Chapter 𝟝

Time had flown by so quickly.

Less than fifteen days remained until I would start attending Kratie Academy.

Goodbye to my pleasant years, I guess. I’ll miss my old life of loafing around.

For the past two months, I’d called Franz and had him train with Schitzuro. My excuse had been that since I was training, he should be too.

“Kyla, can’t I just rest today? I promise to practice even when you’re gone.”

“Put your hand over your heart, Franz, and comb your memory. Have you ever trained by yourself, even once?”

“No.”

“Then shut up and change.”

Franz was not particularly sluggish or physically inept, but he disliked training. He preferred to sit at his desk for long periods and read. There was no way he would train with Schitzuro on his own.

“I’ve never practiced this hard, even with Schuette,” he grumbled.

This is all for your sake, you ingrate! It’s the way all of us will survive—you, me, and our parents!

Franz now held Schitzuro, but it was no use if he didn’t master it. Once he did, he could finally be safe. I needed to make that happen, even if it meant forcing him to train.

“Schitzuro,” Franz murmured, kissing the shield symbol on his left wrist. A magic circle shaped like a shield appeared in the air.

“Incredible!”

Exclamations came from all around. It looked at least ten times bigger than the last time I’d seen it. Just as expected, he was progressing at a scary pace.

Why does he hate training so much if he’s so good at it? Forcing him to come to the training field at all is hard work. I’ll be your harsh drill sergeant until I go to Kratie Academy, boy.

“To your positions!” my father said, eyeing the knights.

One of them tossed a wooden sword at Franz.

Schitzuro deflected it easily.

The knight picked it back up and sent a signal. This time, six knights all lunged at Franz at the same time.

Franz held out his hand, and suddenly, there were four shields instead of one.

Well, that’s not bad at all.

I wasn’t the only one mesmerized by this performance. Now that four shields surrounded him, the knights hesitated, awed by the sight. One of the knights realized that they needed to do something more, and he sent a signal.

The knights bashed their wooden swords against Schitzuro, but they were all immediately deflected or broken.

“Excellent. He’s already learned multidirectional defense.”

Father was so pleased that he got to his feet and applauded.

Franz put Schitzuro away and blushed. He had never been complimented like this while learning to use the sword, though he was partly to blame for that, since he’d let his talent go to waste.

“You’re learning quickly. Soon you’ll be able to do area defense,” I said.

“Area defense? Look, I’m just a beginner—”

“No, you can. Trust me.”

As the name implied, area defense involved protecting a large area. A non-master of Schitzuro could, at maximum, protect a large castle. However, if Franz attained master status, his ability would further increase.

According to the texts, Schitzuro had, at one point, been used to protect an entire city the size of the imperial capital. If Franz became Schitzuro’s master, then he could use Schitzuro’s power to protect the Vesta territory.

Franz seemed excited and almost incredulous about his success.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “This feels much more manageable than when I was using Schuette. It’s like Schitzuro is doing exactly what I want it to—like Schitzuro and I are one. I never felt this way when I was using Schuette. Strange.”

There was nothing strange about it. This had already been mentioned in the comic.

Franz was meant to have Schitzuro, not Schuette.

Just as Astair had claimed with such certainty in the comic, Franz had the potential to become a master of Schitzuro.

I was even more certain of this after seeing Franz’s skill with my own eyes. My brother would soon reach that level of mastery.

In the comic, a master of Schitzuro was so strong that not even Astair, who conquered the Magic Tower, could defeat him.

Astair even told Franz the following after locking him in a dungeon:

“I’m glad you weren’t given Schitzuro. If you’d mastered it, I wouldn’t have been able to make you mine like this.”

When I’d been reading the comic, I’d assumed that Franz would take Schitzuro after Kyla’s death and become its master. He would’ve then proceeded to take revenge on all the aggressive love interests who had tormented him.

But that idea had turned out to be a dud.

At the time, I’d cursed the author for adding that line from Astair. It had seemed like an unnecessary bit of information that only served to get readers’ hopes up.

But now, I felt grateful for it. I was living as Kyla, and thanks to that information, I could now change the future.

“Perhaps you can even master it, Lord Franz,” said Alto, the steward. Amazement flashed in his eyes.

The House of Vesta had failed to produce a master of Schitzuro for four generations now. If Franz managed to pull it off, he would be the first man to do so in a hundred years.

“What about you, Lady Kyla? Is Schuette a good fit for you?” Alto asked.

I glanced down at the small sword symbol on the back of my hand. A sigh automatically escaped me.

“I don’t think I’ll ever master Schuette.”

Alto’s wrinkles deepened, and I groaned.

“What makes you think that?” he asked.

“I think you’ll know when you see for yourself.”

To be frank, I’d been excited about my potential when Schuette had first entered my possession. Schuette had also been without a true master for generations, and I’d thought that perhaps I had the makings of one. After all, I’d won a district kendo competition in my past life. I’d been confident that my talents had carried over into this life.

“Well, let’s see how you’re doing, Kyla. Have you been practicing?”

I heaved a sigh at the expectant look in my father’s eyes. I was practicing daily, yes, but I was also having lots of issues.

“Wrong again, Lady Kyla. Your left shoulder is too open.” My tutor slapped my shoulder. “Open your stance! Why do you keep bringing your feet closer together?”

The man’s practice rapier immediately prodded at my belly.

“Opening!”

“Attack, Lady Kyla!”

“Hmm...”

My father began to look very worried—it was so different from how he’d gazed at Franz.

The tutor also seemed troubled. “Strange. Lady Kyla is learning sword fighting for the first time. Where are these strange habits coming from? Her movements are strange. Look at the way she twists her wrists.”

“It’s like she’s lost. She can’t figure out what she’s doing.”

Both the tutor and my father criticized my technique heavily. I held a thin practice rapier in my right hand, but my body was assuming the kendo stances I’d learned in my past life.

Habits could be scary. I felt my face burn.

“And look at the way she holds the sword. Odd.”

“Why does she keep using two hands? Is the practice sword too heavy for her?”

The wind carried the whispers of the knights to my ears. Why was it that insults and criticism were always so easy to hear?

“I have to be honest. I don’t think she has it in her.”

“How does she plan to become a knight?”

I’d never been so insulted over my swordsmanship in my entire life.

***

After practice, I quickly bathed, but I found that I couldn’t leave the soaking tub for a good while.

I’d confidently declared that I’d become a knight, continue the family line, become its head, and all that jazz. But now, I knew better—the moment I entered Kratie Academy, I knew I would make a fool of myself.

My father had even suggested alternate options—he’d said that becoming a knight probably wasn’t for me.

“Franz now has Schitzuro, and the cadets won’t be able to hurt him easily,” Father reasoned. “He wasn’t bad with his sword either, so I think it would be better for him to be knighted instead, as was originally planned. Think it over.”

“But that’ll render all my efforts pointless!”

Franz was just as defenseless as ever. He hadn’t mastered Schitzuro yet. He needed to stay hidden for the time being, and that meant I couldn’t allow him to go back.

“What do I do now?”

I tore at my hair, unable to decide.

“You should first work on your stamina.”

Alto, the steward, had told me this earlier as I’d left the training field. He’d patted me on the back as I’d walked away with drooping shoulders.

“You know what to do, but your body can’t keep up, can it?”

He was right. Kyla Vesta’s body refused to do my bidding. If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve focused on training it the moment I entered her body.

Why did I allow three years to go to waste?

No matter the sport, pursuing it seriously meant starting at 5 or 6 years old.

“Well, fine! I’ll run if I have time for regret!”

I decided to focus my efforts on basic training from now on. I recalled the dance tutor I’d fired, since I’d have to work on my mobility. And every morning, I’d ride and jog and scale rocky walls on a nearby mountain. If that didn’t work, I could at least climb to the window of my room.

I was starting to feel anxious.