Chapter 28 : Chapter 28
Chapter 28 : Nooo! Please Don’t Die!
As Ryan watched Eleanor’s figure disappear into the halo of light at the doorway, a familiar line of pale golden text quietly appeared at the edge of his vision like a ghost.
【Action: Defeat Eleanor Astrea in a public duel through overwhelming tactical superiority】
【Direct Consequence Probability: Probability that the target will develop a deep inner demon, suffer severe self-doubt, and become temporarily unable to wield a sword with a calm mind ≈ 65%】
Ryan stood there in place.
The noisy discussions around him, Instructor Barton’s rough shouting, and the various gazes from other students all seemed to recede in an instant, becoming distant and indistinct.
You have got to be kidding me.
According to the cursed game plot in his memory, the “Sword Heiress,” Eleanor Astrea, would indeed develop a heart demon after repeatedly losing to the “villain” Ryan.
But that was supposed to happen much later.
It happened after the main storyline began—after the Saintess Alicia had already appeared, after Eleanor had advanced to the Advanced Division, after multiple accumulated defeats. Only at a certain key turning point would her confidence finally collapse, plunging her into that desperate state where her “sword heart shattered,” leaving her unable even to hold her sword steady.
That outcome required time to ferment.
It required the stacking of many setbacks before the bitter fruit ripened.
But now?
How long had the semester even started?
Eleanor was only a second-year student in the Intermediate Division! They had barely had a handful of serious, full-power duels.
Once.
Just once—and the “heart demon probability” had already jumped to 65%.
‘Is this butterfly effect flapping a little too hard?!’ Ryan felt a chill creep up his spine. ‘In the original story she collapsed after the villain Ryan kept suppressing and mocking her over time… I only won a tactical match! How did we fast-forward straight to the core tragedy?’
His original plan had been simple.
Show enough strength so she would recognize the gap and stop coming after him—or at least stop constantly picking fights.
If he lost, he would get peace and quiet.
If he won, the trouble might increase a bit, but it would also deter a number of troublemakers.
He had never imagined that a public academy duel—with a referee present—could push this proud and resilient ducal daughter straight to the edge of a heart demon.
Sixty-five percent…
Ryan recalled Eleanor’s final look before leaving.
The flames in her eyes had sunk deep, settling into a dark, bottomless pool.
That had not been the gaze of someone who simply admitted defeat.
It had been the look of someone whose world had just cracked apart, leaving her lost in a dangerous uncertainty.
This was not the level of trouble he had anticipated.
Angering a ducal daughter would at most make academy life inconvenient—being given the cold shoulder, facing petty retaliation, maybe getting sabotaged now and then.
But if this truly resulted in Eleanor Astrea becoming someone who could no longer hold a sword…
Leaving aside what the Sword Duke—who took such pride in his daughter—might do, the sheer weight of the consequence itself—destroying the future of a genius swordswoman—made Ryan feel an inexplicable irritation… and guilt.
No.
No, that was not right.
She had been the one to initiate the fight.
The rules had been public.
He had simply responded appropriately.
Ryan forcibly suppressed the discomfort in his chest.
This was survival. Self-defense. He had done nothing wrong.
And yet…
A 65% chance of a heart demon.
“Hey! Velt! What are you spacing out for?!”
Instructor Barton’s booming voice snapped him back to reality.
“Class is over! Go do whatever you need to do! Don’t block the exit!”
Ryan came back to his senses and realized the students in the training hall had already begun dispersing in small groups. Yet many gazes still clung to him, accompanied by pointing fingers and whispering discussions.
By winning this unexpected and controversial duel, he had undoubtedly become the new center of attention.
And that attention did not come with purely positive consequences.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the tangled thoughts in his mind—and the glaring golden text—for the moment, then turned toward the exit as well.
The spot on his shoulder where Barton had slapped him still throbbed faintly.
But what unsettled him even more was the heavy sense of foreboding pressing on his heart.
Stepping out of the training hall, the afternoon sunlight felt almost blinding.
Ryan narrowed his eyes and instinctively started walking in the direction of Silver Fir Dormitory.
He needed some quiet.
He needed to sort through everything again.
‘What a mess,’ Ryan muttered inwardly as he rubbed his temples.
Meanwhile, in a corner he could not see—
Under the shadow of an ancient tree outside the training hall, a black-haired girl who had been hugging a thick stack of books and appeared to have been dozing slowly opened her eyes.
She looked toward the direction Ryan had gone.
Within her lazy gaze flickered a cold, inorganic glimmer.
She murmured something softly—so quiet it sounded like a sigh, or perhaps the whisper of someone who had just discovered a new and fascinating toy.
“A variable… accelerating.”
“Well then, things won’t be boring anymore.”
---
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows of Silver Fir Dormitory, casting bright rectangular patches across the floor of Room 207.
Cosette was kneeling on the floor of her small room.
In front of her sat a wooden washbasin filled with soaking clothes—mostly the two spare maid dresses she rotated between, along with her undergarments, and one dark academy uniform jacket Ryan had taken off the day before.
The water had grown a little cold.
Her fingers were slightly red from soaking, and the joints of her hands had turned pale from exertion. Yet she washed with great care, scrubbing each piece with effort. Her thin arms moved steadily, her shoulders following the motion as though she could scrub away the vague anxiety inside her heart and let it drain away with the dirty water.
Her master had gone to participate in that “Practice Experience Week.”
Before leaving in the morning, Ryan had mentioned it casually.
But she had secretly overheard other students talking excitedly as they passed by. They said the first day involved magic-and-martial combat demonstrations…
Of course her master was amazing. He would definitely be fine.
And yet she could not stop worrying.
Over the past few days at the academy, she had overheard many rumors about him.
They said Master Ryan was ill-tempered, an arrogant person who relied on his talent to look down on others. They said he bullied classmates and was rude and unbearable.
But none of that matched the Ryan she knew.
Her master gave her food.
He taught her how to read.
Even though his face was always expressionless and his words were often blunt, he had never beaten or scolded her without reason. That night, he had even protected her…
Those rumors had to be lies!
But…
If so many people were saying it…
Could it be because of that that Master Ryan was always being targeted and bullied outside?
Like that red-haired noble girl who had stormed over the other day—Eleanor.
Just looking at her made Cosette feel she was someone very difficult to deal with.
Would she be there today?
Would she be the one fighting Master Ryan?
What if…
What if her master could not win?
What if he got hurt?
Cosette shook her head hard, trying to fling those messy thoughts away. Her hands twisted harder as she wrung out the freshly washed dress.
Droplets splashed back into the basin with soft plips, forming glittering arcs in the slanting afternoon sunlight.
The last thing left in the basin was Ryan’s dark academy uniform jacket.
Soaked with water, the cloth looked heavy as it swayed gently in the basin.
Cosette reached out and lifted it.
Her movements unconsciously slowed and softened.
Carefully, she scrubbed the collar and cuffs—places where dust tended to gather—while the slightly rough yet soft texture brushed against her fingertips.
As she continued washing, her movements gradually slowed.