Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: A Blow to the Solar Plexus
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Irha glared at Rizli, her small fists clenched in a clumsy, white-knuckled grip that betrayed her nerves.
It was a defensive reflex, a habit she fell into whenever terror began to claw at her throat.
But to Rizli's eyes, it was an unforgivable provocation.
To the noble queen, it looked like this gutter-born girl was puffing out her chest with a newfound fighting spirit, actually daring to stand her ground.
That thought alone was enough to make Rizli’s blood boil.
Rizli's warped sense of possessiveness toward Ras, combined with an ego that sat on a dangerously high pedestal, ignited a sudden, toxic venom within her heart.
'Ha... does she seriously think she’s special now just because Ras threw a little pitying attention her way? What is that look in her eyes?'
Of course, Irha herself wasn't spare a single thought for Rizli’s internal monologue.
She was too busy vibrating with the sheer effort of memory.
"Legs... mana in the legs... roll... pretend it hurts..." she whispered like a mantra under her breath.
Her focus was anchored entirely to Ras’s telepathic nagging.
His voice echoed in her skull like a nosy, overbearing neighbor critiquing every spice in her cooking, leaving her no room for fear—only a desperate desire to get him to stop talking.
"Alright then... Begin!"
With Professor Isera's sharp signal, the match between two girls who differed in status, wealth, and destiny began with a sudden, violent flare of mana.
I may despise Rizli with every fiber of my being, but I am not a fool; objectively speaking, she is a remarkably decent mage.
The Gracia family has a storied history of producing renowned sorcerers, making them a true powerhouse in the imperial magical hierarchy.
Unlike the Stifula house, which I had just dismantled by exploiting their reliance on a single signature spell, the Gracias aimed for versatility.
They were "Changers"—masters of fluid precision who could weave a tapestry of diverse, interlocking spells at a moment's notice.
Rizli was the pinnacle of this training. Her mana control was refined, her casting time almost non-existent.
As the match began, a frosty, crystalline energy surged across the floor and ceiling, blooming into dozens of magnificent, oversized roses.
It was a beautiful sight, but beneath the aesthetic lay a lethal intent.
Each petal was a razor-sharp needle of reinforced ice, while the stems and thorns served as a complex network of snaring vines and siege weaponry.
"Block it if you can, dodge if you must... Let's see you try to survive this," Rizli sneered.
"Eek...!" Irha squeaked.
The standard-issue gear provided by the academy suppressed the true lethality of the spells, ensuring no one actually died, but that didn't stop the pain.
Minion, show me how well you can follow orders, I thought, watching from the sidelines. Or better yet, show me if you can exceed them.
The ice petals swarmed Irha like a cloud of silver locusts, while frost vines erupted from the stone floor to snare her ankles.
To my surprise, Irha moved with a frantic, desperate grace.
Sweat poured down her sallow face as she tap-danced through the barrage, her instinctive vision and natural flexibility earning her a mental passing mark from me.
She was taking hits—blood began to trickle from a dozen small nicks where petals had grazed her—but she was avoiding the vitals.
She understood the core of my instruction: against a long-range bombardment mage, if your feet get tied down, you’re already dead.
She was doing well. But could she take the final step?
I had deliberately left a gap in my instructions, waiting to see if her brawler's instinct would bridge it.
"Kreeuk...!" Irha let out a sound like a strangled seagull and suddenly launched herself forward.
She shifted the mana I’d told her to pool in her legs, focusing it with sudden, raw intensity into her soles and toes.
Then, with an explosive burst—
"I'm rolling...!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.
I buried my face in my hand. Why the hell are you announcing it, you idiot?!
I mentally docked her twenty points for the lack of stealth, but I couldn't deny that the 67.5-degree parabolic roll she executed was perfect.
She moved with a speed that left a sticky trail of blood on the slick ice, closing the distance to Rizli’s face in an instant.
Is this it? Will it land?
Bam!
"...!"
No. Rizli wasn't a novice. Her reactions were sharp, and an ice-reinforced fist slammed squarely into Irha’s solar plexus, halting her momentum mid-roll.
Irha crumpled, rolling on the floor and wailing in a pathetic display of agony.
I sighed. The girl was clutching her face instead of her stomach—my order to "pretend it hurts" had clearly been misinterpreted in her panic.
Still, this was fine. Rizli had a fatal flaw: she was a showboater.
On a real battlefield, her habit of getting careless once she thought she’d won would have seen her dead ten times over.
Rizli’s voice was a low, contemptuous hiss meant only for Irha’s ears.
She was reveling in her victory, verbally violating the girl to vent the frustration I had caused her.
It was hilarious, really. Rizli didn't know the first thing about love; she only knew the suffocating, pathetic possessiveness of a lady who thought she owned everyone around her.
But she was standing too close. Far too close for a ranged fighter.
In the next heartbeat, the moaning Irha suddenly exploded.
Squeezing out every last drop of mana her exhausted body possessed, she uncoiled like a steel spring and launched herself.
Her head—tough, thick, and fueled by desperation—thudded heavily and precisely into Rizli's solar plexus.
"Kyaaak...!"
Rizli let out an embarrassingly shrill scream as the wind was knocked out of her.
She flew backward, tumbling across the stone floor in a tangle of limbs.
The graceful swan had been replaced by a rolling donkey. I applauded inwardly.
Rizli de Gracia—Artistic Score: 10/10!
"Grr... That filthy, gutter-born bitch..." Rizli ground out, hauling herself up with a groan of pure malice.
A stream of blood trickled from her lip. And my loyal, dumb minion?
She let out one last faint cry and passed out cold from mana exhaustion.
"...Well... Winner, Rizli," Professor Isera announced, her voice sounding forced.
"Ahem... Rizli, we need to work on that habit of dropping your guard. You pulled a pointless, dangerous stunt by closing in when you had no reason to. And as for Irha..."
Rizli’s face soured into a mask of pure hate.
It was the perfect result: she had won the match, but lost the respect of her peers and her pride in the process.
Winning but feeling like you lost—that was the savory taste I lived for.
Even Irha’s unconscious face seemed to carry a trace of satisfaction.
The combat magic class concluded with two of the most dramatic upsets in academy history.
It was the rebellion of the underdogs.
While I wasn't technically an underdog, Irha's blow had left a lasting impression.
The students were still buzzing about it as they headed for lunch, mesmerized by the sight of the haughty Rizli sprawled in the dirt.
(Irha, meanwhile, had woken up and was happily devouring a free meal provided by a sympathetic Professor Isera.)
The academy rooftop was usually a sanctuary for couples, but today the air was oppressively heavy.
Rizli was in a state of low-pressure fury, her frustration simmering just below the surface.
Sitting beside her, I carefully managed my expression, avoiding the urge to grin like a maniac.
True teasing is an art; you must play the part of the oblivious, concerned partner before delivering the killing blow.
"Rizli... your Frost Roses were so beautiful today. It’s such a shame that Irha was so... sneaky," I said, my voice dripping with 'pure' and 'kind' concern.
I could see her jaw clenching. My sincerity only made her anger hotter.
"Sneaky? There is no such thing in a duel. I simply... underestimated her," she spat.
Perfect. Pre-heat complete. Time for the knockout.
"Um... Rizli... I'm not sure if now is the best time, but... about that 'wish' from earlier..."
I let my voice trail off into a series of stuffy, hesitant ellipses.
"You're seriously bringing up that damn wish right now? Right after I’ve been humiliated?!" she screamed.
It was the exact reaction I wanted. She knew it was the wrong time, and my 'cluelessness' was grating on her nerves.
I put on an incredibly aggrieved look.
"Rizli, you've been so sensitive lately! And I wasn't even going to ask for skinship. I just wanted you to buy me a meal! What do you think of me? Did you think I was going to try and hold your hand or something?"
"Wha... what?"
"You've made it clear you hate touching me. I've basically given up. I know I'm not 'cool' or 'manly' like Leon or those other high nobles," I said, deliberately dropping the Prince's name into the air like a lead weight.
Rizli's heart skipped a beat. A heavy fist of anxiety began to press into her solar plexus.
She couldn't meet my eyes, terrified of what she might see there.
It was in that heavy, suffocating silence that a third voice joined us.
"Having an interesting chat, I see. I never expected my name to be whispered among the academy's most famous couple. Should I take that as a compliment?"
Prince Leontidas had appeared, his tone one of light, dangerous intrigue.
He was alone, which was bizarre for him—he had clearly sought us out.
Rizli was paralyzed with fear, unable to move as he approached.
"Ras. That fight with Blever was... impressive. You've grown far more than I anticipated. You fight like a man who has seen a battlefield," the Prince said, his eyes locked on mine with genuine, disturbing interest.
"Lately, insights just seem to hit me out of nowhere," I grinned back, matching his gaze.
"Magic, swordsmanship, relationships... things tend to change once the pressure builds up, don't they?"
"Indeed. Regardless, congratulations. Now, do you mind if I borrow Rizli for a moment? We have some... personal matters to discuss."
"Who am I to say no? Do what suits you both," I said, standing up with a breezy, detached air.
I had zero attachment to my time with her, and the Prince noticed. He smiled softly.
"It’s impolite to butt into a lover's quarrel, but as a man with a lover of my own, let me give you a tip: too little skinship breeds distance. Man up and push her boldly, Ras."
I turned and smirked at the Prince. "Thanks for the advice, Leon. Rizli, did you hear that? Skinship is key for lovers~!"
I tossed the words over my shoulder and vanished down the stairs before she could utter a sound.
The Prince chuckled, watching me leave.
"Ras has become quite manly. He used to be a tail-wagging puppy around you... I suppose shock really does turn boys into men, doesn't it, Rizli?"
"What... what do you mean? What shock?" Rizli stammered, cold sweat beginning to bead on her forehead.
"It seems Ras has figured out your affair, Rizli. He knows everything. Even who you've been doing it with. So... I have to ask... what are you going to do now?"
The anvil of anxiety that had been pressing on Rizli's solar plexus finally slammed home.
This brutal, calculated heart-punch from the Prince hurt far worse than Irha’s clumsy headbutt.