The Northern Duke’s Daughter Will Never Fall

Chapter 63: Not a Romantic Comic (1)

When Astrid became a first-year cadet, her life became a whirlwind.

Having survived her training cadet phase, Astrid had hoped things would ease up. 

Instead, the relentless demands of academy life hit her like a storm, leaving her no time to catch her breath.

On the last Saturday of her training cadet period, she was summoned for an emergency assembly, and afterward, she was called to the instructor’s office, where she was penalized with 30 demerit points. The punishment? A grueling run around the parade ground—50 laps, in full gear.

Oddly enough, that part wasn’t so bad. At the time, the stares of the other cadets had made it slightly embarrassing, but in hindsight, Astrid could confidently say that those days had been far easier than what was to come.

Now, she glared at her textbook with an expression of pure misery. The book was as thick as her thumb and bore the title Atlas of the Continental Wars.

This was the problem.

Astrid knew what the first-year curriculum entailed.

While most courses had the word “basic” attached to them, the subjects were anything but simple. 

Classes like Basic Magical Studies, Military Administration and Policy Formation, Efficient Military Command Strategies and Tactics, and Atlas of the Continental Wars made up the curriculum.

Compared to the training cadet phase, which had been more akin to an actual military regimen, this felt completely different. 

The focus was less on military drills and more on academic studies, resembling a traditional academy with a dash of military science.

In Basic Magical Studies, Emilie stood out. Being the daughter of Baizik von Jorgien, the eastern Magic Tower’s master, and an accomplished magician herself, Emilie excelled effortlessly. 

She performed so well that even the professors seemed reluctant to teach her, as if intimidated by her prowess.

In Military Administration and Policy Formation, Leopold was unmatched. With his extensive education in statecraft and firsthand experience shadowing his father, Leopold’s practical knowledge and skills placed him leagues above everyone else.

Akemilla led the pack in Supply Administration Studies, while Violet dominated History of the Continental Wars.

Each cadet had at least one subject in which they excelled, and even in other courses, they generally scored within the top ranks.

Except for one person: Astrid.

This was the real issue.

The true Astrid never studied.

She didn’t need to. Her physical prowess was among the best in the empire, and she would much rather wield a sword on the battlefield than sit at a desk poring over books.

Thus, she lacked any academic knowledge. On top of that, this Astrid—the one inhabiting her body—was not native to this world and couldn’t keep up with the classes.

If she got scolded for dozing off in class, it was Astrid.

If she got caught daydreaming, it was Astrid.

If she yawned and got reprimanded, it was Astrid.

Her frequent mistakes began to fuel rumors among the cadets.

“Cadet Astrid… doesn’t she seem a bit… lacking in basic knowledge?”

“I know, right? Most nobles receive a basic education at home before coming here…”

‘Do they think I can’t hear them?’

【Heroes don’t waste time studying. I can’t understand why these weaklings are even talking—they wouldn’t dare say it to my face.】

‘I don’t think it’s about courage; I think trash-talking a duke’s daughter in front of her is just suicidal.’

Astrid’s reputation among the cadets was that of a strong but uneducated noblewoman—a brute with no brains.

Astrid’s irritation grew as she overheard these whispers. Of course, no one dared say it directly to her face, but gossip always had a way of finding its way to the subject.

“Don’t let it bother you, Astie,” Eranya consoled her.

“I can’t tell you how much it means to have you behind me,” Astrid replied sarcastically.

“Right? I feel the same way about Veracien being behind me. I totally get it.”

The three of them—Astrid, Eranya, and Veracien—had earned the dubious honor of being the “Worst Trio” or the “Dunce Trio” of their year.

Veracien was dead last, Eranya ranked just above her, and Astrid was one step higher.

“At least I have two people below me. What a relief,” Astrid muttered.

As squadmates, it was comforting in one sense and mortifying in another. Astrid couldn’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and embarrassment.

***

“In this battle at the Biprosse Gorge, the Kingdom of Progen set up a defensive line here, while Duke Miterien led the charge into enemy lines. Then, Marquis Autria advanced along the river to…”

【Listen carefully.】

‘Why are you nagging me?!’

Leopold continued to meticulously point out the details in the Atlas of the Continental Wars, explaining the famous battles of the past. Astrid, sitting across from him, struggled to stay focused.

“Um, Cadet Leopold,” she interrupted.

“The exchange ratio against Progen’s forces was 20 to 1, which was overwhelmingly—hm?”

Astrid couldn’t fathom why he seemed so engrossed in this. Even after she called out to him, he continued his explanation for a few more moments before finally looking up, as if surprised she had spoken.

【Look at his passion. Isn’t he so thoughtful and considerate?】

“Didn’t you call for me, Cadet Astrid?”

“…Why are you going this far?”

Astrid couldn’t hold back her curiosity any longer.

Leopold paused, seemingly deep in thought. His brow furrowed slightly, and Astrid, growing impatient, was about to prod him again when he suddenly broke into a dazzling smile.

“If I can turn you into an excellent cadet, I feel like I’ll grow as a person.”

【Oh my, such selflessness.】

Wasn’t that an insult?

Astrid couldn’t decide whether she was being overly sensitive or whether the other Astrid was just hopelessly infatuated.

“Just kidding. Now, shall we continue?” Leopold said with a smile, diving back into his explanation as if nothing had happened.

To Astrid, it felt like torture disguised as a private lesson. And ever since Violet told her about the events of their squad gathering, Astrid couldn’t bring herself to meet Leopold’s gaze.

Simply being alone with him made her uncomfortable, like right now.

“I-I just remembered something urgent!”

Astrid snapped her book shut and bolted upright, only for Leopold to instinctively reach out to stop her.

His hand accidentally overlapped with hers, making it look like he was holding her hand.

“I-I’m sorry,” Leopold said quickly, withdrawing his hand.

Astrid took the opportunity to flee the room, her face burning.

She found herself on a bench behind the classroom building, where she sat alone, burying her head in her hands.

【Do you even plan to keep your promise? I went out of my way to ask for your help, and this is what you do?】

‘I don’t know why I’m acting like this either!’

【If you keep running away, what’s your plan? Are you going to keep this up?】

Astrid felt like she was losing her mind. Her head screamed that she was still a man, but every action she took seemed to betray that thought.

Everything she did resembled that of a girl in love.

She couldn’t meet Leopold’s eyes, avoided being alone with him, and constantly made excuses to escape.

Why was she acting this way?

At this rate, she really did feel like a girl falling in love.

【”Maybe I should just have a drink and make it a done deal myself.”】

Are you insane?! Don’t even think about it! If you do that, I swear I’ll throw myself off a cliff and end it all!

【”Me? I probably wouldn’t die even if I fell from somewhere high.”】

Oh, really? Says the one who nearly died falling down the stairs!

【”T-That was…”】

That might have been the root of it all.

If what the household staff said was true, she hadn’t fallen down the stairs and lost consciousness. It was the other way around—she had lost consciousness and then fallen down the stairs.

It was during that fall, when she had hit her head, that Astrid—the real Astrid—had entered this body.

And somehow, because of that incident, something in both of them had gone completely awry.

…If we’ve both gone crazy, that means it’s okay…

No way!

Astrid, sitting on the bench, writhed in self-loathing as waves of mortifying realization washed over her.