Chapter 5: A Brother's Denial
He stared at her, mouth slightly open, expression torn between disbelief and something else—something deeper.
Discomfort? Confusion?
He stepped forward, then stopped, as if reconsidering. His grip on his sword remained loose at his side, untouched throughout the entire fight. He wasn't even panting.
Because he hadn't needed to do anything.
"...Jessica." His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "That... what was that?"
She blinked at him, still catching her breath. The muscles in her legs and back were burning. The sheer explosiveness of her movements—especially that last pivot—had pushed her body to the limit. It had felt right at the time, but now that the adrenaline was fading, the aftermath was settling in.
The aches. The slight trembling in her fingers.
This body wasn't used to that yet.
But she simply straightened, stretching slightly to ease the tension.
"I was fighting," she said. "What do you mean?"
His brow furrowed. The disbelief didn't fade.
"Fighting?" He exhaled sharply. "You were untalented. I could beat you blindfolded just a year ago, and now you're—" He gestured vaguely at the battlefield. "You weren't just fighting, you were..."
He trailed off.
She didn't know how to describe it either.
Before he could say anything else, he took two steps forward—then pulled her into a hug.
Not a playful shove. Not a half-hearted pat on the shoulder.
A full, tight embrace.
She almost lashed out on instinct, her body tensing at the unexpected contact. Her arms reflexively came up, pressing against his chest, caught awkwardly between them.
She had a split-second thought of breaking free, maybe twisting out of his grip just to prove she could—
But she stopped herself.
Her arms were now trapped between their bodies, muscles still aching from exertion.
He muttered, "I don't care how or why. Just don't die, idiot."
She didn't respond immediately.
He was ignoring what had just happened.
Not questioning it. Not pressing her for an answer.
As if, by rejecting the impossibility of it all, he could make it acceptable in his head.
Eventually, he pulled away, hands lingering on her shoulders before he gave a small shake of his head, regaining his usual expression. "We'll talk later. Right now, we need to—"
"Oi."
The vanguard's voice cut through the moment.
The adventurers had regrouped, standing a few feet away. The fire mage, arms crossed, still looked deeply unsettled.
The vanguard gave her a long, considering look before speaking again.
"What the hell was that?"
She blinked. "What was what?"
"The pups and piglets—" The fire mage's eyes narrowed. "They listened to you."
He turned toward them, confused.
The vanguard continued, tone slow and deliberate. "Young beasts don't just obey verbal commands. Especially not from random humans in the middle of a frenzy."
She frowned. "They weren't attacking yet. I just told them to back off."
"That's not normal."
She shifted uncomfortably, but before she could respond, the fire mage gestured toward the dead mother wolf.
"And that pivot maneuver—what was that?"
Her confusion only deepened. "It was... a reflex?"
The adventurers exchanged glances.
"...Reflex?" the fire mage repeated. "That wasn't just a reflex. That was either stupidly well-trained or something else entirely."
Their stares were rude.
She narrowed her eyes. "Why does it matter?"
The vanguard exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Because that wasn't normal."
He finally crossed his arms, his expression slipping back into arrogance. "You're adventurers, not scholars. What does it matter how she fights?"
The vanguard studied him for a moment, then let out a short chuckle. "Guess it doesn't, huh?"
The conversation didn't continue much longer after that. The adventurers, while still wary, eventually returned to their work, making sure the remaining beasts had truly fled and tending to their injured healer.
He stayed at her side, eyes lingering on her as if still trying to process everything.
And her?
She was left with one thought.
That was a little too much effort for a bunch of dumb animals.
Chapter 5.5: Smoldering Embers
He was still watching her.
Even as the adventurers finished their work. Even as the bodies of slain beasts were dragged aside, as wounds were tended to, as the fire mage muttered something under his breath about how "none of this made sense."
Her brother hadn't spoken in a while.
Not since the hug. Not since the vanguard's questioning.
She was aware of it, that hesitation—the way he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
That alone was enough to set off warning bells.
He never hesitated.
But she was too exhausted to push.
The sharp burn in her muscles was only getting worse. Her entire body felt as if it had been wrung dry, the cost of suddenly pushing herself from zero to beyond normal limits.
This body wasn't ready for that yet.
She clenched and unclenched her fingers, testing them. Still responsive, but the trembling lingered.
"...You good to move?" he finally asked.
She shot him a look. "Do I have a choice?"
He exhaled. "No."
Then he wordlessly moved beside her, offering his arm.
She stared at it.
He didn't look at her. As if ignoring the gesture would make it more casual.
He had never offered support before. Not even once.
Her body still felt like it had been set ablaze from the inside out, her legs stiff with fatigue. Accepting the help would make sense.
But some part of her—the part that knew it shouldn't have struggled at all, that in another life this wouldn't have even been a fight—refused to acknowledge it.
So instead of taking his arm, she just started walking.
It was stiff. It wasn't graceful.
But she moved.
He didn't say anything. Just sighed and matched her pace.
They made it back to the carriage.
Arrival at Arcadia Magic Knight Academy
The academy's gates loomed ahead.
Massive. Ornate. A display of prestige and power.
Beyond them, Arcadia's sprawling campus stretched into the distance—towers of stone and marble, dueling fields, training halls, libraries stacked high with tomes and artifacts.
This was where nobles and elite warriors were forged.
For most students, arrival was a moment of excitement, of ambition. A step toward glory.
For her, it just meant another battlefield.
Her muscles still ached as she stepped down from the carriage. He landed beside her, his usual air of arrogance snapping back into place the moment others were within sight.
She adjusted the heavy sword strapped to her back, barely resisting the urge to grimace at the weight. Still a tumor.
Students and knights-in-training bustled around the entrance, groups forming as they evaluated their peers.
Some wore rich, embroidered coats. Others had crests pinned to their chests—symbols of their families, their heritage, their status.
He barely spared them a glance, his presence alone enough to draw attention.
She, on the other hand—
Eyes flicked toward her.
Her uniform, the family crest, her presence beside him.
A few recognized her name. She caught whispers.
"The second Moran?"
"I thought she was crippled."
"She looks... different."
She ignored them.
He finally turned to her. He hesitated again. Then, voice lower than before—
"...You sure you're okay?"
It was quieter. Uncharacteristic.
She exhaled. Her body still hurt, but—
She tilted her head at him, a slow, deliberate movement. "I'm here, aren't I?"
He watched her for a moment longer. Then just shook his head, huffing.
"Try not to embarrass me, little sister."
And with that, he strode forward, the crowd already parting for him.
She followed.
Stepping into Arcadia.
Into the next battlefield.