Adelia watched her quietly for a moment before stepping closer and whispering,
"A gift?"
Ophelia replied without looking at her,
"Yes."
She paid for the bracelet and slipped it into the pocket of her dress. But Adelia didn't back down. She moved even closer, a mischievous tone in her voice:
"And who's the lucky one?"
Ophelia hesitated briefly, then said,
"A friend… someone I met recently."
Adelia raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips:
"Are you dating?"
Ophelia blushed, her voice rising slightly,
"What? No… impossible."
Adelia chuckled softly,
"And why impossible?"
Ophelia opened her mouth to answer, but her words caught in her throat when her eyes fell on a poster hanging on a nearby wall. She stepped forward slowly, her gaze fixed on the writing:
"National Fencing Championship — one week from now."
She stayed silent for a moment, then spoke as if to herself,
"I will enter."
Adelia looked at Ophelia with clear surprise, "Are you serious? You want to compete?"
Ophelia answered firmly,
"I won't miss this chance."
"But my father would never allow it."
"He doesn't need to know. I won't compete under my real name."
"And how do you plan to do that?"
"I have my ways," she said, walking on as if it were already decided.
Evening fell, and the two girls returned to the mansion. As soon as they crossed the entrance gate, their father, Marquis Carter, called them to join dinner.
They went upstairs to change, then joined him in the dining room. Everyone sat quietly around the table until the Marquis broke the silence,
"I received an invitation today for the National Fencing Championship… seems it will be an exciting event this year."
Adelia glanced quickly at Ophelia, but the latter remained still, blinking reassuringly as if to say, "Everything is under control."
After dinner ended, Ophelia returned to her room. As soon as she closed the door, she called out,
"Damian."
He appeared in an instant, a sly smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Looks like the angry beaver missed me."
Ophelia frowned,
"Beaver? What kind of silly comparison is that?"
Damian chuckled softly.
"Your face when you're angry… it's like an angry beaver in winter."
Ophelia sighed, placing the bracelet she'd bought on the table,
"Stop giving me weird nicknames."
He stepped closer to look at the bracelet, raising an eyebrow,
"Is this for me?"
Without looking, she replied,
"No, for an imaginary friend who lives in my closet."
Damian laughed quietly,
"An imaginary friend, huh? I hope he's not more handsome than me."
She ignored his teasing, then suddenly looked up at him seriously,
"I want to enter the fencing tournament."
His mood shifted; he straightened up and asked,
"And you think your father will accept that?"
She shrugged,
"That's why… I need you."
A mischievous grin spread across his face,
"Finally, you're putting me to good use. How can I help my princess?"
She looked at him steadily, as if gauging his reaction before asking,
"Can you change my appearance? Just temporarily… until the tournament is over."
He smiled confidently, snapping his fingers.
In an instant, a faint glow surrounded Ophelia, and her entire form shifted—taller stature, broader shoulders, and sharply masculine features. She was no longer the girl who had stood moments before.
She stepped toward the mirror, eyes wide with surprise,
"I'm… surprisingly handsome as a man."
Damian laughed, leaning back against the wall,
"Do you really believe that?"
Raising an eyebrow—now his—she replied with mock confidence,
"At least I look better than you."
Damian waved a hand dismissively,
"Oh, sure, a fake charm cloaked in magic. Congratulations, Prince Pretender."
Ophelia turned to him defiantly,
"Call me what you want. What matters is getting a chance to enter the tournament."
Damian stepped closer, hands behind his back, his tone growing serious,
"You'll have to practice moving and speaking like a man—your glances, your voice, even your footsteps… the little details will give you away."
She sighed, "I know. I'll start tomorrow. Can you help me change my voice?"
Damian waved his finger in front of her, "Your voice has already been altered, but convincing others isn't just about magic… it's about your behavior."
She was silent for a moment, then said, "I'll also need a fake identity."
He extended his hand, and an official-looking paper formed in the air.
"Your new name… Leo Astrival, a swordsman from the North, unknown… but talented."
Ophelia took the paper, staring at it in amazement, then smiled sideways, "Leo, huh? I like it."
Damian smiled teasingly, "Remember, any slip-up in your role will be a disaster."
She pulled back her new short hair confidently, "Then I won't make any mistakes."
She paused, as if an idea just struck her.
"Wait… how did you use the magic? Are spirits able to do that too?"
Damian smiled confidently and answered,
"I'm not an ordinary spirit. As a Silvern, I have the ability to use powers beyond normal magic. But… it consumes a lot of energy."
Ophelia's expression flickered with nervousness as she said,
"Does that mean… if your energy is completely drained, the transformation could break? What if that happens in the middle of the duel?"
Damian shrugged lightly,
"That's possible… but it won't happen if you're careful."
Ophelia's eyes narrowed,
"Careful? How am I supposed to be careful in an arena full of duelists?"
He stepped closer, looking steadily into her eyes,
"That's why you must control your energy. Don't waste anything unnecessary. Any extra strain or sudden mana burst could disrupt the balance."
She bit her lip thoughtfully, then said,
"So I guess training starts now."
Damian laughed and gestured toward a corner of the room where a small illusionary arena appeared, surrounded by a shimmering light.
"Welcome to the first lesson for the disguised knights."
She glanced at him with a smirk,
"Are you training me or mocking me?"
He summoned a glowing sword from thin air and replied,
"Both… get ready, Leo."
The next morning, the city buzzed with excitement for its biggest event. Posters for the national dueling competition were plastered everywhere, and talk of it filled the streets.
Inside the palace, Ophelia stood again in front of the mirror. But this time, she wasn't seeing herself—she was seeing who she had decided to become.