Chapter 12 | Reincarnated as the Hero’s Childhood Friend, Then Saving the World

Margarita didn't sleep well.

All night, she thought about that look from Constance. Across more than half the training field, those eyes had been as calm as a frozen lake, revealing no intention at all. In the game, Constance hadn't noticed Joshua until nearly six months after his official enrollment. By then, Joshua had established himself in the Swordsmanship Department and stood out in several public training sessions before being recruited by the Student Council.

Now, Joshua hadn't even been enrolled for a month, and Constance was already watching from the sidelines.

Margarita rolled over, staring blankly at the silhouettes of the potted plants on the windowsill. Clara’s dormitory was very quiet, with only the occasional faint sound of pages turning coming from next door. The instructor seemed used to staying up late; every night, Margarita could hear the sound of pages flipping from the other side of the wall, and sometimes the rustle of a pen scratching across paper.

“Can’t sleep?”

A voice came from the doorway. Margarita propped herself up and saw Clara standing by the door frame, holding a small oil lamp. She wore a thin robe over her deep blue nightgown, her dark brown hair draped over her shoulders—a world away from her usual meticulous instructor image.

“Did I disturb you?” Margarita instinctively put on her habitual gentle smile.

“No, I was passing by and saw you tossing and turning.” Clara walked in, placed the oil lamp on the desk, and sat on the edge of the bed. The lamplight illuminated her face, making her pale gold eyes appear exceptionally transparent in the darkness. “What’s on your mind?”

“Um... I don’t have enough time,” Margarita said, weighing her words.

Clara tilted her head and watched her for a moment, then suddenly smiled. “Your brand of ‘not enough time’ is a little different from everyone else’s.”

“What do you mean...?”

“When others say they don't have enough time, they mean they want to practice a few more sword forms or memorize a few more spells.” Clara’s finger lightly tapped toward Margarita. “When you say you don't have enough time, it’s like something is chasing you.”

Margarita’s smile froze.

She suddenly realized that Clara’s specialty was soul magic; she had been dealing with human consciousness for more years than she could count. Trying to disguise herself in front of this woman was probably no different than being transparent.

Great, two mind-readers? I’m screwed.

“...Instructor.” After a long silence, she spoke. “If someone knew what would happen in the future, but that future had already been changed by them... what should they do?”

Clara didn't answer immediately. She picked up the lamp needle and poked at the wick. The flame flickered, casting their overlapping shadows onto the wall.

“Do you know why soul magic is the most unpopular field in the Magic Department?” Clara asked.

“Because it’s difficult?”

“Because it’s uncertain.” Clara put the needle back, watching the flame stabilize again. “With elemental magic, fire is fire, water is water. You recite a spell, gather mana, and release it—the result is right in front of you. But soul magic is different. It originates from a person’s soul. When you look at it, you don't see ‘what it is now,’ but ‘what it could become.’ Countless lines, countless possibilities, all existing simultaneously.”

She turned her head to look at Margarita. “The question you’re asking is like asking ‘Which line should I follow?’ But the answer is that the line you walk becomes the reality. The things you have already changed are your world now. The urgency, the fear—those are emotions belonging to the ‘now,’ not the ‘future.’”

“Sleep.” Clara stood up and picked up the oil lamp. “Don’t be late for tomorrow afternoon’s class. If you spent some of that ‘not enough time’ urgency on practice, your progress would likely be even faster.”

“Okay. Thank you, Instructor.”

The door clicked shut softly.

Margarita lay back under the covers and buried her face in the pillow. She let out a soft laugh, tinged with self-deprecation. “What kind of drama am I acting out all by myself...”

***

The next morning, Margarita went to the Swordsmanship Department training field to find Joshua and Lovell, as was her routine. When she arrived, Joshua was already in the Advanced Class area. Glion was standing beside him, his wooden stick occasionally poking at Joshua’s shoulders or waist while he muttered about “angles,” “points of power,” and “don’t use brute force.” Joshua was drenched in sweat, but his gaze was focused, and the arc of his wooden sword was noticeably cleaner than yesterday.

Lovell was sitting nearby, spaced out. When she saw Margarita, she ran over immediately.

“Little Mari! You’re just in time. Professor Glion has been drilling Joshua all morning. I’m tired just watching.”

“He’s tough; he can handle the training.” Margarita leaned against the fence, glanced at Joshua, then pulled the copy of Introduction to Soul Magic from her bosom and flipped it open.

“Why are you here so early today? No classes in the Magic Department?”

“My class is in the afternoon.” Margarita lowered her head to look at the pages. Chapter Three was about the perception and guidance of soul mana. Clara had written a note in the footer: “Treat mana as a mist seeping from the surface of the soul.”

She closed the book, let her right hand hang by her side, and closed her eyes.

Perceive.

At first, there was nothing. It was like sticking her hand into a pool of black water, unable to feel anything.

Then, she felt it. There was a very thin sense of moisture on the surface of her soul. It wasn't exactly mana; by comparison, it felt more like mana particles. Unlike the feeling of releasing mana from a circuit, she had to slowly collect that “mist” and then inject it into her mana circuits.

Margarita let out a soft breath.

To be honest, it was much slower than directly releasing it from a mana circuit, but a pink point of light—which had been the size of a pea yesterday—silently lit up in her palm. Now, it looked like the size of a glass marble.

“Hey, your hand is glowing.” Lovell leaned in.

Margarita opened her eyes, and the marble in her palm dissolved into scattering points of light. “Just experimenting.”

“Is that what your Magic Department instructor taught you? Is it really hard to learn from her?”

“She’s quite good,” Margarita said, then paused. “...Very responsible.”

“Responsible?” Lovell tilted her head. “Your expression doesn’t look like you’re praising her for being responsible.”

Margarita didn't respond, her gaze moving past Lovell toward the entrance of the training field. Joshua had finished his training and was walking over, wiping his face with a towel. The blue stone pendant around his neck dangled outside his sweat-soaked collar.

“How was it today?” Margarita asked.

“Professor Glion wants me to start practicing combat with the Advanced Class starting tomorrow.” Joshua draped the towel over his shoulder, a hint of subtle excitement in his voice.

“Impressive!” Lovell slapped his back, making him stumble forward a step.

Margarita was about to say something when she caught sight of two people walking into the training field out of the corner of her eye. The one leading the way had long golden hair tied in a low ponytail, her academy uniform perfect, with even the top button of her collar fastened. Constance von Windermere. Behind her followed a short boy wearing glasses, clutching a folder with a nervous expression.

Constance walked straight toward the Advanced Class area. Glion nodded when he saw her. They spoke for a few moments, and Glion gestured with his chin toward Joshua. Constance turned her head to look.

Across more than half the training field, those emerald-green eyes locked onto Joshua with precision.

Then, she walked over.

The smile on Lovell’s face faded, and she instinctively stepped closer to Joshua’s side. Margarita stood her ground, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the book in her arms.

Constance stopped in front of Joshua. The short boy behind her opened the folder, looking as if he were facing a powerful enemy.

“Joshua Percy,” Constance began, her voice cold and clear. “I am the Student Council President, Constance von Windermere.”

Joshua nodded, his towel still draped over his shoulder. “Hello.”

“I saw your duel with Valen yesterday.” Constance’s gaze moved from Joshua’s face to his sword. “In your final round, you didn't use any techniques from the Swordsmanship Department.”

Joshua didn't deny it. “That’s right.”

“There isn't a second person in the Swordsmanship Department who can beat Battle Qi through sheer improvisation.” Constance’s tone was flat, but the short boy beside her was already frantically flipping through the folder. “The Student Council has a Special Action Group dedicated to handling monstrous abnormalities and security incidents around the academy. The members are selected from every department.”

She paused.

“I’m inviting you to join.”

Joshua was stunned. Several other Advanced Class students still training nearby also slowed their movements, ears perked to listen.

Margarita stood a few steps away, watching Constance’s calm face as thoughts raced through her mind. The Special Action Group was indeed a setting in the game, but its official debut was midway through the Academy arc, only after Joshua had performed exceptionally in multiple tournaments and caught Constance’s eye. Now, all of this was happening far too early.

“Why?” Joshua asked.

Constance tilted her head slightly, as if she hadn't expected that question. “Because you are strong enough.”

“I’ve only been enrolled for a few weeks.”

“Being strong enough has nothing to do with how long you’ve been here,” Constance said. “The way you fought yesterday isn't something that can be taught in this academy. It’s an instinct that only comes when pushed to the brink. There aren't more than five people in this academy with that kind of instinct.”

Margarita saw Joshua’s ears turn red.

“I need to think about it,” Joshua said, turning his head to look at Margarita.

That look was asking her: Should I go?

Margarita opened her mouth. She wanted to say “go,” exactly as she had thought last night: the Special Action Group would provide access to core information, and real combat was far more useful than classroom lessons. Joshua needed to grow, he needed allies, he needed...

But then she thought of Valen. A student who didn't exist in the game at all but had appeared out of thin air because of the butterfly effect. A background NPC was “created” by the shifting timeline, triggered a duel, and then attracted Constance.

If Joshua joined the Special Action Group now, went on an operation next week, went on a mission next month, and then two months later... would the catacombs raid that was supposed to happen a year later in the game also move up? Would all those enemies Joshua shouldn't have to face yet and those dangers he shouldn't have to bear yet come crashing down on his head just because she said “go”?

“Joshua.” Margarita spoke, but each word felt like it was being squeezed through clenched teeth. “I think... you should take some more time to consider.”

Joshua was taken aback.

Lovell was also stunned, turning to look at her.

For the first time, Constance’s gaze shifted from Joshua to Margarita’s face. Those emerald-green eyes watched her calmly, devoid of emotional fluctuation, yet Margarita felt the pressure of being scrutinized, as if she were being peeled back layer by layer to expose her inner thoughts.

“Consider more?” Constance repeated. “You are his...”

“Sister,” Margarita said. “Margarita Percy.”

“He’s been here for too short a time.” Margarita forced her habitual gentle smile, her tone soft. “We’ve just arrived in the capital and aren't familiar with the environment yet. I want him to adjust to academy life first before taking part in such high-risk operations.”

It was perfectly reasonable. It was exactly what any sister concerned for her brother would say.

But Constance didn't answer immediately. She tilted her head, her gaze lingering on Margarita’s face for a long time. The short boy with glasses took a quick peek up and then hurriedly lowered his head again.

“Sister.” Constance repeated the word, her tone flat, but Margarita noticed her gaze drift downward, landing on Joshua’s neck.

On the pendant Margarita had given him.

Constance looked at that stone for a long time before withdrawing her gaze. She said nothing, but Margarita felt as though the girl had seen everything.

“Percy.” Constance spoke the surname once. “Who is Renard Percy to you?”

“He’s the hunter captain from our village,” Joshua replied. “Do you know him?”

“I don't,” Constance said. “But in the Windermere family’s Northern Frontier defense records, that name exists. Twenty years ago, on the Northern Snowfield Defense Line, a mercenary named Renard Percy saved over three hundred refugees during a beast tide and then disappeared.”

“You were recommended by Renard.”

Joshua nodded.

Constance withdrew her gaze and looked back at Margarita. This time she stared directly, as if wanting to peel the gentle smile off Margarita’s face to see what was hidden beneath.

“The invitation to the Special Action Group remains open,” Constance said calmly. “But I respect your consideration. My signature is on the application form; just hand it to Professor Glion once you've decided.”

She turned to leave, then paused.

“Margarita Percy.” She tilted her head. “You can’t make decisions for others forever.”

She left as soon as she finished, her golden low ponytail swaying slightly behind her. The short boy trotted after her; several papers fell from his folder, and he scrambled to pick them up.

Joshua looked down at the paper the short boy had stuffed into his hand. On it were the words “Student Council Special Action Group Application Form.”

“What was that all about?” Lovell spoke up. “She just comes up with ‘you’re strong enough’ and leaves after shoving a form at you? Is that how nobles talk?”

“Her father is the lord of the Empire’s northern border,” Margarita said. “The Windermere family has commanded the Northern Frontier Defense Line for generations; they’ve been fighting the Demon Race for centuries.”

Lovell let out a whistle.

Those were game settings.

But the Constance in the game had only started paying attention to Joshua after he had demonstrated sufficient strength; her recruitment was deliberate and based on observation. Now, she had issued the invitation directly.

The more she changed, the more “new events” emerged. It was like throwing stones into a pond—the ripples collided with each other, eventually churning the entire surface beyond recognition.

Lovell raised her hand beside them. “Little Mari! If Joshua can’t go, can I?”

“You’re a thief, not a swordsman.” Margarita glanced at her. “The Special Action Group is either a combat unit or an intelligence unit; you’d be assigned to the Intelligence Department.”

“First of all, I’m not weak! Secondly, the Intelligence Department sounds great too!” Lovell’s eyes lit up. “I could run around everywhere and even ste— take things!”

“Do you even know how to spell ‘money’ yet?” Joshua asked.

Lovell’s face fell.

“Forget it.” Margarita held her book tight and started walking toward the cafeteria. “Let’s go. We’re eating.”

Joshua followed, stopping after a few steps. “What about the application form?”

“Just leave it for now,” Margarita said without looking back.

“For how long?”

“Until I’ve thought it through.”

Joshua was silent for a moment, then gave a soft “Mm.” Lovell lunged forward, throwing an arm around each of their shoulders. “All right, all right! Let’s go! I’m starving. The cafeteria has grilled meat cutlets today; I can smell them!”

The three of them walked along the path outside the training field toward the cafeteria. Margarita walked at the front, her finger tapping lightly on the cover of her book.

Constance had seen through it. They weren't siblings.

She should have expected it. First looking at Joshua’s pendant, then suddenly asking about the hunter captain... and Joshua was such a blockhead, answering the question directly. Wasn't that essentially admitting he had no blood relation to the man?