The training ground was empty when I finally lowered my wooden sword.
My arms trembled faintly, muscles screaming in protest long after the movement had stopped. Sweat dripped from my chin, darkening the dirt beneath my boots. The night air felt colder now, brushing against my overheated skin like a quiet reminder of reality.
Instructor Seraphina was gone.
Only the lingering pressure of her presence remained—like a blade that had just been sheathed, leaving behind the memory of its edge.
I exhaled slowly and loosened my grip.
"…So troublesome," I muttered again, this time with a faint smile.
Dangerous. Suspicious. Unclear intentions.
And yet—valuable.
I replayed the training in my mind, every strike, every correction, every subtle shift in her posture. My body had failed again and again, but my mind had been… alive. Sharp. Hungry.
That was the difference.
The original Rias had trained too—but blindly. He swung the sword hoping effort alone would compensate for his weakness. He endured pain without understanding it.
I didn't have that luxury.
Pain is information, I reminded myself.
Ignore it, and you stay weak. Listen to it, and you adapt.
I straightened and looked up at the sky.
Stars shimmered faintly above the academy, distant and indifferent.
"Whatever you're planning, Instructor," I said quietly, "I'll be ready."
Whether that was arrogance or resolve, I didn't know.
But I meant it.
*****
The next few days settled into a strange rhythm.
Classes during the day.
Training alone at dawn.
Training with Seraphina at night.
My body changed slowly—painfully slowly—but my awareness sharpened at an alarming pace. I began to notice things I hadn't before.
The way certain instructors glanced at Aurelius with thinly veiled expectation.
The way Viola unconsciously leaned toward him during group discussions.
The way rumors flowed through the academy like invisible currents, shaping perceptions before truth ever had a chance.
And the way people looked at me.
Not with contempt.
But with confusion.
"Isn't that the Leonhart bastard?"
"I heard he can't even cast a proper spell."
"Then why is Instructor Valencrest watching him so closely?"
Whispers followed me through corridors now—not loud, but persistent.
I kept my head down.
Attention was a double-edged sword, and I wasn't strong enough to wield it yet.
One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting combat fundamentals class, I sat alone beneath a tree near the outer courtyard. The shade was cool, leaves rustling softly above as students passed by in groups.
I was reviewing my mistakes from class when a familiar voice spoke.
"Mind if I sit?"
I looked up.
Viola stood there, holding two cups of warm tea.
"…Sure," I said, shifting slightly.
She sat beside me, handing me one cup without comment.
"For stamina," she said. "You look like you're about to collapse."
"I feel exposed," I replied dryly. "Please don't observe me so accurately."
She snorted softly.
For a moment, we sat in silence.
Then she spoke again. "You've changed."
I stiffened slightly. "…In a bad way?"
She shook her head. "No. Just… differently."
She looked at me carefully now. "You don't complain anymore. You don't argue. You just… do things."
I took a sip of the tea. "That sounds boring."
"It's unsettling," she corrected. "The old you would've snapped back by now."
I smiled faintly. "Growth is terrifying."
She studied me for a moment longer, then looked away.
"…Aurelius asked about you," she said quietly.
I raised an eyebrow. "I feel honored."
"He said you're difficult to read."
"That makes two of us."
She sighed. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Deflecting."
I met her gaze. "Viola, if you want to say something, just say it."
She hesitated.
"…Be careful," she said finally. "This academy isn't kind to people who don't fit into neat roles."
I nodded slowly. "I know."
She stood after that, leaving with a quiet wave.
I watched her go, an odd heaviness settling in my chest.
Complicated feelings, I thought. Truly troublesome.
*****
That night, when I arrived at the training ground, Seraphina wasn't alone.
A man stood near her—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing an instructor's coat reinforced with metal along the arms. His hair was steel-gray, eyes sharp with age and experience.
"…Instructor Valencrest," he said, glancing at me. "Is this the student you mentioned?"
Seraphina nodded once. "Yes."
The man studied me openly. "He's small."
"Observant," Seraphina replied flatly.
I bowed slightly. "Good evening, Instructor."
He snorted. "Polite too."
He stepped closer, pressure rolling off him like heat. I resisted the instinct to step back.
"I'm Garrick Holt," he said. "Combat division supervisor."
My heartbeat quickened.
That's… a big name.
He crossed his arms. "Why him?"
Seraphina didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she looked at me.
"Show him," she said.
I hesitated. "Show him… what?"
She pointed to Garrick. "Attack."
My eyes widened. "With a wooden sword?"
"With intent," Garrick said calmly.
I swallowed.
This wasn't part of the plan.
But plans were luxuries.
I moved.
Not fast. Not powerful.
Precise.
I attacked with the same logic I'd been refining—minimal force, maximum efficiency. Garrick blocked easily, barely moving.
Again.
Again.
Each time, he countered effortlessly, yet I adjusted—changing angles, footwork, timing.
After several exchanges, he raised a hand.
"Enough."
I stepped back, breathing hard.
Garrick looked at Seraphina.
"…His body is trash," he said bluntly.
I winced.
"But his thinking," he continued, "is sharp."
Seraphina nodded. "That's what I told you."
Garrick looked back at me. "Boy. Do you know what you're lacking?"
"…Everything?" I offered.
He laughed once. "Honesty. Good."
He stepped away. "Valencrest."
"Yes?"
"Keep an eye on him," Garrick said. "If he survives the first year… he might be worth more trouble."
Then he left.
Silence returned.
Seraphina turned to me.
"You just crossed another line," she said calmly.
"I'm collecting quite a few," I replied weakly.
She smirked.
"Rest," she said. "Tomorrow will be worse."
As I walked back to my dorm that night, exhaustion weighing down every step, one thought burned brightly in my mind.
The story is changing.
And for the first time—
It was changing because of me.