If you run a little from the cabin, there’s a massive training field.

We went there to warm up. The seniors handed me a smooth sword — nearly identical in shape to my own.

We didn’t talk much. After finishing our preparations, Yehyeon took up his sword and stood opposite me.

Yun attended as an observer.

The morning air whitened the gym floor. The wide space smelled of fresh air and metal.

Yehyeon placed his blade down on the ground.

“I’ll only use a sword.”

That meant he wouldn’t use his silver-glinting variable weapon that transformed from his ear.

“Since you said your full strength hasn’t returned yet.”

“Yes.”

Still, I must look better now than back when I was butchering mushrooms.

I nodded, gripping the sword. Yehyeon stared straight at me with pitch-black eyes.

The air shifted instantly — tightening, taut with tension.

My opponent rushed in soundlessly.

Kaaang!

The clash of blades sparked light.

Our swords crossed in an X.

I could feel the weight behind Yehyeon’s swing.

The blades trembled ever so slightly. When an opponent pushed that hard, it was better not to resist head-on but to lift the sword upward and aim for their neck.

I let my blade slide along his, bringing the tip down.

And the moment a gap opened in his guard—

Chaaeng!

Yehyeon twisted his sword up in the same motion.

With both blades drawn down, we made another X. Almost at the same instant, we parried each other’s strikes and took distance.

...No.

I was a second slower.

He had already brushed my sword aside and could have struck my neck in that single opening. If this had been a real fight, Yehyeon would’ve pierced my throat in that second.

“I lost.”

I murmured, and Yehyeon let out a faint laugh.

“It’s not over yet, Hilde.”

“Yes.”

When our swords met again, a flood of swordsmanship memory surged into me.

Unfamiliar, yet not uncomfortable. I gripped the weapon tighter and smiled faintly.

“Please go on.”

Yehyeon didn’t reply — he just charged, blade slicing the air, the sound ringing in my ears.

***

Dozens of minutes later, I was sprawled on the floor, drowning in self-reproach.

“You really don’t heal fast.... Shouldn’t have used real blades. Yun, first-aid kit.”

“Hey, you’ve improved a lot, though.”

Next to Yehyeon’s uneasy voice, Yun said calmly, sounding impressed.

The spar was over. It hadn’t lasted long. Just long enough to dump an immense sense of failure on me.

I hadn’t expected to win, but facing the reality still hit hard.

How did I end up like this?

The two seniors gathered beside my sprawled body.

Rolling my eyes, I saw my superior, hand on his chin, looking down at me.

“You’ve really improved since last time. Guess rolling around in the subway paid off.”

“Yun, I told you to bring the kit— forget it, I’ll get it.”

“I’ll get it.”

At my superior’s words, I reflexively sat up halfway — only to be stopped by Yehyeon’s palm. That firm “Stay still.” left me frozen. He stood up and disappeared into the back room at the end of the gym.

I hadn’t managed to land a single scratch on that pale, lean man.

Sparring with Yehyeon felt like facing my past self. It was uncanny. He used sword techniques identical to mine — perfectly so. I knew every move he made.

I was just one second slower.

That was what made it worse. Fighting a mirror image — techniques so familiar pouring toward me, yet my dulled body couldn’t respond. My mind knew exactly how to counter, but my body wouldn’t follow.

It was more shocking than when Richard called me “a useless rookie who doesn’t even know shooting basics.”

Reality was too cruel.

While I sat drowning in self-disgust, Yun crouched down to meet my eyes.

“I won’t need to teach you swordsmanship anymore.”

“What? You saw how pathetically I got beaten.”

“That’s just a matter of speed. And speed... only time can fix that.”

He fell silent in thought.

I waited gloomily for his judgment. Even though Yehyeon later said the same — that my skills would return with time — it didn’t make me feel better.

Yehyeon tended to my cuts with a troubled look.

“I didn’t realize your recovery was this slow. You’ve been through a lot.”

“Not at all.”

It’s not me who suffered — it’s everyone around me.

All I have to do is let go of consciousness and it’s over. Then an excellent doctor treats me on the company’s expense, and I legally rest from work. So really, what hardship could I claim? I only ever feel grateful to the seniors who drag me to the infirmary each time.

When I said that, Yehyeon sighed.

“So it’s true you don’t take care of yourself.”

“I love myself deeply. I just don’t understand why everyone says that.”

“Don’t push yourself ignoring Yun’s coaching just to get stronger. Time’s the only thing that can help.”

He brushed aside my weak protest.

I could only nod bitterly. I knew they ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ were right.

Accepting it just left a bitter taste.

Lost in thought, Yun lifted his head.

“Maybe it’s time we start sending him on missions inside the Core perimeter?”

“Yeah.”

Yehyeon agreed easily, nodding.

“Do that.”

At least that’s progress.

Let’s count that as something.

We cleaned up and left the gym. Yehyeon had taken the day off — a short break after being hospitalized, planning to return to work tomorrow after some personal maintenance.

Walking down the autumn road, the air slightly warmer, I thanked him for sparing his holiday morning for me. Given his position, even a single day off couldn’t have been easy.

Yun told me the plan ahead.

Physical training would continue as before; next, we’d start shooting practice. For the next mission, Ricardo would act as my mentor instead.

He said we’d be going to the Core’s outer sector — details to come from Ricardo.

While listening, we soon reached the cabin.

A pleasant morning, the day’s routine already done. The seniors told me to rest and turned away.

I watched them heading toward their quarters and hesitated.

Then I gathered courage.

“Yehyeon.”

Yun and Yehyeon both snapped their heads around instantly.

Both looked startled — their eyes wide, frozen on me. It was almost funny.

I wasn’t comfortable enough to smile.

I stood there blankly as they waited for my words. I still wasn’t sure if I should say it at all.

After a long hesitation, I spoke.

“I might be crossing a line saying this, but...”

“What is it? Go ahead.”

Yehyeon widened his eyes and leaned slightly closer.

“What’s wrong?”

Those big, kind eyes.

My chest ached. Memory works in strange ways — once the door opens, everything floods out mercilessly. Just seeing that worried gaze made the memories pour out until I could hardly breathe.

The answer wasn’t easy.

“I once met Lee Seunghyun’s wife — your mother.”

Yehyeon froze, as if struck in the head.

“I say this carefully... I thought you might want to know. It was a brief meeting; there are no photos. But if you’d like, I’ll tell you everything I can remember.”

Lee Seunghyun would never have allowed that, I thought.

I fell silent, waiting for his reaction. Yehyeon stayed motionless for a long time.

I waited uneasily for him to recover from the shock.

He stood beneath the clear, warm sunlight.

I didn’t know if this was the right thing to do.

Maybe I’d just disturbed someone who was finally at peace. Maybe hearing this would wound him deeply.

I only wanted to comfort him, but maybe that was arrogance.

Yun and I waited in silence for his answer.

At last, after a long time, Yehyeon broke the quiet, haltingly.

“...Can I ask her name?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Her name.”

His voice was choked.

“My mother’s name.”

So he’d never even been told that.

What fault could the child have?

I barely held my expression together.

The war began after Yehyeon was grown. I passed my sword to humans during the war — which means that while Yehyeon grew up, through adolescence into adulthood, I must’ve been on Earth.

How did I not know what Lee Seunghyun was doing to his own child?

If I’d known, I’d have smacked him awake. And if that hadn’t worked, I’d have gone myself and given the child affection instead. I could have. If I’d only paid a little more attention to Seunghyun.

I swallowed the guilt rising in my throat.

And answered.

“Sasha.”

She had been an orphan, like Lee Seunghyun.

“She had no surname.”

“Sasha.”

Yehyeon murmured the name vacantly. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

“Sasha...”

In my past, I’d committed far too many sins.

Even without all my memories back, every place I stepped was filled with the weight of my own mistakes.

I remembered Rei — the comrade who died by my sword because of his love for me. I remembered Kyle — the comrade who aimed his blade at me with eyes full of betrayal and rage.

And Lee Seunghyun, and Yehyeon.

God. Sasha might have died giving birth. Seunghyun never told me. I hadn’t even asked if the child was a boy or girl.

I’d noticed him growing darker over time, but thought it was just the coming scent of war.

How foolish.

“...Thank you.”

Yehyeon’s low, trembling voice pulled me back to the present.

“Really.”

I didn’t know if I deserved gratitude.

I nodded, my expression complicated. Yehyeon, still half lost, regained his composure after a long silence. He thanked me again and asked if he could ask more later, once he sorted his thoughts. I could feel how hard he was holding his emotions in.

Of course, I could tell him everything.

He smiled, thanked me again.

I pretended not to see the tears welling in his eyes.

***

There was a reply from Shu.

[I'll treat you to a meal. When are you free?]