Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: How's Your Shoulder Doing?
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Morning roll call had ended, and the weight of the day’s curriculum began to settle over the academy.
This was the first class I would attend with a truly healthy, unburdened body since my regression—the sensation was as fresh as the morning air itself.
I breathed in the crispness of the atmosphere as I made my way toward the training halls.
Rizli trudged alongside me, her face a perfect portrait of silent displeasure.
Meanwhile, Irha—now fully demoted to my personal minion—trailed awkwardly a few paces behind.
Seeing her scramble to maintain that specific "minion distance" was unexpectedly entertaining.
"........."
The silence from the girl beside me was thick.
It was amusing to watch Rizli pretend she wasn't constantly checking my reaction through furtive glances and sneaky rolls of her eyes.
She was waiting for me to break the tension, but I had zero intention of offering her a single word until she learned to speak properly.
The quiet allowed me to drift into a rare moment of nostalgia.
Looking back, my first time around at Leone Academy hadn't been much of an education.
I had only completed the first semester of my freshman year before the world collapsed on top of me.
By mid-April, I had been poisoned and left half-crippled, only for a string of false rape accusations to follow like vultures to a carcass.
The rest of that year was a blur of hearings, summons, and relentless mockery.
By the second semester, I was a pariah, a criminal in the eyes of my peers, and eventually, I was expelled.
This time, I had a very simple goal: I wanted that damn diploma.
I wanted to enjoy the festivals, earn decent grades, and experience the student life I was robbed of.
It was a sweet thought, almost enough to make me whistle.
Of course, the road to graduation wasn't paved with roses.
The way the Crown Prince had leered at me during roll call—with those sticky, unsettling eyes—still sent a chill down my spine.
I could only hope my second-life hunch that he might be "flexible" in his attractions was wrong.
Regardless, I had a more immediate concern: first period was Basic Combat Magicology.
This class was a crucible—ninety percent of the grade was practical, seven percent was attendance, and a measly three percent was the written test.
It was a subject designed for throwing down.
The Sephiros Empire was a nation born from conquest and hardened by constant border skirmishes.
Martial prowess wasn't just respected; it was the primary currency of social mobility.
Even a merchant’s son like me could become a hot commodity if I proved I could brawl better than the blue-bloods.
Back then, I had solid aptitude. I wasn't a rabid dog, but I held my own in the top thirty percent of the class.
Even Rizli had occasionally praised my "manliness" in the arena—a rare moment of sincerity from her.
Today, for my first post-regression duel, I intended to do more than just "hold my own."
"Heh heh heh..."
"...?"
The satisfied chuckle must have slipped out, because Rizli scowled at me.
She finally sighed, breaking the standoff. "Ras, after ducking out this weekend, did you at least prepare for today's duel? You're up first on the roster."
Score one for me. She broke first.
"Prep? Why bother? I'll just handle it like always," I replied with a nonchalant shrug.
Why prepare for a children’s scrap? You just pound them until they stop moving.
"'Like always,' huh? Does that mean you'll be rolling on the arena floor like usual?"
The snide voice belonged to Blever de Stifula, a sturdy thug of a noble who functioned as the Prince's favorite footwipe.
He was the second son of Count Stifula, a man who had openly lusted after Rizli and despised me for the crime of existing near her.
In the first timeline, I had eventually ripped his arm off like a piece of wet paper. Today, I decided to be more affectionate.
I walked over and slapped his shoulder—pat pat pat—with an iron-tight grip.
"Blever! Good to see you! Good luck in our duel today. Let's make it a 'memorable' one."
I pried his hand open and shook it wildly up and down until he looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin.
"Wh-what the hell is wrong with you? Rizli, what's his deal?" Blever stammered, looking genuinely unnerved.
Rizli just shook her head, but I couldn't help it.
Imagine regressing and sharing a classroom with a man you’d once murdered. My high spirits were unavoidable.
"Overflowing with confidence today, aren't we?" Rizli eyed me suspiciously.
She remembered that Blever was my personal grim reaper; he used to beat me senseless in these spars just to show off for her.
I brushed it off. "What, is he going to kill me? He got chewed out last time for being too violent, so he'll have to play nice today."
"Sigh... I suppose. Anyway, if you win big... I'll grant you a 'wish.' Any wish you want. Fight hard?"
Rizli blushed faintly, twirling a lock of golden hair around her finger.
In the old days, my "wishes" were pathetic: a hug or a kiss on the cheek.
She was dangling that carrot now because she was rattled. Too bad for her—I saw right through the fake body language.
But a wish is a wish. I’d just ask for something that actually had value.
"A wish? Sweet. Watch close then," I said, heading into the arena.
"First match: Blever versus Ras," announced Professor Isera Bernstein.
She was a combat magic genius who had climbed the social ladder from commoner roots—a woman I deeply respected for her neutrality during my ruin.
"Blever, if you get overzealous like last time, I'm initiating real disciplinary action."
"Professor, I'll go easy on the merchant scum," Blever sneered as we took our positions.
"Hey, Ras. Did you have a fun date with Rizli? It's a beautiful spring day... perfect for getting petal-smashed into the dirt."
"Yeah, well... Saturday was... fucking delicious," I replied.
The dumbass didn't even have his guard up yet. Blever raged instantly, his mana flaring.
"You little shit... that mouth of yours..."
"Begin!"
Blever drew his short wand, tracing a complex red circle in the air.
Five fireballs materialized, orbiting in a lethal formation—the Stifula house’s signature art.
He hurtled them at me with everything he had. I didn't dodge.
I accelerated my internal mana, reinforced my body, and charged straight through the heart of the explosion.
BOOM!
The arena was swallowed by thunder and thick smoke. "What—?! He took it head-on!" the students cried.
But through the haze, the sound of a sickening pop echoed.
"Gwaaaahh...!"
As the smoke cleared, I was standing behind Blever.
I had his right arm cranked into a brutal lock, my knee pinned against his spine.
"In this life, Blever... how's your shoulder doing?" I whispered into his ear.
I didn't rip it off this time; I just dislocated it with surgical precision.
But even in this life, he was fated to yield that shoulder to me. I looked over at Rizli and gave her a wink.
Prep that wish, girl.
Ras Etgard, post-regression record: 1 win, 0 losses.