Rock-Paper-Scissors
Zait stopped mid-training and watched a young woman at work.
Hmm.
The way she swung her sword was elegant and precise—less like crude sparring and more like a demonstration of sword dance. Yet the blade still carried the proper killing intent a sword ought to hold, so this was unmistakably swordsmanship.
Remarkable.
Asha Yllain. Evan's fraternal twin, and the pillar who would one day lead the family. With the eldest son Evan gone, Asha's presence had been rain in a drought—and she had answered that expectation with enormous growth every single time.
But today she's restless, unlike usual. Is she conscious of Rebecca?
If someone asked whether his daughter was a genius, Zait would nod without a second's hesitation. But if they asked whether she was the finest swordsman on the continent, he would fall silent and look in one particular direction.
That gaze would find Rebecca Lorentz.
—Shiiik!
Rebecca was sparring with the family's knights. Watching their exchange, Zait found himself marveling despite himself.
—Clang!
"Ugh! I—I've lost."
"What, already over?"
Two or three exchanges, and the bout was decided. The victor was, of course, Rebecca Lorentz. The loser accepted defeat without much regret, as if he'd known it was coming.
To have already reached that level at her age…
Asha had taken last year's defeat as fertilizer and climbed an impressive growth curve—yet the gap with Rebecca hadn't closed. It had only widened. Asha knew it too; her eyes whenever she looked at Rebecca were anything but kind. Every time, she chewed her lip and furrowed her brow.
What good was jealousy, though? Nature was nature. Even if she clawed and clawed for years, the distance between them would not change. And Asha wasn't even in a position to feel jealousy. Jealousy was an emotion reserved for someone almost within reach—when one side looked down from an impossibly higher place, all that remained was longing.
An enviable talent.
Lucas, once a member of the former Hero's party. How badly must he have wanted her, to break his own creed of taking no disciples and accept Rebecca as his student? When a once-in-a-generation genius had already verified her, there was nothing left to doubt. Rebecca was an undeniable prodigy.
Which was why Zait could not simply cheer for Asha's revenge.
…I'm worried.
In the friendly sparring match about to begin, Asha would taste defeat once more. If she fell into despair the way Evan once had—what was he supposed to do then? The rising worry left a bitter taste in Zait's mouth.
After finishing the tearful mother-and-son reunion, I got out of there in a hurry. She looked a little disappointed when I said I was already leaving, but I absolutely refuse that kind of sappy atmosphere.
"You must have been waiting a long time. You could have at least had a cup of tea."
"Pass. I can't stand that kind of vibe."
I answered Alfred's question halfheartedly. He gave me a look of mild bewilderment.
"…Time really does fly. The young master who used to do nothing but cause trouble has already matured this much… I'm sad, and yet I'm extremely happy."
He scrubbed at the tears welling up and sniffled. Are the people in this house just genetically weepy? Every last one of them looks like a problem case.
"Father still hasn't said a word, has he?"
"You needn't feel too hurt. He's simply been busy with expedition affairs of late—he is by no means deliberately neglecting you, young master. Once afternoon training is finished, he will almost certainly summon you."
"You said the same thing three hours ago."
"…Ahem."
I know perfectly well how Evan's father treats me. But I wasn't as wounded as Alfred feared. What's the rush? Hurrying doesn't gain me anything, and waiting doesn't cost me anything either. Besides, if I went and pestered the family head myself, that would look even worse.
It is getting boring, though.
If I had to pick a complaint, it was that this waiting time was dull. I would have loved to knock back some drinks, but doing that in someone else's house is just rude.
"Lots of people at the training grounds, I assume?"
"Yes. The lord is there as well. And… it would be best if you avoided the training grounds if at all possible."
"Why? Afraid I'll run into Father?"
"…No. There is another reason. Might I suggest training at your private annex instead, young master? The rear garden gets excellent sunlight, and the view is lovely."
He hesitated over the answer, then mumbled something vague. After that he pivoted to a completely different topic, which made it painfully obvious he was hiding something.
Don't tell me it's because of that Rebecca woman?
Mary's letter had mentioned her, but even without that the name felt familiar. Rebecca… who was she again?
From the novel's information: a villainess who left Evan with deep trauma. Later she would take the moniker "Sword Saint" and duel Hero Evan one more time. Of course Evan got his ass thoroughly kicked in that duel too. Even accounting for the misery-porn genre, that scene's Evan had been painfully pathetic and ugly.
Anyway, none of my business—so why did the name Rebecca feel so familiar?
Tch. Whatever. What's the point of remembering?
If I can't remember, she probably isn't important. I decided not to care.
"So where is my private annex?"
"If you are headed there, allow me to guide you myself. And real swords will be displayed on the wall—feel free to use any of them."
Alfred didn't bother explaining with words; he led the way in person. Thanks to that I reached the destination quickly without getting lost. Though damn, this mansion is ridiculously huge. I wonder if I could even find a bathroom in a hurry.
"Been a while since I held a sword."
I clenched and unclenched the hand gripping the hilt. The grip felt worse than before—probably because the hand was smaller. Still, there was enough callus that it didn't slip or hurt.
Anyway, time to clear my cluttered head and loosen up the body. After one or two deep breaths to lock in my focus, I swung the sword straightaway.
—Shiiik!
Evan's sword strikes, put into practice for real, were pathetic. The already insufficient power scattered, and that in turn wrecked the form. Disappointing, but not despairing. I'd known from the start that this body was garbage, and whether it improved depended entirely on what I did with it.
"Hoo."
Even if I was currently trapped in this miserable flesh, in my previous life I had been a superhuman far beyond the category of ordinary people. An incomprehensible existence—to borrow some bastard's words—that even the Empire's Sword Masters couldn't handle. If I rebuilt this body based on the insights I'd gained in that life, it would work. Like taking useless clay and carefully shaping it into porcelain.
—Whoosh!
Thrust. Cut. Various motions aimed at the empty-air enemy in front of me.
—Shik!
—Shiiik!
I repeated it countless times. With form that tolerated not the slightest disorder, I ran through the exact same sword techniques dozens of times in a row. And then, at some point—
The speed of the descending blade gradually softened. Sword strikes I'd swung with acceleration were now swinging so slowly it was embarrassing to call it acceleration at all. The muscles had hit their limit. Evan's underdeveloped body, with its already dull muscles, burned through an enormous amount of stamina just from swinging a sword.
But this was enough. With this, the synchronization between body and blade was more or less complete. In cruder terms: I had the feel of it in my hands now. Time to get to the main point.
"Sss."
The single most important thing in swordsmanship is mana—aura. From start to finish, everything changes depending on how you mix mana into it. And to compensate for this pathetic body, the help of mana was what I needed most desperately. With that thought settled, I slowly closed my eyes and tried to gather mana.
"Evan hyung!"
Then a voice from behind snapped my concentration.
This son of a bitch—who the hell?
Evan turned his head irritably. A blond-haired boy and girl came into view.
"Whoa. For a second I thought my eyes were playing tricks. Evan hyung, who supposedly ran off after those country girls, actually came back."
"Pffft. You still look just as dumb. Hi, Evan oppa."
At a glance they seemed to be sneering and needling him—but maybe if you peeled them open they'd turn out to be decent kids, like Mary? Evan entertained that optimistic thought while carefully studying the boy's face.
"What? Why are you staring like that?"
Under Evan's uncomfortable gaze, Demian scowled.
"Keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna get pissed, you know? You realize it's just us here right now?"
…Or maybe not.
The grating tone, the sulky face—neither of those looked remotely like a good kid. Evan asked just in case.
"What's your name?"
"What? Did you come back with a head injury or something? Demian Lorentz! You can't even remember that?"
Demian Lorentz… Given the Lorentz surname, he was definitely that Rebecca woman's little brother. Beyond that there was no real information, so he was almost certainly a disposable extra side character.
"Right. Demian Lorentz. I'm Evan Yllain. Nice to meet you."
Evan held out his hand for a shake.
"…Nice to meet you? Are we the kind of people who greet each other all friendly?"
"We're not? Fine, whatever."
Evan pulled his hand back.
"Huh. Completely lost it, haven't you? I'll specially fix that broken head of yours. The way you are right now, hyung, it's gonna hurt a lot."
Yerica beside him burst into giggles. Bolstered by his little sister's reaction, Demian took a step closer to Evan.
"Evan hyung. Or how about we play rock-paper-scissors for old times' sake? That might jog your old memories, don't you think?"
"Rock-paper-scissors? Childish. Go play with her."
"Huh? Pffft. Evan oppa, you've gotten weird."
"…Ha."
Demian's eyebrows crumpled like wet paper. Then he cracked his knuckles, radiating the clear intention to hit someone. Yerica watched with a wicked little smile, finding it hilarious.
"Evan hyung is really hopeless."
In an instant Demian's hand seized Evan by the collar. The rough grip scraped Evan's neck slightly.
"What the hell did you go through hanging around those country girls? You've gotten a lot more insolent while I wasn't looking."
Meeting Demian's savage eyes, Evan thought: Is this guy actually picking a fight for real?
The question quickly turned into anticipation.
He is picking a fight, right?
Truth was, the stress he'd accumulated meant he hadn't had a single day of proper rest. And nothing beat violence for stress relief—Evan had been privately hoping a fight would break out. But no fight had ever come. When he'd gone looking for the famously aggressive mercenaries, all he'd gotten was a drinking contest. He'd deliberately provoked Amir's crew too, but it had ultimately fallen through. And the family he'd been at odds with for five years had been too busy welcoming him back.
Just as the feel of violence was starting to fade from memory, these kids had shown up out of nowhere to mess with him—and that was a huge gift of interest for Evan.
"Whatever. Get hit a few times like the old days and you'll remember. Good for me too—I can reminisce."
Demian glared, manufacturing an atmosphere of menace. Then his free hand swung toward Evan's face.
Slap—
"…?"
The question hit before the pain traveling through his skull even registered. I got hit?
When was the last time he'd taken a slap across the cheek in his life? The most recent had been years ago from Karen. Getting slapped by a kid like this, though—that was a first.
"Call it a kind of review. And since an accident like today's could happen again, how about we do some prep work for the future too? What do you say, Evan hyung?"
Pat, pat.
Demian casually patted and tapped Evan's cheek. And just as he moved his hand again to deliver another slap—
"You said rock-paper-scissors, right?"
"What?"
"You said it. Let's play rock-paper-scissors for old times' sake."
If you're a kid, you play kid games. And Demian was old enough to count as a teenager, so adding a little brutality to it was fine. Evan put on a smiling-eyes expression and took the rock-paper-scissors stance.
"Don't show, you lose. Rock, paper…"
"This bastard's actually insane—!"
"Scissors!"
At the same moment as that voice, Evan's fist slammed into Demian's face.
CRACK!
Evan threw a fist. More accurately: he launched a fist. Demian, by contrast, didn't throw anything. Which meant he lost.
"GYAAAAAAAH!!"
As if he had wings, Demian went flying far away. Along the arc of his flight, a spectacular fountain of blood erupted. And against that color, white teeth.
"…?"
One of those teeth flew and smacked into Yerica's cheek.
"KYAAAAAAAH!!! OPPAAAAA!!!!"
A piercing scream tore out of Yerica's mouth.