Dark Circles and Crossed Blades
"Haaah..."
Last night, after checking on the state of the guild headquarters and making my way back to the dorm, dawn was already breaking. In short, I ended up heading to class without a single wink of sleep.
The classroom was still completely empty—no one else had arrived yet. I yawned so wide my jaw cracked, then trudged over and dropped heavily into the seat I'd claimed yesterday.
Back when I was a man, pulling an all-nighter had been nothing. Now that I was a woman, even one sleepless night made my eyelids feel like lead weights. Whether that was just how women were or a side effect of the TS magic, I couldn't say—but it was a minor change, if anything.
I set the useless thoughts aside and ran through the current situation one more time.
One. Could I return to my original body?
Impossible. Sem Mogra, who had died last night, had boasted that he was the continent's only TS mage. He couldn't possibly have known every mage alive, but I wasn't about to stake my life on something so uncertain.
Two. Did I have any money on hand?
A few gold coins, yes—but once I factored in academy living costs like dorm fees and meals, it was nowhere near enough.
Three. Was the current situation safe?
Right now the Deretia family would be in a frenzy after realizing their precious young lady had been an assassination target. In that climate, simply walking out of the academy and vanishing would only make things more dangerous.
In other words, for someone who had longed for freedom, the present situation was far from ideal.
After sorting that out, I roughly sketched a plan for the days ahead.
One. Did I really need to leave the academy?
Everyone knew Griffin Academy was the finest on the continent. Getting in and graduating were both brutally hard, but if you managed it, the road ahead was nothing but flowers. Why throw away an opportunity others would kill for?
Two. How to secure funds?
Everything about living at the academy cost money. Food, of course. The dorm, needless to say. And the room I currently occupied was a single. First-semester fees were already paid, but from the second semester on I had no confidence I could cover a private room. Even a four-person room would mean pinching every meal coin.
Still, they say even if the sky falls there's a hole to climb out of. Griffin Academy was a national institution, so its scholarship system was excellent. I'd have preferred they simply cut meal and dorm fees, but apparently the real goal was to squeeze operating funds out of nobles who only wanted to buy a diploma.
What I needed, then, was a full scholarship covering tuition, dorm, and meals. At the very least a half scholarship, or any future planning would be impossible.
Three. Cielian Deretia.
This was the real headache. Lucky or unlucky, her attitude yesterday suggested she already held goodwill toward me. She might simply be kind to everyone—that wouldn't be bad either. But was it wise for the person who had tried to assassinate her to get close? One slip, one hint of my true identity, and my life would be forfeit. On the other hand, if I never slipped, growing closer might actually deflect suspicion. Former assassin (zero actual experience) or not, my actions were as meticulous as a honed blade; I was confident I wouldn't make mistakes. In that case, becoming close to Cielian was the better path.
Creak.
While I was still arranging the plan in my head, the time for other students to arrive had come. The back door opened and a student stepped inside. At the sound my head turned automatically, and my eyes met those of the newcomer.
Eyes as blue as a cloudless sky. I had seen plenty of blue-eyed people, but never anyone whose gaze was so clear.
Cielian Deretia.
Those blue eyes, set against her golden hair, only made her more striking. She clearly hadn't expected anyone to be here yet; when she spotted me her eyes went round, then she smiled with them and grinned brightly.
"You're here early, Miss Elicia."
"Ah—hello, Miss Cielian."
Cielian dragged a chair over with a scrape, sat down, and hung her bag on the side of the desk. The pause in thought and conversation let the sleepiness rush back in; I covered my mouth with one hand and yawned as demurely as I could manage—no gaping maw this time.
While I was rubbing my eyes to clear the tears the yawn had brought, Cielian pushed her desk flush against mine and leaned in.
"Couldn't sleep well? Well, the dorm was a little noisy last night, wasn't it?"
"Ah, yes... I'm rather sensitive, so I didn't rest properly..."
I had been out all night and had no idea whether it had been noisy or not, but I played along as best I could.
Cielian didn't stop at joining the desks. She brought her face right up to mine and stared. At a distance where our noses might brush, the intensity made me squirm; I rolled my eyes every which way, unsure where to look.
Honestly, the reaction was unavoidable. Assassin training or not, in more than ten years I had never been this close to a girl my own age. Simply keeping the conversation going deserved a medal.
Only after she had studied my eyes for a long moment and finally pulled back could I let out an inward sigh of relief—until she raised both hands and settled them on my cheeks.
"Such a pretty face, and dark circles like this? It's a crime!"
She grumbled while firmly squishing my cheeks with both hands.
"Celi...?"
Even calling her name through the muffled mess of my cheeks produced no sign she would let go. She moved past simple pressing and started stretching my cheeks outward while muttering to herself.
"No... maybe this decadent look is even better...? If I had to choose between the two..."
"Augh augh?"
Something about her talking to herself was unnerving enough that I mumbled again; only then did she finally release me. Of course I could have peeled her hands off myself, but that option was wrong. I needed to stay close to her. Anything that might make her uncomfortable was strictly off-limits.
"Here—have one of these at least. It should help a little with the fatigue."
She produced a small tin—apparently from her bag—took out a single candy, and held it out. I reached for it and popped it straight into my mouth.
A sharp sourness flooded my tongue. My eyes squinted on instinct. Once the sourness settled, though, a clean sweetness followed. While I rolled the candy around, tasting it, she reached out and stroked my hair.
?
I had felt it since yesterday: the distance she kept with me was far too close. Was this simply how girls behaved with one another? The behavioral guidelines I had memorized for living as a woman contained nothing like this. But my research couldn't have covered everything. Perhaps among girls this was perfectly natural.
So I started to lift my own hand to stroke her hair in return.
"Tsk!"
At the sharp click of her tongue I snatched the rising hand back down onto my thigh and lowered my eyes.
...?
In the end my only choice was to sit quietly while she stroked my head for as long as she pleased.
"Since today is the first day of classes, we'll begin by gauging each of your levels."
Swordsmanship Class One, first day, first lesson: practical swordsmanship. The professor in charge was Ferent, the homeroom instructor for Class One. Word was that before joining the academy he had been captain of the Imperial Knights. Truly the continent's finest academy.
"Pair up, two to a group, and find yourselves some space!"
At the order the students scattered into pairs. A few lingered awkwardly without partners; Ferent sorted those out himself. And me? I glanced sideways.
At some point Cielian had shaken off her admirers and slipped right up beside me. Even I hadn't noticed her approach until I turned my head and nearly jumped. Honestly, she might have a talent for assassination.
"One pair at a time, step forward and begin the spar! These are wooden swords, not live steel, and I'll intervene if things look dangerous, so don't hold back! Those waiting, watch carefully—good feedback earns extra credit, so no zoning out!"
I watched the spars begin, quietly banking extra-credit points while waiting for our turn.
"Next!"
Finally our turn. At the professor's call, Cielian and I stepped forward. I gave the wooden sword in my hand a light swing. The sharp drop in strength that came with a woman's body made even a practice blade feel noticeably heavy—though not so heavy that it controlled me.
I settled into stance and looked at the girl opposite me. I already knew she was a hero candidate. Exact skill level unknown, but never someone to take lightly. Just the way she held the sword set her apart from every student who had sparred before us.
Which was perfect. I needed an accurate measure of my current ability—how far this female body could go, and whether aiming for a scholarship was realistic.
No formal start was called, yet the spar had already begun. Both of us could feel it in our bones: either was ready to swing at any moment.
Cielian's stance was textbook perfection. One foot slightly back, body upright and balanced; shoulders square to me, never twisted; the tip of her sword utterly still. I checked her face for any opening to psychological play, but the usual easy smile was gone—her expression was almost unnervingly blank. What radiated from her was the solidity of stone.
Fine. I would open.
I spun the wooden sword once, twice in one hand, then charged straight at her. The diagonal rising cut was casually batted aside; she drove her shoulder into me in the same motion. Normally the tackle would have stolen my balance and shoved me back, but I followed the rebound of my blade, spun with it, and used her own body as a pivot to vault past her. The extra flexibility of this new form was unmistakable as I seized the back of her collar.
Any rigid knight would have called it dirty, but no one stopped me. I yanked her toward me and swung. She sensed the blade coming from behind with ease and simply laid her own sword across its path, nullifying the attack. Then she spun free of my grip and answered with a wide, heavy cut. Blocking was impossible; all I could do was evade. Counterattacking was out of the question—my footing was wrong.
I rolled across the floor; her sword hissed through the air where my head had been a heartbeat earlier. The sound alone was vicious. Clear of her reach, I sprang up and reset my stance.
We were back to something like the opening—no clear advantage either way—yet both of us knew the momentum had shifted firmly to her. No wonder she was a hero candidate. The idea that I might become the youngest Sword Master suddenly felt laughably arrogant. The person closest to that realm right here was not me, but the girl in front of me.
When had crossing blades become this enjoyable? Even a brief exchange let me feel the seriousness she poured into her sword. I could almost hear her thoughts. She was enjoying it too.
Until now I had never found pleasure in sword training. Every day of practice had been nothing but pain, and I had accepted that pain as natural. The sword had been only a tool for assassination—nothing more. The path I had walked for more than a decade was filthy and unpleasant compared to the one she walked.
But that no longer mattered. I had once hidden that path in shame; now I could stand on it without flinching. This was the road I had taken. I was not wrong. I had simply walked a different one. Meeting her, facing her blade, seeing her path—those things had given me faith in my own.
Without conscious effort, Aura coated my sword. Not the pitch-black Aura of my male days, but a dazzling pure white.
Seeing it, she grinned and drew up her own. Golden light flared along her blade.
Gold and silver.
After a brief silence we both lunged—
"Okay! That's enough!"
Cielian and I dangled in midair, collars caught in Ferent's outstretched hands. Truly the former captain of the Imperial Knights.