Chapter 15: Gibraltar.
Beltrán's pupils dilated the moment he saw it. His suspicions, once solid enough to guide his thoughts, suddenly fractured into scattered pieces of theory.
"Are they siblings?"
Noah was well known throughout the institute for his overall ability. A respectable student, particularly distinguished in physical performance and etiquette. Everyone knew his identity as a member of the Gibraltar family.
So why had Beltrán never recognized the girl standing beside him?
The resemblance between them was undeniable. Yet unless they stood side by side, making the connection would have been difficult.
Beltrán glanced sideways at Stuart, who looked just as bewildered as he did.
Once the boys from Beltrán's class joined Noah's group, both he and Stuart chose to withdraw before they could be noticed.
"Did you know about that?" Beltrán asked.
The two of them retreated toward the rear section of the buildings reserved for the youngest students in the institute. It was unlikely anyone would think to look for them there, and the children running around nearby were still blissfully unaware of Beltrán's reputation—meaning none of them would think to expose their presence.
"No. This whole thing is weird," Stuart muttered, taking a bite from a Zhilphium fruit. "Could they just look alike?"
Beltrán shook his head.
"If it looks like a duck and walks like one, then it's probably a duck."
"When there are too many coincidences," Beltrán said, "the simplest answer is usually the correct one."
It was a principle he had learned from experience.
Overthinking every possibility was exhausting. It was far more practical to begin with the most obvious conclusion, while remaining open to alternatives.
"Fine," Stuart said after finishing his fruit. "Let's say they really are siblings. How does that help us?"
Beltrán fell silent.
His sandwich remained untouched in his hands as his mind raced through possibilities.
Then a thought struck him.
"Could she be the guardian I was looking for?"
His mind flooded with theories.
Stuart stared at him blankly, waiting for an answer.
Nearly twenty seconds passed before Beltrán finally spoke.
"It might confirm one of my theories. But we need more information about Samantha."
Stuart raised an eyebrow.
"You know her?"
"Yes," Beltrán admitted. "We spoke twice. Usually near Fareth's statue."
Stuart stared at him for several seconds.
Then he asked, completely deadpan:
"Who's Fareth?"
Beltrán rubbed his forehead, as if trying to soothe a headache.
A habit inherited from memories of another world.
"That's not important. The point is, we met near the building for final-year students."
As soon as he said it, Beltrán realized something.
At first, he had assumed that staying close to older students would protect him from harassment.
That assumption had been foolish.
If Noah had discovered him there, things could have become even worse.
"Was I really that naïve?"
No.
The problem had been something else.
"I assumed Noah wouldn't act unless I made a mistake."
Beltrán silently reprimanded himself.
He had underestimated others far too often.
"That sounds incredibly stupid," Stuart said flatly.
Beltrán shot him a glare.
Stuart didn't even bother explaining.
Apparently, he assumed Beltrán already understood why.
"Anyway," Beltrán continued, "she suddenly appeared and started telling me part of the statue's history. She kept me entertained for two days."
"And the third?"
"She never showed up."
"Maybe she was working with Noah."
Beltrán shook his head again.
"Keeping me distracted during breaks isn't exactly an effective strategy. She never used that knowledge to expose my location, and she didn't seem particularly interested in hurting me."
"Was that personality she showed me genuine?"
No obvious answer surfaced.
Beltrán looked toward Stuart.
"Let's focus on investigating the Gibraltars."
Stuart frowned thoughtfully.
His father was an influential merchant, which meant the Gibraltar name was hardly unfamiliar to him.
"Despite what most people think," Stuart began, "the Gibraltars are a family, not a noble house. But their influence rivals that of upper aristocracy."
Beltrán listened carefully.
"They specialize in purchasing monster-infested territories and supplying military forces to lower and middle aristocratic factions."
The distinction between a family and a noble house was an important legal matter.
As the son of a noble house, Beltrán had been forced to learn the differences thoroughly.
The social hierarchy was divided into four major classes.
The Clergy stood at the top.
The great churches wielded enough influence to overshadow every other class combined. Their power came not only from faith, but from territorial control, recruitment, and military force. Their churches provided resources to cities and villages under their protection, funding infrastructure, defense, and expansion.
They were, without question, one of the world's dominant powers.
Then came the Aristocracy.
Divided into High, Middle, and Low tiers, noble houses derived their authority from official titles, military assets, and wealth. Even within this class, there was division—traditional conservatives and ambitious reformists constantly competed for influence.
Below them were the Families.
Unlike noble houses, they possessed no titles.
Instead, their power came from land ownership, bloodline prestige, and accumulated military or economic influence. Many had risen after the great war of the past.
The purer their lineage, the greater their standing.
Thankfully, "purity" in this world did not mean the grotesque inbreeding practices Beltrán remembered from the other world.
"Thank God for that. Otherwise I might've been born deformed."
Instead, families sought external unions with powerful bloodlines—wealthy dynasties, descendants of heroes, or notable magical lineages.
And finally, there were the commoners.
The overwhelming majority of the population.
Those without noble blood, family lineage, or church affiliation.
"So they're a family…" Beltrán murmured.
He frowned.
"Where are they from?"
"Umbria," Stuart answered. "I don't know the exact location of their territory, but I can look into it."
Beltrán nodded.
For now, there was nothing more to conclude.
The two agreed to gather additional information.
At that exact moment, the bells rang throughout the institute, signaling the end of lunch.
Beltrán looked down at the sandwich in his hands.
He hadn't taken a single bite.
A faint sense of déjà vu washed over him as he sighed.
"You always return to where you were once happy, huh?"
With the promise to continue investigating, Beltrán returned to physical conditioning class.
Several students stared openly at him, astonished to see him in perfect condition after what had happened the previous day.
Beltrán ignored them.
He focused entirely on training.
His swordsmanship had improved, if only slightly, thanks to the principles Sir Aliss had hammered into him through relentless repetition.
He had begun to think ahead.
To anticipate the future flow of battle.
Overwhelming force from the start might seem effective—dramatic, even.
But competition had taught him something invaluable:
Long-term planning mattered more than flashy victories.
Winning a battle while leaving oneself half-dead was no true victory.
If his recent mistakes had taught him anything, it was that failing to anticipate Noah's actions had nearly destroyed him.
He refused to repeat that error.
"First, corroborate. Then act."
With that thought firmly planted in his mind, Beltrán continued training.
When classes finally ended, he exited far more cautiously than usual.
Sir Aliss was waiting for him.
After noticing Beltrán's miraculous recovery, the knight immediately resumed his combat instruction.
Though still clumsy—and practically useless in actual combat—Beltrán had begun instinctively protecting his vital points.
His legs.
His forearms.
His chest.
Even his neck.
It was progress.
Small, but real.
Unfortunately, none of it made enduring Sir Aliss's crushing pressure any easier.