The sun climbed higher, its golden heat beating down upon the sprawling Roschild estate. While laughter and the gentle clink of teacups echoed from the secluded garden, a far harsher sound dominated the training ground: the relentless, sharp clap of wood cutting through the air.
Here, far from fragrant blooms and soothing fountains, Artur waged a solitary war. His body, already honed to a fighter's edge, was drenched in sweat. His hands, raw and blistered, gripped the wooden practice sword with a white-knuckled intensity. He welcomed the sting; it was a clean, simple pain, unlike the rotting ache in his chest.
Swing. Swing. Swing.
Each motion was a violent exhalation. His teeth were gritted, his jaw clenched, his golden eyes burning with a fire that had nothing to do with the Roschild flame.
"Damn it… Damn it all…" The words were a ragged whisper, torn from him with each furious strike.
The memory was a wound that would not close, he was reviving it again. "Sorry, it can never work out between us. You're just my friend." That word—friend—felt like a brand. And then, the final, crushing confirmation: the flush on her ears, the evasion in her eyes the moment he had uttered the name that haunted him. Leo.
His grip tightened. If not for him…
The sound of small, rushing footsteps broke his concentration. A younger boy from the branch family, clutching his own practice sword, bounded into the training ground, his face alight with the thrill of a secret.
"Big brother Artur! You'll never guess what I just saw!"
Artur halted, his chest heaving. "What?" he snapped, his voice rougher than he intended.
Oblivious to the storm he was stepping into, the boy chirped, "Young Master Leo and Big Sis Rina! They were in the garden pavilion, having tea and cookies together! They were laughing and teasing, sitting so close. The maids were even saying they looked like a married couple! They were so cute!"
Artur went perfectly still. The wooden sword in his hand felt suddenly foreign. A cold shadow seemed to pass over him, twisting his features into something grim and unfamiliar.
"...Is that so," he stated, his voice flat and dead.
The boy finally noticed the shift in atmosphere. "Eh? You don't look—"
Artur cut him off, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. It was a ghastly imitation of his usual kindness. "Never mind that. Do you want to spar?"
The boy's unease was instantly replaced by delight.
"Really? With you? Of course!" To spar with Artur, considered a genius with the blade, was an honor.
Artur raised his sword, its weight now feeling like an instrument of vengeance. In his chest, something ugly and dark pulsed with his heartbeat.
So, they're together. Laughing. While I...
His nails bit into the hilt.
It's always him. Always Leo. He should just disappear.
The spar began. The younger boy rushed forward, swinging his sword with clumsy, youthful enthusiasm.
Swoosh!
Normally, Artur would be a patient teacher, guiding the blow, correcting the form. But not today. His counterattack was a thunderclap.
CLANG!
The brutal impact sent a jarring shock up the boy's arms.
"Ugh—!" he cried out, staggering back, his eyes wide with surprise and pain. "Big bro Artur—?"
Artur gave him no quarter. His movements were a blur of sharp, vicious strikes, each one carrying the full weight of his seething rage. This was no longer a lesson; it was an annihilation.
Clash. Crack. Thud.
The boy stumbled, his small arms trembling violently as he desperately blocked and parried. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced his heart. "W-wait! You're going too fast—!"
But Artur was deaf to his pleas. In his mind's eye, it wasn't the boy before him. It was Leo. That infuriating, carefree smile. Those smug blue eyes. The effortless way he commanded everything—Rina's attention, the clan's pride, a future that should have been Artur's.
If only I could break you… shatter that confidence… make you kneel!
With a final, heavy blow, the boy's sword snapped in two. He yelped, dropping the broken hilt and falling backward into the dirt.
"I surrender! Stop! Please!"
Artur's sword continued its descent.
At the very last second, a sliver of his true self screamed through the red haze. He wrenched his arm, halting the blade mere inches from the terrified boy's face. The wooden sword trembled in his grip. For a long moment, the only sounds were Artur's ragged gasps and the boy's terrified whimpers.
Finally, Artur stepped back, lowering the sword. The fury in his golden eyes flickered and died, replaced by a hollow conflict.
"Get out," he commanded, his voice low and devoid of any apology.
The boy scrambled to his feet, tears streaming down his face.
"Big brother Artur, you bully! I hate you!" he screamed, before turning and fleeing without a backward glance.
Artur stood alone, the weight of his actions crashing down. His hands shook. What have I done? He is just a child…
He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. But then, the dark thought returned, a comforting, corrosive lie. No. This is Leo's fault. All of it. If he didn't exist, I wouldn't be like this. I did nothing wrong.
His nails dug into his palm, threatening to draw blood.
"Just you wait," he whispered once more, the vow a bitter poison on his tongue. "At the Blessing Ceremony… I'll prove it. I'll crush you, Leo. Then Rina will see who truly deserves her."
The wooden sword clattered to the dirt, its sound final in the empty yard.
Artur stood motionless under the harsh midday sun, his shadow stretching long and distorted behind him. The change was no longer slow; it was taking root, and it was terrifying.