I Am Your Master
Haah... Life.
"Kyaaaaaah!"
Hyeon was brave. There was no question of that. Unlike the other students of the Swordsmanship Department, who had buckled under the Magic Department's relentless persecution, she alone had dueled them—and she alone had won. And yet that same Hyeon, who prided herself on a courage unmatched anywhere in the academy, was now fleeing as if she had seen a ghost.
Where had that first will to fight gone? Be serious. Courage was something you spent according to the situation, wasn't it? A single block of Cheon Hwi's attack had been enough to shatter her sword. Wooden or not, could a blade really break that easily? And that was hardly the end of it. Every last one of his strikes was lethal past all reason.
It was not the first time the words fail to dodge, and you die had felt real. She simply had never expected to learn their meaning in a spar between students, rather than in a true fight or a monster hunt.
Train as if it were the real thing. She heard it every day, and she agreed with the saying itself. She did not put much faith in grit for its own sake, but she did believe that mindset could change an outcome.
But—
This is not that!
Even "like the real thing" had a limit. A fight where one clean hit meant death—what kind of spar was that? A spar! If this counted as sparring, then what in the world was a real battle supposed to be?
Convinced that running was the only way to stay alive, Hyeon kept running.
"You will not win if you keep dodging like that."
Cheon Hwi said it to her. Hyeon answered with two short words and nothing else.
"Shut up!"
You had to choose your fights by looking at who you were fighting. How was anyone supposed to cross swords with a man who could plow the earth with a blade? Magic, she could have understood—but she felt not a shred of mana from Cheon Hwi's body. And if one asked whether it was spirit power or divine power, it was neither of those either. It was not a spirit: nothing came at her from a distance, and nothing wrapped his body. It was not divine power: there was none of that warm, gentle feeling, only something unbearably rough. If that was holy power, then the god behind it was certainly a demon god. Which meant it had to be pure physical strength. To charge in after seeing that was not courage. It was madness. And Hyeon was not another madwoman, ready to throw herself at that lunatic.
Two hours! Just hold out for two hours!
She kept running, waiting for the professor and her friend who were supposed to arrive in two hours. Most unfortunately, that retreating back was all too familiar to Cheon Hwi.
KRA-KOOM!
Hyeon simply had not known that.
"This brings back old memories. You children played games like this often, when you were little. There is only one of you now, though."
How old was that brat, to be talking about the old days? No—worse than that. Was it even human to beat someone into paste and then sink, fondly, into nostalgia? Even your average criminal would not do that, would they? While Hyeon was once again marveling, appalled, at the quality of Cheon Hwi's character—
"Well. Have you a mind to fight now?"
He asked it of the Hyeon lying face-down after taking his blow.
"Um... any chance you'd forgive me?"
She wanted his mercy more than she wanted a fight. Running would only get her caught again; she had to find some way to live. Was fighting not an option? Come now. If a thing can be settled with words, then use words. Anywhere, at any time, a fight ought to be the last resort.
It is absolutely not because I'm scared...
Holding to that, she hoped for mercy.
"Ho ho. Hyeon, is that not obvious?"
At the kindly sound of his laugh, relief washed through her for an instant. The smile was far too gentle for his age, warm and soft, and suspicion and fear could not help but ebb before it. But what replaced that fading fear was not the hope of forgiveness.
"Forgiveness? What nonsense is that. Where, in a spar, is there room for forgiveness?"
It was replaced by the despair of violence.
Shhhk!
As if to prove the words true, a sword without a shred of mercy came down toward her head.
"You crazy—!"
Hyeon threw up what remained of her broken sword and blocked.
CRACK!
The blade that could at least still have been called a short sword could no longer be called a sword at all.
"Good. Very good."
Only then did Cheon Hwi stop.
"Hah... hah..."
Cold sweat had soaked her through. Hyeon ran a hand over her head, confirmed that it was still properly attached, and let the breath out of her. Cheon Hwi looked at the thing that could barely be called a sword, and at Hyeon, and gave a low, pleased hum. He gazed down at her with an expression of complete satisfaction.
"Yes. This is how you ought to be."
Hyeon stared at her trembling hands, then looked up at him.
"I think my life just flashed before my eyes..."
"Yes. You did well. Sit a while and rest."
As if praising a child, he patted her head a few times, then lifted her and set her back in her place. As the tremor of near-death slowly faded, anger began to fill the space it left.
I really thought I was going to die just now... I seriously want to hit him. Just once. That bastard. What was he going to do if I hadn't blocked...
"Worry not. Did you truly think I would kill you?"
"You... weren't?"
He had come after her like a bear starved for days. Of course she had thought he meant to kill her. At the implication that of course he had, Cheon Hwi reacted as if he had been wounded.
Right. However crazy he is, he wouldn't actually kill me.
Seeing only the madman's face, she had apparently assumed she would be dragged off to some back hill and buried.
"A master, his own disciple...? No—a disciple, toward her master...?"
She could not quite make out what he was saying, but he was hurt enough to mutter to himself. Should she offer some comfort? Yes. If people looked at you and saw a crazed killer, of course it would sting. Be the adult. Apologize first.
"Um... you okay...?"
Hyeon hesitated, then spoke first.
"Yes... I am fine. The fault is mine, for failing to earn my disciple's trust..."
I'm not your disciple. Sigh. Forget it. What am I even supposed to say...
"At any rate, you are up and you can speak, so you have rested enough, have you not? Let us resume your training."
"...?"
Was a heartwarming bit of comfort like that not supposed to be followed by a moving farewell? Why was training coming back?
"What are you doing? Will you not come?"
Haah... Life.
Shhhk!
This time Hyeon attacked first. If the spar could not be avoided, then the first strike wins. The sound of a blade cutting air rang out. It was not a sword a senior ought to turn on a freshman. Whether you were the one swinging or the one facing it, the instant either of you grew careless, or let emotion take hold, it would stop being a spar in that very instant. But was he an ordinary freshman? Hyeon swung as if she knew Cheon Hwi would not be hurt, and she attacked.
"Huk, hah... haaah..."
"You can still stand properly, I see."
Cheon Hwi came closer, looked her over this way and that, and nodded with a faintly satisfied air.
"Yes. A disciple of mine ought to manage at least this much."
"I'm... not... hah... your... disciple..."
Had she not been the one attacking? Why did he not look the least bit tired? To Hyeon, sunk in that question, Cheon Hwi wiped the satisfaction clean off his face and spoke with the most sullen expression he could manage.
"But this will not do."
"What?"
"Gasping like that after nothing more than a little game of tag."
Tag? Hey! This is tag? You're calling this tag?! If this is tag, then fighting the Demon King is playing house?! If a glare alone could kill a man, Cheon Hwi would already have been torn apart by five horses. That was how venomously she stared.
Not having the breath to say it is the regret of a lifetime!
"Is this how I taught you?"
"When... did you... ever teach me...!"
But of course he ignored both the glare and the words, and went right on saying only what he meant to say.
"You have improved, I'll grant you that, but you are still a very long way off. Whatever am I to do with you?"
She had survived that insane spar—no, that massacre—and merely being alive ought to have earned her praise and then some, and she was still far off? Discontent filled her face.
Smack!
"Fix that expression. How dare you glare so at a master high as heaven?"
That bastard. One of these days, I end him. One of these days. Not now.
"As we have just crossed swords, you are exceedingly wea—"
"What do you think you're doing!"
Someone cut him off with a shout.
He's finally here!
The one who had interrupted was Lawrence Saber, the professor in charge of the Swordsmanship Department. In the middle of being tormented by a lunatic, Professor Lawrence came toward her like a single ray of light.
He's here...!
Hyeon, face planted in the ground, barely managed to lift her head and look at him. But as if determined to crush that hope, the moment Lawrence showed any sign of anger—no, before the sign had even appeared—Cheon Hwi stepped forward. And then he began to oil his tongue until it was slick. It was so smooth that it did not look like a tongue moving at all, but a snake. No. Watching him beguile a person with nothing but that tongue, it might not be snake-like. It might actually be a snake.
That—that guy! Throw him in the water and only his mouth would float!
Hyeon stared with trembling eyes at Cheon Hwi's back, and at Lawrence. But no matter that he was a professor, he could not stand against the whisper of an old grandmaster who had lived past eighty in a previous life. The moment Cheon Hwi opened his mouth, Lawrence—who had seemed, for a few breaths, about to object—fell to that devil's whisper. It happened in an instant.
Please. Please. Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please.
Had she ever hoped for anything, ever wanted anything, this desperately? Hyeon began to pray, carving into her heart every god she did not even believe in. And the moment Lawrence opened his mouth—
"...You volunteered for training because you wish to grow stronger! This professor is deeply moved."
That hope shattered so completely that not even its shape remained.
"That's a misunder—!"
Her mouth moved on reflex, and somehow he knew. Cheon Hwi clamped a hand over it, hard.
P-Professor! Professor! Look at me! Is that something you do to a senior?! No matter how badly we want to get stronger, would we go begging lessons from a lunatic like that?!
"A senior must have his pride, and yet you seek instruction from a transfer student—truly worthy of the students I have had my eye on! In learning, there is no above and no below. If you keep training steadily from here, you will grow strong."
Lawrence cleared his throat and began to walk away again.
Professor! Professor Lawrence! Hey! Don't you walk off!
Hyeon stared after him with a look that was desperate and hateful at once, but he turned from that gaze and went only where he meant to go. Being betrayed by the professor she had trusted felt truly foul. But what could she do? An academy professor could not pour every nerve he had into a single student. She rationalized it as his position, and let go of the hope she had hung on him.
Seol. You wouldn't. Would you.
Then she turned her eyes to Seol, the friend she had asked to bring the professor. They were in the same Swordsmanship Department, and they had gotten along more than once. Surely she would not abandon a friend?
"Seol...! Help me..."
"Hang in there."
See? She wouldn't aban— Wait. What did she say? Hang in there? Looking at this, "hang in there" was the end of it?
Hey! You're ditching your friend?!
She was not even asking her to suffer alongside her. A person was about to die—should she not at least save her? Hyeon looked at Seol in disbelief, but whether she had meant it or not, with those words she went her own way.
"Seol... is it you?"
But the one who stopped Seol was Cheon Hwi. When that voice came for her, nothing could have been more terrifying. Turned on someone else, nothing could have been more delightful. And that someone else was the friend who had just betrayed her?
How am I supposed to hold this in.
Hyeon did not spare a single thought for stopping him. She simply stared at the scene, with the thought of gaining a companion who would suffer—who would train—alongside her.
"Seol, were you here as well?"
Snow-white hair, and lips that stood out like a red flower blooming on a snowy mountain, lending her a proud look and, at the same time, a face that seemed utterly without feeling. It was unmistakably Seol. She had not been on the notice board, so he had thought only Hyeon was at the academy—and yet Seol was here too. Meeting another disciple he had not even dared to expect, he could not have been happier.
"Who?"
Seol tilted her head slightly as she asked. Her face was blank, as if she truly knew nothing.
I bathed you, put you to bed, even fed you—and you don't know me?
Hyeon, and Seol too. Had every last one of them lost their memories? Sigh... What else was there to do? He was their master. He could not abandon his disciples simply because they had lost their memories, and he did not want to.
"I am your master."
He said it with that feeling. What came back was a question holding nothing but worry.
"...Are you unwell?"
"Eh...?"