Eveline looked smaller than usual as she stood before Count Rosette’s sword.
It was strange.
Until yesterday, she had acted like the biggest person in this manor.
The maids avoided her gaze, the butler read her silences, and her teachers fled before her sword.
Eveline Rosette had always been the center of the room.
But now.
Standing before her father, she was a seventeen-year-old girl.
Her hands were trembling.
The tip of her wooden sword quivered faintly.
But it did not lower.
"Do you truly intend to take it?"
Count Rosette asked.
His voice was calm.
That calmness made it all the heavier.
Eveline lifted her chin.
"Yes."
"The strike your teacher just took is beyond what you can handle."
"I know."
"And yet?"
Eveline glanced at me.
It was a very brief look.
It was not a look asking for help.
It was a look seeking confirmation.
Whether what she had just learned was truly useful.
Whether she could really change.
And whether I would not run away.
I did not nod.
Nor did I encourage her.
Encouragement was not what Eveline Rosette needed right now.
She needed a standard.
I spoke.
"My lady."
"What?"
"Do not block it."
Count Rosette’s brow shifted ever so slightly.
The butler’s expression stiffened.
Eveline frowned.
"You’re telling me not to block his sword?"
"Yes."
"Then you want me to get hit?"
"No."
I lifted my wooden sword and tilted it to the side.
"Let it pass through."
Eveline looked at my hand.
The wooden sword rested at a shallow angle, without any force behind it.
The angle I had used just moments ago to redirect Count Rosette’s opening move.
It had not been perfect.
In truth, luck had played a part too.
My arm still tingled, and the inside of my wrist ached.
But the principle was correct.
Do not receive force head-on.
Change the direction in which the opponent pushes in by just a little.
It was closer to a method of survival than swordsmanship.
And that was exactly what Eveline needed most right now.
Not how to win.
How to survive.
"If you tense up, you lose,"
I said.
"If you endure it, you lose too. Redirect it."
Eveline gritted her teeth.
"Easy for you to say."
"Yes."
"You’re not even going to deny it?"
"Because it is difficult."
The corner of her mouth moved slightly.
It was not a smile.
Some of the tension had merely left her.
That was enough.
Count Rosette listened silently to our exchange.
His eyes were fixed on Eveline rather than me.
It was the first time.
Since arriving at this estate, it was the first time I had seen him watch his daughter for so long.
His gaze made Eveline’s shoulders stiffen further.
So that’s the problem.
I thought to myself.
I still did not know exactly whether Eveline Rosette hated her father, feared him, or wanted his approval.
But I knew one thing.
Eveline had likely always swung her sword broadly in front of her father.
Asking him to look at her.
Asking him to tell her she was strong.
Asking him to acknowledge that she was proving herself worthy of Rosette blood.
And Count Rosette had probably said this.
Not enough.
Get stronger.
Or else.
Perhaps he had said nothing at all.
Silence could sometimes be crueller than a reprimand.
"I’m starting,"
the Count said.
Eveline raised her wooden sword.
I stepped back.
I could not help her.
But I could watch.
At the moment she was about to break.
I could tell her why she was breaking.
Count Rosette’s sword rose.
Slow.
It looked far too slow.
But it was not slow.
It was erasing every direction she could evade toward.
The tip of the sword was high, but the pressure came from below.
It looked as though it was aimed at her shoulder, but in truth it targeted her wrist.
A beginner reacted only to the blade.
By then, it was already too late.
Eveline sensed it too.
Her wooden sword tried to move first.
"Do not move first."
At my voice, her hand stopped.
It had been close.
The Count’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The next moment.
The sword fell.
Boom!
The sound came first.
Eveline’s wooden sword collided with the Count’s sword.
No, it tried to collide.
For the first instant, she tried to block it.
Rosette blood.
A habit drilled into her all her life.
The mistaken belief that strength had to be met head-on.
But in the very next instant, her wrist bent.
No.
She bent it herself.
The swords slid.
The Count’s sword rode along Eveline’s wooden sword and was redirected to the side.
Craash!
The floor trembled.
Eveline’s body was shoved backward.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Then her knee gave out.
Thud.
Eveline dropped to one knee.
Her wooden sword remained in her hand.
Her wrist trembled.
But she did not let go of the sword.
Silence descended over the practice room.
One of the maids caught her breath.
The butler stared at Eveline with a rigid expression.
Count Rosette remained silent, his sword lowered.
Eveline was looking at the floor.
Her red hair hid her face.
I expected her to explode.
Whether in rage.
Whether by throwing her sword in humiliation.
Or by swallowing her tears and charging in again.
But Eveline did none of those things.
She looked at her own hand.
The hand gripping the wooden sword.
The hand that had not let go.
The hand that was trembling, but still alive.
Then she slowly opened her mouth.
"...It didn’t break."
Her voice was quiet.
I could not tell who she was speaking to.
To me.
To her father.
Or to herself.
"The sword."
I answered.
"Yes."
Eveline raised her head.
Her red eyes were shaking.
"I didn’t let go either."
"Yes."
"I was pushed back."
"You were."
"I even went down on one knee."
"That is true."
Her face twisted.
It was not anger.
It was a strange expression.
The expression of someone who had lost, but had not been completely broken.
"But I didn’t lose?"
I fell silent for a moment.
It was a good question.
More precisely, it was the first good question she had asked.
"You lost."
Eveline’s expression hardened.
"But you were not ruined."
Her eyes stilled.
I pointed to the wooden sword still in her hand.
"You lost just now, my lady. But you did not let go of your sword, your wrist was not broken, and you can stand up again."
I spoke.
"That is today’s lesson."
Eveline said nothing for a while.
Then she slowly stood.
Her legs wavered a little.
But she stood on her own.
A system window quietly appeared.
`Eveline Rosette has applied the basic defensive technique: Redirection in actual combat.`
`Swordsmanship Rampage Rate decreases by 8%.`
`Defeat Resistance has been acquired.`
`New Trait Candidate: Sword That Rises Again`
Defeat Resistance.
Seeing those words, I drew a breath inwardly.
This was a change that did not exist in the original story.
The original Eveline fell apart whenever she lost.
Not wanting to fall apart, she exploded even more violently, and that explosion led to her ruin.
But now.
A trait that allowed her to endure defeat had appeared.
Small, but decisive.
This was the moment the villainess first stepped beyond the ruin route.
Count Rosette opened his mouth.
"Eveline."
Her shoulders twitched.
"Yes."
"What did you do just now?"
Eveline hesitated for a moment.
Normally, she would have answered.
I blocked it.
I endured it.
Or perhaps, I can do better.
But this time was different.
She looked down at her wooden sword and said,
"I... redirected the force."
The Count’s eyes shifted.
"Who taught you?"
Eveline looked at me.
It was a brief, slightly displeased glance.
But she did not deny it.
"Leon did."
It was the first time.
The first time Eveline had spoken my name before her father.
Not commoner teacher.
Not strange teacher.
Not irritating bastard.
Without any such modifier.
Just Leon.
The Count’s gaze turned to me.
"Leon Cart."
"Yes."
"What is it you intend to teach my daughter?"
I chose my answer.
Swordsmanship.
Etiquette.
Preparation for the academy entrance examination.
Those answers were not wrong, but they were insufficient.
Count Rosette was a man who looked to his house.
Eveline was someone who wanted recognition.
And I was someone who needed to survive.
I needed an answer that satisfied all three at once.
"How not to lose."
The Count’s eyes narrowed.
"My daughter just lost."
"Yes."
"And yet you call that teaching her not to lose?"
"I am not speaking of a single duel."
I looked at Eveline.
"How not to let a fall be the end. How not to ruin her own position when provoked. How not to enter the conditions of defeat created by someone else."
Then I looked back at the Count.
"That is what I intend to teach her."
The practice room fell quiet.
Count Rosette watched me for a long time.
There was appraisal in his gaze.
There was suspicion too.
And, ever so faintly, interest.
"Those are lofty words for a commoner teacher."
"I would also like to be paid a lofty tuition fee."
The butler swallowed a cough.
Eveline glared at me.
But Count Rosette did not laugh.
Instead, he set down his sword.
"Very well."
With those words, the atmosphere in the room changed.
"Leon Cart. As of today, I recognize you as Eveline’s official private tutor."
A system window immediately appeared.
`Position updated.`
`Temporary Private Tutor -> Official Private Tutor of House Rosette`
`Leon Cart’s projected survival date has been updated.`
`14 days -> 21 days`
Three weeks.
At last, the date of my funeral had been pushed back a fair distance.
Of course, this world was kind enough to move my funeral forward whenever it pleased.
Still, three weeks was significant.
Three weeks was enough time to attend the ball, stop the broken-engagement event, and at least buy enough time to remember the next villainess’s name.
"However."
The Count continued.
Good news always came with a condition.
Especially when nobles were involved.
"If Eveline sullies the Rosette name at the ball, it will be your responsibility."
Of course.
Responsibility.
The favorite word of powerful people when they wanted to dump something on the powerless.
"To what extent will I be responsible?"
When I asked, the butler’s face turned pale.
He had probably never seen a commoner ask about the scope of liability in a situation like this.
But it was important.
Reading contracts carelessly got people killed.
Especially contracts with fantasy noble houses.
Count Rosette looked at me.
"As much as you can bear."
"That is remarkably vague."
"Do you object?"
"The clearer the terms of a contract, the better."
Eveline muttered quietly,
"I think he’s actually insane."
She was right.
I thought so too, to some degree.
But if I backed down here, I would be dragged around for the rest of my life.
I lowered my head.
"If my lady draws her sword first at the ball, raises her hand first, or injures someone without following the formal duel procedure, I will take responsibility."
"And?"
"Other verbal disputes, battles of stares, and social clashes are part of the lesson."
The Count’s eyes narrowed.
I added,
"If you stop Lady Eveline from verbally cornering her opponents to protect the Rosette name, then I cannot teach her."
Silence.
The Count looked at me.
I did not avert my eyes.
I was afraid.
Of course I was afraid.
The man before me could make a head like mine quietly disappear if he so wished.
But fear and judgment were separate matters.
If I wanted to fix Eveline, I needed authority.
Teaching her to loosen her grip by tossing handkerchiefs around would not be enough to get through the ball.
At the social gathering, Eveline had to speak for herself.
She had to answer back herself, endure herself, and win herself.
For that to happen, House Rosette could not lock her away again.
Count Rosette slowly opened his mouth.
"Very well."
Eveline’s eyes widened.
I was a little surprised too.
"But there is a condition."
Of course it would not end with just one.
"Before the day of the ball, Eveline must take my sword once more."
Eveline’s hand stiffened.
"Father."
"I am not telling you to block it perfectly."
The Count looked at his daughter.
This time, he was clearly looking at his daughter.
"You need only avoid breaking down as you did today."
Eveline’s expression wavered.
It was the face of someone who could not yet tell whether those words were praise or a test.
They were probably both.
Count Rosette turned away.
"Continue the training."
He stopped at the door.
"And Leon Cart."
"Yes."
"By tomorrow, write me a report on what is wrong with the Rosette sword that does not suit my daughter."
"A report?"
"You dared speak of the Rosette sword. You should be able to explain it in writing as well."
The Count left.
The door closed.
Silence remained in the practice room.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
A system window appeared.
`New task generated.`
`Write a [Rosette Sword Style] Analysis Report`
`Time Limit: 1 day`
`Failure will decrease Count Rosette’s trust.`
I cursed inwardly.
I survived the sword only to be killed by homework now.
Eveline looked at me.
"You."
"Yes."
"Do you know how to write a report?"
I fell silent for a moment.
Yoon Seungho, back in reality, had written plenty of game guides.
But he had never written a Rosette Sword Style analysis report.
Still, life was always making rookies do jobs that only experienced professionals were hired for.
"I have to write it."
"What if you can’t?"
"I’ll probably be thrown out."
Eveline watched me for a while.
Then she said very quietly,
"That can’t happen."
I thought I had misheard her.
"What did you say?"
"I didn’t say anything."
She immediately turned her head away.
But the tips of her ears had reddened slightly.
Yesterday, I might have dismissed it as my imagination.
Not today.
Eveline Rosette did not want me to be thrown out.
It was not trust yet.
Nor was it dependence.
It was simply this.
She did not want the first person to truly look at her sword to disappear.
That was enough.
"We will continue the lesson."
When I said that, her eyes widened.
"Now?"
"Yes."
"I just took Father’s sword."
"That is why we must continue."
"Are you a demon?"
"I am your private tutor."
"Isn’t that basically the same thing?"
"The difference is that I charge tuition."
Eveline wore an expression of sincere annoyance.
But she did not put down her wooden sword.
I stood before her.
"Remember what just happened."
"What?"
"You went down on one knee, my lady."
Her face stiffened.
"But you did not let go of your sword, and you stood up again."
"..."
"It will be the same at the ball."
I picked up a handkerchief.
"You may be insulted. You may be flustered. You may be pushed back once."
I tossed the handkerchief to her.
This time, she caught it gently.
It did not crumple.
"What matters is not being ruined."
Eveline looked down at the handkerchief.
"Even after losing?"
"Even after losing."
She was silent for some time.
Then she asked quietly,
"Is that possible?"
"You did it today."
Eveline’s red eyes wavered.
She folded the handkerchief again.
She was clumsy, but she did not tear it.
Then a system window quietly appeared.
`Eveline Rosette’s perception of Leon Cart has been updated.`
`Strange Commoner Teacher -> Teacher Who Must Not Be Thrown Out`
Seeing those words, I was speechless for a moment.
Teacher Who Must Not Be Thrown Out.
I was not sure whether that was a good thing or a bad one.
But one thing was clear.
Until yesterday, I had been a commoner who might be killed by Eveline.
Today, I had become someone who could not be thrown out.
Not bad.
Of course, there were still plenty of problems.
Two days until the ball.
Arsene Berhardt.
Liana Bell.
Count Rosette’s report.
And Eveline’s unstable pride.
If even one of them erupted, the ruin route would come back to life.
But at this moment, Eveline was holding the handkerchief without crumpling it.
Much more lightly than before.
That alone made today’s lesson a success.
Meanwhile, Count Rosette left the practice room and walked down a long corridor.
The butler followed quietly behind him.
The Count said nothing for a long while.
Only when they reached the end of the corridor did he speak.
"Investigate him."
"You mean Leon Cart?"
"Yes."
The butler lowered his head.
"I have already verified his basic background. He is of commoner birth, has a record of working at a small private educational institute, and his recent circumstances were poor."
"He is not a man of that caliber."
The Count’s voice was low.
"He redirected my sword the first time he saw it. And he identified Eveline’s flaw in a single day."
"Do you find him suspicious?"
The Count stopped walking.
Outside the window lay a garden of red roses.
Raindrops clung to the petals after the rain had passed.
"Suspicious, yes,"
he said quietly.
"But he is better than the normal fools who have been around my daughter until now."
The butler did not answer.
Count Rosette looked back once toward the practice room.
"It was the first time."
"What was, sir?"
"The first time that child took my sword and did not let go of hers."
The butler lowered his head.
The Count started walking again.
"Find out what Leon Cart is hiding."
"Yes."
"And."
The Count’s eyes turned cold.
"Check the Berhardt side’s movements again."
"You mean regarding the young lady’s engagement?"
"It is not an engagement matter."
The Count spoke in a low voice.
"They are deliberately driving my daughter into a corner."
The butler’s expression stiffened.
"I need to know why."
At that same time.
An annex of the Berhardt marquisate, west of the capital.
Arsene Berhardt was receiving a report.
The informant was a servant in charge of the preliminary ball.
"House Rosette said they would not accept any message that was not in an official document."
Arsene slowly set down his teacup.
"Eveline said that?"
"Yes."
"She did not shout?"
"There was no such report."
"And she did not send a carriage either?"
"Yes."
Arsene smiled briefly.
It was not a pleasant smile.
It was the smile of someone whose interest had been piqued.
"So someone really is at her side."
A girl sat across from him.
Light brown hair.
Clear eyes.
A simple dress.
Liana Bell.
A scholarship student of commoner birth.
And the original story’s heroine.
She asked with an anxious expression,
"Arsene, is it really all right for me to attend the ball?"
Arsene smiled gently.
"Of course, Liana."
"But Lady Rosette might be offended..."
"I will explain it to her."
He spoke kindly.
But his fingertips coldly tapped the handle of his teacup.
"You need not worry about anything, Liana."
Liana lowered her head.
Her face showed that she still knew nothing.
Not that she stood at the center of someone else’s ruin event.
Not that someone was using her as a shield.
Arsene looked out the window.
In the direction of House Rosette.
"Eveline,"
he muttered under his breath.
"Since when did you learn to endure?"
No one answered those words.
But his eyes were not smiling.
And at that same time, I, Leon Cart, was tossing handkerchiefs to Eveline in the practice room.
"Again."
"Again?"
"At the ball, words more irritating than a handkerchief will come flying at you."
"I really hate this."
"You still have to catch them."
Eveline gritted her teeth and caught the handkerchief.
Once again, she did not crumple it.
I nodded.
"Good."
"Was that good too?"
"Yes."
"...One more time."
"The handkerchief?"
"The praise."
The moment she said it, Eveline’s face stiffened.
It was the face of someone who had belatedly realized what she had just said.
The practice room fell silent.
The butler pretended not to hear.
The maids desperately lowered their heads.
I considered my response for a moment.
If I teased her here, I would die.
If I took it too seriously, I would die too.
The right answer was to keep it brief and move on.
"That was good."
Eveline turned her head away.
"Fine."
Her voice was blunt.
But the handkerchief was still not crumpled.
That day’s lesson continued until night fell.
And the preliminary ball, which would be held two days later.
Was shaping up to be a far dirtier game than anything we had prepared for.
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