"How was it?" Tiara asked as Cyro stepped back inside the manor, wiping the single bead of sweat he produced from his brow after sparring with his little brother.
"He's better," Cyro said simply.
"Really? Isn't that a good thing?"
"Yeah."
"Then why is your face like…"
"Like what?"
"Go look in the mirror," Tiara said, crossing her arms.
Cyro went over to the nearest mirror and saw the expression on his face. He meant to hide it, but the thoughts of his must've slipped out from underneath the mask.
The reflection staring back at him wore an expression of concern mixed with unease.
"Mom," he said quietly, "the way he fought today… it's like I was up against a completely different person. His technique used to be raw, unrefined, but full of potential. I always thought that with time at the academy, he'd surpass me or any of our other brothers."
"Not your sister? Lucy?" Tiara teased with a small smile.
Cyro chuckled. "No one surpasses Lucy. When it comes to pure swordsmanship, she's in a class of her own. I don't know many who could rival her, myself included."
Tiara's smile widened with pride even though she had purposely pried that compliment out of her oldest son.
That smile faded when she saw the look in his eyes again.
"That rawness of his is gone. He's sharper than ever. He's… at least fifty percent of a better swordsman than he was the last time I sparred with him."
"Then what's wrong? Doesn't that mean his hard work paid off?"
"Then what's wrong? Doesn't that mean his hard work paid off?" Tiara asked with a smile. She had been worried about how much her youngest son had been pushing himself, but seeing that it resulted in something good, she was starting to feel much better about it.
Cyro hesitated to respond.
"You wouldn't understand unless you've fought your whole life, Mom. When someone's trained a specific way for years, it's impossible to completely change their style in just a few months… let alone come out more skilled. But Bell didn't just change his form. He's fighting better. Smarter. That's either a sign that the previous style of him was vastly inferior…"
Tiara knew that couldn't be the case because that style belonged to House Agnus.
"Or there's another force at place."
Tiara's voice dropped as she asked, "You think something's influencing him?"
"I'm not sure. And I don't think he'll give us an answer if we ask."
Tiara's expression hardened with worry. She asked, "So what can we do? Do you think it's the work of a—"
"Calm down, Mom," Cyro interrupted, putting on a gentle smile to calm his mother. "Let's not even speak that possibility into existence. Whatever's happening, it's not that. I can feel it."
"…Alright," Tiara said softly. "I'll believe you."
While his brother and mother were discussing the possibility that Bell had been corrupted by an unknown entity, the truth was far simpler:
Bell was merging two worlds, the techniques he brought from Earth with the ingrained muscle memory of the body he now inhabited. What emerged was something fluid, unpredictable… and frighteningly effective.
'As expected from the Red-Eyed Paladin,' he thought, pulling himself off the floor after their match.
The spar had been one-sided even though Cyro barely tried, but every exchange gave him data, new ways to adapt, improve, and evolve.
Sitting down, he closed his eyes, replaying the fight in his head, adjusting each movement in his mental simulation. A parry angled slightly differently. A shift in weight. A strike a fraction slower to bait a counter.
In his mind's eye, the duel played again and again, and although he was losing every single time, each round he was performing a little better than the last.
Once all the data had been implemented and there was no more room for growth, at least substantial growth, he picked up his weapon again and faced his retainer.
The change was immediate.
Both of them could feel that Bell had a sharper rhythm and his strikes had fewer flaws than before.
The spar lasted ten exchanges longer than usual before the retainer finally struck the finishing blow.
* * *
At the beginning of every semester, students of Trinity Academy could choose whether they wanted to commute or live in a dorm.
A fair number chose to commute. Despite the city's size, traffic was hardly an issue; you rarely came to a complete stop on the road, so the journey wasn't much of a hassle. If this were the same city size on Earth, though, a thirty-minute trip could easily turn into a two-hour journey on a bad day.
Still, most students preferred dorm life. Living on campus meant a short walk to morning classes and the freedom to stay late, hanging around the academy's facilities or visiting friends' rooms until curfew.
Diana had chosen the dorms this semester to the surprise of her friends.
It was a new experience; last year, she was a commuter and would travel back and forth from her apartment every day.
The reason for the change was quite simple: it was already hard enough for her mentally to try and make it to school knowing that Bell was in the same vicinity, so she might as well make the dreadful journey a little shorter by being close to the academy.
To her surprise, though, the choice she made out of necessity had turned into a good one. She shared a dorm with six of her friends, and as the evening progressed, laughter and chatter filled the dorm room of two of them, who were roommates.
For a while, her shoulders eased as she forgot about her problems. Her chest felt lighter.
For a brief, precious moment, she felt like a normal girl again.
Then one of her friends asked a question, "Does anyone here have a crush?"
"A crush?" another repeated.
"Yeah, I have one."
"You do?! Who?"
"Who? Who? Who?"
It was just schoolgirls being schoolgirls.
"Alexander," the girl admitted.
"Which Alexander?"
"The tall one. The one with green eyes."
"Alexander Griffin?"
"Yeah! That's his last name, I remember now."
"Hehehehe."
"You have a crush~ You have a crush~ Alexander and Jasmine sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love—"
"Shut it! Hahahaha."
Another friend confessed, "I think I might have a crush on this boy in my science class."
"Ouuuu! What's his name?"
"I don't exactly remember, but I think it starts with a K. He sits across from me."
"With a K? Across from you? Hmm… wait! Are you talking about Kreppel? That four-eyed nerd? Ewwww."
"Don't 'ewwww'. I'll bite you. I said I might have a crush. Might."
The two girls pretended to fight before laughing it off and rolling onto their backs.
"Uhm," said another girl, twirling her hair, "I don't know about a crush, but I think the hottest boy in our school is Bell Agnus."
Diana's heart sank the moment she heard his name. That weightless feeling in her chest was immediately replaced by an anchor that had attached itself to her heart.
"Bell? Yeah, I agree," one said. "Alexander's cute, but Bell's on another level."
"I mean, he's the son of the Tiara Agnus. I wish she'd visit the academy someday. I'd die just seeing her, let alone getting a signature."
"That's not even fair," another chimed in. "Bell's not like the rest of us. We're talking mortals here. He's more like… a deity."
"Exactly! That's why, even if I think he's hot, I wouldn't dare have a crush on him. Forget punching up, any girl who tries to go for him would be like an ant trying to conquer the world."
All this talk about Bell, praising his looks, was starting to make Diana nauseous.
Every word felt like a stone hitting Diana's chest. They didn't know — they couldn't know — but it still felt like being mocked and getting stomped on while already on the ground.
Standing abruptly, she stammered, "I-I-I need to go to the bathroom."
"Okay. Be quick," one said, already giggling at another comment.
"Do you think Bell has a fiancée?"
"I'm not sure. I mean, yeah, he's a noble, but aren't arranged marriages kinda old-fashioned?"
"True. But if he does, she'd better be at least half as good-looking as him or people will call her a toad."
In the bathroom, Diana gripped the sink and stared at her reflection.
Speaking of toads, it felt like there was a toad inside her body that was trying to crawl out.
"Stop shaking," she whispered to herself. "Stop shaking. Stop shaking! He's not here. They're just talking about him. He's not here. You're okay, Diana. You're okay."
She gagged, then stumbled to the toilet and vomited.
When it was over, she sat on the cool tile floor, hugging her knees after dragging herself to the corner of the bathroom.
She just wanted to be alone, to feel safe for a moment.
Fifteen minutes passed before she finally emerged. Thankfully, the topic had shifted; now her friends were debating where to hang out next weekend when they were all free.
Diana rejoined them, smiling faintly as if nothing had happened, chiming in with a few suggestions of her own.
* * *
Two days later.
"Do you want to lead us for this exercise?" asked one of Bell's group members nervously. "Of course, you don't have to!" he shook his hands profusely as if worried that Bell would receive his intentions the wrong way. "One of us can lead if you don't want to. I just wanted to ask if you'd like to."
"I think you should be our leader," said the girl beside him, looking up at Bell with eyes that were making the shape of a heart. Her hands were clasped together, swaying slightly as if to emphasize her awe.
The fourth member, a tall man built like a wall with broad shoulders wider than the ocean, simply nodded.
"Sure," Bell accepted the offer. "I can lead."
"Great," the first student replied, relieved.
At the front of the field, the instructor's voice carried effortlessly across the training grounds even though she was speaking in her normal tone of voice. "Have you all decided on your leaders? Raise your hand if you haven't."
A few hands went up, and she pointed to random students. "You're the leader now. Don't overthink it. Remember, this exercise won't affect your grade. It's just for me to gauge your current level. Everyone will get a turn leading by the end of the day, so don't panic if it's not you this round."
She paused — and Bell noticed her eyes land directly on him.
He was right to notice.
"Although it won't count toward your grade," she continued, "I'll make it more interesting. One of you will take on the role of a rat."
"A rat," a student muttered.
A rat? Why a rat? What is a rat?
"In this exercise, if you defeat the rat's team, you'll earn extra credit. If you lose, don't worry, nothing happens. The rat, however, to make it fair for them as well, will gain extra credit the more they win, but if they lose even once, their score resets to zero. Now then, who wants to be the rat?"
It was a high-risk, high-reward role.
Unsurprisingly, most of the Combat students raised their hands. They had picked the Combat path in the first place because they aspired to be stronger, and the challenge alone was enough to draw out their ambitions and ego.
The instructor pretended to scan the crowd and even stroked her chin a few times as if she was pondering before pointing decisively.
"I've decided. Bell Agnus will be the rat. If you defeat his team while he's the leader, you'll earn extra credit. If you beat him personally when he's just a soldier, you'll still earn the same reward."
Every student turned around to look at him. Hundreds of eyes were staring at him as if he were a fresh plate of steak.
Bell hadn't even raised his hand. Yet he was chosen because the decision had always been predetermined from the start.
Although this was unfair, he just thought to himself, 'If I go undefeated, how much extra credit would that be?'
It was obvious, the instructor couldn't punish him openly, so this was her way of doing it.
Still, he didn't care much. He'd already expected it from the moment they made eye contact.
The only reason he didn't raise his hand in the first place was that he had a feeling when they made eye contact that he was going to be chosen regardless of the matter.
"How does that sound?" the instructor asked Bell.
"That sounds perfect," he said with a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes.