He whispered into her right ear.
Romian grinned. Phillia trembled, bracing for anything.
"Let's train together from now on."
Silence—deafening silence. Phillia's face flattened into a monotone stare, disappointment dripping from her pores.
"Huh? That's all you wanted to say?" She turned robotically, glaring at him like he'd offered her a moldy sandwich.
"WHAT DID YOU THINK I MEANT?! Why would I confess anything in this situation?! It'd be weird, and I don't even know if it'd work because I'M STILL FOUR!!" Romian mentally facepalmed, logic screaming. Confess feelings? In this toddler body? Delusional.
They were still inches apart when the door swung open, sending them tumbling.
Letizia and Paul emerged with sweaty smiles. "Sorry you two had to witness… that," Letizia said, her tone apologetic yet amused.
Romian stared blankly, but a flicker of anger—at himself—burned behind his eyes.
"People argue. Let's just… forget it," he muttered, breezing past Paul with forced nonchalance.
The parents exchanged glances, then shrugged at Phillia. She mirrored their hopeless shrug, sighing.
__________________________________________
A few hours later…
Romian had managed to catch some sleep, regaining a sliver of energy. He sat slumped against his bed, muttering to himself.
"Heh~ What should I do now? Didn't want to train today… Going out's not an option either. Maybe just read a book about the mana system?"
He hauled himself up and shuffled to the adjacent room—the library.
But he wasn't alone. Two people were already there.
Phillia and his mother, Letizia, sat side by side, poring over a book. Letizia seemed to be explaining something, while Phillia listened intently, her eyes laser-focused.
Both glanced up as the door creaked open. Phillia immediately looked away, cheeks pink, pretending to study the pages.
"Ah, Romy-dear! Want to join our lesson?" Letizia smiled warmly, patting the space beside her.
Romian hesitated, but found no reason to refuse.
"Sure, why not. What're you two covering?" he asked, plopping onto the plush floor cushions lining the cozy reading nook.
"Just revisiting fundamentals—how the magic system connects to the world's energy," Letizia explained, ruffling his hair.
"Oh, I skimmed this section earlier. Pretty interesting stuff," Romian said, glancing between Letizia and Phillia.
Their eyes met for a brief moment—but Phillia ducked her head, the tension thicker than a grimoire.
Letizia noticed the tension and flashed a sly grin.
"Phillia, why don't you explain how the mana system works and why it gets so complex?" she suggested, her smile dripping with mischief.
Phillia flinched, startled, but then met Romian's gaze. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she launched into an explanation, her initial stutter smoothing into confidence.
"Y-you know mana is the foundation, right? Everything runs on it, but… there are paths you can take. Like the Spellcasting Path—you climb ranks by mastering spells. But it doesn't end there! You can combine paths. See this diagram? The Nexus Path is key—it interlinks others. Without it, you can't access the Covenant Path. But the Weapon Path? It can pair with Nexus, though it's more common with the Enhancement Path, which leads to entirely different results. Mages often chase the Fate's Realm Path or Magical Distension. Distension's stronger, but don't underestimate Fate's Realm! To reach either, you need mastery of Nexus or Spellcasting. Fate's Realm requires rare talent… unless you bridge it with Enhancement and Magic Paths, which creates wild variations. It's all… a web. Everything connects."
Romian stared, first at the book, then at her. He'd skimmed this section earlier, but her clarity stunned him. A warm smile crept across his face as he nodded along.
"It's kinda sweet how you geek out over this stuff. You explain it so well—even a kid could get it. You should be a teacher. I'd listen to you all day~" He propped his chin on his hand, grin softening.
"S-sweet?!" Phillia squeaked, tomato-red. She hid her face against Letizia's arm, shielding herself from Romian's gaze.
Letizia chuckled and patted Phillia's shoulder.
"Romy, stop teasing Phillia," she said, her tone playful but warning.
"I don't know what you mean. How's this teasing?" Romian blinked innocently, whistling a mock-carefree tune.
"Y-young Master, you're mean," Phillia mumbled incoherently, her voice wobbling. "You've… said so many mean things lately."
Letizia shot Romian a razor-sharp glare.
Romian countered with puppy-dog eyes, forming an "X" with his arms and shaking his head vehemently. Innocent!
"I've never said anything mean. Case closed," he declared, as if convincing himself more than them.
He then stood, marched to the bookshelf, and scanned for a specific title.
"Where is it? Ugh—there!"
Techniques and Sword Styles
He grabbed the book, stumbling backward a step.
"Let's skip magic today. I'm in the mood to study sword styles. Theoretical learning's still learning, right?"
He plopped back down beside his mother, flipping to a bookmarked page. Phillia and Letizia leaned in.
"Oho~! Sword styles instead of magic?" Letizia remarked, feigning surprise (and subtle disappointment).
"Not today. If I'm not training physically, might as well theory-craft. Maybe I'll master these someday," Romian said, grinning up at her.
Romian swung his legs lazily in the air, reading in a bizarrely contorted position—flat on his back, the book held inches from his face like some sort of sleep-deprived scholar.
Letizia and Phillia stared, baffled. They'd seen him absorbed in books before, but never like this. Normally, he'd sit rigidly, face blank as a stone tablet, laser-focused and oblivious to the world. Now, though? His expression was softer, almost serene, with a hint of uncharacteristic contentment.
,,Why are they staring? Can't I act a little childish sometimes?'' Romian mentally pouted in a mock-defensive tone, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.
____________________________________________
The next day…
Romian woke up normally this time, having slept through the night without incident.
He headed downstairs and outside, realizing he'd risen earlier than usual—much earlier. Even his parents were still asleep. Only one person was already training.
Phillia.
Her movements held Romian spellbound. Her strikes were light yet explosive, her footwork fluid, almost gliding. A paradox—aggressive yet elegant, as if harmonizing fire and ice.
Romian stood surrounded by prodigies, geniuses who'd sacrificed blood and sweat to master their crafts. Compared to them, he felt weak, untalented. A beginner on a path others had long traversed. His frail body only deepened his insecurity.
But he knew his weakness could become his strength. His sword style would need to be unorthodox: not reliant on brute force or overwhelming combos, but something tailored to his limits. Parries. Counterattacks. Leveraging inertia. If he could master the physics of motion, maybe he could craft a style that turned his fragility into precision.
As he overthought, Phillia continued her kata. Her movements remained that impossible blend of chaos and grace. To Romian, it looked like blood defying gravity—flowing upward in arcs before cascading back down, rhythmically, hypnotically. Unique. Unmatched.
Her talent was undeniable. Even the blind could sense it—hear the harmony in her chaos. Yet Romian knew her skill, while awe-inspiring, was still imperfect. A shadow of what it could become.
Many flaws were visible—ones Romian couldn't see. Her swings dragged too long, her stance left her legs exposed, her balance wobbled. She knew some of her weaknesses, not all, and drilled daily to fix them.
"Dammit! What am I doing wrong in the third variation of the first form? When I lean into the attack and execute rapid thrusts, I burn too much energy, and each strike gets sloppier. What's the issue?!" Phillia halted mid-motion, frustration twisting her face. She gnawed her lip, fists trembling.
Still, she hadn't noticed Romian watching. He'd never seen her this furious during training. Disappointed? Yes. Discouraged? Often. But this raw anger—it sharpened her features, a side of her he'd never witnessed.
Romian blinked, surprised… then grinned. Good.
"Why should I find her anger 'good,' Author? Explain!"
Because it makes her human. It screams hunger—the drive to improve, not just endure. Better to rage at your flaws than ignore them.
Romian nodded to himself, grabbing a practice sword. Phillia remained lost in her thoughts until he called out, voice bright yet tentative:
"Hey~ Didn't I say I'd train with you? Still brooding over your mistakes… or wanna help me for a change?"
She jolted, startled she hadn't noticed Romian earlier. Her face twisted into an exaggerated grimace.
But she quickly steadied herself, cheeks faintly pink yet composed.
"Ah—right. You did insist on training together. Fine. Assume the basic stance. Let me observe. Maybe you've retained some muscle memory from the other da—" Her words froze as memories of that night flooded back—Romian's words, the starlit confession.
Her face burned purple-red, like a Glumanda—though, wait, Glumanda's more orange—dammit, bad analogy!
Romian's mind also replayed the scene, heat rushing to his ears. He shook his head violently, as if dislodging the thoughts, and snapped into his stance.
But as he raised the wooden sword, something felt… off.
"Why… does my hip feel misaligned? And my right leg's bent too sharply. Since when—since when can I sense my own flaws?!" Romian frowned, bewildered. He'd unconsciously adopted Phillia's corrections.
Phillia watched as Romian adjusted his stance, a proud smile tugging at her lips.
But suddenly, a realization struck him.
,,This is too rigid. The stance prioritizes precision, speed, or power—maybe two at best. But brute force isn't my strength.'' He pondered, questioning if this style truly suited him.
Still, he pressed on, correcting his errors until the movements flowed smoother, almost effortless.
"Oh~! You fixed your mistakes on your own. I'm proud of you~" Phillia teased, though her pride was genuine.
Romian, however, had slipped into a trance. His focus detached from the world—deaf to noise, blind to surroundings. Only his breathing, the arc of his sword, the bend of his limbs existed.
,,Adjust. Left knee angled deeper. Again.'' His gaze sharpened, drilling into each motion as he refined his form, slow but relentless.
Phillia stared, stunned. She recognized it—the zone.
A rare innate ability coveted by all—Absolute Concentration. While focus can be honed, some are born with this gift, improving faster by hyper-fixating on what matters, pushing until their limits shatter.
"The Young Master truly takes after his father," Phillia remarked, her tone cheerful yet tinged with envy. A powerful talent, yes—but one with dark costs.
In this state, awareness of surroundings vanishes, leaving the user vulnerable. Worse, the body strains beyond its limits—a danger magnified tenfold for Romian's fragile physique.
After just thirty minutes, Phillia saw the signs: trembling limbs, erratic breathing. If he continued, his body would break.
She'd trained alongside him, half her attention perpetually locked on his form. Now, she strode over, shaking him roughly until his eyes refocused.
"Wh—wait… Was I training? Why does it feel like I blacked out?" Romian blinked, disoriented, as if waking from a dream.
"Young Master, you entered Absolute Concentration—a rare innate ability that accelerates your growth by filtering out all non-essentials. This was likely your first time," Phillia explained.
"Oh—WHAT?! Sounds like a jackpot! Finally, some luck. And Phillia—please drop the 'Young Master' crap. The formalities are grating. Just call me by my name," Romian complained, his tone shifting to earnest pleading by the end.
Phillia flushed instantly, shaking her head.
"B-but Young Master, I c-can't do that!" she stammered, nervously wringing her hands.
Romian sighed, massaging his temples.
"Why can't you? I'm giving you permission. And how old are you, anyway?" He pivoted, hoping to distract her into compliance.
"Ah, okay, Y-Youn— Romy… NO! I just can't! Please give me time to adjust, alright?! And I'll be an adult this year!" Phillia short-circuited, her face burning. She'd slipped up before, but never this blatantly. Now she stared at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.
"W-w-w-WHAT?! RETREAT, SOLDIERS, RETREAT!! Next thing I know, Chris Hansen's gonna pop out from behind a bush!" Romian panicked, whipping his head around like a wanted criminal.
Phillia watched, bewildered, as he spiraled into full conspiracy mode.
Then she remembered—breakfast.
"I'll… go prep breakfast And then to go bath— never mind!" she stammered, fleeing indoors, scarlet-faced.
Romian remained frozen, scanning every shrub like a meerkat on espresso.