Chapter 1

──That boy was said to be a once-in-two-hundred-years talent, according to his clan.

His family, recognizing his potential, had provided him with meticulous education from before he could understand the world, ensuring that his wisdom and strength would not become a burden, and allowing him to gain various experiences. By the time he was six, he had inherited more than enough of his clan's skills and was expected to have a bright future.

His name was Mizuharu Mikazuki.

Mizuharu was what one might call a hardworking genius, capable of deducing ten from one and always striving to learn even more. In particular, what set him apart was that he was not overly blessed with talent.

Thus, Mizuharu knew the process and the effort required to turn the impossible into the possible, could feel his own growth, and could joyfully pursue even greater heights.

Such was Mizuharu's enthusiastic nature, which stemmed from his pathological aversion to losing. Mizuharu had never experienced "victory."

His father, not considering other children as a point of comparison, had always pitted Mizuharu against experts in their fields or historical figures. For a young genius like Mizuharu, it was an environment where he could not "win."

"It can't be helped."

"It's only natural to lose."

"The opponent was too strong."

Those around him always consoled Mizuharu, who had experienced countless defeats, with such words. They were speaking to a boy who had yet to know true victory or defeat.

──That girl was what one might call a genius.

No, it was almost as if no one used such a familiar term to describe her. A prodigy among prodigies. One might wonder how much virtue she must have accumulated in her past life to be born with such talent. She was so extraordinarily gifted.

Her name was Yukisha Blanchette.

Yukisha's parents, aware of their daughter's exceptional talent, had the financial means to provide her with the appropriate environment and were highly literate and knowledgeable in various skills. Even in such an environment, Yukisha stood out, easily surpassing other children who were also called geniuses in various fields.

Whether it was academics, martial arts, etiquette, or the arts, she excelled in all. With her intelligence, physical abilities, and appearance, she was more than a triple threat, making it almost shameful to envy her. For Yukisha, surpassing all possibilities was as natural as breathing. To her, "victory" was mundane and lacked value.

In short, Yukisha, who had achieved a level of enlightenment at a young age, was tired of winning.

The cause was not her talent but the people around her. Those who had been defeated by her and their associates always said the same thing:

"Well, it can't be helped."

"It's only natural to lose."

"The opponent was too strong."

They would smile and say this, just like everyone else.

──The two met on a sunny summer day. Mizuharu was accompanying his father on a work trip, while Yukisha was staying at the resort hotel for an extended vacation.

At that time, the prodigy Yukisha, at the age of seven, was already entering her rebellious phase. However, her rebellion was not typical; it was more of a mature distance from her parents, which was difficult for them to manage.

During the vacation, Yukisha would often separate herself from her family, running through the grass, practicing swordplay, or sipping coffee on the café terrace while reading a novel, trying to pass her idle time.

Mizuharu, on the other hand, was exploring the outdoors aimlessly, as his father's work had wrapped up. He didn't go too far due to his father's instructions. It was then that he noticed Yukisha running around the well-maintained lawn with a look that was far from innocent.

Naturally curious, Mizuharu was immediately drawn to Yukisha, especially since he had rarely interacted with children his age. Deciding to play with her, he approached her and spoke.

"Are you having fun?"

Yukisha, who had noticed Mizuharu approaching, stopped and waited for him, exuding an unusual aura. When she received his unexpected question, she was momentarily taken aback but answered without hesitation.

"Not really?"

Yukisha shrugged, and her long, beautiful blonde hair swayed. Her clear eyes and snow-white skin were striking. Being slightly taller, Yukisha looked down at Mizuharu, who stared at her beautiful face with a straight mouth for a moment. Then, he noticed the thin sword with a white handle at her waist.

"Can you use that?"

"Better than most."

"Hmm... I'm Mizuharu. Mikazuki Mizuharu."

"I'm Yukisha Blanchette."

Yukisha had noticed the sword at Mizuharu's waist. Knowing that the resort hotel had few regular guests, she didn't question his carrying a real sword. However, she didn't expect him to suddenly attack her with it.

"Shh!"

In response to Mizuharu's initial move, Yukisha quickly drew her sword. The alloy blades clashed, and a small spark flew.

"Do you want to fight me?"

Yukisha asked, taking a step back. Mizuharu's sword was aimed at her, and while she could tell there was no malice, the trajectory of his strike was unwavering, almost reaching her neck. If she hadn't parried, it could have resulted in a serious injury.

Without anger, Yukisha calmly interpreted it as a challenge and, in a single exchange, realized that Mizuharu was an exceptional swordsman for his age, though she was still superior.

"Sure. Come at me."

Before Mizuharu could finish speaking, Yukisha had already closed the distance. She thrust her thin sword at his throat, and Mizuharu barely managed to deflect it. The reason he could deflect it was that Yukisha had deliberately aimed for a point where he could react.

Following the deflected sword, Yukisha moved nimbly to Mizuharu's side, striking his ulnar nerve and knocking the sword from his hand.

"Alright, I win."

She declared, and the match seemed over. However, Mizuharu immediately crouched and swept at her feet. Yukisha easily avoided it, kicking the fallen sword away and maintaining a distance where her reach was advantageous.

Mizuharu relentlessly closed the gap. Despite her sword strikes, he deflected the blade with his bare hands and repeatedly kicked and punched at her vital points.

Yukisha, who had been careful not to injure Mizuharu, realized that this relentless approach was endless. She threw her sword and once again closed the distance.

Then, a palm strike to the solar plexus, followed by grabbing his collar and throwing him to the ground, pinning him down.

"I win."

She said, immediately releasing him.

"Ugh... a..."

At that moment, Mizuharu had no real sense of defeat, only pressing his solar plexus and crouching on the ground. One thing he understood was that she had held back, and the difference in skill was too great.

Those who challenged Yukisha never knew how much of a prodigy she was, how much of a genius, how much she was favored by victory.

But they didn't lament the insurmountable gap. They accepted their defeat, understanding that it was inevitable, that the opponent was too strong.

It was the same for Mizuharu. Yukisha thought she had just added another meaningless victory to her list.

"It can't be helped."

With a self-deprecating tone, Yukisha turned to leave. But then,

"Ugh... ugh... ugh..."

Hearing his sobbing, she turned back. Mizuharu was crying, clutching the grass and shedding large tears. His lips, bitten from frustration, were slightly bleeding.

Mizuharu didn't understand why he was so frustrated. He had been defeated and raised in such a way many times before.

It can't be helped. It's only natural to lose. The opponent was too strong. He had always been consoled with these words and believed them.

But why?

Because he had tried to win. Because he thought he could win.

Realizing this, Mizuharu finally felt the weight of defeat. He had lost, overwhelmingly. And the opponent, a girl his age, had acted as if winning was a given.

"...Will you be here tomorrow?"

Sniffling, Mizuharu asked.

"...Eh, ah... yeah."

Yukisha answered, somewhat confused.

"I'll win tomorrow...!"

With that, Mizuharu ran off. At that moment, Yukisha didn't feel the thrill of victory, but the fact that she had deeply wounded Mizuharu with his defeat weighed heavily on her. It was a first for her.

From then on, day after day, Mizuharu challenged Yukisha. No matter where she was, he would find her and challenge her.

Whether it was academics, martial arts, etiquette, arts, sports, or games.

He would always declare that he would win, only to be thoroughly defeated each time. Mizuharu's aversion to losing was so intense that he would cry from frustration even after losing a simple game of rock-paper-scissors.

One day, finding this pathetic, Yukisha said to him,

"If you cry, you lose."

Immediately, Mizuharu stopped crying. From then on, no matter how many times he lost, he never shed tears of frustration.

As for Yukisha, as she repeatedly defeated Mizuharu, she began to think, "Maybe I'm being childish." She knew she was different from others, not in a condescending way, but in how she always took every challenge seriously, even from children.

One day, while reading a novel on the café terrace, she was challenged to a game of "shiritori" (word chain).

"Cricket"

"Mi... mi... mi-citrus"

Thinking it was just shiritori, she deliberately let him win once.

"Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss