The next day, in the First Training Ground, dim dawn light seeped in.
Aron sat on the floor with his worn notebook open.
His gaze fell on the lines he had drawn roughly after his match with Rowen.
The reasons for his failure in that match had become painfully clear.
Sluggish footwork.
The faint tremor at the tip of his sword.
A thrust that had cut through empty air, a handspan short even when he had seized the decisive opportunity.
'Knowing isn't enough.'
What good is seeing another person's fatal opening so clearly?
My own body can't keep up with it.
Aron closed the notebook and rose.
He stood before the large mirror that covered one wall.
Holding his wooden sword, he slowly assumed a thrusting stance. He narrowed his eyes and stared intently at his reflection.
But nothing happened.
Not a single line of text identifying his weaknesses appeared in the air as it had when he looked at Rowen.
'So my own weaknesses don't show up after all.'
Aron accepted the fact calmly.
If he could not see his flaws directly, he would have to find them indirectly.
He approached an automated training dummy standing in a corner of the training ground.
It was an older model made with crude wooden joints.
Aron operated the magic stone panel attached to the dummy's back.
CLICK.
With a mechanical grinding sound, the dummy's joints began to move with a creak.
"Let's see what happens when you hit me."
Aron held the wooden sword lightly and stepped in front of the dummy.
Programmed with a basic pattern of attack and defense, it closed the distance with heavy footsteps.
WHIRR—!
The dummy's right arm swept its sword in a wide arc from above.
Aron ducked his head slightly to avoid the strike, then immediately thrust toward the dummy's exposed chest.
THWACK—!
As the blow landed, Aron's upper body tipped slightly forward.
That was when it happened.
CRACK—!
"Ngh!"
The dummy's left arm shot out and struck the left side of Aron's waist hard.
The breath-stealing impact drove him back three or four steps.
'My defense was too slow.'
Aron steadied his ragged breathing and took his stance again.
It could not be a coincidence. He thrust his wooden sword at the dummy again from the same angle and with the same timing.
THWACK—!
CRACK—!
"Urgh."
Once again, the counterattack struck the left side of his waist.
Aron bit his lip and stepped back. His waist felt sore and swollen.
It was a simple mechanical dummy. It did not use complex tactics; it only counterattacked when set conditions were met.
'Every time I thrust, its attack always hits the left side of my waist. Why?'
Without stopping the dummy, Aron slowly retraced the path of his own attack.
Extend his arm to thrust.
Put force into the sword's tip.
Then step forward.
He slowly extended his wooden sword into the air and looked down at his lower body.
He saw that his right foot went too far forward every time he thrust.
'So that's it.'
By driving his right foot in too deep, he had sent his center of gravity collapsing forward.
With his balance broken, returning to a defensive stance after attacking was bound to take longer. The dummy's counterattack pattern struck precisely within that brief gap.
"Your foot went too far forward. Your recovery is bound to be slow in that position."
At that moment, a cool voice came from behind him.
Aron started and turned his head.
Professor Kairon stood at the entrance to the training ground.
"Professor Kairon."
Aron hurriedly straightened his stance and bowed his head.
Kairon walked slowly into the training ground as though it were nothing of consequence.
"I wondered what the commotion was at dawn. So you have been wasting your time here."
His dry gaze dropped to Aron's feet.
"You are so intent on landing your attack that you lose your balance."
Kairon folded his arms and delivered the criticism coldly.
"Learn sound footwork before you waste time on flashy techniques that are all show. You must draw your sword back quickly after extending it. If your lower body loses its balance, your next move is dead."
His tone was cool and firm.
An ordinary student might have flushed and offered excuses, or nodded along without thinking.
But instead of growing flustered, Aron calmly turned Kairon's words over in his mind.
'Draw the extended sword back quickly. Shift my weight through my lower body.'
It was the same conclusion he had reached a moment earlier while clashing with the automated dummy.
Kairon's criticism matched exactly what Aron had discovered: he had unconsciously stepped too far forward with his right foot and thrown his balance off.
This was not merely a lecture handed down from above. It was advice that went straight to what he needed most right now.
"It is because I stepped too far forward with my right foot."
Aron answered calmly.
One of Kairon's eyebrows twitched faintly.
"So you did know?"
"I realized it just now when the dummy hit me. My balance shifts forward, leaving the left side of my waist open every time."
A clean acceptance, without excuses or defiance.
A faint hint of interest flickered at the corner of Kairon's mouth when he realized the student had already been testing his own weakness.
"Knowing it and making your body move accordingly are entirely different matters. Correcting that flaw will take considerable work."
"I will keep that in mind."
Aron answered briefly and took out his old notebook.
Without hesitation, he wrote Kairon's instructions at the very top of his training plan.
Kairon watched the stubborn student's back for a moment, then turned without a word and left the training ground.
***
Late that afternoon, after all regular classes had ended.
The First Training Ground was sweltering with the heat of the students training there.
In a corner, Aron wiped away his sweat roughly, feeling his breath rise to his chin.
"Whew, whew."
Since dawn, and during the breaks between classes, he had repeated the exercises Professor Kairon had prescribed for shifting his weight and recovering his sword.
Step forward only half a step and thrust.
Then return immediately to his starting position.
SNAP—!
The wooden sword cut through the air.
He did not wring every last bit of strength from his body as he had the day before. He cut out unnecessary swings and narrowed the path of his sword.
'Concentrate magic power in my lower body.'
Aron drew a tiny amount of magic power down to the tips of his feet.
With so little magic power, his only option was to maximize its efficiency for a brief instant.
HUP!
The speed at which he pushed off the floor increased slightly.
But he could not withstand the recoil. His ankle turned awkwardly, and his body lurched to one side.
"Ngh."
Aron fell flat on the floor, then brushed off the dust and got to his feet again.
There was no miracle that would make his physical ability leap to the level of a genius in a matter of days. His muscles screamed, and the circulation of his magic power was still sluggish.
But Aron did not stop.
SNAP—! SNAP—!
Whenever he fell, he stood up and took his stance again.
Punishing physical training, repeated hundreds and thousands of times.
Through it all, the path of his sword was becoming simpler, little by little but unmistakably.
***
Late that night.
Dragging his exhausted body back to his cramped dormitory room, Aron dropped into the chair at his desk.
He rubbed his aching arm and took letter paper and a pen from a drawer.
He tapped the tip of his pen lightly as he thought for a moment.
[Mother. You're eating properly, aren't you? I'm doing very well.]
His pen raced across the paper without hesitation.
[I've settled into life at the academy, and I'm keeping up with training without any trouble. So please don't worry about my rank or grades at all. My classmates are all kind to me.]
It was a lie.
The label of perennial last place. The training that sent him rolling across the dirt every day.
But there was no reason to write any of that and drive a nail into his mother's heart back home.
Aron did not write a single line about the strange ability that appeared before his eyes, either. There was no need to cause needless worry.
[Winter will be here soon. The weather has grown quite chilly. Mia, that little rascal, must have grown quite a bit since last year, so please don't make her wear last year's clothes again.]
Aron pushed the letter aside and searched his pocket.
He took out a wad of living-expense money he had been given during the last practical class and had saved carefully.
He set aside only the bare minimum he needed for food over the next few days: a few coins and several crumpled bills.
He smoothed out all the remaining money and slipped it into an envelope with the letter.
"I'll have to get a roomier size."
The thought of Mia's face, her lips stuck out in a pout, brought a faint smile to Aron's own.
He did not resent saving money for his family in the slightest. If they could spend the winter in warmth, he could endure being sent rolling across the training ground every day.