The cribbled omega warrior girl のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 8

*Isla*My place. The cripple. The disappointment. The healer who should remain at home, tending to herbs instead of chasing dreams.But then, something ignites within me… cold, pure rage. It burns hotter than the pain, brighter than the humiliation. With a snarl that feels more animal than human, I push myself up. My leg protests, a fire of screaming nerves, but I force weight onto it. I ignore Ian. I ignore the crowd. I lurch forward, my gait a lopsided run, but it’s a run. One foot in front of the other. Each stride is defiance.The distance closes: ten yards. Five. I don’t slow. I crash through the finish line, a muddy, stumbling wreck, but I’m through. I collapse to my knees, chest heaving, body trembling with exhaustion and pain. I did it. The first part is done.The wiry girl and the ginger stand nearby, clutching water skins, their expressions unreadable. Master Goran is nowhere to be seen, but I feel his presence like a cold wind. He witnessed it all.The whispers start again,

*Isla*Provisional.It's not a rejection. It's not full acceptance. It's a maybe I guess. A test. My breath hitches. I'm in. For now.Beside me, Liora lets out a small whoop of joy. "Look," she says, pointing to her own name. "Provisional too. We're in the same boat, Limpy."I should be offended by the nickname, but coming from her it somehow feels loving, and it feels like an honor. A small, shaky laugh escapes me. "I guess we are.""Looks like we're stuck with each other," she says, a genuine, fierce grin spreading across her face. "The Academy's going to regret this."The night air is crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Most of the other successful, provisional, or simply surviving applicants have retreated to the celebratory bonfires or the quiet of their temporary barracks.Liora and I, united by our shared 'provisional' status and the general exhaustion that has settled deep into our bones, find a quiet spot near the edge of the grounds, a fallen log offer

*Isla* "What's going on?" I murmur, more to myself than to Liora. Liora squints, her keen eyes cutting through the gloom. "Sparring circle, I believe they call it," she says, a grim sort of amusement in her tone. "Second-years unwinding after a long day of watching us first-years get our asses kicked. It's tradition." I am wondering if my brother is friend with this cursed guy, or if it just a coincidence they are on the same side in this fight. A hush falls over the gathered crowd, a strange, tense silence that's louder than the previous shouting. The two opponents in the circle square up. They're big, both of them, but one moves with a swagger that screams overconfidence. He lunges forward, a sloppy, telegraphed tackle aimed at Ian. Ian sidesteps with a contemptuous ease, tripping the guy with a casual foot. The lout goes down in a heap of limbs and dust, provoking a fresh round of jeers and laughter from the onlookers. Ian just grins, looking out at the crowd, p

*Isla* "The Nightshade Company," the instructor says, her tone unreadable. She hands me the purple patch. The fabric is cool in my trembling hands. I look up and see Liora waiting for me, a wide, relieved grin spreading across her face. We're in the same company, so at least we have each other. My relief is so potent it's almost dizzying. I scan the remaining crowd, my heart doing a nervous little tap dance against my ribs. Where is Ian? My gaze finds him across the dwindling space, a broad black and red patch already on the arm of a second-year who now stands with him. The Dire Wolf Company. Same as dad Was in, of course. He's with the elite. For a dizzying moment, I'm proud. Then I remember his words, and the pride sours. At least he's not here to watch my every failure. At least I'm free of him. The last few names are called, and then there are only a dozen or so of us huddled under the Nightshade banner, a motley collection of anxious, hopeful faces. The a way to well known per