Attalos thought to himself, "It's been a long time since I've had a fight with some real substance."

  Lately, he had mostly been facing students, but none had ever come at him with the intention of genuinely defeating him.

  Everyone seemed to hold back, their fighting spirit almost veiled, as though hidden behind some unspoken restraint.

  But Seneca was different. She threw herself at Attalos with all her might, her fighting spirit exposed and unapologetically raw.

  There were many fws in her approach.

  Her assumptions were naive. Her posture was weak. Her magic control cked precision.

  Yet, there was a strength beyond that, a growth he couldn’t ignore.

  How long had it been since he first met Seneca?

  Her progress had been nothing short of remarkable.

  "Well thought out," Attalos admitted, his praise sincere.

  At her age, he had never met a stronger adventurer.

  Seneca had become such an exceptional presence that it almost felt unnatural.

  She attacked without pause, and he found himself forced to deflect her relentless strikes.

  He dodged and countered, slicing with precision, parrying and cutting. Occasionally, he mixed in magic to disrupt her bance, using his martial arts to deflect her blows.

  After a flurry of cunning attacks, Seneca unched a rougher strike—one aimed at his feet, as if using a needle to pierce the ground beneath him.

  Attalos considered it the right moment to finish the spar. He intended to avoid the needle and strike in retaliation, ending the mock battle.

  Grr!

  But his foot wouldn’t move as he expected.

  Looking at the needle embedded in the ground, he noticed it was radiating an unnatural amount of magic.

  "Shadow Stitching," Seneca muttered, her voice faint.

  Attalos realised something was off. His movement was being restricted by the shadows, but he also noticed something even more troubling: a surge of magic coming from Seneca.

  For a split second, Attalos lost track of her position.

  Confusion threatened to take over as he couldn’t understand what was happening.

  But then, a familiar sensation clicked in his mind.

  Instinctively, Attalos stopped thinking and let his body react.

  Bang!

  Before he knew it, Seneca had been kicked away, tumbling backwards. He hadn’t even noticed how she had circled behind him.

  However, having experienced something simir before, he was able to counterattack in the nick of time.

  As he looked at the dazed Seneca, he kept his voice steady and low, determined not to show any trace of emotion.

  "That’s enough for today."

  He approached Seneca, making sure her injuries weren’t severe before leaning in close enough to speak quietly.

  "After css, come to my office alone. You can tell Maiol that I called for you, but don’t mention it to anyone else."

  Seneca silently nodded in agreement.

  ...

  After the mock battle with Attalos, Seneca received praise from everyone around her.

  Although she appreciated the compliments, the look on Attalos’ face—one she had never seen before—bothered her. She couldn’t bring herself to feel truly happy about it.

  She quietly informed Maiol about being summoned by Attalos, but Maiol, too, had no clue why she had been called. This only made Seneca more anxious.

  ...

  When the day’s lessons ended, Seneca made her way towards Attalos’ office.

  She knocked, and upon hearing a response, entered.

  Inside, she found Attalos with a pale face, stiff with tension.

  "Seneca, I’m sorry to have called you here. There’s something I need to ask you, something I’ve been wanting to discuss. Don’t be so tense—sit down on the couch."

  Attalos, on the other hand, seemed more rigid and awkward than she had ever seen him.

  Seneca nodded before seating herself.

  "I want to ask about the st technique you used in the spar. What exactly did you do?"

  "Are you asking about the 'Shadow Stitching'?" Seneca responded.

  "Yes, but actually... I’m curious about that technique as well... but if we get the chance, I’d like you to expin it to me ter."

  "I understand."

  With that, Seneca began to expin.

  "When I stitched the shadows to freeze your movements, I thought there would be an opening. I aimed to attack, sewing through the gaps in your awareness."

  "…So you gained that ability? Can you expin more precisely how you 'sew' through gaps in consciousness?"

  Seneca hesitated. "I’m not sure about the exact details of the skill, but consciousness is like a continuous stream—it appears seamless, but it’s actually fragmented. When someone’s flustered, the line between conscious and unconscious becomes blurred, and that’s when I strike."

  Attalos listened intently, frowning as he processed the information.

  "Yeah, that makes sense. I agree."

  Then, as if suddenly resolved, Attalos looked Seneca directly in the eye.

  "I’m sorry for asking so many questions, but could you tell me your parents’ names?"

  Seneca was taken aback by the unexpected question but answered honestly.

  "My father’s name is Eus, and my mother’s is Anna."

  At that moment, time seemed to freeze. Attalos stiffened, as though struck by something.

  "I knew it," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Now that I think about it, your face... it’s so much like Anna’s. And your competitive spirit—it’s just like Eus’."

  Seneca’s ears caught his words, but her mind struggled to process them. She couldn’t make sense of it, though a ripple of recognition stirred within her.

  "What do you mean…?"

  At the sound of her voice, Attalos pulled out a pendant from beneath his colr. It was shaped like a branch, golden in colour.

  "Do you know what this is?"

  Seneca shook her head.

  "This is a symbol of the 'Golden Branch'—a party founded by Eus, Anna, the other two, and myself."

  "Wait…"

  "Seneca, your parents and I were in the same party."

  "That’s… impossible…"

  Seneca fell silent, her mind reeling with the revetion.

  The room was thick with silence, and Attalos, after a long pause, fixed his gaze firmly on Seneca.

  "Seneca, I had heard you were an orphan. Are your parents... no longer with us?"

  Attalos, for the first time, seemed drained of his usual cheerfulness.

  Seneca, too, looked weary, and after a long moment, nodded slowly.

  Tears began to shimmer in Attalos' eyes, and for a brief moment, a single tear escaped.

  ...

  Seneca recounted the tragic events that had unfolded in Cordoba vilge to Attalos.

  Though he listened attentively, his responses seemed dry, distant. Seneca could tell his mind was elsewhere, detached from the conversation.

  "Attalos, why did you think I might be the daughter of my parents?"

  When things quieted down, Seneca asked her question.

  "Huh? Don’t you know about Eus’ skill?" Attalos replied, seemingly surprised.

  Seneca, her voice tinged with sorrow, shook her head.

  "I see. You were so young, just seven. It’s not surprising they never spoke about it. But... you don’t know anything about what kind of adventurers they were, do you?"

  Once again, Seneca nodded.

  "Seneca, your father’s skill was called 'Exploiting Gaps.' He was one of the greatest swordsmen, a legendary figure who was never defeated by me."

  Attalos’ voice grew quieter, as if lost in memory.

  "That unique feeling when your gaps are exploited—it’s something I’ll never forget, almost like a dream."

  "I always had this feeling that I’d met you before, and now, after today, I’m certain of it."

  Seneca’s eyes widened.

  "No mistake. You’re Eus’ daughter. No one else could make such a move."

  Tears streamed down Seneca’s face, and she looked up at Attalos with pleading eyes.

  "Am I really fighting like my father did?"

  Attalos gave a quiet ugh.

  "Yes, you’re just like him. Not only in swordsmanship, but in your drive. Most people aspire to skills like swordsmanship or light magic, right?"

  Seneca nodded, as if it were a matter of course.

  "Even my 'Magic Swordsmanship' is often envied. It’s seen as the proper path, the true strength. But compared to that, your father’s skill, 'Exploiting Gaps,' was always seen as unorthodox."

  Attalos’ voice became distant, almost lost in time.

  "Eus’ swordsmanship was awkward, even ridiculed by others. But despite that, I could never defeat him."

  Attalos turned his face away, his eyes red and tired.

  "When Eus reached level 3, I knew for sure. Eus was a man who didn’t fit into anyone’s idea of ‘strength.’ He wasn’t someone who followed the rules, he was someone who created them."

  Seneca couldn’t help but feel a stirring within her.

  "You, too, are creating your own strength. That’s why you’re fighting in your own way, learning from your failures."

  Attalos’ voice grew more serious.

  "Seneca, take pride in this. You are, without a doubt, the daughter of the greatest swordsman."

  ...

  The following days were a blur to Seneca.

  After talking with Attalos, she fought to hold back her tears and eventually left his office.

  She barely remembered the conversations she had along the way back to the dormitory, only knowing that when she saw Maiol’s face, the tension that had gripped her broke, and she colpsed into tears once again.

  ...

  Seneca remained confined to her bed, too consumed by grief to do anything else.

  She slept, daydreamed, and cried.

  Maiol, temporarily moving out to allow Gaia to take her pce, kept a close eye on Seneca, refusing to leave her side.

  During this time, Seneca finally told Maiol about her conversation with Attalos. After hearing the details and noticing Seneca’s state, Maiol knew she couldn’t manage things alone.

  Maiol sought out Kito, who came to the dormitory to see Seneca.

  Upon seeing Kito, Seneca clung to her just as she had to Maiol, weeping uncontrolbly.

  Neither Kito nor Maiol understood the depth of Seneca’s pain, but they knew they had to be there for her.

  Kito visited Seneca daily after school, offering her comfort through silent embraces.

  For the first time, Seneca missed a css.

  After a few days, Kito suggested staying the weekend with Seneca. Surrounded by Kito and Maiol, Seneca managed to smile once more.

  ...

  After a week of rest, Seneca began to find some peace of mind.

  She realised now that it was simply too much information for her to process all at once. Her emotions had overwhelmed her.

  Now that she had gathered her thoughts, her heart felt more stable than ever.

  It was Attalos’ words that brought her this peace.

  "You are just like Eus."

  Attalos had given her something to hold onto—a sense of purpose, of identity.

  There were still many questions she had for Attalos, but she now understood that there was no rush. Time was on her side.

  Perhaps Attalos had been shaken by the news of his old comrades, too. It was natural.

  Seneca wasn’t yet sure what this "new strength" meant, but it felt like something important. Something she could follow.

  "This is enough," Seneca whispered to herself, determined to apologise for her actions and share her newfound resolve with those around her.