Getting Eveline Rosette ready for a ball was much like teaching a sword-wielding boar how to waltz.
The difference was that a boar, at least, would not stab someone for insulting it.
"Again."
I said.
Eveline glared at me.
"I just did it."
"It was a disaster."
The small practice room beside the study.
"What was?"
I had heard it was originally used for etiquette lessons for noble ladies.
A full-length mirror hung on the wall, and the floor had been polished smooth for dance practice.
Soft magic lamps glowed from the ceiling.
In the middle of that refined space, Eveline Rosette stood clutching a handkerchief.
More precisely, she was clutching it with the hand of someone about to murder it.
"I told you to smile. Why are you smiling like you’re about to erase someone from existence?"
"This is how I smile."
"That’s exactly the problem."
Eveline’s hand tightened.
The handkerchief crumpled.
"Your grip."
At my brief remark, her fingers stopped.
She gritted her teeth and loosened them.
The handkerchief was already half crumpled, but it had not been completely killed.
Progress.
Two days until the ball.
The invitation Arsene Berhardt had sent had moved up the original event.
The omen of a broken engagement, which should have erupted just before the academy entrance ceremony after enough social rumors had accumulated, was now right at our doorstep.
We had no time to prepare.
More accurately, we had two days.
Two days to turn one villainess into a person who would not explode at a ballroom.
Whoever had made this schedule clearly knew nothing about game balance.
No.
The original Leon Cart died here, so there probably had been no balance to consider.
I held up a palm-sized sheet of paper.
It had the three rules we had decided on yesterday written on it.
1. Do not make the first move.
2. Ask first.
3. Smile last.
Every time Eveline saw that paper, her expression soured.
But she did not tear it up.
The butler said that alone was strange enough.
By House Rosette’s standards, it was practically a miracle.
It was a household with a very low threshold for miracles.
"We’ll go again."
I folded the handkerchief and placed it on the desk.
"Scenario. The pre-ball venue. Arsene Berhardt enters with Liana Bell."
Eveline’s eyes immediately sharpened.
"What if that woman sees me first?"
"She hasn’t said anything yet."
"She looked at me."
"Looking is not an attack."
"Looking at someone in a way that makes them feel bad is an attack."
"Don’t use that line in high society."
"Why?"
"Because you’ll lose, my lady."
At that, Eveline shut her mouth.
As expected, it was effective.
Telling Eveline to endure did not work.
Telling her she would lose did.
I spoke again.
"Liana Bell looks at you. What will you do?"
Eveline thought for a moment.
She thought.
That was progress too.
Yesterday’s Eveline would have killed Liana Bell three times already.
"...I won’t make the first move."
"Good."
"I’ll ask first."
"Ask what?"
"Why she’s standing beside my fiancé."
"It was a disaster."
"Why?!"
"That isn’t a question. It’s a declaration of war."
Eveline frowned.
I walked to the mirror.
"Again. You ask like this."
I gave a light, aristocratic smile.
"It is a pleasure to meet you. Are you perhaps the person Lord Berhardt intended to introduce personally?"
Eveline stared blankly at me.
Then she grimaced.
"That’s obnoxious."
"That’s why it’s good."
"What kind of attack is that?"
"It isn’t an attack. It’s a trap."
I picked up a handkerchief.
"This question does not stab Liana Bell. It draws Arsene out."
Eveline’s eyes changed slightly.
"How?"
"If Liana answers, Arsene becomes the man who let her speak for herself. If Arsene answers, he has to personally introduce another woman in front of his fiancée."
"..."
"Either way, it makes them uncomfortable."
The corner of Eveline’s mouth lifted ever so slightly.
That smile was dangerous.
But it was not bad.
For the first time, she looked like she had discovered the pleasure of cornering an opponent with words rather than a sword.
"Try it once."
"It is a pleasure to meet you."
Eveline said it.
There were far too many thorns in her voice.
It sounded less like a greeting for a first meeting and more like a notice before murder.
I shook my head.
"Again."
"It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Your eyes are holding the other person’s funeral. Again."
"It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Only the corners of your mouth are smiling. Your eyes are not. That isn’t bad, but it’s too obvious right now. Again."
"It is a pleasure to meet you."
"That one was fine."
"Really?"
"Yes."
A very brief expression crossed Eveline’s face.
Joy.
More precisely, the expression of someone pleased by praise, only to immediately hide it because she thought she had been caught.
I pretended not to see it.
If I poked at it now, the thorns would come back out.
Keep praise short.
No flattery.
The third line of the Eveline Rosette strategy guide.
She wants recognition, but if anyone notices that she wants recognition, she bites.
I moved on to the next scenario.
"This time, Arsene speaks. ‘Eveline, don’t misunderstand. Miss Liana only accompanied me as the scholarship students’ representative.’"
Eveline’s hand crumpled again.
"Kill him."
"Wrong."
"How am I supposed to endure that?"
"You do not endure it."
I tapped the paper.
"You ask first."
"Ask what?"
"‘Do you realize you gave me reason to misunderstand?’"
Eveline stopped.
Her eyes slowly moved.
She was turning the sentence over in her head.
"That."
She said.
"I kind of like that."
"Good. Try it."
Eveline faced the mirror.
"Do you realize you gave me reason to misunderstand?"
This time, it was good.
A little sharp, a little cold, and quite aristocratic.
The eldest daughter of House Rosette was preparing to cut someone with words for the first time.
A system window appeared.
Eveline Rosette has learned a social conversation counterattack line.
Pre-ball counterattack route success rate has increased.
Current success rate: 18%
Low.
But it had started at zero.
Eighteen percent was not odds I would ever bet on at a gambling table, but for an NPC set to die in a week, it was an excellent investment.
"Good."
When I said that, Eveline raised her chin.
"You said that was good?"
"Yes."
"Say it one more time."
"That was good."
"..."
"What is it?"
"Nothing."
Eveline turned her head away.
The tips of her ears, visible through her red hair, had turned just a little red.
Seeing a reaction like that made it easy to get the wrong idea.
To think she was cute.
But I could not forget.
In the original story, Eveline Rosette left her fiancé half-dead, stood at the forefront of the Northern Noble Faction, and was ultimately publicly executed.
If I let my guard down because she was cute, I would die.
Even a cute landmine explodes if you step on it.
The butler entered.
Knock, knock.
Someone knocked on the door.
He carried a small tray in his hands.
On it were two wooden swords.
This time, they were proper weapons.
No gold thread, no crest, and no perfume.
Plain, sturdy, and properly balanced.
I picked one up.
"Good."
"I had them urgently acquired from a weapons shop in town."
"The maker does not need to be fired."
The butler gave a brief bow.
Eveline picked up a wooden sword.
The moment she held it, her expression changed slightly.
"It’s light."
"The sword you used was heavy, my lady."
"It’s House Rosette’s sword."
"Which is why it does not suit you."
At those words, Eveline looked at me.
"What?"
The butler’s expression stiffened as well.
I lightly spun the wooden sword.
"House Rosette’s sword is designed for strong adult male knights. When you swing it, you force it along with mana rather than your arm."
"I swing it well."
"You do swing it."
"Then?"
"The sword does not follow you. You are dragged along by the sword."
Eveline’s face hardened.
"That is why your first move was so wide yesterday, and your recovery was slow. It is not because you lack strength. The tool does not fit you."
The butler spoke quietly.
"Teacher. House Rosette’s swords have been made to suit the sword forms passed down through generations."
"I know."
I looked at the butler.
"That is why it is a problem."
His eyebrow moved slightly.
"Before my lady uses the sword passed down through generations, she needs to learn about a sword that fits her own body."
The practice room fell silent.
Eveline looked down at the wooden sword in her hand.
A light sword.
An unadorned sword.
A sword without House Rosette’s crest.
Probably the first weapon she had ever held that was fitted not to her family, but to her own hand.
"Today’s swordsmanship lesson is simple."
I lowered the tip of my wooden sword.
"No attacking."
"What?"
Eveline’s expression immediately soured.
"You’re telling me not to attack while holding a sword?"
"Yes."
"Then what do I do?"
"Receive it."
"Like the handkerchief?"
"Yes."
I raised my wooden sword and aimed it at her shoulder.
"I will strike slowly. Do not break it. Receive it."
"That’s boring."
"It is necessary."
"I don’t want to."
"Then you will lose at the ball."
Eveline closed her mouth.
It was a little funny that this one line solved most things.
"Ready."
I slowly brought down my wooden sword.
At an extremely slow speed.
Slow enough for a child to avoid.
Yet Eveline’s wooden sword rose like lightning.
Crack!
My wooden sword was knocked away.
I shook out my wrist.
"It was a disaster."
"But I blocked it."
"You tried to smash it."
"Isn’t that blocking?"
"No."
I raised my wooden sword again.
"Blocking is not about eliminating the other person’s force. It is about letting it pass through."
"Why?"
"If you smash everything head-on, your wrist dies first."
"Mine won’t die."
"You dropped your sword yesterday."
Eveline’s face reddened.
It worked too well.
Almost dangerously well.
"Again."
I struck slowly again.
This time, Eveline tried to lessen her force.
But she was too late.
Crack!
The wooden sword bounced away again.
"Again."
Crack.
"Again."
Crack.
"Again."
Ten times.
Twenty times.
Thirty times.
Sweat gathered on Eveline’s forehead.
The pace was slow, but she was getting tired.
Training where she was forbidden from attacking was harder on her than attacking.
Her pride tired before her body did.
"Why can’t I do it?"
She asked through gritted teeth.
"You told me to relax."
"You are not relaxing, my lady. You are holding your strength back."
"That’s the same thing."
"It is different."
I lightly laid my wooden sword over hers.
"If you hold your strength back, it bursts. If you relax, it flows."
Eveline tried to push my wooden sword away.
I followed it.
She pushed harder.
I followed more closely.
Then, at some point, her wooden sword flowed to the side.
"Just now."
Eveline’s eyes widened.
"What was that?"
"You received it."
"I did?"
"Yes."
"I just pushed."
"No. Just then, you did not try to break it."
Eveline looked down at her hand.
A small change.
To others, it was probably a movement that looked like nothing.
But it was different for Eveline.
For the first time, her strength had flowed past an opponent instead of breaking them.
A system window appeared.
Eveline Rosette has learned the basic defensive technique: Deflection.
Swordsmanship rampage rate has decreased by 3%.
Pre-ball counterattack route success rate has increased.
Current success rate: 24%
Still low.
But it was rising.
"Again."
This time, Eveline spoke before I could.
She was breathing hard.
Her eyes were still fierce.
But they were different from before.
They were not the eyes of someone charging in anger.
They were the eyes of someone who wanted to feel what she had just done again.
I raised my wooden sword.
"Good."
And then.
A heavy voice sounded from beyond the practice room door.
"Stop."
The butler’s face stiffened.
The maids all lowered their heads at once.
Eveline’s expression hardened for an instant as well.
The door opened.
A middle-aged man in a red cloak entered.
A firm jaw.
Dark red hair.
A breast ornament engraved with the crest of a lion biting a sword.
Count Rosette.
Eveline’s father.
And the man who remained silent the longest as Eveline met her ruin in the original story.
He looked at me.
His gaze was heavy.
Eveline spoke quietly.
"Father."
Count Rosette did not look at his daughter.
He was looking only at me.
"You are the commoner teacher, then."
His voice was low.
A voice accustomed to pressing people down.
I set down my wooden sword and bowed.
"Leon Cart."
The count’s gaze shifted to the wooden swords on the floor.
"I hear you told my daughter to abandon House Rosette’s sword."
That was fast.
Word traveled through this estate faster than I had thought.
I answered.
"I never told her to abandon it."
"Then what?"
"I told her to understand her own hand first."
The air in the practice room grew heavy.
The butler closed his eyes ever so slightly.
He was probably praying again.
Praying that today would not require a coffin rather than a picture frame.
Count Rosette slowly approached.
"A commoner speaks of House Rosette’s sword."
I did not retreat.
"A sword does not know status."
His eyebrow moved.
"A sword either fits the hand or it does not."
Eveline looked at me.
She looked surprised.
She had probably never seen anyone answer her father like that in this estate.
Count Rosette said nothing for a while.
Then he held out his hand.
"Pick up your sword."
"Pardon?"
"I will see whether your words are true."
A system window appeared.
Unexpected event triggered.
Count Rosette’s Test.
Retreat recommended.
Retreat recommended.
How considerate.
But there were situations one could not retreat from.
Especially when the head of a noble house personally told you to pick up a sword.
If I refused, it would be over.
I picked up the wooden sword.
My palm was sweating.
Count Rosette took one of the training swords hanging on the wall.
In that moment, I understood.
He was different from Eveline.
His stance was quiet.
He did not flaunt his strength.
He did not reveal his mana either.
Truly strong people do not make a room noisy when they pick up a sword.
Quietly, they shorten their opponent’s breath.
Count Rosette spoke.
"One strike."
The system window flashed again.
Current survival probability: 31%
Strangely high.
The meaning was simple.
This was not a sword meant to kill.
But he intended to smash me to pieces.
I adjusted my grip on the wooden sword.
Eveline spoke softly.
"Leon."
Was that concern?
Or expectation?
Perhaps both.
Without looking at her, I said,
"Watch carefully, my lady."
Count Rosette’s eyes narrowed.
I breathed out.
"This is how you avoid receiving force."
The next moment.
The count’s sword vanished.
No, it looked that way.
A heavy sword strike fell head-on toward me.
If I blocked it, the wooden sword would break.
If I dodged, my shoulder would be destroyed.
If I received it, my wrist would die.
So.
I deflected it.
I tilted my wooden sword just slightly.
I gave up force.
I did not clash with it.
The count’s sword ran along mine and flowed off to the side.
Boom!
The floor rumbled.
My wrist was alive.
The wooden sword had not broken either.
But my whole arm had gone numb.
Insane.
Even after deflecting the force, it was this bad.
Count Rosette looked at me with his sword held still.
Eveline had stopped breathing.
After a moment, the count spoke.
"One more time."
The system window immediately flashed.
Warning.
A second strike is not recommended.
I knew that too.
This body had barely deflected the first strike.
The second would be dangerous.
But before I could refuse, Eveline spoke first.
"Father."
Everyone’s eyes turned to her.
Eveline stood holding her wooden sword.
The wayward young lady who had been soaked in sweat, breathing hard, and unable to properly receive even a handkerchief just moments ago.
She looked straight at her father.
"I’ll take the second one."
For the first time, Count Rosette’s eyes turned toward his daughter.
Eveline bit her lip, then lifted her head.
"I’m the one who just learned it."
The practice room fell silent.
I looked at Eveline.
Her hand was trembling.
But the point of her sword did not lower.
A system window appeared.
Eveline Rosette is attempting to prove the lesson of her own will.
Ruin route interference rate has increased.
Count Rosette stared at his daughter for a long time.
Then he slowly said,
"Good."
Eveline’s wooden sword rose.
Her eyes were still fierce.
But this time, they were not eyes that sought to break her opponent.
They were eyes that sought to endure.
I thought to myself.
Good.
At last, the villainess had begun to move on her own.
And that meant.
This world had begun to deviate from the original story in its greatest way yet.
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