Chapter 3: A Carefully Crafted Prodigy

The world beyond my window was drenched in the delicate hues of dawn, the sky painted in shades of rich blue and gold. Birds chirped, staff bustled about the estate, and the city beyond slowly stirred to life. 

 None of it mattered. 

 I was already years ahead of everyone around me. 

 With time-stop, I had been practicing relentlessly—hours, days, weeks in frozen time while only minutes passed in reality. 

 I had tried my physical boundaries, figuring out what worked and what didn't. At first, swinging a wooden practice sword felt awkward, uncoordinated. But after what seemed to months of training inside frozen time, my body finally moved the way I wanted it to. 

 I wasn't a master swordsman, not yet—but I had advanced far beyond what any six-year-old aristocrat should be capable of. 

 The best part? No one suspected a thing. 

 I was careful. I made sure to illustrate small, continuous progress, rather than dramatic, artificial leaps. A young noble improving swiftly was brilliance. A young noble turning from useless to expert overnight? Suspicious. 

 Which was why I had to manage my growth. 

 Today was my first actual test. 

 The estate's courtyard was big and open, enclosed by massive stone walls. The ground was packed earth, smoothed out with decades of training. A row of wooden practice dummies stood at the far end, worn down from years of use. 

 And standing in front of me, arms crossed, was my older brother—Sarin Roy. 

 He was 10 years old, broad-shouldered for his age, and already regarded the best swordsman in our household. Unlike me, he was truly talented, lauded by our father and instructors alike. 

 And right now, he seemed quite unimpressed. 

 "This is pointless," he mumbled, pressing his wooden blade against his shoulder. "You'll just embarrass yourself." 

 I clutched my own training blade, feeling the slick wood against my palm. 

 Perfectly balanced. 

 Sarin sighed. "Fine. We'll do three exchanges. Try not to cry when you lose." 

 I simply nodded. 

 The instructor, an older man with graying hair, walked forward. "On my mark—begin." 

 Sarin lunged instantly. 

 I have seen this precise attack hundreds of times during my practice in frozen time. A direct forward thrust—his go-to maneuver versus inferior opponents. 

 To him, I was a younger, weaker brother. He expected me to flinch. To panic. 

 Instead, I stepped aside just enough to allow his sword pass harmlessly by. 

 Then, before he could recover, I tapped my wooden sword against his side. 

 A clean hit. 

 Sarin blinked. "What—?" 

 The teacher hesitated but nodded. "Point. Manjil." 

 Sarin scowled. "Lucky shot." 

 We reset. 

 This time, he was more cautious. He lunged wide, intending to knock my blade out of my hands. 

 But I had already trained for this. 

 I tightened my grip, absorbed the hit, and diverted his motion. He stumbled slightly—just enough for me to step in and press my blade on his chest. 

 Another point. 

 The courtyard went silent. 

 Sarin's cheeks grew red. "You little—!" 

 The third round, he came at me seriously. Faster. Stronger. I barely managed to deflect his attacks, making sure to look just skillful enough to stop them, but not enough to make it seem effortless. 

 After all, if I won too easily, people would ask questions. 

 So, I let him overpower me in the final exchange, allowing his blade to push mine aside before stopping an inch from my shoulder. 

 The instructor clapped his hands. "Final point. Sarin wins." 

 Sarin smirked, wiping sweat off his forehead. "See? You're still years away from beating me." 

 I faked a reluctant frown. "I guess so." 

 Inside, I was grinning. 

 This was perfect. 

 I had demonstrated just enough talent to be impressive, but not enough to be a threat. A younger sibling who could hold his own, but nevertheless "weaker" than the family's star child. 

 Sarin, happy with his victory, clapped me on the back. "You've got potential. Keep training, and maybe you won't embarrass House Roy at the Academy." 

 I nodded. "I'll do my best." 

 And I would. 

 Not only to be good. Not only to be strong. 

 But to become untouchable.