RHEIN'S POINT OF VIEW
The smile slipped from my lips the moment I realized what he meant.
I was confident in my ability to fight—after all, I had Grandfather Lembo's training and lessons to rely on. The problem wasn't whether I could fight. The problem was who I had to fight.
Dylan is not just anybody—he is the current student council president. That meant he is the strongest student mnarillaza in the entire aleid. He is also the last surviving meithi mnarillaza in our world. And to make things worse, my asle had only just broken recently, revealing my powers.
"You don't need to defeat me," he told calmly, as if reading my hesitation. "Like I said earlier, I just need to test your capabilities. I already know what your magical abilities are. This time, I want to test your physical ones. I need to see if your goseth-postah training is effective."
"You mean..." my voice faltered, "...we won't use any mnarill?"
"Yup."
"Not even you?"
"Nope."
"Sure?" I pressed, narrowing my eyes at him.
"Yes."
"Really sure?" I shot him a sharper look, narrowing my gaze.
"Yes! Do I look like I'm lying?" He raised his brows at me.
I still wasn't convinced. "For all I know, you'll speed up time or freeze me in place—or slow me down without me realizing it. Your meithi mnarill is tricky. No one can ever tell if you're using it or not. And that smile of yours doesn't help—you look like you're up to something."
He chuckled. "No worries. If either of us cheats, we'll be knocked unconscious instantly. This room is enchanted against foul play."
"...Alright." I shook my head to calm myself. "Let's start."
"As you wish, Princess."
He dashed toward me, his movements quick and precise. His foot arced upward, aiming for my face. I raised my arm to block—but it was a feint. He flipped over my head, landing behind me, and went for a side kick at my ribs.
I ducked just in time and swept my leg out, catching his ankle. He stumbled, falling to the floor. I leapt backward to avoid his counterattack—he'd tried to hook his legs around mine to trap me.
Dylan sprang to his feet, that infuriating grin still on his face. Was he mocking me?
My lips curled into a smirk of my own. Fine. If he thought I was weak, he had another thing coming. It had been a long time since I had a purely physical fight. And if I was going to vent my frustrations, might as well be on this cocky idiot.
I went on the offensive. My fists flew in a flurry of jabs and hooks. He blocked each one with ease, keeping pace with my speed. I deliberately slowed down, pretending I was tiring out. As expected, he fell for the bait.
The moment he saw an opening, he lunged forward and threw a punch at my stomach.
But I flipped backward, dodging him completely. My hands briefly gripped his shoulders for balance before I pushed off, flipping again.
The second I landed, I spun into a sharp side kick aimed at his head. It would've hit—if he hadn't caught my leg in his iron grip.
I struggled to pull free, but his hold was unyielding. With a swift yank, he dragged me down and slammed me against the floor like I weighed nothing more than a sack of rice. Pain exploded across my back as I hit the ground.
"Ugh!" A cry escaped me as I felt the sharp sting of broken ribs grinding against my chest. My spine screamed in agony. My leg throbbed, bones aching from the force of his grip.
Still, even while half-broken, I glared up at him. He only looked down at me, still smiling—like he was amused by the sight of me writhing in pain.
What a bastard.
RONA'S POINT OF VIEW
"At last, it's done!" I exclaimed, slamming the last signed document onto my desk with a flourish.
Unfortunately, I slammed a bit too hard. The desk rattled like an earthquake, and the towering mountain of papers—stacked nearly to the ceiling—collapsed in an avalanche across the office.
Natre barely escaped being buried alive, wings flapping frantically as he flew upward.
"Congratulations, Princess," she muttered dryly, shaking her head. "You just gave yourself another mess to clean up."
Was she seriously the one complaining? Excuse me—I was the one handling all this paperwork. As my pracien, Natre should've been buried under her own pile of tasks too, but because I was merciful, I gave her far less work than she deserved. And now, she had the nerve to act like he was the one suffering? Tsk. I ought to pluck her feathers for that.
"Don't worry. It's my mess, not yours," I said, shooting her a glare before crouching to pick up the scattered documents. She eventually helped me gather them up, albeit reluctantly.
After tidying, we stepped outside to get some fresh air in the royal gardens. I had just sat down on one of the benches when a sudden wave of strong mnarill pulsed in the air. My brow furrowed as my eyes darted toward the palace's third floor window.
That is Doc Min's clinic—the royal healer and an ofris mnarillaza.
"What do you think, Natre? Why is Doc using such a strong healing mnarill?" I asked.
"For curing, obviously. That's what healing mnarill is for, isn't it?" He shrugged, then scowled when I gave him a sharp look. "What? I'm not wrong!"
"I didn't mean it like that. For minor injuries, he only uses weak healing mnarill. But the energy I just felt—that's not for something minor. Someone in there must be badly hurt." My chest tightened. "Who could it be?"
"Well, who else usually gets badly injured? Soldiers, maybe generals. Probably someone who overtrained," Natre offered.
She had a point, but I still wasn't convinced. Unease stirred in my chest. "Let's go check."
I rose to my feet, eyes still fixed on the window. Just then, someone leaned casually against the frame. Even from this distance, even from a side view, I recognized him instantly.
"Dylan!" Natre exclaimed.
I nodded grimly.
A dark premonition swept over me when I caught sight of that smirk plastered on his face. My heart hammered. Without wasting a second, I teleported straight to the clinic.
I banged on the door, hard and fast, until it opened.
And there he was—Dylan, looking startled at first but quickly covering it with that same infuriating smile.
"What brings you here, Princess? Did you get injured too?" he asked lightly.
"Who's inside?" I demanded.
"Princess Rhein," he replied without hesitation.
My eyes widened. "What?! What happened? How did she get hurt? Was she attacked? Do our parents know about this?"
"They already know. In fact, the king himself ordered me to test her physical capabilities earlier."
My ears rang. I thought I had misheard him. "Wait—what?! Don't tell me you're the one who—"
"It was me," she said simply, smiling as if it were no big deal.
My vision tunneled, rage boiling inside me. My eyes narrowed into a glare sharp enough to cut glass. His smug little grin made my fists itch.
God, I swear—he is begging to be punched.