The wooden sword felt heavier than it should have.
Not because it weighed much—but because of what it represented.
Opportunity.
Danger.
And a path I could not afford to ignore.
I tightened my grip around the worn hilt and looked up at Instructor Seraphina Valencrest. She stood a few steps away, posture relaxed, yet every inch of her radiated alertness. The night breeze stirred her coat slightly, mana faintly rippling around her like an unseen tide.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The academy training ground lay quiet under the moonlight, empty and vast, as though the world itself had stepped back to watch.
I exhaled slowly and assumed my stance again.
Feet apart. Knees slightly bent. Grip firm, but not tense.
Seraphina circled me once, her footsteps unhurried.
"Your stance is still wrong," she said flatly.
I didn't argue.
"Your weight is forward-heavy," she continued. "You're compensating for weak legs by leaning into the ground."
I adjusted instinctively, shifting my center of gravity back by a fraction.
She stopped.
"…Better," she said. "You corrected without being told how."
I met her gaze. "I've noticed that when I lean forward, I recover slower after a miss."
A pause.
Seraphina's lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but close.
"So you observe," she said. "Good."
She stepped closer and suddenly struck.
Not hard—but fast.
Her staff clipped my wooden sword, knocking it aside. I stumbled half a step, boots scraping against the dirt, but I didn't fall.
I adjusted immediately, tightening my core, lowering my stance.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Again."
This time, I was ready.
She attacked from the opposite angle. I didn't try to block it directly—instead, I twisted my wrist and let the impact slide along the wooden blade. The force traveled past me rather than into me.
My arms screamed.
But I stayed standing.
Seraphina halted.
"…Interesting," she murmured.
I breathed through the pain, heart pounding.
"That wasn't strength," she said. "That was understanding."
I nodded. "Force doesn't need to be resisted. It needs to be redirected."
She studied me intently now, eyes sharp and calculating.
"Who taught you that?" she asked.
"No one," I answered honestly. "I just… thought about what kept breaking me."
Silence followed.
The kind that pressed against the ears.
Seraphina finally straightened and walked a few steps away, gazing up at the night sky.
"Rias von Leonhart," she said slowly, "you are not gifted."
"I know."
"You are not talented."
"I know."
"You are not special."
I hesitated, then nodded. "…I know."
She turned back toward me.
"And yet," she continued, "you learn faster than most of the students I've taught."
That made my chest tighten.
"Not because your body is superior," she added. "But because your mind is."
I lowered my sword slightly. "My mind…?"
"You think before acting," she said. "You analyze mistakes instead of cursing them. You adapt."
She approached again.
"Most students chase power," she said. "You chase efficiency."
I hesitated, then asked the question that had been circling my thoughts since she summoned me here.
"Instructor," I said carefully, "what do you gain by teaching me?"
She stopped.
The air shifted.
Her gaze sharpened—not hostile, but dangerous in a way that made my instincts scream.
"No one," I continued evenly, "invests time without intention."
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then—
She smiled.
It was not kind.
It was not reassuring.
It was the sort of smile one gave before stepping into a battlefield.
"You're smarter than you look," she said softly.
I swallowed.
"But that question," she continued, "is one you are not ready to hear the answer to."
Her eyes glinted faintly under the moonlight.
"Not yet."
A chill crept down my spine.
"…I see," I said after a brief pause.
She tilted her head. "Does that frighten you?"
I thought about it.
About my weak body.
About my limited time.
About the academy.
About the future I knew awaited me if I stayed the same.
"…Yes," I admitted. "But not enough to make me walk away."
Her smile widened—just a fraction.
"Good," she said. "Because fear sharpens judgment."
I lowered my head slightly.
"Whatever your intention is," I said calmly, "I'll accept it."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Even if it harms you?"
"Even then," I replied. "I can't afford to waste chances."
That was the truth.
Whether Seraphina had plans for me or not, this was an opening I might never get again. Power didn't come to people like me unless it was seized—carefully, intelligently, and without hesitation.
Seraphina studied me for several seconds.
Then she turned away.
"Enough talk," she said. "Train."
She raised her staff.
"This time," she added, "don't block."
I stiffened. "Then what should I—"
She struck.
Instinct took over.
I moved—not backward, but sideways, twisting my torso just enough to let the strike graze past me. Pain flared as the staff clipped my shoulder, but I stayed upright.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each strike came from a different angle. Each time, I failed—then adjusted. Failed—then corrected.
I wasn't memorizing her movements.
I was understanding them.
Patterns emerged.
Her footwork shifted slightly before a downward strike. Her shoulder dipped before a thrust. Her breathing changed before a feint.
I caught it.
Barely.
But I caught it.
"Stop," she said suddenly.
I froze, chest heaving, sweat dripping down my face.
She looked at me now—not as a student.
But as a variable.
"…You learn frighteningly fast," she said quietly.
I forced a weak smile. "I don't have the luxury of learning slowly."
She nodded once.
"Then we're done for tonight."
I blinked. "Already?"
"You're at your limit," she said. "Push further and you'll injure yourself. Weak bodies break easily."
She turned away, walking toward the edge of the training ground.
"As for your question," she added without looking back, "about what I gain—"
She paused.
"When the time comes," she said dangerously, "you'll understand why I chose you."
Then she left.
I stood there alone, wooden sword still in hand, heart pounding.
The night felt colder than before.
"…Troublesome," I muttered.
But even as unease lingered in my chest, another feeling burned stronger.
Determination.
Whatever game she was playing—
I would become strong enough to survive it.