Not Enough Effort! Not Enough!!
Leaving the imperial palace on the road back to the Academy, Kyle let out heavy sigh after heavy sigh as he replayed everything that had just happened.
Those bastards who had tried to get strong with drugs instead of through noble, honest effort. They had sworn they would catch every last one of them and lock them in the imperial dungeons—only for a few to slip away.
And the reason they gave for letting them escape was something he simply could not accept.
"...Shit."
His mood had soured for no good reason. Stress was sprouting up like weeds.
He had trusted them, and what they came back with was Couldn't stop them because of monsters.
Good thing it was me who heard it. If Big Brother or Big Sis had been the ones listening, fists would have flown first.
Lia and Lea were not violent people by nature. They were absurdly strong, yes, but they never swung that strength around carelessly. Even so, if they had heard that news, they would have been reaching for their fists.
As if the situation were not already infuriating enough, the Emperor had suddenly started spinning happy little theories. The roiders had been in the west, so the John Nassen had gone west. Therefore if those roiders headed south, the John Nassen would simply go south too? That was the logic.
No matter how jacked the muscles got, the brain was never pure muscle. As fellow human beings, of course the people of John Nassen thought things through. They would never be able to lead the people back home otherwise.
They had personally cleared out the power-roider pests who had been in the way. The rest, they were told, would be handled by the Empire and the Alliance—so they had trusted that promise and gone home. And now those same people had let every last one of them escape and were saying, They went south, so please go catch them in the south!?
Like hell he was going to politely trek south and bag those bastards for them. Even if he did go after them, he would first make absolutely certain the Alliance and the Empire understood just how disappointed he was. And they already knew exactly what form that disappointment would take.
"You must have had a truly hard day."
The man riding in the carriage carefully spoke up. Kyle had half expected Yulika to tag along on the return trip, but thankfully someone else had come in her place this time.
More comfortable than Princess Yulika... my ass. This is even more awkward.
If they had just stuck a royal knight or a Special Affairs agent on him, it would have been fine. The man currently sharing the carriage—ostensibly just to see him off—was Logan Stefan.
That was right. The Emperor had simply told an Imperial 10 Strongest to go escort him and sent the man packing.
Yulika was at least close to his age. Logan was not. Kyle did not know the exact number, but the man was definitely past forty. That much was certain. There was nothing more uncomfortable than receiving polite, formal speech from someone old enough to be an uncle.
"Um... may I ask just one question?"
Questions were fine—could he just talk normally, though? Hearing that kind of respect from someone his uncle's age was extremely awkward.
"Yes, please ask anything."
"Perhaps... just perhaps. With this incident, might John Nassen end up visiting the Empire again..."
Why that question all of a sudden? The thought had barely formed before Kyle remembered: this Logan Stefan had visited John Nassen more than once. An Imperial 10 Strongest would not have wandered out there simply because he was bored. If a powerhouse of that caliber had shown up, the people back home would never have let him leave quietly.
A glance at the man's face confirmed it—pity and weary resignation were written all over him. Exactly. That was the face of someone who had been thoroughly put through the wringer. And what had put him through it was, well, obvious.
"That won't happen."
"Really?!"
Was he allowed to look that happy about it? Made a guy from John Nassen feel a little left out. Made Kyle want to say, Actually, we might drop by after all.
"Yes. For a while they probably won't move for any reason whatsoever."
Around this time of year a thoroughly lively festival kicked off at John Nassen. For the monsters living nearby, it was the opening night of a disaster movie. Three days of monster hunting—the Hunting Festival—and one critical rule: every monster had to be taken bare-handed. No tools allowed. Weaklings did not count either. Only strong monsters qualified. That was how they measured their own training. Anything found lacking got focused work afterward. It was a hunting festival and a day of brutal self-assessment rolled into one.
So why would anyone from home even think about leaving right now?
Maybe that was why Lia and Lea had rushed back so suddenly. Last time he had mentioned facing an ogre with his bare hands, competitive fire had lit in both their eyes. The moment they got home they would no doubt start crowing, Kyle! Big Bro! Big Sis! Caught an ogre with one hand!
"I'm so relieved. Truly, truly relieved."
Logan, completely unaware of any of that, repeated the words over and over with a face full of pure relief. You could tell exactly how thoroughly he had suffered at John Nassen.
Went out in a good mood and stepped in shit. Damn it all.
Grumbling under his breath, Kyle headed straight for the indoor training hall. When he was this annoyed, nothing beat working it out with iron.
"Kyle."
The instant he opened the door and stepped inside, his face twisted all over again. He had wondered who would still be training at this hour—and of course it was Ian. Next to him, Leto was grunting and straining through barbell deadlifts.
"...What are you doing this late?"
"Training."
Well, at least there were no signs of slacking. The way their muscles were still twitching made it clear neither of them had been resting. Leto's weight was nothing special, but his form was solid.
"Not bad. Working hard is a good thing."
To anyone who put in real effort, anyone who trained, the John Nassen way was endlessly merciful. Kyle himself was not free from that law.
"Kyle. I have a favor to ask."
What the favor would be was obvious. Another spar. Normally Kyle would have told him not to get cocky and just keep training. Still nowhere near ready and already talking about sparring. But today, for some reason, he did not feel like shutting it down. If anything, he wanted to grant the request. Ian really had been pouring everything into training lately. And Kyle's mood was foul enough that he would not mind letting off a little steam.
He's the protagonist, after all. Growth correction is broken as hell. If we do something close to a real fight, who knows.
Yeah. He could not keep ignoring the guy forever. Treating the novel's original protagonist to one proper bout would not kill him.
"Alright. Let's go at it once today."
"When I squat the balance keeps—wait, what?"
What Ian had actually been about to ask was advice on barbell squat form. Getting a sudden offer to spar instead left him understandably stunned.
"Hold on, Kyle. Really? You'll actually spar with me?"
"If you don't want to, fine."
"No! Absolutely not against it. We can start right now."
And just like that, the spar between Kyle and Ian was on. It had been decided so abruptly that Ian ended up with a wooden sword instead of a real one. Neither of them bothered commenting on it. Once you reached a certain level, even a tree branch became a razor-edged blade.
"Here's how we'll do it, Ian. Your victory condition is simple—if that wooden sword touches my body."
It was a condition that would have shredded most people's pride. The old Ian would have frothed at the mouth and refused on the spot. The current Ian was different. He did not push back at all. In the space of a single month the man had completely transformed.
"And the defeat condition?"
He even asked for the loss condition with a completely composed face.
"The moment you yourself decide you've lost."
"Good. Let's do it."
The words had barely left his mouth before Ian thrust. A lightning-fast strike—so sharp that Leto, watching from the side, leapt to his feet in shock. Kyle, facing the attack head-on, simply twisted his body a fraction and let it slide past.
Thud—
"Kh!"
Ian was the one who took the counter and staggered back. Calling it a counter almost felt generous. Kyle had just poked him with a fist. Even so the impact clearly packed a punch; Ian was already rubbing at his chest.
"Not over yet, right?"
"Of course not."
This time a cut—top to bottom, then diagonal, the wooden blade carving a clean line through the air. Even though it was only wood, something chilling rode that sword path. Even Leto, who knew next to nothing about the sword, felt the killing edge in it.
The problem was that something even more terrifying than that chilling strike was present in the room.
Thwack!—
Kyle swatted the wooden sword—heavy enough to serve as a club—aside with his bare hand. He struck the blade with perfect precision and scattered the energy that had been gathering along it. Ian's sword, robbed of more than half its power, wobbled and tangled uselessly in the air.
"Ugh..."
Ian let out a low groan, recovered his blade, and studied Kyle. He already knew, but still—there was no opening. Even if one appeared, he would not be able to do anything with it. Kyle was reading him completely. Everything.
"Again."
Kyle flicked his fingers. Leto's expression turned worried. Training alongside Ian these past weeks had taught him two things: Ian took enormous pride in his skill, and his pride was steel. People like that could not stand being insulted. And that little finger-flick of Kyle's was more than enough to count as one.
"..."
Yet somehow Ian looked completely unbothered. There was a chill in his settled eyes, but it was not anger.
Whoosh!—
Ian kicked off the floor and launched another strike. Faster than before. Heavier. Sharper. Wooden sword or not, the blow was lethal-grade. Dangerous enough that Leto found himself on his feet again without realizing it.
Crack!—
The next thing anyone saw was Ian flat on the floor.
Ian toppled over with a heavy thud. Looking down at the novel's original protagonist, Kyle found himself in the middle of a serious internal debate.
"..."
He was torn. Genuinely torn. Should he say it or not? If he did, he would feel like a complete idiot—but if he did not, his mouth would itch until he went insane.
I finally get why they always say this line in shonen manga.
The hearts of every character who had ever dropped that line suddenly made perfect sense. They had not been showing off. They had not been flexing how cool or how strong they were. They had simply been that dumbfounded. The words came out on their own.
Decision made, Kyle clicked his tongue and spoke.
"Slow."