The Swordsmanship Club
Even without them, Anastasiya had always intended to join the swordsmanship club. For a girl who had kept a blade closer than anything save her own parents since childhood, it was only natural.
What she herself could not explain was why she had tried to hide from Dogeon and Hoyeon when she met them on the way. Simply looking at them made her feel as though she were committing some unforgivable sin.
It was all because she had decided, on the sole evidence of seeing her enter his room that night, that there was already a child between them.
Even after she arrived at the First Gymnasium, her heart refused to settle.
Only after someone who looked like the club’s representative stepped forward and they exchanged the usual empty greetings—You’re the new members, yes? That’s right—did she finally manage to calm down.
“Quite a few newcomers this year! Right, then—I’m Jessica, vice captain of the swordsmanship club. Ordinarily the captain would be running the welcome ceremony, but she’s been swamped with all sorts of things lately, so she dumped the whole event on me…”
Jessica grinned as she said it and waved toward someone off to the side. Club members trooped forward with bulky sacks slung over their shoulders and began unpacking what was inside.
Wooden training dummies, every surface scored with countless sword marks. Even as the members silently set them up, most of the newcomers still had no idea what this was for.
Anastasiya, though, had a fair guess. Her own swordmaster had put her through something very similar the first time they met.
“So this time I’m doing things my way. First of all—let’s see what you can actually do!”
Confirming that she had been right, Anastasiya absently fretted with her sword. The rest of Jessica’s speech barely registered. All she could think about was when she ought to step forward.
First? No, far too conspicuous. Second? Third? Which turn would let me slip by without drawing everyone’s eyes?
What Anastasiya failed to account for was that, as the Northern Grand Duchess’s daughter, she was going to command everyone’s attention no matter when she went.
While she was still turning it over, one student spoke up, a note of genuine puzzlement in his voice.
“…Is that truly all? How are you supposed to gauge our skill from nothing more than striking a wooden doll?”
“Good question, whoever you are! You’re right—I’m not trying to pin down exact levels. Just a rough sense of where you stand. Footwork, where you aim, how much force you put into a swing… that sort of thing. I’ve got a decent eye for bladework myself, so one look is usually enough to get the general idea. Not as sharp as the captain’s, mind you.”
“And the reason for sorting us by level is…”
“Well, you can’t exactly give a complete beginner expert-level lessons, can you?”
The student who had raised the objection looked satisfied enough. Jessica scanned the crowd, deciding whom to call first.
One figure caught her eye at once. Black strands threaded through white hair, and a pair of beast ears that set her cleanly apart from everyone else.
The unwelcome guest from the East—a name that circulated among the high nobility as little more than rumor. Jessica had known Hoyeon had come to the Academy; she had not expected her to walk into the swordsmanship club.
So when she pointed her out, it was pure curiosity. Stationed out in the provinces though they had been, the knights who had captured an entire order and demanded safe passage as ransom were a famous story among the aristocracy.
What level of skill would a girl escorted by warriors like that possess? That was a martial artist’s natural question.
There was a silver-haired student fretting with a sword not far away as well, but Jessica’s attention stayed fixed on Hoyeon.
“You there—the tiger beastkin young lady. Why don’t you come up first?”
Why me.
Of all the people standing there, Jessica had to pick me. I resented her for it. There was Anastasiya right beside me, practically vibrating with eagerness and fiddling with her sword—why start with me?
The mere thought of standing in front of everyone already had my stomach turning. Father had always said I had zero talent for the sword, and now I was supposed to put that on public display.
In gym class I at least got to go last. This time I was first.
My tail thrashed in a frantic, useless blur under the pressure.
I had always imagined public humiliation as a circle of people laughing and saying things like Don’t act so cute, ohoho. I had never considered this particular method.
My feet refused to move, but every single pair of eyes was fixed on me. There was nothing to do but walk.
“Nervous because you’re first?”
Of course I’m nervous. What, you expect me to be beaming?
“If you said you weren’t, you’d be lying.”
“It’s fine—nobody’s going to yell at you for being bad! Just give it a decent swing and you’re done. Relax!”
Saying that only makes it worse. That kind of line is pure pressure.
“…Haa.”
“Come on, don’t be like that~ Just give it a try!”
I took a few breaths to steady myself—and only then remembered I didn’t have a sword.
How would that look? Someone who claimed she wanted to join the swordsmanship club and then showed up without a blade?
Maybe I can use this as an excuse to run. They can’t make me cut anything if I don’t have a sword.
“I don’t have a sword on me.”
My hopes were shattered on the spot.
“Huh? Really? Then borrow mine! It won’t feel the same as whatever you usually use, so take a few practice swings first and tell me if anything’s off. If it’s too different, I’ll find you another one.”
I wanted to die of embarrassment. Both because someone was this eager for me to swing a sword, and because I had been trying to escape that someone.
Of course it had to remind me of the middle-school music practical when I forgot my recorder and the teacher told a classmate to lend me theirs.
That kid’s face had been something else. The pure, undisguised loathing of having to hand it over had made me feel guilty for taking it.
And then I squeaked and cracked through half the piece and bombed the whole assessment anyway. Borrowing anything had felt cursed ever since.
Maybe that was why the sword in my hand felt especially heavy. Or maybe it actually was heavy. For all I knew, Jessica practiced mana breathing techniques and could swing something this weight without noticing.
Nothing about this was good. It had been well over five years since I last held a sword, and I had never once in my life swung a real one.
Walking out with a cheerful Actually, never mind was no longer an option. I already had the blade in my grip.
…They say once a man draws his sword, he should at least cut a radish.
The old saying steadied me more than running ever would. I squared my shoulders and decided to face it properly.
Father had demonstrated forms when I was little and cleaved clean through wood with a real blade. Talentless or not, I was still his daughter. I ought to be able to leave a mark, at least.
The dummy was already covered in cuts, so it didn’t look like it had any special treatment.
I gave Jessica’s borrowed sword a few experimental swings. Not uncomfortable—just heavy. Since this was my first real blade, I decided to take that as a positive.
I adjusted my grip, settled into stance, and an utterly baseless confidence surged up out of nowhere.
No matter how clumsily I swing, steel has to leave a scratch on wood, right? The thought alone loosened something in my chest.
I pictured the strongest version of myself. I still remembered the path Father’s blade had taken. I remembered the stance too. Copying it should be…!
“Hyaaah!”
Four moves. That was all.
I still don’t know whether to call it luck or misfortune. The only thing left on the wooden dummy was a shallow scrape.
Father had never been this weak. Father had never been this slow. If he had been standing here instead of me, that dummy would have been seventeen pieces of kindling in the blink of an eye.
Something had felt wrong from the very first trajectory. I was lacking in every single respect.
The fact that I hadn’t dropped the sword in pure ugliness was the only scrap of comfort I could find while my self-esteem plummeted in a straight line.
Jessica’s gaze, which had been friendly moments ago, now studied me as though she had just witnessed something.
“…Have you studied swordsmanship anywhere before?”
The question landed like a carefully wrapped version of You swing a sword like absolute garbage.
“A long time ago my father showed me a few things. That’s all.”
Trading on Father’s name like this felt pathetic, but right then I just wanted to quit everything and go sit back down.
Surely she won’t hear “I learned from my father” and answer, “Well, your father sure taught you like trash”…?
“I see… All right. Next person! You there—the silver-haired young lady fretting with her sword. Come on up.”
The disaster I had been dreading never arrived. If it had, I might actually have cried from pure shame and humiliation.
Even as I trudged back to my place on legs that had no strength left in them, I could feel every stare. They looked at me the way people look at some alien object that shouldn’t exist, and the gazes stabbed into me like nails.
First day, today—I still didn’t understand why everything kept turning out like this. Beside me, Dogeon tried, however awkwardly, to offer comfort.
“That was magnificent! The elegant trajectory, the rapid consecutive strikes—among the students, you’d be hard-pressed to find a match!”
“It was awful. Speed and technique both. Stop trying to spin it.”
There’s such a thing as overdoing the praise. Push it that far and it stops sounding like encouragement and starts sounding like mockery.
Dogeon seemed a little unsettled by the shut-down, but all I wanted right then was to sit and watch how everyone else handled a sword.
Conveniently, Anastasiya—next in line—was already settling into her stance, so I decided to see what she would do.