Chapter 10: Terribly

The word “subpar” was a devastating blow to Yusoha, who had always excelled above others. No matter the task, she learned faster than her peers, mastering skills in no time. Perhaps that was why, from the very day Eclipse called her swordsmanship subpar, Yusoha clung to him, training under his guidance all day long.

Eclipse proved to be an exceptional teacher. Having trained many in his past, he had no trouble guiding Yusoha. He tailored his instruction to her physique, teaching her the correct stances and how to swing her sword with greater force. Her swordsmanship improved rapidly as she focused solely on the basics, deliberately setting aside the flashy techniques she had once relied on. Those techniques, she realized, were poison to her growth.

With proper form, her blade began to carry real weight. The sensation was entirely different from before—she could feel the power in her strikes. There was no time for complacency, though. Eclipse was a kind teacher but unrelenting when it came to swordsmanship. Despite his usual praise for her other qualities, he offered none for her bladework. His standards for swordsmanship were impossibly high, and to him, a beginner like Yusoha didn’t yet deserve compliments.

She sensed this and, though her pride was bruised, she had no choice but to accept it. Eclipse spoke only the truth.

“It’s still not enough. Your strikes lack proper force,” he said.

“I… know…!” Yusoha groaned, exhausted from swinging her sword relentlessly. It was no surprise—she had been training for nearly thirteen hours a day. Yet, Eclipse never uttered the words “that’s enough.”

How much more perfect does it need to be…?

“You’re still far off. Do you think fundamentals are called fundamentals for no reason? Without them, any technique is just flailing. Fundamentals are the hardest to master. Every one of ten thousand strikes must carry the same breath, the same force. That’s what fundamentals are. Your form must never waver, unlike now.”

Yusoha felt her mind reel. The “basics” she had once dismissed were tormenting her. Her body, pushed to its limit, could comprehend Eclipse’s words but struggled to put them into practice. Her faltering sword finally fell to the ground and dissipated.

“That’s your limit for today. Good work,” Eclipse said calmly.

But to Yusoha, it stung. If she had been more skilled, she might have earned his praise. “I’m… not… done yet,” she declared, forcing her trembling body to stand and conjuring another sword.

“Pushing further will only strain your body,” Eclipse warned.

“Shut up. I’ll keep going until I hear something satisfactory from you.”

Obsession. Pure obsession. Her fierce willpower propped up her crumbling body, forcing it into a stance. Even in Eclipse’s world, knights who endured grueling training often collapsed after thirteen hours of fundamental drills. Yet Yusoha refused to fall. Her determination surpassed anyone from his world.

Eclipse smiled, though she couldn’t see it. Truthfully, he was itching to praise her. She was absorbing the fundamentals at an astonishing rate. He withheld praise deliberately, knowing it would provoke this reaction. Yusoha thrived on validation and obsessed over proving her excellence. If she weren’t this way, he would have peppered her with encouragement to keep her motivated. For most, a lack of praise would lead to giving up.

For Yusoha, praise wasn’t just a means to learn—it was the goal. The stronger her craving for it, the harder she worked. Eclipse, having realized this early on, was handling her with remarkable efficiency. In the short time he’d been teaching her, Yusoha’s attitude earned a perfect score in his eyes. Effort and tenacity were the virtues he, as a knight, valued most.

Yusoha kept swinging her sword. Her obsession-fueled strikes were noticeably different. She sensed a new feeling in the blade—a sensation unlike anything before. But it didn’t last. Just as Eclipse was about to say she’d done enough, her strength gave out after one final swing, and she collapsed.

“Oops,” Eclipse muttered, catching her swiftly.

“You alright?”

No response. She had fainted from exhaustion. He pulled out his smartphone and dialed one of the two numbers saved in it: Jung Seyoung, his tutor.

[“…Hello? Eclipse?”]

“Hm.”

[“What’s wrong?”]

“Soha passed out. She overdid it with training.”

[“Got it.”]

Seyoung, used to such situations, responded calmly. Soon, she appeared in the training room. “She worked hard today, huh?” she remarked.

“Indeed,” Eclipse replied.

“Couldn’t you have gone a bit easier on her?”

“She insisted. I was going to stop her earlier.”

“You didn’t praise her again, did you?”

“If I did, she’d lose her drive.”

“…Fair point.”

Seyoung, originally Yusoha’s tutor before taking on Eclipse, knew her personality well and nodded at his reasoning. “I’ll take care of her. You should rest too, Eclipse.”

“Alright.”

As Seyoung took Yusoha away, Eclipse returned to his assigned room in the mansion—a sparse space with minimal furniture. He removed his helmet and armor, revealing jet-black hair and matching eyes, along with a face so striking it would have left Yusoha or Seyoung speechless.

It feels strange to be out of armor, he thought, looking at himself awkwardly. In his world, removing his helmet had caused countless people to fawn over him, forcing him to keep his body fully armored. Some highborns had even treated him like a plaything because of his looks. The memory soured his expression.

Now adept with his smartphone, he knew the chaos his face could cause in this world and avoided showing it, hoping to keep Yusoha’s attitude toward him unchanged. Thinking of her, he smiled. It had been a while since he’d smiled like this.

He was excited about her growth. That single thought summed up his feelings. His stubborn, competitive lady was growing daily, matching her fierce ambition with action.

Is this what it feels like to train a disciple? I think I understand my master a bit now.

Teaching Yusoha one-on-one was far more enjoyable than mechanically drilling countless soldiers for battle. Her exceptional talent made it even more rewarding. I’ll teach her all sorts of weapon techniques. She can wield multiple weapons, after all.

Eclipse planned to pass down the skills he’d honed fighting fearsome enemies. The price? Her attitude—her arrogance. That arrogance would become a guiding light for his life in this world. Her relentless drive to carve her name into the world mirrored his own dreams.

The Phantom Tournament… I’m looking forward to it.

He couldn’t help but think that. What mark would he leave on this world?

—

Yusoha opened her eyes in her room, dressed in fresh clothes. She sighed and clicked her tongue. That’s all I could do? She felt ashamed for craving Eclipse’s praise. Her sword had wavered, unsteady.

It had only been a few days, but she had believed she could handle it. She’d always mastered everything effortlessly. But she was wrong.

How deep did his standards go?

Self-loathing gave way to a shift in perspective about fundamentals. Her sharp mind realized that Eclipse’s emphasis on basics extended beyond swordsmanship. She pictured herself wielding various weapons—all flashy on the surface but built on shaky foundations.

Ha, haha.

Now she understood. Eclipse had wanted her to see this. The things she thought she’d mastered were like sandcastles on a beach, swept away by the smallest wave. That was her so-called perfection. How laughable.

She realized what she needed to do. Her obsessive pursuit of perfection began to torment her. You’re not perfect, you fool. Self-loathing surged again, but her vision cleared.

To show a transformed self at the Phantom Tournament, she washed up and headed back to the training room. She wanted to recapture the sensation she’d felt earlier, when her body screamed its limits, but her sword had carried a new weight.