[Claude POV]
She seems younger than what my other incarnation remembers. The fragments are never quite accurate—memories from parallel lives bleeding through like watercolors in rain, details shifting and blurring at the edges. But she should still be around my age, shouldn't she?
The contradiction gnaws at me, another reminder that the knowledge I carry is as fractured as the mirror that gave it to me. I don't know about the feelings my other incarnation harbored, but this—this quickening of my pulse, this sudden breathlessness—this belongs entirely to me.
Is this what they call love at first sight?
My heart flutters as I study her face up close, the careful planning I'd rehearsed dissolving like morning mist. All those calculated words, those strategic approaches I'd mapped out to win her interest—gone. In their place, something raw and unfiltered rises from my chest.
"Water God, Reida Reia..." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "I've taken an interest in your granddaughter and wish to court her. Can I have the opportunity to do so?"
The silence stretches like a taut bowstring. I watch the Water God's expression shift from mild curiosity to sharp-eyed wariness, her weathered features hardening as she appraises me with new intensity. Beside her, the object of my confession—Isolte—blooms crimson from her collar to her hairline.
Oh, she looks lovely when she tries to hide her embarrassment, one hand rising unconsciously to touch her burning cheek.
My traitorous heart skips another beat.
"Wa... wait, Master Claude, this is different from what we discussed before."
Charles's voice carries a note of barely controlled panic. Poor C—older than me in years but still so inexperienced in matters of the heart. Even I'm astonished at my own boldness, the words having escaped without conscious thought, as if some deeper part of me had taken control.
"Um..." I clear my throat, scrambling to salvage the situation. "Can we have a small conversation first? In the restToukint ahead, please?"
The damage control feels clumsy on my tongue, but Charles immediately moves to support the suggestion, patting his chest in visible relief before gesturing for the ladies to follow. But before I can approach Isolte, Reida steps smoothly between us, creating a protective barrier around her granddaughter.
I trail behind them with poorly concealed disappointment, stealing glances at Isolte when I think no one's watching. When our eyes meet by accident, I offer her a gentle smile. She blushes even deeper and quickly looks away.
How utterly enchanting.
The restToukint's ambient chatter provides a comfortable backdrop as Charles finishes ordering drinks for our table of four. I gather my composure, drawing on the diplomatic training that feels both familiar and foreign—another gift from lives I've never lived.
"I apologize for that sudden outburst earlier." I bow my head slightly, allowing genuine contrition to color my voice. "Please, allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Claude from Arbalest, and my companion is Charles, the head of Arbalest's Millis Continent Branch."
Charles—that's C's real name, though even that's more of a working identity than his true one. The naming conventions of Arbalest are deliberately complex, designed to confuse outsiders about our actual hierarchy. C leads the third division, our intelligence network, while A handles our adventuring operations under Ash's capable management. B oversees our business interests, with Mike learning the ropes on the Central Continent.
The codename system runs deeper than simple letters. Vice-division heads carry numerical suffixes—C0001 becomes "C Triple One," C0010 becomes "C Double One." It's a verbal shell game that makes organizational charts read like riddles. Anyone trying to parse our structure from overheard conversations would find themselves thoroughly lost.
Which is exactly the point.
"So," Reida's voice cuts through my strategic musings, sharp as winter wind. "What brings Claude and Charles to visit me in this... colorful city?"
I straighten, meeting her gaze directly. "Forgive my earlier outburst, Water God. But since fate has brought us together, I should mention that we anticipated finding you here. You see, I am a Miko—one who can glimpse fragments of what's to come."
Her eyebrows arch with skeptical amusement. "A Miko? How interesting. And you expect me to believe that a child who should already be a Sword Saint also possesses prophetic abilities?"
The casual assessment of my skills sends a chill down my spine. I'd expected doubt about the Miko claim—hell, I'd been half-bluffing—but her ability to perceive my true sword rank suggests depths I hadn't anticipated.
"I'm impressed by your insight!" I allow genuine surprise to leak into my voice. "Though I confess, I may have... embellished the Miko aspect somewhat."
Her eyes narrow, and I catch a flicker of what might be surprise before her expression neutralizes.
"Then what's your real purpose here? Speak quickly—I have business to attend to with my disciple."
I gesture toward Charles with practiced deference. "The specifics of our proposal fall under Charles's jurisdiction. This is his negotiation to conduct."
What follows is the careful dance of diplomacy and commerce that Charles handles with growing confidence. He's explaining Arbalest's need for backing, the reality that we can't operate freely in Millis without the umbrella of recognized power. In exchange for the Water God's name and protection, we offer compensation and access to our intelligence network.
The protection isn't just symbolic—the mere association with one of the world's acknowledged powers would make noble troublemakers think twice before moving against us. It's insurance, bought with gold and mutual benefit.
"I appreciate your honesty about the five-year term," Reida muses, "but I'm curious about the limitation. Why not permanent partnership?"
"If our projections are accurate," Charles replies with measured confidence, "within five years, Arbalest should be a force to be reckoned with independently. At that point, we hope to transition from protection to partnership. Though we're certainly open to extending the arrangement if it proves mutually beneficial."
"Such confidence. Is it based on the young Sword Saint beside you?"
"Master Claude is certainly central to our success, being our founder and guiding vision."
Wait—we never discussed revealing that detail! My carefully maintained mysterious persona feels like it's crumbling in real-time.
Charles notices my expression and offers a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Master Claude. Lady Reida had already deduced your leadership role."
"Perceptive indeed," Reida acknowledges, "though you could have maintained the pretense."
"Good cooperation is built on trust," Charles quotes, his voice carrying the weight of genuine conviction. "That's what Master Claude taught us. I chose to honor that principle."
I sigh heavily, feeling the weight of exposed leadership settling on my shoulders. Still, I manage a playful wink at Isolte, who blushes and glares at me in response.
She's absolutely adorable when she's flustered.
"Hmm." Reida's contemplation stretches several heartbeats. Her gaze shifts to Isolte, and some silent communication passes between them before those sharp eyes return to me. "If you're truly sincere about this partnership, let's test your capabilities. A spar with my disciple. Impress me, and I might consider allowing you to... pursue your romantic interests."
"Grandma!" Isolte's protest comes with a sharp bang on the table, her face cycling through several shades of red.
"I accept," I reply immediately, unable to suppress my enthusiasm. "Let's find an appropriate space—perhaps the alley beside this café?"
The narrow alleyway provides adequate room for combat without drawing unwanted attention. Reida positions herself as judge, her experienced eye measuring distances and escape routes with professional efficiency.
"This location suits our needs," she observes. "I suspect you'd planned to request a demonstration regardless of how our conversation proceeded."
I scratch my cheek sheepishly, caught in my transparent maneuvering. "You see through me entirely."
"Sneaky brat," she mutters, but there's a hint of amusement in her voice.
I take my position at one end of the alley while Isolte prepares at the other. The familiar weight of my sword settles into my palm, muscle memory from countless iterations guiding my stance. Against Water God style, I know to expect defensive patterns and counter-attacks rather than aggressive openings.
Or at least, that's what the fragmented memories suggest.
"Both fighters ready?" Reida's voice carries the authority of someone who's overseen countless such matches. "Combat begins on my count. Three..."
I shift into an offensive stance, anticipating Isolte's defensive positioning. The memories whisper of patient opponents who turn attackers' momentum against them.
"Two..."
Isolte's form is textbook perfect, every line of her body speaking to years of disciplined training. This should indeed prove interesting.
"One..."
The count reaches zero, and I move forward with measured aggression—
Only to find Isolte's blade already cutting through the air toward me, her supposed defensive style abandoned for a lightning-fast offensive that catches me completely off-guard.
The memories, it seems, failed to account for the individual variations within the Water God school.
Or perhaps they were never as reliable as I'd hoped.
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