Chapter 18: The Night Before the Ball

—A dream. A terribly uncertain dream.

Fragmentary, not a perfect replay of all my memories.

In it were me, Yous, Father, and—

Blurry as it was, I think it was after Yous took me out to the flower field, back when I first awakened to platinum. Yous’s face was bruised. I remember Father had punched him straight on.

And then—

"…Do you have any idea what you’ve done!?"

Father tore into Yous.

Of course he would. If you thought about it, Yous had acted on his own, and even though I survived, he took so much else from me.

As a father, as a duke and noble, that reaction was only natural.

Yous was the one in the wrong. Father was right.

…Ah, but Father—Yous’s still just a kid.

He’s not like me, with memories of a past life, or like you lot.

I’m not exactly sure if my mental age counts as an adult, but still.

The only real child here is Yous.

So why’d you go and do that?

No matter how right you are, that’s not something an adult should do to a kid.

C’mon, Father.

…That was just throwing a tantrum, no matter how you spin it.

---

The clashing of wooden swords rang out.

A sharp, crude, unmistakably physical sound—one that left no doubt this was a training session.

And yet, what was happening here could only be described as absurd.

"Rrraaahhhh!!"

A full-grown man went flying with terrifying force.

He tumbled across the ground and lay still, unconscious.

Oddly enough, nothing seemed broken—probably thanks to this being a fantasy world. That, and his impeccable control.

"…Dammit! What the hell is up with that guy?!"

"Is he even human…?"

The two men muttered as they adjusted their stances, circling warily.

They weren’t slacking off—no, they were fully focused, desperately trying to predict their opponent’s next move.

But—

"…If you won’t come, I’ll go to you."

Before they knew it, he—Yousrid—was right in front of them.

"Wha—how—?!"

"Shit, when did he—?!"

They barely managed to raise their swords in time, but it was too late.

In an instant, Yousrid sent both their wooden blades flying with a flashy strike, then followed up with a single, brutal kick.

The sheer force of it swept both men off their feet—terrifying, honestly.

And these were my party members—A-rank adventurers, mind you!

But—

"Gotcha now, Yousrid!"

That’s an opening!

I lunged in.

Thanks to those two idiots leaving him no choice but to overextend, I had my chance!

Swinging my sword down with all my might—

Only for Yousrid to neatly cleave it in half a second later.

"Ah."

Two voices overlapped as I froze mid-motion.

If this were a real battle, I’d be dead—but more importantly…

I broke another wooden sword.

Yousrid seemed to be thinking the same thing, because we both just… stopped.

Actually—now that I looked, everyone else had frozen too. Guess that meant training was over for today.

Ugh. Another failure.

"Rina, for the love of god, stop bringing battlefield tactics into training."

"Quit whining. This is how I fight. Training’s for sharpening that, right?"

Right now, Yousrid was sparring against all of my frontline fighters at once.

And terrifyingly enough, in pure skill alone, even like this, Yousrid was stronger.

Throw in all our individual tricks and dirty moves, and then he’d be overwhelmed—but in raw physical ability? Yousrid was in a league of his own.

Me? My sword skills weren’t much better than the rest of my frontline.

I just knew Yousrid’s habits inside out, so I lasted a bit longer.

But at that point, it wasn’t training—it was performance. A dance, meant to make our swords look beautiful.

"Tch… Yousrid’s swordplay’s still impossible to read."

"There’s definitely a form to it, though…"

The downed fighters groaned as they picked themselves up.

"Form" meant swordsmanship style. This world had many schools of swordplay, yet Yousrid’s belonged to none of them.

But unlike mine—which was practically self-taught—his was unmistakably refined.

Martial arts, swordsmanship included, grew more polished the longer their history.

A fighter’s individual talent still decided battles, but the techniques with the least waste were always the oldest.

By that logic, Yousrid’s style seemed like it had centuries behind it.

…In reality, though? The previous Sword Saint created it in a single lifetime.

Every now and then, monsters like that appeared—ones who trampled over history and remade it from scratch.

"My sword’s… not an easy one to handle. I don’t mean to boast, but anyone who tries learning it half-assed will ruin their skills."

"We know. We’re professionals—we get what happens if someone without the talent or specs tries that crap."

“Well, that’s good. Now then, let’s wrap things up—”

With that, Yous looked up at us and began summarizing what he’d been focusing on during today’s training.

“In any kind of interpersonal conflict, the key is to take away your opponent’s options. You force them into picking between a bad choice and an even worse one—then stop them from choosing the worse one. That’s how you strip away their options.”

“Savage! He’s such a nice guy most of the time, but the second we’re in combat, boom, he’s like this.”

Yous casually brushed off the jeering that came flying in from our teammates.

He’s just... quick to flip the switch, that guy.

In combat, in normal life, when girls start flocking to him, even when he’s with me—he shifts his mental state for every situation like it’s second nature.

This is the same idiot who once tried to kidnap me just because he didn’t want me getting engaged. Total rock-and-roll move. But weirdly enough, he’s smart—like, freakishly sharp.

Especially when it comes to dealing with girls. Most of how he manages to survive that circus is thanks to that fast-twitch brain of his.

“Still, you really saved me. I get rusty way too fast when the breaks go long.”

“Same here. For me, fighting against a group is the most intense kind of training, so it really helps.”

Anyway, just as we were all thanking each other and winding things down to go our separate ways—

“RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINAAAAAA!!”

Anna came charging at me like a hurricane.

Whoa—my ears are ringing.

“Wh-What is it, Anna?! Why are you so worked up?!”

“You—! You’re supposed to be picking out a dress!!”

She grabbed me and shook me so hard my vision blurred.

And for some reason, she was bouncing all over the place while shaking me. What kind of psychological warfare is this?

“The guys have it easy! Just throw on your fanciest gear and you’re done! But us? Us girls have to wear dresses! Unless you want to be called a ‘knight princess’ and laughed out of the ballroom, you don’t show up in armor!”

…A dress.

…A ballroom.

Great. Thanks for the headache.

To explain a bit—our party was recently promoted to S-Rank.

It’s a big deal. And naturally, the kingdom wants to throw a party for its new national heroes—or more accurately, they want to flaunt to nearby countries that they’ve got an S-Rank party now—so they’re throwing this grand ball in our honor.

What Anna’s yelling about is the dress I’m supposed to wear for that.

The guys can just show up in their best adventuring gear. When you’re S-Rank, your equipment is your prestige—it practically counts as formalwear.

But that doesn’t fly for women.

Thanks to good old-fashioned gender expectations, girls are supposed to wear dresses. Armor doesn’t cut it.

And honestly, for female adventurers, getting scouted by a noble at a ball could mean marrying rich. So there’s no real reason not to dress up.

But in my case, it’s irrelevant.

“I mean… I already have a dress. No need to pick one out.”

I am a duke’s daughter, after all.

Okay, technically I’m just reusing one my mother had tailored for me a long time ago—something she had made thinking I’d grow into it someday. It’s wildly out of fashion now, sure—but nothing could be more appropriate for a moment like this.

This ball is where I plan to settle a lot of things. And I won’t be wearing anything else.

But then—

“…Huh?”

“…What?”

Anna stared at me, mouth hanging open, and even the guys around us stopped and echoed my words back in disbelief.

…What the hell do you all think I am, huh?!

---

That aside—because Anna said she couldn’t decide on a dress and wanted my opinion—I’d ended up being dragged to her room.

And there it was: a mountain of dresses lined up in perfect rows.

She didn’t… buy all these, did she?

At the entrance, a merchant—presumably the one who brought them—was waiting with a cheerful smile, so I figured she was just picking one to buy from the collection.

“Which one do you think would make a hot noble fall for me!?”

“Just wear this one or whatever.”

I handed her something with a completely exposed neckline.

“Perv!!”

Hey, if you hesitate over that, no one’s going to look at you at all.

You saw how the guys reacted earlier when your chest was bouncing while you shook me, right? They averted their eyes. That’s proof they don’t even see you as a woman.

…Not that I’d actually say that—dealing with the fallout would be a nightmare. So I just sighed and picked another one.

“Here. This one.”

“...Huh? Why this one? I mean, yeah, it’s cute, but—”

“Out of everything here, this is the dress code that best fits the scale of this kind of formal gathering—for an outsider adventurer, I mean.”

Honestly, even though they’re calling it a celebration in our honor, it’s still just the usual political party sideshow.

To put it bluntly, we’re just being used as props.

That’s why standing out too much will only make the nobles dislike us, and we’ll end up being treated coldly.

So your choices boil down to two: either go full cleavage and play the seductive angle while ignoring the risk, or pick something safe that fits the proper dress code.

“...How do you even know this stuff?”

“Who knows~?”

Now that we’re S-Rank, I no longer need to hide my background.

At this ball, my true identity will almost certainly come out. Which means there’s no reason to keep tiptoeing around things like this anymore.

“They say we’re the stars of the night, but balls aren’t like theater. Not everyone has to wear a showy costume just to be seen.”

“I don’t know about that...”

Anna looked a little dissatisfied, but still took the dress I handed her and held it up to herself, spinning in a slow twirl.

“In theater, it’s a win if the lead stands out. The audience isn’t there for the script or direction—they’re there to watch the lead, outfit and all.”

“Is that so.”

Well, yeah. I guess when people go to a play, the first thing they notice is who’s playing the main role.

“A famous actor alone can make or break a production. And if the role doesn’t suit them, people say they’re ‘not good enough for it.’”

I guess even this world has people misusing phrases like “not good enough for the role”...

“But thanks, really. If you say this dress is fine, I kind of feel like I can go through with it now.”

“Sure. I mean, you get used to this stuff. As long as you own being a beginner and let people know you’re new to it, most of them will cut you some slack if you mess up.”

“Seriously, where do you even learn to say things like that...”

Chuckling softly, I left her room behind.

…Guess I should probably try on that dress soon, huh?

---

The chest area was a little more open than I would’ve liked, but otherwise, it looked pretty good.

Mom had the same slender build as me, so… where exactly did she get that idea?

Dad’s chest, maybe?

Anyway. I woke up in the middle of the night and went downstairs to the dining room, thinking I’d grab some milk, and—

“…Leader?”

Leader was there, drinking alone.

His bronzed, gleaming physique was lit by the faint flicker of a nearby lantern.

There was something almost melancholic—no, gently subdued—in his eyes. I sat beside him, milk bottle in hand, and took a sip.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nah, just woke up thirsty. If you weren’t here, I’d have had a drink and gone right back.”

“Fufu… thanks for keeping me company.”

That said, we didn’t really talk much after that.

We just sat there, side by side, quietly drinking—milk and liquor—as the moments slipped by.

Eventually, Leader murmured softly—

“…It’s finally here.”

“Five years, huh? Feels like it’s been forever.”

“You okay? No regrets, right?”

“Ahaha, we’ve been prepping for this all along. I’m good.”

“That’s not quite what I meant… fufu. But if you say so, then I’m relieved.”

…Not quite what she meant?

Before I could ask, Leader continued.

“Listen. No matter the situation, what matters most in the end is sincerity.”

“…Meaning?”

“When you talk to someone, even if you’re completely in the right, they’ve still got their own feelings. And when push comes to shove, it’s emotions that decide things. You can’t ignore that part.”

“…You really think he’s got something like emotions?”

I think I get what Leader’s trying to say.

The one we’re going to confront tomorrow… is my father.

The man who rejected Yous. Who refused to acknowledge the relationship between me and Yous.

To be honest, I don’t like him. I don’t see a single thing about him I could ever like.

But maybe that’s exactly why Leader’s telling me sincerity matters.

“You’ll understand once you try.”

“…I’ll do my best.”

She gave me a confident little wink.

Really… I can’t win against her.

That thought quietly settled in my chest as I drained the rest of my milk.

The ball is tomorrow.

And with it comes our other battle.

The culmination of five long years—was finally about to begin.