Roxy, having finally recovered from the absurdity of Paul’s retreat, turned her attention back to Rudeus, who was watching his father’s disappearing figure with mild amusement.

  Roxy sighed, adjusting her posture as she addressed him. "I apologize for the unsightly dispy."

  Rudeus simply shook his head. "No, I get it... That chuuni is terrifying when provoked. Back then, she was more like a puppy."

  Roxy found that hard to believe. A puppy? That girl was more like a beast in human skin.

  "Now, you should try it out," Roxy encouraged, steering the conversation back to magic.

  "Okay!" Rudeus' excitement was apparent. He took a deep breath, focusing on the field ahead. But just as he started chanting, an unfortunate gust of wind blew by—lifting Roxy’s skirt slightly.

  Rudeus caught a glimpse. His mind bnked. His words jumbled. His magic shot off-course.

  Spsh!

  A water ball—one that was supposed to hit the target—veered straight at Roxy. She barely dodged it, her eyes widening in shock.

  "Rudeus… You omitted the chant," she said, realization dawning.

  "Uh, yeah," Rudeus admitted, scratching his cheek.

  Roxy stared at him, still processing what had just happened. "Do you always omit the chanting?"

  Rudeus looked away, suddenly nervous. "I… I always cast without chanting."

  Silence.

  Roxy’s mind raced. This was unheard of. Even top-tier magicians needed some level of incantation. A three-year-old child casually breaking the rules of magic? She should feel humiliated. Useless. But instead, a fire lit within her.

  This student… is a treasure.

  Before she could fully digest the implications, a deep, ominous creak sounded from behind.

  Roxy turned slowly.

  Anastasia’s tree, the one she had just healed, stood weakly for a moment before giving up on life entirely. With a defeated groan, it colpsed—once again.

  Rudeus flinched. "…Oops."

  Roxy gulped. Anastasia definitely wouldn't let this one slide. She needed to find a way to apologize formally before she found herself at the wrong end of that terrifying girl’s bde…

  On the other side of the estate, Anastasia paused mid-swing, her grip steady on the wooden training sword. The distant sound of creaking wood reached her ears, followed by the unmistakable crash of her once-proud tree surrendering to gravity.

  She let out a long sigh, barely sparing it a gnce. I knew it… That woman’s healing technique was crude. But for the tree to colpse under its own weight?

  Her fingers tightened around the hilt. Whatever.

  With a smooth, deliberate motion, she resumed her training. If the first iteration of her swordpy had been raw, a mere imitation of structured techniques, then this version was something else entirely.

  Her movements were no longer rigid or forced but fluid, like a river carving its own path. Every step, every strike carried an effortless grace—each motion seamlessly connecting to the next. Where once her swings were straightforward, now they curved unpredictably, demanding control over not only herself but her unseen opponent as well.

  And yet, amid all this refinement, she imposed a new discipline upon herself: minimizing unnecessary movement.

  Her skirt barely lifted. Her clothes showed no creases. Every shift of her body was calcuted, eliminating wasted motion while maximizing precision. A foe caught in this dance would find themselves ensnared, forced to match her rhythm—or surrender their pride entirely.

  Her bde gleamed under the afternoon sun.

  With a final, decisive strike, she exhaled. This is better. But it’s not enough… Not yet.

  Her eyes flickered toward the direction of the fallen tree, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

  Let’s see how that magician pns to clean up her mess this time.

  A slow, deliberate cp echoed through the courtyard, drawing Anastasia’s sharp gaze.

  Paul stood at the edge of the training ground, his usual grin in pce, though a flicker of something else—pride, perhaps—lingered in his eyes.

  "It seems you've finished buying dairy, stupid father," Anastasia quipped, adjusting her grip on her training sword.

  Paul blinked, visibly confused. "Huh? I didn't buy any milk, though—"

  Before he could finish, a spark of excitement repced his puzzlement. "Anyway, it looks like you're in a better mood now. How about we have a proper spar?"

  Anastasia considered for a moment before giving a small nod.

  On the sidelines, Lilia quietly observed. This will be a real match, she thought, already making a mental note to prepare a sweet dessert—Anastasia would surely demand sugar after exhausting herself.

  The courtyard stilled as father and daughter took their stances, swords raised.

  Paul was no fool. He had sparred with Anastasia countless times before, watching her refine her technique at an almost terrifying pace. But now, facing her directly, he realized just how much she had grown.

  Her strikes were heavier. Her movements sharper. She no longer wasted effort on unnecessary actions—every motion was purposeful, every feint calcuted.

  Paul could no longer treat her as a mere child swinging a wooden sword for practice.

  This time, their bdes spoke.

  Each csh sent vibrations up his arms, each exchange forced him to adjust, and with every second that passed, Paul understood a bitter truth—Anastasia would one day surpass him.

  It was an inevitability, and it left a strange mix of emotions in his chest.

  He was proud.

  And yet, he was also reluctant.

  Paul was an Advanced-ranked swordsman in all three major styles. That was enough to put him among the elites of the Central Continent—but it wouldn’t be enough to hold Anastasia back. She needed stronger opponents, greater challenges. If he didn’t push himself, she would eventually leave, seeking the heights he could never reach.

  And selfishly, he wasn’t ready for that yet.

  His grip tightened. No. I won't make it easy for her.

  If Anastasia wanted to climb higher, then she would have to surpass him first.

  With renewed determination, Paul lunged.

  Their swords met once more, and this time, the battle truly began.

  Dinner was quiet. Too quiet.

  Roxy sat across from Anastasia, her head lowered, her hands clenched tightly in her p. She had deliberately averted her gaze, knowing that facing Anastasia directly would only make her feel even smaller than she already did.

  But, of course, Anastasia would not allow such a thing.

  “Magician,” Anastasia’s voice was calm, yet carried an unmistakable weight. “You have caused trouble for me, honestly… My precious tree was murdered before my very eyes, and because of your ck of knowledge in the healing arts for pnts, you killed it completely.”

  Roxy flinched, her grip on her dress tightening. The guilt gnawed at her. She knew she had failed, and it wasn’t just about the tree—it was about the respect she wished to earn.

  Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to meet Anastasia’s gaze head-on.

  "I will do anything to earn your pardon, my dy," Roxy said, her voice steady but ced with nervousness. Instinctively, she had shifted to a more formal tone.

  Anastasia studied her for a long moment, her golden eyes sharp, calcuting. Then, she leaned back slightly and smirked.

  “I heard you know summoning magic. Teach me tomorrow.”

  Roxy’s heart skipped a beat.

  For a moment, she was stunned. She hadn’t expected this. Was Anastasia simply using this as an excuse to make her pay? Or… did she actually have an interest in magic?

  Either way, it didn’t matter.

  “Yes! Of course!” Roxy responded, her voice filled with unexpected enthusiasm. She could sense that Anastasia had an agenda, but the fact remained—this was progress.

  Rudeus, however, couldn’t let this slide so easily. He was about to make a snarky remark—something about how Anastasia had dismissed magic as boring just earlier—but before he could speak, Zenith’s hand nded gently on his head. A silent warning.

  He sighed and held his tongue.

  Then, just as the tension in the air began to settle, Zenith delivered the final blow.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” she said casually, taking a sip of her tea. “Anastasia, you’ll be sharing a room with Roxy from now on.”

  Silence.

  Anastasia froze mid-bite, her fork halting just before reaching her lips.

  Roxy, on the other hand, stiffened so abruptly that it looked as if she had just been struck by lightning.

  Even Paul, who had been focused on eating, paused to gnce between them, as if only now realizing how much chaos his wife had just unleashed.

  Lilia quietly continued serving food, but there was the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes.

  Anastasia finally broke the silence.

  “…Come again?”

  Roxy gulped.

  This… was going to be a long night.