It’s been three years.
Ever since I entered the Hero Academy—no... even before I enrolled—my sword stopped growing.
It was as if I’d slamd into a wall so massive it blocked the sky.
I swung day and night, trying to crack it.
I changed my grip.
Adjusted my stance.
Altered my breathing.
I repeated the Sun Sword’s forms until my muscles scread and my bones felt hollow.
But nothing changed.
No matter how many tis I polished the sa blade, the edge wouldn’t sharpen.
The Sun Sword’s Sixth Form.
White Light.
That was the highest form I could reach.
People who knew House Helios would praise .
For soone only twenty years old to master the Sixth Form, it’s unbelievable.
No one aside from Reynald Helios achieved that at such a young age.
I heard those words many tis.
Sotis from nobles.
Sotis from instructors.
Sotis from cadets who smiled while their eyes burned with envy.
But every ti, the sa thought returned.
This isn’t enough.
I had a reason.
A reason I couldn’t say aloud.
A reason that made my hands grip the sword until my palms bled.
To reach higher.
To reach further.
Until I beca a sun that could not be eclipsed.
I couldn’t stop here.
So I trained.
Every day.
Without missing a single day, I poured everything into the sword.
But the wall never moved.
It stood before —dreadfully solid, impossibly high.
And each ti my blade bounced off it, a familiar panic crawled up my throat.
I have to get stronger. Stronger. Stronger.
If I don’t—
If I don’t get stronger, then I—
Then I...
"If only you... if only you didn’t exist! Just you!"
The nightmare ca again.
Every night, the sa scene.
The crash of a flower pot shattering.
Water spreading across the floor.
Sharp shards glittering like teeth.
Hands around my neck.
Pressure.
Suffocation.
The world narrowing into darkness.
Bloodshot eyes staring down at .
And a voice—shaking, hateful, broken—spitting the sa words.
I woke up drenched in sweat, breath ragged, the taste of panic in my mouth.
I have to get stronger.
If I don’t...
I don’t deserve to live.
It was in that state—stuck, desperate, scraping at a wall that refused to crack—that I heard the rumor.
It was a casual conversation.
A classmate beside spoke with unnecessary respect, the kind people used around even when I asked them not to.
—Yuren, have you heard?
—Have I heard what?
—A guy in Class C. Dale Han.
I barely reacted.
Rumors about talented cadets surfaced every week.
But then the classmate continued, voice a little too excited.
—They keep comparing you to him. Isn’t that ridiculous?
That made look up.
Comparing to a Class C cadet?
My classmate laughed like it was absurd.
—He’s ranked dead last. But they say he beat Instructor Vincent. Cleanly.
I didn’t believe it.
Not at first.
Then more rumors piled on top of each other.
—They say he defeated Professor Lucas.
—He knocked out Camilla with one blow.
—He cut down dozens of beasts in seconds.
Most of it sounded like the usual academy exaggeration—stories that grew larger each ti they were retold.
But one detail caught .
A single line that made my heart thud.
—And they say he cut through a wooden training sword with another wooden sword... without using mana.
That shouldn’t be possible.
Training swords weren’t fragile sticks. They were reinforced—dense, treated, built to endure repeated impacts.
Cutting one with another without mana ant the swordsman’s technique was so clean and precise that the force traveled exactly where it needed to go.
No waste.
No wobble.
No hesitation.
Just truth.
So I went.
Not because I believed it.
Because I needed to see.
And there he was.
A gray-haired cadet standing across from Assistant Instructor Vincent.
The match wasn’t even close.
It was too one-sided to be called a spar.
When Vincent staggered back clutching his bleeding arm, and the gray-haired cadet stood calmly as if he’d rely finished stretching—
Sothing in my chest sparked.
A thrill.
A sharp, bright excitent that I hadn’t felt in years.
It reminded of the feeling I used to have as a child, when I first realized the sword could be more than steel.
It reminded of hope.
I didn’t understand it.
But the next day, as if possessed, I sought him out.
I told myself it was just a spar.
A curiosity.
—After watching your match, I really wanted to spar with you, Dale.
It was half true.
The other half was uglier.
I wanted to talk.
I wanted to ask him things I couldn’t ask anyone else.
I wanted to know why his sword looked like it was still growing.
And then I crossed swords with him.
No mana.
Just blades.
And I lost.
Overwhelmingly.
It wasn’t humiliating.
It was worse.
It was enlightening.
Because when you lose to soone stronger, you can bla power.
When you lose to soone with less mana, less prestige, less everything—
You can’t bla anything except yourself.
And I realized sothing terrifying.
Maybe this person could show how to break the wall.
The chances were slim.
But desperation made even slim chances feel like salvation.
So I asked.
I lowered my pride.
I did what I hadn’t done in three years.
I reached for help.
When he spoke, it wasn’t grand.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was one sentence.
"Don’t think about where you want to aim the sword," Dale said. "Think about where the sword wants to go."
The mont I heard it—
It felt like lightning struck my mind.
Think not about where I want.
But where the sword itself wants.
In other words...
Stop forcing the blade.
Stop dragging it like a tool.
Instead—
Put your will into it, and let it guide you.
A ridiculous concept.
A radical one.
One I’d never considered because no one dared teach it to .
They taught forms.
They taught etiquette.
They taught "correctness."
But no one taught how to listen to the blade.
And in that instant, I felt it.
A tiny crack.
A hairline fracture in the wall that had blocked for three years.
It wasn’t broken.
Not even close.
But for the first ti—
It wasn’t perfect anymore.
My throat tightened.
"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you so much."
Emotion surged up so fast I couldn’t stop myself.
I stepped forward and hugged him.
Not tightly.
Not dramatically.
Just... impulsively, like I was grabbing onto sothing real before it vanished.
Dale froze.
Then awkwardly patted my shoulder.
"Uh... yeah?"
The mont I realized what I’d done, my face burned.
"Ah—sorry."
I pulled back quickly, clearing my throat.
Silence.
Awkward.
Painful.
What were you thinking, Yuren?
I needed to fix it.
Fast.
"T-thank you for today," I said, too stiff. "I’ll repay this favor. No matter what."
"It’s fine," Dale said, waving it off. "Don’t worry about it."
"No," I insisted. "I have to."
I couldn’t accept sothing that aningful for free.
I turned and hurried to the storage locker inside my private training area.
I rummaged through items until my fingers found a familiar container.
A mana-enhancing elixir.
A gift for being top-ranked.
For , it was nearly useless now—too weak to make a difference.
But for Dale, who clearly had lower mana reserves...
It would help.
I returned and placed it in his hand.
"This is—an elixir?"
"Yes," I said quickly. "It may not be huge, but it’ll increase your mana."
Dale stared at it, then chuckled.
"You’re really giving this? Mana elixirs are rare."
"What you taught is worth far more."
Dale’s smile was faint.
Then he said sothing that made strangely embarrassed.
"Well... with your mana, this probably doesn’t an much anyway."
"...."
He wasn’t wrong.
But hearing it out loud made feel like I’d tried to repay a priceless gift with pocket change.
"N-no," I said quickly. "I’m not saying we’re even. I’ll give you sothing else later—"
"Enough," Dale said, cutting off. "Between friends, who keeps score?"
"...Friends?"
The word hit strangely.
Dale stiffened too, like he’d said it by accident.
"Ah— I an," he coughed. "After crossing swords like that... aren’t we friends?"
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
"...Yeah. Friends."
Friends.
Why did that word twist sothing inside my chest?
It wasn’t dislike.
It wasn’t anger.
It was... unfamiliar.
Like a door I didn’t know I still had being pushed open.
Dale cleared his throat and continued as if nothing happened.
"Anyway. How about we et every Wednesday and Friday? Two hours each ti. I’ll teach you."
My eyes widened.
"...You’ll keep teaching ?"
"What, did you think swordsmanship changes in one day?" Dale said dryly.
"No," I said quickly. "I just... I’m grateful."
Too grateful.
And I didn’t understand why he was being this kind to soone he barely knew.
Before I could ask, Dale turned to leave.
"It’s getting late," he said. "I’m heading off."
"...Yeah."
A strange urge rose in my throat.
Don’t go.
Stay.
Just a little longer.
I swallowed it.
Instead, I forced out sothing safer.
"Uh—hey."
Dale paused.
"Hm?"
"Can I... add your Hero Watch contact?"
Dale blinked, then laughed lightly.
"Oh. Right. I forgot."
He extended his wrist.
A hologram popped up.
[Register ’Dale Han’ as a contact? (YES / NO)]
My hand moved instantly.
YES.
[Contact successfully registered.]
Dale nodded.
"See you tomorrow, then. It’s Wednesday. We’ll ssage about ti."
With that, he left.
Alone in the quiet training hall, I stared at my Hero Watch.
Dale Han.
His contact.
His na.
A strange weight settled in my chest.
Dark gray hair like ash.
Sharp eyes.
Green irises that didn’t match the rest of him.
Not the kind of face nobles swooned over.
But there was sothing about him that pulled attention the way a fla pulled air.
I touched the screen once, then stopped.
Should I ssage him?
Ask if he wanted dinner?
Talk more?
Anything.
Just... a little longer.
I lifted my hand.
Then lowered it.
"...I’m being ridiculous."
I wasn’t allowed to be swept away by feelings.
Not after what happened.
Not with what I carried.
I walked into the washroom and faced the mirror.
The reflection was the sa as always.
Golden hair.
Golden eyes.
A perfect Helios heir.
I raised a hand to my chest.
My fingertips brushed the Stigma carved there.
And the cold reminder returned.
My jaw clenched.
I reached beneath my collar and removed the pendant hanging there.
The mont it left my skin—
Wooooong.
A pale light spread over my body like mist.
The air shimred.
My reflection blurred.
When the light faded, the mirror no longer showed the "perfect heir."
It showed the truth I hid.
A different silhouette.
Different features.
Not a different person—the sa soul, the sa vow, the sa na.
But a body the world wasn’t supposed to know existed.
I stared at the mirror, expression hard.
Then turned on the water.
Ssssshhhh.
Warm water poured down.
And I whispered the vow I had repeated hundreds—no, thousands—of tis.
"Don’t forget."
My fist clenched.
"I am Yuren Helios."
Because eight years ago...
Yurina Helios died.
And soone had to survive in her place.
Even if it ant living as a lie.
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