Namgung Se-ga, the warrior, was reincarnated in Romance

For that reason, when I took Benjamin’s hand during Thursday’s advanced swordsmanship class and joined the lesson, my peers were so surprised that I spent quite a bit of time explaining the situation.

As I explained that there had been some incidents and that I had agreed to occasionally hold his hand, Benjamin quietly stood by my side, nodding in agreement, which made him look both pitiful and adorable.

I patted his back a few times.

Lucilla burst into laughter, nearly choking.

“How strong is he, exactly? Can I try holding his hand too?”

“…Well.”

When Benjamin looked at me as if asking for permission, I held back a laugh and replied.

“Well… I think your hand might get crushed. From what I’ve seen, Benjamin still has trouble controlling his strength.”

“Wait, you have to ask for permission to hold someone’s hand? Are you serious? This is too funny!”

Unable to contain her curiosity, Lucilla insisted on trying to hold Benjamin’s hand too. So, I held Benjamin’s right hand while Lucilla grabbed his left, both of us exerting the same amount of force.

When Lucilla, trying to maintain her pride as a martial artist, screamed and pulled her hand back, I quietly added,

“That was about a third of his strength.”

“A bear? Are you sure he’s a person, not some kind of monster?”

“…He’s human.”

Seeing this, the other students in the advanced swordsmanship class were fascinated and eager to try holding Benjamin’s hand as well. Benjamin was embarrassed, but I told him I would stop them at the right moment, and he agreed to let everyone try.

Even Maelo Sanson joined in, laughing as he grabbed Benjamin’s hand. After a moment of enduring, Sanson started channeling his aura, which made everyone burst out laughing.

Both Sanson and I repeatedly praised Benjamin, saying that his strength was a great asset, not a disadvantage, and Benjamin looked visibly pleased, his lips curling into a smile.

However, Ruber, being more cautious, said he wanted to experience it indirectly through my hand, so I agreed to let him. He lasted a while before giving up and pulling his hand away.

It was all so endearing and fun to watch.

* * *

There was a reason I specifically held Benjamin’s right hand.

Thursday afternoon’s class was an advanced throwing knife lesson. My left hand still felt numb from Benjamin’s grip, but my right hand was fine, so I was able to participate without any trouble.

Today, Professor Wilton Roberts, dressed in dark clothes, walked in and took his place.

“No one missed class today. I’ll call roll based on the order you’re standing in. From now on, this will be the order for the throwing knife lessons, so make sure to remember your number.”

I was number 7. I was glad it wasn’t an extremely high or low number.

Roberts then continued, explaining that in the previous class, we had learned about the structure and grip of throwing knives, and today we would start learning how to throw them.

The structure of the lesson was simple: each student would come forward in order and throw the knife three times. The first throw would be free, after which Professor Roberts would give advice based on our stance. After receiving the feedback, we would throw again, and then a third time, before returning to our place.

Professor Roberts repeatedly told us to focus on the sensations in our fingertips.

“Don’t focus on the throwing knife. Only look at the target. If you’re watching the knife fly, you’ll be the fool who gets hit by it. Keep your head up, and focus your energy on your index and middle fingers.”

However, during the actual throws, he said nothing, quietly observing.

“Close your ears. Right now, I will help you throw in a quiet environment, but later on, you need to throw accurately even in noisy and chaotic settings. To do that, you must block out all sensations except the ones in your fingertips. When you throw, you need to know whether it will hit the target or not.”

My turn came quickly. I held the throwing knife the way Ruber had shown me, and Roberts’ sharp eyes gleamed.

Without any additional instructions, I took my stance and threw the first knife. Even though it was a short distance of 5 meters, the knife missed the center of the target and hit the edge instead. Surprisingly, I received more praise than expected.

Roberts clapped his hands loudly, making a “clap” sound and nodded.

“The way you handle your sight and grip was excellent, Mikhael Ernhardt. However, when you plant your front foot, the direction of your force is unstable. If you fix that, you’ll be fine. The fact that your shoulder remained stable when you released the knife was especially good. Make sure to focus on that and throw again.”

“Yes.”

My second throw completely missed the target. I was somewhat disappointed, thinking I had been too arrogant, but Professor Roberts calmly explained.

“Right now, the throwing knife practice field is open, so it is being affected by the wind. The wind is blowing from the east to the west. If you look at where the knife landed, you can see that it is off by about 15 degrees to the west, which is the direction the wind is coming from. This means the wind had an effect on the throw. If you learn to use the wind like this, you can throw the knife further and in a way that’s harder to predict.”

“Ah.”

“Good. Now, throw once more, and remember that the wind’s direction and strength are the same as before.”

“…Yes!”

On my third throw, the knife hit the center of the target perfectly.

Without realizing it, I clenched my fist and suppressed a cheer that was about to escape. I bowed slightly and returned to my place just as the eighth student stepped forward, and Wilton Roberts continued speaking.

“Ernhardt already studied throwing knives last semester. Weapons that leave a person’s hand are very dangerous. That’s why the practice field is not open unless there’s someone to supervise. If any students want to practice on their own, like Ernhardt, they should bring along someone who has already passed last semester’s class with excellent grades.”

“Yes!”

Ten students responded in unison, their voices strong and clear.

Wilton Roberts smiled slightly and continued the lesson. His advice was all practical and helpful, so everyone paid close attention to the lesson.

After the class ended, I approached Oliver Combine.

I wanted to ask him about Marianne.

Marianne had told me that Glothin Tenner, the man I liked, was simply a shy, handsome guy, but his voice always sounded dreamy and intoxicating, which made me skeptical.

I was curious how Glothin Tenner looked from the perspective of one of his close friends, like Shaden.

“Combine-senpai.”

“Eh? Oh, Ernhardt? What’s up?”

“I heard you’re close with Glothin Tenner.”

“Yeah? Uh, yeah, that’s right.”

“I heard he’s dating someone.”

“…Huh? Why do you care about that, Ernhardt? Oh…”

Oliver Combine let out a suppressed laugh.

“Are you talking about Marianne?”

Shaden had warned me to be careful when talking about Marianne, so I tried to be subtle, but I wasn’t very good at this kind of conversation.

It was embarrassing that I got caught immediately, but I nodded shamelessly.

“Yes, I was just curious.”

“Uh… It’s a bit awkward to talk about it here. Should we go outside?”

I followed him without hesitation.

We went to a cafe on the grounds of the Shiran Academy.

After our conversation, I needed to go back to the martial arts hall for Benjamin, so I wasn’t keen on going far. I ordered the same parfait I usually had, and Oliver, who only ordered a cup of coffee without any dessert, seemed a little taken aback.

Curious, I asked him why, and he waved it off, saying it was nothing. I didn’t press further.

After a bit of unnecessary small talk, Oliver Combine ran his hands over his face and bowed his head.

His teal-colored hair, wavy like seaweed, flowed through his slender fingers.

“…I don’t really know that Glothin guy.”

“Mm.”

That wasn’t something a close friend would say.

I was a little taken aback and swallowed my words. After a brief pause, Oliver, brushing his hair aside, straightened up and looked at me. I met his eyes and asked,

“But you said you were close friends?”

“Well, I am. But from what I’ve seen, I don’t think what he’s doing is love. Marianne’s cute, she’s pretty, he says that, but… honestly, she *is* cute and pretty, that’s just the truth. But other than that, he doesn’t really seem any different, and when she asks him if he’s going to marry her, he says he doesn’t know.”

“Mm.”

“Honestly, I think Philo Dendor is too good for him. Glothin’s not in bad shape, but a marriage without love is going to be unhappy for both of them. Especially for someone like Marianne, who’s so lively… you get what I mean?”

To be honest, I didn’t fully understand what he meant.

Oliver spoke in a calm tone, occasionally touching his eyes or ears, pressing his chin with his fingertips, and muttering various things.

Most of it was about how Glothin Tenner seemed too indifferent, and how Marianne Philo Dendor was acting too cute, which made him feel like Glothin was toying with her affections.

Was that true?

Marianne was indeed cute, lively, and lovely. It wasn’t just me who thought so—others had said the same, and hearing that made me feel a little proud, like someone was praising my granddaughter, and I nodded.

As I listened to the story again and again, Glothin Tenner really did seem like a bad guy. So, when I asked if he was a bad guy, Oliver quickly waved his hand, saying he wasn’t.

“He’s a nice guy, sincere and kind, but I don’t know why he’s so cold toward Marianne.”

Just as I was feeling concerned about Marianne, Oliver spoke again.

“So… I’ve tried to interfere with their relationship.”

Suddenly, I felt confused.

I took a bite of the ice cream on my parfait, remaining silent. Oliver gave me an ambiguous smile, and his teal-colored eyes seemed a bit distant.