I Was the Hero, But She Turned Me Into the Villain

«Begin!» —proclaimed the referee with a firm voice, raising his hand.

The old man’s words still floated like clouds in the air when Frederick lunged at me, apparently wanting to end it quickly. He drew his sword with a dramatic flourish, as if he were in a play, and let out a confident roar.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t draw my sword.

I didn’t need to.

I watched his charge without emotion. His steps were erratic, his center of gravity poorly balanced. His whole stance was full of openings — like a door left wide open, just waiting to be pierced.

I let out a sigh.

"How disappointing..."

His attack was predictable. It was nothing more than the immature move of a child. With a simple twist of my wrist, I deflected his blade, not even letting it graze me. The blade passed cleanly, sideways, and the lack of resistance caused his body to lose its balance. He stumbled clumsily and fell face down on the ground.

—"What... was that...?" —he muttered, stunned, as he pushed himself back up.

He clumsily dusted himself off, his face red with humiliation. This time, he charged again — angrier. The horizontal slash he launched might’ve looked sharp and elegant in his mind. In reality, it was rushed and hollow.

I stepped back just half a step, dodging it easily.