence, she let out an exasperated scoff. Any lingering hope for praise had vanished long ago; now, I merely twitched my lips, dreading whatever other transgression I had committed.
“You took out a platinum spell formula plate and replaced it with iron? Does someone working in a magic tool workshop truly not understand what that means?”
…Platinum? Was that thin, silvery-white strip I’d taken out yesterday really platinum, as in the precious metal I knew? The stuff used in high-end jewelry, sitting right before gold on the periodic table?
“Expensive materials are used because they have to endure the flow of mana! Do you honestly think platinum was put in there just for decoration?”
I knew high-grade conduits were necessary for magical gear, but I had never dreamed they would fashion even such a paper-thin strip out of a precious metal. No wonder only aristocrats could afford to walk around sporting magic tools. Still, wasn't something off here? The difference in the quality of the raw materials was like heaven and earth, yet the iron replacement had clearly performed better. The disparity between the two versions was far too drastic to be a mere illusion. The custom 'Noel Edition' I’d touched up had undeniably packed more punch.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, ma'am. I hear you. I’m terribly sorry.”
Whatever the result, trying to explain myself now would sound like nothing more than making excuses. Best to just lower my head and take the heat.
“I left the original spell formula plate completely untouched, so I can restore it right away. If you'll just give me a moment—”
“Quiet. Don't touch it.”
I froze midway through reaching to pop the plate out of the bracelet.
“Just close the cover and give it back to me. The original plate as well. I'll take it to our family's workshop instead.”
“Lady Clermont, simply swapping it back will return it to normal. I will take full responsibility until—”
“Do you hear yourself right now? You expect me to trust someone who arbitrarily tore apart and remodeled an item left merely for a recharge?”
I had nothing to say to that. Until yesterday, I had fancied that finishing the task before Walter returned would earn me praise, but now I was practically praying he stayed away.
I snapped the cover shut, packed the original spell formula plate into the box, and handed it over. Aurélie snatched it from my hands.
“It was my own mistake for entrusting it to a place like this. I thought you could at least handle a simple recharge.”
“…I am truly sorry.”
“Save your apologies. You won't be seeing me again.”
Spitting out her parting words, Aurélie spun on her heel. I followed her to the doorway, but there was nothing I could say to a back that was already storming down the corridor.
…I’m so screwed.
Trudging back to the reception counter, I slumped into my chair. While being accused of ruining her item stung with a prickle of injustice, I couldn't dispute the fact that I’d tampered with it without permission. Just yesterday, I had dreamed this would be my ticket out of doing menial academy chores. Yet my very first customer had blown up in my face like this. When Walter returned, I was going to have to brace for impact.
Master Walter, my mood has hit rock bottom, so please, feel free to take your sweet time coming back.
That afternoon.
“Lady Aurélie, please take your sword first.”
Tugging aggressively at the wrist straps of her gloves, Aurélie looked up as her family's swordsmanship instructor presented a blunted sparring blade. He had delivered her combat gear after its maintenance at the Clermont family workshop and stayed to oversee her sparring session.
Even as she accepted the sword, the memory of that morning's incident rekindled her anger. Just how could someone twist a simple request for a recharge into permission to arbitrarily remodel a perfectly good magic tool? Thinking back to the response of that mop-headed brown-haired idiot—‘I thought you’d be pleased’—made her grind her teeth. How could he speak so nonchalantly after ruining someone else's property? Pleased? About what, exactly?!
I should have just sent the bracelet along with the rest of my gear.
Regretting it now was useless. Sending the bracelet to her family's workshop now meant she wouldn't be able to use it for today’s duel, and she had zero desire to entrust it to that academy workshop assistant ever again. Left with no other choice, she had returned to her room and cautiously slipped it on.
Moving her body hadn't revealed any abnormalities, nor did her mana flow erratically. She had assumed he had ruined it beyond repair, so perhaps she should consider it a blessing that it functioned at all? Still, replacing a platinum plate with a strip of iron meant its output would inevitably be inferior to before.
Whatever. Better than nothing, I suppose.
As Aurélie fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist, a murmur rose from the students gathered across the sparring arena.
“…Remember that? She didn’t even parry the blade—just slipped to the side and ended it right there.”
Ah, not that again.
It seemed they were talking about the Imperial Princess's display of swordsmanship from the last sparring session.
“How could anyone forget? Her opponent couldn't even keep up. The gap was just too massive from the start. It’s not that the other guy was bad, but rather that Her Highness is on an entirely different level, don't you think?”
They weren't exaggerating. Every movement of the Imperial Princess—even evading an incoming strike—was steeped in grace. Every exchange flowed like water, as if she had calculated a dozen exchanges ahead.
We’re learning the exact same sword style, so why is the difference so vast?
Watching the princess duel had made Aurélie clench her fists involuntarily, and once it ended, she had joined the other students in applause. Because it had been genuinely breathtaking. When she had returned to her quarters and attempted to imitate those fluid footwork maneuvers, she had tripped over her own feet—a memory that still burned with mortification. She knew the Imperial Princess was a prodigy, but why couldn't she do it too? It wasn't as if she slacked off on training; she diligently followed every drill her instructor assigned.
It was intensely frustrating.
“Aurélie. Let’s have a good match today as well.”
A deep, resonant voice rumbled from behind her. Turning around, she saw her sparring opponent for the day, Conrad von Harten, approaching with his training sword resting casually on his shoulder. A mountain of a man packed with muscle from head to toe, he wore an irritatingly cocky smirk that never failed to ignite her competitive streak. There was no way she was losing to this muscle-brained meathead again.
“It won't go the way it did last time.”
“Hah! Suits me just fine. Try to hold out a bit longer today, will you?”
Before she could formulate a sharp retort, Conrad turned on his heel and strode back to his starting mark.
“My Lady, do not let his words provoke you,” the instructor murmured under his breath.
“I know. He’s doing it on purpose.”
“I remind you precisely because you know. Last time began the exact same way, and you ended up locking blades in a frontal test of strength. You must accept by now that in a clash of pure physical might, you are at a distinct disadvantage.”
The instructor’s assessment was so spot-on that it only irritated her more. As Conrad’s hulking physique suggested, his forte lay not in finesse, but in crushing opponents with overwhelming brute force. Aurélie still vividly remembered locking blades with him, getting completely overpowered, and being hurled straight into the arena wall by his follow-up strike before she could even recover her stance.
“As I have told you time and again, Young Lord Harten is remarkably slow to recover his blade once he commits to a strike,” the instructor pressed. “Do not absorb his blows head-on; deflect and guide them away. If you execute what you have practiced all week, openings will present themselves.”
“Even if I win like that, that muscle-head will just scoff and say all I did was dodge.”
“Is your objective to win, or to put on a display of brute strength? If you prioritize your opponent's ego over victory, today will be a repeat of your last defeat.”
Chastened by her instructor's stern reprimand, Aurélie closed her mouth. Logically, she understood. There was no need to fight on terms favorable to her opponent, and once she claimed victory, whatever Conrad muttered would be nothing more than the sour excuses of a loser.
Yet every time she laid eyes on that infuriating smirk, a reckless ambition welled up inside her. She wanted to crush him with pure, unadulterated power—no tricks, no evasion. What kind of face would someone so proud of his physical might make when he found himself utterly overpowered in his own domain? Besides, the nagging feeling that the Imperial Princess could have suppressed this brute through raw strength alone only fueled her stubbornness.
“Conrad von Harten! Aurélie de Clermont! Step forward!”
While she was busy lamenting her situation, the academy instructor gestured toward her from the center of the ring.
“My Lady.”
“Fine, I know. I’ll fight the way we practiced.”
Giving a grudging reply, Aurélie stepped into the arena, where the instructor glanced between the two combatants.
Whatever happens, happens. If I lose, I’ll just blame the bracelet and move on.
With that half-resigned mindset, she raised her sword and regulated her breathing—only to notice that, strangely, power seemed to course through her limbs with unprecedented ease today. She had felt a faint trace of this when she first put the bracelet on in her room, but gripping the hilt made it unmistakable.
Is it because I threw such a temper tantrum this morning?
If so, she supposed she couldn't say she had absolutely nothing to thank that workshop assistant for.
“Both sides ready… Begin!”
“Haaah! Here I come!”
At the instructor’s signal, Conrad closed the distance in a flash. Watching his blade crash down from overhead, Aurélie was instantly reminded of the crushing weight that had pinned her down in their previous duel.
Don’t take it head-on. Deflect to the side.
Shifting her footwork just as she had been drilled, she met his blade at an angle.
Clang—!
Conrad’s sword bounced violently to the side—far harder than she had anticipated. The rebound was so explosive that Aurélie herself was caught off guard, missing the fleeting window to thrust into the opening.
“Huh?”
Taken aback by the unexpected recoil, Conrad quickly backed off a step.
“Not bad. Looks like you actually put in some practice.”
“Obviously.”
She gave a confident retort, but the sensation in her hands felt bizarrely foreign. Unlike their previous duel, where every clash had left her wrists throbbing in agony, this impact had felt almost trivial.
Did Conrad hold back his strength?
Before that doubt could take root, Conrad surged forward with another strike. Parrying a slash aimed at her flank, she twisted her body to the opposite side. A terrifying force traveled through the blade with a resounding metallic screech, yet she absorbed and deflected it with shocking ease.
Whoosh!
The moment Conrad teetered off balance, her blade darted forward in a reflex thrust.
“Tsk!”
Conrad snapped his torso backward to dodge, all traces of amusement vanishing from his face.
What is this? This is going way too smoothly.
If Conrad had been going easy on her, there would be no reason for him to wear such a sour expression.
“Haaaah!”
Suddenly, Conrad raised his blade high above his head and charged. Clearly, he intended to crush her beneath brute force once more. But this time, she had no desire to yield ground.
She knew the drill. Slipping to the side again would grant her an opening to land a decisive blow. Yet right now, she felt as if she could overpower him head-on.
Emboldened by an inexplicable surge of confidence, she widened her stance and planted her feet firmly into the dirt.
“My Lady! Do not brace against it—move out of the way!”
Ignoring her instructor’s frantic shout, Aurélie tightened her grip on the hilt.
“Ha! Try taking this one head-on again, Aurélie!”
“Hmph!”
Conrad brought his blade crashing down with all his might—
Claaang—!
Aurélie intercepted his devastating strike with an upward diagonal parry. With their blades locked, Conrad threw the entirety of his massive body weight into pressing her down. This was the exact position where she had dropped to her knees last time; parrying from low to high was biomechanically disadvantageous to begin with.
A terrifying tremor vibrated down into her legs, but it wasn't even close to forcing her to her knees. She could hold it. No—at this rate, she could even shove him back.
“How many times must I tell you to deflect to the side—?!”
She had no spare breath to answer her instructor’s enraged roar.
“Haaah—!”
Bracing her entire core, Aurélie drove her locked blade upward with explosive force. Conrad’s heavy blade began to yield. Conrad’s face twisted in disbelief as he poured every ounce of his strength into the press, yet his sword was inexorably forced skyward, centimeter by centimeter.
She was genuinely overpowering him in a test of pure strength.
“You… what the—?!”
Clang!
With a fierce, sweeping thrust, she broke the lock and shoved him back, sending Conrad stumbling backward several paces.
Just as she moved to press her advantage—
Huuuuum.
“!”
A shimmering blue glow caught her eye. Radiating from her exposed wrist, a brilliant light—far brighter and more even than ever before—was pouring out.
Originating from none other than that very bracelet she had raged so furiously over taking back this morning.