My past self, who despised anything involving sweat and physical effort, would never understand this feeling.
But now?
I can grow stronger.
The thought alone reshaped my mindset completely.
Every swing of my sword made my muscles tighten, stretch, respond—almost as if telling they wanted more.
And the more they move, the stronger I’ll beco.
It was such a simple, obvious truth, yet only now did it genuinely click inside .
If I put in the effort, I’ll grow stronger.
If I grow stronger, I’ll survive.
And if I survive... I get closer to my goals.
With each swing, I absorbed every one of Lycan’s corrections—posture, angle, weight distribution, even how to breathe.
"Relax your shoulder. Don’t force the blade—guide it."
"Good. Again."
"Your core isn’t engaged. Tighten it."
"Yes, that’s it."
My sword cut through the air again and again, sharper and cleaner with every repetition.
I didn’t stop.
Not until my magical power ran completely dry—
leaving panting, drenched in sweat, and barely able to keep my grip on the sword.
But even then, with my energy drained...
I felt more alive than ever.
*****
Dominic watched with a satisfied smile as Louis swung his sword again and again, aura scattering from the blade like splintered sparks.
There was sothing undeniably refreshing about watching a student break through a wall that should’ve held them back for years.
But then his gaze drifted—and paused.
Soone else was watching Louis just as intently.
"...Hmm?"
A girl with sharp red hair tied tightly behind her head.
Clarisse.
Class D.
A student whose na had co up more often than Dominic preferred during faculty etings—never for good reasons.
Her swordsmanship lagged behind her peers.
Her rigid sense of justice—so strong it often twisted into stubbornness—alienated her classmates.
And her fiery temper made her prone to pushing herself far beyond what her body could handle.
Dominic rembered a colleague rubbing his forehead as he spoke of her, voice full of concern.
She’s talented, but she’s drowning herself.
She doesn’t know how to bend.
She’s going to break at this rate.
Dominic’s expression softened as he looked at her now.
Her lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line.
Her shoulders were stiff, as if carrying sothing unbearably heavy.
Her hands—tightly wrapped around her sword handle—were so tense he wouldn’t have been surprised if her palms split open.
She stood there, frozen, watching Louis as if she couldn’t look away.
A mont later, she swallowed hard, the motion barely visible.
Then—almost reluctantly—she stepped back, turned around, and walked away with a face that looked like soone who had made a decision they desperately didn’t want to make.
Dominic chuckled under his breath.
"Yes, yes... the passion of youth."
He assud she’d been motivated—encouraged by Louis’s sudden growth.
Seeing soone your age do the impossible could light a fire under anyone.
It reminded him of his own younger self, watching his seniors with awe and reckless ambition.
"I was once like that too," he murmured, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips as mories flickered through his mind.
But Dominic only saw the surface.
He didn’t see the way Clarisse’s fingers had trembled.
He didn’t hear the sharp, uneven breath she took just before turning away.
And he didn’t notice the hollowness in her eyes—the quiet collapse of confidence beginning inside her.
What Dominic interpreted as inspiration...
...was sothing else entirely.
A small, poisonous seed had taken root in Clarisse’s heart.
The seed of inferiority.
And now, after seeing Louis—soone who’d been mocked for his lack of magic—reach a place she had failed to touch...
That seed was beginning to sprout.
---
Her footsteps echoed dully against the hallway floor as she walked away from the training grounds, each step feeling heavier than the last.
She had intended to leave calmly.
But the mont she turned the corner—out of everyone’s sight—her breathing hitched.
"...Haah."
She pressed a hand against the wall, lowering her head as if the weight of her thoughts was too much to carry upright.
Why?
Why did it hurt so much?
She had told herself countless tis that she didn’t care.
That she walked alone because she chose to.
That she didn’t need anyone’s approval.
That justice—her justice—was more important than anything else.
But the truth she never voiced was simple:
She knew she wasn’t talented.
Not compared to the others.
Not compared to him.
And yet—and yet—
When she saw Louis manifest aura, sothing inside her cracked.
Louis.
The boy who struggled with magic.
The boy everyone dismissed.
The boy who shouldn’t have been able to touch aura long before she did.
But he did.
Right there.
Right in front of her.
She could still see the shimr of it—yellow, bright, and unmistakably real.
"...Why...?" she whispered under her breath.
Why him?
Why not ?
Her fingers curled until her nails dug painfully into her palms.
She had trained until her hands bled.
Swung her sword until her muscles scread.
Pushed herself until she could barely stand.
Every day.
Every night.
And still—nothing.
Clarisse lifted her head slightly, staring at her trembling hand.
"Was all of it... pointless?"
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
She hated how small her voice sounded.
How defeated.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
No.
No.
She wasn’t going to break.
Not here.
Not because of this.
Dominic, the other instructors—everyone always misread her.
They thought her determination was passion.
That her stubborn effort was admirable.
That she was the type to be "inspired" by others’ success.
But the truth was uglier.
Every ti soone surpassed her, she felt like she was shrinking.
Like her world was closing in.
Like she was running a race she was never ant to win.
And today... Louis had run straight past her.
Her jaw clenched.
If even he can use aura...
If even he can climb upward—
If even he...
Then what about ?
What did that make her?
Her vision blurred for a mont, and she forced it back into focus with a sharp inhale.
"...Enough."
She pushed herself off the wall, standing straight once more.
If she couldn’t catch up the usual way—
—she would find another way.
No matter how painful.
No matter how desperate.
No matter what it cost her.
Louis’s success wasn’t just motivation.
It was a threat.
A reminder that if she didn’t change sothing soon...
...she would be left behind forever.
And Clarisse would never allow that.
Never.
With eyes colder than before, she tightened her grip on her sword and walked forward—this ti with purpose burning through the cracks in her heart.
The seed had sprouted.
And what would grow from it...
Would not be sothing gentle.
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