An assassin must know how to draw.
Of course, this doesn’t mean drawing with paints. The drawing refers to the entire process that unfolds during an assassination.
Starting from knowing who the assassination target is, imagining how they will move and react, and then planning the optimal assassination strategy in one’s mind. Of course, the plan doesn’t involve just one or two options but considers as many as dozens of scenarios.
This is followed by a long wait, sometimes for hours, other times for days.
And then, the moment comes. The fleeting instant aligns with the picture imagined in one’s mind, and you must never miss it. Failure is not an option. To an assassin, failure is death itself, and if anything, it would be fortunate to die.
Of course, if the target’s breath is ended, the cleanup afterward must be perfect.
This entire process is assassination. If even one part is missing, it’s not assassination—it’s just simple murder.
In that sense, I’m already a failed assassin. I barely understand the opponent, let alone drawing them into an ill-conceived plan.
Luckily, I’ve somehow managed to arrange a duel, but an assassin who mustn’t be swayed by emotion acted purely on impulse.
The price was steep.
Had I been fully prepared, it might have been different, but after the previous four spars, I’m already worn out. Pushing for a quick resolution has left me more tired than usual.
Under normal circumstances, I could have aimed for a smooth victory without overwhelming, but now the fight is muddy.
!
The moment I dodged his swinging sword, the guy grabs my hair. Then, with his pull, I’m dragged along.
Despite the dangerous situation with a sword swinging towards me as I’m dragged, I take advantage of the pulling force, narrowly avoid the sword, and kick out. If it were my old self, that might have been a stretch, but the flexibility of my new body allows for almost artistic movements.
Phew!
The impact seems to have startled him a bit, so he loosens his grip on my hair, and I quickly escape. My head is still a bit numb, but at least it wasn’t pulled out, so that’s a relief.
Heh.
It seems I’ve regained some composure to make such trivial remarks.
As I catch my breath momentarily, I throw him some words.
“Aren’t you a noble, or something? Your dirty tactics look just like a back-alley thug.”
“Huh, dirty? Thug? You kidding? Class 2B is about survival of the fittest. If you’re weak, just stay out of the way.”
Selen, standing behind him, doesn’t seem to deny his words with his expression.
“Survival of the fittest sounds fitting. I’ll show you who the weak ones are.”
I charge toward him. The longer it drags on, the more it favors me. Every muscle in my body is screaming, but even with the strain, I increase my speed and swing my sword repeatedly.
Naturally, the opponent takes a defensive stance. He knows I’m overexerting myself and probably thinks that if he can withstand this attack, a counter will soon follow.
As he subtly shifts back, I take a long step forward and stamp on his retreating foot.
It shouldn’t cause much pain, but this unexpectedly creates a small gap. A very small gap.
Not enough for a sword swing. So, I widen it.
I stick to him excessively.
Punch!
And my head collides with his face. The skull, one of the hardest bones in the human body, proves to be a pretty effective weapon.
Though I accuse him of dirty fighting and being a thug, I’m actually more used to this kind of combat.
With tangled feet and a sudden impact to his face, his body naturally falls backward.
Even as he struggles to recover, he swings his sword, but—
Clang!
The sword swung with his collapsing posture has no force behind it. His sword flies far off.
And my sword?
Crack!
It narrowly grazes beside his fallen neck, embedding itself into the ground.
Sensing his movement with my heightened awareness, I slightly tilt my sword toward his neck.
The tiny droplets of blood rising from his neck. His arm, which was trying to move, stops awkwardly in midair.
My long hair falling forward blocks out the surroundings, and I face-to-face with his expression of disbelief.
And I smile at him.
“Move, and you’re dead.”
A tiny voice only he can hear.
“Enough!”
At Ferent’s shout, I pull my sword from the ground and return it to its scabbard. In a proper duel, taking a life would be within reason (at least officially), but his House wouldn’t let it go unchallenged. My ‘Prentz’ status exists only in name, so having his life would only weigh on me.
“Alicia, since it seems you have no intention to take his life, let’s declare this your victory. Since I, and everyone here, are witnesses, you can demand anything as the price for his life.”
I glance at the messily sprawled opponent.
“Just asking for that third-rate’s life would dirty me further.”
Then I turn my head toward Selen.
“Could I say just one thing?”
Our eyes meet. Selen is a level of strength I have yet to reach. This is surely an arrogant move, but—
“The survival of the fittest, Professor. Not much to it, is there?”
I smile with just the corner of my lips. It’s a clear mockery. It’s certainly not a respectful gesture toward a superior, and I’m probably just an ignorant pup who knows no fear.
I was prepared to receive a reprimand from Selen, thinking he wouldn’t dare kill me.
But Selen’s reaction was something I hadn’t anticipated.
“Kk… hehe…”
For some reason, he lets out a chuckle, ignoring everyone’s gaze.
Even me, the party involved, and Ferent, who had his hand on his sword hilt ready to intervene, along with the other students surrounding us, all looked perplexed at Selen.
“Haa…”
After laughing for what felt like a long time, Selen adjusts his breath and looks at me again.
“So, since my educational policies were wrong, you’re asking me to send your dear friend, is that it?”
I shrug and respond.
“While I’m not the strongest in the class, I’ve managed to defeat all five students of your Class 2B. Aren’t Professor Ferent’s teaching methods better?”
This is the justification I’ve concocted with difficulty. Honestly, it’s full of holes. Selen could easily ignore it.
“What do you say, Professor Ferent?”
“At the very least, I can’t ignore the opinions of my student.”
“Hmm… alright, though it’s slightly lacking, I’ll consider your efforts. I’ll send Yuli… wait a moment?”
Suddenly, Professor Selen taps his chin thoughtfully, nodding a few times.
“Instead, how about you come to Class 2B? That way, you can naturally help Yuli from the side.”
This was Selen’s counteroffer. Of course, having Yuli move to Class 1 would stop the bullying against her, but I already dislike Selen. Why would I willingly join them?
However, before I could voice my refusal—
“No way!”
Selian suddenly stood up from the group of students who were watching us and shouted.
Realizing she acted on impulse, she starts to blush as she feels the surrounding gazes.
“But, because El won… it should be El moving and not Atillea, I think…”
With a face red like a tomato, in a small voice unlike her usual composed tone, Selian says what she had to and sits back down.
She then bows her head deeply into her knees, unable to lift it.
After a brief moment of silence, I speak.
“Like Selian said, I have no intention of going to Class 2B. I don’t like the teacher.”
With my words, Ferent clutches his face as if unsure of what to do, and Selen, after gripping his sides and laughing heartily for a while, eventually stops and speaks.
“Hehe… fine. Yuli will move to Class 1 immediately. If you change your mind, just let me know.”
“I guess I like you.”
After saying this and lightly patting my shoulder twice, Selen gathers the students from Class 2B and leaves the sparring ground.
Left behind are the members of Class 1 and Yuli.
I flick my tousled silvery hair to the side with one hand and smile at Yuli.
Seeing my smile, Yuli, who was standing apart, runs toward us and toward the Class 1 side, straight into my arms. She burrows her head into my chest and clings tightly for what seems like a long time.
She seems to have a lot she wants to say, but instead, I return the hug. I feel something damp on my chest, her body shakes slightly, but I quietly pat her back… or at least I try before noticing something inside her clothes and settle for gently tapping her instead.
“Don’t be so harsh on Professor Selen. Things just worked out that way for him, and he’s a good guy, really.”
Somehow, Ferent had come beside me and spoke. Even though Yuli is still in my arms during this.
“Anyway, I’ll handle all the formalities of Yuli’s transfer with Professor Selen, so don’t worry. I’ll take the other students back first. When you’re ready, come in.”
1st Class, gather up!
With Ferent’s shout, the rest of the students line up before him. He then leaves with the others. As they fade away, I notice Selian looking forward blindly, her head tilted toward mine—though that’s a bit scary… It shows Selian cares for Yuli too, doesn’t it?
Anyway, this seems to be reasonably resolved. I squeeze Yuli, crying in my arms, one last time.
—
