J-Novel Heart

Chapter 1: Graduating From the Academy of Magic

With her back against the wall, the pea-brained princess forced herself to think.

“This might come as a surprise to someone like you,” she continued, “but we are all human. And humans will fail. No one lives perfectly. That is why we forgive, so that we may all have chances to make amends.”

Holmes and I rang the bells together, bowed twice, clapped twice, recited the traditional prayer that begins with, “O Gods, purify us from evil,” bowed once more, and then left the building. There were a lot of people in the shrine grounds.

Yes, she was afraid. She was uneasy. She was unsure. But until she walked on her own two feet down a path of her own choosing, she couldn’t call herself a grown woman.

It was clear how happy he was to have met her, and he was firm in his conviction that they had built a strong friendship. However, a friendship between a young man and a young woman could easily transform into something more. If one happened to become attached to the other, everything could be turned on its head so quickly. Ah, but he was so young. He couldn’t see the way his eyes shone with happiness as he spoke of that woman he called a friend.

“This here is a grater. You hold the radish against it and scrape it like this. Just be sure to watch your fingers.”

“Right. I’ll give it a shot,” Volf replied as he rolled up his sleeves.

Dahlia failed to anticipate the strength and enthusiasm with which he’d approach the task. Within seconds, Volf’s fingertips were a hair’s breadth from the grater’s surface. He stopped in the nick of time, though his nails didn’t escape unscratched.

“There’s no need to do it so hard!”

“Dahlia, I can’t let you do this. These graters are dangerous. I should use my strengthening spell.”

“You don’t need a strengthening spell to grate a radish! Please don’t dig your fingers into it like that!”

“You really are in love, aren’t you? With magical swords, I mean.”

Though Dahlia was none the wiser, as she spoke, Volf’s breathing stopped dead for just a moment. Right between her first sentence and her second, to be exact.

“First love is like the measles,” a song from an old opera went. “The older you get, the harder it grips you, and the harder it gets to let go.”

Yet they’d gone on living, despite having their loved ones and their homelands stolen from them and even their human dignity trampled in the dirt. I couldn’t possibly begin to imagine how much pain and suffering they must have experienced. Even so, they’d resisted. I couldn’t help but feel awe and respect for the people who’d continued to fight, unwavering, against such unbelievable might.