If you want to beco a hero, you must first have the right mindset.
That was the belief of a girl who had dread of becoming a hero since childhood.
Once she adopted that mindset, her actions naturally reflected it.
Even if she was called stiff by those around her, she believed that a true hero shouldn’t hesitate to do what they think is right, no matter if this made people distance themselves from her. That’s how she lived her life.
That’s why she was furious when aspiring heroes showed up late on their first day of school.
To think that those who dare to claim they want to be heroes have such a lackadaisical mindset!
Both of the latecors were exceptionally talented, having noticed illusions that she hadn’t even seen and effectively dealing with them. However, this only made her believe even more that their mindset should be heroic. So, after finishing her al, she confronted the girl with red hair.
“Isn’t it about ti you learned to wake up on your own without your parents nudging you?”
“I’m sorry, I won’t be late from tomorrow. And besides, I don’t have parents.”
Hearing those words, she felt a pang in her heart as she saw the girl reply with a sorrowful smile.
How many tis had she heard such things for her to respond so nonchalantly?
In a world where heroes exist to protect people, bullying still thrived in schools.
And lacking parents served as a pri excuse for ostracism.
“She doesn’t have parents, so that makes her different from us.”
She must have heard that countless tis.
Every ti she heard those words, she felt a wound in her heart, and there were so many scars that she could now laugh off even her own hurtful words as if they were nothing.
It was always like this.
Actions she thought were right unintentionally hurt others.
That wasn’t heroic at all.
That day, guilt squeezed her heart like a vice.
Perhaps that’s why, even when the teacher appointed her as class representative, she felt no joy.
She had always thought that a hero should lead everyone, so until now, she had taken on the role of the representative with a happy heart, but now? Not a ripple of emotion stirred within her.
The only thing that caught her eye was the red-eyed girl staring at her with a blank expression from a distance.
The next morning, while she was cleaning the classroom, she t the gaze of the red-haired girl who had opened the classroom door.
It was 7:30 am, thirty minutes earlier than the usual class ti.
Had she been pondering over the things she said yesterday?
The girl looked at her for a mont before turning on her heels and disappearing.
Sothing heavy pressed upon her chest, making it hard to breathe.
That day, there was a combat class.
When the teacher called out the na of her opponent, her heart raced.
Scarlet Evande, the girl with red hair.
Facing her was still an awkward situation, but a hero always had to give their best, even in such a scenario.
She bit her lip, focused her mind, drew her sword, and minimized air resistance with her abilities.
Speed was her weapon.
Despite completely preparing for battle, Scarlet still hadn’t drawn a weapon.
Even as she faced difficulties, she was trying sincerely to engage. But why wasn’t Scarlet doing the sa?
Suppressing her rising anger, she spoke.
“Are you treating like a fool? Draw your weapon!”
“I… don’t have a weapon,” ca the calm reply.
Her frustration surged up to her head.
If you want to beco a hero, it’s only natural to have learned to wield a weapon since childhood.
Even with strong abilities, there’s a significant difference in power between wielding a weapon and not.
Not drawing a weapon was not only an affront but an insult, implying that she was confident she could win even unard.
In response to this, she decided to make Scarlet pay for her arrogance.
“I’ll show no rcy just because you’re unard, so brace yourself!”
At that, Scarlet adopted a combat stance, flas erupting from her body.
The trickiness of fire-elent users lies in their high attack power from a distance.
But her opponent had no weapon for close combat.
It would end in one strike.
She tensed her legs.
3, 2, 1
As the starting cue glowed, she dashed toward her opponent, launching a piercing strike.
Her charge, free from air resistance, boasted speed that could easily catch even seasoned heroes off guard, but instead of feeling any impact…
Just one step—a hair’s breadth—but it created a gaping hole in her attack.
The light emanating from Scarlet’s body, radiant as her flas, cast a spotlight on her.
Involuntarily, their gazes t, sending a shiver down her spine.
Those indifferent eyes silently blazed with resolve.
“I knew you’d attack like that.”
A spinning kick packed with rotational force ca flying in.
BAAAM!
A thunderous impact broke the air as the air compression barrier she’d set up shuddered.
The force of that kick sent tremors through her heart, far exceeding the destructive power of attacks with any regular weapon.
Arrogance? Deceit? It was she who had underestimated her opponent.
Scarlet had given her all from the very beginning.
She aid for an opening but Scarlet deftly evaded, exhibiting agility that was astonishing, not a hint of panic to be found.
Only one exchange occurred, but it told her everything.
Scarlet’s body was honed to perfection.
Her predictions of attacks were almost precognitive.
Not a flicker of unrest even in unforeseen circumstances.
It echoed a depth that could only be terd martial expertise.
She scolded herself for looking down on Scarlet, even if just for a fleeting mont, and readied her sword once more.
With a heart full of remorse, she offered a salute and hoped her sentints would reach Scarlet.
“Alright, I’m coming at you.”
With maximum effort, yet Scarlet dodged her attack again, leaving only shallow scratches on her.
Her dodges were almost ideal.
Even though she was the one exempt from air resistance, her adversary’s movents appeared swifter.
Each fluid motion resembled a dance, and those crimson eyes never left her, as if they could read her every intention.
Suddenly, sha washed over her.
She understood why Scarlet had no weapon.
Weapons ultimately co down to money.
Not only the cost of the weapon itself but also the expenses for maintenance and the extensive training required since childhood.
Most academy students were descendants of heroes or from prestigious families for a reason.
Children from ordinary hos often give up their dreams of becoming heroes because of that.
Yet Scarlet identified as an orphan.
Could a child without parents even afford a weapon?
Could she gather enough funds for maintenance or to find a master?
Of course not.
Nevertheless, she entered the academy without a weapon.
She had trained to the extent that she could cross the academy’s threshold with just her own body.
Without a master, without parents.
How much effort had it taken her to reach this level?
Enduring ridicule as an orphan, struggling against the cruel realities.
She must have bled and endured excruciating pain that was unimaginable to her.
She had risen every ti she fell, without ever giving up.
Just driven by the singular wish to beco a hero.
Compared to that, how insignificant was she?
At that mont, a different kind of blazing fla sparked from Scarlet’s fist.
The heat surged, montarily drawing her out of her contemplation.
Scarlet wouldn’t let that mont of vulnerability slip by.
She lunged in, fearless, resolving not to waver against this world, and threw a punch.
That one step,
That one punch,
The magnificent flas igniting from her fist seed to encapsulate her entire life.
The girl, unaware, thought to herself:
Ah, how beautiful this is.
After the combat session, during lunchti, she spotted Scarlet in a corner, chatting with soone else.
When asked whether she had practiced martial arts since childhood, her indifferent nod gave away that it couldn’t have been easy.
A surge of impulse rose in her chest.
She caught Scarlet as she exited the cafeteria.
And, bowing her head on her own accord, she apologized.
For having hurt her unknowingly, for misjudging her.
To apologize is a selfish act.
It’s a way of indiscriminately hurting others, regretting it on one’s own accord, and trying to ease one’s own heart by unloading that remorse.
Yet, she felt too embarrassed not to apologize, making Scarlet an unwitting victim of her egoism.
After pouring out the words that had been inside her, she felt a bit lighter.
The people she had unintentionally hurt and apologized to had typically caught on to her selfishness and disappeared without a word.
So she naturally expected Scarlet to do the sa and sat there, head lowered, waiting to hear her footsteps leave.
But at that mont, she felt a gentle touch against her hand.
“Thank you for apologizing.”
A phrase as warm as the touch conveyed from a hand.
The impact of those words made her eyes well up with tears.
Did she realize how significant those words were for her?
Seeing Scarlet made her feel as though the dam holding back her tears would burst, prompting her to swiftly flee the scene.
That night, lying in bed, she reached her arm toward the sky and gazed at her hand.
Would she forget today’s events as ti passed?
The girl gently shook her head.
The warmth from the hand that had held hers felt fresh, as if it would remain imprinted in her mory for a lifeti.
She pressed another hand atop her outstretched one.
The girl who had only ever dread of becoming a hero,
in that mont, for the first ti, desired to be friends with soone.
*
At that ti, another girl realized that macarons cut into twenty pieces were just crumbs, and she was enveloped in despair.
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