6. Sparring (2)
6. Sparring (2)
The basic measurements ended quickly.
"Serena Argent."
The instructor called my name.
I slowly walked out onto the sand. The gazes inside the training ground followed. The next name followed.
"Roseline Vellois."
From the opposite side, Roseline stepped forward.
In her hand was a practice sword. There was no hesitation in her grip. It was clearly the same quiet face I'd seen until yesterday, but the moment she held the sword, the atmosphere changed. Her shoulders were lowered, her gaze unwavering. No unnecessary tension.
The instructor looked between the two of us.
"The rules are simple. No real weapons. If it's judged as a fatal hit, it's over. You can use special abilities. Just don't think about killing your opponent."
"Who makes that judgment?"
When I asked, the instructor answered bluntly.
"I do."
It wasn't bad. I would have faced her eventually anyway. The timing just came a little sooner.
I slowly spread my gloved fingers. As the sensation settled in my fingertips, I drew out the Thread. Roseline was steadying her breath with the tip of her sword pointed down.
The instructor raised his hand.
"Begin."
Roseline pushed off the ground and came in first.
Faster than I thought.
She wasn't the type to come straight from the front. She twisted half a beat to shake my line of sight, then immediately cut inside.
I bent my fingers and stretched out a single thread of Thread. I tried to hook her ankle and break her flow, but Roseline raised her sword low and pushed the thread away.
Roseline's toes kicked up sand, blocking my vision.
I stepped back and pulled out a second thread. This time, her wrist. If I bound the right hand holding the sword, it would be over. The thinly stretched thread curved toward Roseline's arm, but she didn't stop. She twisted her sword slightly, letting the thread slide off, then closed the distance.
She's getting closer faster than I thought.
I pulled out a third thread. This time I aimed below her waist. I judged it better to bind both her leg and sword simultaneously, but the moment I did, Roseline suddenly twisted her foot. A tempo of stopping once, then coming back in. If I tried to match it forcibly, I'd lose the rhythm first.
And that tactic worked. The Thread was half a beat late.
Roseline's sword tip grazed the end of my glove. It was an extremely shallow contact, but my fingertips flinched first. I immediately twisted my wrist and wound the thread upward. The Thread scattered in the air tangled around Roseline's sword. If I pulled now, I could twist it along with the sword.
The moment I thought that.
Roseline came in closer.
Without losing her sword, she pulled the handle short and pressed her body in. The distance was too close to use the Thread effectively. I instinctively tried to step back, but Roseline's left hand grabbed my wrist first.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
The hand that touched over my glove was hot. It was a brief contact, but strangely vivid. She was right in front of me, with no room to escape.
I reflexively tried to tighten the Thread, but my strength subtly faltered.
With my wrist caught, the angle was dead. And Roseline's body was too close. A distance where breath could touch. Her arm holding the sword brushed against mine, and even the sensation of the training uniform fabric rubbing thinly was oddly clear.
Damn it.
My body reacted first.
Roseline didn't miss that instant.
With a face that didn't even blink, she pushed my wrist away and cut inside. Choosing only the minimal movements usable at close range, she struck the back of my hand to break the flow before my Thread could wrap, then hooked my foot again to collapse my center.
I forced myself to regain balance and pulled out one more thread. This time, I planned to bind her waist instead of her neck to open the distance.
But Roseline was already inside my space. She raised her sword to block the space where the Thread would extend, cutting it off like a slice, and pressed my elbow with her empty left hand.
She touched me again.
The sensation of a brief pressure on the inside of my elbow made the strength in my fingertips loosen for a moment.
The Thread scattered.
Then Roseline pushed in one more step. Weight pressed toward my back. There was no room to retreat. I struggled to pull my hand free, but it was already too late. The blunt end of the practice sword stopped just below my neck.
At the same time, Roseline's hand still held my wrist.
The training ground fell silent.
I swallowed my breath.
It's over? That easily?
Roseline was looking at me with a face that was hardly flustered at all. She didn't avoid my eyes like before. Even at this close distance, there was no wavering. Rather, her breath was only slightly labored, as befitting someone who had pushed through to the end.
The instructor's voice fell belatedly.
"Enough."
Only at that word did Roseline let go.
As her wrist left, the spot became even more vivid. Even over the glove, it felt like the heat of her touch still remained. I lowered my hand a beat too late. I tried to put on an unaffected face, but it wasn't as easy as I wanted.
Roseline stepped back half a step. Even as she lowered her sword tip, her gaze was still on me.
"I apologize."
It was closer to a formality than an apology. Because it was class. Because it was over. Just that kind of remark.
I tried to smile but stopped. Smiling now would feel strange.
The instructor walked over to us.
"Serena Argent. You have strength, but your distance management is a mess. The moment your opponent cuts inside, your hand dies."
It was an irritating thing to hear, but I couldn't argue.
The instructor looked at Roseline.
"Vellois. Good. You're not afraid and you push through to the end."
Murmurs spread from the edge of the training ground. This time, the direction was clear. Surprise. An air of unexpectedness. And a bit of excitement.
Roseline's face seemed unconcerned by that reaction. As she lowered her sword and relaxed her stance, she looked at me once more. As if she knew exactly why I had stopped just now.
That made it even more irritating.
I slowly clenched and unclenched my gloved hand. The sensation didn't fade easily. The wrist, the arm, the pressure of the sword stopped below my neck—all of it was eerily vivid.
Meanwhile, Roseline remained perfectly composed.
Even though she had been that close, her complexion hadn't changed at all. Rather, after seeing me waver, she had pushed in even more precisely. Without hesitation. Without reluctance.
She was a very nasty opponent.
Even while the instructor called the next name, the air in the training ground didn't easily settle. I stepped back from my spot and brushed past Roseline. A distance so close it was almost touching. This time, I raised my gaze first.
Roseline also turned her head to look at me.
"You're better than I thought."
When I said it low, Roseline paused for a moment.
"Lady Serena as well."
"Is that consolation?"
"No."
Roseline answered calmly.
"It's because I think you won't fall for it next time."
Leaving those words, Roseline walked away first.
I looked down at my own wrist again.
The sensation of the wrist that had been pressed over the glove remained. The distance we had been so close, the sword tip stopped below my neck, the violet eyes that didn't waver until the end—none of it would fade.
It was a little different from a sense of defeat. It was more unpleasant, hotter, and clearer.
I slowly drew in a breath.
Yeah. I should admit it now.
Every time I saw Roseline, my gaze wavered first. My fingertips became needlessly sensitive, and something inside me quietly simmered with unsteady heat.
At first, I thought it was because of the afterimage of the original work. The reason I read that garbage novel to the end was ultimately because of Roseline.
A will that crumpled countless times but never broke. A person who opened her own path with her own strength in a place where no one expected anything, and finally attained what she wanted.
So I thought that was why she lingered in my eyes.
So I tried to dismiss it as just being on my mind.
But it wasn't that.
The sparring just now made it clear.
Roseline holding a sword was more vivid than I remembered, closer, and more irritating. She didn't back down in front of me. She wasn't afraid of contact, and she pushed through to the end with a face that knew exactly who was wavering.
That touched something in me.
Enough that simply saying I wanted her wasn't enough.
I wanted to break Roseline.
I wanted to see that composed face fall apart only in front of me. I wanted to make those quiet eyes eventually become conscious of me.
I wanted to watch the process of someone who stood on their own feet until the end, slowly becoming shaken by my touch, my words, and my gaze alone.
It's not that I want to snap her.
I don't intend to break and discard her.
It's worse than that.
I want to slowly pry open that hard interior, to create a place where I can seep into the deepest part. I want to gradually encroach upon the center she wouldn't easily give to anyone.
I want to see that will, that pride, that stubborn silence—all of it fall apart because of me in the end.
I want to grab that slender wrist, crush it, and see her collapse—whether physically, mentally, or maybe both.
A cry to stop. Eyes wet with pleasure, directed only at me.
Only in front of me.
Only when looking at me.
The moment I thought that, my throat went dry, and my head felt clear.
It was a disgustingly vile desire.
I clenched and unclenched my wrist once. The spot where Roseline had grabbed me still felt hot.
The urge to throw off my gloves came, but I kept them on because taking them off would only make the sensation clearer.
In the center of the training ground, the next sparring had begun. The dull sound of wooden swords clashing and the instructor's brief commands exchanged. Yet my gaze kept drifting to one side.
Roseline.
Even just rolling her name in my mouth made my tongue tip feel strangely hot.
I raised the corner of my mouth in a faint, mocking smile.
Yeah, it's ridiculous to deny it now.
At first, I thought it was because she was the protagonist of the original work.
Because she lingered in my eyes.
Because I was interested.
So I thought I wanted to touch her.
No.
I wanted to have Roseline.
There are many ways to take hold of a person. By instilling fear, by placing them in your debt, by leaving them no place to retreat. You can shake their heart, prick their pride, or ultimately make them walk toward you on their own.
I didn't care which.
It was fine if it took time.
In fact, I preferred the slow approach.
I had no intention of reaching out hastily and making her run away. Roseline wasn't the type to break easily under force. Handled that way, she would resist more sharply than break.
So I had to be more delicate.
Deeper.
For longer.
Toward a point where she wouldn't even realize she couldn't escape until it was too late. Like a butterfly that didn't know it was caught in a spider's web.
I watched Roseline holding her practice sword from the edge of the training ground. Her breath was already calm, her posture neat again. As if nothing had happened on my end.
That composure drove people crazy.
Good.
Keep wearing that unaffected face.
It only makes me want you more.
I let out a low laugh.
I lost today.
And pretty badly at that.
But it wasn't a bad defeat.
Because now I know.
Roseline Vellois.
Now I truly want you.