Lilithia and Fiore returned to her home—the same old blacksmith’s forge. Inside stood a woman who bore a resemblance to Lilithia.

But she was different. She lacked Lilithia’s magnetic charm that pulled every gaze toward her. An ordinary woman, grieving her husband’s sudden loss, showing both fear and gratitude toward a noble like Fiore. Yet like countless mothers, she watched him warily, fearing this stranger might harm her young daughter.

Lilithia had already wept for the man who would never return. Now, watching her mother’s tears, she turned to Fiore once more. “Teach me swordsmanship.”

“One month, Lilithia. I’ll give you everything I know about the sword. After that, your progress depends on you.”

“Then let’s begin!”

The forge held little but cheap practice swords—easy for a blacksmith to make, no polish or decoration needed. Lilithia gripped an iron blade. Fiore held only a wooden stick.

“Swordsmanship,” he said gravely, “is the pinnacle of skill. It turns weakness into strength. With technique alone, I can match your iron sword with this stick.”

Lilithia frowned slightly. “Boy, you’ve clearly never faced true power!” She shook her head. As Fiore blinked in confusion, she lunged.

To his surprise, his stick flicked lightly—and her sword flew from her hand.

“Yes! Exactly!” Fiore’s eyes lit up. “You understood instinctively! Deception is vital in combat. Words, glances, muscle twitches—all are signals to read.”

Lilithia rubbed her wrist. Only years of hammering saved her from injury. She’d felt how Fiore’s minimal force—far weaker than hers—had twisted her swing. Her own strength and the sword’s weight nearly struck her.

“This technique is too advanced for me now,” she insisted, brow furrowed. “Start with basics. Stances. How to channel power.”

Fiore couldn’t help but admire her clarity. It would save so much time. “If only others were as sharp as you.”

“You know someone who isn’t?”

“My cousin. She ignores fundamentals, challenges me constantly, then complains academy lessons are ‘too simple’ to bother with.”

Lilithia nodded firmly. “Yet those ‘simple’ things matter most. No technique works if you can’t wield a sword like your own arm.”

“Then you already know everything, don’t you?” Fiore muttered. *If she’s this perceptive, why does she need me?*

Lilithia caught his thought instantly. Hands on hips, she grinned. “Enjoy your pride while it lasts, Fiore! In a few years, I’ll surpass you—and you’d better not cry!”

“Swordsmanship isn’t learned with words! Knowing fundamentals means nothing without relentless practice!”

“As if I need *you* to tell me that! Who do you think I am?”

…

Lilithia collapsed onto the dirt floor, chest heaving. Her skirt was smudged, cheeks flushed from exertion, sweat glistening at her temples. Fiore abruptly shut his eyes. *Am I really this much of a creep?*

Then—the world sharpened. Grass blades, the breeze, even dust motes felt razor-edged. Fiore stood at the center of it all.

Lilithia sat up sharply. Where Fiore stood, an eye floated. Formless yet undeniable—a “Sword Eye.” Behind him loomed a colossal, spectral blade, its surface pierced by that all-seeing gaze.

*Nothing’s there.* Yet she *felt* it. The sheer aura of it stole her breath. She’d only ever seen cheap magic tricks. This? This was power from the world’s apex.

Fiore’s composure shattered. Face burning crimson, he whirled away.

Lilithia’s eyes dropped to her rumpled dress. *Oh.*

She crept up behind him. Fiore kept his gaze fixed on the wall, missing the mischief in her voice. “That ‘Sword Eye’… it requires absolute devotion to the blade, right? So… what exactly did you *see* that broke your focus? Something… disrespectful to your sacred sword?”

“*Cough!*” Fiore choked violently. “If you want to see—just say so! I’ll offer my maidenhood as payment for your lessons~”

“*Girls don’t say things like that!*” Fiore spun, grabbing her shoulders—then froze at her triumphant grin. He recoiled, burying his face in his hands as he huddled in a corner.

“HAHAHA!” Lilithia pointed, tears of laughter in her eyes. “What pure-hearted boy *actually* believed me?! You *were* tempted for a second, weren’t you?!”

Fiore’s ears burned.

Soft footsteps approached. Lilithia crouched behind him, her small frame finally level with his slumped shoulders. She rested her chin there, whispering against his ear: “But I told you—I never lie to you.”

Fiore’s pupils shrank. His body locked rigid.

Lilithia sprang back like a sprite, dancing out of reach. “The choice is yours~”

“Stop tormenting adults for fun, Lilithia!” Fiore groaned, raking his hair.

“Nyah nyah~” She stuck out her tongue. “Says the man who got flustered over a nine-year-old’s ‘offer’!”

“Ugh…”

Satisfied with her mischief and her stamina restored, Lilithia returned to her practice swings. Yet from the corner of her eye, she watched Fiore watching her—and couldn’t suppress a flicker of delight. *Teach me fast and leave. Or I might actually fall for him. And if he wanted… well. Payment isn’t out of the question.*

Fiore exhaled as her focus returned to the sword. He found himself captivated—not by her skill, but by the sweat on her brow, the fierce concentration in her eyes. The most beautiful sight he’d ever known. He couldn’t fathom how she shifted from teasing him to training so seamlessly. Yet every movement of hers tugged at his heart.