MTO C90

Chapter 90

The next morning.

“……”

Kaidan sat at his office desk, face pale and drawn. His arms and legs throbbed painfully after spending the entire night swinging his sword without rest. He had not slept a single wink.

His body craved rest, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie down. Every time he closed his eyes, a white face appeared in his mind—clear as day.

It was strange. The more he tried not to think of Michel, the clearer Michel’s face became. Whether his eyes were open or closed, that pale image shimmered in his thoughts like a ghost.

And it was all that physician’s fault.

If not for that fool’s ridiculous talk, he wouldn’t be so uncomfortably conscious of Michel now. Whether it was “lovesickness” or some kind of delusion, hearing such nonsense had planted the idea in his mind—and now it bloomed like an infestation.

“Kaidan?”

He was hallucinating now. He could’ve sworn he heard Michel’s voice. In fact, he could almost see him standing right there. And the longer he looked, the more vivid the image became. The symptoms were worsening.

“Kaidan, are you even listening to me?”

The hallucination waved a hand in front of his face—an annoying, persistent mirage. Kaidan instinctively caught the hand to stop it, but to his horror, his fingers closed around something solid.

Blinking, he slowly raised his head.

And there, before him—

“Are you all right?”

—stood the real Michel.

“Gah!”

“Ah!”

Kaidan yelled and flung Michel’s hand away, startled out of his wits, and Michel shouted back in fright. Kaidan pressed himself against the back of his chair, breathing hard.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump—

Not even the time he’d woken up to find a goblin sleeping beside him on a battlefield had startled him this badly. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt his ears. He feared that Michel could hear it too, echoing between them.

But Michel, too, seemed startled. He pressed both hands to his chest.

“W-Why are you yelling like that all of a sudden? You nearly scared me to death!”

“Why are you here…?”

“Brother Charles said I could come in?”

Michel pointed his thumb toward the door.

Kaidan suddenly recalled that a guard had entered earlier to ask him something. Exhausted, he’d nodded without even hearing the question. So that’s what it had been—the guard had said the Saint was here.

He swallowed dryly. The very man who had spent the night prancing through his thoughts like a deer in a flower field now stood before him, eyes full of concern. His stomach churned even though he hadn’t eaten anything.

“Did something happen? You look unwell.”

“…Nothing.”

“Hmm. You looked so deep in thought earlier—you didn’t even notice I was calling you.”

Kaidan averted his gaze. He couldn’t possibly admit that he’d been thinking about him. If Michel asked why, how could he possibly explain? He couldn’t just repeat the physician’s absurd diagnosis.

“It’s nothing. What brings you here?”

“Are you busy today?”

“…Why?”

“You said you wanted to watch one of my taekwondo classes, remember? Today’s the kids’ promotion test. Would you like to come see it?”

Had I said that?

He had. The memory returned—the day he’d taken Michel to the library after Michel mentioned wanting to fight monsters. When Michel had stood from his chair at the bell’s toll, Kaidan had felt an odd flicker of curiosity.

But had it truly been curiosity about Michel’s martial arts… or something else entirely?

Kaidan frowned. Lack of sleep was making him think nonsense. Of course a knight would be interested in unfamiliar fighting styles. There was no need to attach unnecessary meaning to it.

Still, perhaps it was best to delay satisfying that curiosity. He might not be busy now, but this was one of those moments when he ought to pretend he was. For the time being, he needed to keep his distance from the Saint—at least until he managed to get a proper night’s rest.

As Kaidan stayed silent, merely frowning, Michel tilted his head in that disarmingly—no, irritatingly—curious way. Kaidan hastily refused.

“All right.”

“Yes!”

…He had meant to decline. The word had simply come out wrong.

But before he could correct himself, Michel beamed with childlike joy. And Kaidan—curse his own conscience—couldn’t bring himself to disappoint someone smiling like that. His chest throbbed again in quiet protest.

“Then come to the training grounds when the next bell rings, okay? You’ll be free by then, right?”

“Fine.”

“See you then!”

With a cheerful wave, Michel bounced out of the office. The door closed with a loud thud, and Kaidan dragged a hand down his face. It didn’t help—his frustration burned deeper.

So he slammed his palm onto the desk.

Moments later, a startled guard burst in.

“Y-You called, sir—?”

“Get out.”

“Yes, sir!”

As the door shut once again, Kaidan let out a deep sigh.

Ding—

The bell he’d hoped not to hear tolled across the castle.

Kaidan walked toward the training yard, recalling countless battlefields he’d marched into before. Yet never—not even before the bloodiest wars—had his steps felt so unbearably heavy.

He should send a messenger, he thought. Pretend something urgent had come up. And yet, his feet continued to move.

Michel was a guest in his home, and Kaidan was the host. To disappoint one’s guest was unacceptable.

Besides, this was his castle. It was his duty to know what was happening in his own courtyard.

And above all, one could not refuse a request from the Saint. Hadn’t he promised to grant whatever Michel asked?

Yes. Thinking of it that way made him feel lighter.

Still, wasn’t it strange?

Even as he neared the training yard, it was oddly silent. He had taken his time getting there, hoping to arrive late, yet it seemed he had come too early. Perhaps waiting a little would be better—it would give him time to compose himself, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was preparing for.

After a brief hesitation, Kaidan stepped inside.

“…?”

Contrary to his expectations, the yard was packed with people. Not just knights, but even servants—those who rarely came near the training field—lined the stone walls. Even the golden eagles perched along the battlements, watching the crowd with bright, intelligent eyes.

At the center sat Michel and the children, all cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed. Some had their mouths half-open as if they’d fallen asleep; others wore serious expressions, their brows furrowed in concentration.

Michel sat utterly still, like a statue. The spring wind stirred his hair, but he did not so much as blink. It was as though time itself had stopped where he sat.

Are they praying?

Indeed, the servants had their hands clasped and lips moving soundlessly. That explained the eerie calm blanketing the yard despite the gathered crowd.

“Your Grace, you’ve arrived.”

As Kaidan hesitated to approach, Lawrence appeared, bowing politely. He kept his voice low, careful not to disturb the scene. Kaidan lowered his own voice in response.

“…There are more people than I expected.”

“The Saint requested that as many witnesses as possible attend the children’s first promotion test.”

“Oh, Your Grace came too!”

Jerard, who had been yawning nearby, spotted them and strolled over. Kaidan’s brow twitched at his easy greeting.

So I wasn’t the only one invited.

For some reason, that fact pricked at him—but he quickly dismissed the feeling. It was only natural to gather an audience for an important ceremony. When knights were formally sworn in, everyone assembled to celebrate them. Surely this “promotion test” was something of similar significance.

If anything, Kaidan should feel honored to be included.

He took a quiet spot at the edge of the yard, careful not to disrupt anyone. Lawrence and Jerard soon stood beside him.

“You’ve all done very well. Everyone, please rise.”

Michel opened his eyes. For a brief moment, Kaidan thought their gazes met—but then Michel turned away to help the children stand.

He was dressed more lightly than in the morning. Though spring had come, the northern air was still as cold as the southern winter. For a man that slender, wearing only a thin tunic was asking for trouble.

Foolish.

The more Kaidan watched him, the less he could reconcile the man before him with the idea of someone skilled in martial arts—much less capable of teaching it. He knew Michel was stronger and quicker than he appeared, but seeing him now, surrounded by children, he looked every bit the gentle saint people called him.

“Turn around!”

Michel’s sudden bark split the air. His deep, commanding voice—drawn from the gut like a battle cry—made Kaidan flinch in spite of himself. Even his expression had changed, sharp and focused.

“Ta!e! Kwon!”

“Face the front and bow!”

“Ta!e! Kwon! An-nyeong! Ha-shim! Ni-kka!”

The children spun smartly on their heels and bowed deeply toward the spectators. One boy shouted so loudly his voice cracked halfway through.

For a few stunned seconds, the onlookers—who had been praying in reverent silence moments before—could only gape.

Then one of the nuns began clapping.

Gradually, others followed suit, and before long the yard erupted in applause—some knights even whistling and cheering.