Chapter 4: Stained.
Valsington Institute, 1 year ago.
— "Don't even think we'd want to be friends with a psychopath like you!" — a boy shouted at Beltrán.
Beltrán watched as the children walked away from him without giving him the slightest chance to respond. Among them was a boy with noticeably ash-colored hair, slightly taller than the rest his age—this boy was Larson.
Valsington Institute, 5 months ago.
— "You'd better not get up for a while… and don't go running to a teacher either." — Larson said, his voice calm and relaxed.
After delivering a brutal beating, Beltrán could only curl up, clutching his injured body in a fetal position. Larson merely spat on the ground before turning his back and walking away, his group following close behind.
Beltrán felt the urge to cry pathetically on the floor.
However, his eyes slowly opened as a deep irritation began to spread within him, forcing him to rise little by little. Larson and the others were already walking away, completely unaware that Beltrán had gotten back on his feet.
Tears slipped from his eyes as he clenched his teeth so tightly his jaw began to ache. The thought of rushing at them—of attacking without caring what would happen afterward—boiled inside his head like water on the verge of spilling from a pot.
"…But what happens after that?"
Beltrán's mind turned against him, forcing him to consider the consequences of his actions.
Those consequences were obvious.
He would probably get beaten again. And even if he managed to hurt one of them—or even Larson himself—once a teacher showed up and asked what had happened, everyone would point at him.
The rest was speculation, but it was the most realistic outcome he could imagine.
Expulsion.
I can't let my father feel ashamed because of this… I'm better than them… I'm better…
Beltrán watched, powerless, as the boys left without doing anything to stop them.
…I am a Leonhard…
Valsington Institute, present day.
Beltrán couldn't help but shake his numb arm rather roughly as he watched Larson and his group walk away from him—just like in the past. The difference now was that Beltrán didn't feel even the slightest hint of nostalgia as he watched his former acquaintance leave.
Children acting like mobsters… I suppose some things don't change, regardless of the world.
He couldn't help but mock the situation, even knowing it might bring consequences. He simply could no longer take seriously a group of kids cornering him and throwing threats around. From his current perspective, they were all just brats who didn't even understand the consequences of their own actions.
In that sense, their lack of awareness doesn't restrain their cruelty. If anything, it makes it worse. I'd rather be threatened by people who understand the weight of their actions than by mindless fools with no grasp of them.
Even so, Beltrán couldn't help but feel a certain caution regarding whatever Larson and his followers might do next.
When it came to disturbing the minds of others, children were far more unpredictable—and in some ways, far more frightening—than most adults.
After changing in a row of small rooms provided for students, Beltrán stepped out wearing the sports uniform issued by the institution. Since many of the school's training activities often resulted in torn or damaged clothing, part of the enrollment included lessons on repairing garments. For that reason, all uniforms were expected to be returned to the institute.
The outfit consisted of a tight-fitting shirt made from a fabric both elastic and resistant, quite different from the usual smooth material of standard uniforms. Beltrán couldn't quite compare its texture to anything from the other world that lingered in his mind.
The shirt extended to his forearms and felt surprisingly light despite clinging closely to the body, allowing proper ventilation. It reached up to his neck, with certain areas slightly padded.
The pants, worn by both boys and girls, ended at the ankles. They were dark in color, marked by two parallel lines—one red in Beltrán's case, indicating the group he belonged to, and another white. It was a reliable way to distinguish between groups.
As usual, the supervisors divided the students, separating boys from girls. Beltrán noticed that neither Larson nor his friends had been placed in the same group as him. Once arranged into lines of eight students, one of the supervisors approached.
He appeared to be some kind of retired adventurer.
Unlike the bulky physiques Beltrán associated with athletic individuals, this man had a rather slender build, though his visible muscles were well-toned. Unlike the students, he wore much lighter clothing—a loose shirt open at the chest and equally light, relaxed trousers. Perhaps the most striking feature, however, was his ears, which were longer than a human's and pointed at the tips.
I know this is relatively normal here… but it's still strange how fictional races resemble reality so closely.
Beltrán couldn't help but theorize in silence.
This teacher was a half-elf—a race born from humans and elven ancestry. Unlike ordinary humans, half-elves possessed an innate agility and combat efficiency from a young age. They aged far more slowly and could live up to 120 years.
Beltrán usually saw them working as adventurers or, at times, as servants. All of them carried a natural beauty that set them apart from the average human—delicate, refined features, almost feminine in their elegance, accompanied by an ever-present air of grace. Their voices were melodious, and their facial symmetry striking.
The teacher, with tanned skin, brown hair, and gray eyes, swept his gaze across the students in a manner that felt almost rehearsed. By Beltrán's estimation, there were around thirty-two students present.
— "Students, today we'll be doing a group activity, so we'll begin with some warm-up exercises…"
Already accustomed to the routine, Beltrán and the rest of the group began a series of stretches, preparing their bodies for more intense physical activity. The exercises weren't very different from those stored in Beltrán's memories.
However, with the experience he carried, Beltrán avoided some of the common mistakes children his age tended to make—half-hearted or poorly executed stretches. Even so, with his lack of muscle memory and the natural clumsiness of a child's body, performing them correctly proved more difficult than he had anticipated.
I'm still not used to this body… though I suppose that makes me more of an owner of the memories than anything else.
Beltrán quietly mocked himself before continuing with the exercises indicated by the teacher.
This is far more exhausting than I remember.
Beltrán felt slightly short of breath after finishing the initial exercises. By performing them properly—unlike in the past, when he would've done them incorrectly or halfway—he was now experiencing the full extent of the fatigue he once avoided.
After running several laps around the field as instructed, Beltrán managed to steady his breathing, recovering faster than some of the other children, many of whom appeared dizzy from inexperience.
Once most of the students had regained their composure, the half-elf teacher's voice rang out clearly.
— "Students, as I mentioned earlier, today's activity will be team-based, competing against members of other groups." — he announced.
— "There will be seven exercises, each performed by teams of eight. This group of thirty-two forms four teams, so choose your teammates."
After hearing those words, Beltrán lazily glanced at his classmates.
I can see why the original owner of these memories didn't like children.
Almost within less than a minute, most of the children had already formed groups, pairing up with those who shared similar personalities or with whom they were already friends.
All of them—except for one boy who didn't even attempt to join anyone.
The half-elf teacher, Axcel, couldn't help but notice with a hint of disappointment the student who had been left alone after the groups were formed.
I'm only now realizing Beltrán is here.
Axcel was a retired adventurer who, thanks to certain jobs he had taken in the past, had secured a full-time position at the institute. He was one of several instructors in charge of physical conditioning classes, and like most teachers, he was aware of more than a few rumors circulating among the students.
Beltrán was one of those cases that, even if the teacher wanted to help, he doubted there was much he could do.
One of the reasons—an unspoken rule—why many teachers avoided getting involved with students like Beltrán was simple: despite their title, they were still commoners. If a teacher openly supported a student looked down upon by the children of influential nobles, those same students could easily complain to their families about a "troublesome" teacher who "unfairly interfered" with their "personal affairs."
And that could become a serious problem.
— "Students, your group is still missing a membe—" —Axcel began, addressing one of the teams that clearly had one less member.
— "We're fine like this! We don't want Beltrán in our group!" —one of the boys snapped, irritation evident in his voice.
He quickly corrected himself after realizing the tone he had used toward a teacher, lowering his voice.
— "I-I mean… I just think our team works better with seven members."
Axcel let out a quiet sigh.
This wasn't the first time he had seen children reject a classmate, and usually, after some insistence, they would reluctantly accept. But Beltrán's case was different.
It seemed he had earned the disdain of almost everyone in his year. And those who didn't hate him simply avoided him, afraid of being associated with him.
— "Very well. Beltrán, if you don't have a team, you can't participate. Come with me—you can watch the competition from the stands." —Axcel said, resigned, the corner of his lips slightly lowered.
For students with health issues or those unable to participate, there was a seating area by the sand field where they could observe the activities. In cases like Beltrán's, teachers avoided forcing inclusion into a group, since reluctant acceptance often led to mistreatment or outright neglect during the activity.
Separating him was, in a way, a preventive measure.
However, after taking a few steps, Axcel noticed that Beltrán wasn't following him. The boy remained where he stood, watching the other students.
— "Professor, I have a question." —Beltrán said, his back still turned.
— "Could I participate without a team?"
Axcel fell silent, momentarily taken aback before regaining his composure—though his raised eyebrows betrayed his surprise.
— "…What?" —was all he managed to say, looking at Beltrán as if he were out of his mind.
— "Participate alone? That's too much for someone your age."
The idea sounded as absurd as a child claiming to be the son of a king.
— "I've missed several conditioning classes recently. I don't want to keep accumulating absences." —Beltrán replied, his tone carrying genuine concern.
Slowly, he turned to face the teacher. In his eyes, there was a mixture of sadness and determination.
Axcel knew that, technically, there was no rule preventing a student from participating alone—as long as it didn't interfere with the activity or pose a danger. However, many teachers chose to deny such requests out of caution, knowing that a predictable failure would likely turn into ridicule.
If I remember correctly, I heard he was recently injured.
Axcel's thoughts were clear: Beltrán's reputation was already so damaged that letting him participate alone wouldn't make it worse. Besides, he couldn't deny the faint sense of empathy he felt toward the boy.
He knew Beltrán's grades in his class had dropped due to his exclusion and absences. Something about his situation felt… familiar.
Axcel glanced at the other students. None were openly mocking him, but several whispered among themselves, suppressing laughter.
He sighed deeply, then nodded.
— "Very well. I'll see what I can do for you." —he said at last, his tone carrying a hint of reluctance.
Beltrán noticed the complex expression on the teacher's face before he turned away to speak with the other instructors, who were still organizing the groups.
Yeah… it's hard to say no to a hopeful kid.
As Axcel walked away, some of the children who had mocked him earlier quickly resumed their laughter.
— "You? Competing alone? Hahaha, what an idiot. If you don't have friends, that's not our fault."
— "What, do you think you're some kind of storybook hero? How ridiculous."
— "They're right… you're crazy, hahaha."
— "Did they hit your head that hard?"
Beltrán looked at them in silence, maintaining the best poker face he could. Without hesitation, he stepped closer.
For a moment, the laughter stopped—his attitude catching them off guard.
— "I'll make you a bet." —he said firmly.
— "Even alone, I'll go further than any of you."
The group fell silent for a second before bursting into laughter, clutching their stomachs and pointing at him as if he had just told the best joke of the day.
They probably thought he had read too many children's hero stories.
Good… now that the bet's been set, I just need to make sure my words actually carry some weight.
Beltrán noticed a few teachers looking at him curiously from afar; others simply shook their heads, smiling faintly.
After a few minutes, Axcel returned.
— "It seems they agreed. I convinced them that, considering your individual performance, we might slightly improve your grade in this subject."
Beltrán smiled, nodding politely in gratitude before turning his attention to the other teachers, who were already grouping the students in preparation for the competition.
Something he didn't need to pay much attention to—after all, he stood completely alone.
I can assume that since they allowed me to participate, these will be individual challenges that contribute points to each team until a final result is reached.
He analyzed the materials laid out around the field.
One of the reasons Beltrán had even preferred participating alone rather than not participating at all was his commitment to the institution. Unlike schools from the other world, institutions here were highly selective about the type of students they accepted.
While Beltrán didn't have particularly poor academic grades, physical conditioning and thaumaturgical fundamentals were a different matter. Low performance in those areas could lead to a disastrous outcome.
I don't know exactly what will happen if my grades drop too much… but they'll probably raise my tuition. In the worst—and most likely—case, if that happens, my father, who already seems somewhat aware of my performance, will see me as a lost cause.
And when that happens… I don't know what will become of me, but I'll probably end up as nothing more than a puppet for the family.
Considering his situation and the knowledge of nobility he had inherited from those foreign memories, at best, Beltrán imagined himself being married off to some widowed noblewoman—reduced to something between a puppet and a pet.
I'm not stupid enough to try running away.
At first, the idea of escaping and abandoning his noble title had crossed his mind. But he discarded it almost immediately. With his lack of experience—and the apparently hostile world around him—he doubted he would survive long outside.
What they said was true.
He wasn't some protagonist from a story.
He would probably die easily at the hands of a random bandit.
With no better options and limited information, the best course of action was clear: make use of every advantage he had to catch up in his studies and prove his worth to his father.
Thanks to the knowledge from beyond his own self, Beltrán didn't think he would struggle much in common academic areas. However, if he truly wanted his father's attention, he would need to stand out in more than one aspect within the institution.
It's a risky bet… but no matter the outcome, I have to excel physically—even if it costs me some of my own integrity.
After organizing the teams, the teachers proceeded to explain the dynamics of the competition. In total, twenty teams had been formed—including the rather unfortunate "team" consisting of only Beltrán.
— "It's simple, students. There will be a total of eight different trials." —explained a teacher with long hair and glasses.
— "Each test is designed to measure different aspects of your performance. Every team may choose only one member to participate in each trial. Some will be direct competitions between teams, while others will be evaluated individually."
In my case… I'll probably be able to participate in most of them.
Beltrán thought, analyzing the situation. Since he had been allowed to compete alone, it was likely that most of the activities required only a single participant.
— "The activities are as follows…"
First Activity: Evasion Speed
This test was designed to measure an individual's ability to avoid incoming threats.
For the trial, students were given a vest equipped with a hood and mask. The teachers would use padded spears, their tips coated in a reddish dye representing the "blade." They would launch a series of attacks, and the student would have to evade them, attempting to receive as few "lethal hits" as possible.
Due to the nature of the test, both boys and girls could participate within their respective teams, giving some groups a mixed composition—though these were in the minority.
Beltrán quickly approached one of the heavy vests. It had straps that allowed it to be adjusted to his body. Its weight was slightly uncomfortable, prompting him to move subtly to get used to it—unlike the other students, who rolled on the ground, jumped, and ran around, all trying to adapt their strategies to the gear.
The first teams began their attempts.
A total of five teachers conducted the trial. From Beltrán's perspective, all of them likely had extensive combat experience—whether from the way they stood, holding their spears with imposing presence, or the confidence with which they warmed up, lightly maneuvering them.
— "Students, prepare yourselves."
Fortunately, Beltrán wasn't among the first to go. This allowed him to carefully observe the others.
Each team had selected their fastest or most reactive member. The rest of the students stood outside a square marked with chalk, which defined the testing area.
They look pretty alert at the start… though some aren't as nervous as I expected.
Beltrán focused on a few of the participants. Among the five students standing in the field, two stood out—they looked unusually calm.
One had blond hair and blue eyes. The other had dark hair and deep violet eyes.
Beltrán hadn't seen them before. Yet both stood perfectly still before the teachers—not focused on the weapon, nor on the teacher themselves.
What are they looking at…?
No matter how much he observed, he couldn't figure it out.
When the trial began, the teachers launched fast, precise thrusts forward, pushing with the spear's tip. The students immediately scattered—running, rolling, jumping—anything to avoid the weapon's reach.
They look like Souls players…
Beltrán mocked internally, recalling a game from his other memories.
But his attention remained fixed on those two boys.
They moved almost the instant the teachers initiated their attacks—evading with a strange grace Beltrán hadn't seen in any other child. It was as if they could predict the teachers' movements.
Even the teachers seemed momentarily thrown off.
If they had fully developed bodies… they could probably evade everything.
Despite their young, untrained physiques, they avoided strikes that still carried the weight and reach of real spears. They didn't roll or jump like the others—instead, they shifted sideways, forcing the teachers to attempt to corner them, only to slip away and reposition.
Did they train beforehand? No… their movements are still rough. But they definitely know where the attacks are coming from…
For a moment, I thought I wasn't the only anomaly. But they're different… someone like me would use a different strategy. Maybe they're just prodigies.
As Beltrán observed, faint red marks began appearing on their clothes—on dangerous areas like the neck, under the arms, or the abdomen.
Eventually, their movements slowed.
When the minute-long trial finally ended, they gasped heavily, revealing they had been holding their breath for a significant portion of the test—something Beltrán hadn't noticed.
What monsters… since when? No… they must've done that from the start.
Still, seeing them struggle to breathe reassured him slightly.
At least they're still just kids.
More teams followed, most performing poorly.
Eventually, it was Beltrán's turn—the last participant in this trial.
He couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed at the murmurs and laughter directed at him as he stepped forward. Still, he maintained a calm expression, focusing instead on how he would stand out.
— "Ready… Begin!"
The trial started.
Some of the students repeated the patterns of those before them, though with slight improvements from having observed the test beforehand.
Beltrán, however, had been assigned to a female teacher with brown hair and eyes.
His heart rate spiked the moment the trial began. His untrained reflexes almost betrayed him—urging him to hesitate, to step back—but his focused, adult-like will forced him to act against his body's instincts.
The teacher moved first, striking downward toward him.
Beltrán had initially assumed that his smaller size might give him an advantage—that it would be harder to hit him. That assumption was quickly proven wrong.
Most teachers likely had experience fighting creatures beyond humans.
This doesn't look like much.
The teacher thought mid-attack.
Beltrán barely reacted.
Instead of retreating—
He advanced.
— "…Huh?"
Before the spear could fully extend, Beltrán had already closed the distance.
He hunched forward, raising his forearms to shield his face and torso. The spear struck his arm, leaving a red mark.
Forced into close range, the teacher had to step back, unable to execute full attacks.
But the moment she did—
Beltrán advanced again.
Is he restricting me?
She frowned, quickly grasping his strategy.
That won't be enough.
Adjusting her grip, she swung horizontally.
Beltrán didn't dodge.
Another red mark appeared across his forearms. His body trembled from the impact—but he kept moving forward.
The teacher shifted to his flank, trying to exploit an opening.
She assumed his vision was limited by his guard.
She was wrong.
From the side—
Those orange eyes were already waiting.
Did he predict that?
Beltrán shifted, colliding into her slightly. The spear grazed his shoulder.
For a brief moment, she was caught off guard.
Now pressed close, Beltrán subtly pushed against her, maintaining contact. His stance caught her attention—unfamiliar, improvised, almost reminiscent of something she had seen in monks she once fought.
One leg forward, driving his advance. The other supporting from behind. Feet slightly angled.
It wasn't a conventional stance.
But it worked.
Did he fight before? No… his body is too tense. Did he really figure this out just by watching?
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
Let's see how you handle this.
She changed her grip—one hand near the base, the other closer to the tip—and began striking downward repeatedly.
Beltrán adjusted his guard, protecting his head.
But his arms were thin.
The impacts accumulated quickly.
His forearms, face, shoulders, and sides became stained red.
Damn it… I thought conserving energy would be enough… I'm exhausted.
His arms went numb.
He barely managed to raise them again—
Until they finally dropped.
The spear came down toward his chest—
— "Enough!"
Beltrán inhaled sharply, staring at the tip just inches away.
Smiling faintly, he lost balance and fell backward onto the ground.
The other students watched in stunned silence.
Beltrán—who was barely considered more than a loser—had done something none of them had.
He had forced a teacher to retreat.
Some quickly broke the silence, pointing out that he had taken far more hits than anyone else—his arms were covered in marks, easily double the average.
Yet others felt uneasy, watching him lying there, sweating, almost… satisfied.
The teacher, still surprised, extended her hand.
— "You did well."
Beltrán, still catching his breath, accepted it with trembling hands, allowing her to pull him up.
Not something the others failed to notice.
— "Hey, idiots!" —one boy shouted.
— "What's with the shock? He got hit more than anyone!"
Beltrán recognized him—the same boy who had mocked him earlier.
Murmurs spread.
The other teachers approached, reviewing the results. Many hadn't been able to observe his trial directly.
Most of the marks—
Were on his forearms.
— "Silence."
The teacher's voice cut through everything.
Instantly, the children fell quiet.
— "Your classmate surpassed all of you." —she said, a hint of mockery in her tone.
— "And not because of a large difference in ability. Most of you have similar—or even better—physical condition."
Protests erupted.
She raised her hand again.
Silence.
— "In a real battle… who do you think would have died first?"
Confusion spread.
She sighed.
— "The stains on your clothes make it clear. Maybe two or three of you could last more than a minute. But without immediate treatment, you would die."
The students looked at themselves.
— "Your classmate, however, protected his vital points. Yes, without treatment he might lose his arms—or even his life—but he would last far longer than any of you. In a real fight… he might even survive."
Beltrán remained silent, sweat still running down his face.
His gaze was distant.
Thinking about the next trial.
That wasn't all…
The teacher watched him closely.
Running toward an attack requires either nerves of steel… or a will as hard as onyx.
Especially for a child.
The other students tried to dismiss it.
But the other teachers—
Simply frowned.