It seems She has Become the First Love of the Impenetrable, Iron-Hearted Male Protagonist

A sparring match?

A sparring match as in… sparring?

For a moment, it felt like the world flickered out of existence. My vision blurred as the realization hit me, leaving me stunned. After blinking several times, clarity slowly returned.

Oh, my God.

So Ian asked for a sparring match, and I mistook it for a confession?

“Oh, right. A sparring match. Of course, there was a recruit who asked me for one,” I said, trying to appear composed. But I could feel the corners of my forced smile trembling slightly.

All that overthinking about Ian’s relentless pursuit driving Rosevelia to exile, speculating about unrequited love and revenge… How much “kimchi soup” had I drunk in anticipation of something that didn’t exist?

I’d managed to leave an embarrassing stain on Rosevelia’s legacy—one that made me want to crawl into a hole. A small puddle would suffice for me to drown in at this point.

“Yes, that recruit is me.”

“So, you asked me for a sparring match…”

But what about the whole ‘synchronizing our breath’ thing? What was that supposed to mean?

“Do you truly not remember?” Ian’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I noticed his furrowed brows, his expression shadowed with frustration.

Wait, is he upset?

In the original story’s conclusion, Ian and I were destined to face each other in battle—to kill and be killed. I had to avoid that outcome at all costs.

For now, I wasn’t sure how to change the story’s course. At the very least, I needed to maintain a good relationship with Ian while we were in the same knight order.

Clutching my head, I massaged my temples as if nursing a headache.

“Actually, I’ve been quite ill recently. My memories of the eve’s banquet are… hazy.”

Ian tilted his head, skepticism clear in his sharp gaze. He didn’t seem entirely convinced by my excuse.

“At the banquet, there was a tournament, and I was on a winning streak. Then you challenged me.”

Rosevelia’s memories offered a vague recollection of the event. Each year, the banquet included an anonymous tournament where participants donned identical helmets, concealing their identities. There were no restrictions on who could enter.

Only the final champion could reveal their face and name, leaving their legacy to be celebrated in the square until the next year’s festival. For unknown knights, it was a chance to make a name for themselves; for knights of the order, it was an opportunity to bring honor to their comrades.

“You defeated me swiftly and withdrew from the tournament,” Ian continued. “I advanced by default, but I forfeited immediately after to follow you and request a sparring match.”

“How did you know it was me?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

At my question, Ian’s face flushed slightly, and he hesitated.

“At first, I didn’t know. But the sensation of crossing swords with you was so vivid that I couldn’t forget it. I… followed you in secret and saw you remove your helmet. That’s when I realized it was you. You said you’d consider my request.”

Ian coughed awkwardly, clearly self-conscious about admitting he’d shadowed me. Perhaps the memory of tailing someone, especially for a prince, was a bit undignified.

“I completely misunderstood. My apologies,” I said, shaking my head.

“So… what about your answer?” he asked.

“Well… since it was my mistake, I suppose sparring once wouldn’t hurt…”

But then I hesitated. In the distant future, Ian and Rosevelia would be rivals, the only two capable of matching each other.

If I wanted to avoid that dynamic, should I refuse the sparring match now? Was this one of those pivotal moments?

Without knowing which path would diverge from the original story, how could I make the right decision?

Would it be better to withdraw?

“Well, since it was my mistake, I suppose sparring once wouldn’t hurt…”

Wait a second.

Even if it’s far off in the future, Ian and Rosevelia were destined to become each other’s only rival.

If I wanted to avoid the dynamic of rivalry entirely, should I refuse to spar with him now? Was sparring with him the wrong move?

I didn’t know enough about Rosevelia’s original choices to be certain which path would lead to a different outcome.

Could I afford to accept this so easily? Should I just back out now?

“Really?” Ian’s voice, louder and more excited than I’d ever heard it, snapped me out of my thoughts.

I looked up at his face and froze. His expression was positively radiant, flushed with excitement. If I took back my words now, it might hurt our relationship.

Alright. If he wants this so badly, maybe it’s not so bad. Besides, sparring could bring us closer.

Finally deciding, I smiled broadly at Ian.

“If you can handle sparring with me, that is.”

“That’s not something you need to worry about, Senior,” Ian replied, his tone steady and resolute. “Handling it is my responsibility, so don’t hold back.”

In the original story, Ian was depicted as a completely different person after his coronation as crown prince.

His demeanor changed, and his swordsmanship suddenly reached an unattainable level.

“Your Highness, I have something I wish to say to you.”

“What is it?”

“Well… what I mean to say is… I… I…”

The sound of a deep, frustrated sigh echoed above me, drawing my attention upward. As I lifted my gaze, I was met with Ian’s chilling, emotionless eyes, utterly devoid of warmth.

I hadn’t wanted to believe it, but now I had to accept the truth: the man standing before me was no longer the same Ian I had once admired.

“I am cursed.”

“What? What do you mean by that…?”

The emptiness in his eyes made me flinch involuntarily. A cold sensation washed over me, sending shivers down my spine.

“I can never love anyone. That is all I have to say.”

As I recalled that scene from the original story, I turned my attention back to the Ian standing before me now. His attempts to suppress his excitement were painfully obvious, but it was clear he was brimming with anticipation.

This boy is supposed to become a cold-blooded tyrant, consumed by war?

The Ian in front of me felt like a completely different person from the one in the original story.

Then there was the sudden and inexplicable leap in his swordsmanship, and the cryptic way he used the word “curse” in front of Daisy…

What exactly happened around the time of his coronation?

I’d had similar questions when I first read the novel, but Ian hadn’t been my favorite character, so I hadn’t given it much thought.

“Senior?”

Ian’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I blinked and met his gaze, realizing I had been staring at him in silence.

“Huh?”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, is that correct?”

“…Yeah, the training ground near the annex should work. It would be better if no other knights were around, though.”

“Understood. I’ll come early in the morning.”

I nodded but then hesitated for a moment.

Did Ian know that Rosevelia often came to train early in the morning?

“Alright.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ian gave me a polite nod before leaving. I watched his retreating figure until it was nothing more than a small black dot in the distance. Only then did the tension leave my body, and I let out a deep sigh through clenched teeth.

I came here intending to reject a confession, and somehow, I ended up agreeing to a sparring match.

Is this really okay?

I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling cloaked in darkness.

For the first time since I woke up in this world, I’d made a decision of my own. Perhaps that’s why I couldn’t fall asleep.

I was caught between fear and excitement, uncertain about the ripple effects this choice would create.

Could I really change the story? And if so, how should I go about it? What did I ultimately want to achieve in this world?

These thoughts coiled and tangled in my mind like vines, keeping me awake. After snatching a few hours of restless sleep, I rose early and headed to the training ground.

With my hair tied back and my body slowly warming up through stretches, I watched the pale dawn light grow steadily brighter. As I completed a set of stretches, the tightly closed doors to the training ground creaked open.

Expecting Ian, I turned toward the door, but it wasn’t him.

Instead, a younger knight with a boyish face stepped inside.

The way he hesitated as he approached and the unfamiliarity of his face told me he was likely one of the recruits who had joined the order with Ian.

“Um… Senior…”

“What is it?”

“Well… I didn’t think you’d actually be here so early… Just a moment, please.”

“Huh? What?”

The round-faced knight slapped his cheeks with both hands, took a deep breath, and stood a bit straighter.

“I… I came to hear your answer, Senior.”

“Answer? About what?”

Why does this feel oddly familiar?

“Did you… perhaps forget? I’m talking about the eve’s banquet.”

What is he talking about?

What on earth had happened to Rosevelia that night?

“Sorry, but I don’t really remember much about that day,” I said cautiously.

“Pardon?”

I swallowed a sigh and massaged my forehead, trying to look as troubled as I felt. The recruit’s eyes widened in response.

“I haven’t been feeling well lately, and for some reason, my memory of that day is hazy. Could you explain what happened?”

“Well, uh… I…”

His voice was so faint it was like he was trying to sink into the ground.

“What?”

Frustrated, I leaned closer, but the recruit immediately scurried back like a startled rabbit.

“Ah, my name is Simon, by the way. Just in case you didn’t know…”

“Alright, Simon. It’s fine. Go ahead and tell me.”

“Well, on that day…”

Another sparring request, probably. I thought, bracing myself for something mundane.

“I confessed to you, Senior. I mean… I asked if you’d, uh, go out with me.”

What?!