A few quiet minutes passed as we sat there in the small courtyard, the afternoon sun hanging lazily above us.
Kael swung his legs back and forth, humming some tune I didn't recognize, while I leaned back slightly on my hands, letting my breathing return to something resembling normal. The stone beneath me was cool, grounding, and for a brief moment, the world felt… still.
I glanced sideways at him.
He was young. Too young to carry expectations, too young to understand the weight of names and destinies. His messy hair caught the sunlight, and his expression was relaxed in a way I envied deeply.
Without thinking too much about it, I lifted my hand and gently patted his head.
His hair was softer than I expected.
"Go now," I said quietly, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "Play elsewhere."
Kael froze.
Then slowly looked up at me.
"…You're dismissing me?" he asked, sounding personally betrayed.
"Yes," I replied calmly. "Before you start offering tactical critiques again."
He puffed his cheeks. "I was being helpful."
"You were being honest," I corrected. "Which is more dangerous."
Kael huffed but eventually stood up, slinging his wooden sword over his shoulder. He paused, glancing back at me.
"Don't break," he said, very seriously.
I blinked.
"…I'll try not to," I answered.
Satisfied, he ran off, disappearing around the corner with the reckless energy of someone whose body actually obeyed them.
I watched him go for a moment longer, then pushed myself up with a quiet exhale.
Every muscle complained.
"Alright," I muttered. "Enough sentiment."
I made my way back toward my room, each step measured. The corridors were quiet now, servants busy elsewhere, the estate settling into its evening rhythm. Once inside my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it briefly.
Then I straightened.
No excuses.
I washed myself thoroughly, scrubbing away sweat and dust until my skin tingled. After drying off, I dressed in simple, loose clothing—nothing restrictive, nothing ceremonial. Just something that allowed movement and breathing.
Then I sat on the bed.
Cross-legged.
Back straight.
Hands resting loosely on my knees.
I closed my eyes.
"Alright," I whispered to myself. "Let's see how bad it really is."
Mana.
In this world, mana was everywhere—flowing through the air, the earth, the living. For most nobles, especially those of powerful bloodlines, drawing it in was as natural as breathing.
For Rias von Leonhart?
It was like trying to drink the ocean through a cracked straw.
I focused inward.
Deep within my chest, I felt it—my mana core. Small. Weak. Flickering faintly, like a dying ember. The amount of mana it held was pitiful. Enough to produce a tiny spark. Not enough to sustain even the simplest spell for more than a heartbeat.
I inhaled slowly.
Instead of forcing mana, I invited it.
The air around me felt cool against my senses, faint threads of energy brushing past my awareness. Most of it slipped away, uninterested, unresponsive.
I clenched my jaw.
"Stay," I murmured.
Bit by bit—so slowly it was almost insulting—tiny strands of mana responded. They drifted toward me, hesitant, fragile, like dew gathering at dawn.
One drop.
That was what it felt like.
One drop added to an ocean that would never notice it.
But it was mine.
I held my focus, guiding that mana inward, easing it into my core. The moment it touched, my chest tightened painfully, as if my body was rejecting a foreign substance.
My breathing faltered.
I adjusted, slowing down further.
Hours passed.
Time became meaningless.
All that existed was breath… and pain.
My back ached. My legs went numb. Sweat trickled down my spine, soaking through my shirt. Each attempt to draw in more mana felt like dragging weight through mud.
But little by little—
My core responded.
Not growing. Not flaring.
But stabilizing.
When I finally opened my eyes, darkness had settled outside the windows. My shirt clung uncomfortably to my skin, completely soaked through. My lungs burned as I drew in a heavy breath.
I reached shakily for the glass of water on the bedside table and drank deeply, cool liquid sliding down my throat.
"…What a pain," I muttered hoarsely.
I set the glass down and leaned back slightly.
"Even breathing is so difficult," I said quietly. "How am I supposed to survive in the academy in the first place when I'm not even capable enough to use a normal fire spell for a few seconds?"
The thought made my chest feel heavy again.
In the academy, even commoners could conjure basic elemental spells. Nobles were expected to do far more.
And me?
I sighed deeply.
Still, I stood.
After washing myself again and changing clothes, I headed downstairs for dinner. The meal passed uneventfully—polite conversation, distant glances, the usual quiet tension. I ate slowly, conserving energy.
Once finished, I stepped out into the garden.
The night air was cool, fragrant with flowers and damp earth. Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting silver patterns on the grass. I found a quiet spot and sat cross-legged once more.
Again, I closed my eyes.
Again, I breathed.
This time, the mana came slightly easier.
Very slightly.
For one… two… hours, I remained there, absorbing what I could. My core protested less than before, though the strain was still immense.
When I finally stood, my legs wobbled dangerously.
I didn't stop.
I walked toward the area behind the servants' quarters—the small, hidden training space I had claimed as my own. The stone path was familiar now.
I reached the chalk line I had drawn earlier that morning.
"…Alright," I whispered. "Round two."
I began jogging.
Slow.
Steady.
My breathing quickly grew heavy, lungs screaming for mercy, but I maintained pace. One lap. Then another. By the third, my legs trembled.
I stopped, hands on my knees, gasping for air.
Sweat dripped onto the ground.
I sat down, resting for several minutes, eyes closed, letting my heartbeat slow.
"Get up," I told myself.
My body refused.
My mind didn't.
I stood again, legs shaking, and walked to the weapon rack.
The wooden sword felt familiar now.
I gripped it and took position.
Horizontal slash.
Slow. Controlled.
Vertical slash.
Diagonal.
Each movement burned. My arms trembled violently, muscles screaming in protest. After a few swings, I stopped, breathing hard, and sat down again.
Pain radiated through my body.
I rested.
Then stood again.
Picked up the sword.
Repeated the sequence.
Again.
And again.
The thought repeated itself in my mind, unrelenting.
If I don't get strong enough… I won't survive the academy.
I knew what happened to Rias in the original story.
He vanished.
No explanation. No farewell.
Just erased.
And if I was unlucky enough to stand too close to Aurelius De Solaria—the male lead—my existence might end even faster.
Avoiding him would be ideal.
But survival demanded strength.
Even a little.
So I trained.
Rest.
Train.
Rest.
Train.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
When I finally glanced at the sky, the moon was high.
Two in the morning.
"…That's enough," I whispered.
My entire body felt hollowed out, exhausted beyond reason. I forced myself back to my room, washed away sweat and grime, and collapsed onto the bed.
Sleep took me instantly.
No dreams.
Just darkness.
*****
At five in the morning, my eyes opened.
My body screamed.
Every muscle begged for rest. My joints felt stiff, my core throbbed dully, my limbs heavy as lead.
"…Five more minutes," I muttered.
I didn't lie back down.
I stood.
Stubbornness outweighed pain.
I dressed, walked out, and returned to my training area.
Jogging.
Slow. Painful.
Sword swings.
Careful. Controlled.
Break.
Repeat.
My body resisted at every step.
My will dragged it forward anyway.
Because I knew one thing with absolute certainty—
If I stopped now…
This world would not forgive me.
And so, beneath the pale light of dawn, Rias von Leonhart continued to struggle.
Not to become strong.
But to survive long enough to matter.