That day, Millefeuille’s expression upon returning to the dormitory was far from ordinary.
“…Millefeuille.”
“What happened?”
She was smiling, but she wasn’t smiling. The strong can control their presence.
Millefeuille, who had crossed countless battlefields.
From weakest to strongest, from bottom-tier to top rank. Having even been on the expedition to the Northern Snowfields, she possessed a fundamentally different kind of strength from the other first-year fledglings.
That was why her friends couldn’t help but worry, seeing Millefeuille’s expression and the aura she was radiating.
She had definitely said she was going to her beloved senior’s shop today.
Before leaving, she was a girl full of love—now she was emanating such a strong, fearsome presence.
“Did something happen? Something bad…”
“No. This is… a resolution of love! I’ve seen it in novel illustrations.”
“……? Yogurt, did you eat spoiled yogurt yesterday?”
“Quiet, spoiled Vanilla. It’s probably that she got pushed against the wall by Senior and went *thump* with his hand, right? There was an illustration in a novel where the heroine was flustered like that.”
“Mhm mhm. So you’re saying Millefeuille got *something* done to her by [that Senior]? By [that Senior]?”
“……”
“Yogurt, I think you should be more selective about the novels you read.”
“……Shut up.”
“And if something *was* done to her by that Senior, there’s no way Millefeuille would be angry right now.”
“……”
At Vanilla’s reasoning, Yogurt fell silent.
“Why is Vanilla being so logical?”
“In the first place, our grades are similar, aren’t they? You just wear glasses—our grades are about the same.”
“…I’ll settle this in the final exams. I stake it on these glasses!”
“Do as you please. If wearing glasses made you smart, wouldn’t glasses be a required item for entering Zefflin?”
Normally, Vanilla was extremely bright and cheerful, but during the final exam period, she couldn’t help but become sharp. It was the same for Yogurt—normally she acted intellectual, but right now she was slightly losing her composure.
However, instead of grabbing each other’s hair or taking out hammers and bows and heading to the training grounds, the two focused on Millefeuille’s change.
“Tell us what happened, Millefeuille.”
“Yeah. We can listen.”
“Well…”
Millefeuille explained what had happened at the convenience store that afternoon.
After hearing the whole story, the two of them widened their eyes and opened their mouths in shock.
“Dragon…?”
“Sister…?”
What, is this an imperial joke?
So the imperial family really operates on a different level—even their gags are like that. That was the look they gave, but Millefeuille was deadly serious.
“Yeah. An older woman, and Senior himself called her a dragon and his older sister. Apparently she’s the adopted daughter of the First Emperor.”
“I see… I see.”
While Vanilla couldn’t accept reality and was just thinking *The imperial family is amazing*, Yogurt fell deep into thought.
“Millefeuille… This is dangerous.”
“Wh-what?”
Having finished her thoughts, Yogurt placed her hands on Millefeuille’s shoulders with a grave expression and began to give serious advice.
“The status of dragon, older sister, and daughter of the First Emperor is too overwhelming.”
“…R-really? Is it that big? I understand it’s taboo yet legitimate, but…”
“No. Millefeuille. You don’t understand anything.”
“Uh, huh?”
“Listen well—I’m saying this as someone who, before entering Zefflin, constantly read romance novels, relied on [Light] at night to devour five volumes a day, ruined my eyesight, and now uses both vision-assist magic and glasses. So hear me out.”
At Yogurt’s confession of her hidden hobby, Vanilla shrugged.
“So that’s why you wear glasses…? Yogurt, you’re really an idiot.”
“Vanilla, shut your mouth. Anyway, Millefeuille. Listen carefully.”
“Yes, yes. Master.”
Her title had changed to Master.
“The First Emperor’s daughter. She’s a distant older sister figure, but you said their relationship seemed very close, right?”
“Uh, yeah. They even talked about a joint project…”
“Listen closely. Right now, you’ve encountered the worst possible rival in history.”
“Wh-what? Really?”
“Yes. A dragon who’s lived for hundreds of years, and a young, handsome imperial prince. The strongest race and the weakest imperial descendant. The taboo and legitimacy blooming between them. A romance that transcends species. How can you overcome that weight?”
“…Hiii.”
Millefeuille teared up hearing her master’s words, while Vanilla picked her ear and tilted her head.
“Yogurt, you’ve never been in a relationship, have you?”
“Shut up, Vanilla. Anyway, Millefeuille, listen carefully. What makes these two perfect is the time—one and a half years.”
“O-one and a half years?”
“Yes. Wolfram Senior will graduate next year, right? The sworn siblings who met for the first time in three hundred years will be conscious of each other and agonize over how little time they have left. We may think of Zefflin as a long period emotionally, but to them, it’s not.”
“…Th-that’s right. As expected of Master. A difference in perspective… a difference in viewpoint.”
“Yes. So you can’t afford to be complacent either. Got it?”
“Yes, yes! Master!”
Millefeuille nodded repeatedly, Yogurt looked satisfied, and Vanilla expressed doubt.
“Did you read that in a novel?”
“Of course. With one and a half years, you can crank out nineteen volumes of novels, including side stories.”
“Then it’s not actual romance, is it?”
“……”
“You’ve never been in a relationship, but you’re projecting and speaking based on someone else’s imagined romance?”
“…………….”
“Really? For real? Does such a pitiful person exist in this world? Ms. Yogurt. Say something.”
“Sh-shut up… You, you looked down on me. You despised me.”
“No, I’m just saying it’s pitiful.”
“You, you’ve never been in a relationship either, yet you… me…”
“I haven’t, but that’s why I don’t pretend to know, right? Giving advice to someone when you’ve read so many romance novels that you ruined your eyesight—you’re either crazy for love or your brain is pickled in romance. Haha. Even honey-pickled peach drinks would be less sweet than that.”
“DUEL! DRAW YOUR WEAPON!”
Yogurt picked up her bow, Vanilla shrugged and grabbed her hammer, then lightly placed a hand on Millefeuille’s shoulder.
“Right. Well then, Millefeuille, Yogurt and I are going off to play.”
“Uh, yeah. Have fun.”
“Oh, right. This is my advice. I’ve never dated, but since we live in tribal communities, I get to see quite directly who gets interested in whom and how they go about it.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Sometimes, there are cases where two people are after the same person. Do you know who wins in that case?”
“…Wh-who?”
“It’s not the one who prepares a single day of special treatment, but the one who visits every day and makes them smile.”
“……Ah.”
“Stay strong. That’s all my advice. Now then, Yogurt, let’s go.”
—
Millefeuille quickly dashed toward Wolfram’s convenience store.
Her friends’ advice had been tremendously helpful. She could proudly say they were the best friends of her life.
First, go to Senior.
The time Senior had left was about a year and a half.
She had to find her answer within that time.
She rode the Black King, forcibly calmed her pounding heart, and arrived at the convenience store—
There he was, with his usual grumpy expression.
“Millefeuille, is it.”
“…Senior? What are you doing?”
“Hm… I was running some tests.”
“Tests?”
There were sword stains on his face, and his hair was caked with dust.
The crafting kit on the floor—used to activate Senior’s skill 【Handy Worker】—also had scorch marks; anyone could tell this was a scene of failure.
“Yeah. I was trying to make something I’d been asked to.”
“Ah…”
Senior is kind, so he can’t refuse anyone’s request.
Whose request was it this time?
What person’s request did he accept, and by solving it, whose heart did he win?
Ayla Senior? Rudika Senior? Nefty Senior? Eve Senior? Or perhaps the dragon big sister I saw recently?
No.
My heart is too narrow—I can’t smile.
Normally, I would have forced a smile and said something like “You’re always working hard,” with genuine but insincere words.
“Wh-whose request… were you working on?”
“Hm… I was going to show you once it was completed. But no—on second thought, it’s better to hear the person’s opinion directly.”
“……?”
Saying that, Wolfram beckoned Millefeuille over, and what she saw made her eyes go wide.
There was no way she wouldn’t recognize it.
She always wore it during training and in class.
And she could tell the size of the *something* that would attach to it.
“This is…”
“First, I apologize.”
“Y-yes? Apologize?”
“Hm. The cartridge-type battle gauntlet Mk.3 proved difficult to finish on schedule.”
Only then did she realize.
Now she knew whose item Senior was making.
“Ah… Th-then this is my…”
“Correct. These are parts for the cartridge-type battle gauntlet Mk.2 Ultimate Edition—the final upgrade parts before moving on to the next generation. Hmm. Adjustments aren’t easy.”
“Then the reason you’re making this…”
“Didn’t you ask? You said you wanted to win against them all. You wanted to catch them all. So I’m making it.”
As he said that, Wolfram wore an expression that seemed to ask *Why are you even asking something so obvious?*
He was someone who rarely showed changes in expression, but Millefeuille could tell.
This person, with soot on his face, without any complaint or sign of displeasure, puts his full power toward what he’s taken on.
There was no imperial prince or lower noble in him.
“…Senior.”
“Hm?”
“This may be irreverent, but I think you would have been fine even if you weren’t a prince.”
“Ha. That’s an amusing thing to say. Millefeuille von Sabre.”
“Yes?”
“The only one in Zefflin right now who holds rank by blood is my bloodmate and worst, most vicious student council president, Eve. In other words…”
“……”
“You and I are equals—just senior and junior with only two years’ difference.”
“Yes.”
Her face grew hot.
Calm down, Millefeuille.
Wolfram Senior didn’t say those words with any particular meaning.
He literally just meant “equals.”
Don’t misinterpret. Don’t misunderstand. Understand—this person is like this.
“I suppose it can’t be helped. I was going to show you when it was finished, but it needs more adjustments. Will you help me?”
“…Yes!”
That day.
The two completed the prototype.
—
And then the day of the final exams dawned.
Without any jokes or exaggeration, it felt as if the entire atmosphere of Zefflin was crackling with electricity.
The friend right next to you today was your rival.
Grades can be overcome with studying, but “combat power” is not so easy.
It’s fine to show mercy to your opponent after winning.
I want to be the one who maintains the friendship.
But I don’t want to be the one who receives mercy and has pity mixed into the friendship.
That tension lingered in the morning air.
In the common faculty’s sparring arena, two girls stood.
**Cotton Shinespark.** First-year, 4th place. A prodigy with Magic Power 17.
The other was **Millefeuille von Sabre.** First-year top student.
The first-years’ anticipation grew higher and higher.
Kelter, the top student of all grades, was a composite user. Gale Strike, the runner-up, was a greatsword user.
In that context, how would the current grade’s top—【Iron Fist】—deal with a pure mage like Shinespark, the hopeful with Magic Power 17?
When everyone’s expectations peaked, the two appeared.
Everyone tilted their heads, then soon nodded in understanding.
Millefeuille and Cotton, standing on the sparring arena, had completely opposite demeanors.
When Cotton gracefully covered her mouth with a fan-shaped staff, exuding composure, Millefeuille wore a truly serious expression.
That didn’t change even when the two took their positions and a referee stood between them.
Of course—how could Millefeuille von Sabre, with Magic Power 9, possibly beat Cotton, who was being touted as a candidate for the next Magic Department ace?
“The Sabre family is, as I recall, from a backwater in the east. If you have any thoughts of advancing to the central region, then lose to me here today.”
“……”
Millefeuille did not answer.
Everyone interpreted that silence as tension.
“Match start!”
“Now the match has begun. How shall I cook you—mmph.”
But.
That wasn’t it.
From the moment she stepped onto the stage, Millefeuille had never abandoned her thinking.
She meticulously measured the distance to her opponent, endlessly pondering how to prevent a mage from keeping her distance.
As a result—
*Tap.* One leap.
*Squeeze.* Her left hand covered Cotton’s mouth.
*Grip.* Her right hand grabbed the front of Cotton’s uniform, near the solar plexus.
*Heh.*
Even caught, Cotton smiled inwardly.
Did you think I would have done a sloppy investigation on you?
The cartridge-type gauntlet Mk.2 is basically a fist-mounted armor.
That is—it absolutely requires a “swinging distance.”
So it was strange.
Her left fist was covering the mouth, her right fist only grabbing the clothes.
So what was she going to strike with?
While she was arrogantly complacent, a strange noise was heard.
It came from the fist portion of the cartridge-type battle gauntlet.
It was the sound of an additional ring—something never seen in the Gale match—accelerating.
Not the fist that was gripping, but the ring accelerating *above* it…?
If that thing, if that were to punch into her solar plexus…?
And by the time she realized that truth, it was already too late.
**【Impact Buster】**
A short incantation.
The last thing Cotton saw was the endlessly spinning ring shooting out in front of the fist and slamming into her solar plexus.
Before she lost consciousness from the impact of the brutal rotation that turned her insides upside down—
“I don’t care if it’s a dragon. I won’t lose to anyone.”
The last words she heard were a puzzling remark and eyes filled with resolve.
