When the headmaster pursed his lips and blew a faint whistle—whoosh—the oak door of the office burst wide open.
“Off you go.”
With those final words, Rowen’s entire body began to be dragged—zzzzzt—as if someone was pulling him from behind. Huh? Huh! It was an irresistible force. Rowen moved at a speed beyond normal without walking himself.
“What the…!”
Rowen lost his usual composure and made a flustered sound. He tried to plant his feet on the floor to resist, but it was useless. As if an invisible giant hand had grabbed him, the corridor scenery was pushed back swiftly like paint bleeding.
The process of passing through the corridor and descending the stairs was almost like flying. It was truly ultra-high-speed forced movement.
But the one truly tasting hell wasn’t Rowen.
‘I’m going to throw up!’
Nigel inside the pocket was truly like a mouse sucked into a whirlpool. He was being knocked around randomly at the speed Rowen was moving. He repeatedly slammed his nose into Rowen’s solid chest muscles, then floated up as if about to be flung outside the shirt.
Just before Nigel lost consciousness from dizziness, Rowen’s body stopped abruptly as if braking hard.
Slam—! The back door of the lecture hall opened roughly. Rowen’s body was pushed inside once more.
Thud.
“……”
It happened in the blink of an eye. Rowen was now docilely seated in his assigned seat at the very back of the lecture hall. Along with the impact of his bottom hitting the chair, Rowen’s fluttering bangs settled down calmly. Silence hung over the lecture hall.
The professor who had been writing on the blackboard and the students who had been diligently taking notes all turned their heads in unison to look at Rowen, who had suddenly appeared in the back seat.
“Rowen Ashfield?”
The professor pushed up his glasses and asked as if dumbfounded. Rowen looked down at his hands, gasping for breath.
He’d been in the headmaster’s office just moments ago, but with one blink of his eyes, he was on a lecture hall chair. Dragon magic was truly unreasonable yet overwhelming.
Whoosh— When he lightly swept up his bangs that had been disheveled from the forced movement here, he looked like his usual self. Rowen nodded as if nonchalant.
“…I apologize. I’m late.”
“Hmm, well. You’re seated now, so that’s fine. Let’s continue class.”
The professor, perhaps noticing that the headmaster had intervened in Rowen’s appearance, turned his head to the blackboard without asking further. The students also murmured before starting to focus on class again.
Only then did Rowen let out a deep sigh and lean back against the backrest.
And at that moment.
‘Urgh….’
Nigel inside the pocket was holding back dry heaves with his face buried in Rowen’s chest.
Nigel, who had never experienced such strong motion sickness even after riding carriages or horses for long periods, forced himself to swallow by keeping his mouth tightly shut.
He knew that if he made a frog sound in the lecture hall, he would inevitably draw everyone’s attention. It seemed the movement had been intense without him even realizing it.
Swoosh, Rowen lightly covered Nigel, who was trembling finely while shaking inside the pocket, through the cloth. It was a firm hand as if protecting Nigel. To outward appearances, it probably looked natural, as if he was just adjusting his clothing.
At Rowen’s touch, slowly, very slowly, Nigel regained his usual stability.
The class Rowen had decided to skip happened to be the swordsmanship practical class he liked most and had been waiting for. While Nigel was recovering from the aftereffects of Headmaster Silvanus’s prank-like magic, all the desks and chairs filling the lecture hall disappeared as if ice had melted and seeped into the floor.
Clap—
After adjusting the lecture hall for the purpose of sparring practice, the professor said with a slight sarcastic tone.
“I’ve been teaching sword theory until now, and was just about to take up the sword. How coincidental. Did you plan this, Rowen Ashfield?”
When it came to the field of swordsmanship, Rowen Ashfield was the student with the strongest academic passion at Kaiserion and one whose abilities far exceeded the class content.
There wasn’t a single sane person among the professors in charge of the Swordsmanship Department who disliked Rowen Ashfield.
Rowen wasn’t particularly hurt because he knew how much the professor cherished him despite speaking that way.
“Indeed. It seems luck follows me.”
So Rowen could answer with a light smile. Hmm, the mustachioed professor looked at Rowen, then drew a wooden practice sword from the sword belt at his waist.
Then without warning, he tossed—whoosh—the wooden sword to Rowen. The sword flew through the air in a parabola and thud! Rowen caught it swiftly.
“Thank you.”
“…It seems luck didn’t follow you as far as preparing your class materials properly.”
“Don’t I have this wooden sword.”
Rowen Ashfield lightly shook the professor’s wooden sword he’d caught. He was getting through the situation cheerfully and cheekily as always. The professor also seemed to not dislike such a Rowen, giving a soft laugh before starting the practical class.
The students stood in pairs holding wooden swords. The class content was using in practice the sword techniques the professor had drawn on the blackboard and explained just moments ago.
Rowen left his own sword along with the sword belt he’d brought in the morning standing in a corner and walked toward his partner.
“……”
This one’s a bit light.
Swoosh— swoosh— He said this while swinging it with an indifferent face as if adapting to someone else’s sword he was holding for the first time. Then he stood in line, loosely holding the wooden sword.
On the opposite side, a classmate who already knew Rowen’s skill level was breaking out in cold sweat.
To be considerate of such a classmate, Rowen smiled slightly and offered him the first move.
“I didn’t attend the earlier part of class… Want to go first?”
It was consideration, but also because he didn’t know exactly what sword technique they’d learned in theory.
Got it, the classmate nodded once with his mouth tightly shut as if nervous. Then he began to take the first stance of the sword technique the professor had taught.
It was a stance with the wooden sword held horizontally, the blade facing the opponent, and the opposite leg stepped back.
“…I’ll try.”
Hyup! With a shout, the opponent kicked off the ground and came in. For Rowen, who didn’t even know what sword technique they were practicing, it was quite a sharp thrust.
Swoosh— Rowen avoided the fierce strike, sharp enough to make a sound cutting through the air, by slightly twisting his shoulder to the side.
The sword passed close enough to barely brush his shirt hem. He dodged without even lifting his feet off the ground. It was the moment just as the classmate, who had perfectly executed all the stances of the sword theory they’d just learned, was about to shout “Done!”
“Huh…?”
The classmate swayed forward, losing his center. Come to think of it, he should have also remembered the final stance for how to deflect the recoil after thrusting with the sword.
‘I messed up.’
Though he realized his mistake, something caught—thud—the classmate’s body whose reaction was late. It was Rowen’s wooden sword that had avoided the attack.
Rowen, who had helped prevent him from falling with the end of the wooden sword, said.
“Pretty useful sword technique. If you finish well with the final stance, that is.”
“…Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Rowen withdrew his wooden sword in an undisturbed posture. Rowen, who noticed that the students practicing sparring and the professor’s gazes were directed at him, took the first stance of the sword technique his classmate had just shown with a nonchalant face.
“Then it’s my turn now.”
It was a stance perfectly identical to the sword theory textbook the professor had drawn on the blackboard. Even though Rowen hadn’t even been in the classroom then, just from seeing it directly once, he seemed to instinctively know which foot to put his center of gravity on and which part of the blade to focus on.
The classmate standing on the opposite side looked at that sight as if it were amazing, then nodded once as if waiting.
In that state, Rowen casually adjusted his shirt hem once. In fact, rather than avoiding the attack just now, he was concentrating all his nerves on minimizing his upper body movement so the frog in his pocket wouldn’t pop out.
Fortunately, when he checked with his palm, the frog inside the pocket seemed to be fine. After confirming that, Rowen properly draped the cloak with the Swordsmanship Department badge attached over his shirt again, then readjusted his grip on the wooden sword.
After taking a short breath, Rowen’s foot skimmed the floor as if sliding. It was the same stance, the same thrust that his classmate had shown just moments ago. But the weight behind it was completely different.
Swoosh—!
The sound of cutting through the air rang sharply through the training hall.
