Durandal

The morning track was still drenched in a thin veil of mist when you arrived. The sun hadn’t fully claimed the sky yet; soft light stretched over the lanes, and the only sounds were distant birds and the faint hum of sprinklers finishing their early cycle.

You checked your watch. Early. As usual.

You were halfway through reviewing today’s training schedule on your clipboard when you heard firm, rhythmic footfalls on the asphalt behind you. Not hurried—measured, like someone marching to a battlefield.

You turned.

Durandal strode toward you from the entrance path, ponytail swaying like a golden banner. At first glance, she looked like her usual morning self: hair neatly tied high, jacket of the red-and-white Tracen tracksuit hanging open, long legs covered by clean white leggings, expression composed and knight-like.

Then your eyes moved to her T-shirt.

Big, bold black characters sprawled across her shirt:

「あなたが王」- "YOU ARE THE KING."

You froze for half a second.

She stopped a few steps in front of you, standing at full attention, one hand over her heart in a knightly sort of salute, as if nothing about her attire was unusual in the slightest. Up close, you could see the faint pink dusting her cheeks, but her posture didn’t waver.

You stared at the shirt, then at her face, then back at the shirt. You asked her what she was wearing.

“This is my chosen training raiment, Trainer-dono. A knight must bear her crest with pride… and so I bear mine.” Her back straightened even more—if that were even possible.

You pointed explicitly at the letters on her shirt, asking if she understood what it implied.

Her fingers briefly brushed over the characters, as if confirming they were still there. Her tail gave the tiniest, traitorous wag.

“Of course I understand. Those words are not a jest. They are a declaration of fealty. You are my King. Therefore… it must be written clearly, that the world may know where my loyalty lies.”

You pointed out that you never actually asked her to declare something like that.

Her gaze softened for a brief moment, the edges of her knightly mask loosening, before she straightened again.

“You did not ask, correct. A true knight does not wait to be ordered to show devotion. She acts first. You are the one who guides my path, hones my blade, and praises my efforts. To deny you a title befitting that role would be… unthinkable.”

She paused, then added a little quieter, still in that formal tone but with an unmistakable hint of shyness.

“…Also, I… wanted you to see it first. Before anyone else.”

You fell silent for a bit, before sigh. You smiled, then told her honestly that it suited her—in a very Durandal way. Bold, loyal, and a little ridiculous.

“…It suits me, you say?” Her ears perked sharply.

Her tail swished once, twice, then fell into a rapid, excited rhythm she clearly tried to suppress. She held a hand to her chest as if steadying a racing heart, but her voice betrayed a slight tremor of joy.

“If… if you say so, then I shall wear it proudly, Trainer-dono. A knight is shaped by her King’s words, after all. If you deem it fitting, then I shall carve this attire into legend.”

You were finishing the last few lines of paperwork when a polite but unmistakably determined knock sounded at your door.

Durandal entered without waiting for an answer.

Her tracksuit jacket was still half-unzipped from training, her hair tied neatly, her tail swaying with purpose rather than fatigue. In one hand, she carried a DVD box set. In the other, a notebook filled with meticulous handwriting.

Definitely up to something.

She closed the door gently, then turned to you with that upright knightly posture she always held — except her cheeks were a little pink, and her ears a little too alert.

“Trainer-dono. Today’s supplementary regimen must be completed before I retire. We must begin our… ‘review session.’” She raised the DVD like a knight presenting sacred scripture.

You asked, half in disbelief, if she really meant watching a romance drama in your office.

“Of course." She nodded gravely. "If my goal is to achieve a keenly cutting spurt, then emotional intuition must be trained as well. Romance dramas are… invaluable materials.”

She stepped forward — closer than necessary — and placed the DVD on your desk. You questioned whether this was truly training or if she simply wanted an excuse to watch her favorite show with you.

“It is both. A knight must be multifaceted.” Her tail flicked. Her eyes darted away for a tiny moment.

You sighed, but you didn’t protest. She took that as victory.

The two of you were seated on the small couch in your office, the screen glowing softly in front of you. Durandal had placed herself at your side — very deliberately — but at first kept a knightly, respectable distance.

As the drama progressed — the heroine confessing in the rain, the knightly male lead offering his cape — you felt slight movement to your right.

Durandal shifted… an inch closer.

Then another. Then another.

By episode two, her shoulder brushed yours whenever she leaned forward to make a point.

“Trainer-dono, observe the male lead’s gesture. His offer of protection is gallant, but his timing is flawed. A true knight would have assisted before she began crying.” She scribbled furious notes.

You pointed out that her commentary was surprisingly sharp. She straightened proudly.

“Naturally. Romance dynamics require the same dedication as battlefield tactics.”

By episode three, her thigh rested gently against yours.

She kept her eyes glued to the screen, posture composed… except the tips of her ears were red and her tail was curled tightly around her leg.

On screen, the heroine stumbled and fell into the knight’s arms. Durandal inhaled sharply. then she spoke, voice low and thoughtful.

“Trainer-dono… if such a scene occurred in reality, would you… find it effective?” She kept her gaze on the screen, but her fingers slowly folded into the fabric of her sleeve, fidgeting.

You asked why she wanted to know.

She hesitated… then inched just a little closer, her arm brushing yours fully now.

“…Because I wish to understand how knights earn their King’s praise.”

A long pause.

You didn’t move away.

Her tail immediately swished.

As the credits rolled, Durandal closed her notebook with a soft, decisive snap. Without even realizing it, she had leaned fully against your shoulder. When the episode ended, she didn't shift away — in fact, she pressed a little closer, as if claiming that spot.

She looked up at you with those bright blue eyes, trying her best to appear composed… but clearly hoping for something.

“Trainer-dono… shall we continue the next episode? The research is… far from complete.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing her about how convenient it was that her research required sitting so close.

“T-Training efficiency increases when seated near one’s King! I-it is purely practical! Completely tactical! Entirely—” Her ears shot up, then drooped in flustered panic.

She calms down a bit, before peeking up at you. Her voice softened, sincerity slipping through.

“…If you do not mind it… may I stay just like this for the next episode?”

It was deep into the night. Your couch had claimed you as its latest victim; the blanket half-slipped off, an episode rerun murmuring on low volume, and your breathing slow and even.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out.

But the knock, knock, knock at your door was soft… hesitant… yet determined.

You blinked awake, rubbing your eyes. Who on earth would be visiting at this hour?

Another gentle knock.

You pushed yourself up with a groan, yawning your way through the living room until you reached the door. Still half-asleep, you unlocked it and pulled it open.

And froze.

Durandal stood there. In pajamas.

Not the polished knightly attire, not the majestic coat or her refined tracksuit — but soft, pastel pajamas covered by a fluffy robe. Her blonde hair was let down, messy in a way you had never seen before. Her ears drooped, her tail practically dragging.

She hugged a pillow to her chest like a lifeline.

“T-Trainer-dono… forgive the late intrusion. I… I seek your assistance.” She looked up at you with a small, embarrassed, painfully adorable expression.

Did she really walk all the way from the dorms? At this hour?

She cleared her throat, trying to summon her usual noble tone — but the blush on her cheeks ruined the attempt entirely.

“I… am having trouble sleeping tonight. My thoughts refuse to settle. Her voice dropped, softer, timid.* “I… I tried all remedies. Warm milk, deep breaths, counting sheep, even holding my sword pendan… but none succeeded.”

A beat of silence.

Then, as if gathering all her knightly courage for one desperate strike, she lifted her chin — though her eyes wavered.

“So… I came to request permission to stay here. With you. If it is not too troubling."

It was a rare sunny day off — no training schedules, no reports, no strategy meetings. Just free time.

You waited outside the dorm gates, stretching your arms and enjoying the breeze… until a familiar, confident voice called out.

Durandal.

But this time, not as the gallant knight of Tracen, not as the disciplined warrior of the track — but wearing her casual outfit.

The loose red-and-white striped jacket draped elegantly over her shoulders, the fitted black tank top highlighting her figure more boldly than she probably realized, and those sleek gray jeans giving her a relaxed, almost modern charm. Her hair, usually tied into a strict high ponytail, was let down in soft waves, brushing her shoulders. The little red hat perched atop her head made her look simultaneously noble and adorable.

She stopped in front of you, clearing her throat with exaggerated composure.

“Ahem… Trainer-dono. Thank you for accepting my humble request to accompany me on today’s excursion.” Her words were formal, her face was pink.

You simply smiled, offering to begin the day.

She nodded—too enthusiastically—and walked beside you, her steps a perfect mix of knightly poise and girlish excitement.

First, you took her to a small café near Tracen.

The moment she saw the dessert menu, her eyes sparkled. She pointed at the parfait with elegant precision—pretending she was merely analyzing nutritional value.

“This layered structure… symbolizes harmony, does it not? A splendid metaphor for balanced living. I shall… partake.”

She enjoyed it with surprising delicacy, savoring each bite as if judging a royal banquet.

But every time you looked at her, she straightened up and tried to look stoic.

“Please do not misinterpret my enjoyment, Trainer-dono. I am simply… performing a thorough taste evaluation.” Her tail, softly wagging behind her, betrayed her instantly.

When you two walk through the city, she stuck close while you walked through the shopping district — closer than usual.

Every time someone looked at her, she unconsciously tilted her chin upward, assuming her knightly posture. But when you glanced her way, she softened again—her shoulder brushing yours just slightly.

She pretended not to notice.

“Trainer-dono… I trust you are not growing weary? Should you require rest, please inform me. I… I would not wish for you to suffer fatigue under my care.”

You teased her lightly: wasn’t this her day off too?

“E-even knights may indulge in… companionship.” Her face flushed a lovely shade of red.

Eventually, the two of you found a quiet bench by the lake. Durandal sat with perfect posture at first… then slowly eased into a more relaxed position, letting her arm rest along the bench behind you.

Very close.

She looked out over the water, her voice softening with sincerity.

“I… seldom indulge in such peaceful hours. To spend them with you, Trainer-dono… it feels… unusually pleasant.”

You raised an eyebrow at her wording.

Unusually?

She quickly corrected herself, flustered.

“N-no! I mean—pleasant in a familiar and deeply agreeable way! That is… the correct phrasing.” She quickly corrected herself, flustered.

When it was time to head back, Durandal walked you all the way home—even though she didn’t need to.

At your door, she paused, fingers tightening around the pendant she often wore.

She dipped her head slightly, a gesture of reverence mixed with affection.

“Today… was an honor. If you would grant me another outing in the future… I would gladly accept.”

You told her you enjoyed it too. That made her ears perked, her eyes lit up.

And for once, dropping her knightly manner, she let out a small, shy smile — genuine, warm, and beautiful.

“Then… I shall await our next quest together, my King.”