Distant Memories

I rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. A familiar face was waiting for me.

"Y-you... what are you doing here?"

He looked the same as always—blonde, handsome, and wearing that smug, overconfident smile that usually made the girls at the academy swoon. INSTRUCTOR ZENON.

"Why? Because this is my facility," he said, sounding way too pleased with himself. "I'm the one who invested in that man. Simple as that."

"Oh, thank god," I sighed, letting my shoulders drop just a bit. "I’ve always suspected you were a complete lunatic. It’s nice to know I’m finally right."

I took a couple of cautious steps back. There was a staircase behind him—probably my ticket out of this dump.

"Think whatever you like," he shrugged. "It doesn’t change the fact that I need your blood."

"Honestly, what is it with you people and blood? Are you all doing vampire research or just going through a very weird phase?"

"To someone like you, it might as well be the same thing."

"Stop. Spare me the explanation," I cut him off. "I have zero interest in your occult hobbies."

"I figured as much."

"You do realize the knights are going to be here any second, right? You’re finished, Zenon."

"Finished?" He didn't even blink. That creepy smile didn't move an inch. "Exactly what part of me is 'ending'?"

"Your status, your honor—gone. And then there’s the execution. I’ll personally volunteer to drop the guillotine's blade on your neck."

"I'm afraid it won't go down like that. You and I are leaving through a secret passage."

"Wow, a secret getaway. How romantic," I deadpanned. "Too bad I absolutely loathe you."

"You’ll come regardless. With your blood and this research, my seat as the 12th Seat of the Rounds is practically guaranteed. I’ll finally be able to ditch this pathetic 'Swordsmanship Instructor' gig."

"The Rounds? Let me guess—a support group for sociopaths?"

"The Knights of Rounds," he corrected, his voice taking on that annoying 'true believer' tone. "The twelve strongest knights chosen by The Cult. Status, honor, wealth—I’ll have more than I ever dreamed of. I've already got the strength; I just needed the results. And your blood is going to provide them."

Zenon threw his arms out wide like he was expecting applause. God, villains and their monologues.

"I don't care," I said, bored. "I am so done with the blood talk."

"In a perfect world, I would have preferred Princess Iris, but you’ll have to do."

"I’m going to kill you."

"Ah, my apologies. I forgot how much you hate being compared to your sister."

"Shut up!"

That was it. I lunged. My strike was pure Ki and desperation, aimed straight for his throat.

"Ooh, scary," he mocked.

He parried it at the last possible second. I followed up with a flurry of attacks, our blades clashing and sending sparks flying into the air. If you were just looking at the swords, it might have looked like we were evenly matched. But one look at our faces told the real story.

I was grinding my teeth, pouring everything I had into every swing. Zenon? He looked like he was taking a leisurely stroll in the park.

Tch.

I clicked my tongue and hopped back to reset my range.

"I haven't seen you in a while, and you've already downgraded to a cheap sword?" Zenon noted, glancing at my blade.

I looked down and winced. We’d only been at it for a minute, and my sword was already covered in nicks and chips. Note to self: don't buy weapons from shady merchants during a city-wide crisis.

"A true master doesn't care about the quality of their sword," I bluffed, trying to keep my face stiff.

"Right. I’m sure a master wouldn't," he sneered. "But you’re just an ordinary girl. I should know—I am your Swordsmanship Instructor, after all."

My heart stung. For a second, I felt like I was going to cry, but I shoved that pathetic feeling down and replaced it with pure, unadulterated rage.

"Then keep your eyes open," I spat. "I'll show you exactly how 'ordinary' I am."

I didn't hold back. I knew I couldn't beat him in a fair fight, especially not with a piece of junk that was about to shatter. But I hadn't spent my life swinging a sword for nothing. I’d spent every day chasing my sister’s back, obsessing over what I lacked, trying to bridge the gap. I knew her sword better than I knew myself.

I could see it in my mind perfectly. Every angle, every ounce of weight. If I could see it, I could do it.

"HAAAAAAH!"

I swung. It wasn't my strike—it was Iris's.

Zenon’s smile finally vanished. He poured Magic Power into his blade to block, but the impact sent us both reeling.

Was it a draw? No.

A thin red line opened up on Zenon’s cheek.

He wiped the blood away, staring at his hand in genuine shock. "I'm impressed."

He wasn't being sarcastic this time.

"I didn't think you were hiding a trick like that." He tilted his palm, studying the red stain.

"Regretting looking down on me yet?" I panted.

"Heh. Hardly." He started to laugh again. "I'll admit I was surprised, but in the end, it’s just a cheap imitation. You’re a monkey mimicking a master. You aren't even close to the real thing."

He shook his head, looking almost disappointed.

"You sure talk big for someone who just got cut."

"Fair point. I suppose I should get a little serious then."

Zenon shifted his stance.

The air in the room instantly turned heavy. The Magic Power radiating off him became sharper, denser, like it was physically pressing against my skin.

"I'll tell you a secret: I’ve never shown my true power to an outsider. What you’re about to see is my genuine sword—the sword of a future member of the Rounds."

The atmosphere literally trembled.

"No way..."

He was on a different level. This wasn't just a "strong" move; it was an attack with a terrifying weight I’d never experienced. This was the wall between a genius and an ordinary person. It was a gap so wide it made me want to give up on the spot.

He might have actually been as strong as my sister.

The blade came at me with overwhelming pressure. I didn't even have a plan; my body just moved on its own, a reflex born from years of mind-numbing practice.

There was no impact.

When our swords met, mine simply gave up. It shattered into a million pieces.

I watched the glittering fragments of Mithril dance through the air, feeling strangely detached, like I was watching someone else's life from a distance.

Somewhere far away...

A memory surfaced. A time when swinging a sword was actually fun. Before the comparisons, before the pressure. Back then, Iris was always by my side. It was a distant memory I thought I’d buried years ago.

"You can never be like your sister," Zenon said.

A single tear escaped and ran down my cheek.

"Now, you're coming with me."

The hilt—the only part of my sword left—slipped from my hand. It hit the floor with a dull, pathetic thud.

And then...

Clack. Clack.

A sound echoed from the stairs behind Zenon.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Someone was walking down.

Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.

The footsteps stopped. I looked up.

Standing there, looking like he stepped right out of a chuunibyou's wet dream, was a man clad in a JET-BLACK LONGCOAT.