The Resolve Embraced in Your Sword - 3 -

Under the streetlamp piercing the cold darkness, Mikhail was speaking to me.

"Why have you shown up in front of me...?"

He glared at me, hand resting on his sword hilt—me, who hadn't said a word or posed any threat.

"What are you planning to do this time...?"

I had something I wanted to say to Mikhail. Nothing crucial, just curiosity I needed to satisfy.

But his icy tone stung, so I forced a wry smile.

"You didn't even let me say hello... Isn't this a bit too cold?"

If he kept this up, I'd have no choice but to get rough myself. There was a saying in the world I knew: "Good words coming lead to good words going."

I generally avoided hurtful words. We were just chance encounters on the street, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and my behavior reflected directly on my lady's reputation.

But if he kept misunderstanding me like this, I'd have to abandon my principles. I'd finally caught that fragile spark of goodwill, after all.

Even if he was an academy friend. Even if he was a friend from those grim memories. Talking like this was truly problematic.

I'd saved his life several times, after all. Not that I craved hero worship—I didn't want it, and being fawned over felt embarrassing anyway.

But this treatment? No way.

I sighed at the sight of his hand on the hilt.

With a heavy heart, I said to him, "Mikhail."

"...What."

"No matter how much you hate me, putting your hand on a weapon before greetings? That's too much. Even a handsome guy like me gets hurt."

"Shut up."

"What did I do so wrong? Sure, I messed up, but you're an adult now—can't you let it go...?"

"Let it go now that you're an adult?"

Mikhail grabbed my collar, releasing the hilt as he glared daggers at me. Fury burned in his eyes.

Then it hit me: Oh shit.

This time, it was my mistake.

I'd forced unwanted love on him, so yeah, that was on me.

Even blocking for my lady, I hadn't given Mikhail a proper explanation.

I'd only ever pleaded, "Talk nicely," "Don't be so harsh." Claiming innocence now would be brazen bullshit.

Realizing too late that telling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him to "forget it already" sounded like shameless whining without remorse.

Mikhail strode toward me, each step heavy with intent. A bitter smile tugged at my lips—I knew what enraged him.

Looking up at me, he said, "You think you have the right to say that?"

"..."

"You, who ignored me when I said to stop? You think telling me to forget makes sense?"

"..."

Mikhail didn't know my side. He wouldn't try to understand or listen.

I'd been a little angry at that, too. I didn't want to torment him. Or Yuria. Or earn the students' hatred.

I had no hobby of being despised.

Yet my reasons were foolish: for a better future, to protect everyone—lame excuses.

Boiled down, it was to protect my lady.

But stopping what she loved? I lacked the power. And the backlash terrified me.

Part of me wanted to snap back: Do you get how I feel?

Dragged into blame for things I didn't do. Cursed for helping others. Scorned by all for saving lives. Have you ever tried understanding my feelings?

My wrongs didn't vanish, though.

So I smiled. It wasn't what I'd hoped for. Just a whim, like a passing breeze—I wanted to forget.

Despite the injustice and words bubbling up, I loved my lady and felt responsible as a possessor. No taste for becoming a hero, unfortunately.

A backstory-laden hero? Nah. Teasing as a villain was more fun.

I smiled at the approaching Mikhail.

"No idea."

"What?"

"Why do I need the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right to speak? I just want to say it."

"Ha..."

Mikhail let out a hollow laugh. Seeing me state my feelings bluntly, without pretense, he fumed and grumbled. A question mark popped over my head.

"You started the provocation, Mikhail. From our first meeting till now."

"When did I—!"

"Don't you remember? To me...?"

"Don't wanna hear it. I don't want to remember anything about you. Shut up."

"...I see."

I nodded under the streetlamp, forcing down the gloom. No point—my words wouldn't reach him.

Well, what could I do? I disliked him just as much.

Nodding, I voiced the question I'd pondered silently.

"Hey, Mikhail."

"I said I don't wanna hear it."

Kindly whispering into his rejecting ear—questions don't wait for willing respondents.

"Why do you swing that sword, Mikhail?"

"...What?"

"Just got curious. Why does righteous Mikhail wield a blade? I'm a lost cause from birth, but you? A pious priest or holy knight would've suited you fine."

"To... protect the weak from villains like you."

His rote, parrot-like answer made me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠chuckle softly. I'd spotted a thread.

"Then why am I a villain?"

"..."

"Sure, I've sinned enough to earn that from you, but technically, I'm also your benefactor?"

"No. I could've beaten that opponent alone."

"Wanna dig deeper? Into what you can't remember...?"

"Oops..."

I shook my head with a wry smile. Almost slipped up.

Mikhail, unable to hear the end, glared sharply at my hesitation. I shook my head with an awkward smile.

"Nah. Never mind."

"Why? Can't finish? Nothing to say after all?"

"Eh... You'll find out someday."

I nodded at him.

"Anyway, bottom line: I'm a good guy. I share bread with orphans, show mercy to begging kids—warm-hearted and all."

"Villains do that too. Hiding their black hearts."

I smiled. He'd bitten my bait this time—I had him by the throat.

Gotcha.

"So, Mikhail. Why'd you accept this duel?"

"My master's request..."

"You do everything your master asks? No backbone, huh."

"Don't mock me. Someday, I'll surpass you..."

"Yeah, yeah—handle that later. I'm asking why you joined the duel."

"I said: master's request."

I smiled.

"You swing your sword for justice, right?"

"..."

"So, in this duel, who's justice on the side of?"

I stepped closer.

"Hanna? Or your master, the empire's blade?"

"Is Hanna a villain in your eyes?"

I pressed without giving him room to dodge.

"Just because she's my disciple? You joined a duel meant to sever ties with such a flimsy reason?"

"Didn't you hear Hanna's story...? Or did you jump in without listening to that too?"

I wanted to hand Mikhail a thread. Breaking morale was strategy, but this was for his future—lessons on killing, convictions he needed.

No time after today, so even if bitter, I hoped he'd accept it.

"Why so biased?"

"Biased?"

"Yes."

"How am I biased?"

"In everything. Joining without knowing the stakes? Without understanding the situation? That's not bias, what is?"

He defended himself, convinced he was right.

"Master's her father—he'll lead her to a better path..."

"Aha."

"So if I'm the key..."

"Hm..."

"It's for Hanna's sake...!"

"I see."

I nodded, focusing on his flustered face. He knew deep down it was wrong—now justifying it to me.

Good enough. Nodding, I pushed his thread forward.

"That's it."

"What?"

"Same here. I acted for the best for someone precious to me."

He glared.

"I'm not like you."

I smiled and nodded at his words.

"True. You're not like me. So swing that sword lightly from now on."

"..."

"Advice from an old friend."

Mikhail had no retort this time.

I walked away.

He watched, fists clenched.

"I'll win."

I didn't dwell on who.

Hanna swung her sword alone. To make Ricardo's techniques her own.

Slowly, like ripples in a still puddle. Focused.

On the tenth day.

Schwick.

Hanna had found her reason for the sword.