Theo let out a low whistle.
"She is pretty. A sight for sore eyes in the middle of all these dark uniforms."
"What good does pretty do for a knight?" Michael muttered. "Though for her, maybe it's useful, if the rumors are true."
He smirked. She was pretty, he supposed, but in his eyes she paled entirely next to Teresa.
No one stood near Echinacea. An invisible circle seemed to have formed around her. Cadets who arrived found seats elsewhere without seeming to think about it.
Then, one person walked directly toward her.
"Isn't that Alice Winterbell?" Theo said.
Alice, in her neat cadet uniform, approached Echinacea and spoke to her. Echinacea responded distractedly at first, then looked visibly startled when Alice sat down beside her. Alice smiled and said something more.
Echinacea looked flustered, turned her head away, and then propped her chin on her hand with a small sigh.
And then she smiled.
Small, involuntary, the kind that escapes before it can be stopped.
There was warmth in it, and the awkwardness of being caught off guard, and something that looked like genuine happiness.
"…Oh."
Michael had been watching, and he caught it. Something in him lurched oddly.
He mumbled something that wasn't quite words and then realized what he was doing. He rubbed his eyes. It was just a girl smiling. He slapped his own cheek.
"What are you doing?" Theo asked, baffled.
"Nothing."
But something was boiling in him. He channeled it into irritation, at himself, at the situation. Getting thrown off by a girl in a dress. Pathetic. He gripped his scabbard and willed his turn to come faster.
"Number 7, Michael von Franz Almari! Number 8, Echinacea Roaz!"
Michael was on his feet before the echo died. He strode into the arena.
Echinacea approached across from him with a soft, unhurried gait, as if the floor were smooth marble.
Standing in front of her in that white dress, it felt less like a ranking match and more like the moment before the first dance at a ball. If it were a ball, he'd be placing his hand over his chest and bowing.
That absurd thought flickered through his mind, and he scowled.
Ridiculous. He was just flustered because of how she was dressed. After this, he would break her apart and forget her entirely.
He fixed her with a glare.
"…Let mercy and grace be granted to the victor, humility and acceptance to the defeated. Let honor and justice dwell in the blades. Ar Sebatiem."
The third-year cadet acting as referee raised his sword between them, then pulled it back.
Michael raised his sword vertically — the Franz Almari school. Steadfast defense and devastating counter.
Teresa had mastered it to become a Giosa owner and a living legend. He had absolute faith in it.
Come at me.
Instead of charging in, Echinacea angled her sword loosely at her side and let her violet eyes move over him slowly, as if committing every detail to memory.
That gaze irritated him. Stop staring and move!
Then she did.
One step forward.
Her sword began to rise from its hanging position in a slow, smooth arc.
I see it. Michael's grip tightened internally. He saw the trajectory. He was ready.
Third step.
Clang.
His sword was in the air.
For a moment, silence.
The sword spun slowly upward and then crashed onto the arena floor.
No one understood what had happened.
Michael stared at his empty hand.
A light breeze moved through the arena, barely enough to stir his bangs.
He raised his head.
Her sword hovered an inch from his forehead. Beyond the blade's edge, her violet eyes looked at him with the gentle warmth of an older sibling watching a child lose at a game.
"…What."
His lips moved.
"What just ... what was that?"
"…Number 8, Echinacea Roaz wins."
"What the..."
"What happened?"
"Did you see that?"
"I.. no, what..."
The third-year's bewildered announcement set off a wave of noise through the stands.
Echinacea calmly sheathed her sword and walked back to the waiting area. Her heels clicked a steady rhythm against the floor.
Michael stood frozen. A third-year cadet approached and tapped him a couple of times on the shoulder. He came back to himself with a jolt, and the rush of heat hit him all at once, from the back of his neck to his forehead, and he walked out quickly, heading outside.
Theo followed him, expecting embarrassment. He searched until he found the distinctive golden hair.
Michael had his forehead pressed against the outer wall of the training hall.
"Michael… were you too careless…?"
Theo put a hand on his shoulder, half teasing. But when he saw Michael's expression, the words died in his throat. His face was still flushed, and his pale green eyes were unfocused, glassy, as though he were replaying something.
"Are you ... okay? Hey, it happens sometimes, it's fine ..."
"It wasn't a mistake."
"What?"
"I'm saying it wasn't. Didn't you see it?"
"See what?"
"Forget it. Live your whole life without understanding. You only see as much as you already know."
"What are you talking about?"
Michael pressed his hot cheeks with both hands, speaking in a dazed murmur.
"I've never seen anyone like her before."
Theo concluded that his roommate had been sent briefly out of his mind by the shock of losing in the first round. Michael rubbed his face several times, then slapped his cheeks firmly before his eyes steadied.
"Let's go."
"Go where?"
"Watch. I can't miss a single one of her matches."
"…You mean the lady?"
"Yes. Come on and pay attention this time. Don't miss it. You'll thank me later."
Michael grabbed Theo and pulled him toward the stands. Theo wrenched his arm free.
"Hey, I still have a match...I haven't been eliminated."
"Oh."
Michael blinked, and then his face went serious.
"Right. I'm out."
"This guy's been saying strange things since the beginning."
"I genuinely want to participate in the monster subjugation."
"Give it up. Go rest."
"After the ranking competition ends, I'll challenge whoever places third."
Michael laughed, cold and certain. Theo snorted.
"You just got knocked out in one move by the lady. Maybe some training first."
"After this competition."
He shoved Theo aside and headed for the stands, lowering his voice.
"Anyone who loses to her won't feel embarrassed."
"…What does that mean?"
"You'll understand when you see it. Watch carefully. You, by the way, really do need more training."
Michael left him behind. Theo scratched the back of his head, entirely lost, and went back to the waiting room.
* * *
Echinacea Roaz had no particular thoughts.
She had rested properly, applied the muscle ointment, taken the antibiotic, drunk the ginger tea and yet her body was still dragging. So she felt generally lazy about everything.
'Since I'm tired, I'll just finish this quickly.'
She had planned to put on a bit of a show, something flashy that would make an impression on the freshmen and end the rumors cleanly. But in her current state, she couldn't be bothered. All she actually needed to do was win decisively enough that no one could claim otherwise.
Standing in front of Michael as her first opponent, her mind drifted briefly to the past.
His stance. The same school as Teresa, who had held off Dietrich at the cost of her own life to buy time.
'Of course his older sister would have taught him.'
She didn't clearly remember the moment she had killed Michael. He had been one of many, and it was only after Teresa arrived at Azenka, late, and found his body, and broke down weeping over it, that his face had stayed with her.
Teresa had specialized in defensive swordsmanship. Her sword was tall, solid, beautiful in the way that fortresses are beautiful.
And that swordsmanship fit her nature and her Giosa, DimmonGiosa, a sword forged from human sorrow and the instinct to protect. A guardian's sword.
'He's devoted to his sister. But defensive swordsmanship isn't quite right for him.'
She could feel it just from the stance. Michael's nature was different.
'Since I've seen Teresa fight, maybe I'll give him some advice if there's an opening…'
She raised her sword. She took the opening he left her, knocked his sword away, and placed her blade at his forehead.
His stunned expression was painfully innocent. Living and young and intact. Teresa was alive too, and they were close siblings... she could feel it from how he stood. She felt the weight of what she had won back, right here in this moment. A small warmth rose despite herself, and she let a faint smile cross her face.
When she returned to the waiting area, Alice was already there. Her eyes were bright.
"You're entirely different from when we sparred, Miss Roaz."
"…Just call me by my name, Winterbell."
"Is that alright?"
"It's fine. Drop the formalities... I can't stand them."
Being looked at with that earnest shine and addressed with formal titles in the same breath was embarrassing. She said what she had been meaning to say and carefully took a seat, smoothing her dress.
"If I call you by your name… will you spar with me again sometime?"