The morning air still carried the cool breath of dawn when Narin finished his preparations at the annex.
The sky above the estate was painted in pale streaks of amber and rose, the first threads of sunlight stretching lazily across the horizon. Dew clung to the trimmed grass like scattered crystals, shimmering faintly whenever the breeze passed.
Narin rolled his shoulders once, then twice, feeling the familiar tension in his muscles loosen.
“Everything’s ready,” he muttered to himself under his breath.
Yet even after that, he checked again. And again.
Only when he was certain did he finally exhale, long and steady.
Behind him stood Fielo.
The valet, barely in his twenties, wore the neat uniform of the estate—black coat, silver buttons polished to a mirror shine. His posture was rigid, almost painfully proper, yet his expression betrayed his anxiety. His fingers fidgeted briefly at his cuffs before clasping behind his back again.
Narin glanced at him sideways.
“Just a moment ago,” Narin said in a low voice, “we were arguing about this.”
Fielo swallowed. “My lord insisted I must accompany you, Sir Narin.”
“I told you not to.”
“And I insisted,” Fielo replied, straightening slightly, “because it would be inappropriate for a private tutor to walk alone across the estate grounds. The other servants would speak. The guards would question. It may reflect poorly upon Miss Nicolette.”
Narin closed his eyes briefly.
He understood.
In noble culture, walking alone—especially for someone newly appointed—was unusual. Suspicious, even. And a valet’s role was simple: follow their employer everywhere, assist, observe, maintain decorum.
Still, it was troublesome.
Narin let out a controlled sigh.
“…Fine. Let’s go.”
His tone was gentle, but final.
Fielo nodded quickly and stepped into place behind him.
The corridor leading to Nicolette’s chamber was lined with tall windows draped in heavy velvet curtains. The early sun slipped through the edges, casting narrow bands of gold across the marble floor. The estate was still quiet; servants moved in hushed routines far away.
Narin stopped in front of a large oak door adorned with silver engravings—delicate vines wrapping around the carved family crest.
He knocked.
Three firm raps.
Silence.
He waited.
Ten minutes passed.
The faint smile on Narin’s lips did not disappear—but it stiffened.
His jaw tightened. A vein pulsed faintly at his temple.
His eyes rolled upward slowly before returning to the door.
“…Unbelievable.”
He turned his head slightly toward Fielo and leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper.
“Do you know the quickest way to make someone leave their room?”
Fielo blinked. “Sir?”
Narin murmured a few quiet instructions.
Fielo’s eyes widened immediately.
“…Sir, surely you don’t mean—”
“Go.”
“But—”
“Now.”
There was no anger in Narin’s tone. It was soft.
That made it worse.
Fielo hesitated for a breath longer before bowing and rushing down the corridor, footsteps echoing as he disappeared around the corner.
Narin returned his gaze to the door, hands folded behind his back, humming lightly to himself as if waiting for tea.
A few minutes later, Fielo returned. He stopped a few steps behind Narin and gave a small, resigned nod.
“Yes.”
Narin’s smile sharpened.
“…Good.”
He lifted his hand slowly. Mana gathered around his palm in a faint, swirling glow—soft blue light pulsing like a heartbeat. The air around his fingers vibrated gently.
He pressed his hand flat against the door.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then—
BOOM.
A small but controlled explosion burst outward. The engraved oak door splintered apart, fragments scattering inward across the chamber floor. Smoke drifted lazily in the air.
“Eek!”
A sharp, startled sound came from inside.
Narin stepped through the broken doorway calmly, brushing a bit of dust off his sleeve. His expression remained composed, though his eyes were colder now.
“Now,” he said in a soft voice that carried an unmistakable edge, “you can’t stay in this room anymore.”
He didn’t look around to search for her. He didn’t care where she stood inside the chamber.
“Get dressed and meet me at the training ground.” He turned slightly, the faint smile returning. “You have ten minutes. If you’re late…”
His eyes flickered briefly toward the shattered remains of the door.
“…I will have to punish you.”
He walked out immediately after, not waiting for a reply.
Fielo stood frozen at the corridor’s edge, staring at the destroyed door.
He slowly lifted a hand and pressed it to his forehead.
“This new private tutor might be too crazy…” he muttered internally.
And the lord had accepted this mercenary’s request without hesitation.
Even though the request was understandable.
Even though it was for Miss Nicolette’s sake.
Still…
Fielo sighed quietly.
If it works… then it works, right?
Miss Nicolette… please understand. This is for you.
He hurried after Narin.
The training ground was empty when they arrived.
The sun had risen higher now, casting longer shadows across the open field. The air was warming, but the morning breeze still carried freshness.
Narin sat cross-legged on the ground, resting his elbows loosely on his knees.
First impressions are important, he thought.
But she had already reduced the value herself.
Even if she had opened the door politely…
He snorted softly.
It wouldn’t have changed anything.
My goal isn’t to build rapport.
My goal is to go home.
If I waste time worrying about her feelings, how long will I be stuck here?
How long will my return be delayed?
I can’t accept that.
He tilted his head back and stared at the brightening sky.
Besides… acting all nice to a rebellious teenager?
He chuckled under his breath.
“That wouldn’t work anyway.”
Footsteps.
Light and quick.
He lowered his gaze.
She arrived.
Nicolette stepped onto the field with steady strides. She wore a gothic-style riding outfit—burgundy breeches fitted tightly against her slender legs, tucked into polished boots. A black, form-fitting leather vest hugged her torso, emphasizing her youthful yet disciplined build.
She looked energetic.
Just like her father, Narin thought.
Her eyes—icy blue—were sharp and unwelcoming. They held no trace of embarrassment from earlier. Only irritation and defiance.
Her lips were slightly pouted.
Her chin lifted.
Narin rose smoothly to his feet.
For a brief second, he studied her face.
Her eyes… maybe her mother’s.
He cut the thought short.
“I am Narin,” he began calmly, voice steady, measured. “From now on, I will be your private tutor.”
He clasped his hands behind his back.
“I understand we are not on good terms. Perhaps we never will be.” His smile was faint but deliberate. “But you have a goal, don’t you?”
He stepped one pace closer—not threatening, but assertive.
“Everyone has their own goal.”
His gaze sharpened slightly.
“In your current state… you will not achieve yours.”
A pause.
“As for mine—my goal is simple. Finish teaching you. Receive my reward. Go home.”
His tone remained even.
“It’s a fair deal, isn’t it?”
Nicolette’s right eyebrow twitched.
Her cold gaze scanned him slowly from head to toe.
“If you even have the skills to teach me,” she replied flatly.
Her voice was crisp and cutting, each word deliberate.
Narin’s eyebrow almost twitched in return.
Almost...
But he maintained the faint smile.
“Haha… Miss.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if amused.
“Either way, you don’t want to remain at this stage forever.”
He turned and gestured toward the open field.
“So let me help.”
He walked toward the center of the training ground.
“For this morning, we start with physical training.”
He stopped and faced her again.
“No matter how talented you are at magic… your body must be strong to support it.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“Follow my instructions.”
Nicolette let out a dissatisfied scoff under her breath. A few quiet curse words followed.
But she stepped forward.
She complied.
Narin inhaled slowly.
Stay calm. Don’t lose it.
He told himself.
He straightened his posture.
“First,” he said, voice clear and firm, “start running.”
He pointed toward the far edge of the field.
“Five laps.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Five—?”
“No complaints.”
His smile returned.
“Or we can make it ten.”
She glared at him.
Then she started running.
Narin watched her carefully.
Her posture. Her breathing. Her stride.
Every detail.
And he kept his composure.
Even as his patience thinned.
Even as she muttered curses under her breath.
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He folded his arms behind his back and observed silently.
The lesson had begun.
The morning sun had climbed higher, its warmth no longer gentle but pressing down against the stone courtyard of the training ground. What had begun as a quiet, empty space now carried faint signs of life. A few servants passed along the edges with baskets and buckets. Two guards stood at a distance beneath the shade of an archway, pretending not to watch.
Nicolette’s breathing had grown uneven.
Sweat clung to the strands of her dark burgundy-tinted hair, sticking slightly to her forehead. Her boots thudded heavily against the ground as she finished the fourth lap.
“Posture,” Narin called evenly from where he stood, arms folded behind his back. “Straighten your spine. You’re wasting energy.”
She didn’t respond.
Her jaw tightened.
On the fifth lap, she slowed.
On the sixth exercise—push-ups—her arms trembled.
“Thirty more,” Narin said calmly.
“What?!” she snapped, lifting her head sharply. “You said fifty!”
“You completed forty-eight,” he corrected without missing a beat. “Your form collapsed on the last two.”
Her hands pressed into the stone harder, knuckles whitening.
“Don’t nitpick!”
“If you want mediocrity, I can give it to you,” he replied flatly. “But I assumed you didn’t.”
A sharp exhale left her nose. She dropped flat onto the ground instead.
“I’m done.”
Narin tilted his head slightly. “No.”
“I said I’m done!”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Her eyes flared. She pushed herself up and dusted her palms off with aggressive swipes, stepping toward him.
“I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I’ve trained before.”
“And yet,” Narin replied mildly, “your stamina is below average for someone your age with your background.”
Her face flushed—not from exertion now, but anger.
“Stop pretending like you know anything!”
She turned away as if to leave the field entirely.
Narin’s voice followed her, steady and unhurried.
“If you walk away now, tomorrow will be worse.”
Her shoulders froze.
For three seconds she stood there, rigid.
Then she spun back around.
“Shut up!”
And suddenly she moved.
Her fist flew toward him—fast, unrefined, driven by emotion more than technique.
But there was strength in it.
Narin stepped aside with minimal effort, the punch cutting through empty air.
Another came.
And another.
Each one wild, desperate, fueled by months—years—of frustration.
He dodged them all without strain.
The difference in physique was obvious. His movements were efficient, grounded. Hers were explosive but uncontrolled.
Finally, he caught her wrist mid-swing.
His grip was firm.
“Get your hand away from me!” she shouted, her voice sharp enough to slice through the courtyard.
She twisted violently, boots scraping harshly against the stone as she tried to wrench herself free.
The nearby servants stiffened.
One maid gasped softly, raising a hand to her mouth.
A stable boy paused mid-step, eyes wide.
At the far end, a tall man leaning against a pillar—Felinton, one of the estate’s senior attendants—watched with narrowed eyes. The faintest curl tugged at his lips.
Narin’s expression remained composed, though his brows lowered slightly as he assessed the force she applied.
Her strength wasn’t negligible.
“Miss Nicolette,” he said calmly, his voice low but carrying, “if you cannot even free your arm… how do you intend to become strong?”
Her eyes burned brighter.
“Don’t speak to me like that!”
She twisted harder—too hard.
And suddenly—
Narin released her.
The abrupt absence of resistance sent her stumbling backward from her own momentum. She lost her footing and fell onto the stone with a sharp thud.
Silence fell over the training ground.
Narin let out a slow sigh and scratched the back of his head, looking mildly inconvenienced rather than triumphant.
“Miss,” he said, his tone softer now, though still firm, “you only need to cooperate with me. Nothing more has to happen.”
He crouched slightly—not close enough to invade her space, but enough to meet her eye level.
“I have no ill intention. I am here to teach you.”
His gaze studied her carefully.
“Can’t you cooperate?”
She sat on the ground, breathing hard. Her palms were scraped slightly from the fall. Strands of hair clung messily to her cheeks.
Her eyes were full of anger.
Her teeth ground together, as if she were holding back a flood of venom.
Narin saw it.
She was waiting for an opening.
He stood upright again.
“I heard,” he continued, voice neutral, “that all your siblings have already brought honor to House Lelltine. Each of them using their speciality for the family’s benefit.”
Her fingers dug into the stone.
“You don’t think they achieved that purely from talent, do you?”
That did it.
“You don’t know anything!” she burst out, scrambling to her feet. “Who do you think you are to come here and speak like that? You damn commoner!”
The word carried sharp contempt.
“Do you think I haven’t tried?” she continued, her voice rising, cracking slightly at the edges. “All these years? Do you think I’ve been lazy?!”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Do you even know what fate is?!”
The servants stood frozen now, unsure whether to leave or stay.
“Yes!” she cried. “This is fate!”
Her voice broke on the last word.
“I’ve tried so much. So many methods. So many teachers. So many potions. Everything!”
Her hands trembled at her sides.
“To at least use magic. Even a sparkle of it!”
Her voice became hoarse, strained.
“But it was all in vain.”
A long silence followed.
The wind passed softly across the courtyard, stirring her hair.
“…Why?” she whispered.
Her gaze dropped to the ground.
“Because it is fate.”
The words came quieter now. Hollow.
“If fate didn’t exist… then why did all my efforts end in nothing?”
Her shoulders shook.
“That’s right!” she shouted suddenly, tears beginning to form despite her attempt to hold them back. “Fate exists! My fate is to be nothing more than a failure of House Lelltine!”
Her fists clenched.
“I will exist as the disgrace of the family!”
The words echoed against the stone walls.
Narin watched her silently.
Fate.
It was a heavy word.
Something in his expression changed.
Just slightly.
“Fate…?” he repeated.
His voice was no longer calm.
There was weight in it now.
A shadow beneath it.
He stepped forward once.
“Just because fate exists?” he said, tone deepening. “You’re saying our entire lives—our history—our struggles—our choices—are all lies?”
His voice rose.
It was loud and heavy.
He rarely raised his voice.
“Freedom is a lie? Free will is a lie?”
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Don’t you think that’s ridiculous?”
His faint smile returned—but it was sharper now.
“Right now, I am opposing fate,” he continued, spreading his arms slightly as if presenting evidence. “Where is it? Why isn’t it striking me down?”
His eyes locked onto hers.
“If fate were a person… wouldn’t it be angry that someone dares defy it?”
A low chuckle left him.
“Heh…”
Nicolette stared at him, stunned.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.
“The answer is simple,” Narin said firmly. “Fate does not exist.”
“It is nothing more than an illusion people create to comfort themselves.”
His gaze hardened.
“You are using fate as an excuse. Something to blame so you don’t have to face disappointment.”
Each word landed heavier than the last.
“You are surrendering to yourself.”
Her breathing grew uneven again.
“You say your efforts were meaningless?” he pressed. “Were they?”
His voice was especially heavy now.
“No. They were not.”
He pointed at her chest—not touching, just indicating.
“Your efforts gave you knowledge. Experience.”
His tone steadied.
“You can use them.”
“Keep trying. Keep improving. Keep pushing until you achieve something.”
He paused.
“If you cannot understand this…”
His voice cooled again.
“…then I have no intention of teaching you.”
He stepped back and turned away.
Narin walked off the training ground without another glance.
The servants slowly dispersed.
The guards looked at each other uneasily.
Felinton’s faint smile faded into something unreadable.
And Nicolette remained standing alone in the middle of the courtyard.
That was how the first day ended.
Narin spent the rest of the day inside his annex room.
The space was modest compared to the main estate—simple wooden desk, narrow bed, a single window overlooking a patch of garden. Sunlight faded slowly into evening orange, then into dusk.
He sat by the window, staring outside without truly seeing.
Fate.
He clicked his tongue softly.
Ridiculous.
Yet…
His hand clenched slightly on the windowsill.
He exhaled and leaned back in his chair.
Meanwhile—
In Nicolette's chamber, now temporarily fitted with a replacement door, Nicolette lay on her bed fully dressed.
The ceiling above her blurred through tear-filled eyes.
She bit her lip to suppress the sound—but once it slipped, it wouldn’t stop.
Tears streamed silently down her temples into her hair.
Her shoulders trembled.
She turned onto her side, clutching a pillow tightly against her chest as if holding herself together.
His words replayed in her mind.
You are surrendering to yourself.
“No…” she whispered hoarsely.
But the doubt crept in slowly but relentlessly.
That night, she cried until exhaustion claimed her.
And only then did she fall asleep.
The next morning came without confrontation.
The training ground remained empty.
The air was crisp again, similar to the day before, yet it felt different—quieter, heavier, as if something invisible lingered in the space where raised voices had once echoed.
Narin did not go to Nicolette’s chamber.
Nicolette did not step foot onto the field.
Within the manor, whispers spread faster than wind through dry leaves.
In the kitchen, a maid leaned closer to another while chopping herbs.
“Did you hear? He made her fall.”
“I heard he shouted at her.”
“No—she shouted first.”
A stable boy chimed in from the doorway. “Felinton said the tutor is reckless.”
“Hush!” another servant warned. “Walls have ears.”
But the story traveled regardless—through corridors, across staircases, between trays of silverware and cups of morning tea.
By noon, it reached the highest study in the manor.
Inside his office, Lord Marlenvet stood by the tall window overlooking the estate gardens. His broad frame cast a long shadow across the polished wooden floor. A report lay open on his desk, yet his eyes were fixed on the distant training ground.
A steward stood a respectful distance behind him.
“…So that was the extent of it, my lord.”
Silence followed.
Marlenvet’s lips curved faintly.
A subtle smile.
Marlenvet’s gaze sharpened slightly, though amusement flickered beneath it.
He turned from the window.
“Leave.”
The steward bowed immediately. “Yes, my lord.”
As the door closed, Marlenvet’s smile deepened just a fraction.
“Interesting,” he muttered under his breath.
At the far end of the estate, in the modest annex granted to him, Narin sat alone at his wooden desk.
The room was simple—bare walls, a narrow bed neatly made, a desk stacked with parchment, a single oil lamp unlit in the daylight. Dust particles floated lazily through the beam of sunlight that entered through the half-open window.
Narin leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk.
His fingers pressed against his forehead.
He slowly stroked his temple as if trying to ease a headache that wasn’t physical.
“What were you thinking, Narin…?” he muttered.
His voice was quiet, lacking the sharpness he used outside.
He leaned back in the chair, wood creaking softly beneath him.
A long, heavy sigh escaped.
“This might make the challenge impossible to complete…”
He stared at the ceiling.
“…But I really couldn’t stand that.”
His eyes narrowed faintly.
“It goes against my nature.”
Silence wrapped around him again.
His thoughts drifted deeper and further.
Human beings are fragile creatures.
Since the beginning of time, humans survived not because they were the strongest—but because they gathered together.
From groups, villages formed. Villages became towns. Towns turned into kingdoms. Kingdoms into nations.
He folded his hands together slowly, fingers interlocking.
With growing numbers came complexity.
To manage that complexity, humans created systems.
Law. Belief. Religion. Morality.
He lowered his hands to the desk and stared at them as if weighing invisible concepts in his palms.
Law created order.
Even though laws were often twisted—used to protect personal interests, corrupted by those in power—law still fulfilled its purpose. It prevented chaos from devouring everything.
Belief and religion connected people. Shared faith gave meaning to suffering. It softened the terror of death.
And yes, those same beliefs had been used to wage war. To burn people alive. To oppress. To dominate.
Yet even so…
They fulfilled their purpose.
Morality...
He let out a quiet breath.
Morality defined what should and shouldn’t be done.
Though it could be manipulated—used by rulers to instill guilt without force—it still provided cohesion. It changed with time. What was righteous today might be barbaric a century later.
Yet morality still fulfilled its purpose.
He closed his eyes slowly.
Humans are fragile.
They are imperfect.
They make mistakes.
They repeat failures.
But that repetition—those failures—forced them to adapt.
They improve.
They persevere.
Because of mistakes, they searched for different paths.
Because of failure, they changed.
They survived not by surrendering—but by refusing to lose hope.
“They must not lose hope,” he murmured quietly.
“They must be fearless.”
“They must persevere.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“That is how humans survive.”
“That is how they achieved great feats.”
Believing in fate was not something he despised.
He opened his eyes again, gaze steady.
“I don’t have anything against believing in fate,” he said softly.
“But using fate as an excuse to destroy yourself…”
His fingers curled faintly.
“That’s different.”
He leaned back again, exhaling through his nose.
“I guess she didn’t come today either…”
The day passed.
Then another.
And another.
Neither of them sought the other.
The training ground remained untouched.
Nicolette stayed within her wing of the manor, rarely seen except during meals—and even then, she kept her head lowered, speaking little.
Narin remained in the annex, reviewing training notes, drafting schedules, refining plans he never enacted.
A week slipped by like water through open fingers.
On the first morning of the second week, Narin was seated once more at his desk, quill in hand, reviewing a list of physical conditioning sequences.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap.
He froze.
His pen hovered above parchment.
That was not the usual knock servants used.
Most knocked twice. Or three evenly spaced taps.
This pattern was uneven.
Unfamiliar.
Tap.
…Tap-tap.
Narin slowly set the quill down.
His gaze shifted toward the door.
Silence lingered for two heartbeats.
Then—another knock.
Same pattern.
Who?
He stood from his chair, expression unreadable, and walked toward the door.
His hand paused on the handle.
And then he opened it.
The door opened slowly.
For a brief second, the morning light from outside poured into the annex hallway and framed the silhouette standing there.
Narin’s eyes narrowed slightly—then widened in recognition.
“…Miss Nicolette?”
She stood straighter at the sound of her name.
She wasn’t wearing her usual gothic riding attire today. Instead, she had on a simple dark-blue dress, less ornate, less defensive. Her hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping around her temples. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes—as if sleep had not come easily these past nights.
But her gaze was steady.
Narin studied her silently for a moment. Outwardly composed. Inwardly—
Relief.
It was subtle, but it eased something tight inside his chest.
“I see,” he murmured.
Then he stepped aside, opening the door wider.
“Come in first.”
His voice was softer than usual.
“…Alright,” she responded quietly.
There was no bite in her tone today. No mockery.
She stepped inside.
The annex room suddenly felt smaller with her presence. Sunlight streamed in from the window, illuminating the simple furniture—the wooden desk, the neatly folded blanket on the bed, a small basin of water by the corner.
She looked around briefly.
“You must understand me at least a little better now,” Narin said, closing the door gently behind her.
He turned to face her, arms relaxed at his sides.
“I’ll take that as good enough.”
She didn’t reply immediately, but her eyes flickered.
He gestured toward the bed.
“Sit here. There’s something I need to confirm.”
She frowned slightly.
“Huh? What is it?”
But despite her confusion, she walked over and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. Her posture was straight, shoulders tense, as if bracing for something unpleasant.
Narin approached from behind.
He hesitated for half a breath.
Then sat behind her on the bed, close enough to reach her back.
“Relax your shoulders,” he said quietly.
She stiffened instead.
“…I am relaxed.”
He almost smiled.
“You’re not.”
He lifted his hand and placed his palm gently against the center of her back, between her shoulder blades.
The contact made her flinch slightly.
Then—
He released a thin stream of mana.
It flowed from his palm like warm current, controlled and precise.
Before it could fully enter—
He felt the resistance.
His eyes sharpened.
Her body…?
No.
Something within her body was pushing back.
His mana met a strange invisible barrier—like trying to pour water into a sealed glass.
Narin’s brows slowly furrowed.
“She’s rejecting it?”
No… not rejecting... more like repelling?
He increased the flow slightly.
The resistance grew firmer.
A strange force coiled around the entry point, denying access.
Then what I sensed from contact before was right…
Her real problem…
He narrowed his eyes.
“She has no mana.”
There was nothing there in her body.
And something was actively preventing even external mana from staying.
If it were a curse… Lord Marlenvet would have detected it.
He pressed his palm more firmly against her back.
Some sort of magic…? Strong enough to fool even Marlenvet himself?
“…Why are you so quiet?” Nicolette suddenly asked.
There was a hint of nervous frustration in her voice.
“Oh—”
Narin flinched slightly, pulled from deep concentration.
“Well…” he began slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I found the reason you couldn’t use magic.”
Her breath hitched faintly.
“But,” he continued honestly, “I don’t know the solution yet.”
Silence.
She didn’t turn around.
“So?” she asked quietly.
“So,” he said, voice steadying, “what I will do from now are attempts to understand it better. It will hurt.”
He paused.
“There will definitely be pain.”
A long silence followed.
“…Mhm.”
Her answer was soft. Almost too soft.
He blinked.
Is that a yes?
It was confusing.
But she didn’t move away.
That was enough.
“…Then we’ll begin.”
He steadied his breathing.
Then forced a stronger stream of mana into her body.
Immediately—
Her fingers curled into the bedsheet.
A sharp inhale tore from her lungs.
It felt to her as if something foreign had been shoved into her veins—like molten threads forcing their way through narrow passages that didn’t exist.
Her teeth clenched hard.
She refused to scream.
Narin felt it too.
His mana entered—then was violently expelled.
As if her body were tearing something out.
Each time it was pushed away, he felt a recoil—like elastic snapping back.
He tried again. And again.
Each attempt caused a tremor through her frame.
Sweat began to bead along her forehead.
Her breathing grew uneven.
But she didn’t tell him to stop.
Mana entered.
Her nails dug into the mattress so hard the fabric strained.
At one point a muffled sound escaped her throat—but she swallowed it down.
Narin’s expression grew increasingly focused.
He adjusted the flow, reduced intensity, changed angle and varied pressure.
Every time, her body reacted as if mana itself did not belong inside her.
As if her very existence denied it.
Three hours passed.
The sun had shifted across the sky, and the room was now warmer.
Both of them were drenched in sweat.
Narin’s breathing had grown heavier.
Nicolette’s shoulders trembled uncontrollably.
Her lips were pale.
“…Hold it,” he whispered, voice rough from strain. “One last time.”
He could feel something beneath the resistance now.
Something structured. Artificial.
“I understand enough.”
He straightened slightly behind her.
“Mana Crystallization.”
The air in the room shifted.
His mana condensed sharply—compressing into a dense, refined structure. The ability he activated allowed him to solidify and reshape mana—and, if his understanding was sufficient, to disrupt foreign magical constructs.
He directed the crystallized mana into her body.
This time—
The force resisting him reacted violently.
He felt it shake.
A deep tremor pulsed through Nicolette’s body.
Her eyes flew open.
For her—
Time stretched.
Her entire body felt as if it were being shattered into fragments and reconstructed piece by piece.
Her veins burned.
Her bones felt hollowed.
Her lungs refused air.
Something inside her screamed.
The invisible barrier cracked—
Just for a second.
But that second felt eternal.
Then—
It broke.
A violent shockwave rippled through her system.
She coughed.
Blood splattered onto the bedsheet.
Her body went limp instantly.
She collapsed forward.
Narin caught her before she hit the floor.
His heart pounded hard against his ribs.
“…Miss Nicolette.”
No response.
She had fainted.
He carefully laid her back onto the bed.
Her breathing was shallow—but stable.
The oppressive pressure he had felt earlier…gone.
He exhaled slowly.
When she woke, the light outside had softened toward evening.
Her eyelids fluttered.
The first thing she noticed was the unfamiliar ceiling.
Then the soreness.
Every part of her body felt heavy, as if she had run for days.
She shifted slightly.
A chair scraped softly nearby.
“You’re awake.”
Narin’s voice...
She turned her head slowly.
He sat beside the bed, posture relaxed but eyes attentive.
“…What happened?” her voice was hoarse.
Narin leaned back slightly.
“I confirmed your condition.”
He folded his hands loosely.
“You weren’t born without mana.”
Her eyes widened faintly.
“There was a magical construct suppressing it.”
He spoke calmly.
She stared at him.
Speechless.
“I disrupted it.”
He met her gaze evenly.
“You should now be able to circulate mana.”
Her lips parted. No words came.
Her mind struggled to process it.
Narin watched her for a moment longer.
Then he stood.
“You need rest.”
His voice returned to its usual steady tone.
“Today is for recovery.”
He turned slightly toward the window.
“The real lesson begins tomorrow.”
