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🖤 The Villainess Just Wants to Sleep

Chapter 9: The Clash of Sun and Shadow

> “Some swords were forged for ceremony. Others for survival.”

— Old Palace Soldier

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The sword training grounds behind the Academy were usually quiet this early in the morning.

Not today.

Half the class had gathered already. Rumors had flown like wildfire:

> The Crown Prince will spar today.

He requested it.

He chose Kaelaira.

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Kaelaira stood at one end of the stone platform, her practice blade resting lightly in her hand. Her expression unreadable. Her posture perfect. Calm. Silent.

Across from her, Crown Prince Laerion, dressed in royal-blue training gear embroidered with golden thread, rolled his shoulders slowly — calm, precise, focused.

The instructor hesitated before announcing the match.

“First strike to disarm or three direct points. No blood. Begin.”

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The first few clashes were clean.

Steel met steel. Footwork flawless. Neither yielding.

But something crackled beneath the rhythm — an old silence that had waited too long to speak.

> Kaelaira spun low — blocked.

Laerion stepped forward — parried.

She twisted, reversed — struck near his shoulder.

He blocked — barely.

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By the seventh exchange, students from other classes were gathering at the edges of the yard.

By the tenth, even the etiquette instructor Madam Everen and the political theory master had stepped out onto the terrace to watch.

> “Is this still a spar?” someone whispered.

“No. This is a message.”

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Kaelaira’s breaths were controlled but rapid.

Laerion’s expression had gone colder than ever.

“You’re good,” he said quietly, circling.

Kaelaira didn’t answer.

“You fight like someone who’s always defending herself.”

Kaelaira finally replied, voice low:

> “Because I always am.”

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Then they moved at the same time.

> Laerion slashed low — she leapt back.

She feinted — he caught it.

He thrust forward — she twisted into the blow, narrowly dodging, blade grazing his arm.

Gasps erupted.

The instructor stepped forward — “Enough!”

But the two ignored him.

> Clang. Spin. Strike. Block. Push. Slide. Thrust.

It was no longer a duel. It was a conversation — one they’d never had in words.

> You think you're better because of birth?

I had to earn every breath.

> You walk in light?

I trained in darkness.

> You were born to rule?

I was made to survive.

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Their blades locked — faces inches apart.

The tension was unbearable.

Then — Kaelaira stepped back. Lowered her blade.

“I yield,” she said softly.

The court froze.

The prince blinked. “Why?”

Kaelaira looked at him, not with defeat, but with eerie calm.

> “Because a shadow cannot strike the sun. Not here. Not yet.”

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The instructor called the match.

Applause was hesitant. The mood was electric.

Even Madam Everen, watching from the terrace, whispered, “That… was not a child’s duel.”

And the political instructor murmured, “That girl… is going to change the court.”

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Later, in the dressing quarters, Laerion sat alone, wiping blood from his arm.

Elara entered silently.

“You fought her,” she said.

“She nearly beat me,” he replied.

“…Are you angry?”

Laerion looked at the wound.

> “No,” he whispered. “I’m wary.”

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Kaelaira, meanwhile, walked alone through the back halls, still clutching the wooden sword.

She passed students whispering her name, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t smile.

Only thought:

> Now they’ll watch me.

Which means I must be quieter than ever.

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End of Chapter 9

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