I'm Pretty Badly Hurt!
"I look pretty badly hurt!"
To Reinhardt, Ilisha von Airvalt was a woman not even worth glancing at.
It started with her daring to carry a sword despite her frail constitution.
What was the point of swinging a blade with that sickly body that couldn't even sense ether?
Yet she'd barged into the academy waving the Northern Duke's family name around, which made her look—in his eyes—like a powerless weakling who'd wormed her way into a place she didn't belong.
But above all, what grated on his nerves was that she was smiling.
Grinning like an idiot, oblivious to the fact that she had no business standing there, occasionally punctuating it with a cough—it was more than enough to ruin his mood.
So when she challenged the Southern Duke's son to a duel, he felt nothing special.
A frail thing like her can't stomach being insulted? At least she's got some pride.
That sneering thought was all it earned.
He idly wondered how that nasty-tempered Southern Duke's brat would smash the Northern Duke's daughter to pieces.
Since she'd irked him by calling him "Crown Prince, Your Highness" from the start, he watched the duel with faint anticipation.
Seeing Ilisha stand there doing nothing even as Lorenzo cloaked his blade in blazing aura, Reinhardt predicted her defeat.
And the moment she took a single step forward.
His expectations shattered to pieces.
What is that?
His mind went blank at the sight he'd never witnessed before.
The thick ice attribute ether pouring from her body was freezing the arena floor and even the air itself.
She'd only taken one step, but staring at the transformed field, he instinctively knew.
This was no amount of ether permitted to a human.
What the hell did the Northern Duke's house do?
It was a well-known tale across the empire that the Northern Duke's family obsessed over strong bodies.
Harboring vast quantities of ether within a robust physique—that was practically their lifelong aspiration. All to challenge an ancient dragon single-handed, just like their great ancestors.
To think they created something like that.
Reinhardt, who'd been watching with bored detachment, found himself focused on her every move before he knew it.
"If you admit defeat now, you won't get hurt."
"I'll split that arrogant face of yours before you even draw your sword...!"
Reinhardt watched the Northern Duke's daughter taunt the Southern Duke's son.
But what about that fragile body of hers?
Could Ilisha even react to Lorenzo charging at her with terrifying speed?
Reinhardt watched intently.
And he barely caught it.
The sky-blue trail she'd already slashed through the air.
The aura blade coating the sword she'd drawn.
...Sword Master level?
"Haaaaaaaah!!!"
Hearing the bold shout twist into a scream of agony, Reinhardt stared blankly at Ilisha.
A frail body brimming with absurd ether, a fleeting glimpse of Sword Master-grade aura blade.
And a speed so ridiculous even his eyes couldn't track it.
The contempt for a weakling was gone from Reinhardt's gaze on Ilisha.
That didn't mean he'd acknowledged her, though.
He didn't realize it himself, but his eyes on her were wavering.
A clear weakling wielding a strong one's power—the contradiction glued his gaze to her.
"Th-the... winner is... Ilisha. Ilisha von Airvalt!!!"
The referee declared it, but he didn't scream or cheer like the others.
He just watched her quietly.
She bowed like it was a greeting, delighted as if she hadn't expected to win.
"Cough, hack...! Gack, hack, keh... kehuk...!"
And spat up blood.
Blood was trickling from the mouth of the girl who'd just unleashed ether rivaling an ancient dragon and displayed Sword Master-level swordsmanship.
Seeing it, he stood from his seat without thinking.
But even he didn't know why.
"Ainshel. I have a duel scheduled."
"Pardon? Miss, what do you—"
Ainshel's eyes darted in shock at Ilisha's bolt-from-the-blue declaration.
"You heard right. A duel. The Southern Duke's son badmouthed my family."
"B-but Miss! If you wield a sword here, there's no one to look after you! Even in the academy, no one can properly treat you...!"
Knowing how the miss's body broke down every time she swung a sword, Ainshel desperately tried to dissuade her, face nearly crumpling in tears.
"I have to. My family was insulted. Father's honor was insulted. I can't just sit still."
But Ilisha's resolve was ironclad.
Sensing she couldn't be swayed from that stern expression about not letting the family's dishonor slide, Ainshel felt it in her gut.
She admired Ilisha's spirit even as it terrified her.
"But if you do... your body will..."
Be ruined.
"Don't worry about that. The temple here has Saintess Cecilia. I'll control myself, but if something goes wrong... just take me straight to the temple. Got it?"
Of course, that won't happen.
Ilisha tossed it out like a joke, but Ainshel couldn't bring herself to laugh.
As the duel began, Ainshel watched Ilisha and Lorenzo with bated breath.
"...Please don't push yourself."
The Duchess had entrusted her before leaving the duke's estate, making Ainshel pray even harder for Ilisha's safety.
Keep our dear girl from getting hurt...
Even as Ilisha unleashed ice attribute ether or felled Lorenzo in one strike, Ainshel couldn't relax.
Tensed to rush out anytime, she just watched anxiously.
And when the referee finally declared Ilisha's victory, Ainshel sighed in relief without realizing it.
At least she didn't collapse. Thank goodness.
The moment that thought crossed her mind, Ilisha coughed up blood-laced phlegm and crumpled.
"Miss—!!!"
The instant she saw it, Ainshel felt her heart stop.
She knew blood came from her insides tearing and freezing.
Ignoring the stares, she rushed out and scooped Ilisha into her arms.
Cradled against her, Ilisha rasped for breath, barely clinging to consciousness.
"I... won..."
"...What's the point of winning like this!"
The miss had literally ground her body to dust for victory.
Tormented by guilt for letting it happen despite knowing, Ainshel felt nauseous.
As if sensing—or not—her turmoil, Ilisha forced a weary smile and flashed a V-sign with her good hand.
Ainshel regretted not stopping her, even if it meant a scolding.
But she knew now that it was pointless.
She just ran as fast as she could toward the temple.
Lamenting that this was all she could do.
What a pity. I was going to end up known as the strong but sickly beauty.
If you're asking what the difference is from "sickly but strong beauty," it's like night and day.
The former gets "Surprisingly strong, huh?" while the latter gets "Sickly but strong?!"
Totally different.
I hope no uncultured soul lumps them together.
That tiny nuance makes a world of difference.
For example...
"Ugh..."
I tried to keep thinking, but a needle-stab pain in my lungs drew out an involuntary groan.
As if hearing it, Ainshel—who'd been holding me steady as she ran, like some stabilizer—shook just a little.
Until then, she'd jostled every which way but kept me perfectly still.
My pain must've thrown her off.
"Miss...! Hang on just a bit longer, we're almost there! Don't sleep, please stay awake!"
Hmm, if only it were that easy.
Truth be told, I was sleepy like the Sandman had dusted me with magic sand.
No joke. I could feel consciousness slipping the second my thoughts stopped.
Yeah, I overdid it.
Didn't need to flare that much ether, but the crowd was way bigger than expected, so I got carried away.
No regrets, though.
I won the duel no matter what, and showed everyone my strength.
Everyone at this academy now knows I'm no mere frail girl.
So, yeah. No regrets.
Just...
"...A...inshel."
"Miss, please don't talk...!"
Really, I was that sleepy.
"I... so sleepy..."
Passing out without warning would freak her out, so better say it first.
Plus, while I still had a shred of awareness, I craved that thick, heavy attention.
"No, no, Miss! Stay with me, you can't sleep!"
Her voice trembled like she was about to cry.
She's thinking of me, caring for me—that's why she's on the verge of tears.
...Ah, perfect.
The light attention from strangers is sweet, but...
The heavy concern from those who know me well...
Is sweeter.
Aaah, coming to the academy was the best decision.
Otherwise, I'd have caused a scene in front of Mother and Father too.
With that final thought, consciousness faded.
When I came to again.
A pristine white ceiling and someone peering down at me.
What to ask first? Where am I? Who are you?
What am I even pondering.
Obviously the temple.
And with my body feeling weirdly light, the one looking down is probably...
"...Ah, you're awake. Nice to meet you. I'm Cecilia."
The saintess, Cecilia.