Shadows of Rejection, Light of Resolve
I hated Hanna Histania's father. Despite his vast wealth, fame, and the title of count—the Sword of the Empire—to Hanna, her father was the most loathsome person imaginable, a living nightmare.
Others envied her for having such a capable father, but Hanna despised those words. He had been cold to his own child, and because she lacked talent, he had nearly gotten her killed.
There had been a time when she took pride in her father's existence—a time when she chased after him as her life's goal. She admired his swordsmanship and took pride in her family's history: a founding hero of the nation, a swordsman who fought to the end in wars, the house that produced the strongest swordsmen. Just hearing those legends made her heart race, giving her strength.
When she held a sword engraved with the Histania crest, Hanna felt proud of her father and cherished her family. Even amid his disdain, neglect, and scorn—even without birthday wishes—she believed her light would come someday and kept running toward it.
Of course, that hope had crumbled.
Huddled on her dormitory bed, Hanna indulged in rare reminiscences of the past. Though it was only about a year ago, to her it felt ancient—a period of upheaval that let her explode long-suppressed emotions.
She remembered it raining. On her worst birthday a year ago, when torrential downpours hammered like a hole torn in the sky, Hanna had mustered the courage to make a single request of her father.
"Father... it's my birthday today."
It was the day she asked the father who always favored her brother for swordsmanship lessons. He dismissed her coldly.
"Aren't you tired of repeating yourself?"
He told her to give up the sword. Even her plea for a sparring match. He couldn't know the agony it took her to voice those words, but as always, he ordered her to abandon the sword.
That damned sword. Sword... sword... After hearing she had no talent, her father's all-knowing expression and arrogant tone shattered the walls of expectation she'd built over years.
She heard it often, but on her birthday, it hurt even more. She knew he'd react that way, but right after the villainess's butler told her she did have talent, his curt rejection stabbed deeper.
So that day, she ran away. For the first time in her life, she ran from home—not just stepping out briefly, but fleeing with the grim realization that she had no place in that family. She wandered the streets like a lost child.
If someone hadn't stopped her then, she surely would have walked right into the tragedy Blue Spear foretold.
Desperate, grasping at straws, Hanna went to the villainess's house. She craved the sweet words of that flattering man. She knew his praise—his claims of her talent, his confident lies—were all false, but she went anyway.
"Uh...? Come in for now."
The bitter scent of the worst tea she'd ever tasted made her break down in tears.
"Does that even make sense for a father?"
She vented to a man she'd barely met.
"What did I do wrong...!"
And received comfort from him too. She didn't know then that his lies were truth. She thought he was just consoling her for money, playing along with her delusions.
Honestly, saying she could beat Mikhail was absurd.
Yet as she turned to leave, the man called her back.
"It's pouring outside. Where will you sleep?"
"No, I'm going home..."
Lies. She tried to force the falsehood.
"Stay at our mansion for a while."
"Your mansion!"
"Er... at the young lady's mansion."
Drawn to his foolish sincerity, his warmth, his kind lies, she began to believe him.
And the peak of those feelings came that day.
"Didn't I say you have talent?"
"...Hic."
"Don't cry. Happy belated birthday."
For the first time, Hanna felt what it was like to truly like someone. Her feelings for Mikhail weren't love but admiration. Her pounding heart raced, frozen like in a photograph, refusing to move.
She never forgot that warmth. It still lingered, as if he were gently holding her even now.
What Hanna cherished most wasn't her father's stunned face or manifesting aura, which she'd longed for so desperately.
It was the warm embrace of someone who believed in her. That was the most precious light in her life.
And then—
"Daddyyy!"
The nightmare replayed in reality, crumbling what little respect remained for her father.
"Save me!"
This cemented her hatred for him—and, strangely, her reasons to love him more.
A cold wind blew outside the window. As the spring night breeze softly stroked her hair before fading, Hanna tucked her locks behind her ear.
What to do now? What should she do? Nothing was clear, but one desire burned bright.
"I miss him."
She missed him. The man with red hair. She wanted to act spoiled under his gentle smile and stroking hand—it eased her heart, melting away her worries.
To make that happen, she'd need to work harder. Hanna smiled faintly, gazing at the sword leaning against her desk—not her father's gift, but Ricardo's.
She rested her chin on her hand, staring goofily.
"I like you. So much."
A silly smile kept creeping up. The sword was too grand for her, but knowing Ricardo gave it made her grin uncontrollably. Probably the most meaningful gift she'd ever received, she thought, standing up.
Let's go.
Earning the right to stand by his side, becoming worthy—that was her job.
She didn't want to meet Ricardo looking shabby, always crying and begging for miracles like a fool.
Sometimes, she wanted to be his strength, to give back what she'd received.
Today too, Hanna gripped her sword for training, heading to the empty late-night training ground. She braced against the cold wind and started running.
With a pleasant smile. Powerfully, toward the training ground, dreaming of a brighter future.
"Hoo... hoo..."
Not swinging a sword out of obligation, but the one she truly loved—toward the training ground she ran.
And spotted people there from afar. Two of them.
No one should be at the training ground this late. New students...?
But seeing the man with shimmering silver hair, she nodded.
"Senior Mikhail."
Mikhail was swinging his sword as always. But who was that next to him?
Hanna eyed the man whose face was shrouded in darkness. Broad shoulders, sword at his waist—like a cadet here to train, but his face was hidden.
Trading sword strikes with Mikhail, he must be a friend...
Whatever.
It's training—who cares who's there? That'd be weird.
Hanna walked toward the training ground where Mikhail and the mystery man were.
"Hello. You're here today too..."
As she casually greeted Mikhail, the shadows lifted from the man's face. Her body froze stiff.
"It's been a while."
The man spoke to her kindly. His sword, engraved with the imperial crest on the hilt, hung at his waist. Hanna clenched her fists and looked up.
"My daughter."
Facing the man she hated most, she gritted her teeth.
"Dad... no, Father."
*
Today's hair-drying session for the maddening young lady.
"Haaah..."
The young lady gaped wide, mouth open to the warm wind from the magic hair dryer—er, the drying tool.
As I artfully dried her hair, I smiled at her blissful expression.
"You don't eat the wind, young lady."
"I know."
"Then why?"
She gave a meaningful look.
"It's fun."
"Oh."
"Try it, Ricardo. Feels good."
I gave her a thumbs-up.
"As clever as ever. I'll try it later."
I shook water from her hair, smiling. The young lady's always so amusing.
Whiiiir.
Still inhaling dryer wind, she gazed at the bright sun, a question mark floating over her head.
"Ricardoo."
"Yes."
"Where to today?"
"Didn't I tell you yesterday?"
Another question mark joined the first, her face screaming when? I chuckled, sighing deeply.
"To the capital, remember?"
"Capital?"
"Yes. The family head says he misses your face and wants you to come."
"Daddy?"
I nodded at her cheeky nickname for the wise, filial-defying head.
"Yes, Darbav."
"Oh... annoying."
Hating hassle most in the world, she proposed a brilliant solution.
"Tell Daddy to come here."
"Good idea, but he's busy."
"I'm busy too..."
She eyed the mountain of side gigs on her desk regretfully—shoddy works that'd probably cost money to fix. I chuckled awkwardly.
"The family head's giving pocket money."
"Pocket money?"
"Yes."
"Oh... You too, Ricardo?"
"Not me."
"Hmm..."
To her pout, I added with a small smile.
"Oh, right—I'm off to earn some cash too."
"Don't work. I'll feed you with my pocket money."
"Pay my back wages first."
"Ung...! But what job?"
I grinned darkly.
"Haven't gotten paid for last time."
"Ricardo got scammed?"
"Yeah."
Smiling, I thought of the academy in the capital.
"Went ahead urgently, but no word yet."