It had been nearly a month since I began training under that old bastard.

At first, I resisted accepting the situation, but as time passed, I had no choice but to adapt. I even began feeling nostalgic for my first life. Humans are truly remarkable at adapting to change. Still, compared to my first life, this one was already vastly different.

"Wake up, you little brat!"

"I'm already awake, you old geezer!"

Gone were the days when the old bastard would ambush me in my sleep. Now, it had become normal to counterattack immediately. As usual, the day started with an exchange of insults before I threw myself into morning training.

During my recent sparring session with Gilflare, I realized I had made some progress. Though I lost, I managed to leave a faint scratch on his armor. The fact that an eight-year-old child could land a hit on the "Supreme Knight," even just his armor, was extraordinary. In my first life, no matter how much I honed my magic power or skills, I could never have accomplished such a feat at this age.

Honestly, when my attack landed, I couldn't believe it myself. Yet, it really happened. The difference this time must be my foundation. In my first life, I barely put in any effort and neglected basic training in Blood Flow Control. But now, after just one month of consistent foundational training, the improvement was remarkable.

Honestly, if I hadn’t grown at all after swinging a sword so many times, I would’ve been furious...

It became clear how much time I had wasted in my first life. Mastering the basics of Blood Flow Control alone could allow me to hold my own against the Seven Peerless Swords.

I couldn’t believe how much potential this Crimson Blood Magic possessed.

The power brought forth by blood was astonishing. While I practiced sword swings and sweated profusely, I began to wonder if I needed to get any stronger.

The reason was simple. Did I really need more power to lead a peaceful, slow life? While I wasn’t fully equipped for self-defense, I felt that a few more years of basic training would suffice. Wouldn’t it be better to focus on other priorities instead of pouring everything into training?

For instance, I needed to prepare for handing over the family inheritance to my younger sister, Alice. This was my ultimate goal. While I hadn’t openly declared that I wouldn’t succeed the family title, causing an uproar now wouldn’t lead to anything productive. I should focus on subtly influencing my family and Alice to ensure she takes over.

However, for that plan to work, I needed to appear incompetent and hide my true abilities. But lately, I had been so engrossed in training that I hadn’t considered how others perceived me. My recent display at the garrison had gone too far. Rumors about my "impressive fight with Gilflare" had spread among the nobility and even commoners. In other words, I stood out far too much.

As a result, the long-standing poor evaluations of me by my family and the servants had begun to skyrocket. To make matters worse, Gilflare himself had apparently been spreading tales about me.

"Please give me a break..."

These circumstances had put me in a foul mood. I had sworn not to let it get to my head, yet here I was. If this continued, my father, Zeke, would undoubtedly see me as the natural successor to the family.

In my first life, he refused to acknowledge me until his deathbed... but now, his approval seemed to skyrocket unnaturally.

Although he hadn’t directly told me to succeed him yet, I frequently heard phrases like "I have high hopes for you" when we met. Occasionally, he even suggested, "Why don’t you accompany me to work?" or "I’d like you to meet someone..." None of this ever happened in my first life.

Of course, I had no intention of taking over the family title, nor did I want to deal with other nobles. So far, I had been able to dodge his advances with the excuse of "I have training to do," but how long could that excuse last?

Even so, it wasn’t as if training could be abandoned after just a month.

If anything, the old man’s enthusiasm for training had grown since my match with Gilflare. He even started saying things like, "I’ll make you the strongest man in this country."

"What should I do..."

"Daydreaming during training? You’re getting cocky, brat!"

"Ow! What the hell, old geezer?!"

"You’re wasting time thinking about useless things during training! The usual focused you would’ve dodged that easily!"

"Ugh..."

I shot a protesting glare at the old man while clutching my struck head, but his words were undeniably true. I had been too distracted. I needed to reflect on this.

Though my efforts had been well-intentioned, they were backfiring and tightening the noose around my neck. It felt like I was filling in the very moat meant to protect me. This sense of being cornered was uncomfortably familiar from my first life.

As I pondered these issues, a greater challenge suddenly landed out of nowhere.

At dinner, while the entire family (including the old man) gathered at the table, my father Zeke casually dropped a bombshell.

"By the way, in two days, the young lady of the Greyfrost family will be visiting. Be prepared to greet her, Clay."

"...What???"

The announcement was so sudden that it took me a moment to process his words.

"Father, I—"

"I’m not worried about you anymore, but be sure to show proper manners."

After repeatedly declining his invitations, my father had apparently decided to take drastic measures. If I wouldn’t go out to meet people, he’d have them come to me instead.

"...Yes, sir."

And of all people, the guest was one of the sources of trauma from my first life.

It seemed training was the least of my concerns now.