I spent the entire night writing a report.
A swordsmanship report.
More precisely, [Why the Rosette Sword Style Does Not Suit Eveline Rosette and a Temporary Correction Plan].
The title alone was arrogant.
Even I knew that as I wrote it.
A private tutor from commoner stock was analyzing the sword style of an aristocratic house renowned for its swordsmanship.
And it was an assignment personally given to me by the head of the count’s house, to whom I had to politely submit the message, "Your family’s sword does not suit your daughter."
In modern terms, it was like a new intern standing before the company chairman to present why the company’s core business had failed.
Normally, you would be fired.
The problem was that this was a fantasy noble house, so a different part of me might get cut off instead.
I held a quill beneath the pre-dawn magic lamp.
I had already killed eight sheets of paper.
The first sheet was too honest.
"The Rosette Sword Style does not suit Lady Eveline."
I tore it up.
A sentence that was perfect for getting me killed.
The second one was too roundabout.
"While the traditional excellence of the Rosette Sword Style is beyond question, limited adjustments are necessary in consideration of the current trainee’s physical condition and patterns of psychological response."
I fell asleep while reading it.
I tore that one up too.
Starting with the third, I drew on the instincts I had developed from writing strategy guides.
The problem.
The cause.
The evidence.
The solution.
The most important thing about writing strategy guides on a gaming community was not elegant phrasing.
The reader had to be able to use it immediately.
[How to Survive Your First Meeting with Eveline Rosette]
[How to Avoid the Spoon Pattern]
[Why You Move In on the Second Strike of the Rosette Style Triple Bloom]
I had lived by reading posts like that.
Now, I had to live by writing them.
The problem was that my reader was not a community user, but Count Rosette.
This would not end with me getting cursed out in the comments.
"Teacher."
A maid’s voice came from beyond the door.
"I brought your tea."
"Come in."
The door opened, and the maid who had been cleaning up the shattered teacup yesterday stepped inside carefully.
Her name was Marie.
She was the maid assigned to the area around Eveline’s room.
Until yesterday, she had looked at me like I was someone who would soon be dead.
Today, she looked at me a little differently.
Someone who was not dead yet.
And perhaps someone who might survive a little longer.
That was about it.
"You are still writing?"
"Yes."
"It seems you have not slept a wink all night."
"Losing sleep is better than dying."
Marie could not answer.
Her face showed that she could not tell whether I was joking or serious.
I was both.
As she set down the tea, she saw the report on my desk.
Her gaze stopped at the first line.
"The Rosette Sword Style is a powerful sword. Yet not every powerful sword suits every person."
Marie asked cautiously, "Is it truly all right to write that?"
"It will not be."
"Pardon?"
"That is why I am adding plenty of supporting evidence."
I picked up my quill again.
After hesitating for a moment, Marie spoke.
"Lady Eveline has learned the Rosette sword from childhood."
"I assumed so."
"Count Rosette did not teach her personally, but the knight commanders taught her in turns."
My hand stopped.
"Count Rosette did not teach her himself?"
Marie’s face stiffened.
She looked as though she had made a mistake.
But it was already too late.
I asked quietly, "Not even once?"
After a long hesitation, Marie lowered her head.
"As far as I know, he did once or twice when she was young..."
"And after that?"
"The Count was simply very busy."
A common phrase.
The phrase most often used in noble houses to explain a child’s loneliness.
He was busy.
For the sake of the house.
He had many important matters to attend to.
And behind those words, the same child was always left behind.
A child who swung a sword, wanting to be seen.
A child who swung harder, wanting praise.
And a child who broke because no one properly stopped her.
I wrote a new sentence in the margin of the report.
"Eveline Rosette’s violent swordsmanship is not a technical problem, but the result of training that went unobserved."
I paused after writing it.
This sentence was dangerous.
It was no different from telling Count Rosette, "You never paid attention to your daughter."
But if I removed it, the report would become a lie.
I did not erase it.
Marie looked at me anxiously.
"Teacher."
"Yes."
"Can Lady Eveline... truly be fixed?"
I looked at her.
It was dangerous for a maid to say such a thing about the young lady of the house she served.
But there was no malice in Marie’s voice.
There was fear.
And a faint hope as well.
The people of this manor had been exhausted too.
Exhausted from clearing away shattered teacups, replacing vases, swallowing their screams, and bowing as though nothing had happened.
"She does not need to be fixed."
I said, "She needs to learn again what she was taught wrong."
Marie was silent for a long time.
Then she bowed her head very slightly.
"Please."
Leaving only those words behind, she left the room.
I stared at the closed door for a while.
Please.
What a heavy word.
Until yesterday, I had only one goal.
Do not die.
But somewhere along the way, teaching Eveline had stopped being a matter of my survival alone.
This was how responsibilities multiplied.
It was very bad.
But I had already stepped into it.
I resumed writing the report.
As dawn broke, I wrote the final sentence.
"Therefore, what Eveline Rosette needs is not to abandon the Rosette Sword Style, but a separate foundation that will keep her from being consumed by it."
I set down my quill.
The report totaled twelve pages.
It was the most expensive piece of writing I had ever produced in terms of my life.
Shortly after breakfast, I stood outside Count Rosette’s office.
The report was in my hand.
My palms were sweating.
Even when submitting assignments in my previous life, I had never been this nervous.
Back then, submitting late only meant losing points.
Now, submitting badly might mean imprisonment.
The butler opened the door.
"Come in."
The office was spacious.
Swords and war maps hung on the walls, while the bookshelves were packed with military records.
Count Rosette sat behind his desk.
His red hair was streaked with a touch of gray, and his eyes were weary but sharp.
The moment I entered, he held out his hand.
"The report."
Not even a greeting.
Efficient, in a very noble manner.
I handed him the report.
The Count opened to the first page.
Then he began to read.
Only the sound of turning pages filled the room.
One page.
Two pages.
Three pages.
His expression did not change.
That was even more frightening.
You could predict someone who was angry.
You could not predict a powerful person with no expression.
His hand stopped on the fifth page.
I knew exactly which sentence it was.
"Eveline Rosette’s violent swordsmanship is not a technical problem, but the result of training that went unobserved."
Count Rosette’s eyes lingered on that line for a long time.
The air in the office grew heavy.
The butler did not move an inch by the door.
I breathed shallowly.
The Count asked, "Went unobserved."
"Yes."
"My daughter?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how many knight commanders are in this house?"
"No, I do not."
"What about swordsmanship teachers?"
"I do not know."
"And yet you say she went unobserved?"
I did not lower my head.
"There must have been many people who watched over her."
The Count’s eyes turned toward me.
"But there was no one who observed her."
The air grew heavier still.
The butler’s fingers moved ever so slightly.
I continued.
"Everyone likely watched only how well my lady imitated the Rosette sword. But no one saw why her wrist gave out first, why she held her breath before using mana, or why she chose a bigger attack right after losing."
"..."
"You can only see those things if you look not at swordsmanship, but at the person wielding it."
Silence.
Count Rosette did not put the report down.
He did not tear it up either.
That meant I was still alive.
A good sign.
Probably.
The Count asked again, "So what is your conclusion?"
"There is no need to discard the Rosette Sword Style."
I opened the final page of the report.
"However, the order must change."
"The order?"
"My lady learned her family’s sword style first and tried to force her body to conform afterward. It must be the other way around."
I pointed at the chart on the final page.
"First, correct her wrist and breathing with a lighter sword."
"Second, teach defense and redirection before offense."
"Third, prohibit the Rosette Style Triple Bloom for the time being."
At that moment, the Count’s brow shifted.
As expected.
The Rosette Style Triple Bloom.
One of the house’s signature sword forms.
There was no way he would not react when I said it should be prohibited.
"Your reason."
The Count spoke quietly.
I answered at once.
"That technique currently conceals my lady’s weaknesses rather than strengthening her advantages."
"Weaknesses, you say."
"Yes. Its dazzling bursts of mana hide the gaps in her wrist control and delayed recovery. It works against weak opponents, but it becomes a liability against a true examiner or real combatant."
"So you prohibit it?"
"For the time being."
I emphasized my next words.
"If we prohibit it completely, my lady will resist. She will practice it in secret. So we need to bind it with conditions."
The Count’s eyes changed ever so slightly.
He seemed to understand that I was speaking with knowledge of Eveline’s personality.
"What conditions?"
"One hundred redirections. One hundred handkerchief drills. Ten emotional-control dialogue scripts. After that, she may use it only three times a day."
The office fell silent for a moment.
The butler by the door blinked.
For the first time, even Count Rosette’s expression wavered faintly.
"A handkerchief drill is included in a swordsmanship report."
"My lady needs it."
"Because of the ball?"
"Because of swordsmanship as well."
I said, "My lady takes everything that comes at her as an attack. Words, gazes, swords. So she must first learn how to receive them."
The Count closed the report.
My heart gave one hard thump.
The verdict was coming.
"Leon Cart."
"Yes."
"Your report is unpleasant."
That was right.
I had expected it.
"It is presumptuous, lacks respect for the Rosette sword, and gives the impression that you know far too much about my daughter."
I could not deny that.
He was right as well.
"However."
The Count picked up the report again.
"It is useful."
A system window appeared.
"The Rosette Sword Style Analysis Report has been approved."
"Count Rosette’s trust has increased slightly."
"Count Rosette’s suspicion has increased as well."
Why did good news and bad news always come together?
This game gave out rewards like traps.
"Do as you have written in the report," the Count said.
"Until the ball, you will decide Eveline’s training method."
I lowered my head.
"Thank you."
"It is not something to thank me for."
The Count’s eyes turned cold.
"If you fail at the ball, it means your method was wrong."
In other words.
If I failed, I might die.
I raised my head.
"I will not fail."
"Are you confident?"
"No."
The office went quiet.
The butler’s eyes wavered.
Count Rosette looked at me.
I added, "That is why I am preparing."
After a long while, the Count spoke briefly.
"Leave."
I walked out of the office.
The moment the door closed, my legs nearly gave out.
I barely held myself together.
Speaking before Count Rosette was harder than redirecting a sword.
At least a sword showed which way it was coming from.
You never knew where the silence of a powerful man would fall.
Eveline stood at the end of the corridor.
Her arms were crossed as she leaned against the wall.
She looked less sharp than yesterday, but more anxious instead.
"You made it out alive."
"Yes."
"Did the report pass?"
"He said it was unpleasant, but useful."
Eveline snorted.
"That is immense praise coming from my father."
Her tone was light, but her eyes were not.
She must have been curious.
About how I had written about her in the report.
About what expression her father had made while reading it.
About whether he had admitted that her sword was truly wrong.
But she could not ask.
Because of her pride.
I held out a copy of the report to her.
"Read it."
Eveline’s eyes widened.
"To me?"
"It is a report about you, my lady."
"Normally, people do not show this sort of thing to the person it is about, do they?"
"That is why things have gone wrong until now."
She looked at me, speechless.
Then she snatched the report.
She turned the first page.
The second.
The third.
And she stopped at the fifth page.
That sentence, as expected.
"The result of training that went unobserved."
Eveline’s hand stiffened.
I said nothing.
I had to let her read it.
When someone else explains a wound, it becomes an insult. When you read it yourself, it becomes a diagnosis.
After a long while, she spoke quietly.
"This."
"Yes."
"My father read it too?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He said it was unpleasant."
Eveline let out a small laugh.
"Of course he did."
The laugh was brief.
And a little lonely.
"But he did not tear it up."
Her eyes turned to me.
"He said it was useful."
Eveline said nothing.
The fingers holding the report trembled slightly.
She soon turned her head away.
"So what is today’s training?"
She had run away.
From her emotions.
But that was fine.
If she was running toward training instead of swinging a sword, it was a good kind of escape.
I said, "Starting today, the Rosette Style Triple Bloom is prohibited."
Eveline’s face immediately hardened.
"What?"
"For the time being."
"That is my main technique."
"That is why it is prohibited."
"Do you really want to die?"
"I am doing this because I want to live."
Eveline flipped through the report and found the prohibited-items section.
Her face grew redder and redder.
"One hundred redirections, one hundred handkerchief drills, ten dialogue scripts?"
"Yes."
"And I have to do all that just to use it three times?"
"Per day."
"Are you insane?"
"It is systematic."
"What kind of swordsmanship is this?!"
"Swordsmanship designed specifically for you, my lady."
At those words, Eveline stopped.
Only for a moment.
But she clearly stopped.
"Specifically for me?"
"Yes."
I pointed to the report.
"We are not throwing away the Rosette sword. We are tailoring it to fit you again."
Eveline’s lips parted slightly.
Designed specifically for her.
Tailored to fit her.
Eveline Rosette had probably spent her whole life hearing that she needed to conform to her house.
Like a Rosette.
Like the eldest daughter of a count’s house.
Like a fiancée.
Like the strong.
But perhaps this was the first time she had heard the words, "Tailored to fit you."
She looked down at the report again.
"My sword."
Her voice was small.
"Yes."
I said, "It is your sword, my lady."
Eveline quickly wiped the expression from her face.
"One hundred redirections is too many."
"Then I will increase it to one hundred and twenty."
"Why are you increasing it?!"
"The negotiation has failed."
"You really are the worst."
"I am your private tutor."
"What is the difference between you and a demon?"
"I charge tuition."
"You are seriously irritating."
But she did not return the report.
She tucked it under her arm.
As though someone might take it away from her.
On the way to the practice room, Eveline kept sneaking glances at the report.
She looked like she wanted to read it, but did not want to look like she was reading it.
I pretended not to notice.
The lesson began at once.
One hundred redirections.
One hundred handkerchief drills.
Ten dialogue scripts.
At the first redirection, Eveline immediately got angry.
"We did this yesterday!"
"We did it yesterday, so we do it today as well."
"Why?"
"Do you skip meals today just because you ate yesterday?"
"You really have an annoying way of talking."
"I hear that often."
On the tenth, her wrist wavered.
On the twentieth, her breathing aligned a little.
On the thirtieth, she tensed up again.
I stopped her immediately.
"Arsene."
At that single name, Eveline’s sword abruptly stiffened.
"See?"
I said, "Your body tenses at the sound of his name alone."
"Do not say that name."
"You will hear it constantly at the ball."
She gritted her teeth.
"Again."
This time, she said it herself.
I raised my wooden sword.
"Arsene Berhardt."
Her sword shook.
"Liana Bell."
The tip of her wooden sword trembled.
"Escort."
Eveline’s breathing grew ragged.
"Broken engagement."
Bang!
Eveline’s wooden sword violently knocked mine aside.
Failure.
She immediately squeezed her eyes shut.
Before getting angry, she noticed her own failure first.
Good.
This was not yesterday’s Eveline.
"Again," she said.
I repeated the same words.
Arsene.
Liana.
Escort.
Broken engagement.
She failed the first ten times.
She failed the eleventh as well.
By the twentieth, her sword shook less.
The thirty-fifth time.
When she heard the words "broken engagement," her wooden sword smoothly redirected mine for the first time.
I stopped.
"That one."
Eveline panted for breath.
"That just now."
"Yes."
"I did not explode?"
"You did not explode."
She looked down at her own hand.
As though there were some strange creature living inside it.
A system window appeared.
"Eveline Rosette has successfully performed a redirection while under an emotional trigger."
"The rampage rate of the broken engagement event decreases by 7%."
"New trait candidate: [Sword That Rises Again] stability has increased."
I nodded.
"Good."
Eveline looked at me.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Say it one more time."
"You did well."
"...All right."
She turned her head away.
But the corner of her lips had lifted ever so slightly.
That afternoon.
The training continued like hell.
One hundred handkerchief drills.
One hundred redirections.
Ten dialogue scripts.
Eveline got angry three times, killed two handkerchiefs, and once nearly threw her wooden sword at the wall before stopping herself.
The important thing was that she stopped.
Before she broke something.
Before she threw it.
Before she exploded.
She took longer and longer to explode.
And little by little, she learned how not to explode at all.
As the sun began to set, the butler entered the practice room.
He carried an envelope in his hand.
An official letter bearing the seal of House Berhardt.
Eveline’s hand immediately stiffened.
I said, "The rules."
She inhaled.
"Do not move first."
"Second."
"Ask first."
"Third."
"Smile last."
Good.
I nodded at the butler.
"Read it aloud."
The butler opened the envelope.
He unfolded the letter.
And his expression stiffened at once.
I did not miss that change.
"What does it say?"
The butler looked at Eveline.
He hesitated.
Eveline said, "Read it."
Her voice did not tremble.
The butler read slowly.
"House Berhardt cordially invites Lady Eveline Rosette, eldest daughter of Count Rosette’s house, to the Preliminary Ball."
Up to that point, it was expected.
"However, as the escort registration deadline has passed, Lady Eveline will be assigned an individual entrance."
The practice room went silent.
An individual entrance.
For a fiancée to make an individual entrance at an aristocratic ball was not a mere procedural matter.
It was a production designed to publicly show that she had been abandoned.
Arsene was clever.
He would not break the engagement directly.
Instead, he would make Eveline unable to endure the humiliation and explode.
A system window appeared.
"A new risk factor has emerged."
"[Preliminary Ball: Individual Entrance Humiliation Event]"
"The chance of Eveline Rosette going on a rampage has increased."
Eveline said nothing.
Her hand trembled.
But she did not pick up a sword.
She did not crumple her handkerchief either.
She only looked at me.
"Leon."
Her voice was low.
"How do we win against this?"
I did not answer.
Because I had just started calculating as well.
An individual entrance was humiliation.
If she entered without an escort, the social world would laugh at her.
Arsene and Liana would stand at the center of the ball.
Eveline would lose from the moment she arrived at the entrance.
That was Arsene’s board.
Then there was only one answer.
We had to smash that board with something bigger.
I said, "We find an escort."
Eveline’s brow rose.
"Who?"
I looked down at the letter.
A list of original characters rapidly flashed through my mind.
The crown prince.
A candidate for knight commander.
A genius from the Mage Tower.
A holy knight of the cathedral.
All of them were impossible for now.
They were too big.
If I touched them wrong, other routes would explode.
That left only one choice.
The escort who made the least sense.
Which made him the strongest provocation.
I raised my head.
"Me."
The practice room froze.
Eveline stared blankly at me.
The butler nearly dropped the letter in his hand.
The maids held their breath.
I spoke calmly.
"I will enter as your escort, my lady."
The system window flashed wildly.
"Warning."
"This option does not exist in the original work."
"The difficulty of the Preliminary Ball event has risen sharply."
Yes.
I expected that.
But if I wanted to overturn the situation where Eveline Rosette would be ridiculed for entering alone, an ordinary choice would not do.
Eveline stared at me for a long time.
Then she spoke slowly.
"Are you insane?"
"Probably."
"A commoner teacher is saying he will enter the ball as my escort?"
"Yes."
"The social world will be turned upside down."
"That is the point."
I did not smile.
"If Arsene Berhardt means to turn you into a laughingstock, then we need to give them an even bigger laughingstock."
"And that is you?"
"Yes."
I said, "But we will start with ridicule and end with applause."
Eveline said nothing.
Anger, bewilderment, and a strange anticipation all mixed in her red eyes.
After a long while, she gave a small laugh.
"You really are a crazy teacher."
"I hear that often."
"Fine."
She picked up the letter.
Her fingertips still trembled a little, but the letter did not burn.
"Be my escort."
At that moment.
A system window appeared.
"New branch confirmed."
"Leon Cart has been registered as Eveline Rosette’s escort for the Preliminary Ball."
"The ruin route shakes violently."
"An unknown gaze has turned its attention toward you."
The final line sent a chill down my spine.
An unknown gaze.
I did not yet know who it was.
But one thing was certain.
I had just decided to step onto a stage that an extra NPC should never, ever have entered.
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