The Sword Saint's Strike Aimed at Her Prey
What— what is this, what is this!!
Aisha shoved her fist into her mouth to keep from crying out, hidden as she was beneath the bed.
Under normal circumstances, anyone who pulled an eye-assault like this on her would have had a blade jammed between their ribs before they could blink — but the sight that had come into view froze her in place instead.
No, no. It's not an eye-assault... exactly.
Aisha swallowed without meaning to. She could see the slave merchant's back as he peeled off his suit jacket, then his shirt, hanging each neatly in its place.
Hm. Worth a look... I suppose.
Shoulders hardened by countless swings of the blade, trapezius muscles settled into perfect form. The latissimus that bulged with every turn of his waist were unmistakably a man's.
The scars crisscrossing that body flaunted a raw wildness on top of it all. This was no scholar's frame, honed away in some back-alley study.
Drip. A single drop of saliva fell from Aisha's mouth to the floor.
What's wrong with me? I've seen plenty of men's bodies on the battlefield!
She couldn't understand why she was so flustered. During the campaign against the Demon King's army, the situation had been so bad that everyone stripped down and washed wherever they happened to be, side of the road or no.
The difference lay in the circumstances.
Watching him reach naturally for his clothes, Aisha instinctively realized that this was not Luka's room. It was Wicker's.
After all, judging by the standard of the room itself, a Chair Professor's quarters made far more sense than a student's.
She had sneaked into the room of a grown, imposing man and was peeping at him naked. A lewd, sordid act. Of course her heart was pounding.
To anyone watching, the villain here was not Wicker. It was Aisha.
But Aisha, failing to grasp that fact clearly, continued to observe him under the pretext of policing an illegal trespass.
The slave merchant professor is... actually pretty handsome? I thought he was older at first glance, but looking properly, he might be around my age. ...Pfft, no way he's younger than me. Wow, that jawline.
Wicker began equipping his light armor with practiced ease — gear built for mobility, the kind used for dungeon work.
He checked each piece of equipment one by one, tucking them into his belt. Even with so many items, his hands moved too surely to take long.
Oh, quick hands. Not the textbook-trained kind of movement, but he's clearly got his own know-how.
Midway through, he checked one piece of equipment, tilted his head, and turned to scan the room. Aisha tensed and shrank back instantly.
Thud. Thud.
Wicker's footsteps echoed through the room. He walked not toward the bed, but toward the bookshelf on the far side.
Huh? Wait. Am I in a really weird position right now?
It was the very moment Aisha finally realized she was doing something terribly wrong and tried to erase her presence.
"Luka."
Pop!
Before she could even react, Wicker was crouched down in front of her.
"......"
"......"
Their eyes met, awkwardly.
Without a word from either of them, expressionless, they stared holes into each other's faces.
Tick. Tick.
Only the sound of the clock's second hand filled the silent space, poorly.
In that brief moment, Aisha's mind became a jumbled mess of colliding words and sentences.
I'm so screwed.
What excuse do I even give?
This is the slave merchant professor's room, right?
I'm the one acting weird here, aren't I?
Then why are there traces of Luka in this room?
Luka did something wrong! Confusing little—!
Maybe start by bringing up Luka?
If I hit him hard enough, he'd lose his memory, right?
Wouldn't assassination just be faster?
Stop spouting nonsense and FOCUS!!
This man is Luka's teacher or something or whatever!
No, wait, Luka's teacher is ME!
It's that Emperor bastard's fault.
What luxury and glory am I supposedly enjoying, coming all the way to the Academy for.
Should've just gone back to the Empire and gone on arranged marriage meetings.
Then I could've snagged a man ages ago and only come to the Academy for the Silver-Blue Festival.
Ah... I want to go to the Silver-Blue Festival.
At the end of that runaway train of thought, Aisha's mind reached its limit, and the last sentence slipped out of her mouth.
"Would you... accompany me to the Silver-Blue Festival."
With one cheek pressed flat against the dust-laden floor beneath the bed, wearing her most august expression, she had just delivered the worst possible words she could have.
Hm. Tomorrow I'll stage a coup and self-destruct.
Just before embarrassment and self-loathing overwhelmed her completely, Wicker answered.
"Very well. I'll see you on the morning of the third day. In return, would you grant me one favor as well?"
"...Fine."
"Then we have a deal."
With that, Wicker rose to his feet. He took a fresh towel from the drawer and laid it on the desk.
"The washroom is to your left. I have a lecture, so I'll excuse myself first."
Click. With the soft sound of the door, he left the room. A little while later, Aisha crawled slowly out from under the bed.
"...What was that?"
She noticed the dust drifting down as she brushed through her hair.
Did he leave the towel out of consideration — wipe yourself off before you go?
"...Huh."
Never had anyone like this in the army. That's... refreshingly new.
...Hold on.
Did I just get a date accepted?
No — did I just ask him on a date?
"Whoa. Whoa, whoa!"
Instinct, picking the single most cutting sentence out of all those swirling through her head and firing it off — truly worthy of a Sword Saint, one might say.
Thrilled at having achieved the great feat of landing her first date request inside the man's own private room, Aisha sank to her knees right there on the spot and basked in the euphoria.
"Next, parties five through ten, prepare yourselves. Depending on the party leader's judgment, the vanguard enters first."
The students moved with crisp efficiency. The dungeon studies lecture was already into its sixth session, and the class was now gaining practical experience on the first floor of a lower-tier dungeon in the Academy Territory.
Dungeons were cramped quarters, and with one hundred twenty students in the course, we couldn't move everyone at once — so the lectures were progressing more slowly than I'd anticipated. The enrollment had filled up out of nowhere, after all.
"If only I had an instructor to help supervise."
"Oh! I can keep the other parties safe too!"
Yuri, who had been managing parties five through ten from the rear guard, perked her ears up at my murmur.
"You're doing admirably. All three of you. But responsibility is a separate matter."
I couldn't possibly leave them solely in charge, only to lay the blame on the three of them if an accident occurred.
"I... I understand, Professor. Your point is fair."
Yuri's ears drooped in disappointment.
"If I could coax Instructor Aisha into it, things would be easier — but I can't read her intentions."
"Aisha... the Sword Saint Aisha?"
"Yes. Her skill is beyond question, after all."
Sword Saint Aisha. So why had she been in my room earlier?
I'd been changing into my gear to prepare for the lecture, and when I tested the threat-detection artifact I keep for ambushes, it picked up a reading — so I searched the room.
I sensed a presence under the bed and assumed Luka was playing hide-and-seek, planning to flush her out. But lo and behold, there was a face I'd never imagined sitting there.
Sword Saint Aisha was never supposed to be part of the Academy's cast to begin with. The ever-dignified powerhouse who always ran the vanguard of every battlefield... no, actually, she's the comic relief.
When we first met, she was chanting some incantation.
A fake one, at that.
Seeing it in person, honestly, it was a bit cringeworthy.
She's the type to strike an absurd amount of unnecessary poses, and when our eyes met she wore a perfectly blank expression, so I couldn't read her intent at all — was she there to assassinate me, or did she have some other purpose?
If I had to speculate.
The Emperor had wedged her into the Academy to take its political pulse, and since I'm the one handling Imperial Princess Ashley, she was probably keeping an eye on me while she was at it. Something along those lines, I'd guess.
Though knowing how meticulous the Principal is, even that first task probably wasn't going smoothly for her. He's hardly on friendly terms with the Emperor to begin with.
Someone sneaking into my room was a fairly serious matter, so I judged I needed to determine her purpose.
She happened to request the Silver-Blue Festival, so I took it as a good opportunity and accepted.
At the same time, I made my own favor a condition of the deal. Once I judge her safe, I intend to put her in charge of supervising the dungeon studies lectures. That would speed the course up considerably compared to now.
She's a woman of her word; she wouldn't refuse something like this.
"Party five, ranged line — pull back a little further. Party seven, rear guard — don't rush your healing spells; give the vanguard time. Xuehua, match your rhythm with your party members."
My advice to the students was met with spirited replies. Each of them did their utmost against the low-grade monsters.
Excited and nervous from the real combat, yes — but fundamentally these were excellent students, and it was a pleasure watching them adapt so quickly.
Partway through, Yuri tugged at my arm.
"Yuri?"
"Professor. I have a favor to ask."
"Of course. Ask me anything."
"...That attitude."
Yuri snapped shut the holy book she was holding and raised her arm high.
Four floating magic circles appeared.
The pitch-black dungeon blazed bright, lit up by Yuri's divine power.
Every party, every student, received her blessing and was dramatically empowered in an instant. Strength, magic, defense, and recovery — all of it.
"Whoa, my body feels so light?!"
"Ohhh, let's push straight through!"
"Entering!"
The students' morale surged. They carved through the monsters with fluid grace.
Having finished her incantation, Yuri looked me straight in the eye.
"I'm... not a little girl anymore."
Warm pink-gold divine power still overflowed, shimmering around her.
"It's not just the three of us — Luka, Tia, and me — anymore."
Yuri took a step toward me. She reached her hand out toward my right hand, then hesitated.
Those slender fingers hovered, touching and not touching.
"So... please stop holding on to that image of me. Look at who I am now. Look at Yuri."
Today of all days, Yuri's tender crimson eyes gazed up at me.
I met them head-on.
"I understand, Yuri."
With those words, I caught her hand that had been reaching out, so achingly, toward me.
Her ears shot straight up. Her fluffy tail swung in wide, sweeping arcs.
Yuri flushed red and looked away, then added a single remark.
"...And please stop using that tone of voice with me."
"Haha, got it."
Yuri was right.
I had apparently still been thinking of the three of them as Yellow, Blackie, and Whitey.
If she felt the need to bring it up this earnestly, I must have been treating them like children far more than I'd realized.
Luka, Tia, and Yuri were all adults now.
With the talent they possessed, they had grown strong far beyond anything I could compare to, and their minds were obviously no longer those of little children.
Only after recognizing that did Yuri's features finally come into sharp focus for me.
Come to think of it — she really is beautiful.
"Yuri."
"Yes?"
"We met at a pretty strange time, didn't we."
"Ahaha, we did."
Yuri's smile shone. Like a carbuncle gem.
Her master was talking happily with Yuri.
Watching the two of them, Luka felt something strange stirring in her for the first time in her life.
What is this?
It was not a good feeling.
It was closer to displeasure.
Goosebumps crawled across her skin; her body was here, but her mind alone seemed to float loose somewhere far away.
And yet her blood ran hot.
It was different from when she swung her sword.
Back then, the heat felt good.
Now, her body only grew colder.
Master...
Of course, he loved all three of them.
That was a fact she knew well.
And yet — the way he was looking at Yuri right now felt somehow different from the way he had always loved the three of them.
Luka had often been mistaken for a boy since she was small.
She rarely expressed her emotions — but that didn't mean she lacked them.
In that respect, she had always liked Aisha. They were quite similar types.
The difference was this: while Aisha laid everything bare for those close to her, Luka could not manage even a proper expression for the people she cared about.
She had never learned how to show any emotion, so even now she didn't know what she was supposed to do.
But one thing was certain.
...It hurts.
Had Yuri hurt like this too?
And then — had she found a way to stop hurting?
Was that why she went to Master first, ahead of the rest of us?
It was a contest, then.
Luka finally came to understand it herself.
That if things went on like this, she would lose him.