Chapter 167: My Older Sister Can’t Be This Cute

"Tristan... actually lost...? No way..."

Disbelief spread through the students gathered around the examination results.

Tristan Amaury de Bellacourt had entered the Hunting Grounds as one of the obvious favorites to take first place, and even those who disliked him had expected his name to be sitting somewhere near the very top once everything was over.

Yet there was another name above his.

[1st Place — Ilya Valentinovich Belozersky]

The result was strange enough for those who had only known Ilya by reputation, but it was even harder to believe for students who remembered what he had been like before transferring departments.

"Wasn’t he only a First Circle wizard?"

"He is."

"Then how did he beat Tristan?"

"He didn’t exactly beat him."

"What do you mean?"

"The examination ended while they were still fighting."

"That still means Tristan couldn’t beat him."

"...I guess."

The conversation quickly spread as more students arrived to check the rankings, with Ilya’s name drawing far more attention than he would have liked only a few months earlier.

Those who had actually encountered him during the examination were considerably less surprised, however, and several of them looked downright annoyed when they saw how much Combat Merit he had accumulated at their expense.

"He eliminated our entire group."

"He got me, too."

"Same."

"...Why does everyone here have a story about getting beaten by this guy?"

Elise stood among them with her arms crossed, staring at the difference between her score and Ilya’s. Even the hundred points she had earned from the Basilisk Tyrant hadn’t been enough to close the gap.

She had at least taken second place, but the gap was large enough that even stealing the special target’s final blow hadn’t been enough to threaten his position.

Solenne was more interested in one particular portion of Ilya’s score.

"He got points for eliminating me?"

"Yes."

"And I didn’t lose any points?"

"No."

"...So there was absolutely no reason for him to punch me."

Not far from them, Ilya stood quietly in front of the results.

He had heard the conversations around him and noticed more than a few students looking in his direction, but for once, he didn’t particularly care.

His eyes remained on the first line of the rankings for several seconds, reading his own name even though there was no reason to check it again.

First place.

A few months ago, seeing his name there would have been difficult to imagine.

He had spent most of his time at the academy trying to survive a department built around something he could never use, and even after transferring to the Magic Department, there had always been another reminder of how far behind everyone else he had started.

But this time, there was nobody above him.

"...The family isn’t gonna like this."

Ilya smiled, turned around, and walked away.

The greatest disrespect he could show the Belozerskys now was to excel at the very thing they had spent generations looking down on.

Better yet, he didn’t want to simply become good at magic, nor would being recognized as another talented wizard ever be enough for him.

If he was going to do this, then he wanted to take it as far as he possibly could.

He wanted to stand at the pinnacle.

A Belozersky, standing above everyone else, not with a sword, but with magic.

Just imagining the looks on their faces made his smile widen even further.

The noise surrounding the results gradually faded behind him as he made his way down the corridor, and he had nearly reached the stairs when footsteps approached quickly from behind.

Ilya heard them but didn’t bother turning around until a hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

"Hey."

He glanced back.

"...."

Tristan stood behind him.

His uniform had been cleaned up somewhat since leaving the Hunting Grounds, although there was still enough damage left to remind Ilya exactly how their afternoon had gone.

The anger from earlier had mostly faded from Tristan’s face by now.

"What circle are you at?"

Ilya stared at him for a moment. "The First."

"Is that so?"

* * *

"Congratulations. You’re now the talk of the Knight Department."

Ilya had barely stepped out of the academy building when he found Anastasiya waiting for him near the entrance with her arms crossed.

Judging by the look on her face, she had already heard exactly what had happened during the test.

"The news spread that fast?" he asked.

"They’ve been watching you from the beginning, so of course it did." Anastasiya pushed herself away from the wall and walked toward him. "For some reason, half the department seems obsessed with waiting for you to fail."

"Is that so?" Ilya scratched his cheek. "People in the Knight Department have way too much free time."

"You’re the first Knight Department student in the academy’s history to transfer into the Magic Department. Nobody knew what was going to happen, and considering how you left, there were plenty of people who thought you’d come crawling back after realizing magic wasn’t any easier."

Ilya snorted. "They’ll be waiting for a while."

Anastasiya stopped in front of him and looked her younger brother over.

There were no obvious injuries left from the test, but she had already heard enough about what had happened in the Hunting Grounds to know that he hadn’t exactly spent the afternoon peacefully hunting monsters.

"Did you show that Southern bastard his place?"

"Yeah."

"Good. That creep is always trying to get on my nerves whenever we run into each other at banquets. Every damn time our families end up at the same gathering, he finds some excuse to come over and start something with me."

"Maybe he likes you."

Anastasiya frowned. "Don’t say disgusting things."

They continued walking, and after a few steps, Ilya casually wrapped an arm around Anastasiya’s shoulders and pulled her closer.

Her eyes immediately dropped toward the arm resting around her before she stopped walking altogether.

"Get your hands off me."

Ilya ignored her. "You know, Sister, you’re actually pretty cute."

"...Huh?"

Anastasiya turned to glare at him, but before she could say anything else, Ilya reached over with his free hand and pinched her cheek.

Her eyes widened.

Ilya blinked, then pinched it again.

"Soft too."

"...."

For most of his life, doing something like this wouldn’t have even crossed his mind.

Anastasiya had always been the terrifying older sister who could beat him into the ground whenever she wanted, but now that the fear was gone, Ilya was beginning to realize just how entertaining her reactions could be.

He pinched her cheek one more time.

"Cute."

"Ilya."

"Hm?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Maybe."

Anastasiya grabbed his wrist and slowly pulled his hand away from her face. Her cheek was slightly red where he had been pinching it, and the glare she gave him should have been enough to make him reconsider what he was doing.

Instead, Ilya reached for her other cheek.

Anastasiya slapped his hand away.

"Stop touching my face!"

Ilya laughed. "You’re getting embarrassed."

"I’ll kill you."

Whoosh——!

Anastasiya suddenly drew her rapier and stabbed forward. Ilya didn’t even bother dodging as the blade passed across his cheek, leaving behind a thin cut as a small trickle of blood ran down his face.

He knew she would miss.

Ignoring the sting on his cheek, Ilya stepped closer while Anastasiya was still holding the rapier and reached out with both hands.

Before she could stop him, he caught both of her cheeks between his fingers and pulled.

"Sister, do you still hate me?"

"I absholutely deshpish you," Anastasiya answered through her stretched cheeks. "And when did I give you permishun to call me Shishter?"

"I know you like it."

"I don’t—"

"Sister, don’t worry. I’ll never go after your throne."

"...."

Anastasiya stopped trying to pull his hands away.

Ilya finally released her cheeks, but instead of stepping back and turning the whole thing into another joke, he leaned closer and looked directly into her eyes.

The smile remained on his face, although his next words carried none of the teasing from before.

"I’ll support you all the way."

"...."

"If anyone in the North refuses to acknowledge you, I’ll help you silence them. If they question whether you deserve to inherit Father’s position, I’ll make sure they don’t get the chance to question you twice."

Ilya reached up and wiped the blood from his cheek with his thumb.

"I’ll help you bring the whole North beneath your feet if that’s what it takes."

Anastasiya stared at him.

"You’re going to become the Grand Duchess," Ilya continued. "I’ve never wanted that seat, and I don’t care how strong I become or what anyone in the family starts saying about me because of it. That throne is yours."

"...."

For once, Anastasiya didn’t immediately answer him.

Ilya had spent most of his life as the failure of the Belozersky family, while she had spent hers carrying everything expected of its heir.

Their positions had always been obvious because there had never been any reason to imagine Ilya as competition, but things were beginning to change now, and if his reputation continued growing from this point onward, he knew there would eventually be people stupid enough to start making comparisons between them.

He wanted Anastasiya to hear his answer before anyone else had the chance to ask the question.

"I’ll become strong in my own way," Ilya said. "You can have the North."

Anastasiya remained silent for another moment before finally sheathing her rapier.

"...You’ve gotten awfully arrogant lately."

She looked him up and down before a small smile appeared on her face.

"But don’t forget something, Ilya."

"Hm?"

Anastasiya moved.

Her hand caught Ilya’s wrist before he could react, and with a sharp twist, she pulled him forward while stepping past him.

Ilya immediately shifted his footing to recover his balance, but Anastasiya already knew how he would respond, hooking his leg at the same moment and wrenching his arm behind his back.

"Wait—"

He lost his balance.

A second later, Ilya found himself bent forward with one arm trapped behind him and Anastasiya standing comfortably at his side.

He tried to turn his shoulder and slip free, but she tightened her hold just enough to stop him, forcing him back into place.

"I can still beat you," Anastasiya said. "Easily, at that."

"Sure—Ah?"

Ilya tried shifting his weight again, only for Anastasiya to sweep his leg and send him straight onto the ground.

Thud!

Before he could get back up, the tip of her rapier was already resting against the back of his neck.

"Still feeling brave?"

Ilya turned his head slightly.

"Yeah."

Anastasiya pressed the blade a little closer.

"Wrong answer."

"Cute."

"...."

The rapier moved.

"Wait, wait, wait...!"