"I….. I am Nasa Winterheart." Allen said with confidence and determination.
He raised his blood-stained wooden sword high and swung it down, droplets flying in all directions. With the flames of determination burning in his eyes, he performed the Winterheart Sword Arts once more.
The first try—fail.
The second—fail.
The third—fail.
But on the fourth, something stirred. He clutched his hands tightly, focused his mind, and kept himself awake, not letting doubt cloud him.
He swung again, breath ragged, frost clinging to his fingers. Each motion carved pain deeper into his muscles, until, at last, his blade sang. A flash of blue light tore through the air, and shards of ice followed in its wake. For a heartbeat, silence. Then frost bloomed across the ground like spreading veins of winter.
Then Nasa picked up his wooden sword once more and performed the Winterheart Sword Arts. This time, he activated it.
𝘐… 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘹𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴… 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘝𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥. 𝘙𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥… 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘺. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦. 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘐'𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥.
At last, his training was complete, three stages of the Winterheart Sword Arts now flowed through him like second nature.
He looked around and froze. The entire training ground was drenched in his blood.
"What the fuck… I've lost so much blood, but how am I not dead yet?" Nasa said, his expression filled with confusion.
So Nasa crept into the maid's room while they're asleep. He picked up a mop and bucket and mopped the training area in silence. He mopped the floor so intensively that all the bloodstains were erased.
He climbed through his window and, after hours of training, submerged into his cold bath.
"Haa… it feels wonderful, after training for hours and then a cold bath, nothing can be better than this." Nasa said, lying down with a contented sigh.
Later, after taking his cold bath, he dressed in clean clothes and collapsed onto his bed.
The pale midnight light spilt across his face, wrapping him in a fleeting sense of peace. For a brief moment, it felt as if the world had gone silent, leaving him in serenity. But that peace was shattered the instant he remembered. Tomorrow, he would face his father for the first time since coming to this world.
In the novel, Nasa's father had only disappointment in his eyes. He saw his son as nothing but a pathetic failure, a boy who wasted years grovelling after a girl like a stray dog.
"But first, I need to cut this hair that's covering my eyes," Nasa muttered, brushing his bangs aside.
He requested the maids to cut his hair the next day. They trembled as they grasped scissors in their hands, and Nasa braced himself for a disaster.
However, to his surprise, the haircut was good, so good that his handsome looks were finally revealed.
He thanked the maids before heading back to his room, though he noticed the confusion on their faces. It wasn't often someone thanked them or by the old Nasa.
Gazing in front of the mirror, Nasa's jaw nearly reached the ground. "Holy shit… I look so handsome," he whispered, running his hand across his face with a touch of narcissism.
A maid then walked into the room and bowed. "Young Master Nasa, the Patriarch has requested your presence at the dinner table."
"Alright, I'll be there. And… thanks for coming all the way here just to tell me," Nasa replied with a gentle smile.
The maid's cheeks flushed pink, though a hint of confusion lingered in her eyes.
The maid left in a hurry, shutting the door behind her.
𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬? 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘥?, he thought, puzzled.
After dinner time rolled around, Nasa came downstairs dressed in the suit the maids had picked out for him.
"This is my first time ever in a suit… It stiff, tight, and honestly, I think I'm having breathing problems," Nasa complained, frowning as he readjusted the collar.
Now, one door, a push away, was all that stood between him and his new family. He took a deep breath and pushed it open. After he opened the door, dozens of eyes were on him.
𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬… 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, Nasa thought, a nervous sweat sliding down his face.
"Uh… hello, everyone. Looks like I'm a bit late," he said, forcing a small smile as he stepped into the dining room.
"Oh, would you like to sit here, my little star?" Nasa's mother asked with a teasing grin, patting the seat beside Ivy Whitmore, the story's main character.
"It's okay," Nasa said, gazing out the window. "The night sky looks beautiful, I'll sit here instead."
Silence rippled through the room. Eyes widened, a few mouths hung open, no one seemed to know what to say after Nasa's words.
"Cough… hello, my son. How is your head?" Nasa's father inquired.
"I'm okay, Father, but I have something I don't understand," replied Nasa.
Everyone turned to look at one another, wondering what unexpected thing he would share with them.
"What is it, my son?" asked Nasa's father, paying full attention to him.
"How did I get injured in the first place? My memory…. it's all fuzzy," Nasa admitted.
"Oh, that," his mother said, lifting her hand slightly as if to explain.
Apparently, Ivy was walking on the roof with Nasa following close behind. One of the maids, who turned out to be a spy, pushed Ivy. But before she could fall, Nasa ran, leapt from the roof, and shielded her, taking the entire impact himself.
"Then you slept heavily for 2 months, and that's how you got hurt." Nasa's mother said.
"I see," Nasa said with a small nod.
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘺, 𝘐'𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
"So, my son, you've changed quite a bit. You're not skinny anymore, and you've cut your hair," Nasa's father remarked.
"Yes, I realised something, so I decided to change myself," said Nasa.
"And what was it?" his father asked.
"I realised I've been wasting my life… chasing what was never mine. It wasn't mine to begin with… staring death in the face… I understood it wasn't worth it." Nasa said, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.
Everyone in the room looked around, exchanging confused glances, trying to make sense of what Nasa had just said.
None of them were stupid, but even so… no one could imagine Nasa speaking ill of Ivy or giving up on pursuing her. That was the Nasa they knew, the obsessive, relentless lover.
But his father understood what he was trying to say. Though he didn't quite believe him, but he nodded anyway.
Dinner went normally, with no drama or interruption.
Afterward, Nasa slipped outside and climbed to the very top of the roof. The novel's Nasa had apparently died.
"Hahaha… I can't believe everyone actually fell for my acting," he muttered, smirking. "But I absolutely hate Ivy Whitmore, she's the worst. I wish she were gone."
"Anyway, I saw so many people from the novel, Ivy's parents, my own siblings," Nasa said. "And I saw… Nasa's—no, my father. The man looked terrifying."
But then Nasa thought, something was off. In the novel, Nasa never fell from the roof trying to save Ivy, and there was no spy disguised as a maid. "How could something that didn't happen in the story happen?" Nasa whispered, unease tightening in his chest.