How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game

“Touching a princess like that…” Stacia muttered under her breath, eyes narrowed in accusation. “Looks like the rumors about you were true, Senior. You really have no shame.”

“You said not to hold back, right?”

“That’s not what I was talking about!”

Only five minutes had passed, yet Stacia was already slumped on the snowy grass, flushed and dazed.

Her hands clutched her chest as she struggled to control her breathing, soft huffs escaping her lips like mist in the cold air.

Her legs trembled, and her usually composed expression was utterly shattered into a blend of confusion, embarrassment, and frustration.

And all this was my fault.

Well… partly.

I didn’t expect the mana residual massage technique Master Beon had taught me would affect her this much.

When he first used it on me, I barely felt a thing—though he did yell at me afterward, saying I had the “mana constitution of a damned rock.”

Now I understood why he called me absurd.

Back then, I thought he was exaggerating.

Now? Not so much.

The technique itself was simple in theory but difficult in practice—spreading one’s mana gently across another’s body to stimulate natural flow, detect irregularities, and loosen blocked circuits before training.

A kind of mana acupuncture, or mana massage, depending on how you looked at it.

It wasn’t meant to be painful… or paralyzing.

And yet here she was—collapsed in the snow like she just ran ten laps around the continent.

“…Looks like the effects of that technique are more intense than I thought,” I muttered, raising my hand to help her up. “Let’s call it a day. We can reschedule the rest of training once your body gets used to—”

Swish.

She batted my hand away immediately.

“No…” she said firmly, still panting. “We’ll start training now.”

Her legs were wobbling like they were made of paper, and she was glaring up at me with the sheer intensity of a knight who refused to back down even when her body screamed otherwise.

“You don’t have to push yourself, junior,” I said quietly.

“I-It’s fine…!” she shot back through gritted teeth as she staggered to her feet. “Let’s start…”

Her pride was practically radiating off her.

I watched her for a moment, resisting the urge to sigh.

She wasn’t just stubborn.

She was determined.

Even if her magic and royal blood had brought her far, what truly made her a heroine wasn’t just her talent—it was this. That blazing, reckless refusal to yield.

I stepped back, letting her find her balance.

“…Alright then. Just don’t blame me if you pass out in ten minutes.”

“Hmph.” She flicked her hair, still wobbling.

She ended up collapsing in exactly 10 minutes.

….

“Hey, Senior… I’ve been meaning to ask,” Stacia began, pausing between swings, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. “Are you sure you’re a master?”

“I never said I was,” I replied casually.

“No, but your skills—your strength, power—they’re the literal definition of one. So it would make sense if your intuition, perception, and wisdom were all on the same level, right?”

“Maybe?”

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why am I just swinging my sword up and down like a lunatic for an hour straight!?”

Her voice cracked slightly as she raised her red sword once again and brought it down with force, the blade cutting through the air in a clean arc.

Sweat clung to her forehead, her cheeks were flushed red, and her arms trembled from the strain.

Her breaths were ragged now—each exhale a visible puff in the cold morning air.

Despite her complaints, I had to admit… she was holding on better than expected.

After yesterday’s very unfortunate start to our training—where she nearly passed out after five minutes thanks to the mana residual technique—I honestly thought she’d tap out early today as well.

But no.

She came back.

This morning, she stormed into our meeting spot with a fire in her eyes and a level of determination that made me… oddly proud.

Embarrassment, it seemed, was quite the fuel for motivation.

“I told you already, we’re focusing on your physical capabilities during this training period.”

“At least let me use mana!”

“Nope, If I even sense you using a drop of mana, we’re going back to zero. Start all over. Understood?”

“You’re cruel!” she half-screamed.

I chuckled. “You’re the one who told me not to hold back, remember? Now quit talking and keep swinging. You’re still a thousand swings away from our daily quota.”

She glared at me like she wanted to stab me—probably in the gut—but didn’t say another word.

Instead, she growled softly and lifted her sword again.

It was impressive, honestly.

Even with all her noble pride and natural affinity for magic, she wasn’t the type to quit easily.

And despite her protests and dramatic complaints, she was slowly but surely improving.

Thirty more minutes passed.

Then—thud.

She finally collapsed into the snow, arms spread out like a fallen soldier, her sword sinking beside her.

“…Ugh… I hate you…” she muttered.

I smirked, walking over and standing above her.

“Good. That means it’s working.”

Now I understand why Master Beon loved to make me suffer.

….

“Haah!”

“Faster.”

“Haah!”

“You’re losing consistency.”

FOOOSHH!

“Adjust your stance—you’re off-balance.”

“HUAAH!”

“Control your breathing.”

“Haaah!!!”

“Again!”

The rhythm of sharp exhales and the sound of metal slicing through air echoed beneath the quiet canopy of trees.

We were deep in the training grounds, far from the usual noise of the academy, where the only voices heard were mine and Stacia’s.

Two more days had passed since our awkward and somewhat chaotic first session.

And now, here we were.

Every morning without fail, she’d show up, already stretching and warming up before I even arrived.

She was fiery, determined, and—as much as she complained—more disciplined than most knights her age.

Right now, she was working through my adjusted swing drill: a combo of horizontal slashes—left and right—before resetting her stance and repeating the motion.

Her sword was heavy, her breaths heavier, but the sharp glint in her eye never dulled.

She didn’t even grumble today. Well—less than usual.

To her credit, her performance had improved dramatically.

Her form wasn’t perfect, but the sharpness of each swing, her coordination, even the balance of her weight distribution had come a long way.

Not to mention her stamina.

Her current record for training survival before collapsing was now officially one hour and fifty minutes.

Considering this was just the fourth day, that was actually quite insane.

Most first-years wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes under such strict, repetitive physical conditioning—especially with the no mana rule in place.

This kind of training wasn’t just for the body—it was a slow burn of the spirit. It tested discipline, patience, and willpower.

And yet… she endured.

“Three thousand!” she finally shouted, her voice nearly cracking into a sob.

Her swings stopped abruptly, and she staggered back, panting as if her lungs had given out.

Her sword dipped into the snow, and she fell to her knees before slumping against the wide trunk of a nearby tree, sweat clinging to her bangs.

The high noon sun bore down on us.

I approached with a small nod. “Good job… looks like you’ve improved a lot. You didn’t collapse this time.”

I wasn’t even mocking. I meant it.

Genuinely, I was impressed.

She shot me a tired glare as she coughed lightly, wiping her damp forehead with her sleeve.

“You know, Senior…” she wheezed, pressing her back against the tree, “isn’t this just exercise?”

I raised an eyebrow and tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. In a sense, yes…”

Her eyes widened, jaw falling slightly open. “At least pretend to deny it!”

I chuckled inwardly.

Trying to deny it, huh…

Well, in truth, this training—despite its layered purposes—was essentially exercise at its core.

A fundamental drill disguised beneath martial severity.

Just as Master Beon used to tell me back in the day whenever I dared to grumble about endlessly swinging my sword:

“The blade forgets when the body forgets. You train your limbs not to move faster, but to remember where it all began.”

He was annoying when he got philosophical like that, but he wasn’t wrong.

This training was designed not only to rebuild muscle memory, but also to restructure the foundation of one’s physicality.

It was a painful, slow method.

Tedious to a fault.

But in the long run, it had undeniable benefits—especially for someone like her.

And yet, looking at Stacia now, I could tell she wasn’t exactly… satisfied.

Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, arms crossed as she looked at me with barely concealed frustration.

She clearly expected more—some hidden art or ancient sword style that explained my rise in power.

Something mythical. Something flashy.

But I had nothing like that to offer her. At least not yet.

Stacia was already naturally gifted, especially in her magic. In the future, her flames would evolve far beyond ordinary heat—blazing through even the fiercest enchantments.

If her arc progressed like in the game, her spells could one day rival even Snow’s domain or Rose’s intricate golden incantations.

That’s why right now, I wasn’t giving her miracles—I was laying the groundwork.

Strengthening her body. Forging her rhythm. Teaching her discipline.

That said, I did prepare a small bonus.

Something to accelerate the process a little.

“This is…”

Stacia blinked as I handed her a small pouch.

She took it, raising a curious eyebrow before carefully opening it. Inside was a single, oddly shaped bean—dull brown in color, almost like a dried seed.

“What is this?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Eat it,” I said simply, pulling out a similar bean from my own pocket. “Trust me—it helps. Here, I’ll take mine first.”

Without hesitation, I tossed the bean into my mouth and chewed. The texture was dry. The taste?

Nonexistent.

Stacia gave me the classic you’re definitely trying to poison me look before sighing in surrender and popping hers in.

“…It’s surprisingly tasteless,” she muttered after a moment, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“I know, right?” I said with a light laugh. “I expected something more earthy or bitter the first time, too.”

She stared at the pouch, then glanced at me. “So what does it do?”

“You’ll feel it kick in later. For now, just know it’s a mana-support stimulant. Handmade. Safe. It helps your body circulate internal mana more efficiently while in a state of strain. Don’t expect it to do the training for you, though—it just helps your body adapt faster to the pressure I’m putting on it.”

Stacia blinked. “…Wait, you made this?”

“Technically, I modified it. But yeah.”

She looked at me again, this time with more confusion than skepticism.

I didn’t blame her.

The rumors didn’t exactly paint me as the type to dabble in alchemy.

Well, this item’s really only beneficial to you…

Mana Seeds—a common, dirt-cheap item you could buy right across the street in the commercial district.

Most students didn’t even glance at them.

At first glance, they looked like novelty junk. Weak, tasteless, with nothing flashy aside from a slight glow when crushed or consumed.

To most people, they were harmless trinkets, not worth the coin.

But hidden beneath that harmless exterior was an effect only a handful of students could ever benefit from.

And Stacia just happened to be one of them. That’s why I went out of my way to tweak them specifically for her.

Modified the recipe just enough to align with her affinity—something no one else in the academy would’ve thought to do.

Of course, I didn’t tell her that I only discovered this in my 13th playthrough of the game—when I finally focused on her route.

And even then, it took a specific chain of rare events to unlock the Mana Burn synergy she would later be famous for.

I did feel a little guilty about stealing the first-year’s… but considering I’d modified the beans specifically to suit Stacia’s body and affinity, I guess it wasn’t technically stealing.

The Mana Seeds were just groundwork.

Because once she unlocks the [Skill: Mana Burn], her mana will burn faster than most mages could dream of managing.

Without proper mana control and capacity support, it could devour her from the inside out.

Getting a head start now would make all the difference later.

Hence why most players struggled to have Stacia keep up with her monstruous peers, in any first playthroughs specially without the mana seed information.

“I’m sure you’ll want a change of pace tomorrow… so, how about we have a practice match, my dear student?”

Her head perked up at the sudden suggestion, eyes gleaming. “A match?! Am I allowed to use mana this time?”

I smiled.

“Of course not.”

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