Karius sidestepped an incoming slash and batted off another assailant.

With a powerful roundhouse kick, he knocked away a third charging opponent and suddenly swept forward with his wooden sword like a grim reaper, bringing doom to the exposed trainee who had temporarily dropped his guard. The blunted blade struck a vital point, and the young swordsman cried out in sharp pain, especially since the practice sword still transmitted powerful brute force.

Had it been a real blade, the teenager would have been dead.

"Hold!" The instructor called out.

Karius slowly lowered his sword, his wild black hair casting a shadow over his eyes.

This was a 3-on-1 practice match, and young man had easily dispatched his competitors.

The classmate who had been struck writhed on the ground, groaning and clutching his chest. He was potentially injured, which wasn't too unusual in the academy fencing club. Many of their alumni went on to join the military, and skill with the sword was a required prerequisite to passing the knighthood exam. In the Kingdom of Lugarnica, learning swordsmanship wasn't just a "sport". They practiced real techniques that were meant to maim or kill.

Of course, the trainees wore protective gear, but it was the bare minimum. In their school of swordsmanship, swordsmen were expected to be agile and quick, with a strong emphasis on spatial awareness and adaptability. Students were taught to utilize their environment and full-body contact, so hand-to-hand grappling skills were also part of their sport. Furthermore, there were many magic swordsmen, so combat training included all varieties of nasty surprises. They did not wear helmets or bulky suits of armor. A little bit of padded leather was the full extent of their protective equipment.

"That was fantastic, Karius! Absolutely incredible! " One of the juniors exclaimed in awe.

Karius said nothing and frowned slightly.

There was a bit of shuffling on the dueling ring.

"I think Ricard is hurt," someone else spoke up.

"Yeah, he's bleeding."

"Damn, can't you go a little easier, Karius? You don't have to use your full strength. This is just practice. You're way out of our league, so you really shouldn't need to use killing blows."

"Let's get him over to the infirmary. Can you walk, Ricard?"

"Y-Yeah. I think I might have a broken rib though." 

The black-haired swordsman stared blankly. 

It was obviously just a bruise, and the rest of the underclassmen were clearly being overdramatic pussies.

When Karius just started training with the sword, he suffered many injuries that were far worse. Anyone serious about studying swordsmanship knew that being struck with a sword was part of leaning process. There wasn't any other way to form muscle memory, and it was impossible to develop a sixth sense for imminent danger without experiencing what it felt like to be hit. In fact, being sorely beaten in a fight was a far better learning experience than strolling away without a single scar.

"You should apologize, Karius." Faust whispered to him from the side. "Tell him that you didn't mean to hurt him. We're all teammates. Even if we spar seriously, we should still try our best to be friends with everyone."

A scowl immediately appeared on Karius's face.

He walked for the door.

"Where you going, Karius?"

He didn't even pause on his way out.

"Bathroom."

+ + +

Karius was sitting in a toilet stall.

His abdomen ached.

It fucking hurt.

Not necessarily in the physical sense, since getting wounded in a fight was worse. However, the gnawing cramps somehow seemed to affect far more of his body than just superficial skin. His back hurt from the nucleus of his abdomen and his joints were sore, but more importantly he just felt generally miserable. It was like a combination of being sick with the flu and while being moody as fuck, and Karius hated it.

He hated it so much.

It was also disgusting, the way those fluids dripped out in jelly-like clots, gushing like goopy broken egg yolks in his underwear.

When _____ first started coming when he was small 13-year-old boy, he basically felt horrified to the point he wanted to cry.

It wasn't because of the pain. No. Certainly not that.

The painful cramping really wasn't really the issue that bothered him.

It was everything else, what it symbolized and stood for, and how he felt disgusted at himself.

He never wanted this.

He wasn't a woman.

Karius refused to accept that. 

He wanted to punch someone's face in and break something. He was so angry, it didn't matter if he sent someone to the infirmary, he just wanted to do something. But there wasn't anybody to beat up, and no villain to blame but... this stupid body of his.

He was bleeding.

"Fuck."

He needed to change out his menstrual cloth.

The previous one was already soaked through.

+ + +

On the way back to the gymnasium, Karius encountered a short confused-looking boy on the stairwell.

His long wavy hair was bright pink.

It was obviously not the boy's natural hair color, and it had been artificially dyed. He wasn't wearing the school uniform, but rather extremely conspicuous street clothes that was reminiscent of punk fashion, except vaguely cuter. That type of clothing was clearly against the school dress code, so he was obviously an outsider.

"Heya!" The boy suddenly lit up, relieved to actually have found someone.

It was summer vacation, so aside from the handful of clubs that still met for practice, most of the hallways were empty. Even the dorms were mostly vacant, so it was extremely easy for a visitor to get lost in Josoi Academy, which was a private school that easily the size of a small town.

"By any chance would you know where they meet for the campus tour? I can't seem to find LMB208."

Karius paused.

"That's the Lamare-Messius Building, second floor, room 8," he answered dully. "It's the red building on the opposite side of the clock tower."

He was holding a brown paper bag in his right hand, which he quietly shifted out of sight. It contained a used bloody cloth that he quietly needed to dispose of. 

Karius was about to walk away, but the pink-haired boy suddenly grabbed his arm.

For some reason, Karius found himself staring at the boy's eyelashes and soft blue pupils.

They were enormous, almost like they were fake, and his lashes fluttered while the boy blinked innocently.

Although Karius did not ordinarily notice these things, it occurred to him that this boy was probably wearing feminine makeup. It was very subtle, and nothing over the top, but it was skillfully and tastefully applied. It gave the illusion that the boy had bigger eyes than in reality. On a woman, Karius wouldn't have even turned a second glance, but it was unusual to see cosmetics on a boy.

His first thought — an omega.

Disgusting.

Karius recoiled and slapped away the boy's hand.

There was a look of concern on the boy's face.

"Um... There's a little blood on your shirt. Did you get hurt?" He asked.

"I'm fine." Karius snapped. "We were sparring in the fencing club. That's all."

"I have a bandaid, if you want." He offered.

Karius's mood was foul and impatient. Who the fuck was this kid? It was none of this guy's business, and meaningless kindness was completely unwarranted. Karis hated people like that the most.

"I'm not the one who was injured," he retorted sourly.

The pink-haired boy looked relieved.

"That's great. I'm glad you're okay."

He smiled, skipped down the stairs, and turned around at the bottom of the stairwell.

He almost seemed entirely oblivious to Karius's aggressive attitude.

"Thanks for giving me directions. I'm applying to this school, so if I get in, I hope we'll meet again next fall."

The boy waved casually, and then he was off running.

 

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