The Man Who Remained — His Second Life Began with a Humble Bow of Apology. - Chapter 57: The Girl Who Spent Eternity as a Child (Part 1).

The Girl Who Spent Eternity as a Child (Part 1).

For Cross himself, it might have seemed like an unexpected gift—yet, in truth, it was only natural, perhaps even inevitable.

When it came to close-quarters combat, Cross had possessed a fair measure of talent. By the age of fourteen or fifteen, he had already attained the skills of an average foot soldier. However, he soon hit a formidable wall—a barrier that made every step forward painfully demanding. Constantly confronting that wall, he clawed and climbed his way onward, never yielding, always striving.

Indeed, Cross was gifted—but only in the sense that he matured quickly. Ultimately, his talent was little more than an ordinary man’s, only slightly above the common mark. Cross slammed into every wall that any average person would face—yet he broke through them, again and again.

He never gave up. He never let despair break him. He had shining examples to aspire to, and kind companions to guide him. He never let his effort waver. On every leg of his journey, he kept growing stronger.

In other words, Cross understood exactly where ordinary people stumble—and more importantly, how to break through the walls that would make most people give up. As a teacher, that alone was an invaluable gift.

So then, of course Cross would possess a natural talent for training others in combat. It was only natural.

Wooden practice swords clashed with crisp, dry sounds—clack, clack, echoing through the air. Cross faced a single girl in mock combat, his every parry witnessed by a circle of children watching with rapt attention.

“Alright—there, there… and there we go.”

Cross deflected the girl’s fierce strikes with almost unnatural ease, flowing around her attacks as if they were nothing. The children watched, awe shimmering in their eyes—his skill alone commanded their respect.

The path of the sword is merciless. Even a child’s innocent gaze can clearly see the gulf that raw talent creates. If it were just a game, small differences wouldn’t matter. Effort or luck could bridge the gap. If everyone was friendly, even larger differences could be overlooked for the sake of fun.

But the moment one picks up a sword—even in play—those differences appear immediately. The notion of “equal footing” is a comforting illusion; the gap reveals itself instantly, and rarely ever closes. Cross knew well that in the beginning, the courage to swing freely, without fear or hesitation, was itself a formidable gift.

To strike without fear—without tension, without doubt—was a simple thing in theory, yet it drew a stark line between those who could and those who could not. Those who could swing boldly would grow stronger, at least for a while. Those who could not would often break before they ever made it far. That boldness alone was a talent.

And among the children, the one who stood out most was the very girl crossing swords with Cross now.

These children were nearly indistinguishable from human children, save for small traits—horns, fangs, unusual eyes. And those traits often came with greater physical gifts than humans could boast. But this girl had no horns, no fangs. She looked entirely human. Compared to the other children, her body was weaker, her strength less.

Yet, when she held a sword, she could best any of the other children—even boys a head taller would be brought to tears by her strikes. She swung with fierce abandon, sharp and heavy. Her presence alone was proof of how merciless talent could be.

Yet even so—even she could not touch Cross.

The strongest among the children was still nowhere near his level. It wasn’t a matter of being a fully-grown monster or having more experience; to the children watching, it was plain that his very way of fighting was simply different.

Holding his practice sword lightly, gripping it only between thumb and pinky, Cross stood rooted to the spot. Without moving a single step, he deflected the girl’s repeated strikes with just one hand. He wasn’t mocking her—he was showing them that with pure technique and discipline alone, even the most gifted could be surpassed.

“And there.”

Cross gently caught the girl’s wooden sword with his own, lifting it away as if it were welded to his blade—like a trick performed with a magician’s flourish.

“You all saw that, right?”

His words drew nods and applause from the children.

“Good! Then go talk it through with Vissis—figure out how you could’ve made me lose that match.”

He gave the girl, Vissis, an encouraging pat on the back.

“What’s there to tell her?” one boy grumbled, sulking. “She’s stronger than us anyway.” The other children nodded, sharing his reluctance to criticize.

Cross let out a small sigh.

“You lot… that’s no way to treat a friend who gave it her all, even when she was nervous and trying her best. And it’s completely different watching from the outside compared to actually fighting. Vissis is strong, yes—but she’s not flawless. You need to spot those flaws, tell her without making it sound mean, and then use what you learn to make yourselves stronger, too. You’ve got each other—if you don’t use that, you’re wasting it.”

Reluctantly, the children began to talk it over, crowding around Vissis to share praise and gentle advice, their chatter bubbling with shy warmth. Cross watched them with a fond smile.

“So, the verdict is…” a boy spoke up for them all. “We figured her mistake was… um… she kept hitting the same spot over and over.”

Cross nodded, pleased.

“Exactly. Maybe she was tired, or just lost focus, but toward the end she stopped moving her feet and only struck the front, same place every time. When your attacks won’t break through, that’s exactly when you have to change angles. If you always strike from behind your opponent, in theory you’d always have the advantage.”

“…But that’s hard, and even if you can do it, you’d have to move around a lot, right?”

“Right. Which is why when you wield a sword, your legs and stamina matter more than the blade itself. Move twice as much as your opponent, create openings, slip away to strike again. If you’re outmatched, run and hide—wait for your moment, or just run for real. If you have the stamina to outlast them, you have more ways to win.”

But doubt lingered on the children’s faces. In their eyes, true strength meant overwhelming an opponent head-on. Cross understood that feeling all too well.

“Yeah. Beating someone stronger than you, standing tall, striking them down fair and square—that’s cool. I get it. But listen—when you fight, throw ‘cool’ away.”

His voice dropped—no longer warm but cold, like iron, almost frightening.

“When you fight, it’ll be because you have no choice. An emergency. And in that moment, you won’t have time to look good. Remember why you said you wanted to get stronger—then choose the best way. Sometimes stopping one enemy matters less than carrying a baby to safety. You’re treasures—priceless treasures to the people here. Never forget that.”

His voice might have been cold, but to the children it sounded like a quiet plea—a prayer—and they could only nod in solemn understanding.

“…Good. Now—enough of that. Next up—ah, I see another girl over there. I’ll go bring her over—wait here!”

He dashed away toward a lone girl reading a book under the trees.

The children panicked, trying desperately to stop him—but Cross was already gone, too fast for their protests to reach him.

The girl with long black hair—no, more like a tiny child—sat alone in the shade, absorbed in her book, her delicate figure almost ethereal. A breeze teased her hair, revealing a profile painted in boredom and quiet detachment.

Noticing Cross approaching, she lifted her gaze from the pages, her face still marked by that listless disinterest.

Cross crouched before her, lowering himself to her eye level, and spoke gently—so very gently.

“Would you like to come play? Everyone’s here. Of course, we’ll do something you’re comfortable with. I promise I won’t make you feel bad.”

It hurt to see someone so alone. Whether human or monster, loneliness was always cruel.

No child is all-powerful or all-knowing. They’re simply doing their best to live—that truth knows no age. And so, inevitably, some children are left out, pushed to the margins. Cross knew he couldn’t stop that completely. But if he could do something—anything—while he was here, then he would. Even if it was selfish, he couldn’t ignore it.

The girl looked up at him, wide-eyed, her expression blank—yet not in the innocent way Cross had imagined. Her look was almost… shaded with quiet scorn, as if to say “What on earth is this man talking about?”

Just then, one of the children ran up to Cross, tugging at his sleeve and motioning him closer. Cross leaned in to hear the boy’s hurried whisper.

“That one… she’s older than the village chief.”

Cross turned back to the “girl” slowly. She was staring at him, her face utterly calm—except for the faint, chilling smile curling at her lips.

Cross straightened up, exhaled a long breath, and turned to the other children watching anxiously from afar.

“You lot—go play soccer. No more sword training unless there’s an adult around, you hear? You too—off you go.”

He sent the boy off with a soft but resigned look—equal parts gentle and utterly defeated.

“Good luck, Cross…” the boy whispered, saluting solemnly before running off to rejoin the others.

“…Well then.”

Cross murmured, turning back to face her—this woman who only looked like a young girl. She regarded him with eyes like cold steel.

Cross knelt before her, folding himself neatly at her feet—into a perfect, immaculate bow.

“…Roza, at your service. Pleased to meet you, Savior.”

“Cross. My deepest apologies for my thoughtlessness.”

It was a sincere apology for the cardinal sin of judging a woman by her appearance alone. Roza let out a soft laugh.

“I accept it. It can’t be helped, really… looking like this.”

A self-mocking smile touched her lips.

Such a small frame, so slight she might have been mistaken for a child of eight or nine. Anyone would have made the same mistake—and Roza knew it.

“Really—my mistake. Of course there are races like that.”

At this, Roza seemed to hesitate before speaking again.

“Tell me… do others like me truly exist, outside this village?”

“…Hm? What do you mean?”

“…It may be improper of me, but—I’d like to ask someone beyond these walls. Would you hear me out?”

“Of course. If I can help.”

Cross nodded, settling down beside her in the shade as Roza quietly closed her book.