Swordsmanship, a martial art humans took pride in, had been vigorously promoted by my grandfather since Rosric’s founding.

When the academy where Lorian studied was first established, he personally allocated a vast stretch of land for swordsmanship training grounds.

Yet this skill, demanding relentless practice to master, now occupied an awkward place in the academy. Beyond a handful of serious students, most enrolled merely to slack off—and… flirt.

After hearing the elven youth had joined as an "exchange student," I begged Grandfather to let me sneak in as a "transfer student" and sign up for swordsmanship.

But I wasn’t here to play around.

…

One noon.

"*Ahem*. Next… Longteo."

"Here!"

Taking attendance on the training ground was our swordsmanship instructor, Serica. Though the class itself was dull, her sessions were always packed.

After all, who wouldn’t want a close look at an "elf housewife"?

Yes—Serica was an Elf. Not just any Elf, but an Elder Elf of the Elvenfolk.

She had wavy golden hair, a voluptuous figure, fair thighs, and an alluring silhouette. Worse, she adored stockings—a personal quirk that had her wearing them nearly every class.

Serica’s fate was tragic. Her husband died in an accident just as she became pregnant.

Everyone urged her to remarry; with her looks, suitors wouldn’t vanish even with child. Yet the resilient Serica defied widowhood, raising her twin sons alone.

Grandfather’s so-called "rival" was precisely Serica’s son—which was why I couldn’t confront that elven brat head-on. Personally, I deeply respected women like Serica.

Lost in thought, I barely noticed Serica continuing roll call.

"Lastly… Arisa."

She shot me a peculiar glare.

I knew exactly what that look meant.

Even now, I felt the students’ feverish stares. Outside the training ground, flushed faces pressed close to watch me.

Since enrolling, this happened almost daily. Was a crossdressing boy *that* rare!?

It wasn’t like I *wanted* to dress like this!

"Here!"

I shook my head, ignoring these starved teenagers. I hadn’t joined swordsmanship to show off a dress.

"Well then. Full attendance again today."

Serica set down the roster and removed her monocle. "No tests lately, so we’ll do one-on-one sparring. Avoid injuries. Report to the infirmary immediately if hurt."

Her words barely faded before students sprang into motion.

The training ground unfolded as usual.

Those here to "chat and flirt" quickly found "partners," clacking wooden practice swords while gossiping about academy drama.

The few boys genuinely seeking training slipped away to quieter spots to hone their skills.

As for me? I was plotting how to approach Serica.

…

After all, Serica was our teacher—but also an Elf.

The Elvenfolk… no, all non-human races on the continent had grown cold and rigid toward humans these past decades.

The cause was simple: humanity’s relentless rise had gradually devoured lands other races depended on.

Bloodthirsty orcs were driven to the barren western wastes.

Horned, winged demons—branded "evil"—fled to the frozen northern wastes.

Only the Elves fared slightly better, barely "coexisting" with humans.

Victors claimed spoils; losers could always fight back. That’s what the other races thought…

Until my father appeared.

A "Hero" who single-handedly reignited racial strife.

*Goddess above!* My old man hadn’t just seduced my mother—he kept "exploring the world," with beautiful women claiming to be my "stepmoms" banging on our castle door every other week.

Humans were one thing—Hero privileges, I supposed—but soon their races grew bizarre.

A self-proclaimed beastkin chieftainess. An Elf Queen. Even a she-demon with goat horns calling me "son."

The continent’s fragile racial peace shattered completely.

At first, other races assumed their revered leaders had been kidnapped. The Elves even snatched back their Queen overnight.

But the next day, disaster struck—the Elven Queen tried to jump from the World Tree!

"*Queen!* Please come down from the World Tree!" Elder Elves wailed in terror. "The foreman—*ahem*, that human man—promised to fetch you home! Live wherever you like! *Sob*…"

…

Countless such incidents followed. My father’s antics reignited ancient grudges.

And that resentment naturally fell on "humans."

War? Out of the question! What if their Queen/Chieftain/Demon Lord got hurt?

So now, the continent faced a strange stalemate: every race despised humans but dared not act.

Gathering my meager courage, I called out to Serica as she prepared to leave.

"Serica!"

"Oh. Little Arisa."

Since she occasionally visited the Elven Queen at my home, Serica knew me—and was one of the rare Elves without human prejudice.

She halted. "What is it?"

*It’s about your son!*

I opened my mouth—when a voice from outside cut me off.

"Mother!"

An Elf in light armor sprinted over, her shoulder-length hair fluttering. Though academy rules required protective gear, even those clunky plates couldn’t hide how easy on the eyes she was.

A tall frame. A face resembling Serica’s, yet younger…

I didn’t recall any Elf this stunning in swordsmanship class!

*Wait—she called Serica "Mother"!?* Serica had twins.

*This must be the sister!*

I froze, swallowing my complaint.

*Be civilized. Don’t badmouth her brother in front of his sister.*

"Mother… *pant*…"

The Elf reached us, fine beads of sweat dotting her forehead. She fanned her neck, a faint floral scent—unique to Elves—drifting toward me.

Composing herself, she shot me a chilly glance before brightening and tugging Serica’s sleeve.

I sighed. Understandable. Not every Elf was as open-minded as Serica.

"Mother, how much longer must we stay in this human-infested place!? I told you—I have zero interest in that human princess!"

She frowned, complaining nonstop while utterly ignoring me.

"Plus, tasteless girls keep hitting on me. Even men stare sometimes… There are weird rumors in class that I’m ‘perfect for’ some human named Arisa…"

As I processed her words, she suddenly exploded.

"*That person’s a boy*, right!? Zero masculinity, strutting around in dresses. Who—who’d match with a crossdressing freak!?"

*Crossdressing freak!? That’s me!*

*Wait, Miss Elf—you’ve got a pretty face, but your mouth’s ruthless!*

"Ah… let me introduce you two."

Serica’s gaze darted between us, gleeful.

"This is my son, Furide. Fuu, this is Arisa—the very classmate you just mentioned. You two should get along—"

*Her son!? The blond Elf trying to steal my girl!?*

*I’ll make you cry for your daddy, by my Hero’s honor—*

*Huh?*

I tugged my ear, staring blankly at the Elf’s face.

"Teacher… you said he’s your *what*?"

The "Elf girl’s" expression had also twisted in shock.

"Mother… you said *who* he is!?"