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Chapter 1
Strange Things
One rainy early morning, my childhood friend came to visit me. I saw Raiden’s somewhat stern face and asked, “What’s wrong?” Raiden, with a gloomy expression, abruptly dragged me into the living room and said in a serious voice, “I have something to tell you.” His face clearly looked like he had caused some trouble.
Had he killed someone? Uh… where should he bury them? Would digging about 200 meters be enough? I downed a sedative, thinking such thoughts. Once I managed to calm my trembling pupils, Raiden spoke.
“I… I’m pregnant.”
I exhaled calmly, long and steady, then shakily drank two more bottles of sedative with my trembling hands. At least, the range of who might be “buried” had narrowed to Raiden.
“Who… who did this with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying nonsense. I mean, who’s the father?”
Raiden tilted his head.
“I… I’m the one who’s pregnant.”
I, the vice-captain of the Litten Wyler Royal Knights, the prodigy, hope, future, genius, sucker, and competent knight of the Rensher family, looked over the body of this robust man—head noticeably larger than mine—and asked again.
“…What?”
“I… I’m pregnant.”
Raiden, trembling slightly, gave a soft smile and gently caressed his belly.
“I’m three months along. You’re the father.”
And I gagged, waking from the dream. It was such a ridiculous dream. The struggle in my sleep had been intense; by the time I woke up, my whole body was drenched in sweat. I immediately went to the kitchen, drank a lot of water, and took a shower. Looking at the clock, it was 4 a.m.—the sun hadn’t risen yet. Outside, it was dark, with the sound of rain lightly pattering. And today was Monday. Honestly, it couldn’t get any worse.
If I went back to sleep now, I knew I wouldn’t wake up again on time. I trusted myself on that point. I went to work with tired, sunken eyes, unable to fall asleep again. I wished I could commute to school as easily as going to work. In any case, Raiden wasn’t helpful at all.
I still wondered why I hadn’t refused when the captain of the Litten Wyler knights came to my office and said, “Please take care of this guy.” I acknowledged that Raiden was a rare talent even abroad, someone to be carefully guided and kept close, but I still couldn’t understand why the knights would make such a request to a doctor like me, who had nothing to do with the knight order.
I rubbed my stiff neck and opened the door to my office in the third building, then the door to the ward next to it. The Amot Royal Knight Academy, while not comparable to the Empire’s schools, is well-known internationally as a prestigious knight academy. As its name suggests, it trains high-level knights and also dragon handlers.
Currently, the most prominent knight orders in Ginger are the Royal Knights, the Litten Wyler Knights (a regular order with Raiden as vice-captain and a transcendent), and the Haim Wyler Knights, a dragon order symbolizing national power. Amot Royal Knight Academy is famous for producing many outstanding knights for these two royal orders. Last year, all knights selected for the Haim Wyler Knights were graduates of Amot, making headlines for their exceptional skill in handling dragons.
Legends say dragons are vicious divine beasts that control all monsters, but the dragons we use for national defense and transportation cannot speak.
Anyway, I’m a doctor in charge of emergency patients at the third building, where liberal arts and indoor classes are held. Of course, in indoor classes, there aren’t many emergencies, so most of my time is spent researching herbs unless I’m called to the first building for patients. When I first applied here, I had actually wanted to work in the first building, spent three months there, but ended up filling a vacancy in the third building, becoming its only doctor. If I had known this place was so comfortable, I would have come earlier.
I opened all the windows in the ward to ventilate the damp air from the rain and checked the medicine that had been stored overnight. After reviewing the ward roster and inspecting the missing and incoming medicines for the day, I did a light cleaning. Soon, the voices of students outside could be heard. The loudest were first-year students, whose indoor liberal arts classes were mostly in the morning. Watching the rain slowly stop, I peeked down at the students and then closed the window.
In the third building’s ward, patients usually come in after getting hurt during practice or overexerting themselves in classes with incomplete recovery. Rarely, there are malingerers, and the rest are minor illnesses like colds. One per day, maybe.
“I’m here!”
Raiden Rensher—the hope of the Ginger Kingdom, a knight hailed as a future hero. And unfortunately for me, my childhood friend.
Raiden smiled brightly and naturally hugged me from behind, pressing his face to my neck and taking a deep breath. Ah, that scent. Raiden’s warm breath settled on my shoulders. I struggled to push him away with my palms. He was going to ruin my marriage prospects. I stubbornly denied that my path to marriage might already be blocked. Surely, there was still a brilliant red carpet waiting. I forcefully erased the image of a smiling Lady Rensher removing the lamps illuminating the red carpet.
Raiden loved my scent—what few humans with magical potential have: the subtle aura of mana. Transcendent knights temporarily wrap natural mana around their weapons, while magicians circulate it in their bodies. This naturally produces a scent. Those with good scent sometimes wear it like perfume. This scent, in short, was a symbol of privilege—a futile hope for me.
Even now, in my mid-twenties, I hadn’t been able to harness this scent. In other words, I have magical potential but have never used magic, making me utterly useless.
Children with this mana scent typically begin using magic after 3–4 years of study, learning to contain the scent. Usually, they are 13–15 years old. My family, the historic Gingerbell family of magicians, praised me as an unparalleled genius born with a strong mana scent.
Such prodigies often perform legendary feats as toddlers—flying, breaking walls—and often die young. For instance, Gingerbell I, my ancestor, at fifteen successfully executed two-person teleportation, stopping a Ginger prince from confessing to the emperor’s only daughter, nearly saving the kingdom. The emperor awarded him a new castle named Gingerbell. The family still sings praises of his deeds.
Children like me, born with mana scent, may either use magic naturally at a young age or, after many years, suddenly unleash great magic. The former often die young; the latter become long-lived archmages. The oldest sage historically lived 200 years, dying peacefully with a youthful appearance.
The elders hoped for my potential in the latter path. But now, in my mid-twenties, it was too late. They said I was weak but didn’t give up hope, insisting I would become a great magician and elevate the family’s glory. This pressure, I estimate, makes up about 50% of why I feel stressed.
When I was nineteen, the weight of abandoned hope led me to run away. With Raiden’s help, I got into Gixson Medical School and became a doctor. Now, I work as the academy’s doctor, enjoying a comfortable life.
Finally, I tore Raiden off me. He looked disappointed.
“I have a three-day vacation starting today. I never took leave, so they forced me out with fines. Our finance department is harsh, apparently.”
Raiden, still not fully active, stretched on the bed. Strangely, he was in casual clothes. He looked so normal, so neat. I peeked down the empty hallway before closing the office door. Raiden took my milk tea.
“It’s fine. No one’s on the third floor except one person… who just went down to the second.”
“That ability…”
Using it for selfish purposes at someone else’s workplace—even with permission. I silently apologized to the aspiring knights, diligently praising the transcendent Sir Raiden while honing their own skills.
I sighed, roughly organized my research log, and began preparing ingredients to make cold medicine. Simple medicines like cold remedies are made in my office, which doubles as a lab. Raiden followed me inside, watching me work.
