An assassin must know how to paint.
Not with paint or canvas, of course. The "painting" refers to the entire process of assassination.
It starts with knowing who the target is, predicting their movements, and planning how they will react. Based on that, the assassin creates the optimal plan in their mind, accounting for as many possibilities as needed—sometimes dozens.
Then comes the waiting.
It can last hours or even days, waiting for that critical moment. When the moment comes, the assassin, having painted this scene in their mind countless times, doesn't hesitate. There is no room for failure. For an assassin, failure equals death.
And even then, a clean death might be considered lucky.
Of course, killing the target isn't the end. The aftermath must be handled perfectly, leaving no trace.
This entire process is what separates an assassination from mere murder.
And by that standard, I'm already a failed assassin.
Not only did I fail to properly assess my opponent, but I also made a mess of the plan to draw him into the duel.
Sure, the duel happened, but an assassin should never let their emotions dictate their actions.
The price for that mistake was high.
If I had been at my best, I could have won easily, but after four duels in a row, I was exhausted. Trying to force a quick finish only worsened the situation.
Had I been more careful, I wouldn't have found myself in such a dirty fight.
Grab!
As I dodged his swing, he grabbed my hair, yanking me toward him.
It was a dangerous position—his sword was coming down, aiming for me. But I used the force of the pull to twist my body out of the way and deliver a kick to his side.
Had I still been in my old body, that move would've been impossible. But now, with the added flexibility of a woman's body, I executed the move almost elegantly.
Thud!
The impact made him loosen his grip on my hair, and I quickly put distance between us. My scalp still stung, but at least I hadn't lost any hair.
A dry chuckle escaped me.
If I have the luxury of such trivial thoughts, maybe I've recovered a bit.
I took a moment to catch my breath, throwing out a taunt.
"For someone who claims to be a noble, you're fighting like a common street thug."
"Heh. Thug? Filth? You've got it all wrong. In Class 2, the weak get crushed. If you're weak, you should just stay down."
Behind him, I could see Professor Sellen, whose expression didn't exactly deny the truth of his student's words.
"I like that. Let's see who the real weakling is here."
I charged at him, knowing I couldn't drag this out any longer. My muscles screamed in protest, but I pushed them harder, swinging my sword relentlessly.
He was being cautious, going on the defensive, likely thinking that if he could just endure this, I'd tire out and give him an opening.
But as he took a step back, preparing for his counter, I stepped forward and stomped down hard on his foot.
It wouldn't hurt much, but it was enough to throw him off balance for a split second. A tiny opening.
Not enough to land a clean strike. But I didn't need to.
I pressed in, closing the distance even more.
Wham!
I slammed my forehead into his face.
The skull is one of the hardest bones in the human body—an effective weapon.
For all his talk about dirty fighting, I was far more used to brawls like this.
With his footing lost and his face reeling from the unexpected hit, he staggered backward.
Even as he tried to swing his sword in defense—
Clang!
His attack was weak, barely more than a flail. His sword went flying, skidding across the ground.
My own sword, on the other hand, came down.
Thunk!
It pierced the ground, narrowly missing his throat.
I could feel him twitch, ready to move, so I tilted my sword ever so slightly toward his neck.
A small droplet of blood formed where the blade grazed his skin, and he froze, his hand awkwardly suspended mid-air.
My long hair, having fallen forward, shielded us from the view of the audience. In that brief moment, it was just the two of us.
I leaned in and whispered with a grin.
"Move, and you'll regret it."
A quiet threat, just for him.
"Enough!"
At Ferrent's shout, I withdrew my sword from the ground and sheathed it.
Though killing him wouldn't have been against the rules, his family would surely retaliate. The "Frenz" name held no real power beyond a title. His death would only cause unnecessary trouble.
"Elysia, it seems you don't intend to take his life. We'll declare this your victory. As the winner, you're entitled to claim anything from him."
Ferrent's voice carried through the arena.
I glanced at the defeated figure at my feet.
"Claim something from him? Ugh, even thinking about it makes me feel dirty."
I turned my gaze to Professor Sellen.
"Instead, may I say a few words?"
Our eyes met. Sellen, a powerful figure I couldn't hope to reach yet, stared back.
It was bold—maybe even stupid—to provoke him. But—
"Your survival-of-the-fittest philosophy... doesn't seem all that impressive."
I smirked, raising one corner of my lips.
A clear sign of disrespect.
No one in their right mind would act like this toward a superior, let alone a professor.
I knew I might end up with a knife in my back for this, but—
"Kuh... Haha..."
To my surprise, Sellen didn't retaliate. Instead, he burst into laughter, completely ignoring the confused stares of the other students, Ferrent, and even myself.
"Haa..."
After what felt like an eternity, Sellen finally calmed down, wiping his eyes as he looked back at me.
"So, what's this? My teaching methods are flawed, and you want me to transfer your little friend, huh?"
I shrugged.
"I'm not even the strongest in my class, but I still beat your top five. Doesn't that suggest Professor Ferrent's methods might be more effective than yours?"
It was a flimsy argument, honestly. Sellen could easily dismiss it if he wanted.
"Well, Ferrent, what do you think?"
"I can't ignore my student's opinion."
"Kuh kuh... Alright. It's a weak argument, but since you've put in the effort, I'll allow Yuri to transfer to your class—wait a moment."
?
Sellen suddenly paused, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought.
Then, with a nod, he spoke again.
"How about instead of her transferring, you come to Class 2? That way, you can keep an eye on her directly."
I blinked. He was serious.
Sure, switching classes would help stop Yuri from being bullied. But Sellen had already earned my dislike.
Why would I willingly do that?
Before I could reject his offer—
"No!"
Cillian shot up from the group of watching students, her voice ringing out.
Her face flushed red as she became aware of all the eyes on her.
"Th-that's not fair! Elysia won, so it makes more sense for Yuri to come to our class, not the other way around!"
She stammered through her explanation, her voice small and lacking its usual confidence, but she said everything she needed to say.
She then promptly sat down, hiding her face in her lap.
A brief silence followed.
"Like Cillian said, I'm not interested in joining Class 2. I don't like the professor there."
Ferrent sighed, running a hand through his hair as if wondering how things had escalated to this.
Meanwhile, Sellen burst out laughing again, clutching his stomach before finally catching his breath.
"Alright, alright. I'll let Yuri transfer to Class 1. But if you ever change your mind, let me know."
With a final pat on my shoulder, Sellen rounded up his remaining students and left the arena.
All that remained were the students of Class 1 and Yuri.
I brushed my silver hair back with one hand and gave Yuri a small smile.
Standing alone, she ran over to us—no, to me—and threw herself into my arms.
She buried her face in my chest, clinging to me silently. I could feel her body shaking, her breath hitching with quiet sobs.
I didn't say anything. I just held her, gently patting her back—though I paused when I felt a string catch inside her clothes, so I resorted to just lightly tapping her instead.
"Don't hate Professor Sellen too much," Ferrent's voice came from beside me, even as Yuri continued to cling to me.
"He didn't mean for things to get so out of hand. He's a good guy, in his own way."
"I'll take care of the transfer procedures with him, so don't worry about it. Get some rest, and come back inside when you're ready."
"Class 1, gather up!"
At Ferrent's command, the rest of the class lined up and followed him out.
Even Cillian, though she kept her head turned toward us the entire time, as if reluctant to leave Yuri alone.
Things seemed to have been resolved, at least for now.
With Yuri still sobbing into my chest, I held her a little tighter.