How many times had he been knocked to the ground like this now?
As he tasted the hard surface of the earth against his face, Subaru drifted into that idle thought.
His mouth was a slurry of blood and gravel, and his entire body—already beaten more times than he cared to count—burned as though it were on fire.
His head was a mess of indeterminate blood flow, leaving no room for coherent thought, and his swollen left eye was completely shut, making it impossible to even secure a proper field of vision.
He was a battered rag of a man, covered head to toe in wounds.
And yet, because his opponent's skill was so overwhelming, there were no injuries serious enough to fatally hamper his ability to move—at least none that he could see.
His limbs still worked, and setting pain aside, there didn't seem to be any part of him that had gone completely dead.
The fact that his body bore evidence of someone who was thoroughly accustomed to inflicting punishment—though the phrase carried a cruel undertone—was, regrettably, an accurate assessment.
"I believe I've already told you—there's nothing to be gained by continuing."
From far above, that voice drifted down at him like something peering from a great height.
Lying face-down in the dirt with his limbs spread wide, Subaru sluggishly turned his head toward the sound. Through a tilted, skewed field of vision, he could make out the purple-haired young man flicking the tip of a wooden practice sword.
His ceremonial white garments were spotless, and naturally, not a single scratch or bead of sweat marred his visible skin. The only thing that stood out against that immaculate appearance was the blood that clung to the wooden sword in his hand—a jarring blemish amid his otherwise exquisite bearing.
"If you'll withdraw your words and bow your head, we can end this here. How about it?"
The same question, posed again and again since who knew when.
Brutalize his body. Pelt him with strikes without relent. Knock him flat without mercy.
And after each cycle of that treatment, the same offer of surrender, repeated with perfect regularity. As for his answer to it—well, that was a foregone conclusion.
"...Ain't bad. Head... ain't... going down."
His arms were shaking. Even bracing against the ground to push himself up, his upper body refused to cooperate. He rolled over, propped himself up on one shoulder, then dragged the rest of his lower body beneath him through sheer brute force. After that, he planted the wooden sword that clung to his palm like it was glued there into the ground, clinging to it for support as he hauled himself to his feet. Through all of this, his opponent—far from pressing the advantage against the wide-open Subaru—simply gave a small, weary shrug of his shoulders.
The gap in their abilities was undeniable. The outcome was plain for all to see. His chances of winning were no better than one in ten thousand, and without a miracle, he couldn't even land a single meaningful blow.
*Who cares*, he thought. Everything else could go to hell for all he cared. None of it mattered right now.
It was self-evident that he couldn't win. He knew perfectly well that his blows would never reach. He had never been arrogant enough to expect satisfactory results when he was inferior to everyone around him.
Then at least—then *at least*— "...I'm the one who should be—*withdrawing my words*—!"
The torn flesh inside his mouth screamed in protest, and he bit down on the end of his own cry. Then, at a speed far too slow, Subaru lunged.
He poured everything into that single desperate strike—and the result was: "No matter how much you wager, there are gaps that cannot be closed. That, too, is part of what one is born with, Subaru."
The blow was parried. The wooden sword's tip, redirected with casual force, cracked hard against Subaru's forehead.
Red sparks flooded his vision. His split forehead gushed blood, and the right eye—the only one he'd managed to pry open—was dyed entirely crimson.
"How many times does this make now?"
He ground his teeth against the pain and wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand.
Through that momentary gap, a strike caught him dead center in the solar plexus and sent his body hurtling backward.
Unable to even brace for the fall, he rolled across the ground and ended up in the dirt once more, limbs splayed wide.
The impact to his chest sent his lungs into spasm, and the agony of struggling to breathe bore down on him. Cornered by the combined weight of pain and oxygen deprivation, Subaru's consciousness did not dim—instead, it burned hotter, as if seeking an inferno.
The blue sky he gazed up at stretched high and distant, and beyond it, nothing was visible at all.
That infuriating shade of blue filling his eyes, Subaru gathered every last ounce of strength in his body and rose once more.
—Again and again, no matter how many times, he would keep getting up.
Fueling himself on nothing but inexhaustible fury, he endured the pain that felt like coughing up blood and fixed his gaze forward.
Whether the tip of that fury pointed in the right direction or the wrong one—he turned his eyes away from that particular truth.
※※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ Subaru first learned that the story had begun moving in his absence when Reinhardt and
"So that's that—the Royal Selection is officially underway. Since Subaru-kun is
Ferris spoke in a tone that suggested not a shred of awareness of Subaru's behavior in the great hall or its aftermath, despite having witnessed every last moment of it.
Beside this carefree cat-eared healer, it was Reinhardt who regarded Subaru with a considerate gaze. He didn't call out Ferris's casual demeanor, merely offered a smile to the spiritless young man slumped in his seat.
"I don't think it's as simple as Ferris makes it sound, but I agree that we should stay on good terms—pushing each other to improve. Subaru, let's go about this the right way."
"...Yeah. Yeah."
When someone with such a straightforward, upstanding expression said something like that to you so directly, all Subaru could do was murmur agreement and deflect. What they were saying was obvious, and normally, Subaru would have been scrambling to chart his path forward.
But right now, there was something he had to confirm—even more urgently than those weighty matters.
"———"
And yet, even though he knew it himself, the words he needed wouldn't come out.
Cowardly. Base. Servile. He could feel those parts of himself dragging him down, trying to belittle everything he needed to set right.
He could sense it so clearly it was pathetic, and yet all he could do was bite his lip. His eyes darted around, unable to meet Reinhardt's gaze or Ferris's.
"—Subaru, that old man is safe. Thanks to
"—!"
As though he had seen straight through Subaru's cowardly heart, the red-haired young man delivered the answer to the question Subaru had been unable to voice.
Subaru's cheeks went rigid with shock, his eyes flew open, and Reinhardt gave a single nod.
"Given the layout of the corridors between the hall and this lounge, it would have been difficult for you to pass by that old man without recognizing each other. Since I happen to know that you and the old man are acquainted, Subaru, I can easily guess what's been clouding your expression."
Reinhardt went one step further in anticipating what Subaru wanted to say, raising a finger and letting that observation slip. But even someone like him couldn't know the full extent of the guilt Subaru carried.
That moment—when he had given up on saving Old Romu with his own strength, when he had stood by and watched an acquaintance be put in danger despite the existence of a second-best option. The wretchedness of that.
No—if he was being truly honest, even that was just a front.
The real Subaru, down in the depths of his heart, was far, far more hopeless than that.
"I'm glad, ne."
As Subaru lowered his gaze and looked away, Ferris peered up at his face with a warm smile. He gazed up at Subaru from below with those adorable features, clasped both hands behind his back, and— "Thanks to Reinhardt and Felt-sama, you know. That means—Subaru-kun doesn't have any excuses left, ne?"
"———!"
Subaru's breath caught. He had been trying to look away, but Ferris's words forced him into eye contact. The healer's cat eyes were wide open, his chestnut cat ears perked up and twitching, and that sadistic smile of his stretched even wider.
The image was unmistakable—a cat toying with a mouse between its claws.
A chill ran through him. Subaru instinctively started to form some excuse, but the moment he realized that was exactly what Ferris wanted, he clamped his mouth shut.
In the end, all Subaru could manage was— "Yeah... yeah, that's great, really. Actually, it went exactly like I planned! I figured leaving it to Emilia-tan over there with her begging skills would work out better than me making a scene. Well, actually, it turned out to be more of a miscalculation, and Felt reacted way harder than expected if you really think about it."
He spread both arms wide, rolled his shoulders, loosened his cheeks, tilted his head, and tapped his feet lightly. Ferris's eyes went wide at this transformation, and even Reinhardt's expression stiffened slightly. Subaru watched their reactions, all while keeping a beat with his feet.
"That said, I'm guessing the whole thing ended up with Felt making up her mind for good. How'd that part play out, Sir Knight Reinhardt?"
"Mm? Yes, that's exactly right. The old man's appearance, in a way that cut against his intentions, helped solidify Felt-sama's resolve. The fact that it went against what he'd intended is a little troubling, though."
Reinhardt rested a hand on his chin and furrowed his brow slightly in thought. His words, delivered with that already painting-complete bearing of his, went somewhat over Subaru's head since he hadn't witnessed the exchange in the hall firsthand.
But from the context, Subaru could piece together what had happened, and having processed that information, he could trace out precisely how
"I see. So I ended up being the perfect setup for a powerful rival to show up. Emilia-tan might give me an earful about that later."
"I don't think that will happen. Emilia-sama—and the other candidates as well—would surely wish to compete fairly and squarely. If the opponent is worthy of competition, they should welcome that, not begrudge it. To do otherwise would reveal a lack of character."
"Nah, personally I'm the 'I love being OP with no effort' type, so I don't really get that whole vibe. Even in RPGs, I'm the kind who grinds to absurdly high levels before even clearing the first forest. By the time you finish that opening map, the very first enemy you meet is already in its second form."
Because he always picked the red class first, his early-game levels were never enough, and he'd struggle horribly at the first and second gates. Green was the easiest to start with, but that felt like cheating and self-imposed restrictions.
Anyway—setting Subaru's personal philosophy aside, judging from Reinhardt's confident demeanor, the preparations on their side seemed to be proceeding without a hitch.
On the other hand, the Ferris camp—watching Subaru's flippancy in silence—had the longest standing relationship with their master, one that predated the Royal Selection itself. Given Ferris's apparent total devotion to his master, Crusch, there were no real causes for concern there either.
Taking all of that into account, Subaru and Emilia's camp was clearly lagging behind. After all, the current Subaru was too intimidated even to have a proper conversation with Emilia about the Royal Selection once she returned.
—Being afraid of her? That was something he'd only experienced briefly, back when he'd been trapped in the loop at Roswaal's mansion.
But what had clearly changed since then was the state of his own heart.
Back then, the fear had come from Emilia becoming someone he didn't know.
Now, the fear came from not knowing what she thought of *him*—the him who had come to know her even more deeply.
"That aside, if the talks are done, what happened to everyone else? Just you two coming to get me? That's a bit much, even for VIP treatment."
"I'm sure you know this already, but the candidates need to have a few more detailed discussions, so they're still in the hall. The knights were given leave to go, so..."
"I told him I wanted to check on Subaru's condition, and Ferris offered to come along. Sorry about earlier—I couldn't even back you up properly in the hall."
Reinhardt took over from Ferris and offered his apology. Subaru scratched his head and gave a sheepish look.
"No, it's not your fault. If anything, looking back, I'm already wishing I could erase that whole incident from history. Just forget about it, seriously."
"I appreciate your magnanimity. I shall never forget this kindness."
"You were listening to what I actually wanted?!"
Reinhardt interpreted Subaru's guilt in the most generous way possible, arriving at a conclusion precisely opposite to what Subaru had been hoping for. His protest was ignored, and with a troubled expression, Subaru turned to Ferris.
"So, Reinhardt's one thing, but you... no, you... damn, nothing feels right!"
"If you're going to agonize over what to call me, why not use 'Feri-chan' with love? ♡"
"Shut up, cat ears. More importantly, why are you even here? Don't you need to be at Crusch's side?"
Subaru recalled their first encounter—the brief exchange they'd had at the front gate of Roswaal's mansion. At the time, Ferris had said something to the effect of not wanting to be apart from Crusch even for a moment.
Given that, Subaru couldn't help but wonder why Ferris was here at all.
"On the security front, it's totally fine? Crusch-sama is way, way stronger than Feri-chan anyway."
"Don't say that so casually... Is that really okay, though? The Royal Guard and all?"
"Feri-chan's selling point is a totally different thing, ne. And besides, that selling point has everything to do with Subaru-kun!"
Ferris dragged out the end of his sentence, and though it grated on Subaru's nerves, he patiently crossed his arms and pressed— "Oh? Do tell."
At Subaru's nonchalant attitude, Ferris puffed out his cheeks, squirmed, and cast Subaru a cute sidelong glance.
"Aaah, there you go again, acting like you don't know even though you totally do. You're so mean, teasing like that."
"My heart trembles, my heart flutters. What's standing before me is the same species that hangs below the belt...! Just get to the point already. What's this 'selling point' of yours?"
"Feri-chan's selling point? There's only one! ♪"
As he spoke, Ferris held up both hands in front of Subaru and extended two fingers. Then— the tip of his extended index finger began to glow with a faint, pale light.
"Huh... is it just me, or are the aches in my elbows, shoulders, and lower back... fading away?"
"You really do have the body of an old person, Subaru-kun—aching everywhere."
A warmth spread outward from the extremities of his body, fatigue draining away as heat. Subaru shivered as he felt his flesh mending.
In short, it was the phosphorescent light emanating from Ferris's fingertips that was doing this.
It was at that point that Subaru recalled what exactly Ferris's "selling point" was supposed to be.
"Ah, right. Now that I think about it, Ferris, aren't you some kind of incredible water magic user?"
"'Some kind of incredible' doesn't even begin to cover it, Subaru."
Reinhardt corrected him, and when Subaru looked at him askance, Reinhardt nodded and gestured toward Ferris with an raised hand.
"Ferris's talent as a water-attribute mage is unmatched and exceptional. Not just in Lugunica—if you looked across the entire continent, you wouldn't find anyone with his level of skill. Within Lugunica, the Six Colors represent the pinnacle of each magical attribute, and the one designated 'Blue' from a young age has proven himself worthy of the title."
"Great, more lore to cram into my head... I think my brain is about to overflow."
Subaru made no effort to hide his exasperation at Reinhardt's fluent explanation. Ferris, whose talent had been praised with no hint of reservation, placed his hands on his hips and puffed out his perpetually flat chest with pride.
"Reinhardt's explanation kind of undersold it, but basically that's the gist of it. Thanks to all that, Feri-chan's schedule is packed to the brim with the wishes of people seeking the healing touch of water magic!"
He thrust a clenched fist skyward, beamed with a face full of smiles, and declared, "Feri-chan, do your best!"
From this explanation, Subaru gathered that Ferris was essentially the world's foremost miracle doctor. The kingdom's population was fifty million, and he doubted Ferris's reach extended to every last one of them—but just the number of people who had access to his healing was enough to easily imagine how busy his days were.
In overwhelming demand. A one-of-a-kind prodigy.
Needed by countless, uncountable people.
The moment Subaru framed Ferris that way, he inevitably compared the man's existence to his own. The person who was precious to him, the person whose help he needed most—had never needed *him*. Wretched. Pathetic.
So— "But honestly, when it comes to my body not being up to par, I don't really have symptoms I'm aware of, so I don't feel like leaning on anyone. What's the deal with that?"
His inferiority complex toward someone who treated him so kindly was too much to bear, so he deliberately adopted a flip tone to trample over it.
He knew that the more he said, the more pathetic he'd sound. He knew that even saying it wouldn't lower his blood pressure by even a fraction.
"Your body being off is partly because of lingering effects from your injuries. Once those heal, it should clear up. And as for the gate thing—I don't feel anything off about it."
"Don't dismiss it so lightly—the gate issue isn't as trivial as you think, ne. If you think it's just 'can't use magic,' that's a big problem, yo?"
"It's not?"
Ferris's provocative tone made Subaru frown as he asked back.
Honestly, he had no idea what was wrong with his gate. He'd been forbidden from using 'Shamak,' and he did feel a lingering, murky lethargy somewhere deep inside his body.
But he chalked that up to the soul-crushing exhaustion from having his life force drained, and figured a few nutritious meals and adequate rest would set him right. The idea that an organ he'd never been aware of in his original world could become something life-threatening—it was hard to accept.
"You don't understand anything at all. Listen up? The gate's general function is to connect the interior to the exterior to allow mana to flow through when casting magic. But actually, the gate doesn't just open during magic use—it circulates mana between inside and outside you even during ordinary life, maintaining your vital functions."
"Like breathing, basically?"
"You can think of it that way. Subaru-kun, are you the type of human who can survive without breathing?"
"In my experience, about fifteen minutes is the global limit."
Supposedly, by studying yoga's secret techniques and lowering your heart rate to the absolute minimum, you could enter a monstrous breathless state of that length. But that wasn't really what he was trying to get at.
In other words, Subaru's current state was roughly equivalent to being alive without the ability to breathe through his skin. It probably wasn't *quite* that dire, but still.
"If things keep going like this, you'll reach that point before long, ne?"
"As for Subaru-kun's gate condition—it's been abused by all sorts of strain and has become a total mess. At this point, no ordinary water magic user can treat it. You'd need sustained, dedicated spellcasting, with the important parts left to natural recovery—that's the best anyone can hope for."
Alongside the fact that Subaru's situation was urgent, Ferris was subtly emphasizing that he was no ordinary mage. Though it might just be Subaru's jealousy coloring his perception.
"So to get out of this critical condition early..."
"Feri-chan's power is absolutely indispensable. O-ver-stood?"
Ferris swayed side to side as he posed the question, and Subaru furrowed his brow to make his reluctance clear. Reinhardt, watching the exchange, raised a finger.
"Sorry to interject, but opportunities like this don't come along often, Subaru. Ferris's skill is known to everyone in the country, and the people who want his help are endless. Don't expect your turn to be pushed forward—ever."
"That's right, that's right. There are plenty of people waiting for Feri-chan, ne. *But*—this one time, I've promised to give Subaru-kun priority. So be a good boy, and leave your body and soul to Feri-chan for some relaxation!"
Riding Reinhardt's support, Ferris waggled his fingers at Subaru. The healer's expression was one of distaste, and then— "You know, the moment someone says that, my contrary nature makes me want to say no. That aside, I don't remember us ever getting close enough for me to warrant this kind of preferential treatment?"
Including their very first meeting—where they hadn't even properly exchanged names—this was only Subaru's second time seeing Ferris. Even counting the lounge encounter separately, that made three. In that time, he couldn't recall anything that would have stirred Ferris's supposedly boundless compassion.
To Subaru's question, Ferris grinned wickedly.
"Feri-chan is a cat, after all—terribly strict with anyone who isn't family. Normally, I'd absolutely never give Subaru-kun priority."
"That's actually more reassuring, thanks."
For someone with Subaru's low social skills, this was far easier to parse than hollow pleasantries or surface-level conversation. Seeing that Subaru didn't seem offended, Ferris squirmed and drew out the reveal.
"Remember the day Feri-chan went to the Margrave's estate to deliver the summons? *That* day? You know—the fateful day Feri-chan and Subaru-kun met?"
"Yeah, the day I wish I'd gotten a stomachache and stayed in bed."
"Oh my, you say that, but you were really happy, weren't you?"
"Your gentleman companion got me stuck drinking expensive tea, and afterward the senior maid yelled at me half to death. I was banned from mayo-chu-chu at both breakfast and dinner."
Of course, he'd ignored the ban and snuck in some mayo-chu-chu first thing the next morning.
Ferris ignored the incomprehensible terminology that spilled from Subaru's mouth and pursed his lips with a bored expression.
"Whatever. The important thing isn't how we met—it's that Feri-chan was asked by Emilia-sama at the mansion."
"...So it *was* Emilia-tan."
"It *was* Emilia-sama."
The answer was exactly what he'd expected, and Subaru's tone turned bitter.
If he thought back to that first encounter with Ferris at the mansion, the content of their conversation, and the reason Roswaal had brought Subaru to the capital in the first place, the answer was obvious enough.
And because he could understand the background so clearly, Subaru couldn't stop the heavy weight from settling deeper in his chest.
His body was being corroded by some condition called mana depletion. The only one in the capital who could cure it was Ferris—one of the kingdom's foremost mages. And Ferris served Crusch, the very rival Emilia would face in the Royal Selection. Asking such a person to treat him would mean putting Crusch's camp in Emilia's debt before the Selection had even begun.
In other words, Subaru was once again a burden dragging Emilia down.
He knew that. And because he knew— "...Do I really have to get treated?"
Even though he knew it would come across as willful ignorance, the words slipped out.
Predictably, Reinhardt furrowed his brow with a look that suggested he couldn't understand. But Ferris, as though he had anticipated Subaru's response, offered a wry smile.
"The compensation has already been paid. If we don't treat Subaru-kun now, we'd be wasting Emilia-sama's sacrifice, ne?"
"What compensation? If it's something physical, I can just give it back—"
"It's not physical, and it's the kind of compensation that can't be returned once you've learned of it, ne. So I'm afraid your offer is a no-go, Subaru-kun."
His plea was rejected without ceremony, and Subaru had no choice but to press his hand to his forehead and look down.
Ferris had read Subaru's feelings perfectly and was now shutting down every escape route he offered.
Perhaps it was calculated to put Crusch in a stronger position. Or perhaps—somewhere in there—there was a touch of human sentiment: a desire to honor Emilia's wish to help Subaru, even at the cost of offering up a bargaining chip.
Either way, both judgments blocked Subaru's shallow, insufficient thinking.
"Why am I always...?"
He didn't want to be a burden to Emilia.
He knew she wanted to become a king—or queen—and that she was working toward that goal.
He knew that she gazed upward toward that distant throne.
He wanted to help her do that—nothing else gave his existence meaning. It was everything propping him up, and he'd thrown it all away without a second thought.
So why was he so powerless? So ignorant? So incompetent? So utterly in the way?
"If you're going to lament your own powerlessness to such a degree, I believe there are more options available to you."
A quiet voice resonated through the lounge. Subaru, who had been looking down, raised his head.
The voice belonged to neither Reinhardt nor Ferris. It came from the doorway. There, leaning against the open door, a tall, slender figure regarded Subaru.
Receiving his gaze, the purple-haired young man ran a hand through his hair and smiled with affected ease.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't make such an unpleasant face. I wasn't expecting a warm welcome, but displaying that kind of attitude openly—"
"What happens if I do?"
"Those around you would question your character. Do be careful."
"Ngh...!"
If it had devolved into a mere personal spat, Subaru could have fired back with accusations and denials. But if this was going to be something bigger than just a private grudge, that changed things entirely.
Subaru twisted his lips, swallowed the retort, and glared at Julius as the knight strode leisurely into the room.
"Julius—have the candidates finished their discussions?"
Reinhardt cut across Subaru's hostile line of sight to pose the question.
Julius kept one eye closed and shook his head slightly.
"The discussions seem like they'll drag on a bit longer. Anastasia-sama has expressed concern that if the Royal Selection begins under the current conditions, things could devolve into an assassination game."
He was there, Julius explained, to help hash out those details.
Subaru turned his face away but listened, and nodded in understanding.
Five participants in the Royal Selection. Though the method was unclear, they were competing for the throne.
Under such circumstances, the simplest way to secure the crown was to eliminate all other candidates.
The candidates Subaru had seen in the hall had all seemed to possess admirable, unwavering characters. But setting their personal natures aside, the same couldn't be said for the people around them.
And Emilia's camp—Subaru's camp—had already been subjected to clear-cut sabotage.
—The theft of Emilia's insignia on the very day Subaru was summoned to this world. That was one example.
Subaru had surely arrived at the same realization. He raised his head, and Reinhardt—who had been glancing his way ever so slightly—met his eyes.
As Subaru hesitated over what to think, Reinhardt simply let deep, quiet emotion swim through those blue eyes and gave a slow nod.
Then he turned back to Julius.
"Assassination is quite the loaded word."
"Of course—resorting to such means would be nothing short of an insult to the throne. But we must be as cautious as humanly possible. Don't you agree?"
"Well, yeah. Since the big incident half a year ago, it took an extraordinary effort to get things back on track. Another one of those? No thank you, ne."
Reinhardt's words were echoed by Julius's calm rebuttal, which Ferris then capped off. As Subaru watched the two tall men nod in agreement, he felt a sharp sense of exclusion—left out of the circle once again.
"So in the end, what exactly are you here for?"
And so, deliberately, Subaru directed an unfriendly attitude at Julius.
He was the source of that alienation, and he was also partly responsible for the chain of events that had led to Subaru's humiliation in the great hall. Subaru accepted that his own rashness was to blame for that disgrace, but even so, he and Julius were fundamentally at odds.
Bathing in Subaru's now fully exposed hostility, Julius approached with an unperturbed expression. Reinhardt moved subtly to intercept, but Julius's unwavering stride toward Subaru couldn't be stopped.
At breathing distance, Subaru and Julius stood face to face.
Compared to Subaru—roughly average height for a Japanese male—the tall, lean Julius towered over him by nearly half a head. Naturally, Subaru had to look up.
"So the so-called greatest knight in the kingdom doesn't need to be at his lady's side during the important moments? For all I know, this castle's security is full of holes and intruders are sneaking in left and right?"
"—With all the Royal Selection stakeholders gathered here, the royal castle is one of the most critical strongholds in the nation. Naturally, the guards are on high alert. You have no cause for concern."
"...No, if that's really how you see things, we're in serious trouble. At the very least, I'm the one person who definitely has reason to be concerned."
Subaru spat that out at Julius's self-assured demeanor, and sighed once more at how lax the castle's security net was.
Someone like Subaru—without any particular skills or special training—had been able to infiltrate. When a professional showed up, it would be all too easy.
"You've got a legendary mercenary carrying a cardboard box, and you can't even notice a bomb being strapped to his back. And you call that ironclad? Honestly, I'm so exasperated my navel is boiling water, evaporating, and brewing tea."
"I don't understand the meaning, but I can tell it's an insult. —That's the second time."
Julius turned his face away, then brushed past Subaru and headed to the back of the room. Subaru tracked him with his gaze and watched Julius come to a stop by the window at the far end—a spot overlooking the castle's rear grounds.
"You asked me what I'm here for."
Still gazing out the window at the cityscape below, Julius posed the question in a voice devoid of emotion. Subaru, with Julius's back turned, gave a silent nod.
Whether Julius sensed that gesture from his posture alone, he began with "Then let me tell you" and turned around.
"The reason I'm here is, of course, to see you. I'd like you to come with me somewhere."
He spread his hands wide, as if leaving the choice to Subaru.
The stance of someone offering options. But given the openly hostile feelings they'd been exchanging, this hardly felt like a friendly invitation.
"Come with you? Without knowing where or why, I can't exactly say yes or no. Well, I could, but—"
"The training grounds. And as for the purpose..."
Julius responded frankly to Subaru's sardonic tone, touching his chin thoughtfully.
"The purpose would be—to show you reality. How does that sound?"
※※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ Standing on the hard-packed sand, Subaru tilted his head.
He had moved from the castle's lounge to the knights' quarters—a standalone building adjacent to the royal castle.
The ground was solid reddish earth, surrounded by imposing walls that bore the marks of long years. Enclosed within was a training facility where guards honed their bodies daily and competed to sharpen their skills—the so-called training grounds.
The grounds were about half the size of an ordinary schoolyard.
Whether running about or crossing swords, it offered more than ample space.
Standing at the center of it all, Subaru went through slow stretching exercises. He bent and straightened his knees, loosening his muscles and pumping heat into his insufficiently warmed body.
While Subaru methodically went through his warm-up, Julius stood roughly fifteen meters away in front of him, and the area around him was anything but quiet.
That was because— "Julius, you shouldn't do this. This isn't like you."
Reinhardt stood nearby, also quietly preparing, and was pressing Julius relentlessly with those words.
There was no panic or anger in Reinhardt's expression or tone. What filled him was pure, unadulterated concern.
Pouring that feeling into his blue eyes, Reinhardt continued— "I'll admit he went too far in some respects, but that's something that can be corrected through proper admonishment. Normally, you would judge it the same way, wouldn't you?"
"Normally. And indeed, that is precisely the case, my friend Reinhardt."
Julius was carefully removing the excessive ornaments attached to his white ceremonial uniform, handing them one by one to a knight standing nearby.
He continued that work while directing an unreadable gaze at Reinhardt.
"Had the date been another day—perhaps if we had met somewhere else—I might have let him be. But that is not how things went."
He spoke those words as though severing something, then looked away from Reinhardt.
His calm eyes reflected only Subaru, who was bending and stretching his knees directly ahead.
Then Julius removed the knight's sword from his belt and, still sheathed, pointed its tip toward the sky.
"He stood before those who would bear the throne and insulted us—the knights. He belittled the very code of chivalry. And without offering a single word of apology, he heaped further insults upon me."
*Shhhh*—the training grounds, which had been buzzing with a low murmur, fell completely silent.
The only voice ringing out was Julius's magnificent, beautiful tenor.
Gathering the eyes and ears of every onlooker, Julius swept his gaze across the assembled crowd.
"—Now, I shall pass judgment upon the insolent wretch who has stained the honor of knighthost! Is there any objection?!"
"———!!"
A voiceless roar of fury struck the air of the training grounds with savage force.
The sound—loud enough to hurt one's ears—was the collective heat and voice of the spectators, stirred to fever pitch.
They had gathered to witness the confrontation between Julius, their champion, and Subaru, who had insulted them all with a single sweeping dismissal. The Royal Guard and the soldiers alike had come, burning with shared indignation.
"The odds are a hundred to zero against me, with no takers. Man, I have to hand it to myself."
*They hate me.* Subaru gave a small shrug under the weight of their hostile gazes.
Being the target of so many people's animosity was a first. Honestly, his courage had gone cold, and he felt his knees buckling under the sheer mass of malice pressing down on him.
And yet—his pulse didn't quicken. His limbs were heavy but not frozen.
It wasn't exactly that he had made up his mind. He was in some indefinable mental state.
"Now, before we begin, I'll ask one more time: do you intend to apologize for your earlier insolence and beg for forgiveness? If so, I'll accept an apology commensurate with the offenses you've committed."
"I can't think of any offense I've committed... but hypothetically, what kind of apology?"
"Grovel with your forehead pressed to the ground in tears. Or perhaps—like an obedient dog, roll on the ground, expose your belly, and fawn. How does that sound?"
"Neither option is very elegant, so I'll have to pass."
He was an expert at playing the clown—but only when there was an audience he wanted to make laugh. There was no way in hell he was going to humiliate himself for the amusement of the insufferable people staring him down.
Julius probably hadn't expected an apology anyway. "Very well," he said curtly, discarding the exchange entirely, and handed the sheathed knight's sword to the knight beside him.
In exchange, the knight offered two wooden practice swords.
"Normally, your insolence would warrant being cut down without hesitation. But you are, however reluctantly, Emilia-sama's retainer. Therefore, we shall use wooden swords."
He looked at Subaru as if asking whether he had any objections. Subaru answered with a curt hand sign for "No problem." Julius judged the answer more from the expression on Subaru's face than the gesture itself, nodded, and— "I'm glad we understand each other. For this match, I swear to use only the blade—no magic whatsoever."
"Oh, so you're the type of knight who can use magic too?"
"All part of being 'the Finest.' —Now then, as witness: Ferris."
"Yesss~!"
Julius glanced to the side, where Ferris raised a hand and waved.
Appointed as witness, he accepted the role without hesitation. His inner thoughts were impossible to read. Unlike Reinhardt, who had tried to stop this until the very end, Ferris had come along with evident enthusiasm for the violence about to unfold. What was he thinking?
"Alright then—give it your absolute all, both of you. No matter how badly you get hurt, as long as you don't die, I can fix it, so give it your best, Subaru-kun."
"Why am I the only one getting that pep talk? Worry about your guy too."
"Whaaat, so fierce! Did you hear that, everyone? On three, say—"
Ferris turned to the crowd and waved his arms in an exaggerated conducting motion. The audience roared with laughter—jeering at Subaru's recklessness.
Ferris watched that wave of emotion crest, his cat ears twitching.
"So, that's the betting spread, ne? What about you, Subaru-kun?"
Subaru fished in his pocket, felt a coin beneath his fingertips, and flicked it toward Ferris with a snap of his finger.
He watched the coin trace a glittering arc and land in Ferris's palm.
"Bet on me. If I win, everything you've got is mine—clothes and all."
"Nooo, pervert! Feri-chan, he's going to do something dirty to me! Like in those dirty books! Like in those dirty books!"
Subaru ignored the swaying, coquettish display and turned back to Julius.
Julius already radiated fighting spirit. Subaru exhaled slowly and began to close the distance. The fight would officially start once he took one of the two wooden swords.
He had practiced his swings at Roswaal's mansion to stay in shape, but how much could he actually do?
"Actually, I feel like I sort of got swept up in the situation and ended up here. I don't actually remember agreeing to this pretend duel."
"But you came. And looking at me, you don't flinch away from a clash. Isn't that enough?"
"Oh please—Natsuki Subaru, the modern-day Mother Teresa, famed for nonviolence, nonresistance, and the nuclear nonproliferation treaty—is not going to get hyped up for some brutal brawl."
He deflected with nonsense words and planted himself directly in front of Julius.
For all his talk, Subaru's body was properly warmed up from the exercises. The moment the signal came, he'd be ready to move.
Julius narrowed his eyes, satisfied.
"I'm glad to see you're motivated. Then—let's begin."
He held out one of the wooden swords to Subaru and declared the mock duel officially open.
The voltage of the crowd rose palpably against his skin. Subaru gave the wooden sword a light swing to get a feel for it, then backed away from Julius— "Oh, hold on. This thing doesn't feel right somehow."
He twirled the wooden sword idly, then turned back with a complaint.
Hearing this, Julius's face tightened slightly, caught off guard.
"I don't think it'll make a difference, but would you like to try this one?"
"Yeah, sorry. It's just—I'm a high-maintenance, handcrafted kind of guy, and when something doesn't agree with my skin, it throws me off—"
As he spoke, Subaru took the wooden sword Julius was offering in one hand. Then, in the same motion, he extended the sword he'd been given first back toward Julius— "Oops."
Before it even caught on Julius's fingertips, the wooden sword left Subaru's hand. Gravity took it, and the sword entered a freefall trajectory. Julius lunged forward instinctively to catch it.
His straight, composed stance tilted—his height advantage vanished.
"—Hah!"
Subaru stepped in, pulled back the wooden sword in his grip just slightly, and with a snap of his wrist, flipped it upward in a rising arc aimed at the tip of Julius's chin.
Simultaneously, he thrust out his free left hand and flung the sand he'd secretly clenched during his warm-up straight at Julius's eyes—a blinding feint coupled with a surprise attack.
*Got him.* The corner of Subaru's mouth twisted into a dark, satisfied grin at his own petty trick.
And then— "You truly seem to lack any sense of honor. I suppose that must make life rather comfortable for you. —How utterly pathetic."
The voice was right at his ear. At the same moment, the impact arrived—a hard, sharp sensation driven upward into his solar plexus.
The oxygen he'd been holding in detonated inside his lungs, and a short, ragged gasp escaped his open mouth. The solid point of contact against his chest became a fulcrum, and his forward-leaning body lifted off the ground. His feet left the earth, sky and ground inverted, his organs lurched in a wave of vertigo—then his face slammed into the ground face-first.
His face was ground against the sand, the pain in his solar plexus drove vomit from his mouth, and his brain reeled under the combined assault of pain and heat. Meanwhile—the training grounds erupted.
The consequences of his presumptuous recklessness, of his mindless bravery, were about to be brought down on him without mercy.
High above the training grounds, the delayed scream of agony trailed off into the sky.
High, high. Far, far.