The Youngest of the John Nassen Family
— Your admission application has been rejected. —
Kyle stared at the application form again and again.
Maybe something was hidden? Hold it over a flame, dunk it in water.
Do that and it might suddenly read, Ta-da! You actually passed!
As if.
That was as far as the happy little fantasy went.
From the start, Academy admissions were handled by the Imperial Ministry of Education—an institution with its own minister. If they pulled a stunt like that, the imperial household would assume they had far too much free time and send someone over immediately. After that, everyone from the lowest clerk to the minister himself would be bled dry.
“Fuck.”
The application window was still open. He could submit one more time. But the Ministry would just reject him again.
Why the hell did you do it, Sister?
Even their brother—who took after their father in every way—had graduated from the Academy without issue. So Kyle had assumed their gentler sister could manage it too.
Exactly one year after she enrolled, however—
“Kyle.”
“Yes, Brother.”
“We need to go pick up our sister.”
“Why? She’s at the Academy.”
“She’s been expelled.”
“…What?”
“Apparently she half-destroyed the place.”
Kyle’s first thought was, Is the Academy a one-room shack? Built of wooden planks that collapse from a single punch?
No. He’d heard it was larger than most cities. There was no way anyone could say something like that so casually.
“…Isn’t that a massive problem?”
“It is.”
“Yet you sound completely unbothered.”
“It’s not her fault.”
“How?”
“Some students provoked her. Called her a barbarian.”
The Empire was vast, but that vast territory had not always existed. Centuries of conquest and expansion had erased some peoples and left others clinging to survival. The John Nassen family was one of those remnants—the strongest tribe in the world, living at the farthest northern edge.
Fewer than a thousand of them had held out against the Empire for eight years. Intimidated by their combat power, the Empire eventually switched to a conciliatory approach: We get it, you’re strong. How about you come under our banner now?
Thus, some thirty years ago, the northern tribe became the present-day Barony of John Nassen—and earned the terrifying moniker of a “combat race” in the process.
“Brother.”
“What is it?”
“Our people don’t even react to being called barbarians.”
“True.”
“So why would Sister—”
“They added the word ‘weak’ in front of it.”
“Ah.”
To the John Nassens, who were a combat race in the purest sense, being called weak was taboo. Break that taboo and they would take on the entire Empire with nothing but a rock in their hand.
Fortunately the human cost had been low—injuries, yes, but no deaths, which was pure luck. The Academy grounds themselves, of course, had been reduced to rubble. The Imperial Ministry of Finance went into meltdown; the Ministry of Education scrambled. Expelling the eldest daughter of House John Nassen settled the matter on paper, but the resentment and fear toward the combat race had already been carved into every Academy brick.
And now they’re applying collective punishment? That’s crossing the line.
It was unfair—brutally unfair—but there was nothing he could do. Protest, and his sister’s guilt was undeniable. The Academy was direct imperial territory; no noble could interfere. And she hadn’t merely committed “violence”—she had caused a full-scale demolition. The only mercy was that the provocation counted as mitigating circumstances.
“Kyle. Upper-body time.”
His brother walked in without knocking and announced the day’s schedule. Kyle thought, This has to be a trainer straight out of hell, and immediately switched to Survival Strategy No. 122.
“Cough, cough. Brother, I think I’m coming down with a cold.”
“When the body hurts, you work the body. You’ll be fine in no time.”
The most half-assed nonsense he’d ever heard, yet he couldn’t argue. In the end Kyle was dragged back to the training hall for another round of iron.
“Khuh! Hah! Ghehk!”
“See? No more coughing. You’re better already.”
Better my ass. I was thrashing around trying not to die. He was terrified the barbell would crush him flat. Still, as a brotherly concession, lower body was excused for the day. Kyle wondered if he was supposed to cry tears of gratitude.
“This is serious, our little one. How did you get so scrawny?”
Escaped from hell and sitting down to eat, he found the Baroness approaching with a worried expression, kneading his arm. At a glance she looked like any ordinary mother fretting over her child. In truth she was a powerhouse who could overwhelm five or six sturdy men without breaking a sweat.
There isn’t a single normal person here. Not one.
He had transmigrated into a romance novel—so why was this happening? If he’d been the usual wastrel young master he could have reformed and at least met some girls. Instead he was the youngest of a combat race stuck at the northern edge of the world!
This was wrong. He had to escape. In a worldview overflowing with rose-tinted futures he was stuck doing nothing but iron instead of romance. Getting transmigrated was bad enough; this would make him cough up blood and die.
One last card left.
Next week the Margrave was scheduled to visit the John Nassen barony. One of the Empire’s foremost martial houses, the loyal sword and shield of the imperial family. Word was the Margrave held recommendation letters for Academy admission. Unless the imperial household itself intervened, those letters were almost never refused. And he didn’t have one or two—he had three of the precious things!
Three tickets to paradise. I have to snag at least one.
Around this exact time the first couple would use those recommendations to enter the Academy: the wandering swordsman Ian and the witch Tisha. As far as Kyle remembered, this novel didn’t have a single male and female lead. He wasn’t certain of the details, but there was definitely more than one couple—protagonists of wildly different origins and personalities. Who ended up with whom he didn’t know; he’d only skimmed the free chapters before deleting the reading history.
What he did know was that Ian and Tisha would enter the Academy thanks to the Margrave and then enjoy a brilliantly illuminated Academy life!
If I can just hitch a ride on that, I get into the Academy too.
Romance instead of this mindless iron. In a romance novel, not falling in love was the same as being a corpse. And every romance properly began at the Academy!
The land of milk and honey! El Dorado! Yes—that place was the Academy!
Talk was cheap; he still had to gauge the household mood. Even with a recommendation letter, if his parents opposed him, he would have to stay quietly in the barony and keep lifting barbells.
“Father. It’s Kyle.”
“Come in.”
The moment he opened the door, Kyle wanted to turn around and leave.
“What is it?”
Muscles swollen to bursting greeted him cheerfully. Even with his son present, the master of the room remained utterly absorbed in the barbell. Kyle half-expected a hand to seize his collar and say, Let’s smash a set together. Genuinely frightened, he blurted out the main point.
“What is your opinion of the Imperial Academy?”
“Need I say it? A playground for weaklings.”
With a soft exhale he set the barbell down lightly. It hadn’t been that high, yet the floor trembled with a solid thud. Was that a human or a monster? Kyle’s own body trembled in sympathy.
“Why the sudden question, Kyle?”
Dagon John Nassen—Kyle’s father and lord of the barony—regarded his youngest with a gentle smile. To Kyle, of course, it only looked like the smile that said, Instead of spouting nonsense, let’s do upper body together.
“I’d like to try going to the Academy once.”
He fully expected a negative response and was ready with the next line.
“Do as you please.”
“I… pardon?”
“I said do whatever you want.”
“…Really?”
All the carefully prepared arguments became useless. While Kyle stood there blankly, Baron Dagon continued.
“But is it even possible? The Imperial Academy will never accept you.”
“I have an idea about that.”
“Then that’s settled. Handle it yourself.”
With that, Baron Dagon seized the barbell again. He tilted his head, then decided something was missing.
“Kyle.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Add a few more plates, would you?”
The weight he’d just been lifting already looked enormous. Kyle grunted and slid on one plate after another.
“More.”
He added another.
“More.”
“…Isn’t it heavy?”
“It is.”
“And you’re asking for more?”
“Overcoming that weight—that is what it means to be a John Nassen.”
Kyle once again understood, bone-deep, why the Empire had struggled so hard against barely a thousand people here in the past.
“Do as you like.”
Kyle’s mother, Baroness Maria, also gave immediate permission.
“But Kyle, is it possible? After what your sister did?”
“I have a plan.”
“Our youngest has always been clever. Mother believes in you.”
With a gentle smile the Baroness lightly drove her fist down.
CRAAACK!!
The solid log of wood split cleanly in two. Something that even a sharp axe struggled to cleave had just left this world for good.
“….”
Kyle was grateful he had been an obedient child. His brother had once been spanked by Mother for misbehaving; how the man had survived remained a mystery to this day.