The Girl and the Sound of Rain

ROSE

I could hear the rain.

The melody of water echoing from outside was a constant distraction, tugging at my Ki. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart, and finally lowered my practice rapier.

I wiped the sweat dripping down my face with the back of my hand, then tried to do something about my hopelessly disheveled hair. The dojo was dim, filled with nothing but the rhythmic drumming of the storm. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the sound wash over me as I inhaled the damp, heavy air.

The sound of water is always beautiful, no matter the season.

I was born the Princess of Oriana, a girl from the Land of the Arts. Growing up, I was surrounded by every form of aesthetic expression imaginable; it’s only natural that I developed a refined eye for beauty. Every member of the Oriana Royalty is expected to master a single art in their lifetime—painting, music, theater—you name it, we choose it.

As a child, I was interested in everything, which was exactly the problem. To me, every art form was equally stunning, equally magnificent. Painting, music, theater, fashion, sculpture... how was I supposed to choose just one when they were all so perfect? So, I didn't. I dabbled in all of them. And because I have a bit of a knack for these things, I received high praise across the board.

Every Oriana Kingdom Artist had their eyes on me, placing bets on which path I’d eventually take.

But then, I chose the sword.

And I didn't just add it to the list; one day, I suddenly threw away every other art I had spent years practicing to focus entirely on a single blade.

Everyone asked me the same thing: Why the sword?

I didn't give them a long-winded explanation. I simply told them that I felt beauty in it.

Of course, in the Oriana Kingdom, the sword is looked down upon as something barbaric. Not a single person was willing to recognize my martial pursuit as a legitimate "art." So, I did what any self-respecting artist would do: I shook off my family’s attempts to stop me and moved abroad to study at the Midgar Academy for Spellswords.

The truth is, a certain beautiful sword is etched into my heart.

It’s a precious memory that I’ve never shared with anyone. The real reason I committed myself to this path was a distant, lingering admiration for a single swordsman. I can still see it—the sheer beauty of the sword he wielded that day.

My life’s work—my ultimate "art"—is to one day host that same beauty within my own blade.

No one back home recognizes what I’m doing. But I don't care. I’m not chasing beauty for the sake of a standing ovation. I decided long ago that even if the whole world ignores me, I’ll keep moving forward on my own path.

That was the plan, anyway. But then, a letter arrived.

"Father is coming to this year's Bushin Festival..." I whispered, the words catching on my cherry-blossom colored lips.

For the King to attend the Bushin Festival is unheard of—the man absolutely despises swords. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s coming to drag me back home. The public is already gossiping, and one rumor in particular has me worried: apparently, a fiancé has already been informally selected for me.

The moment I heard that, I fired off a letter to my parents demanding answers. I’m still waiting for a reply.

I’ve already decided who I’m going to spend my life with. He has a passionate, beautiful heart—a man who doesn't fear death itself. He is the only partner I want by my side.

That’s why I have to make my father acknowledge me at the Bushin Festival. First, I’ll show him the beauty of my sword. And then, hopefully, I can show him him...

I gave my cheeks a sharp slap.

"Concentrate, Rose."

I muttered the command to myself and peeled off my jacket, which had grown heavy and damp with sweat. My skin glistened in the dim light, leaving me in nothing but my Mitsugoshi Company Sports Bra to hide my chest. It was a bit of an improper look, sure, but no one ever comes in here but me. There was no point in worrying about modesty now.

I took a stance with my practice rapier and visualized.

I thought back to the greatest swing I had ever executed—the one from the incident at the academy. That was the peak of my life as a Spellsword. The Bushin Festival is starting soon, and I have to reclaim that sensation before it does.

I swung. My rapier sliced through the air, sending beads of sweat flying as my honey-colored hair broke free of its pins. I brushed the strands out of my face and kept swinging, over and over.

Outside, the rain continued its steady, beautiful song.

But that feeling? That perfect sensation? It didn't come back.