I stood in front of my dorms’ notice boards.
On them, a certain parchnt was pinned, right dead center, dragging all eyes towards it.
—
DISCIPLINARY ACTION NOTICE:
Due to the fabrication of a false report and an attempt to deface another student’s na, these students shall be disciplined with the following:
Nicholas of House Nineid(Year 2, Honors): Class transfer to Year 2, Oxen Class.
Ravilenna of House Loredein(Year 1, Honors): Class transfer to Year 1, Bison Class.
Markus of House Moreid: Suspension from all academic activities for one month.
Alishia of House Pareid: Suspension from all academic activities for one month.
Any further attempts to subvert the Royal Knights’ code of integrity will result in an imdiate expulsion.
Signed,
The Director of Public Relations
—
This must be why Ravilenna was so salty yesterday.
Damn… The director didn’t waste any ti at all issuing out the punishnts, huh?
Quite heavy ones too… for them, at least.
Apparently, Nicholas was an Honors student as well, but a year higher than Ravilenna and .
Being demoted from that class must’ve put a dent on his gold-plated back. I briefly pondered how his expression must’ve looked when he heard the news. But hey, that’s what you get for trying to give a false report directly to a director.
Though, to be fair, the only reason the director burned the report was that it targeted , soone who technically outranked him with my Ducal heir status. If I were anyone else, regardless of whether the report was true or not, I’d probably be the one on that board right now.
I didn’t know if I should feel happy seeing these punishnts due to that, knowing this wasn’t actually real justice, just a director playing favorites with on the favored side. I almost felt bad for them, too.
But then I rembered Nicholas and Alishia’s aweso idea to make commoners use separate washrooms outside the main building so they didn't have to share the air with them.
Yeah… maybe they deserve this.
As I started heading to my classes, I noticed the announcent was plastered on basically every board I passed. The academy clearly wanted their nas drowned in mud. Was this Director Randolph’s way of "appeasing my wrath"? Who knows.
The least I could do was enjoy the schadenfreude while it lasted. Knowing their personalities from the brief mont of “conversation” I had with them, they weren't the type to stay down for long. But at least I knew they would be in trouble next ti I saw them, so I hoped I would be prepared when that ti cos.
—
Classes began in earnest this morning, and I was hyped up to get so knowledge in my head.
Today was combat class, the only class on my schedule I trusted to provide anything worth learning this year. I walked in twice, once as Carine, with Lionne trailing behind like a loyal shadow, and once as Feyt, with Attila yawning loud enough to shake her own teeth.
When I arrived, the room was already a disorganized cluster of students lounging on mats or huddled in circles. So were talking, so were trying to steal a few extra seconds of shut-eye, and one was staring silently out the window.
And by one, I an one person specifically. Lecther.
Attila was still sleepy as we sat near our fellow black-collared students, so I decided not to bother her.
Last night’s written assignnts were pretty heavy, after all. I didn’t suffer too much, perks of having a comprehensive internal library inside Carine’s head, but it must’ve taken a toll on her.
As for Carine, I was chatting with Lionne about the food in the cafeteria. Apparently, a new high-class chef rolled in just today and was adding a new item to the nu, their signature dish, apparently.
Lionne had already secured us the first servings for today, sohow. I didn't ask how she got the intel, nor did I question how she’d managed to reserve that sort of thing. So things are better left a mystery.
Honestly, I was just glad she was back to her usual self. A gloomy Lionne is like Mother patting on the back for a job well done.
Villius arrived right on cue, maintaining his streak of arriving just before the bell rings. He spotted instantly, his face brightening with a smile as he navigated the crowd.
"Lady Carine," he greeted, "it’s a fine morning for training, isn’t it?"
I nodded. “It is.”
"Morning, Sir Villius," Lionne chid in. "Will you be joining us at the cafeteria later? I can reserve you a seat like usual."
"Ah, that. I’m afraid I’ll have to pass," Villius said, looking genuinely pained. "My class has an assignnt due today, I’m afraid."
“I didn’t take you to be the type to do your assignnts at the last minute,” I remarked.
Villius let out a weary sigh. "I don’t. The instructor sent the assignnt out just last night. Clarissa and I were caught… quite off guard."
“Oh…”
This academy can be a monster sotis, huh?
Then, the heavy double doors groaned open.
"Morning, all!"
Instructor Liz’s voice bood through the hall, bright and deceptively cheerful.
The effect her presence had was instant. Conversations died in mid-sentence. Soone’s wooden practice sword clattered to the mat. We all froze, watching her as she sauntered in with that sa provocative ease, her coat draped over her shoulders like last week, a complete contrast against the strict, clean look of other instructors’ uniforms.
“What a beautiful morning for a spar, huh?” she said aloud, her tone almost a hum.
The room imdiately filled with groans and frantic whispers.
“Sparring again?”
“Are we ever going to learn anything?”
“Last ti I lost in a few seconds and was just told to sit back down…”
, personally? I love a direct, practical class as much as I love a warm bed, which is to say, a lot. But judging from last week’s performance… I get why they would groan.
Aside from a few standouts, like my duel with instructor Liz or Attila’s duel with a friend of hers, most of the duels lasted no longer than a few seconds.
It was less of a duel and more of a montage of wannabe knights tripping over their own feet, charging in screaming at the top of their lungs, and one even forgot which person they were supposed to be hitting… that last one was Lionne’s highlight, by the way.
As much as it pained to say… this class really needed to learn fundantals.
Speaking of last week’s class, though… my eyes shifted to Villius, who stood beside at a respectful distance, and his partner at the ti, Lechter, still staring out the window.
Villius had perford exactly how I expected. He used the fundantals of the Sareid style well, gauged his opponents properly, and kept his footwork clean. For soone who only joined the Sareid crash-course training as a last-minute prep for the academy, he was proving himself surprisingly capable.
However, despite it all, I had expected Lechter to overshadow him completely. No offense to Phil-man, but Lechter’s results in the aptitude test painted a clear picture that he was a different kind of beast.
Though Lechter did charge in first, ignoring Villius completely, his footwork, his swordplay, they were… painfully basic. Above average, sure, but nowhere near the level his scores suggested.
Was he just holding back? Was he in a slump? Or was there sothing else I was missing?
As the hushed conversations continued, the instructor made her way to the front of the class and widened her eyes.
“Oh, right.”
She began digging into her pockets. After a second of fumbling, she pulled out a crumpled piece of parchnt.
"Let’s see what the higher-ups have for today," she mumbled, loud enough for the front row to hear every word. She flattened the note against her palm and began reading with a theatrical squint.
"'Dear Instructor Marseid... please stick to the curriculum today. The students need to learn solid fundantals. Keep in mind the upcoming tournants… and keep in mind the presence of Lady—blah blah blah… Too many words!"
Without warning, she crumpled the note into a tight ball and tossed it over her shoulder. It bounced off the wall and landed perfectly on the trash bin near the door.
That’s… weirdly impressive…
"Well," she chirped, "I suppose I should reconsider the sparring idea. I’d hate to get another 'please' note."
For a mont, relief washed over so of the students, specifically those who complained under their breath just monts ago. But that relief didn’t last long.
“Today’s topic is footwork, huh? Hmm…” She tapped her chin, appearing thoughtful for all of half a second. Then, her eyes brightened as if soone turned on a lantern above her head. "Oh, how about this? We’ll do one-on-one sparring. If I see your footwork is trash, I’ll yell at you after the fight. Deal? Deal!"
She didn’t even let the class vote on it.
Everyone remained silent, still frozen in motion. Clearly, so of them didn’t sign up for this.
"Well? Go on then, find your sparring partners," she waved a hand dismissively. "Don’t tell I’ll have to do it for you.”
She retreated to her desk, sank into the chair with a slight groan, and hoisted a boot onto the tabletop.
I waited for the catch, for her to point a finger at and demand I entertain her like last ti. I flinched when she finally moved, but instead of pointing a finger, she reached into her coat and pulled out a… poetry book?
She started reading right then and there, like we didn’t exist at all.
So I wouldn’t be sparring with her today.
I was a little disappointed. I had hoped she would give so personal feedback on how I would grow my technique. But perhaps I could pester her about it after class.
Now, my sparring partners.
Since this was a one-on-one fight, I could challenge myself to a spar. I could bedazzle everyone in the room with my “instant” reflexes and make them say things like “it’s like they can read each other’s minds!”
But… I didn’t think the world was ready for that yet.
So, I looked around for the next best thing. As Feyt, I nudged Attila, who sat right next to and had just now managed to wrestle a little bit of her consciousness back from the tight grip of sleepiness.
“Hey, Attila. How about a spar?”
“Hmm…” she groaned, rubbing her eyes slightly. “Oh, Feyt… you’re up early…”
Seriously, how late did you stay up last night?
Before she could even respond properly, a shadow stretched across the mat, enveloping my own shadow easily. I looked up.
The man I once called Phil-man stood there. He wore a tight, professional smile as he looked down at , clearly waiting for to acknowledge his presence.
Not wanting to leave him hanging, or rather, standing… I scrambled up from the mat.
“Oh, hey… Good morning, Sir Villius,” I said, giving a warm, bright smile.
He offered one of his own, though one laced with more confidence than the usual smile he gave in front of Carine. “Please, just call Villius. It is good to see you are doing well this week.”
“Sa goes for you,” I replied. Then, with a bit of reluctance, I asked the obvious. “What brings you over here, then?”
He offered a slight bow coupled with a polite smile. “As a senior Sareid practitioner, I approach you today to ask for a duel, Sir Feyt.”
A senior? ?
He extended a hand toward . “May I have the honor of becoming your sparring partner for today?”
“Uhh,” I mumbled.
The first thing I asked myself was:
Why ?
He had lots of good opponents to choose from. He could’ve picked Lechter, his partner last week; Carine, the one closest to him physically at the ti; or, more realistically, his friends from his class… But no, the mont Instructor Liz let the reins off, he bolted straight to Feyt.
The second thing I asked myself was:
Why am I taking his hand?
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