The Squire Tradition is notorious.
Why is it so infamous?
It's simple: because the absurdity of it is staggering.

It started as a title given to the apprentices taken in by freelance knights. But nowadays, who would want to become an apprentice to a freelance knight?
They are nothing more than criminals, masquerading as knights.
Yet, naïve boys from rural villages often fall for the sweet words of these so-called freelance knights, eagerly accepting the offer to become their apprentices.

Thus begins a life of slavery under the guise of being a squire.

Cleaning, laundry, cooking—those are a given.
They must also earn money for their knight’s entertainment and sometimes take out loans in their name to maintain the knight’s dignity.
So, many squires end up as debtors.

Most try to escape before that happens, but not everyone succeeds.
After all, a freelance knight is still a knight, and these thugs have no qualms about killing people.
That’s why the freelance knight system was abolished.

No one was worse than them.

Yet, strangely enough, the squire system wasn’t abolished.
The nobles claim it’s the freelance knights who were the problem, not the knights from prestigious families.

...What a load of crap.

I’ve seen those prestigious knights, and their squires are treated worse than servants...
Yes, I’ve seen countless scenes of them being treated as slaves.
So, whenever a clueless young lamb came asking to become a squire, I gladly offered a lesson:
“It’s not what you think it is.”

But...

“What does it mean when someone who knows all that still wants to become a squire?”

Option one, they’re crazy.
Option two, they’re a masochist who enjoys pain and suffering.
Option three, both.

...Hmm, tough call.
It’s a difficult question.

So...

“Where should I hit you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where should I hit you to fix you? Think carefully and tell me. Since I broke you, I’ll gladly fix you.”
“...”

Crack, pop.

Ihan loosened his fist, preparing to hit the guy whether it was the back or front of his head.
If hitting him with a podium yesterday was the problem, then today he’d hit him differently.

He threw the podium in a curveball last time; maybe today he’d go with a slider?

Though this guy was a pain, he was still in the swordsmanship department.
Even if I’m just a nominal instructor, it’s my duty to knock some sense into the cadets, right?

‘If not, oh well.’

As Ihan scanned the area for a suitable rock, the guy who was still kneeling suddenly spoke.

“T-that’s not it, sir. I-I think there’s a misunderstanding. I’m not crazy!”
“You’re not crazy, yet you act like this? …That makes it worse, doesn’t it?”
“Well, that’s…”

Even he seemed to realize his excuse was pathetic, so Demian fell silent.
Then he added,

“I-I think I misspoke.”

In his panic, he hadn’t explained the situation and just said he wanted to become a squire, so it wasn’t surprising he was treated this way.
Accepting his mistake, Demian offered further explanation.

“My father—I mean, the head of the family—ordered me to assist Sir Ihan.”
“…?”

…Why?

Ihan tilted his head in confusion.

…He had heard many things.

Rumors that the Count had changed overnight, that the knights who used to raise their voices at him were now walking on eggshells, and that the Count’s eldest son was living in a frozen atmosphere.
There were even rumors that the elders had taken it upon themselves to straighten out the family’s discipline.
The youngest son, who tarnished the family’s reputation, had been removed from the family registry.

And there were whispers that, to return to the family, he needed to be forgiven by a certain knight.

A lot of things had been said, but in the end...

“If you want forgiveness, either cut off your disrespectful tongue or bring me the head of the knight who dared to challenge me. Do that, and I’ll forgive you.”
“...”
“You can choose either one.”
“...”
“If you don’t like it, then get lost. Just looking at you disgusts me.”

Ihan spat those words with cold contempt, as if he’d expected this all along.

…At that moment.

“I-I’ll cut it off.”
“…What?”
“I-I’ll cut off my tongue. If that’s enough to make me your squire, I’ll do it.”
“…”
“I’ll take your silence as agreement.”

Swick.

Suddenly, Demian pulled out a pair of scissors he had been carrying.
They were quite sharp, and he immediately aimed them at...!

Thud!

“Gahk!”
“If you cut it off without thinking, you could bleed to death. What, are you trying to make me a murderer?”
“Gahk! Ugh!”

Though Demian had been kicked in the face, he struggled to his feet.
But Ihan, without a hint of apology, continued speaking.

“Tch, didn’t your family teach you even this much?”
“…Who would teach me that?”

Demian answered in a muffled voice.
His mouth was filling with blood because part of his tongue had been cut.
Seeing this, Ihan tossed him a low-grade healing potion he carried for emergencies.

“Can I… can I drink this?”

Demian, caught off guard, looked at the bottle, and Ihan nodded.

“…Thank you.”

Though it was a low-grade potion, it wouldn’t fully heal his tongue right away.
But it would stop the bleeding, and with Demian’s training in swordsmanship, he would heal on his own in a week.
As Ihan watched him, he remarked,

“If you were trying to gain my sympathy, I would’ve marched straight to the Count and told him never to forgive you. I would’ve taken it as mockery.”
“…Yes, sir.”

In other words, the only reason Ihan stopped him was because Demian had genuinely intended to cut off his tongue.

“Why do you carry scissors around?”
“I figured you’d demand some kind of payment. I was ready to lose a finger or an ear.”
“You really want this that badly?”
“If it means I can return to my family, I don’t care.”
“…Is that so.”
“Yes, sir.”

…What a fool.

Up until now, Ihan had thought Demian was just a loud-mouthed thug.
But it turns out he had guts.
Not the worst kind of guy.
However...

‘It’s not like I like this bastard.’

Once you’ve decided you hate someone, it’s hard to change your mind.
Besides, this guy wasn’t genuinely seeking forgiveness; he was just doing whatever it took to keep his noble status.
So, there’s still no reason to view him favorably.

But at least Ihan didn’t feel contempt anymore.

Even in some backwater village, people would plot and scheme just to claim the meaningless position of village chief.
Some old man even hanged himself after losing that title.
All despite having enough wealth to live comfortably.
That’s how painful it is to lose power.

Which is why power is terrifying.
And also why someone like me...

‘Should never get too close to it.’

Ihan looked down at Demian, whose pupils were trembling uncontrollably.
Still tense.

To him, Ihan said,

“You can go. You don’t have to be my squire or my assistant. I forgive you.”
“…”
“…Well done. If you’d taken my words at face value, I would’ve gone straight to the Count and told him never to forgive you.”
“…Yes, sir.”

Judging by how pale Demian looked, he had been tempted.
But it was a good thing he’d resisted.
That little bit of doubt had saved his life.

Watching Demian, Ihan felt a bit of amusement but didn’t smile.
Instead, he held up three fingers.

“Three years. Serve me for three years. Whether we’re inside the academy or out, if I need you, I’ll call for you.”
“W-won’t you take me on as your squire?”
“I’m not in a position to take on an apprentice. But I’ll accept you as an ‘assistant instructor.’ That should satisfy you, right? It’s better than becoming a squire, I assume.”
“…I won’t deny it.”
“I like that you’re honest. Follow me, assistant instructor. Class starts today.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Not ‘sir.’ Call me ‘instructor.’ For the next three years, I’ll call you nothing but ‘assistant instructor.’”
“…Ugh.”
“Answer me.”
“…Yes, instructor.”
“At least you listen well.”

Ihan turned away, and Demian, having narrowly grabbed hold of his lifeline, let out a deep sigh, his face on the verge of tears.
And he thought to himself,

‘…I wish I could go back to the entrance ceremony.’

He wanted to go back in time and beat the crap out of his past self.
Demian Paulette, now Ihan’s assistant instructor, felt his eyes growing increasingly damp.
It seemed like his future was already looking bleak.

And, of course, just as he feared…

“Bring enough water and towels for 80 people. And make sure to bring anything else that might be needed.”
“B-but… what about the money…?”
“Either use my name and get support from the academy, or pay for it yourself.”
“…”
“Any complaints?”
“…None, damn it.”
“One word too many, assistant.”
“…Sniff.”

In the end, Demian began to sob quietly.

The cadets were briefly startled by the sight of Demian, but their interest quickly faded.

Half of them could already sense how things were going, while the other half simply didn’t care.
They were too busy with their own affairs.

Ihan liked the fact that these cadets were selfish.
It saved him the trouble of unnecessary explanations.

As he casually observed the cadets, he nodded to himself.

‘They all look like the type who won’t listen to a single word.’

There’s a saying: you can tell a lot from someone’s face—it’s science.
Ihan agreed with that.
Just look at these faces; they exuded the same aura of deadbeats he had encountered during his time in the military.

It was clear they had no intention of listening.

‘They probably don’t like me either.’

He could understand that.
If I were in their shoes, how would I feel about an instructor who had been demoted from the knights and caused a scene during the entrance ceremony?
It’s natural that they don’t like me.

…But.

“Before I introduce myself properly, I have a proposal for the cadets.”

• …?

“If anyone has doubts about my abilities as an instructor, now is the time to draw your weapons. I’ll take you all on. And for the record…”

• …….

“If any of you manage to defeat me, you’ll earn the opportunity to be trained by Baltar Grace himself. I swear on the name of the Silver Lion.”

Shing!

“Well, that’s better.”

In the next instant, half the cadets, without hesitation, drew their weapons and unleashed their energy toward Ihan.

“Hmph.”

─But here’s the thing.

Just as they dislike me, why should I like them in return?
And more importantly, I have no desire to spend time bonding with these cadets or getting to know them better.

In fact...

‘I’m glad there are so many of them to use.’

His only thought was how useful they would be.

This morning, he had been unfortunate enough to lose his sparring dummy. But now, he was pleased to see so many new ‘dummies’ that seemed much sturdier than the ragged one he had been using.

Ihan was quite satisfied.