---
The courtyard stretched wide beneath the open sky, the air crisp and tinged with the scent of grass and steel. Stone walls framed the training ground, banners fluttering lazily in the wind. I stood in the middle of it, the weight of new clothes tugging strangely against my body.
Gone were my jeans and wrinkled shirt from Tokyo. Now, I wore dark trousers tucked into leather boots, a tunic of deep green with silver stitching at the hem. A belt hugged my waist, and on it hung a sheathed short sword that felt alien and far too heavy.
It was like I had been dressed for a role I didn't audition for.
Lyria had led me to a room—bigger than any apartment I'd ever lived in—told me to rest, then given me this new set of clothes before she disappeared with a faint smile. She hadn't explained where she was going, only that she would return. Which left me alone.
Alone, except for Vera.
The knight captain stood across from me now, her arms crossed over that impossible chest, the sunlight glinting off her polished armor. Her sharp green eyes never left me, pinning me like I was some untested recruit about to break at the first shout.
"Stand properly," she said flatly, her tone cutting. "Feet apart. Shoulders straight. Sword hand ready."
I fumbled with the hilt, trying to mimic the stance I'd seen in movies. My legs felt too stiff, my grip too clumsy.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if this was already exhausting. "Pathetic."
Heat crawled up my neck. "Hey—I'm new to this, okay? You can't expect me to—"
The words caught in my throat as she stepped closer.
She moved with the precision of a predator, her boots silent against the ground despite the weight of her armor. Standing before me now, she seemed taller than before, every line of her body radiating authority. She adjusted my stance with swift, practiced motions—shoving my shoulders back, nudging my legs wider with the point of her boot. Her gauntleted hand seized my wrist, forcing the sword into what she apparently thought was the correct grip.
Her touch was rough, unyielding, but not careless.
"Better," she muttered. "But your arms are weak. Your body is soft. The ritual chose you, yet you have the frame of a scholar, not a soldier."
I bristled, half embarrassed, half angry. "I didn't exactly get to pack a workout routine before getting thrown into your world."
Her lips twitched—the ghost of a smirk—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
"Excuses," she said coldly. Then she stepped back and drew her own sword.
The sound of steel rang sharp in the air.
"Show me what you can do, Juno. Swing at me."
My throat tightened. "You want me to hit you?"
"I want you to try." Her eyes hardened, the green gleam sharp as a blade. "Don't think. Move."
My palms were slick against the hilt. My body screamed that this was insane, that I had no business swinging a sword at a woman who looked like she could cleave me in half with one hand.
But there was something else beneath the fear. The system's glow. That strange pulse in the back of my skull, urging me forward.
I gritted my teeth, raised the blade, and swung.
It was clumsy, far too slow. She deflected it with a lazy flick of her wrist, the clash ringing like mockery.
"Again."
I swung again. Harder. She parried with ease.
"Again."
Over and over, my blade cut through air only to be slapped aside like a toy. My arms burned, my breath came ragged, sweat dampened the back of my tunic. She didn't even look winded.
Finally, in a burst of frustration, I lunged recklessly.
For one heartbeat, I thought I might actually land a blow.
Then the flat of her sword smacked against my ribs. The shock tore the air from my lungs, and I hit the dirt with a grunt.
"Pathetic," she said again, voice sharp but not cruel. She rested her blade against her shoulder, looking down at me with eyes that judged everything and forgave nothing. "You fight without thought, without training, without strength. If this is all you have, you'll die the moment steel touches the battlefield."
I coughed, pushing myself up onto my elbows, my pride aching more than my ribs. "Then why bother with me at all?"
Her gaze softened—just slightly, almost hidden—but it was there. "Because the ritual brought you. Because the Princess believes in you. And because…" She stepped closer, crouching so her eyes were level with mine. The sunlight caught the strands of her auburn hair, softening her sharpness for a fleeting moment.
"…I want to see whether you break, or whether you rise."
Her words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.
And as I struggled to stand, sword trembling in my grip, the system pulsed again behind my eyes.
[Skill Potential Detected: Sword Proficiency.]
[Sync Adjustment in Progress…]
My breath hitched. Something stirred inside me, faint but undeniable, as if the weapon was just a little lighter than before.
Vera's eyes narrowed, noticing the shift. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite mockery.
"Again," she said.
This time, I obeyed without hesitation.
---