This Life, I Will Be the Protagonist
Chapter 763 - 763: 763: Divine Game: Card Swap 12

"Now then. Do you hate me?"

She stood immaculate, clean, powerful. Her new leather armor was spotless, ruby earrings catching the light like a slap to the face, the scent of food and wine still clinging to her clothes.

In contrast, Rita was covered in blood, layered cuts both old and new, an arm that had once been broken and healed poorly by low-grade potions...

She looked up at Lightchaser with her remaining eye, red and raw, teeth clenched tight.

"Hate you to the bone."

"I like that answer," Lightchaser said, clearly amused. She bent down until her eyes were level with Rita's.

A month ago, this little one had eyes like a lost puppy.

Now? She looked like a young wolf who'd learned how to survive, how to hunt alone.

The elf stared directly into her eye and said, slowly and clearly:

"Anger and hatred don't require permission. They matter. Don't talk yourself out of them with some self-righteous, half-baked logic."

Rita nodded, tried to speak—but her voice cracked with the lump in her throat. She shut her mouth, swallowed hard, trembling as she forced the emotion down. Once steady, she asked, "But didn't you say to discard emotion?"

Lightchaser hesitated for a second, then sighed and rolled her eyes. "I meant you should set it aside temporarily when solving problems. Don't let it cloud your judgment. But I never said to ignore it."

Rita nodded again, more firmly. "I'll remember that."

"And more importantly—don't rely on anyone. Every bit of pain and despair you felt in the arena came from putting your trust in me. That was your punishment. I hope it cut deep."

Rita's eye burned with renewed fire. "I'll remember that too."

Lightchaser glanced up. The soul flame above Rita's head was glowing brighter than ever, and it brought a hint of a smile to her lips.

She stood tall again, looking down at her. "I'll give you one chance to back out. Do you still want to be my apprentice? If not, I'll take you back to Gilane."

"I want to! I do!"

"Then from today, you're officially my apprentice. Now tell me your name."

"Rita."

"Lightchaser Rita. Good. You were always meant to be mine."

...

Lightchaser used a skill to heal every wound and injury on Rita's body.

It dulled the sharp edge of the despair, rage, and anxiety clinging to her like a second skin.

She brought Rita to an inn, got her washed up, and handed her a set of new clothes—a warm yellow set of cloth armor with little ducklings printed on it.

Rita gently stroked the new outfit with both hands, treating it with the care of a child holding a treasure. For a moment, she looked like just another kid—not the blood-soaked fighter who'd lived every minute in the arena like it was her last.

Lightchaser had her sit down and pulled out a dagger, quickly trimming the choppy self-cut hair Rita had hacked away for practicality. After a few efficient snips, the messy bob was transformed—neat, soft, and charming.

Much better. Lightchaser gave her a satisfied pat on the head, then tossed the dagger across the table. "Your apprenticeship gift."

Rita caught the gleaming blue dagger with a grin. "Thank you, teacher!"

The old dagger she'd used was already dulled beyond use, but Rita didn't throw it away. She moved it to the left-side loop on her assassin belt, attaching the new one to her dominant right side—the spot quickest to draw from.

She practiced drawing and sheathing the dagger again and again, as if she'd found a new game she'd never tire of.

Lightchaser leaned back, watching her only student swing the weapon around with clumsy enthusiasm and a dozen fake-out moves.

She rapped her knuckle on the table. "You've been dying to say something ever since we left the pit. Spit it out. You know I don't have patience."

Rita sat down across from her and cleared her throat, serious but not hesitant.

"If hating you was the correct response… then shouldn't Fat Goose have been the better choice? I don't believe any of our decisions could've influenced your final judgment. So why me?"

Lightchaser stretched out her long legs, tilting her chair back, rocking it lazily. "He hated me, but he also feared me. Emotion dictated everything he did. You're different. You didn't hate me. You weren't afraid either. You focused on the situation itself. You weren't ruled by emotion. That made you worth teaching. He wasn't."

Rita pressed on. "What about Mistblade? She didn't fear you either. She didn't hate you."

She knew she was being childish. She'd just confessed to hating Lightchaser—and now she was chasing down the answer, needing to understand why she had been chosen.

Lightchaser didn't respond immediately. Her gaze lifted, staring into the flickering flame above Rita's head—her soul fire.

It was a silver full moon, surrounded by hanging stars of many colors. Four of them floated closest, shining brightly. Most of the constellation radiated pure, unfiltered love—but they weren't the biggest stars.

The largest star hung a bit farther away, but it was unmistakable.

It represented Rita's feelings toward her.

The core of that star was blood red, making up 80 to 85% of its surface—a deep well of hatred aimed squarely at her.

But its outer layers shimmered with complexity: gratitude, admiration, reverence, respect, even a trace of longing.

What made Lightchaser choose Rita in the end was this exact flame.

She had seen it the first day they met. It was blinding—so much so that it was hard to look away.

Even after everything Rita endured in the arena, the moon hadn't cracked or dimmed. It didn't grow distorted or shrouded by darkness.

In fact, it burned brighter every day, shining clearer, stronger, more beautiful.

This girl didn't hate the world. She didn't wallow in self-pity. She only hated the one who had made her suffer—the elf before her. Yоur suppоrt оn МVLЕМРYR kееps this sеriеs gоing.

Every day in the arena, the red in that star grew stronger, nearly consuming 90% of it at its peak.

But when Lightchaser taught her the purpose of hate and rage, when she pushed her to sharpen her edges, the red ring around that star began to fade—replaced by a halo of quiet gratitude.

This smart little apprentice understood the difference between pain and guidance. Hatred didn't blind her. She still thought. Still saw.

Lightchaser mused—no matter how arrogant or prickly a mentor might be, none would ever take on a student who was petty, ungrateful, or incapable of recognizing what they'd been given.

And Lightchaser herself? She knew full well she wasn't gentle. She wasn't loving. She wasn't kind.

Being a mentor didn't just cost resources and time. It cost emotion.

She wanted to turn this cub into a blade, but not one that would end up pointed at her own heart.

And perhaps most telling of all—when she healed Rita's broken body, that little star of gratitude swelled.

But when she gave her new clothes, cut her hair, gifted her a weapon—things that would've melted her back in Gilane—that star only flickered. Nothing changed.

Cute. But realistic.

Back in Gilane, when Lightchaser had first offered to buy a potion from her, this cub had lit up with admiration.

Now, after seeing the world's cruelty firsthand, only real value—only teaching that made her stronger—could earn her respect.

Her gratitude didn't come cheap.

Clever. Resilient. Not rigid. Prideful, but not foolishly so.

Emotional, but not blinded by it.

The more she thought about it, the more Lightchaser liked her student.

In the end, she gave a half-answer, a crooked grin tugging at her mouth.

"She carries too much responsibility. You? You're the one most like me."