Chapter One: Darkwolf Extermination

Back to Work

The day after returning to Runerelia from my holiday, I dropped into the Central Garrison...

“Well, look who’s decided to finally show his face, eh? Stupid brat! You might only be a provisional member, but if you’re leaving town you’ve still gotta let us know, you bastard! But no, you went off on a little holiday, huh? I was looking forward to working you like a dog the minute you started summer break, and you think it’s fine to go off skipping through the fields without letting anyone know?!”

...which was where I found Captain Dew in an extremely bad mood—whether from a lack of sleep or merely a hangover, I couldn’t say—blatantly admitting to his plan to abuse my labor, just as I’d expected. Of course, I had no intention of admitting I’d run away precisely because I’d predicted his plan.

“What?! I thought it would be best to stay away for a while! I’d hate to get in everyone’s way for the whole two months of break, you know? I thought I’d be a burden, with my age and all... I guess I made a mistake.” I sighed, shaking my head. “Well, in that case, I’ll head straight to Kiana for archery train—”

“You’ll sit the hell down,” interrupted Dew, forcing me back into my seat by the top of my head.

From beside him, the kindhearted, cleft-chinned Dante let out a chuckle. “And speaking of being a burden...” he started. “You really put the captain to the test with your disappearance. After he got tired of waiting for you to show up, he got one of the intelligence squads onto it, but they couldn’t find hide nor hair of you. We managed to find out about your trip to Robles with your friends, and then—nothing. Where did you run off to after that?”

Mwa ha ha.

We’d arrived back at the dorm in the evening, at which point I’d promptly changed into plain, civilian clothes, donned a low-brimmed cap, and snuck back out, boarding a late-night train bound for Kosrael. No reasonable person would have expected me—or anyone—to set out on a new trip mere minutes after returning from the last one. Besides, I knew I’d be plagued with unwanted, troublesome callers as soon as people had found out I’d returned, and I needed to defend my right to take a free-spirited solo vacation at any cost. I’d even backtracked through the eastern slums a few times to shake off any potential shadows before heading to the station.

“I went on vacation, of course! I’ve been dreaming of delicious seafood, so I ended up going all the way to Sardos County in the northeast—gee, it was amazing! On the way back, I came across a hot spring resort by chance, which was also—”

Dew’s grip on my head got tighter.

“Er, that was a joke... I went traveling to expand my horizons and get stronger—Ow! Captain, you’re gonna break my skull!”

“Listen here, you little mongrel. If you don’t make up for the time you’ve wasted, I’ll crack your skull for real, you hear me?” Dew growled. “You can start by checking over the reorganization plan for the police force, and then you’ve got a meeting with the development team for that ‘spreadsheet’ thing, or whatever it was you called it. After that, you need to deal with all the work that’s been piling up on my desk while you were off smelling flowers! You’ll have to get it done by tonight, because then you’re going off with Dante on a three-day mission—and don’t expect to get any sleep! The Sixth Legion has requested some backup to eradicate a pack of darkwolves. If I send you along, they should be able to finish up sooner.”

What kinda crazy sweatshop is this?! This place is worse than a Japanese company!

◆◆◆

When I’d begged Dew to take me on as his apprentice, I’d used my capabilities with miscellaneous office work as a bargaining tool. Once the work had started coming in, though, I’d been appalled by the old-fashioned, inefficient methods used by the Order. Using my pre-awakened knowledge, I’d suggested a few improvements, but...

I got too carried away...

The captain was always drowning in work, so to start with, I’d compiled and sorted all of the tasks that usually fell to him to see where changes could be made. The more capable an employee was, the more work they found themselves doing—it was the way of the world, regardless of which world that might be. In Dew’s case, though, he had so much work to do that it was impossible to figure out which tasks needed to take priority, let alone manage to finish all of it. The captain had resigned himself to the endless work (albeit begrudgingly) but I couldn’t allow it to continue—not when some of it now fell to me. I wasn’t going to let unimportant grunt work steal away any of my precious time.

After I had a complete picture of the captain’s usual tasks, I sorted them into “routine” and “nonroutine” categories before proceeding to earmark any tasks that could be delegated to others, thereby reducing Dew’s usual workload. As I saw it, everyone was relying on the captain too much (he was reliable and good at his job, begrudging though I was to admit it) which meant he’d ended up being responsible for way too many things. All I’d done was reduce his workload to a more reasonable level.

In my previous life, I’d never been regarded as a good employee. Despite being a little slow on the uptake, though, I’d always been able to complete my work to a decent degree of quality. So why had my reputation been so dismal, then? There were a few reasons, to be honest.

The first was that I’d never had any passion for my work, which made sense. I’d never had passion for anything back then. I hadn’t chosen my job because it was something I’d wanted to do—I’d chosen it because it had been the only place that had accepted me. The second reason was my overwhelming lack of confidence. I’d treated school, university, and job-hunting as steps on a checklist rather than a chance to experience new things and learn about myself, and it had shown.

None of that mattered now though. With a bit of prioritization, Dew was now excitedly proclaiming that he got to sleep at least a little bit every night, which was progress—but I hadn’t been satisfied yet. The more time Dew gained, the more time he had to teach me wind magic (well, Scouting Magic, anyway), the mastery of which had swiftly become my greatest desire in this new life.

Unfortunately, efficiency and delegation had their limits, and the time Dew had gained wasn’t enough for my purposes. Therefore, I’d next suggested we reorganize the police force—one of several groups who also fell under Dew’s jurisdiction as captain of the Third Legion—including the construction of several “police boxes” across the city, thus reducing the need for Third Legion Knights to patrol the streets on a daily basis.

The police box plan had been a more drastic suggestion, but drastic measures were what was needed for me to acquire the training time I wanted. Thankfully, since my initial delegation adjustments had produced a favorable result, Dew had been quite open to considering the police boxes. Realistically, the introduction of a more consistent police presence would improve public safety throughout the capital and greatly reduce the responsibilities of the Third Legion, leaving them free to handle more pressing matters. Additionally, with the upcoming threat of war, greater public safety could only be a positive. Since the police boxes would require a significant reshuffling of the force and considerable additional funding, we obviously hadn’t rolled out the plan citywide to start with. Instead, several test sites had been set up, and we were currently in the process of collecting and reviewing the data acquired from each while revising methods and potential locations for the proper implementation.

The police box project had revealed this world’s greatest shortcoming when it came to administration work, though—a glaring lack of spreadsheet software.

In times of emergency, the Royal Order would call upon the private armies retained by the nine marquesses, therefore suddenly finding themselves in charge of a much, much larger force than usual. It was impossible for the Order to keep track of the additional forces, let alone handle the logistics of managing them. Any Japanese person would have reacted just the same as me upon arriving in a world where personnel sheets and organization charts were written by hand—that is, by putting a spreadsheet-capable device into immediate production. Obviously, computers didn’t exist here, so coming up with something capable of producing spreadsheets was no easy task. However, there were things resembling monitors, and tools somewhat similar to calculators—both readily available to those who hand money to spare in the capital. If anyone was capable of jamming those two things together into a pseudocomputer, spreadsheet-making device, it was the Royal Order, with their near-unlimited budget and intelligent personnel. If we could somehow get it to work, such a device would make clerical tasks (and, therefore, my tasks) a hundred times easier.

Caught up in my love for spreadsheets, I’d pitched the device at a meeting with a little more passion than I’d intended. Before I knew it, the project had dramatically increased in size; an insane budget had been dedicated to development, and several external teams had been roped in too. Even Ms. Emmie—the adviser of the Magical Craftsmanship Club at the Royal Academy, and a prominent magical engineer and researcher in her own right—had been called upon to join the team. “It’s a brilliant idea, Allen,” she’d said, “but if we leave it to these stubborn old men, we’ll end up with something that works, sure—but only if you can figure out how to use it.”

In the end, while I had managed to reduce the captain’s workload, I’d also ended up pioneering a project that would impact the whole Order—and probably eventually the entire kingdom—which meant I now found myself frequently attending project meetings despite only being a provisional member.

And on top of everything, Dew had started sending me out on missions where a Scout was called for. On the one hand, it made sense—he couldn’t really leave Runerelia for days on end, after all. On the other hand, it meant I was basically working full time as a full-fledged member of the Order. Plus, all of that—the projects, the grunt work, the missions—had started before summer break had even begun.

My mastery of Scouting Magic was nowhere near as good as Dew’s, but from what I’d gathered, it was pretty decent compared to others in the Third Legion. Recently, Dew had begun to receive requests for my help, usually from nearby legions dealing with large-scale extermination missions—missions that weren’t difficult enough to necessitate his direct participation, but that he had no qualms about sending his school-age, indentured intern to complete in his stead.

And so, back to the present. There I was, desperately trying to think of a way to get out of what was quickly revealing itself to be a sudden end to my free-spirited summer vacation, when suddenly I sensed a new presence behind me—Justin. I didn’t need to turn around to figure out that he was smirking.

“A hot spring on the way back from Sardos County, you said? Don’t tell me you stopped by Ment?”

“Justin! When did you get here?” I asked innocently. “And Patch isn’t with you? He’s usually the first to show up and make jokes whenever I drop in. Is he on patrol? You’re right, by the way—I did stop by Ment! How did you know? Oh, it was a beautiful little place, with amazing hot springs. Have you been?” I replied with a polite smile. Justin grinned in response, but for some reason, Dante’s and Dew’s expressions hardened at the mention of the village.

“Patch is in charge of this year’s batch of third-year provisional members,” Justin replied. “I think they’re out dealing with the local monster overpopulation at the moment. We’ve got eight of you Royal Academy kids this year—well, not counting you, of course. I say ‘provisional members,’ but they’re basically our guests. We give them a taste of worthwhile, flashy work here in the Order, and lure them into signing up after they graduate.” He chuckled. “Speaking of showing off, though... Since it’s you we’re talking about, I’m guessing you didn’t stroll into Ment wearing your Order cape, hey? You were basically undercover—so did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary while you were there?” he asked, smirking as always.

Hang on, I don’t remember getting any special guest treatment when I signed up...

I shrugged. “I only went there as part of an exploration request, and left after enjoying the hot springs. There wasn’t much time to hear anything strange, even if I’d wanted to. Oh, but the uncivilized guys I was escorting were from ‘the Lotz family,’ or something like that... Their boss seemed to like me for some reason, and told me to pay him a visit after I got back to Runerelia. Obviously I’m not gonna go. I’d never associate with those vulgar types!” I declared loudly, causing Justin to burst into peals of laughter.

“Ha! Oh dear,” he finally said, once he’d managed to calm down. “That’s our Allen for you. Who else would follow up a relaxing seaside vacation with an escort mission to Ment, of all places? Beautiful work, kid. How much did they let you in on while you were playing the fool, eh?” He winked at me and turned to Dew. “Well, Captain? What’s the plan? Allen’s single-handedly carved us a way through Lotz’s armor.”

Dew sighed, folding his arms. He didn’t look particularly happy. “Tell us everything that happened, you little brat.”

◆◆◆

With Dew glaring at me, I gave a full and detailed report of my trip—emphasizing, of course, that I’d traveled specifically in search of delicious seafood, and that I’d only happened upon the escort mission by chance along the return journey. I described each and every meal in vivid detail, pleased with my refined palate. To my dismay, no one seemed jealous of my gourmet holiday.

When I finished recounting the trip, Justin simply said, “Those guys will tell us everything we need to know. It’s perfect.”

I didn’t know what he meant by it, but it definitely didn’t have anything to do with the food I’d so painstakingly described.

Just when I felt like I was about to get stuck with yet another troublesome task, Dew—of all people—threw me a lifeline. “I get where you’re coming from, Justin, but we’re not sending a provisional member on an infiltration mission, let alone a school kid. Sure, nine times outta ten he’d get out fine, but it’s too risky.” He turned to me. “When you’re playing around at being an explorer, just act the same as you always do and don’t get mixed up with them. If anything happens, you let me know. That’s the end of it.”

I sighed, relieved. Justin shrugged, but nodded in agreement.

“Well, you’d better get on with your work,” continued Dew, now grinning in a way I didn’t like. “You can start off by reviewing the reorganization plans for the police force. We—by which I mean you—need to figure out whether the police boxes are gonna operate on a two-shift or three-shifts per day system. After that, you can sort out the proposed functions for the spreadsheet device. Emmie reckons we should focus on expandability over immediate functionality because it’s gonna end being widely used, and now everyone’s arguing. There’s a meeting about it scheduled for this afternoon—and I’d bet that it’s gonna be a long one. Once it’s done, come to my office and help me finish off my work, and I’ll check on how you’re progressing with your Scouting Magic. And at 8 p.m. you’ll be heading off with the rest of Dante’s squad on your mission.” He grinned wickedly. “You’ve been slacking off for the past few weeks. Time to start making up for it.”

“Are you kidding me?! What happened to me being just a provisional member?! A school kid?! Justin, help—” I frantically turned to beg for Justin’s assistance, but he was already nowhere to be seen.

Darkwolf Extermination

The Order of the Royal Knights of Yugria consisted of seven legions, each containing approximately one hundred and twenty knights, in addition to the sixty or so knights belonging to the Royal Guard. Each legion was responsible for a different aspect of Yugrian safety, and the legion any given Knight belonged to could be determined by the color of their cloak. In simple terms, the responsibilities of each legion were as follows:

The Royal Guard (Silver): Based primarily in the Royal Palace; tasked with the protection of the royal family.

The First Legion (White): Responding to critical monster threats across the kingdom and protecting local citizens.

The Second Legion (Cyan): Based around the Baerent Sea and the Great River Rune in the kingdom’s east; tasked with the management of the Royal Navy and the defense of Yugrian waters.

The Third Legion (Black): Charged with managing all military forces in the central region, and with maintaining safety and security in Runerelia and across the Rune Plains.

The Fourth Legion (Red): In charge of all military forces in the northern region, particularly around the Yugrian/Rosamour Empire border.

The Fifth Legion (Yellow): In charge of all military forces in the northwestern region, focusing on the Yugrian borders with the Sterite Theocracy and the Cucola City Federation.

The Sixth Legion (Green): In charge of all military forces in the southwestern region, particularly around the Yugrian/Justerian border.

The Seventh Legion (Blue): In charge of all military forces in the southeastern region, focusing on the Yugrian borders with the Qual Republic and the kingdom of Fattore.

I’d also heard rumors about a secret, special legion with magenta cloaks, but I’d yet to see any actual evidence of their existence. Personally, I thought it was nonsense—I mean, what kind of self-respecting underground organization would pick such a gaudy color to represent themselves?

While each legion was responsible for a specific territory, they didn’t operate entirely independently of one another. For instance, when there was a serious monster threat (such as a rampaging swarm or a plague) the First Legion and the Legion responsible for that area would work together to exterminate the threat.

In this case, the Sixth Legion had been tasked with the extermination of a dangerous pack of darkwolves. Unfortunately, the First Legion already had their hands full at the moment with various threats across the kingdom, and as such, they’d instead requested the assistance of the Third Legion (the one I belonged to). Our legions were neighbors of a kind, situated on either side of the western Rune Mountains. The idea was that by encouraging regular cooperation between legions during peacetime, the Yugrian military would operate more cohesively in times of war.

As per Dew’s orders, I was to join a squad of four knights led by Dante, and journey to a baronry situated on the far side of the western Rune Mountains to assist in the extermination of a pack of darkwolves. Although Dew had described the mission as a three-day, zero-night (aka, no time to sleep) endeavor, I already knew that we’d be traveling in one of the Order’s luxurious magicars—rather than the forced march he’d tried to make it out to be—which was some small consolation, at least.

◆◆◆

After the painfully long meeting finally came to an end, I managed to fit in a long-overdue (albeit quick) wind magic training session with Dew before our squad was due to set off. I was incredibly stressed at the thought of the upcoming mission, and as such, had unfortunately lost control of my magic, sending important documents flying around Dew’s office like leaves on a windy day. The captain had still been frozen in shock when I’d left, but what could I say? It wasn’t like I’d done it deliberately, of course.

“So... What’s with the mask?” asked Dante, shortly after we’d taken our seats in the magicar. He was, of course, referring to the mask I wore atop my head, which depicted a smiling old man with downcast eyes.

“Oh, this? I bought it in Kilka a few days ago, at the end of my trip. I thought it would be handy for hiding my identity if I ever need to. Plus, since it completely obscures my vision, it’s great for training sightscouting. Really, though, I just fell in love with the design—I mean, look at it! Who could possibly have any use for a mask like this? I’d love to find the craftsman who made it and ask them what the hell they were thinking when they carved this guy. Also, it’s extremely sturdy, for no discernible reason—and the size! It’s like it was made for me! It fits my face like a glove!” I rattled off, impassioned.

Dante—a man whose outfits and upkeep always highlighted his obvious sense of fashion—chuckled with amusement. “Well, I’m glad to hear that you do have some qualms about the design. Although, I would have expected a boy your age to be a little more fixated on ‘dressing to impress,’ as they say... Well, to each their own. Now, putting that aside—Allen, how much do you know about the darkwolves we’re intending to fight?”

The Canardian Encyclopedia of Monsters categorized monsters into one of two types. Some, like runesheep, were normal animals who’d swallowed or otherwise absorbed a magic stone (equivalent to the mana core in humans) and eventually transformed into monsters. The other type were natural monsters—creatures born with an internal magic stone. Darkwolves fell into the latter category.

They were nocturnal monsters who hunted in packs, changing the color of their fur to blend into the shadows of the night. Darkwolves repeatedly appeared in the records of serious monster threats—ravaging explorer camps, ambushing merchant caravans, and decimating livestock by the hundreds. Requests for explorers to slay a single darkwolf ranged from D-Rank to B-Rank in difficulty, with some ferocious specimens even receiving A-Rank requests. A request to exterminate a whole pack of the beasts would definitely be S-Rank, not that such a dangerous request would be likely to make it to the guild counter. As a rule of thumb, requests designated as S-Rank were those that even a capable party of A-Rank explorers would have difficulty completing. As such, situations like these were usually handled by the Royal Order and local military forces rather than through the guild.

If the goal had been to drive the darkwolves from the area, then a decently large group of A-Ranks might have been able to accomplish it. In this case though, the goal wasn’t expulsion, but annihilation—which made the task much, much harder. If too many of the darkwolves were allowed to escape, the pack would likely reform in a neighboring region, which would only lead to wider injury and damage. Besides, there was little chance that a local baron would have the financial leeway to hire multiple high-ranking explorers in the first place.

The baronry in question fell under the jurisdiction of Marquess Endymion, whose private army in turn fell under the jurisdiction of the Sixth Legion in times of war. After some discussion, the current plan was decided upon, with an eye on minimizing any unnecessary impact on the forces defending our border with Justeria (a nation with whom our relations were anything but favorable at present).

“They’re intelligent, stealthy monsters who excel at hunting in packs. They’re extremely wary, and when confronted by a stronger foe, they’ll scatter and flee, sometimes running hundreds of kilometers before regrouping. The most optimal way to eradicate a pack is to station soldiers in a wide circle—fifty kilometers or more, if possible—around their territory and slowly close in on them during the day, luring them out of their dens and killing them one by one. That strategy, while effective, does require a lot of people and planning,” I answered, and Dante nodded in approval.

“Very good, Allen—you’re rather knowledgeable about darkwolves for someone who only just found out they’d been tasked with eradicating them, but I probably should have expected as much from you. You’re correct, of course. Usually, it’s considered safest to confront them during the day, when their camouflaging abilities have the least effect. Unfortunately—as you’ve likely guessed—the kingdom doesn’t have many soldiers to spare right now, given the circumstances. As far as I know, the plan is instead to annihilate the whole pack in one fell swoop overnight, when they’re at their most active. The Sixth Legion will lead the charge, and our squad will provide backup wherever we’re most needed. It won’t be easy, so make sure you’re prepared.” Dante’s face stiffened with the warning, and so I nodded, my own expression appropriately serious.

“On another note,” he continued, his eyes narrowing. “I know you didn’t intentionally choose that mask thinking it’d be funny or anything... But I have to say—every time I catch sight of that smiling old man, I feel less and less like fighting.”

◆◆◆

“Dante Segran, Fifth Peerage, Third Legion of the Order of the Royal Knights of Yugria, and squad, reporting for duty! Under the orders of Commander Orina, we hereby submit ourselves to the command of Sixth Legion Captain Suzunami for the purposes of assisting with the Briar Baronry darkwolf extermination mission!”

We’d arrived in said baronry just after noon the day after leaving Runerelia. After alighting from the magicar in the nearest town, we’d marched over rough terrain for another hour and a half before arriving at the military camp, situated high in the tablelands of the Briar Baronry. One corner of the plateau—usually used for livestock farming, the area’s main source of income—was currently dominated by a stupidly large green tent, the same shade as the Sixth Legion’s cloaks. This was where we’d just entered to announce our arrival to the captain of the Sixth Legion.

Incidentally, the “Peerage” that Dante had mentioned was a kind of ranking system, granted to those in the kingdom’s official employ, such as members of the Royal Order. There were eight ranks in total, with a First Peerage being the highest. In terms of the Royal Order, the position of commander entailed a First Peerage, whereas positions such as vice commander (Godolphen’s former role) and chief of staff equated to a Second Peerage. Captains, like Dew, generally received a Second or Third Peerage depending on various factors, and ordinary knights were awarded the lowest rank of Eighth Peerage. Provisional members weren’t entitled to a Peerage at all. A Fifth Peerage, like Dante’s, was awarded to no more than eight members of any given legion at the absolute maximum, which made him pretty damn important. In times of war, when the Royal Order and the private marquesal armies were combined into one force, someone with his Peerage would be tasked with the command of an entire division of troops—around ten thousand soldiers.

Obviously, I had zero desire to receive even an Eighth Peerage—let alone work my way up higher—but as a perfunctory member of the Royal Order I had at least a basic understanding of the system.

“You’re as stiff as ever, Dante. You know as well as I do that the only people allowed in this tent are fellow members of the Order, so relax a little, will you? You’re making me uncomfortable just by looking at you. So, is this the Sage and Dew’s little protégé?”

We’d entered the tent to find a circle of fifteen or so members of the Sixth Legion mid-strategy meeting. The woman who’d replied to Dante—who seemed to be the “Captain Suzunami” in question—sat cross-legged on the far side of the circle, scratching her back with the end of a pointer.

Possibly on account of mana’s influence on the body, many people in this world looked far younger than their actual years. So while Captain Suzunami—a beautiful woman with a short bob—looked to be barely in her forties, thanks to Dante, I knew she was actually well into her fifties. Although her behavior is more like an old man’s...

Dante chuckled. “I thought it was a little odd that you’d decided to head up this mission yourself, but I should have known you’d have an ulterior motive. You’re here for him, aren’t you?” he said, giving me a gentle nudge.

I hurried to introduce myself. “Allen Rovene, provisional member of the Third Legion of the Order of the Royal Knights of Yugria, at your service. I still have a lot to learn, but I hope to be of some use to you!” I bowed my head politely.

Suzunami, looking suspicious, got to her feet and strode over to me, peering at me so closely that I could feel her breathing. “Hey now, don’t tell me you’re the same mischievous kid who’s been sending Sage Godolphen and Dew up the wall trying to figure out how to handle you? You’re much better behaved than the rumors say! You don’t need to pretend to be a meek li’l lamb just because you’re in the presence of a beauty like me, okay? I prefer men who act a little more wolfish,” she said with a smirk, looking every bit like a child who’d just been given a shiny new toy.

I smiled. “There’s been some nonsensical rumors flying around lately, but I can assure you, I have nothing but the utmost respect for Master Godolphen and Captain Dew. Sure, we’ve had some mildly heated exchanges of ideas, but I don’t recall ever causing either of them any trouble.”

“Is that so? Seems like you’ve got some guts, kid. I reckon you’ll be worth keeping an eye on,” she replied, grinning broadly—before suddenly squatting down and grabbing both of my thighs, kneading them between strong fingers.

“Wha—What are you doing?!” I’d gotten used to the somewhat rough manner of introductions in this world, but this was on an entirely different level. Too shocked to react, I couldn’t do anything but stand there as my thighs—and afterward, my butt—were thoroughly and analytically massaged.

“Hmm, I see...” Suzunami muttered, seemingly to herself. “Well, they say you’re not too bad at Strengthening Magic, but it looks like you haven’t used that as an excuse to skip out on actual physical training, which is promising. Definitely worth keeping an eye on.” She glanced up at me and raised an eyebrow. “You’re as red as a tomato, kid—still a virgin, huh? You better take care of that soon, before you end up in the clutches of some unhinged girl. There’s a lot of talented men and women out there who’ve lost everything to the allures of the opposite sex! Ha ha ha!”

I’m still not planning to become some bigwig in this life, but if I somehow end up accidentally becoming important, the first thing I’m gonna do is introduce an anti-sexual harassment law...

Internally cursing the woman’s “dirty uncle”-esque behavior, I hung my head, trying to hide my embarrassment. Thankfully, the flutter of cloth as another knight entered the tent put a stop to any further bullying.

“Knight Rosita, reporting as commanded,” the woman said with a stiff salute. “Marquess Endymion’s forces are all in positi— What in the world are you doing, Captain...?”

◆◆◆

The woman introduced herself as Rosita Laureato, another member of the Sixth Legion. She and Dante clearly knew one another, as the two began exchanging a friendly greeting. However, looking at the two of them standing side by side—Dante, at over two meters tall, and Rosita, who couldn’t have been taller than a meter and a half—made me feel as though I’d stumbled into the wrong section at the video rental store. As it turned out, Rosita had joined the Third Legion as a provisional member during her last year at the Royal Academy around five years prior, which was where they’d met. She also seemed to know Manon and Wrangler, the two other members of the Third Legion squad, which left me as the only new face. I introduced myself once again, and she smiled.

“I’m Rosita, Captain Suzunami’s adjutant. I appreciate you helping with tonight’s mission.”

Rosita’s gentle, refined mannerisms were a far cry from what I’d come to expect from the women in the Order. That, combined with her elegant, beautiful features... Well, there was no other way to say it: She was completely my type. The position of adjutant—something like an administrative officer—was only bestowed upon the most promising young knights, which meant that Rosita was not only beautiful, but also incredibly capable. Her intelligence was evidenced by the clear, concise explanation of the mission strategy she was currently in the middle of delivering.

Frankly, Rosita’s appearance had lit something of a fire underneath me. I gotta do my best... Maybe even show off a little.

“Essentially, your squad will be stationed near the center of the encirclement, to assist with subjugation and herding. It goes without saying, but our main objective here is to ensure that not a single darkwolf escapes, so we’d like you to prioritize redirection over subjugation unless absolutely necessary. You’ll be driving them toward Clover Valley, where the Captain and I will be waiting with our own squad.”

“Understood, Rosie,” Dante replied, with a grin and a wink.

That’s such a cute nickname... I wish I was the one calling her that...

“Thanks for the explanation, Rosita. Well, time to get this thing started!” said Captain Suzunami, swinging herself up from the floor with an exaggerated groan. At her signal, the rest of the knights rose from their own leisurely positions on the floor and stood to attention, fastening their green cloaks around their necks. The previously relaxed atmosphere stiffened in an instant, like a rope pulled taut. Captain Suzunami surveyed us. Gone was the back-scratching, sleazy atmosphere of just moments ago, replaced by a towering, almost suffocating presence.

The hint of a smirk crossed her lips. “Ready to go?”

The answer came as one: “Ready!”

I shrugged to myself. The change in mood had been dramatic for sure, but it wasn’t any different back in the Third Legion. We had our fair share of jokers and laid-back types, but when things got serious, it was like flipping a switch.

Guess you get used to it in this line of work. You can’t live your life in constant gloominess just because you’re dealing with life-and-death matters every day.

Pulling the smiling old man mask back over my face, I followed the Sixth Legion from the tent.

◆◆◆

Waiting for us outside were twenty or so generals from the Endymion army, each one clearly a battle-worn veteran. Unlike those in the Royal Order, knights from private armies didn’t receive a Peerage, so in terms of status, the Endymion generals were far lower than even an entry-level knight in the Royal Order, despite their experience. As per the strategy Rosita had explained, the Endymion forces (approximately two thousand torch-wielding soldiers, led by the generals) would be in charge of encircling the designated area.

Rosita hailed the generals, commendably undaunted in spite of the fact that they were clearly much older and more experienced (quantitatively, at least) than her. “Thank you. The operation will commence approximately two hours from now at 5 p.m., just before the darkwolves begin to emerge from their dens. Extermination will be handled by the Royal Order. Instruct your forces to prioritize maintaining the perimeter above all else. If they encounter any of the creatures, they are to retreat as a group to ensure no escape routes are created, and use their conch whistles to call for assistance from one of the nearby Order members. Also, please avoid fighting any other monsters. Captain, did you have anything to add?” She glanced at Suzunami, who took a step forward.

“The pack we’re gonna be facing tonight is a large one—at least ninety individual darkwolves, by our estimates. Their leader is the so-called Black Thunder. According to our reports, 148 innocent Yugrians have already lost their lives to this pack, including the recent losses from your own region. The actual figure is probably at least several times more, if not even higher. Tonight, we tear the rot out by the root! As you can see, we’re lucky enough to be joined by reinforcements from the Third Legion, all the way from Runerelia. Dante ‘Straightforward’ Segran, and— Pffft!” Suzunami exploded with laughter as she noticed my mask. “And, er, ‘The Smiling Geezer,’ among other distinguished guests. All right, everyone! Stay sharp!” She snorted again.

The collective Endymion generals peered at me in obvious bewilderment. Rosita, with a red face and teary eyes, somehow managed to control herself enough to stammer out the next order. “E-E-Everyone to p-positions!” Her shoulders were shaking wildly with repressed laughter.

Whoops... I didn’t think people would react like this...

◆◆◆

At precisely 5 p.m., thousands of torches flickered alight simultaneously. The darkwolf extermination mission had begun.

The hunting range of any given pack of darkwolves could be up to fifty kilometers in diameter. Obviously, the Sixth Legion hadn’t been able to muster up anywhere near enough soldiers to encircle the pack’s entire territory. Instead, they’d used information gathered by their scouts to narrow down the current location of the pack.

Darkwolves moved from place to place each day, digging individual dens—each one a fair distance away from those of their neighboring pack mates—which made it incredibly difficult for those hunting them to determine the exact location of each den without being detected. Of course, detection didn’t mean a death sentence when it came to the Order’s scouts, but the ensuing fight would alert the rest of the darkwolves to our presence, and all of the preparations would come to naught.

However, the Sixth Legion—and in particular, Rosita, who was reputedly one of the best Scouts in the Order—had been on the ground since a few days prior, discreetly and skillfully tracking the pack while escaping their notice, and had ultimately arrived at an accurate—if slightly broad—approximation of the pack’s current whereabouts.

Apparently, Rosita had been responsible for not only the majority of the terrain and distribution analysis, but also for developing the actual strategy we would follow tonight. “You’re amazing!” I’d praised her, genuinely impressed, but she’d only offered a tight smile in return, along with a self-deprecating remark about still having a lot to learn.

She’s really ambitious, huh...

At Rosita’s signal, a vast ring of torchlight had flickered into existence across the mountainside, immediately followed by the scattered howls of the darkwolves.

“It’s time,” said Dante, looking every bit the perfectly stereotypical knight (in my opinion, at least) thanks to the two-handed greatsword slung across his back. “We’d best get moving too. The beasts hate fire and light, so they’ll naturally flee toward the only torch-free area—Clover Valley. But there’ll be some smarter ones among them who’ll try to hide in the shadows, biding their time. Our job is to drag them out into the light!”

The Order Knights had been split into three squads under tonight’s strategy. The first was the extermination squad, led by Captain Suzunami, who were waiting in Clover Valley to annihilate each and every darkwolf as it entered. The second was the support squad, who’d been stationed at regular intervals around the outside of the encirclement to deal with any beasts that did attempt to break through.

And then there was us—the strike team, responding as needed inside the encirclement.

According to Rosita’s predictions, the wolves who would fall for the trap and rush toward the valley would be those on the lower end of the pack hierarchy. The smarter ones would bide their time—and when it became clear that the valley was a trap, they’d regroup and attempt to break through our lines. Our job was to flush them out of hiding and toward the valley before they could consider the potential of another escape route.

Starting from the very edge of the encirclement on the opposite side of Clover Valley, the Third Legion strike team began to move.

◆◆◆

Rosita was beginning to panic.

Thirty minutes had passed since the operation had commenced, and in that time, less than ten darkwolves had made it into the valley—not even a third of the number she’d initially predicted would have appeared by now. However, she also hadn’t heard the sound of conch whistles that would indicate the darkwolves were attempting to escape.

The time stretched on. Another thirty minutes passed, during which not a single darkwolf entered the valley. Perhaps our estimates were wrong. Maybe most of the pack wasn’t inside the area to begin with. Or else, something’s gone wrong somewhere out there... Rosita’s mind raced, combing frantically over every possibility.

“All right, we’ve waited long enough,” said Suzunami, lifting her arms above her head and stretching. “Even the best-laid plans don’t always work as intended, especially when the plan involves another party. You won’t be able to predict their every move. The important thing, Rosie, is how you then respond to those unexpected circumstances. Are you happy just letting us stand here like statues?”

She thinks I’m being too slow to make a decision. No, maybe she’s saying I screwed up by stationing all of our strongest fighters here in the first place?

Rosita shook her head, teeth gritted. “I apologize, Captain. I miscalculated. Romaveau and the others will be able to handle everything here. You and I should advance to the center of the encirclement.”

Suzunami smiled. “There’s no need for you to apologize, Rosie. We Royal Knights carry the responsibility of protecting this kingdom and its citizens. Do you really think I would have agreed to follow your plan if I thought it was flawed? If I thought it might result in unnecessary harm? At least at the beginning of the operation, everyone’s positioning—my own included—was appropriate. It may seem like a miscalculation now, but there was just as much of a chance that everything would have gone exactly as you’d planned. Like I said before, what matters isn’t having a perfect plan from the start, but how you deal with setbacks.” She grinned. “Let’s move. Romaveau, take care of things here.”

“Understood!” replied Romaveau, a relatively elderly knight. He promptly began issuing orders, as though he’d already predicted the change in plan—whether on account of the lack of enemies or of her own naive strategy, Rosita wasn’t sure. “Assume diagonal formation from the left-hand side! Fuga in the front, then Washi, then Sekhmet!”

Rosita’s jaw tightened again as she and Suzunami left the valley, his shouted commands echoing like a taunt.

◆◆◆

With Rosita—who excelled at Scouting Magic—in the lead, the two women advanced out of the valley. The sun had long set below the western mountain ridge, and darkness blanketed their surroundings. No sooner had they reached the center of the encirclement than Rosita’s ears twitched at the sound of distant fighting. Relying on Rosita’s senses, the pair followed the sounds to arrive at an unexpected scene.

The ground in the clearing sloped down on all sides like a crater. In the center of the depression stood Dante and the others from the Third Legion, surrounded on all sides by countless darkwolves. There must have been close to a hundred of the monsters, as though every member of the pack had converged upon a single pinpoint. The most unbelievable part of all, though, was the evident wound one of the knights was nursing as the other three defended him, forming a triangular blockade around the kneeling man.

One of them got injured, even with Dante nearby? How? And... And why aren’t they trying to run away?

Rosita blanched, desperately trying to comprehend the situation. As she froze, thoughts whirling, the boy with the stupid mask nocked an arrow, his movements so elegant, so graceful, that despite everything she found herself captivated—until he fired it at her.

In truth, the arrow was aimed just to her left, but she reflexively twisted to the right and out of its path. The next moment, her eyes widened with fear as Suzunami, her face contorted with rage, lunged at Rosita with her spear.

An earsplitting yowl reverberated against Rosita’s eardrums. Suzunami’s spear had passed just over her right shoulder and into the chest of Black Thunder, the leader of the darkwolf pack. Rosita had been just seconds from certain death. The wolf’s final, painful roars echoed in the darkness.

“This is our chance!” Dante cried, the sound snapping Rosita out of her daze. He swung his greatsword, cutting through several of the encroaching wolves as though they were merely paper. Several of the creatures turned to flee as their brethren fell, only to find themselves skewered on the end of Suzunami’s wickedly sharp spear. Only the masked boy remained motionless, arms drifting slowly to his side.

I can’t... I can’t think straight— What should I— Rosita’s knees trembled, her thoughts muddled. Just as her legs were about to give way, Suzunami began shouting orders, giving her grateful adjutant a tether to the situation at hand.

“Rosie, cover for Manon and help Allen Scout the perimeter! Wrangler, get out here and take the left side! Allen, do you know how many more of the bastards have gone to ground?!”

“Just the pack leader’s mate, as far as I can tell!” he shouted back.

Rosita, now somewhat calmer, immediately rushed to Allen’s side, concentrating her mana around her ears as she did. This was something she could do. She knew full well that Allen was training under the Untouchable Dew Orwell, which was why the boy’s Scouting Magic was capable of sensing the near-undetectable monsters—but she also knew that her own mastery of Scouting was among the best in the Sixth Legion, a fact she took great pride in.

They took me by surprise earlier, but if I focus now, surely—

Before she could finish that thought, though, Allen wrenched a dagger from his belt and spun around, followed by the hideous sound of metal meeting fang.

I didn’t... I didn’t sense a thing...

“Rosie!”

Thankfully, though her mind was still reeling, her body knew what to do, turning in response to the boy’s shout. She drew her sword, carving upward in a slash that severed the foreleg of the female wolf—Black Thunder’s mate, as Allen had said—before twisting it back down and decapitating the beast in one Strengthening Magic-enhanced stroke.

Now that the greatest threat was dealt with, Suzunami began shouting more orders. “We can’t let a single one of these bastards flee. Drive them toward the valley while putting down the stragglers! Allen, on me—keep Scouting while we move, just in case. Rosie, stay here and take care of Manon. Call for help with your whistle, and catch up with us later. Move out!” She brandished her spear, sending the nearby darkwolves sprinting toward the valley. Dante and the others sprang into action.

“Allen, wait!” Rosita cried, causing the boy to pause. “How did you detect that darkwolf? I can’t...”

The boy turned, looking back at her over his shoulder. There was what felt like a lengthy pause before he finally answered. “The wind told me.”

The wind told you?! What in the world does that mean? Is... Is he making fun of me?! I know my strategy wasn’t perfect, but that doesn’t mean I deserve to be mocked by some school boy in a stupid mask!

Rosita glared at the boy’s retreating figure, her pride torn to shreds and her jaw clenched in rage.

◆◆◆

“Allen, wait! How did you detect that darkwolf? I can’t...”

I’d prepared for the day that a question like this would come. The manly words rolled off my tongue with ease.

“The wind told me.”

Tilt my head thirty degrees to the right... Perfect.

It was the perfect angle to make even my (admittedly plain) face look cool. A few weeks prior, Dan, Dolph, and I had spontaneously decided to conduct “cool expression” research in the dorm’s bathing area, twisting around naked in front of the mirrors until we’d each landed on the best angle. It had taken about thirty minutes before I’d realized just what the three of us were doing and snapped out of it. The reason it had taken so long for me to come to my senses in the first place, of course, was my growing desire for a girlfriend.

Completely forgetting that I was wearing a mask, I made sure my face was at a perfect thirty-degree angle from Rosita’s point of view and flashed her a cool, confident smirk. And then, I ran like the wind.

Perfect. It couldn’t have gone better. I grinned to myself as I sensed Rosita’s passionate gaze. I had a feeling that the winds I draped myself in would soon be carrying me toward the romantic sidequest of my new life, just as planned.

◆◆◆

Agitated and reckless after the loss of their leader, the rest of the darkwolf pack was soon exterminated, primarily by Suzunami, Dante, and Wrangler. The few wolves that managed to reach the valley were quickly dealt with by Romaveau and his men. Thus, the Briar Baronry darkwolf extermination mission came to a victorious end, with only a single wounded party to show for it.

As was customary, the main players proceeded to converge in the captain’s tent for a postmission review. Rosita, who’d been tasked with submitting a report of the mission to the Order, was particularly curious about how we’d ended up surrounded by the darkwolves in that crater.

I feel like she’s glaring at me for some reason... Oh, is this what they call “tsundere”? She’s one of those “cold on the outside, warm and affectionate on the inside” types? She just looks angry, though... Well, maybe that’s just how tsunderes actually look in real life.

I’d think about that more later.

We’d been attacked by Black Thunder not long after setting off from the far edge of the encirclement. I suspected that the touch of my wind-powered Scouting Magic had set him off. Unfortunately, unlike the rest of the darkwolves, the pack’s leader and his mate possessed some kind of ability that worked in much the same way as an anti-Scouting device, disturbing the flow of mana around them and rendering my enhanced hearing useless. Instead, I’d focused my mana around my eyes in an attempt to use sightscouting to detect the pockets of disturbed mana, which was when Black Thunder had attacked, hurtling toward us at a terrifying speed. Thanks to my barely activated sightscouting, I was just able to dodge the attack, but the wolf’s mate had attacked at the same time, slashing the unprepared Manon across his back. I immediately told Dante what I could sense about the two formidable foes—and that the rest of the pack had already started to converge on our current position.

He quickly made the decision to hold our ground. If Black Thunder had indeed tracked us down via the feel of my Scouting Magic, we might have been able to escape if I stopped casting—but we also might then find ourselves on the receiving end of a deadlier surprise attack soon after. On the other hand, if we held our ground, we had the advantage of knowing that the attack was coming, and between my magic and Dante and Wrangler’s fighting skills, we’d probably have a decent chance of survival. Plus, just about the whole pack had now congregated in the one location. If we didn’t hold their attention, in the worst-case scenario they might then attempt to break through the encirclement as one large force—an attempt that would surely succeed. It was far better to draw them all toward us and dispose of them ourselves, if possible. Even if not, we could at least try to hold their attention for long enough for Suzunami and Rosita to realize that something was wrong—and if Suzunami joined the battle, we’d still be able to eliminate most of the pack even though the plan had gone to ruin.

Manon’s condition. The squad’s safety. Fulfilling our duty. Dante had weighed all of it up in a matter of seconds and made his decision—we’d stand firm. The minutes ticked past. Most of the darkwolves did little but circle around us, trying to draw our attention and create an opening for the occasional surprise attacks from Black Thunder and his mate. The confrontation had become a test of endurance.

“And it was during that stalemate that you and the captain appeared,” Dante finished. “I need to thank you for your assistance, Captain Suzunami—and you too of course, Rosie.” He smiled warmly, a stark contrast in comparison to the expression of bloodthirsty rage he’d worn while carving through darkwolves like a hot knife through butter.

Rosita shook her head. “I don’t deserve your thanks. I should have been there sooner—if anything, I positioned too many of our forces in the valley in the first place. My inadequate planning put all of you in danger... I apologize. Especially you, Manon—you got injured because of me.”

Manon hurriedly shook his head. His face was pale. His wound had already vanished, healed with holy magic by the camp physician, but he’d lost a lot of blood. They’d only been able to perform basic first aid in the field, needing to wait for the physician to examine him to make sure he hadn’t broken any bones before sealing the wound. “I got injured because of my own weakness! You’re not to blame, Rosita. Even if the captain herself was with our squad, it doesn’t change the fact that I wouldn’t have been able to avoid that first attack. Besides, being injured is just part of the job, you know?” he pressed, but Rosita was clearly disheartened.

I wanted to offer her some reassuring words, but I was drawing a complete blank. Despite having an extra three decades of life experience than others my age, I’d never dated a girl; my Charm stat was basically in the negative. I racked my brain, desperately searching for the perfect line, but the conversation moved on before I’d found anything remotely promising.

“It’s worrying,” said Captain Suzunami, frowning. “Their ability to camouflage is one thing, but if some of them can also render Scouting Magic near useless... It’s a frightening thought. I hope we’ll find that it’s some sort of rare mutation, but given that we know at least two of the beasts existed, we’ll need to compile a detailed report.” She unfolded her crossed arms, placing a gentle hand on Rosita’s bowed head. “Well, even without me saying it, I know you’ve realized the shortcomings of tonight’s strategy. The ability to make spur-of-the-moment decisions is something developed over time, okay? Everyone here—including you—should make sure they turn today’s learnings into future strength.”

Rosita nodded slowly, tears welling in her eyes.

“And as for you...” The heavy tension in the tent shattered as Suzunami grinned, throwing an arm around my shoulder as though we were old friends. “Being able to use sightscouting at your age is impressive enough, but your range is unbelievable! The only reason I managed to skewer Black Thunder is because you noticed him first and shot that arrow... We had to be at least thirty meters away from each other.”

Oh yeah, Dew was pretty surprised by my range too, huh... In fact, Dew’s sightscouting was only effective to a range of about fifteen meters, or so I’d heard. The images I could see were a lot less detailed than his, though.

“Yeah, Captain Dew said my sightscouting was ‘stupidly crazy for a brat,’ which I think was his way of praising me? I’m actually in the process of developing a wind-based form of Emissive Magic based on the concept of external mana circulation. At the moment, I can circulate my mana in a forty-five-meter diameter at a wind speed of five meters per second, so if it’s within that range, I can see it—more or less, anyway. Although, everything gets less detailed if I extend it all the way out, and getting it to extend any farther seems like it’s going to be pretty difficult.”

It was the same with archery, or any skill for that matter; the further up you got along the staircase of mastery, the harder it got to climb the next step. It was just like in running; shaving a second off a fifteen-second 100-meter dash was far easier than trimming a tenth of a second off a ten-second run. The farther I became able to circulate my mana, the slower its speed became, which in turn reduced the effectiveness of both detection and intimidation. I still had a long way to go before I’d be able to cast the wind magic of my dreams. While the going was sometimes slow, I was enjoying the journey and all the creativity and discipline it required, and so I’d never felt frustrated by the experience.

“Forty-five meters?!” Suzunami spluttered, before bursting into laughter. “Even ‘stupidly crazy’ has to have its limits, you know?! I can’t use it, but from what I’ve heard, sightscouting primarily revolves around creating a mana loop starting and ending at your eyes, right? So what’s up with the solid mask?”

“That’s... Well, it’s a little hard to explain, but my sightscouting works a little differently than most people’s. Instead of actually looking at the flow of mana, I use my wind magic to feel the flow with my whole body. I find that by physically obscuring my eyesight, I can feel the flow a lot better.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but there wasn’t any actual need for me to cover my eyes—after all, this mission was the first time I’d actually worn the mask. I’d bought it on a whim, thinking that it could come in handy as a training aid. Since the mission was at night, I could see basically just as much with my eyes unobscured and open as I could with the mask on anyway, and honestly, the idea of being a virtually blind, all-seeing psychic warrior really spoke to the fantasy-loving geek in me, which was why I’d brought the mask along in the first place. In short, it was because it made me look cool. Not that I’d ever admit to that in front of the still-crying Rosita, obviously.

I snuck a glance at her now, only to find her staring back at me blankly. “Wind magic...” she murmured. “So when you said ‘the wind told you’ where the wolves were, you weren’t just making fun of me?”

My carefully crafted catchphrase had apparently been seriously misunderstood—and now that I thought about it, my perfectly angled face had also been obscured by my mask, rendering the whole attempt at flirtation meaningless. Rosita was no longer glaring at me, at least.

“Of course not! I was in a hurry and clearly stumbled over my words—I can see now that it must have been quite confusing! I’d never even think of making fun of you!” I hurriedly declared, reducing my well-rehearsed catchphrase to no more than a slip of the tongue.

Unfortunately for me, Suzunami didn’t let it slide. “‘The wind told you,’ eh?” She chuckled. “Sounds a bit too poetic for a simple blunder to me... Of course, it’s not as though you’re the type of boy who’d rehearse smooth lines in the mirror so they could show off to a cute girl like Rosie at the perfect moment... Right?”

I felt my face redden, both because everyone was now looking at me with a mixture of amusement and suspicion, and because Suzunami had been absolutely right. I peeked in Rosita’s direction nervously. She was looking at me with confusion, tilting her head.

“Smooth lines? Which part was supposed to be smooth?”

Several people snorted, which soon turned into raucous laughter. I twisted slightly, desperate to escape under the pretence of needing the bathroom, or anything that would get me out of here, but Suzunami still had me around the shoulders and wasn’t showing any signs of letting go. With no way out, I did the only thing I could do; I slid the old man’s face slowly back over my own to hide my still-reddening cheeks.

The sounds of laughter echoed off the mountains around us.

Chapter Two: The Foundation Festival

The Foundation Festival

This year marked the 1,197th anniversary of the Kingdom of Yugria’s foundation. Around this time every year, a festival was held in Runerelia in celebration of that day. It was the biggest festival held in the oldest nation on the continent; as one would expect, the sheer number of attendees was nothing short of astonishing. The more popular inns and lodging houses were booked out years in advance for each festival, with both local and foreign tourists advancing on the city in droves to partake in the various events and exhibitions held over the course of the five-day celebration.

During times of war in the past, the festivities had been scaled down or suspended completely, but as of now, this year’s Foundation Festival was still set to go ahead. Peace was certainly unstable at the moment, but because any fighting that was occurring had yet to spill into the open, the kingdom had little rationale for a potential suspension of the event. Though Yugria’s current discord with Justeria and the Rosamour Empire was basically public knowledge at this point, if the kingdom’s higher-ups used said friction as the reason for calling off the festival, it would definitively redefine our relationship with both nations—as well as affecting our connections with other countries, impacting our economy, and so on. With all that in mind, the higher-ups had little choice but to “grin and bear it,” as they say.

Naturally, the Third Legion, who were tasked with the safety of the capital and its surroundings, had little time to even sleep throughout the lead-up to and during the festival. My assistance during this time was mandatory, or so I’d been repeatedly informed; it was the whole reason I’d begrudgingly returned to the capital at all during my cherished summer break. It was understandable. With such an influx of visitors to the kingdom, it was easier than usual for those entertaining more hostile intentions to slip in unnoticed too.

To be honest, I didn’t particularly care either way about national security and the like, and I would have preferred to enjoy my first-ever Foundation Festival on my own terms. Ultimately, though, I felt like I owed Captain Dew for all the training he was giving me, so I’d (reluctantly) returned just in time to help.

◆◆◆

I’d been given a room in the Central Garrison to stay in over the course of the five-day festival. Primarily, my role was the same as always: helping Dew with his clerical work. Throughout the festival, the city’s police force was several times larger than usual, thanks to reinforcements sent from neighboring regions. I spent most of my time thoroughly reading through the mountain of reports each precinct submitted several times a day and writing a summary of any potentially serious issues. Dew would review the regular summaries and decide on a suitable course of action for each problem.

It was already the third day of the festival. I sighed loudly. “Seriously, Captain. Look how much work you’ve got again! Be honest with me—if I wasn’t around, you’d never be able to handle this, right? How in the world were you planning to get through all of this?”

Dew glanced at me, his eyes somewhat less bloodshot than when I’d first joined the Order. “Well, it’s only because you’re around that it’s just the two of us this year. Usually my two adjutants would be here instead, but since you seem to excel at this kinda grunt work, I didn’t think we’d need them. I’ve got the two of them out interrogating the foreign spies we’ve caught, writing my reports for me—stuff like that,” he said, without the slightest hint of shame. “Thanks to you, I’m getting two hours of sleep every night during the festival. Who woulda thought it? Heck, I might even squeeze in three hours tonight!” He cackled.

This guy’s a lost cause... Being swamped with work is like the status quo for him. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool workaholic. Seriously, his standards are too low if he’s this happy about the thought of getting three hours of sleep.

“If you’re usually that busy, you should hire a few clerical assistants or something. You’ve never considered making a few organizational changes here?”

“I would have done that already if I could, you smarmy brat! But the information that gets discussed in here ain’t for just anyone to hear, and in the first place, there’s strict laws about who can enter the garrison at all. Where the hell am I gonna find the time to put together an argument for a complete policy overhaul when I’m buried in this much work from dawn till dusk?!”

Yeah, I kinda suspected that’d be the case.

To put it bluntly, Yugria’s system of governance meant that the majority of the power in this kingdom was held by an elite few—most of whom were Academy graduates. There was an old saying about power coming with equivalent responsibility, but in Yugria’s case, said responsibility was shouldered by way too few people. The kingdom had been around for nearly twelve hundred years at this point, over the course of which its population and territory had gradually but constantly expanded. However, unlike some of our neighboring nations, Yugria’s political system had never undergone any significant reform. As such, each and every member of those “elite few” was perpetually and ridiculously busy.

When people started getting too dissatisfied with the way a country was being run, it usually ended in rebellions or civil war—well, that’s what history back home had proven, anyway.

It’d need a pretty significant policy reform, huh... I feel like I could probably do something about it if I really wanted to, but...

On one hand, reducing Dew’s regular workload was beneficial for me. On the other hand, instigating a drastic policy reform proposal would inevitably result in my own workload increasing; it’d be no good if I dug my own grave while attempting to help Dew out of his.

During my salaryman era back home, one of my managers had liked to say, “If you don’t like the way we do things around here, get yourself promoted and change it then!” But in reality, I wasn’t interested in working my way up through the Order or the government, nor did I intend to sacrifice my miraculous second attempt at life for the betterment of this kingdom. I was here to do whatever I wanted to do and live a fun, fulfilling life—and for that, I needed to be able to go wherever the wind took me, not tether myself to a lifelong career. Or so I’d convinced myself, anyway.

On that note...

At the moment, sitting behind a mountain of paperwork, listening to the faint but joyous hustle and bustle leaking in through the window from the festival outside—I was beginning to suspect that if I stayed in this room even a minute longer, the stress of it all might awaken the memories of my previous previous life.

“Captain, this is ridiculous! No matter how you look at it, you’re dumping way too much important work on a student intern like me. When I reach a good point for a break, please, at least let me go outside for lunch! I’ll even patrol while I browse the stalls!”

“Oy, what’s gotten into you?! If you’re hungry, there’s a box of field rations on the table in the corner—plain-flavor, just how we both like it! So...”

Dew kept talking, but I pretended I couldn’t hear him and reached for the next report.

INCIDENT

Foreign Spies Mutilated by Female Special Magical Craftsmanship Research Institute Students

Incident Summary:

A group of foreign visitors, having entered Runerelia for the Foundation Festival, lured two female Yugrian students into a concealed alley under the pretext of asking for directions. When the two students became aware that the group was intending to abduct the pair, they acted in self-defense, resulting in both major and minor injuries to eight of the assailants.

Upon a search of the personal effects of the assailants, documentation was found outlining a request made by an unknown party via the Rosamourian Explorer’s Guild, soliciting explorers for the purpose of gathering information concerning Yugria.

We have raised a complaint through the proper diplomatic channels and are currently in the process of deciding how the assailants will be handled.

Additionally, one of the victims, Female Student A, who was found with both hands covered in blood, hysterically petitioned the responding officers to instigate a search for her younger brother, who she claimed had gone missing. After interviewing the second victim, we have determined that Student A has no previous criminal record...

I slowly closed the report, tossed it into the “No Concerns” box, and stood up.

“Oy, wait! Fine! You can go outside for lunch, okay?! So— I said wait! It’s only nine o’clock, you little shit!”

◆◆◆

As I left the garrison, I slipped on my mask, which depicted a plump old man roaring with laughter. The smiling old man mask, with its affectionate downcast eyes, now reminded me of painful memories; every time I looked at it, a dull ache welled up in my chest. I’d temporarily retired the mask until I recovered from my spiritual wounds.

I had three masks in total in my “old man” collection, which I was pretty sure had all been made by the same designer. The first was the smiling old man mask. The second, which I wore now, was the plump laughing man mask. The third mask, which featured a vacant-eyed man with a twisted smile, reminded me of the look you’d see on the face of some poor assistant manager, perpetually doing unpaid overtime without any hope of a promotion. The longer I looked into those vacant, unseeing eyes, the more I felt like something immeasurably and ferociously angry was staring back at me. Since that didn’t seem very appropriate for a festival, by process of elimination I’d decided on “Plumpy” for today’s adventure. None of the three masks could be described as stylish in any sense of the word, but all of them fit me perfectly, as though they’d been custom-made to the contours of my face. I hadn’t come across anything indicating that “destiny” really existed in this world, but the way the old man masks entranced me made me wonder if the attraction I felt was actually the tugging of the strings of fate.

Of course, I knew no one else would care about my passion for them, so I tried to keep my ramblings to myself.

While summer in the capital was hot, the air was rather dry, so going outside wasn’t too unpleasant. The kingdom’s bigwigs spent the five days running themselves ragged mingling with important foreign guests, striking deals, and making connections, but for the general populace, the festival was a time for simple and genuine fun. Ostentatious auctions were held for the richer citizens, while others flocked to the unpretentious flea markets held nearby. Various types of mock battles were held in the Colosseum for all to watch, and citizens could receive free restorative magic at the cathedral. Exhibitions of magical tools, concerts, fashion shows—there was an event for every interest.

Delicious scents wafted toward me on the wind, luring me in the direction of the bustling festival streets.

◆◆◆

Festivals meant one thing: street food. If you didn’t have your fill of the countless types of food on offer, you couldn’t really say you’d been to a festival at all—or so I thought, anyway. Thus, after leaving the garrison, I made my way toward Fifth Avenue, mouth watering in anticipation.

Fifth Avenue ran through the center of the city from east to west. For the duration of the festival, a twenty kilometer, pedestrian-only stretch of the avenue transformed into a street food lover’s paradise. Nobles from the kingdom’s regional areas sponsored stalls to advertise their local specialties, and well-known restaurants from both Runerelia and across the kingdom proudly offered a range of their most famous dishes. Of course, there were also many stalls featuring notable products and dishes from our neighboring nations.

Fifth Avenue was what would be called an eight-lane road in Japan—essentially, it was wide enough to fit eight smaller magicars abreast—and was Runerelia’s primary commercial street. During the festival, however, the many shop fronts were largely obscured by the closely packed stalls lining both sides of the avenue; there were over five thousand in total, or so I’d heard. As a rule of thumb, people in this world tended to have large appetites. Magic burned through a lot of energy, so the more often someone used their magic, the more food they’d need to replace the energy spent. However, no matter how big their appetite was, no one would be capable of sampling everything on offer before the festival was over.

The special atmosphere unique to festivals wrapped itself around me in an instant, giving me goose bumps. The Central Garrison was, as the name implied, almost directly in the center of Runerelia, just off the intersection of Fifth Street and Fifth Avenue. My black cloak fluttering behind me, I decided to make my way east along Fifth Avenue and browse the stalls while pretending to be on patrol. From my current position, I’d have to walk around ten kilometers before I reached the eastern end of the stalls. I’d spend the outward journey browsing the products on offer, and sample anything that had caught my eye on the way back. That would put me back at the Garrison just after noon, by which point I hoped Dew’s anger would have subsided to a tolerable level.

By the time I’d reached the last stall, I’d compiled an impressive list of foods I wanted to try in my mind. I’d just turned around to begin the return journey when I spotted the boy. He looked about two years younger than me; he also looked incredibly lost. Tears threatened to spill from his helpless, innocent eyes, but he was somehow keeping a hold of them, his jaw tightly clenched. I had no doubt that if he had burst into tears, every one of the kind young women tending the stalls in a hundred-meter radius would have descended upon him, lured in by an instinctual desire to protect a defenseless child.

With clothes like those, he’s probably from some rich family from Justeria or one of the other nations around there—parents came here for work and brought him along, he wandered out to check out the festival, and here we are... Guess I should try to help.

“Hey, are you okay? You look a little lost. How about I help you find your family?”

The boy’s head whipped around so fast that it should have been accompanied by a comical sound effect, looking for where the voice had come from. He found me—his knight in shining armor—and shrieked.

“Aiiieee!”

He backed away, diligently restrained tears now falling like a waterfall.

Crap... I forgot to take off the mask again...

◆◆◆

“Wait, wait! This is just a mask, see?! Heaps of people wear them to festivals here! I just forgot to take it off! Look at my cloak! This proves that I’m a knight with the Royal Order, okay? I’m not a weird old man!” I hurriedly said, pulling off the mask of the plump, old man with a twisted, victorious sneer, like a merchant who’d just cast his business rival into the depths of hell, and hiding it behind my back. Thankfully, once I’d revealed my natural, somewhat ordinary face, the young boy stopped crying (though he did still look like he was on the verge of calling out to passersby for help).

His name was Eucas, and he’d been exploring the festival with his older sister when they’d gotten separated. That was about all I could find out; I asked him his last name, and where he’d come from, but he seemed reluctant to say, as though he wasn’t sure how much information he was allowed to share. I decided not to pressure him.

“Okay, no worries! For now, how about you and I go look for your older sister, hey? If she’s got the same light green hair as you, she shouldn’t be too hard to spot. If we can’t find her, then I might need you to tell me a little more about yourself, but we’ll deal with that if we come to it. How does that sound?”

Eucas still seemed a little unsure, but he wasn’t anywhere near as frightened as he’d been before. He nodded silently. I activated my Scouting Magic to enhance my hearing, and side by side, we set off back toward the center of the city.

We’d covered a few kilometers when we passed in front of a stall selling giant croissant-like pastries and I heard Eucas gulp, clearly salivating at the sweet aroma. I slowed down and pulled Eucas over to the stall.

“Mister, we’ll take two of those layered butter pastries, please,” I said, pointing.

“Welcome, welcome! What an honor to have a distinguished Royal Knight visit my humble stall! Our bakery here is a direct branch of our main store in Justeria, but with the situation as it is these days, sales here in Runerelia haven’t been quite as good as they used to. I’ll give you whatever fillings you like free of charge, so make sure you let your friends know about us, okay?”

I looked down at Eucas. “What would you recommend?”

“Ricotta cheese and rollberry jam,” he replied timidly, though his eyes had lit up.

“The classic way is the right way, kid!” said the stall owner, laughing. “The same for you, Sir Knight?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Actually, there’s something else I’d like to ask you. Our young friend here’s actually lost his older sister. If you see a girl about four years older than him with the same color hair looking for her brother, can you send her to the police box on the corner of Fourth Street and Fifth Avenue?”

“Police box? Oh, those small buildings that have gone up recently where there’s police stationed around the clock? Sure thing, I’ll let her know if I see her. Good on you for not crying, lad! Thanks for stopping by!”

Eucas’s gloomy expression had softened noticeably thanks to the good-natured stall owner. I breathed an internal sigh of relief as I tore off an ambitious bite of the filling-stuffed croissant. “Wow, this is great! The ‘classic way’ never disappoints! Eucas, aren’t you gonna eat?”

He looked up at me in shock. “Can... Can we really eat standing here?”

I was right—he must be from a proper family.

“We’re not gonna stand and eat; we’re gonna walk and eat. It’s a festival, you know? You gotta stuff your face! Just be careful not to bump into anyone, okay?”

Eucas’s eyes widened at my reply, but once I began walking, he seemed to resolve himself and stuffed the croissant into his mouth, biting off as much as he could in one go.

“How is it?” I asked. Eucas nodded excitedly in reply, unable to talk.

Mwa ha ha. I mean, if you don’t pick up a few bad habits like eating while walking on your travels, a holiday loses half the fun! I’m a fine teacher, if I do say so myself.

Unfortunately, we’d yet to spot Eucas’s sister by the time we’d reached the police box. I still had some time to spare, so I directed us toward the seating of a nearby ice cream stand, from where we could see both the police box and the street. The stall was run by an ice cream store here in Runerelia, the same one I’d once visited with my classmates. It looked like they’d managed to make some improvements to the texture like I’d suggested, and instead of preflavoring the ice cream, they now used separate toppings. I went with the recommended flavor, a seasonal fig sauce.

“This is great! It’s the best ice cream I’ve ever had!”

Apparently, Eucas was enjoying himself too. It wasn’t too surprising; after all, discovering new and delicious tastes was one of the best parts of a vacation. He seemed more relaxed now, and we chatted easily while we ate, keeping one eye out for anyone who might have been his sister. I’d been an only child in my past life, and the youngest child in this one, but spending time with Eucas made me feel like I’d become an older brother, even if only temporarily. It felt surprisingly nice.

Soon enough, I caught a glimpse of a frantic-looking girl sprinting into the nearby police box. From the color of her hair, there was no mistaking it.

“Look, Eucas. Seems like that nice stall owner did tell her where to find you.”

◆◆◆

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m so sorry for causing so much trouble!” Eucas’s sister, Olivia, said, apologizing profusely for the third or fourth time.

A lot of the people I’d met in this world would have been considered “good-looking” by the standards of my past one, but Olivia wasn’t quite as classically beautiful. Her light green hair was lustrous and smooth, but her skin was pale and freckled, albeit healthy looking.

Croissants were clearly one of Eucas’s favorite foods, because Olivia had started checking every pastry stall in her search for him. The stall owner we’d met had spotted her and told her where we’d gone.

“Don’t worry about it. I was just doing my job, after all.”

“Please—a member of the Royal Order helping a lost child, and spending their precious time searching for their guardian? Even I know that your work doesn’t entail such trifling tasks. The stall owner was as surprised as I was. Usually, you’d hand him over to the police and that would be that.”

“Well, maybe... I’m only an easygoing intern though, and I had some time to spare. Besides, I got to make a new friend from another country, and we had a lot of fun on our little food tour. Right, Eucas?” I replied, patting Eucas on the head affectionately.

Olivia scowled at her brother, puffing out her cheeks indignantly. “Honestly! I thought for sure you’d be crying on some street corner, or that you’d been taken by some bad people... I was running around everywhere worried sick about you, but when I finally found you, you’re just sitting around eating ice cream with a big smile?! Give me back the energy I wasted worrying about you!” With that, Olivia stooped down and took a big bite out of Eucas’s ice cream. “Wait, what flavor is this?! It’s delicious!”

I grinned. She was clearly the type of kid who couldn’t hide their emotions, good or bad. Although, if she’s four years older than Eucas, she’s also two years older than me... Not really a “kid,” I guess.

“Well, everyone’s safe and happy now. I’m still on shift, so I better get going. Enjoy the rest of the festival. See ya, Eucas,” I said, rising from my seat.

“Ah! Wait, um—” Eucas stammered, and I stopped. He looked at his sister nervously. “Um, I want to introduce myself properly! He helped me out a lot... And, if it’s okay, could you tell me your name too, Mr. Knight?”

Olivia looked appalled. “Euie, are you telling me you haven’t even properly introduced yourself to the person who rescued you? You don’t have anything to hide, you know?” She glanced over to me. “And you, Mr. Knight... I’ll never be able to thank you enough, but I can’t thank you properly at all if you leave without even telling us your name.” She gave Eucas a small push in my direction.

“Um, thank you for everything today! My name is Eucas Rudion, from Justeria. I hope we get to meet again!”

Eucas’s introduction surprised me, if only slightly. It was a name even I, a citizen of a completely different nation, had heard before. The Rudions of Justeria were closely descended from the Lorudions, one of the Original Five families, who’d ruled the Kingdom of Lorudion—Justeria’s predecessor—until about four hundred years ago. However, the tyrannical rule of the Lorudions benefited only a few noble families at the expense of all other citizens. Unrest swelled, and eventually, internal pressure passed a critical point, and the nation was forcefully democratized. The Kingdom of Lorudion became Justeria, the monarchy became a parliamentary government, and over the following four centuries, they’d become a highly advanced nation. So while Justeria no longer had “nobility,” so to speak, if the Rudions were a Yugrian family, they’d be equivalent to our dukes. The Lorudion family itself had been dissolved as part of the democratization process, and no longer existed in any real form.

“We definitely will, Eucas—we’re friends, after all. I’m Allen. Unfortunately, my family isn’t important enough for a foreign visitor to have heard of them before, but I’m the youngest child of a backwater, penniless viscount. Also, please stop it with the ‘Mr. Knight,’ Olivia. I’m still just an intern, and it doesn’t suit me at all,” I said, wincing. “And by the way... I’ve got to ask: There’s no way people from a family as important as yours are here just to sightsee given the current circumstances, right? Much less walk around unsupervised and even end up getting lost... How in the world did that end up happening?” I asked, unable to suppress my overwhelming suspicion.

Olivia’s expression soured, and she sighed. “So I guess we can call you Allen, then? Allen... I feel like I’ve heard that name recently... Oh well. You’re right; just like you said, currently the relationship between Justeria and Yugria is the worst it’s ever been. Unfortunately, that’s not our biggest problem at the moment.” She sighed again. “Right now, Justeria is breaking into two factions—those who want to protect the democratic spirit our nation was formed around, and those who are trying to reinstate the former nobility...”

◆◆◆

In summary, Olivia’s story was as follows:

When the Kingdom of Lorudion had been democratized and had become the nation of Justeria, to Yugria’s west, they hadn’t immediately dumped all the responsibilities of national politics on the masses, of course. After much trial and error, Justeria’s new parliament was formed, consisting of two chambers: the House of Peoples, made up of elected representatives from the former common class, and the Senate, composed of former nobles who supported the new democracy and would advise the new House of Peoples on matters of national governance.

In accordance with the spirit of democratic nationalism on which Justeria had been founded, the House of Peoples was officially given more importance and power than the Senate. As the centuries passed, however, the Senate began to gradually claw back more and more of their former power—and in recent years, the situation had sharply worsened. With the support of an unknown party (Olivia had been reluctant to say who, but I assumed it was the Rosamour Empire, what with their obstinate belief in bloodline-based hegemony), the Restorationists—the faction fighting for the return of the nobility and the monarchy—had begun their attempt to seize complete control.

Said “unnamed party”—if they were who I thought they were—had always detested the Kingdom of Yugria. The Yugrian royal family had a much shorter and less prestigious history than other royal families (such as, for example, another of the Original Five who still ruled their own territory) and, while the king still held the majority of power, commoners could also hold important positions in Yugria if they were talented enough. As it was, with the backing of this mysterious third party, the Restorationists seemed capable of starting a war over the return of noble power at any given moment. Justeria was now divided into two factions: the Preservationists—those such as the Rudions, who wanted to prevent war and preserve the democratic system—and the Restorationists, who sought to return the governance of Justeria to an aristocratic elite, and would go to war to achieve it. Strangely enough, it wasn’t a civil war that the Restorationists sought, but an international one—namely, one between Justeria and Yugria.

Though he was a member of a former noble house, Olivia and Eucas’s father was a firm supporter of democracy, and was one of the House of Peoples’ main leaders—a fact that the Restorationists weren’t particularly pleased about. Officially, the reason for the Rudions’s visit to Runerelia was to do with Olivia’s participation in the Nova Cup, a fighting tournament held as part of the Foundation Festival between young representatives from neighboring nations. Privately, however, her father was spending the time meeting with prominent figures in the Yugrian government, desperate for any support that would help him mitigate the ever-increasing threat of war.

◆◆◆

So that’s what’s going on, huh...

Personally, I thought that creating an organization like the Senate as part of a democracy was basically the same as granting that particular group of nobles vested rights (aka a big mistake). At the same time though, it was probably a necessary evil at the point of Justeria’s democratization. Giving one group lineage-based power was never a good choice if it could be avoided, because it led to stagnated thinking—and therefore a stagnated country—as people sought to maintain the status quo. In that sense, the Royal Academy, which selected students based solely on ability rather than pedigree, was kind of like the control valve that regularly stimulated the flow of new initiatives and ways of thinking in Yugria.

I had no idea how a war with Yugria could lead to the restoration of the aristocracy in Justeria, but there was no point looking for logic in the minds of idiots gullible enough to be incited by the meddling of an unknown third party.

“Okay, I think I understand the gist of it... Are you sure you should be sharing so much delicate information, though? I mean, I may be an intern, but I’m still a member of a foreign military force—although, I don’t mean to brag, but I have absolutely zero power to help you, you know?” I said, somewhat proudly.

Olivia nodded vigorously. “It’s fine. Internal affairs or not, there’s little chance your kingdom’s intelligence bureau hasn’t already gathered that much, if not more. Besides, the Rudions have always been vocal about our anti-war, pro-Yugrian stance. My father believes that we should respect the governance systems of other countries while defending our right to democracy. Even in Runerelia, it seems like there’s a lot of rumors going around about how Justeria as a whole is attempting to start a war with Yugria, and I’m desperate to tell as many people as I can that that’s not the case.”

I could see her point. In a world without telecommunication or broadcasting technologies, rumors were a formidable enemy.

“That’s why Eucas and I were walking around the festival too, as per our father’s wishes. He holds the deepest respect for this country, where commoners and nobles can live together in harmony. He told us to enjoy the festival—incognito, of course—and take advantage of the opportunity to see this country with our own eyes. Apparently, he did the same thing when he was younger, though he had to sneak out from underneath our grandfather’s nose, or so he said. He thinks that you can only understand the true importance of something after seeing and experiencing it for yourself. So basically, while we were observing the festival, I got distracted and managed to lose sight of Euie in the crowd...” Olivia trailed off, looking ashamed.

I see... Despite being born into a world where ideals of aristocratic supremacy were still commonplace—and as a descendant of said aristocrats, no less—their father seemed to be quite the avant-garde thinker. Having been born in Japan and studied its history in school, I could profoundly understand just how progressive his thoughts and actions really were.

“Your father seems like the type of guy who’s two or three steps ahead of his time. I think he sounds amazing,” I said, wanting to convey my honest feelings. “I really should get back to work now. Enjoy the rest of the festival. Oh, do you see that ‘Lizard Fang’ stall down by the corner? Their steak skewers are definitely worth trying! The secret spicy sauce is my favorite! Well, see ya.” With a final wave, I donned “Plumpy” once again and left the ice cream stand and the Rudions behind.

◆◆◆

After Allen’s departure...

“What in the world was that strange mask...? He was quite an unusual boy overall, actually. I thought for sure he was only helping you to forge a connection with our family, until I found out you hadn’t even told him your full name. Even when he did find out who we were, he didn’t seem to care in the slightest.” Olivia frowned. “To be honest, I rather wanted to forge a connection with him—after all, it’s not every day you get to meet a mere boy talented enough to join the Royal Knights. But he left so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to even start organizing our next encounter!”

Eucas nodded. “Yeah, he was really weird. Um, what do you think he meant when he said Father was ‘two or three steps ahead of his time’?”

“Hmm...” Olivia thought for a moment, tilting her head in confusion. “I’m really not sure. I mean, it’s a rather extreme exaggeration to say that encouraging us to visit the festival incognito is somehow a progressive notion, no matter how you look at it. But then again, it’s not as though someone from Yugria’s nobility would be suggesting they believe that the time will come when commoners ruling themselves is the status quo either...”

The Nova Cup

It was day four of the Foundation Festival, and I, together with Patch and Justin, had been dispatched to provide security at the Colosseum. When I’d arrived in Dew’s office earlier that morning, reluctantly anticipating yet another day of mind-numbing office work, I’d instead been told that I’d been assigned to the joint security mission with the Royal Guard. The Nova Cup, which was to be held in the Colosseum today, was a fighting tournament. The most talented young warriors from each country (Yugria, for example, nominated one student from each year at the Royal Academy as their representatives) would compete in mock fights with their weapons of choice, striving to prove—or protect—the honor of their respective homelands. Yugria’s first-year representative this time was Leo, of course. There was a similar event held in Rosamour during the spring break, the Rising Dragon Cup, which saw the most talented young mages from each country facing off instead.

The Nova Cup was one of—if not the—most prestigious events held during the festival, and subsequently, it was attended by some of the most important figures from each participating nation, including our own king. The Royal Guard, as one could expect, had their hands full with ensuring the security of said VIP guests. As well as the dignitaries and their retinues, though, the event was also open to the general public—provided they could get their hands on one of the thirty thousand available tickets before they sold out within hours of being released. In reality, while the tickets were available to all, the majority of them were monopolized by nobles from the various participating countries, so most of the seats were filled with members of the upper class.

The Third Legion was responsible for the security of the general public, in cooperation with the Runerelian police force. Curious about the caliber of people my age who were talented enough to be chosen as national representatives, I had briefly considered getting a ticket myself—but abandoned the idea upon learning I’d be on duty for the duration of the festival.

“Are you serious, Captain?! Wow, I really misjudged you! I never thought you’d have such a generous side... I see you in a whole new light now!” I said, deeply moved.

Dew glared at me, his eyes as bloodshot as ever. “I’m not giving you this assignment out of the goodness of my damn heart, brat! It’s all because of Sage Godolphen’s meddling. He reckons it’ll be a good learning experience for you to see the Cup, and reminded me that my orders said your participation in Order work can’t interfere with your schooling!” he growled. “The bastard only cares about following orders when it suits him... Tell him to at least give me some notice next time!”

It’s not like me telling him will do anything, though...

It was an unexpected yet greatly appreciated surprise. Silently thanking Godolphen for his meddling, I tied my vacant-eyed man mask to a loop on my belt and headed out the door.

◆◆◆

“The bout is over, won by Leo Seizinger,” Godolphen—one of the judges for today’s Cup—declared, and a large share of the audience burst into thunderous applause for the Yugrian representative’s victory.

The representatives were divided into brackets based on school year, with combatants from each of the eight participating countries competing in the tournament-style event. Bouts were decided when a competitor was knocked out, disarmed, surrendered, or otherwise fell off the twenty-meter stage in the center of the Colosseum. The use of weapons and armor was permitted, but only those made of wood and leather, respectively. Elemental Emissive Magic was forbidden, but Strengthening and Scouting Magic could be used. Those were the basic rules, as far as I understood them.

Leo’s somehow gotten even stronger over the summer break, the bastard...

Of course, none of the representatives could be described as anything close to “weak,” but Leo was on a whole different level. He’d won all of his matches with apparent ease. If I’d been up there instead... While victory wouldn’t have been entirely impossible, it definitely would have been challenging.

I only have my Parthia with me today anyway, but I reckon I’d have a decent shot with my old wooden Rygo and some wooden arrows... Although, everyone’s only using melee weapons, so I wonder if ranged weapons are banned?

I watched as Leo bowed politely to his sullen opponent before descending from the stage, his handsome face devoid of even a hint of a smile. My fixation on bowing had gradually permeated throughout the rest of Class A, who now practiced the gesture before and after our mock battles in class and at other appropriate moments.

Stupid Leo. He manages to look cool no matter what he’s doing.

◆◆◆

“So that’s the so-called wonder child, Leo Seizinger... What do you reckon, Graphia?” said the man, directing the question toward the orange-haired girl to his right—Graphia, the Rosamour Empire’s third-year representative. The pair were sitting beside the stage, where seating had been provided for each country’s representatives and their escorts; the man who’d spoken was responsible for the Rosamourian representatives.

The girl called Graphia didn’t respond at first, seemingly disinterested as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, pulling against the long, tight-fitting black dress she’d chosen to wear. “No clue. His opponents were all too weak, including Sierra... He’s probably worth keeping an eye on though. He might look like a well-bred little prince, but his swordplay tells a different story. He must have some ill-mannered friends or something, because he’s clearly used to violent brawls. Obviously I’d win against him now, but give him a few years to grow into his body and things might turn out different. He’s definitely a better swordsman than Prince Chastique, at least—and he’s far better looking too. The prince not participating was the right choice.”

“Give him a few years to grow into his body and things might turn out different”—for the prideful Graphia to admit to such a high evaluation was no small matter indeed. The man himself had a decent eye for measuring talent, but since Graphia thought of the Seizinger boy’s abilities so highly, he felt compelled to revise his own evaluation too.

“Don’t speak rudely about the prince, Graphia,” he admonished, before pausing for a moment. “Although...I would have preferred it if this farce of a tournament had gone on a little longer, so that I had more time to assess Seizinger. They say his brain is just as good as his brawn. As far as the Rosamour Empire is concerned, in a few years, he might pose quite a dangerous threat.”

At this, Graphia smiled wickedly, her characteristic snaggletooth on full display. “Don’t worry. Once I’ve won my division, I’ll provoke him into another fight. He’s not gonna back down from a challenge. I’ll mess up that pretty little face of his and crush his spirit, and when he runs away crying, you can tell me just how good you think he is.”

The man looked at her warily. “We’re in the middle of Yugrian territory, and ‘the Indomitable Godolphen’ is right there. Don’t forget where you are and go overboard,” he warned. Graphia only snickered in response.

◆◆◆

After Leo’s overall victory, the second-year division matches were held, with the representative from the Qual Republic taking the top spot. The second-year competitors were stronger overall, though I suspected that Leo still might have won had he been in this division instead. Yugria’s representative was one of the members of the Hill Path Club; unluckily, he went up against the Qual representative in the semifinal and was soundly defeated.

Then it was time for the third-year division.

The Yugrian representative was another Hill Path Club member named Rondi. He’d joined the club fairly early, via Reed’s recommendation. The regular training had helped him get much stronger, for which he’d thanked me profusely on several occasions. According to Reed, Rondi had always been one of the most talented students in 3-A, but I knew he must have put in a lot of effort both inside and outside of club training to have been selected as our national representative.

And Rondi’s first opponent? Olivia, the girl I’d happened to meet yesterday. Her mannerisms and movements had given me the impression that she was a somewhat capable warrior, but I hadn’t been able to get a proper grasp on her abilities from just a casual chat, of course.

I turned my attention to the stage, buzzing with excitement.

◆◆◆

“Begin.”

At Godolphen’s command, the two fighters began to move cautiously, closing the distance between one another one step at a time. Rondi clutched his favorite weapon of choice, a heavy cudgel, while Olivia brandished a slightly wide-bladed rapier—wooden, of course, but with an elegantly carved teardrop-shaped hilt that rivaled those of masterfully crafted actual swords. In terms of weaponry, Rondi clearly had an overwhelming advantage. There was no way Olivia could deflect his cudgel with a rapier, wide-bladed or not. Nor did I think she’d be able to catch the blow on her thin leather bracers; she wasn’t Dante or Uncle Cher, after all. Holding one’s own against an evenly matched opponent without being able to parry was no easy matter. Furthermore, without an actual blade on her rapier, even if she managed to evade his attacks for long enough to slip through and strike, it would be a long time before Olivia managed to make a dent in Rondi’s abundant mana reserves.

Rondi made the first move. He rushed toward Olivia, gripping his cudgel near the center and swinging it back to increase momentum before bringing it down diagonally across her right shoulder. Olivia nimbly avoided the blow, jumping first to the side and then back toward Rondi, rapier flashing. Unfortunately, Rondi’s recovery was too fast; in all likelihood, he’d predicted Olivia would have dodged his first attack when planning his move. The distance between them was now too close to dodge any attack, including the horizontal swing he aimed at her now.

A dull, heavy thunk echoed around the arena.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me...” I mumbled, the words escaping involuntarily. Olivia had easily caught Rondi’s cudgel with the flat of her blade.

Even if it’s a little wide for a rapier, there’s no way she should have been able to stop it with that...

The rapier clearly wasn’t made out of any wood from around here. Being able to block the cudgel at just the right point attested to Olivia’s talent too. But the most impressive thing about the whole situation was the girl’s overwhelming confidence. When she’d closed the distance between them, she’d truly believed that she’d be able to parry his blow without being sent flying. For her to have that much confidence before they’d even crossed weapons wasn’t just because she’d been selected for a contest like the Nova Cup; it showed that she knew exactly how powerful her Strengthening Magic was—and that she had no doubts she’d be able to take the blow.

In fact, Rondi was the one who’d been put off-balance by the clash. Olivia didn’t move an inch until she pushed back against the cudgel, sending it flying out of his grip—before sending Rondi flying after it with a good kick. He’d been disarmed and knocked over in one fell swoop.

“The bout is over, won by Olivia Rudion,” declared Godolphen.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Olivia rushed over toward Rondi. “Thank you for the fight!” she said, extending a hand.

“It wasn’t much of a fight though, was it?” replied Rondi with a good-natured smile, taking the proffered hand. In spite of the defeat of their hometown representative, generous applause rang out from the mostly Yugrian audience, showering the two grinning competitors.

◆◆◆

“You’re kidding me... Who the hell was that uggo? What pigpen did Justeria pull her out from?” Graphia asked, disgusted.

The Rosamourian handler swore under his breath. “Tch. She’s the kid of that anti-war, pro-Yugrian do-gooder Rudion. Clearly she’s inherited a lot of the rumored Lorudion mana control. I’d heard she was talented, but this... They must have been hiding her on purpose. Across the continent, all eyes are on the Nova Cup right now. If she wins and they spin the publicity in their favor, it could change public opinion here and in Justeria.” He frowned. “Can you beat her?”

“Huh?! As if I’d lose to that uggo! All their crap about democracy and freedom and equality makes me wanna hurl every time I hear it. The only reason heroes exist is because there’s peasants around to make them look better—and history’s greatest heroes are all beautiful men and women with prestigious blood in their veins. The way it should be.”

◆◆◆

After Olivia’s first match, I’d half assumed her overall victory was all but decided, until I saw the other exceptional competitor in her division: Graphia Indina, the representative from the Rosamour Empire. From what I could gather from the spectators chatting nearby, she’d won her division for two consecutive years prior and was in line for a third straight victory. She was extremely fast, but her movements were unpredictable—almost instinctive.

The other competitors didn’t stand a chance, and before long, the two girls were making their way onto the stage for the final bout.

◆◆◆

Olivia raised the hilt of her rapier to her mouth and pointed the blade toward Graphia in a motion that was remarkably similar to a fencer’s salute. “Here’s to a good fight.”

“You’re dead meat,” replied Graphia with a sneer. She had both arms slung over the sickle spear resting on her shoulders, the picture of indifference as she swayed from side to side.

“Begin,” said Godolphen, and both competitors began to move.

The match soon became a violent dance; Graphia circled around Olivia, darting in and out with furious strikes, which Olivia refused to yield to. It was like the advanced version of the pattern Leo and I often fell into during our mock battles in class.

In contrast to her rough manner of speaking, Graphia’s footwork was graceful. The long legs that peeked out from the daring slits on either side of her ankle-length dress fluidly glided from one step to the next, as though dancing a waltz. Her delicate and ever-changing positioning reminded me faintly of Dio, and I even found myself wishing I’d invited Parley, who’d surely appreciate the skill on display.

Olivia was just as talented, though. While she couldn’t quite match Graphia for speed, she was observant and grounded, countering each of Graphia’s attacks with textbook parrying and never granting the other girl an opening. It was no easy thing to be able to handle such violent spearwork without breaking one’s form; Olivia’s resilience was proof of what must have been hundreds of hours spent sparring against similar foes. Leo too was watching the pair with intense concentration, which didn’t surprise me; he’d obviously already realized the educational value of observing such a match.

“Hyah!”

Olivia was the one to break through the stalemate, unleashing an intense surge of Strengthening Magic and increasing her attacking and defensive capabilities at the same time. She drove Graphia to the corner of the stage with reckless abandon, catching countless blows on the back of her leather bracer. Of course, had it been a real spear, even Olivia wouldn’t have been able to do so without injury—although against an opponent this strong, “losing the battle to win the war,” so to speak, would also be a valid strategy.

But why’s she trying to hurry the match? Olivia was clearly skilled in Strengthening Magic, but maybe her magical aptitude wasn’t quite as impressive—it would make sense to try to finish the bout quickly if she was worried about her mana running out. With both Emissive and Strengthening Magic, it was easier to activate short but intense bursts of power—like Olivia was doing now—when your magical aptitude level was higher, but with practice, even people with minimal mana could do it. No matter how much you practiced, though, you could never really increase your basic magical aptitude level, so even if you did manage to “put the pedal to the metal,” your mana would soon run out. The Lorudions—one of the Original Five houses, and Olivia’s ancestors—had always been known for their unusually precise control over mana at high output levels, disproportionate to their actual magical aptitude.

“Stop messing around, you ugly hag!” spat Graphia, desperately pushing back against Olivia’s rapier, but the other girl wasn’t giving up any ground.

Looks like it’s over—

At that moment, my Scouting Magic picked up something—a thin, needlelike something—which shot out from the tip of Graphia’s spear and pierced Olivia somewhere near her right eye.

“Argh!”

Olivia’s guard dropped for just a moment, but it was all Graphia needed. She twisted her spear, aiming the sicklelike protrusion on one side at Olivia’s closed eye. “Oops! Did you get a splinter in your eye or something? Guess you don’t have looks or luck! This is the difference between those chosen for greatness and trash like you!”

With Olivia incapacitated, Graphia easily escaped from the corner of the stage. To everyone else, it had probably seemed like bad luck, just like Graphia had said.

But I knew better.

Their weapons had been locked, not clashing against one another. It would have been unnatural timing for a splinter to come flying off—because it hadn’t been one. Something had suddenly shot out of Graphia’s spear. She’d waited until they were in Godolphen’s blind spot to do something she definitely didn’t want noticed. Godolphen probably knew something had happened, but without evidence, he had no grounds to stop the fight—or maybe the rules didn’t explicitly prevent such underhanded tricks, provided whatever it was that had shot out of Graphia’s spear had been made of wood.

They’d been pretty evenly matched before now, so with Graphia’s sudden advantage, the bout thereafter was basically one-sided. Olivia didn’t seem to be able to use Scouting Magic, and with one eye rendered useless, she was no longer able to put up much of a fight. Graphia danced around her in circles, always making sure to stay in the blind spot she’d violently created—and Olivia, unable to parry any of her attacks, felt the brunt of each and every blow. Graphia would have been able to disarm her with ease; it was as clear as day that she wanted to hurt her on purpose. I could see Eucas watching from the Justerian section, his face pale. Beside him, a man I assumed was their father stared at the stage with a stern expression.

When Olivia finally crumpled to the floor, it was with her rapier in hand. She’d held on till the very end.

“The bout is over, won by Graphia Indina.”

The stands erupted in a storm of cheers and applause, a wave of excitement washing over a crowd blind to the truth of what had occurred on that stage.

◆◆◆

Graphia scoffed. “Nothing but trash, the lot of them. I didn’t even break a sweat. Oy, you. You’re not satisfied either, right? Your opponents were weak as hell too. Let’s have a little bout of our own... That is, if you’re not too scared, wonder child,” she said with a smirk, pointing her spear at Leo.

It was a cheap attempt at provocation, but it seemed to work; Leo stood up, his face emotionless. Graphia grinned, her distinctive snaggletooth protruding like a fang. “Good,” she said—before spinning around and kicking the still-collapsed Olivia squarely in the stomach. An anguished moan escaped Olivia as she rolled a few times from the force of it. She wouldn’t have had her Magic Guard activated, and the kick was clearly enhanced with Strengthening Magic.

“You’re in the way, hag. Get off the stage.”

Godolphen stood up, face reddening. “You’re getting carried away now, young lady. Do you know who’s watching—”

Before he could finish his sentence, something made both the Sage and Graphia turn around in unison. They’d both felt the change in the air, sensed the wave of quiet rage pulsating from one side of the stands.

A plain-faced boy—who, despite his age, seemed to be a member of the Royal Order—was glaring directly at Graphia, fury burning in his eyes.

◆◆◆

Crap, I accidentally cast intimidation magic—I’m meant to be on duty!

The emotions had slipped out inadvertently. I’d seized an opportunity to experience a prime example of one of reincarnation fantasy’s classic tropes—the lighthearted, cross-cultural exchange event—and had really been enjoying myself until Graphia’s disgusting display.

Better leave this to Godolphen and Leo, though.

I somehow managed to calm down and reel in the jet of intimidation-laden wind magic I’d unwittingly sent out, but it was too late: Eucas had followed their gazes and spotted me.

“Allen?!”

The crowd began murmuring.

“Allen...? Don’t tell me you’re Allen Rovene? Ha!” Graphia snorted. “With all the rumors going around about you, I was expecting a proper man, but you’re just a plain-faced, snot-nosed kid who probably stinks like the farm you grew up on. You’re not worth my time, loser.” She sneered at me. “Well, Leo Seizinger? Get up here.”

Did she really lose interest in me because of my face? What a rude girl... And she’s basically comparing me to that good-looking bastard Leo in front of thirty thousand people! Do you know how that feels?!

I could feel their stares boring into me from around the arena, and I hastily redonned the mask I’d taken off to watch the matches. But Leo had other ideas. With his usual fearless smirk, he shrugged in my direction, both palms raised in the standard gesture that said, Go ahead, before sitting back down.

Oy, hold on a minute! I’m in the middle of work here! Don’t palm it off on me! I frantically tried to gesture as much to Leo, but before I could get the message across, I saw Godolphen walking toward me.

“It’s unlike you to be so emotional on someone else’s behalf, Rovene,” he said, chuckling. “Truthfully, Olivia is the daughter of an old friend of mine... I consider myself a rather even-tempered man, but even I have my limits. Of course, I cannot put the Indina girl in her place myself. Make sure you discipline her thoroughly.”

Hang on, don’t try to make me do your dirty work! I was just as annoyed as he was, but I also had a very, very bad feeling about how things would turn out if I got into a fight with Graphia. “No way. I mean, you saw how she handled that spear; I’d be at a complete disadvantage. It’s best to leave this to Leo—”

I stopped talking as I saw the vein throbbing on Godolphen’s forehead, starkly contrasting with the “good-natured grandfather” expression he was managing to maintain. “I understand. Indeed, the girl might be a little stronger than you can handle... So make sure you discipline her thoroughly!”

What kinda logic is that?! I feel like I’m getting hazed... You’re not even the vice commander anymore!

◆◆◆

“So he’s Allen Rovene, huh...”

“He’s a legend here in Yugria, apparently—they call him ‘the unprecedented prodigy’...”

“What’s the deal with the creepy mask?”

“I thought they’d be keeping their secret weapon under lock and key. I can’t believe we get a chance to see the very boy ourselves... Take detailed notes. We’ll need to report this.”

With my hearing enhanced, the unpleasant whispers came drifting toward me one after another, though I would have been happier not hearing any of it.

“Good luck, li’l bro! Rosa says she’ll kill you if you lose, okay?!”

How the hell did things end up like this?!

The atmosphere in the Colosseum had changed completely. A strange, unpleasant tension was heavy in the air.

Graphia snorted at me derisively. “Hmph. Do you think wearing a mask and plodding slowly across the stage makes you look cool or something? Rumors can’t be trusted obviously. I’ll peel that pathetic disguise right off along with the rest of your skin, beige boy!”

Is she trying to stir up the crowd or something?! Idiot...

But Graphia wasn’t paying attention to me at all. She pointed her spear toward Leo once again. “Once beige boy here is black and blue, you’re next, Seizinger!”

Leo flashed her his annoying bold smirk. “Well, good luck,” he said, his voice carrying clearly around the arena. “I don’t think I’ll have the chance to take you up on that, though.”

The chatter of the crowd surged, growing louder and more restless.

“Bold words for trash that doesn’t know its place,” Graphia hissed at me. “Don’t think I’m gonna let you flee just because you surrender, you backwater bastard.”

Hang on a damn minute! Leo was the one who said it, not me! Why the hell are Godolphen and Leo acting like I’m clearly gonna win... Were their eyes closed during all the other matches?! From an objective point of view, she’s clearly got the advantage here! Not to mention, she’s the type to kick an opponent when they’re already down—so why does it feel like you’re both trying to make her even angrier?!

Oh, that’s right! Suddenly, I remembered a book I’d read in my previous life, Secret Strategies for the Popular Man. Apparently, the trick to winning a woman’s favor was to compliment her. Actually, I’d only bought it because the title had made it seem as though it contained scientifically proven approaches, which had appealed to my study-obsessed self; unfortunately, it had been full of abstract arguments and pseudoscientific mumbo jumbo, and hadn’t been of assistance even once. Still, it was worth a shot.

Frankly speaking, I thought Graphia was just as average-looking as me, but she seemed to have confidence in her appearance, and she had one distinctive charm point.

“Your snaggletooth is very cute, Graphia!”

“What did you just say, you little bastard?! Who the hell do you think you are, pointing out the one thing I hate?! I’m gonna kill you!”

...Stepped on another land mine.

◆◆◆

After setting off what was apparently Graphia’s only land mine in a big and colorful explosion, I was beginning to get mad. I was doing so poorly with girls in this world that it felt like my Charm stat must have been the sacrifice for whatever deal I’d made with some random god in some mysterious white space before being reincarnated into this world...

But I don’t remember making any deals, meeting any gods, or visiting limbo, so what’s the big idea?!

“Al...Allen? Why are you here?” Olivia murmured, confused; the priest’s holy magic was apparently starting to take effect.

“Hey, Olivia... You did great. I thought you looked awesome up there, the way you refused to give in until the very end. Uh... Any chance I could borrow your rapier?”

“Huh? Oh...sure.” She nodded at me blankly. “It’s custom-made for me, though. It might be hard for you to wield it properly.”

I shrugged, nodding. “It’s fine. I won’t need it for long. Can you mind these for me?” I said, passing her my bow and dagger.

The instigator of this whole affair raised an eyebrow. “Oy, don’t tell me you think you’re gonna beat me with a borrowed sword? You just trying to make sure you’ve got an excuse ready for when you lose? I didn’t think a Royal Knight would be so pathetic.” She snorted. “Well, whenever you’re ready. Come at me. This is gonna be the next chapter in my legend—the time I made beige boy from the Royal Knights of Yugria clean my shoes with his tongue!” she roared, the declaration echoing through the stands.

Once he’d made sure Olivia was safely off the stage, Godolphen fixed us with his steely gaze, and waved a withered hand. “Begin.”

◆◆◆

Graphia beckoned me toward her with a careless wave, her spear slung over one shoulder. She was completely open. Clearly, she didn’t think she’d lose to someone younger than her in a duel like this.

Her confidence wasn’t entirely unwarranted. There was no way I’d win in a head-on fight, not with a borrowed rapier—and even if I’d had my usual wooden training sword to hand, she was still significantly stronger than me. Saying that, though, I had no intention of going down without a fight either. I knew that if I lost—and especially if Graphia decided to kick me like she had Olivia—the result would be a very angry Rosa entering the fray, and god only knew how much destruction and devastation would follow.

After illegally entering the Colosseum during the Nova Cup, a Yugrian woman brutalized the representatives and escorts from every nation present—

I could see the headlines now; news of the affair would surely spread throughout the entire continent in the blink of an eye.

I had no choice.

Desperate, I spread my arms wide and began chanting, plucking out suitable bits from the arias I habitually rehearsed in secret. “Wind Spirit Les Sylph, maiden of liberty, purify this forsaken fool with your gentle breeze. I pray for safe pilgrimage and still waters on her journey.”

Graphia’s eyes narrowed for a split second, but the mocking smirk was back before it could fade. “Wind Spirit? Huh? What are you on about, kid? You been reading too many picture books or something?”

Hmph. You won’t be laughing for long.

I briefly considered her dress, specifically the dangerously high slits on either side. She’d be stupid not to wear shorts or something underneath in a fight like this, so I probably don’t need to worry. I just hoped it would be enough to save her from the power of the wind. Wind magic could lead to disastrous outcomes for those wearing skirts—I’d seen it firsthand in the Emissive Magic Club, where one particular group of idiots were still trying to perfect their so-called Skirt-Flipping Spell.

The wind began to blow. It was slow at first, around five meters per second, but gradually it got faster and faster. Of course, there was no “Wind Spirit” or anything; it was a simple performance. Shouts began to rise up from the bewildered crowd.

“What?! Why the hell is it so windy in here?!” cried Graphia, her hands shifting instinctively as her spear snapped into a ready stance before her.

◆◆◆

The moment Graphia moved her spear, the skirt of her long dress—with its near waist-high slits on either side—flipped up magnificently, and silence fell around the arena. The crowd didn’t know what had occurred, or what their response should be—ignorance? Laughter? One could nearly hear their shared internal dilemma. Unlike the semiregular contests held between competitors from the local Explorer’s Guilds, the seats at the Nova Cup were filled with comparatively upper-class spectators, which probably added to the atmosphere of indecision.

But there was one man in the crowd, a man who, had this contest been for “lack of awareness” would have won by a milestone: Patch. His unreserved, roaring laughter reverberated around the arena.

“Ha ha ha! Aha ha ha ha ha!”

Justin—himself the unofficial champion of riling people up—clamped a hand over Patch’s mouth frantically. “Don’t laugh, Patch! But seriously, she didn’t hold back insulting everyone else’s appearance, and yet she’s wearing underwear with Bunbun printed on them?! Pfft—”

And with that, Patch and Justin had decided the crowd’s response for them.

Muffled chuckles turned into explosive laughter, pouring down from the stands on all sides. From their positions near the VIP section, the Royal Guard observed the crowd warily, but if one were to look closely, you could see their shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. They’d been charged with the protection of not only Yugria’s most important figures, but those of other nations as well; to openly laugh at the unraveling events would be a great dishonor—one that was close to being committed regardless.

Graphia wasn’t the only competitor whose face had paled at the unexpected turn of events. Allen’s had too. “She wasn’t wearing something protective underneath...” he muttered, taking advantage of a shift in his “spirit summoning” movements to sneak a glance at the crowd.

Rosa, her face white and expressionless, was staring directly at him, and Allen felt as though he could see the phantom of the Grim Reaper, or some other god of death, beckoning to him from behind her. His face, though hidden from view, went from pale to ashen.

◆◆◆

“These are just a lucky charm!” cried Graphia, frantically trying to pull down her fluttering dress. “I usually wear different ones! With lace! They’re very mature!”

It was no use; her pathetic attempt at an explanation just invited more laughter from the already unruly audience.

“I’m not lying! They’re very risqué—thin, like string! And black! They’re black!”

To her credit, Graphia didn’t give up, still trying to convince the audience of the supposed attractiveness of her “usual” underwear. Unfortunately, all it did was add fuel to the fire. The laughter got louder, accompanied by a smattering of wolf whistles. The audience’s reaction was understandable: The same girl who’d treated Olivia with such cruelty just minutes prior was now vehemently emphasizing the alleged color of her own underwear in front of thousands. It wasn’t a particularly normal flow of events.

Even the usually unflappable knights from the Royal Guard had tears in their eyes as they shook, struggling to suppress their own laughter in front of the VIPs they were guarding. If the present situation had been one of those “laugh and you lose” game shows so popular in Japan, every participant would have failed immediately.

Graphia finally seemed to realize that her protests were only making things worse. Her shouts stopped suddenly as she stood there dazed for a moment, before turning to Allen—the culprit behind the ridicule—with a terrifying glare.

Allen wasn’t paying attention to her by this point, however. Instead, he appeared to be struggling to push down his left arm with his right hand while shouting, “Enough, Les Sylph! Enough!” In other words, he was desperately trying to shift the blame onto the “Wind Spirit” he’d called upon just earlier.

Obviously, from Graphia’s perspective, he just seemed to be mocking her even more. Unfortunately, with both hands occupied trying to keep her dress down, she could do little but glare at him with an expression increasingly resembling that of a homicidal maniac.

◆◆◆

“You dirty-handed, pumpkin-loving bumpkin! What happened to a fair fight?!”

A fair fight?! That’s rich coming from you! In the first place, you’re the one who decided to ruin a fun event by brutalizing Olivia, so why the hell am I the one getting scolded?! If anything, I should be telling you off!

“Hey, I’m not to blame here. I prayed for safe pilgrimage and still waters, but Les Sylph is a bit mischievous sometimes. Once she’s been summoned, it’s out of my hands. How about you take it up with her?” I said, shrugging in feigned confusion. I’d make the nonexistent Les Sylph take the blame for the entire disaster.

I mean, really, what was she thinking anyway? Wearing a dress like that to a competition like this without even leggings underneath?! Even without wind magic, things could have turned out just the same from a misjudged maneuver! If this was an anime or something, at least the important parts would’ve been obscured by a random cloud of dust or whatever...

Unfortunately, this wasn’t an anime, and with the 360-degree seating in the arena, there was no chance anyone hadn’t seen what had been on display. I’d only been planning to use the fluttering skirt to create blind spots for me to sneak in and attack; instead (based on my rough estimations after a quick glance around the arena) all I’d done was turn around half of the girls present into additional enemies. I could see the headlines now that would surely arise if I continued to fight using wind magic, and they weren’t pretty. I’d be vilified on a continent-wide scale.

I can’t believe this is how my wind magic gets countered!

My attempt to shift the blame onto Les Sylph only made Graphia angrier.

“Sylph? Stop screwing around!” she shouted, her cheeks reddening with rage. “Spirits or whatever don’t even exist! Cut the wind out right now! I’m gonna kill you, twerp!”

I’d cut it out in a second—if it wouldn’t result in my instant death, that was. I needed to make sure I wasn’t going to be held accountable before I stopped the whirlwind.

Seriously, every grade-schooler in Japan knows about Les Sylph, but this place... It just keeps finding new ways to let me down. Where’s the imagination, the dreams?

I shook my head in disappointment. “You don’t even know about Les Sylph, the Great Wind Spirit? One of the Four Great Spirits? I’m astounded. You’d better not make her any angrier, though. She’s already begun her ‘pilgrimage,’ so what about trying to meet her at the ‘temple’ to make amends?” I said, tone brimming with confidence—too much confidence for what was, in reality, cryptic nonsense I’d just made up. Clinging to the faint sliver of hope that we could end our match in a compromise, I increased the wind speed a little more.

Graphia began to panic. “Okay, okay!” she cried, with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Les Sylph!”

Nothing happened.

“I believe in you, so please stop it!”

Still, nothing happened.

“I think she’s saying a perfunctory apology isn’t good enough...” I murmured, trying to sound mysterious. Graphia froze for a second, and then...

“I’m gonna freakin’ kill you!”

Graphia readjusted her grip on her spear, now using just one hand to frantically try to keep her dress below her waist. She took one step toward me, then another, furious.

Oh, crap. Scary! Scary!

She continued her approach until there was no more than a meter of space between us before suddenly lunging at me, one hand still clutching her dress.

Reflexively, I thrust out my left hand. “No, Les Sylph! Stop!” I cried, although in reality, I was actually invoking the level-3 wind magic spell, Tornado.

I still wasn’t satisfied with the spell, but it wasn’t too shabby either. I broke the circulation loop and let my mana loose, sending the close-range whirlwind straight at Graphia. The direct tornado—and the updraft that accompanied it—forced her to lower her spear as she desperately tried to restrain her flapping dress. Seizing the opportunity, I struck her on the wrist with my rapier, and her spear clattered to the ground.

“The bout is over, won by Allen Rovene.”

A deafening cheer erupted from all around us.

◆◆◆

“The bout is over, won by Allen Rovene,” Godolphen declared, and the audience roared in response. With my Scouting Magic, though, I could still catch a few snippets of seemingly familiar voices...

“Ha ha ha! Aah— Patch, I think you’re hyperventilating! Here, breathe into this bag!”

“Haaaaaah, haaah—”

Aren’t you two having a bit too much fun for people who are supposed to be working?! Take a leaf outta the Royal Guards’s book—at least they’re only shaking uncontrollably...

“Aha ha ha ha! What kinda strategy was that, li’l bro?! It was amazing! Rosa’s furious, by the way! She’s saying she doesn’t remember raising such a pervert!”

How did things turn out like this...? I couldn’t muster up the courage to so much as glance in Rosa’s direction. One thing was painfully clear: No one had won this match.

“Allen! We, the men of the Emissive Magic Club, will never forget this! Today, a legend has been born! All have borne witness to the genius of the Royal Academy’s Emissive Magic Research Club’s one and only Skirt-Flipping Master! Allen, you’re our hero!”

“Pay attention, everyone! You’ve just experienced the greatness of the Matchmaker of Wind and Panties, Allen Rovene!”

“Yeah! That’s a Skirt-Flipping Grand Master for you! It’s not the kind of rank you can reach on a whim! Bear witness to his dedication!”

You damn idiots! Why are you shouting about “Skirt-Flipping Grand Masters” and other absolute crap in front of all these people?! Next time I come to a club meeting, I’m gonna wring your stupid necks!

The sheer misery that had welled up inside me was too intense to accurately put into words. My expression, though hidden, mirrored the vacant-eyed stare of my mask as I dusted myself off and prepared to leave. A surreptitious glance at Graphia revealed a similar expression on her own face as she stood there motionlessly. She looked so pathetic, I felt myself wanting to lend her my mask just so she could hide.

“You can’t temper Les Sylph’s anger with a half-assed apology, just so you know. You have to treat her with respect.” I paused. “Well, I’ll be off.” Wanting to end the dismal match appropriately, I made a ceremonial victory gesture (a habit from my past life, based on the ritual a sumo wrestler would perform when receiving a prize) and turned to leave.

“There’s no way...” Graphia muttered, her voice trembling.

Crap, did she realize I was lying about the spirits?

“There’s no way I could lose to a beige boy like you! I was chosen! I’m special!” she shrieked. “You... You used magic! Spirit magic! You coward! Who do you think you are, invoking Les Sylph, the maiden of liberty and one of the Four Great Spirits, in a melee combat tournament?!”

How the hell did you remember all that?!

If I revealed the truth of the matter—that I had zero talent for Emissive Magic, and that the wind was Scouting Magic-based—I’d be in the clear when it came to the rules of the tournament. On the other hand, if Graphia had accepted the existence of Les Sylph, I was more than happy to seize the opportunity for exoneration.

“Of course! It’s just as you say, Graphia. Master Godolphen, did you hear her? Clearly, I broke the rules. Oh well, my loss!” I exclaimed cheerfully.

Godolphen stroked his beard, his expression darkening. “Hmph. According to the specific rules of the Nova Cup, the only magic forbidden to be used is elemental Emissive Magic. This so-called spirit magic isn’t mentioned, so therefore I cannot say that it is indeed in violation of the rules. Furthermore, should I accept your claim that it is a violation, it would call the use of all formerly permitted types of magic into question. Should Scouting Magic be allowed? Strengthening? It would undermine the very existence of the rules themself.”

Tch. I should have known he wouldn’t have let me give in so easily.

Graphia’s glare flickered between Godolphen and I, but she remained silent. What he’d said made sense, and apparently, she couldn’t come up with a counterargument.

In all honesty, I couldn’t have cared less about the outcome of our farce of a match. If losing meant ridding myself of Graphia, I was happy to lose. There weren’t going to be any real winners today anyway, as far as I saw it. Suddenly, I had a stroke of genius.

“Oh, right! How could I have been so stupid? I completely forgot I was wearing my mask during the fight! It’s mostly made of wood, but this part here is porcelain, see?! It’s a blatant violation of the equipment rules! Oh well, no way around it! My loss!”

Godolphen didn’t reply for a long moment, squinting down at me through narrowed eyes. Eventually, though, he accepted my claim. “As you say. I didn’t mention anything when you entered the arena, as I assumed the mask was not armor, but a mere accessory... If anything, I considered it a handicap, given how it obscures your vision. But if you say it is armor, then I can do little but agree.” He raised his voice. “I hereby amend my previous judgment. Allen Rovene is disqualified. The winner of the bout is Graphia Indina.”

Great. Finally, everything’s settled.

“Obscures your vision...?! You’re telling me you dared to give yourself a handicap in a fight against me?! Me! And then you hand over the crown out of what, pity?! I’ll never forgive you... Mark my words, Allen Rovene! Never!” Graphia screamed, her voice laden with tears.

She continued to shriek at me, but I blocked it out. I wasn’t going to let myself say another word. Frankly, I was starting to suspect I’d been cursed at some point by a vengeful god or something; what else could explain the way I somehow managed to always say precisely the wrong thing?

I returned Olivia’s rapier to her with thanks and picked up my bow and dagger. She merely stared at me blankly. It wasn’t until I’d walked a few steps away that I finally heard her mumble something. “Allen... You’re Allen Rovene?”

I didn’t turn back. I kept my Scouting Magic activated in case Graphia tried to run me through from behind and walked back toward the stands, making sure to give a wide berth to the section where the “Grim Rosa” sat, still glaring down at me even now.

◆◆◆

Graphia had just dropped her spear, and the audience had burst into applause. Not one of those spectators could truly grasp what had just occurred before their eyes. However, there was one man present who did understand, at least, what Allen had done to achieve such a result—and the true difficulty thereof.

“I can’t believe it...” whispered a shocked voice.

The voice in question belonged to Randy von Dosuperior—the current head of the Dosuperior family, or as they were more commonly known, the Waning Marquesses, and the present captain of the Royal Guard. If one was to describe Randy von Dosuperior in a few words, those words would be “cool, calm, and collected.” That reputation was precisely why his father’s evident fluster was so concerning to the younger man beside him—Eddie Dosuperior, his son and adjutant.

“What’s wrong, Father? Has the impudent brat done something else now?”

House Dosuperior’s distaste for the educational system of Yugria was well-known. They refused to send their children to formal schools, instead sticking to their own very particular theories of education. As such, no member of House Dosuperior had ever graduated from the Royal Academy nor any other school. However, as a marquesal family, the Dosuperiors weren’t entirely removed from the gossip of the academic world. Randy had of course heard of the Hill Path Club, and of the boy who had founded it—and naturally, he’d arranged for some information to be gathered on Allen Rovene. Based on the reports he’d received, Randy assumed Sage Godolphen (an old friend of his father’s) had taught the boy some halfhearted mockery of House Dosuperior’s secret intermittent magic compression technique, and that the presumptuous brat was boastfully showing it off to all his school friends in the ridiculously named club. If he ever got the chance, he’d teach Allen Rovene just how fearsome the technique could truly be—in the rightful hands—and put the insolent child in his place.

That’s how he’d felt until just moments ago, at least.

“There were two golden ages for House Dosuperior,” Randy started, speaking slowly. “Two eras in which our house reigned supreme across this vast continent.”

Eddie blinked, confused by the sudden change of topic. “Er, right. Of course. The first golden age was twenty-two hundred years ago, when our ancestor Lord Aeolus, the legendary ‘Oracle,’ united this continent for the first and only time in history. The second golden age came six hundred years later, when the combined forces of the other Original Five families had driven House Dosuperior to the verge of destruction. The only reason our house still stands is because of the ‘Ironfisted Witch’ Canaria Dosuperior, and her unprecedented talent for Strengthening Magic...” Eddie trailed off, still unsure.

His father nodded. “Precisely. Her fists of iron rained down upon the allied forces of the other houses, and ensured our continued survival. And every few centuries, a child is born to our house with abilities that come close to rivaling Canaria’s. My late sister Cecilia might have even surpassed her, if not for the disease that overtook her body as her mana core began to develop...”

“I’ve heard the rumors, Father. For her age, she was unmatched—in both strength of body and of mind. I know that Aunt Cecilia must have been incredible, for you to speak so highly of her.”

Randy nodded sadly. “Yes. But to return to the matter at hand... Over two hundred decades have passed since Lord Aeolus left this world, and yet, not one child has ever shown any indication of inheriting his abilities. According to the ancestral family records, Aeolus was said to possess a unique talent—not the Dosuperior talent for Strengthening Magic, but for external mana circulation. They say he could hear conversations from miles away, and could see for hundreds of meters in any direction.” He paused for a moment. “If he could use such powerful Scouting Magic, it wouldn’t surprise me if he could manipulate the wind itself with the force of his mana circulation.”

“The wind... You mean—?!” Eddie’s gaze snapped back to the boy standing in the arena below, finally understanding the implication of his father’s words.

“I’m not certain,” continued Randy, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just a possibility.”

“Pay attention, everyone! You’ve just experienced the greatness of the Matchmaker of Wind and Panties, Allen Rovene!”

Fighting the urge to slump in shock, Eddie did as the fortunately timed shout suggested, and paid attention. Graphia was intently focused on the boy as he hurriedly prepared to leave, her spear poised to strike at the first opportunity—but one never came. Though Allen had his back to her as she paced around, waiting for an opening, he was somehow able to ensure that she never got the chance to strike. There was more than twenty meters between them—not to mention the fact that he was looking away—and yet, the Rovene boy could clearly see her movements. Eddie knew that very few of the spectators could truly see the complicated dance unfolding on the stage, knew what Allen’s posture silently screamed: Just try it.

Graphia hadn’t attempted a single strike by the time the boy had left the stage.

“Father, I’ve only just remembered... In the reports we received from the intelligence team, they said his mother’s name was Cecilia Rovene. It has to be a coincidence, right?”

“It has to be...” Randy wanted to reply, but when he thought about the boy again, compressing his magic as though it was as natural as taking breath, the words caught in his throat. Such mastery could only be the result of Dosuperior blood in his veins.

“I... For now, I’ll ask the Sage to arrange a meeting with the boy.”

◆◆◆

Graphia Indina, the pride and glory of the Rosamour Empire, had been soundly defeated by a previously unknown twelve-year-old boy from the Kingdom of Yugria. Furthermore, he’d beaten her with a borrowed weapon and while obscuring his vision with a self-imposed handicap. He’d toyed with her like a cat would a mouse, only to hand over his victory out of pity for the girl.

Reports of the fight soon arrived in every corner of the continent, sending shock waves across Rondene. However, most nations chose to take said reports with a grain of salt, because while they were incredibly detailed, the content made very little sense.

Graphia Indina’s initial loss was the result of her angering Les Sylph, the Great Wind Spirit of the Four Great Spirits—

Allen Rovene appears to be a subject of reverence among his school friends, with titles such as “the Skirt-Flipping Master,” “the Matchmaker of Wind and Panties,” and “the Skirt-Flipping Grand Master” among others—

Graphia Indina’s lucky underwear of choice feature a “Bunbun” pattern on white fabric—

The mask worn by Allen Rovene depicts an elderly, vacant-eyed man with a twisted smile, staring into nihility as though he has already witnessed everything in the world and has nothing left to see, but yet somehow at the same time implying an immeasurable and ferocious rage deep within—

As one might expect, the reports were the subject of much discussion among the individual governments of each nation. Many acknowledged the potential outrage that the so-called wind magic could cause under certain conditions, but such conditions could be avoided through the simple countermeasure of wearing trousers.

The whole “spirits” business was widely considered to be a bluff, but even if not, none were particularly concerned about their existence. Even if the wind did blow hard enough to lift a few skirts, what did it matter? Strong wind or not, it was merely wind, at the end of the day. If the rumors were true, and a boy had enrolled in the Royal Academy during such troubled times just to further the use of external mana circulation as a tool for flipping skirts, then the boy was clearly an idiot. Only a fool would invest so much time and energy to master what was essentially a perverted party trick.

One thing all the nations agreed on was that Allen Rovene was clearly an enemy to women everywhere; unfortunately, no one could determine whether or not he was an enemy worth keeping an eye on in general. He’d defeated Graphia Indina, three-time victor of the Nova Cup, yet didn’t seem to care at all.

Allen Rovene was definitely a weirdo, and perhaps even a sexual deviant. But was he an absolute idiot, or an absolute genius? Each nation individually decided to reserve their judgment for the time being, though naturally, most were leaning toward “perverted idiot.”

They’d all overlooked one key detail, however.

The vacant-eyed man mask.

In later years, that mask would be known in every corner of the world for both its wearer and for the message it heralded. However, it would be more commonly known by a different name: Allen Rovene’s Final Warning.

The Royal Palace

The Nova Cup had officially ended. Once the last spectators had left the Colosseum—thus releasing me from my work—Godolphen had (rather forcefully) insisted on escorting me to the Royal Palace.

“There’s someone who wants to meet you. I’ll send a messenger to Dew on your behalf, so come along.”

With that the matter was apparently settled, and I found myself being taken to the palace, regardless of my own feelings on the matter.

Dew’s gonna be furious again, isn’t he...? It’s not my fault this time!

The Royal Palace occupied a vast stretch of land in the capital’s southeast, though it was still smaller than the grounds of the Royal Academy, what with the ridiculously extensive facilities the school maintained. As with any property above a certain size, there were a number of entrances. The main gate on the southern wall was known as the Daylight Gate, and was used by official envoys to the king, nobles attending formal events, and so on. The eastern gate was for the private use of the royal family, whereas the western gate was used by suppliers and servants. The final gate was the Aether Gate, on the northern side of the palace grounds.

Only those in the direct service of the king, such as the heads of higher-ranking noble families, important bureaucrats, and members of the Royal Order were permitted to use the Aether Gate—which was precisely where the magicar Godolphen had all but pushed me into had just pulled up beside.

◆◆◆

The ostentatious carvings of dragons, unicorns, and other creatures adorning the Aether Gate made it hard to believe this was supposed to be a back entrance. Two gatekeepers, whom I assumed to be members of the Royal Guard, stood on either side of the intricate pillars. When they saw Godolphen, they placed their right hands over their chests in salute, and we returned the gesture as we passed through the open gate.

Guess Godolphen’s important enough to get a free pass even though he retired from the Order... Although come to think of it, I remember something about him being appointed as a royal adviser anyway, so he’s probably still on the list.

On account of my own (provisional) enlistment in the Order, I could enter through the Aether Gate without any trouble either.

The grounds of the Royal Palace occupied a huge square of land in the capital’s southeast. It took up the entire block of the Nine Square between First and Second Street and First and Second Avenue, with each of the four walls measuring around five kilometers long. Incidentally, there wasn’t just a single “palace” inside the walls, but two of them. The first was referred to by the common name of the Royal Palace, and was where the most important parts of the kingdom’s governance and administration were conducted. The second, known as the King’s Palace, housed the royal family. My position as a member of the Order wasn’t enough to permit me to enter the King’s Palace, of course.

Excluding times of genuine emergency, the only members of the Royal Order allowed to set foot in the King’s Palace were those belonging to the Royal Guard, as well as knights with a Peerage of Third or higher—basically, captains or above. It was no wonder the Royal Guard was considered to be an elite group among the already elite Royal Order.

The grounds of the Royal Palace were dotted with various government offices and facilities where the higher-ranking bureaucrats worked. Obviously, a kingdom the size of Yugria couldn’t be run solely by the handful of bureaucrats who reported directly to the king alone. The streets just outside the palace walls were primarily dominated by even more offices (similar to what we’d call ministries or agencies in Japan) where lower-ranking personnel performed a wide range of administrative duties.

The building Godolphen directed us toward wasn’t a generic office, however, but the Royal Guard Garrison.

The Royal Guard... As far as I knew, their current captain was the head of the Dosuperior family—a family my mother seemed to have a rather personal connection to. I still didn’t know why my mother had chosen to cut ties with her birth family, but if the “someone who wanted to meet me” turned out to be the captain of the Royal Guard...

I don’t like where this is going.

“Er, who is it that wants to meet me, anyway?” I asked Godolphen nervously.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? It’s His Majesty the King,” he replied, nonchalant.

“Oh, cool. That’s a relief— Wait a second! Th-Th-The king?! Why the hell does he want to meet a part-timer like me all of a sudden?! I don’t know the first thing about what to do in an audience with royalty! I’m just a bottom-tier, barely noble bumpkin!”

What is this? Some generic RPG where a traveler just waltzes into the palace and receives a quest of utmost importance from the king himself?! Why does he want to meet me...?

Godolphen chuckled. “If I remember correctly, you threatened to ‘crush me’ the first time we met, and yet you’re getting so flustered at the mere thought of what amounts to no more than an informal meeting? I’m surprised, to be honest.” He smiled. “Not to worry. His Majesty is well known for being a ‘people person,’ as they say. He’s fond of interacting with all types. He won’t care if you’re inadvertently rude—within reason, I should add—so approach him in whatever manner you feel most comfortable to, whether that’s as a member of the Royal Order or as an aficionado of Soldo-style etiquette,” he said with a wink. “His observational skills exceed that of an average man, so on the contrary, any clumsy attempts at currying favor would likely have the opposite effect. In any regard, today’s meeting is an informal one, as I said—coincidental, even. The king is coming to pay a visit to the Royal Guard, and you just happened to be there at the time.”

Can you even hear yourself, you senile geezer? Fancy “Sage” title or not, there’s a world of difference between getting into a little disagreement with your homeroom teacher and meeting the freaking king! I know I’m not the most respectful kid, but this is royalty we’re talking about here!

“As you’re aware, I took up my post at the Academy under His Majesty’s orders, and so naturally, I have informed him of various matters relating to the Academy since. He seems to have taken an interest in you over the course of my reports, and has been expressing a desire to meet you for some time. Of course, I imagine I’m not the only person who’s brought news of you to the king’s ears. As one would expect, however, I couldn’t simply take a first-year student to meet the king without it causing quite a fuss. I promised His Majesty I would arrange for a meeting when the opportunity arose, though he’s been growing rather impatient. Your match with the Indina girl today seemed to be the final straw. ‘I don’t care if it’s only a few minutes, but I want to speak to him face-to-face!’ he told me—or rather, ordered me,” said Godolphen with another chuckle. “A meeting at the Colosseum where anyone could see you was out of the question, and obviously you lack the authorization to enter the King’s Palace itself. Thus, a coincidental meeting shall occur instead.”

I see... Not. Please stop manipulating me like a puppet...

◆◆◆

“We’ve prepared a room for you just here, Sage Godolphen. We’ve also cleared the halls, so you won’t be disturbed,” said the man who’d come out to greet us. It was none other than Randy von Dosuperior himself, the captain of the Royal Guard. I’d never met him before, but I’d heard he was an exceptionally serious and straitlaced man, a description his expression seemed to reflect. The resemblance to my mother was uncanny.

“Randy.” Godolphen nodded. “I’ve not seen you since Bardi’s memorial service last year, I believe. I must apologize for availing myself of your time and facilities during such a busy period.”

Randy led us into the aforementioned room as Godolphen apologized.

“Not at all,” he replied, shaking his head with a tight smile. “We only do as His Majesty commands. I can only assume something has sparked the king’s curiosity, and we both know what His Majesty can be like at times. I imagine you had to scramble around just as much as I did to make this happen, Sage.”

Godolphen chuckled heartily. “You know him too well. Now, while we’re here, I believe you sent a messenger just before we departed the Colosseum, correct? Shall we speak now? The boy can wait outside if necessary until His Majesty arrives...”

Randy glanced at me quickly before replying. “Actually, I’d like to ask him something first.”

I stiffened involuntarily at the sudden turn of events. I’d predicted something like this would happen, but I still wasn’t happy about it.

Randy snorted. “If you react like that, it only shows you’ve got something you’d prefer to hide, you know. Relax. I only have one question. That dark brown hair of yours—did you inherit it from your mother?”

Wait, that’s your one question? Even a half-assed investigation could answer that for you. It’s not like it’s a particularly rare color either...

“Yes. My family always says my hair looks just like my mother’s,” I replied.

“I see...” Randy peered at me curiously. “Everything’s clear now.”

What?! You’re really gonna stand there and declare “Mystery solved!” like some famous detective?! No mystery fan worth their salt would be convinced by whatever deductive reasoning you’re about to pull outta your ass!

My confusion must have been evident. “You’d better start learning to hide your emotions a little better, or you’re going to struggle in the future,” he said with a wry smile. “To be completely honest, the Dosuperior Region hasn’t been paying as much attention to you as some of the others have, but our intelligence team has looked into you to some extent. We’ve known your mother’s name for some time, but it’s not an unusual name, and any reports described her as a rather unremarkable woman without any notable history. I had no reason to doubt them until I saw your match today. And looking at you now—compressing mana as though it’s as natural as breathing—well, there’s only one explanation: Dosuperior blood flows thick in your veins. Your hair was the final push to turn that suspicion into certainty. The color, the texture—even the way it grows. It’s truly identical.”

Randy turned back to Godolphen. “The reason I sent a messenger was because I wanted to arrange a meeting with him, though it would appear to be unnecessary now. I assumed any attempts to contact the boy directly would be ignored, so I thought to enlist your help... You’ve already realized though, haven’t you? That he’s Cecilia’s—my sister’s—son...”

◆◆◆

This... This is a joke, right? I knew she had some kind of connection to the Dosuperiors, but I thought she must have come from a branch family at most! I didn’t think she’d be part of the main family, much less the sister of the current head! Why on earth would someone with her background agree to marry my hopeless father?!

While I silently had a meltdown, Godolphen quickly shook his head. “No, I had no idea.” He turned to me, his expression morphing into one that implied he’d just heard something unexpected. “Is that so, Rovene?”

You’re such a liar... You at least suspected as much! So this is what “hiding your emotions” is meant to look like...

I sighed. Essentially, Godolphen was leaving it up to me to choose how I wanted to answer.

Well, it’s not like anyone explicitly told me to keep it a secret. Besides, Randy seems pretty sure of himself. I can’t do anything but tell the truth. He doesn’t seem too dangerous, and it’s not like I know much anyway.

“It’s true that my mother’s name is Cecilia, but I don’t know if she’s the same Cecilia you believe her to be, Captain Randy. My father once told me she was related to the Dosuperiors in some manner but had cut ties with her family, but my mother never spoke of it herself, and I never cared to ask... Um, do you think this will cause any trouble?”

Randy remained silent for a moment. “Hmm. She must have had her reasons, I’m sure... There will be no trouble, Rovene. I, Randy von Dosuperior, swear it on my name and honor. However, if at all possible, please pass on a message to her from me. Tell her that her brother is overjoyed to learn she is still alive, from the bottom of his heart. Tell her I have no intention of demanding she reshoulder her responsibilities as a Dosuperior, and that I wish to see her face, even just once. If not, I’d be grateful for even a letter. Please pass this on to her.”

The sheer kindness in his words caught me off guard—enough to make me a little suspicious. I’d been expecting things to turn into a mess instead.

Randy looked at me with another wry grin, as though he could read my mind. “I know what you must be thinking. ‘Is that all he wants? I’m not being dragged into the ugly world of noble politics after all?’ Or something very similar... Am I correct?”

I nodded, smiling awkwardly.

“I think you should probably show a little more gratitude toward your mother and the Sage,” Randy continued. “I suspect they’ve been protecting you more than you realize—been preventing us or any of the other prominent families from getting their hands on you until you became so removed that no one could. If House Dosuperior had known of you just a little sooner, we would have used every trick in the book to make you ours. The Rovenes might be under the control of the Dragoons, but officially, you’re no more than the third son of a rural viscount. With the right measures, I’m certain we could have brought you over without much trouble. Even if I had no interest in you, I would have had little choice. That’s how much sway you hold in Yugria at the moment. But now...” He sighed. “Now, you’re untouchable. You’re too influential—enough for the king to summon you personally, as we can see. After what we saw at the Nova Cup today, everyone’s well aware they no longer have a chance of getting their hands on you. Which was precisely your plan, I imagine—Sage Godolphen.” His eyes flashed as they fixed on the older man’s. “All part of your promise to your old friend Bardi, was it?”

There was a hint of criticism in Randy’s tone as he asked the question, but Godolphen remained as indifferent as ever as he replied, “Whatever do you mean?”

Randy snorted. “Trying to get anything out of you is as pointless as always, Sage. Like trying to get blood out of a stone.” He turned to me, and to my surprise, embraced me in a gentle hug. “House Dosuperior has long guarded the purity of our bloodline, ensuring the rare talent for magic manipulation that flows through it remains untainted. The cost of such purity, however, has been great. Very few children are born. Furthermore...” He trailed off, looking sad. “You know of core rot? An incurable disease—those who suffer from it never live past the age of seventeen. Cases of core rot have always been extremely high in our family. So to hear that my beloved sister has miraculously recovered and grown to adulthood somewhere in the corners of the kingdom, and to learn I’ve become an uncle... How could I be anything but happy?”

He smiled widely. “Considering the delicate balance of power in Yugria at the moment, unfortunately House Dosuperior isn’t in a position to declare our support of you publicly. I hope, however, that you’ll allow me to support you from behind the scenes in any way I can.” I thought I saw the hint of a tear in his eye as he looked at me. “I’m truly thankful that you’re here, Allen. That you were born in the first place, and that you’ve grown up so healthily... It truly is a miracle.”

Wait, did he just say he thought Mother’s been dead all this time? I’ve never even heard about her being sick or anything...

I didn’t really think I’d need the “support” he’d offered, but I also wasn’t coldhearted enough to turn down the request—not when it came from a guy his age who was already close to tears. I’d feel terrible.

“Thank you, Captain Randy. I’ll write to my mother and ask her to contact you.”

Just as Randy embraced me again, there was a soft knock on the door. “Pardon me. It’s Eddie.” The young man—Eddie—who entered bore the same remarkable resemblance to my mother that Randy did. “His Majesty has arrived... Father? So your theory was correct, then...”

The man who entered behind Eddie, wearing a sweeping, wine red velvet cloak with gold embroidery, appeared to be in his fifties. Even without Eddie’s introduction, I would have known who he was in an instant. Patrick Arthur Yugria, the fifty-eighth monarch of the Kingdom of Yugria.

◆◆◆

Eddie, who was apparently Captain Randy’s adjutant, left the room. At the king’s request, Randy explained the details of the situation, to which the king responded with hearty laughter. “Ha! I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to walk in to see the captain of my Royal Guard hugging Allen Rovene and crying... So that’s the reason, then. I should apologize for intruding on such a momentous family reunion. Shall I wait in the hallway for a little longer?” King Patrick said with a grin, pointing toward the door with his thumb.

He’s... How do I put this? He’s weirdly friendly, for a king. While I suspected he was probably just putting on an act to make me more comfortable, it was completely ruining my preconceived image of royalty.

“Your Majesty, don’t be absurd! I beg your forgiveness for distracting myself with personal matters while on duty. I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit,” said Randy, lowering his head.

The king waved his hand absentmindedly. “Enough, enough. Please don’t bring up such annoying words like ‘punishment.’ Your earnestness is your strength, Randy, but it’s also your weakness. Besides, if I were to issue a punishment for anything that happened here, it would inevitably reveal the boy’s presence, and that would only lead to all kinds of troublesome questions.” He shrugged. “Now, Randy. If the boy has Dosuperior blood as you say, I imagine you’ve already evaluated his abilities from a familial perspective. What did you make of his match?”

Isn’t that the kind of thing you ask when I’m not standing right here?! It’s not like I’m proud of how things turned out today either...

“In regard to his magic manipulation, it well surpasses the level I’d demand of someone who bore the Dosuperior name—although I expected no less of someone undoubtedly trained by my sister. While today’s match wasn’t enough for me to grasp the boy’s true potential—” Randy stopped abruptly, chewing his lip as though reluctant to continue. After a few seconds, though, he kept going. “House Dosuperior’s long-held hope... I believe I caught a glimpse of Lord Aeolus’s powers in the boy today.”

The king, Godolphen, and I were lost for words at the mention of the name. Aeolus was a figure of legend—the emperor who’d united our continent for the first and only time in recorded history.

Why the hell would flipping a girl’s skirt with wind magic make him think of a legendary emperor?

King Patrick looked uneasy for a moment, but when he turned to me, it was with an air of nonchalance—which made his next question seem even more ridiculous.

“Hmm. Allen Rovene... Do you intend to vie for my throne?”

Give me a break, I’m begging you...

“O-Of course not! Even as a joke, the idea is absurd, Your Majesty!”

Though there were only four of us here, “usurping the throne” wasn’t something to joke about—much less discuss—publicly or otherwise. However, the king didn’t seem to be joking. His piercing blue eyes captured my gaze as he continued, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Why not? You’ve already acquired the public support of the Dragoons, and the Seizingers and the Reverences have obviously taken an interest in you. And now you’ve gained the support of the Dosuperiors too. With such talent and such a strong hand, anyone could see that you could seize the throne if you played your cards right.” He shrugged. “Well, if overthrowing me doesn’t interest you... If you have truly inherited the abilities of the Oracle Aeolus, it would be foolish of me to not seriously consider adopting you as a son of the Yugria family. If you indicated your preparedness to take on the responsibility of leading this kingdom, and I believed it to be in Yugria’s best interest, I would adopt you without hesitation. Therefore, I will ask you again, Allen Rovene. Do you desire the throne? Do you have the resolve to become king?”

Even the smallest lie or falsehood will not be forgiven—that was what those piercing blue eyes said. The good-natured older man from moments ago was gone without a trace. Before me stood the King of Yugria, a man shouldering a weight beyond measure. I took a deep breath before I answered him, not bothering to dress the words up. I knew there was no point trying to hide anything behind fancy phrasing.

“I have no interest in the throne. I don’t want to be important. I want to live my life devoting myself to the things that take my fancy, and enjoy myself till the very end. That’s the path I’ve chosen for myself, and that path won’t change. I know it. Being responsible for an entire kingdom? Give me a break. I’d turn you down even if you begged me.”

Even after my declaration, the king still stared at me, unblinking. I didn’t lose my nerve. I returned his gaze, resolute. At least five seconds passed before he blinked, and just like that, the tension was broken, and the friendly king from before had returned.

He snorted, before bursting into laughter. “Ha ha ha! It would appear I’ve been given the cold shoulder, as you kids say. For someone your age to already have such a clear vision for their path in life is a magnificent thing indeed. I daresay you’d give a young Aeolus a run for his money!”

C’mon, please cut me some slack here... I know I’m just being tested or whatever, but I’m sure this isn’t good for my heart.

I hung my head, defeated.

◆◆◆

“Well then, Allen Rovene. As you well know, the Nova Cup, in truth, is a matter of international relations. The ‘flow’ you set in motion today, and the ‘time’ it will buy us, is worth more than a mere monetary prize, no matter how large it might be. Name your reward, and I shall make it so.”

Flow? Time? What the hell is he on about? My mind went blank but for a series of question marks that kept buzzing around like flies. Thankfully, Godolphen extended a helping hand.

“It would appear the boy doesn’t quite understand, Your Majesty. Rovene, to what extent are you aware of the situation unfolding in Justeria at this time?”

Okay, now it’s starting to click. “Er, the fight between Olivia and Graphia was sort of a ‘war by proxy’ between those who support democracy and those in favor of maintaining aristocratic rule, right? The outcome of their fight had the potential to have a big impact on the political balance in Justeria right now. Graphia’s victory probably would have tilted the balance in the ‘aristocratic rule’—the Restorationists’, in other words—favor, but I interfered with that... Is that what you’re saying?”

Godolphen’s eyes widened in surprise. “You were feigning ignorance as always, Rovene. It would seem you’re well aware of the situation. Precisely. The fight between those two girls was a war by proxy, as you said, the outcome of which was the brutal defeat of the symbol of the antiwar, pro-Yugrian ideals purported by the Rudions. The Indina girl employed an underhanded trick to ensure her victory, though it went unnoticed by nearly all present.”

Clearly not by you, though. I asked the question that had been on my mind since the fight. “Master, why didn’t you stop the match? Because there wasn’t any evidence?”

“Indeed. I don’t know what kind of cowardly trick the Indina girl used, but in any case, I assumed she would have come prepared with a perfect excuse to explain it away. If I were to insert myself into such a situation and thus publicly appear to be unfairly supporting the Rudion representative... Well, that would have been exactly what those so-called Restorationists desired. Above all, however, it was clear that Olivia wouldn’t have welcomed my interference. She’d accepted her weakness, bottled it in, and still desperately searched for a way to win... It was written on her face, as clear as day. While her efforts didn’t bear fruit, I have nothing but respect for her determination as a warrior.” He raised an eyebrow. “I imagine it is the same reason you didn’t reveal the Indina girl’s underhandedness to all present when she started making that ridiculous fuss about a ‘fair fight,’ or however she put it.”

To be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it that deeply. I’d simply thought Olivia was amazing for not giving in until the very end, without complaining about Graphia’s dirty trick. Starting up an unsightly “he-said she-said” quarrel on her behalf would have been insulting after the effort she’d just put in.

“Whether consciously or otherwise, the spectators there today conflated the outcome of that match with the future of the Rudions, and by extension, the future of Justeria. Across the continent, all eyes were on the Nova Cup, where the future pillars of each nation collide in a battle of not just brawn, but ideals. And no match was more eagerly anticipated than the fight between Olivia and Graphia. The Indina girl even tried to lure Leo Seizinger—a name already well-known even beyond Yugria’s borders—into an unsanctioned fight, no doubt intending to crush him as ruthlessly as she did Olivia. Had she succeeded, the pro-aristocratic ideals she represents would have taken even greater hold over those present. Graphia was using the Cup to send a message to those gathered... ‘Think carefully about whose side you’re on.’”

Now I get it... I went and shouldered some of the responsibility for this kingdom without even realizing it...

“So when I fought Graphia...” I started nervously, “Did I just make things worse?”

Godolphen chuckled warmly. “Worse? I couldn’t have asked for better! Frankly, I did think you were at a disadvantage, but you seemed unusually fired up, and I hoped with your skill with a bow, you might have been able to pull off a lucky victory... A risky bet, as they say. I never expected you to approach the Rudion girl like an old friend, much less borrow her rapier as your weapon of choice! Ha! I thought I’d been too ambitious at that point, and yet we all saw the end result. You played with her like a cat would a mouse, and seized utter victory. Furthermore, by graciously conceding the win to her after her little tantrum, you proved your overwhelming superiority to all present.” He chuckled again. “It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to make a name for yourself across Rondene, but you instead chose to attribute your genuine abilities to the work of ‘spirits,’ thus hiding your true talent. Every nation must be scrambling around in confusion as we speak, particularly the Rosamour Empire. In the end, no matter how strong or powerful someone might be, people won’t fear them if they understand the extent of that strength.” Godolphen’s eyes twinkled. “It’s the unknown that they fear.”

Right... I wanted to scold Godolphen for sending me into what he himself admitted was a “risky bet,” but the other question that had floated into my mind while he spoke took priority.

“Are you saying I could have used my bow?”

Godolphen laughed so hard he began to choke.

◆◆◆

King Patrick coughed a few times, before beginning to laugh himself. “Ha ha! Oh... Ahem. He’s just as you described, Godolphen—completely indifferent to the real world.” He grinned as he turned to me. “Right then, Rovene. What do you desire? Just so you know, I’m in a rather good mood at the moment. Don’t limit yourself to gold or treasure—if it’s a title or prestige you’re after, I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen. Ask without restraint,” he said, seemingly excited to find out just what I’d request.

“You’re kinda putting me on the spot here”—is what I would have liked to say, but in reality, something had already come to mind: funding and support for the Geography Club.

It would take years—decades, probably—to complete our desired map of Yugria with only our limited pocket money to fund requests for explorers to place plotters around the kingdom. While we’d already received a significant investment from the Dragoon family, the way I saw it, a map of the kingdom was the kind of project that deserved support from the kingdom’s coffers itself. Plus, with the king’s seal of approval, the project would surely move along faster and with far less trouble.

And so, I explained the activities and future plans of the club to the king, preaching the benefits and sense of adventure the field of geography had to offer with all the aggressiveness of a high-pressure salesman at a car lot.

“Enough, enough. I understand. In fact, I believe Melia has already submitted a petition for the kingdom to provide funding for your project. Many have voiced concerns about the benefits of such a significant contribution, and I had yet to pass judgment either way.” He smiled. “Seeing such passion, however, makes me believe such an endeavor will have great value. I will push for your request to be granted.”

“Thank you very much!” I said, dropping into a perfect forty-five-degree bow to properly show my heartfelt appreciation.

“However, I believe we were discussing your reward, not matters of state. My seal of approval on Melia’s petition feels like a poor repayment for your actions today. Is there truly nothing else you desire?”

Wait, I get to go back for seconds? He really is a generous guy...

For a moment, I considered asking if there was anything he could do to reduce Dew’s crazy workload, but I quickly abandoned the idea. Unlike our map project, I had no interest in becoming a part of the systematic reform of the Royal Order such a request would inevitably entail. Which left...

“After school resumes, I plan to start up a sailing club at the Academy. Would it be possible to get permission to moor our training ship at the naval docks on the corner of First Street and First Avenue? It’s the closest dock to the Academy, and I’ve heard they have facilities there to moor sailing ships for goods and transport already. It would solve a lot of problems on my end if we could use their facilities.”

The Great River Rune, which bordered the city to the south, was one of the kingdom’s main waterways. While merchant ships and the like could use it, access to the area adjoining the palace was naturally heavily restricted, and it wasn’t somewhere we’d be able to train freely. On the other hand, traveling all the way to some distant port every time we had a club session seemed like a massive waste of time. With ongoing permission to use the area around the naval docks, though, we’d have no issues.

The king raised an eyebrow. “Oh? A sailing club? I can’t say I saw that coming. Given the depth of your knowledge, I assume you’re aware magically powered vessels are replacing manual ships with each passing day. Why start a sailing club now?”

Mwa ha ha. Isn’t it obvious?

I smirked. “Because I want to, Your Majesty. It’s fun.”

The king looked taken aback for a moment, but soon grinned in response. “You know, I believe this is the first time I’ve told someone to ask for whatever their heart desires, and they’ve answered by asking for a spot to keep their new toy. You do have a ship, I take it?”

I nodded. “Yes. A shipbuilding company from the Glaux Region has agreed to sponsor us already.”

King Patrick chortled. “Ha! Come to think of it, I did hear you’d abandoned your post at the Order to go vacationing in Sardos County. If you’re that serious about it, I can do little but support your endeavor, can I? Very well, Allen Rovene. I’ll speak to Orina and smooth things over. Feel free to use the docks and the rest of the naval facilities, and have fun.” With those final words, the king turned on his heel and left the room. I bowed again as he disappeared through the door.

Side Story: When Dan Joined the Emissive Magic Club

One afternoon at the Royal Academy...

“Good afternoon everyone. I’m Daniel Sardos, Class 1-A, and I’ll be joining the Emissive Magic Club from today. I look forward to working with you all. I’m from the, er, knight course, and I’ll be focusing on... On wind magic...” Dan’s potato-like face turned the color of a sweet potato as he trailed off.

Immediately, a round of boisterous applause arose from one particular group of boys.

“Yeah! Another kindred spirit joins our ranks!”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about! Let’s chase our dreams together, Daniel!”

“That’s right! Under Allen’s guidance, we will become the wind itself!”

The male members of the club welcomed Dan with open arms and not even a hint of the shame they probably should have felt. The girls, on the other hand, were looking at him with what could only be described as contempt. They, of course, had signed up for the serious pursuit of magical knowledge.

“Daniel Sardos? Doesn’t he have the highest marks in Class 1-A after Leo Seizinger? I can’t believe he’s that type of boy...”

“Just look how red he is... If he’s so embarrassed, why even bother joining?”

“I think he’s a little cute, to be honest.”

“Are you joking?! He’s downright gloomy-looking! If he’s joining anyway, he should at least be bold about it like the rest of those idiots!”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. He seems pretty shy, but he’s probably just thinking about flipping skirts right now... Ugh, gross.”

The criticism from the girls—who could be forgiven for assuming Dan’s motive in joining the club was to flip their skirts—was severe. Ever since Allen’s appearance at the Nova Cup during the summer break, the Emissive Magic Club had been publicly redefined as a perverted waste of Academy resources and talent, and many criticized its continued existence. Most if not all of the female club members had been begged to withdraw from the club by their families, in spite of any attempts to explain the club’s true purpose. As such, it was understandable that their comments were somewhat harsh.

On a related note, the girls had all stopped wearing skirts, instead opting to wear the (previously unpopular) pants version of the uniform occasionally utilized by girls in the knight course.

Thankfully Al, captain of the Emissive Magic Club and all-around excellent guy, interjected before Dan (who appeared to be on the verge of fleeing) could leave. “It’s great to have you on board, Dan! I’ll run through the rules with you—though saying that, we only have one. But those who break it are immediately kicked out, without exception! Luckily, it’s not hard to follow. ‘As mages, we must pursue the impossible’—that’s it!”

Dolph, who’d been standing nearby, clapped Dan on the shoulder. “Welcome, Dan. I heard about it from Allen—you guys are starting up a sailing club? All I can say is good luck—you’re gonna need it, I reckon. I mean, I get the gist of it, but powering a ship via wind magic... Even for you, that’s gonna be no easy feat.”

Dolph’s mindset was only natural. Bernoulli’s principle wasn’t a widely accepted one here as it had been on Earth; it was no more than another of Allen’s crazy hypotheses. To Dolph—and anyone else who heard about it—the idea of using external mana circulation to move a ship by force was absurd, even with the mana-blessed Dan’s involvement.

Incidentally, Leo, Jewel, and Allen weren’t present at the club on the day of Dan’s enrollment due to other commitments.

“Well, you’re probably not wrong, but there’s still a lot of things I’d like to test out when it comes to the potential of wind magic. So thanks for having me here.” Dan smiled weakly. “Since I’m new and all, would you guys mind showing me what kinda research you’ve been up to here?”

Al and Dolph turned to one another and grinned.

◆◆◆

“Haaah!” Al shouted as a wall of ice began to form before his outstretched fingertips. Allen had given the spell the name “Ice Wall,” and it was a perfect spell to measure one’s basic control over the ice element. The wall itself was about two meters tall, one meter wide, and twenty centimeters thick, and was transparent enough to clearly see through to the other side.

“Wow, that’s amazing!” said Dan as he tapped on the solid ice with his knuckles, immediately impressed at how sturdy it was.

“Yep, Al’s Ice Wall is incredible—even Leo’s fireballs can’t melt it. Last week, he got really worked up and sent about thirty fireballs at it one after another, but Al kept rebuilding it too quickly for him to break through. Just more proof of Al’s crazy talent for magic.”

Al scratched his neck awkwardly. “Eh, I’m mostly just lucky to have ice affinity. The ice does most of the work without any input from me. Besides, the wall’s solidity and the time it takes to build it are still far from perfect.” He sighed. “Allen keeps asking question after question. ‘Can it block one of Leo’s sword thrusts? What if he kicks it, will it stay up? If he circles around the back, what will you do then?’” he said in a perfect approximation of Allen’s overexcited tone, before grinning. “But it makes me happy, to be honest. I want to become a mage strong enough to defeat even the genius Leo Seizinger in a one-on-one fight. And when Allen asks questions like that... Well, it kinda feels like he’s telling me I’ll be able to do it one day.”

“Well, I expect nothing less from Allen. The guy’s got no concept of common sense or accepted practices, does he?” Dolph added, laughing. He knew exactly what Al meant. Allen hassled him constantly too—not with questions, but with demands that he “break out of his shell” and “pursue his infinite potential as a mage.”

Compared to the others at the Royal Academy, Dolph knew he was mediocre. His magical aptitude level wasn’t all that impressive, and his potential was limited—that’s what he had believed. But one day...

“You need to have more pride in yourself, Dolph! Numbers aren’t the only way to measure ability. In some ways, you’re even more talented than Leo!”

...Allen had said those words to him, and his eyes had said even more: Why can’t you see it for yourself?

Dolph knew he’d never forget those words—nor the sheer frustration in those eyes—for the rest of his life. Until he’d enrolled in the Academy, Dolph had effortlessly succeeded at everything he’d ever tried his hand at. The first time he came face-to-face with his classmates—people far more capable than himself—well, his confidence had been shattered. But those words had saved him. “You’re a star too”—that’s what it had sounded like to Dolph.

“Dolph, show Dan what you’ve been working on—the Earthbomb you and Allen came up with. Oy, you guys, back up a little! Dolph’s casting!”

Everyone nearby dashed away in an instant, and after a quick scan of the area, Dolph crouched down and placed both palms on the ground. The dirt began to swell, soon forming a lump the size of a volleyball between his hands. The ball stopped growing in size, but Dolph continued to focus on it, concentrating more and more of his mana inside the sphere.

“Er, Earthbomb? What’s he trying to do anyway?” Dan asked Al, confused.

“Ah, it’s based on what Allen said is called a ‘hydrovolcanic reaction’ or something. He wanted to see if Dolph could reproduce it with magic. Basically, he makes a ball of dirt, leaving a reinforced cavity in the center. Then he uses his fire affinity to, well, heat it up. Finally, he uses water magic to fill the cavity, and then—”

Al stopped short as Dolph stood up and hurled the ball at Al’s formerly constructed Ice Wall. A deafening boom shook the ground as it impacted and shattered into countless pieces.

“Well, that happens. When the bomb hits something, it cracks the reinforced shell of the cavity. The water inside vaporizes instantly, causing a massive explosion. It’s a spell that requires the caster to use earth, fire, and water magic simultaneously—so basically, it may as well be reserved for Dolph’s personal use.” Al grinned sarcastically.

“Huh...” Dan replied. “Like, it’s awesome, but is it really more effective than just throwing a normal ball of dirt? It kinda seems like it’ll take a while to cast too.”

“Well, just like other types of Emissive Magic, the more you practice your external mana circulation, the less time it’ll take to make it. As for the effectiveness...” Al paused, thinking hard. “We call it ‘earth affinity,’ but according to Allen, that’s not really accurate. It’s not just dirt that people with earth affinity can control, but most kinds of inorganic matter. So it’s not just dirt, but a whole bunch of different minerals mixed in too. Apparently, if Dolph makes a sphere with a high ‘mineral content’ or something, it’ll have extra explosive power.”

Al grinned, but Dolph, who’d returned, frowned. “Allen might make it sound easy, but manipulating hard minerals in the same way as dirt takes a lot of effort. And just like you said, Dan, it still takes me too long to get a single Earthbomb ready. It would still be useless in an actual fight,” he said, smiling bitterly.

Al chuckled. “Don’t sell yourself short. Dolph here might make it look effortless, but it’s really hard to use multiple attributes at the same time. Like, I can freeze water in front of me easily, but conjuring it and freezing it simultaneously is still a real struggle—and I’ve been practicing since I was nine. But Dolph’s Earthbomb uses three attributes to make, and get this—he’s been trying to figure out how to use his light magic to detonate it at will too!” he exclaimed, his praise obviously heartfelt.

“Dolph, you’re amazing!”

“That’s our Demon Co-Captain for you!”

A few of the girls standing nearby jumped in to offer their own compliments. As magic students at the Royal Academy, they knew exactly just how difficult the feat Dolph was trying to achieve truly was.

Dan fell silent, pinching the bridge of his nose—a sure sign that he was thinking intently about something. His face gradually paled. As a knight course student, the true difficulty of the magic Dolph was working with was beyond his comprehension. However, the overwhelming potential of the “final form” of said magic was something he understood intuitively. The terrifying part of Dolph’s Earthbomb was that it could be prepared in advance. Spells, as a rule of thumb, were given power (in the form of mana) by their caster, and exhausted said mana near immediately. Magic couldn’t survive for long after it lost connection with its caster’s body. However, Dolph’s spell—specifically the final explosion—was a natural phenomenon. He could make an Earthbomb and bury it in the ground, harmless until it was stepped on by, say, an enemy running with Strengthening Magic-accelerated legs. Or, if he figured out the light magic like Al had said, he could detonate it from a distance whenever he saw fit. The prospect was simply terrifying. Dan’s mind was reeling. He imagined, hypothetically, that he’d joined the Royal Order after graduation, only to be ordered to track down an enemy casting the same spell Dolph just had.

“Dolph, do you understand what you’re—”

What you’re trying to bring into the world?

A hand fell on his shoulder, stopping Dan short before he could finish vocalizing the foreboding premonition. He turned around, coming face-to-face with a round-faced boy wearing thick glasses. For some reason, he’d sloppily tied a tacky bandana around his forehead. He squeezed Dan’s shoulder with overly familiar warmth, pushing up his glasses with his other hand. “Thine name is Banana Shake, heralding from Class 3-D. Come, friend, for they are the ones with, and we are the ones without. But our savior spoke thus. ‘Wind magic also has infinite possibilities, and is an admirable form of Emissive Magic in its own right!’ Fear not the cold eyes of the nonbelievers, and join us in pursuit of adventure! Let us depart!” The boy called Banana made a wide sweeping gesture in the general direction of the setting sun.

“Er, depart? Where?” Dan asked, baffled. “I think Dolph and Al were gonna teach me the basics of external mana circulation to start—”

Thunk. Another hand fell on his other shoulder, this one belonging to a tall, lanky boy who, for some reason, had tucked his blazer into his pants. “Well met, friend. I am Churro Uchale. Fear not, I will instruct you in the fruits of our research over these past few months. First, we will guide you on your journey to become a Skirt-Flipper Third Class, thereby being able to use Scouting Magic to hear everything within a twenty-meter radius. Once you have achieved that, we can aim for higher greatness together.”

Dan looked pleadingly at Al and Dolph, who were already deep in cheerful conversation with the circle of girls surrounding them. Unfortunately, it was too late for him. The group of eccentric boys, powered by an energy that was perverted and inquisitive in equal parts, had already whisked him away. And thus, Dan became the newest member of the secret legion of professional wind mages being inadvertently nurtured at the Royal Academy.

Side Story: Behind the Scenes of the Foundation Festival

Western Runerelia.

The hustle and bustle of the Foundation Festival celebrations didn’t reach this corner of the slums. In a private room in the back of a run-down tavern, two men awaited their guest. The first, Chable Lotz—head of the Lotz family—was pacing around the room, clearly frustrated. In contrast, the short, good-natured man—known as Tormore to his subordinates and, for want of a better word, Chable’s current babysitter—seemed remarkably relaxed as he leaned back into his seat and took another sip of coffee.

Before long, there was a knock at the door, and Red, a man with fox-like eyes and a vivid shock of hair that immediately explained his moniker, stepped inside. “Boss, Mr. Tormore, your guest has arrived.” He stepped aside to allow the aforementioned guest to enter the room.

“Chable.” The newcomer, wearing a flat cap which obscured most of his face from view, began speaking as soon as he stepped inside. “I’m sure I told you to refrain from contacting me unless it was absolutely necessary. Shorthanded though they may be with the Foundation Festival, the Royal Order aren’t as unobservant as you seem to believe.”

Chable ignored the man’s rebuke entirely as he strode toward him, his gaunt cheeks twisted in anger. “Enough! I’m done! I want out! First it was Gin from the Red Dragon Syndicate, but now Speed from the Continent Corporation and Fabio from the Dwyn family too... It was all your lot’s doing, wasn’t it?! You’ve gone too far; even a buffoon with half a brain cell could see that the family who’d benefit most from all this would be the Lotzes! You’ve made too much of a scene for this to stay in our world! The police are already on the move, and the Royal Order’s been prying into things too! Are you trying to get me killed?!”

Tormore, still sipping his coffee, burst into laughter at Chable’s fierce declaration. “Oh,” he finally managed to say, wiping a tear from his eye. “How amusing. Don’t make me laugh, Chable. You said it yourself—we’ve made quite a scene on your behalf. You must know it’s not possible to back out now. How will you manage to ensure your safety once you leave our protection?”

“The name ‘Lotz family’ means something different these days. We’re not the same as we used to be,” Chable spat. “We’re at the top of Yugria’s underworld now! If I act now—before they can get their hands on any evidence—I can make sure we’re safe. We’ll withdraw from the playing field for a while and build up our power, until no one will be able to touch us!”

Tormore shook his head, chuckling. “I didn’t take you to be quite so oblivious, Chable. I’ll explain things for you, shall I? The vast majority of your current men didn’t join the Lotz family because of any admiration for you. They joined because they know that under our protection, they can do as they please—because they know that no matter how recklessly and violent they act, our money and our power will cause any repercussions to disappear. In short, they’re riding our coattails out of their own self-interest. Do you really think they’ll be content to stay under you if it means being bound by the same constraints as anyone else in our world? Do you believe you can provide them with the same freedom we do, with your miserable funds? Of course, if you do decide to break our little agreement, we’ll have no choice but to recover every single riel we’ve invested in this endeavor.” He smirked. “Chable, do you really think you’re powerful enough to keep them under your thumb?”

Chable slumped at the barely veiled threat. If Tormore meant what he’d said about recouping their investment, the Lotz family was done for. They’d crumble from within before the police or any of the other families even touched them—and after that happened, Chable knew he wouldn’t live to see more than a few final sunrises. He’d made too many enemies for things to go any other way, and it wasn’t like he could rely on the police or the Order for protection. He was only just coming to realize the true danger of the situation he’d gotten himself into. The men he was dealing with were clearly foreigners, which meant that if things went poorly, Chable could find himself charged with the most serious crime in Yugria: treason. And if that came to pass...

Chable shivered as a chill ran down his spine. “I...” he paused, swallowing hard. “Well, can you at least use a little more discretion from now on? I’ve worked too hard to make this family into the organization it is today. If we collapse, it’ll mess up your plans as much as it will mine, right? Come on, Red. We’re leaving.”

With that, Chable stormed from the room, Red following a few steps behind. He didn’t notice the fiery contempt burning in his subordinate’s vulpine eyes, nor the identical tinge of disdain in Tormore’s expression.

Tormore sighed as the door slammed shut. “Honestly, there’s no helping some fools. He still thinks of Red as a gem he stumbled across and polished into one of his right-hand men, without even the slightest suspicion... I wonder if he’ll ever realize Red’s been one of us since before they even met?” He shrugged. “Of course, I didn’t have Chable call you here just for you to listen to his asinine grumbling. We need to discuss his future. We knew he was an incapable buffoon from the start, but things are growing even bigger than we anticipated. He’s out of his depth. If we don’t decide on how we’re going to dispose of him before he reaches his limit and ruins everything... Well, neither of us want that to happen now, do we?”

“Keeping him on a tight leash is your job, Tormore,” replied the man in the flat cap, glaring. “I’m as tired as you are of this wearisome work stirring up trouble in Yugria’s underworld, but too much money and time has gone into this already. Failure will not be tolerated. You can dispose of your puppet if you like, but do you have a replacement for him? If the next head of the Lotz family isn’t a Yugrian, we can be sure that the Order will look into his background thoroughly. You’d need to find a local—someone with enough talent to pull this off, but who’ll also listen to everything we have to say. I can’t imagine you have too many men who fit those requirements just tucked away in your pocket, no?”

Tormore shook his head. “Not exactly, no... However, Red found a very interesting person just recently, did he not? That ruffian rookie explorer who’s been making a name for himself over at the southeastern branch. It seems like even Cherbourg Monstell—the guildmaster himself—has taken the boy under his wing. He’s already a B-Rank explorer despite his age, and the rumors say he’s the third son of some poverty-stricken noble family from the kingdom’s outskirts.” He smirked. “He’s strong, but he’s naive. He’s known to round up local delinquents and try to make them see reason rather than simply eliminating them, and he went to all the trouble of joining a co-op—with an attached orphanage, I might add—to waste his time babysitting brats instead of solidifying his position in the guild. However, Red says that provided we can make the boy see the benefit in our cause, he’s the type to work in his own interest, rather than follow some foolish notions of good and evil. Red would like to nurture him as a future leader within our little circle.”

The other man sniffed. “Hmph. Regardless of his rank, if he’s working as an explorer now it just means he lacked the brains to get into that school of theirs, doesn’t it? Still, if Cherbourg Monstell’s given his seal of approval to the boy based on just his raw strength...” He frowned. “But didn’t Monstell the Madman once hold an important position in the Order himself? He’s sure to have a lot of connections among the kingdom’s top brass. Is it really worth taking such a risk just to try to get our hands on some kid?”

Tormore’s mouth twisted into a warped grin. “Of course I understand the considerable risk of such an endeavor, but it doesn’t come without a considerable reward should all go to plan. If we control the boy, we’ll have a direct connection to that loose-tongued, simpleminded guildmaster, and can take our pick of the insider information and military intel that surely finds its way to his ears. I don’t need to tell you the value of such a resource. It’s on an entirely different scale than instigating petty power struggles in the underworld.” Tormore’s grin widened. “You might even find your way back to a seat at the Round Table once more, no?”

His conversation partner fell silent. As Tormore had said, a direct connection to the upper echelons of the Royal Order would be invaluable to their superiors—and obtaining said connection would have those bastards who looked down on him eating their words. Furthermore, the systems that governed Runerelia’s underworld were already on the brink of collapse; at the moment, they had little left to do but sit and watch. It would be a risky wager, but the payoff would be immeasurable.

“How likely is it that the boy’s a trap?” he finally replied, inviting another of Tormore’s grins.

“Very unlikely, it would seem. Red encountered the boy by chance while traveling, and when he passed the boy our information and invited him to visit, he threw the address away as soon as he thought Red wasn’t looking. Of course, he hasn’t reached out to us by any other means either. It seems as though he couldn’t care less about Lotz, either as a route to riches or as a way to join the underworld. If the boy was a spy, he wouldn’t be quite so standoffish, I’d imagine.”

The man in the flat cap remained silent. A good ten seconds had passed by the time he spoke again. “Fine, but proceed with caution. Don’t reveal any information about us—just approach him as a normal member of the Lotz family. You know what to do.”

Tormore snickered. “Don’t worry. I’ll show him what this world’s got to offer—and by the time he realizes what’s actually going on, it’ll be too late to back out. Leave it to me.”

The other man nodded once and left without another word. Tormore, on the other hand, remained alone in the room for a while thereafter, his endless snickers echoing off the barren walls.

Chapter Three: Magicars and Merrymaking

Elevato Engineering

The Foundation Festival was finally over, which meant I was temporarily free to spend my time as I liked. And so, mustering up every last shred of courage inside me, I decided to make my way to our secondary estate in the capital. While Rosa would definitely be mad at me, I was still just scraping in on the “violent” side of her “violent-or-murderous” response options, to the best of my estimations. I’d already experienced the disastrous results of ignoring my sister for too long when we’d last met, and to be honest, I was actually feeling quite guilty about it. Summer break was nearly over, but I hadn’t actually intended to avoid Rosa the whole time.

In reality, I’d been planning to visit her as soon as it had started; things had just gotten a little out of hand. I hadn’t expected Reed to suddenly ask me to join him on an exploring request, nor had I planned to leave for Sardos as soon as we got back. Of course, I hadn’t been able to pass up the chance to visit the hot springs in Ment on the way home, which had made my trip even longer. After returning to Runerelia, I’d gone straight to the Order to attempt to mitigate Dew’s wrath at my going AWOL, and as expected, I’d immediately been swamped with work. In the end, this was the first opportunity I’d had to visit Rosa since summer break had started.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the front door.

◆◆◆

“Allen? What are you doing here all of a sudden? Is everything okay?” Rosa exclaimed, looking as though she’d seen a ghost.

It was just past eight in the morning—a time I’d specifically chosen because it meant Rosa would most likely still be asleep. I’d planned to catch her off guard, taking advantage of her groggy state to smooth everything over before she really noticed my presence. I hadn’t expected her to be awake, much less dressed and halfway out the door.

“Sorry, Rosa—I forgot to let you know I was coming! Do you already have plans? Please, don’t let me keep you. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just do a bit of cleaning or something and relax here, and maybe we can spend some time together tomorrow?”

Rosa looked even more shocked than she had before. “Huh? You mean you decided to come home all by yourself? For no particular reason? Am I dreaming?” She blinked a few times, then shook her head. “You don’t need to clean or anything—Fey lent me a Roombo, so the house is pretty tidy already! But did you know it stops working if you leave too much stuff on the floor? I have to pick everything up! I’ve been meaning to give Fey some feedback on it, actually. It’s ridiculous to expect humans to clean up just so a magical device can clean more! If she added arms or something, it could tidy up for me too...”

It was clear Rosa’s faith in me—which had already been minimal—was now in the negative. I couldn’t blame her, considering how I’d publicly vowed to come and see her more often after the events of that fateful barbecue, and subsequently hadn’t shown my face once. Surprisingly, she wasn’t anywhere near as angry as I’d expected her to be though—possibly, my voluntary visit had tempered her rage to some extent.

I looked around. As she’d said, the place—well, the floor, at least—was eerily spotless, clearly on account of the Roombo V4 prototype whirring away in the corner.

I’m glad it’s not such a pigsty in here, but I’m not sure I like the idea of Rosa and Fey becoming pen pals... Actually, I know I don’t like it.

Unfortunately, the sparkling floor was somewhat overshadowed by the mountain of clothes haphazardly piled on the nearby sofa, but when it came to Rosa, even restraining her mess to the furniture was a Herculean achievement on her part.

“Sorry it’s been so long, Rosa. I actually meant to come sooner—”

“By the way,” Rosa interjected, cutting me off before I could finish my excuse. “Your little match the other day... What in the world could you have been thinking? I was so embarrassed I thought my face was about to catch fire, you know?” She was smiling, but the look in her eyes could only be described as furious.

“I-I can explain, Rosa! This is top secret information, but to tell you the truth, that match was a matter of national safety! I had to make sure I didn’t lose by any means—”

“Lose? My Allen, losing to a girl like her?” She snorted. “I’m not an idiot, Allen. Is it because she made fun of you? I can understand why you’d be angry, of course—I felt a little sorry for you too. But if you’re going to stand here and tell me that you lifted her skirt because you thought it was the only way to defeat her...” Rosa’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Well, even your tolerant older sister couldn’t bear to hear such a thing. It would be better if you’d said you flipped her skirt just because you wanted to see her panties—”

“I flipped her skirt because I wanted to see her panties!” I shouted, having quickly realized it was the only way to save the rest of my summer break from turning into one of Rosa’s hellish boot camps. Of course, since I’d been wearing a mask and using Scouting Magic to follow Graphia’s movements, I hadn’t even seen the color or pattern of said panties.

“You what?!” Rosa gasped. “I didn’t think you’d admit to it so easily... Hmm. Fu said this kind of thing is normal for a boy your age, so I’ll let it slide just this once—but don’t think I’ll forgive you if you even think about doing it again! Next time you want to see a girl’s panties, defeat her mercilessly first, then ask her out, and then you can politely request to see them! Got it?!”

I see, I see. First, defeat her in front of a massive crowd. Second, ask her to be my girlfriend. Third, ask to see her panties... Sure.

“I understand completely!” I said, not understanding in the slightest. “By the way, weren’t you about to head out, Rosa? I’d hate to make you late...”

“Right, I forgot!” Rosa exclaimed. “Fu promised to show me around her family’s workshop today! But I don’t wanna miss my chance to spend time with you either... It would be rude to cancel on her now, so why don’t you come with me? She said they’ve got heaps of magicars and stuff, so you’ll probably find it pretty interesting!”

Magicars? Hmm... Come to think of it, Fuli’s father is meant to be the leading expert on magical movement technology, isn’t he?

I wasn’t particularly interested in magical engineering in general, but the words “magical movement technology”—and the possibilities those words belied—did spark a certain youthful fire in me. Besides, if I turned her down, Rosa would inevitably cancel her plans with Fuli and drag me on a citywide shopping trip/journey through hell.

“That sounds really interesting, actually! I’d love to come with you!”

◆◆◆

To my surprise, the Elevato Engineering workshop was about the same size as a small-town automobile repair shop back in Japan. While it couldn’t be called “tiny,” it was definitely smaller than I’d expected. I soon found out that this workshop was currently only used for repairs and for Fuli and Ashim (her father) to tinker with their personal projects. Ashim’s brilliance as a magical engineer had been formally recognized a few years back, and he now performed his main research and development work at one of the special research institutes funded by the kingdom.

“Sup, li’l bro! It’s been ages!” Fuli said with a wide grin, before promptly snorting. “Your fight the other day was something else, kiddo. Rosa was sulking for ages afterward. I had to sit with her while she ate her way through three jumbo-sized snow cones, and she didn’t stop complaining about you the whole time! It looks like you two have made up now, so that’s a relief.”

“Fu! Shhh!” Rosa exclaimed, hurriedly attempting to clamp her hand over Fuli’s mouth; clearly, her “tolerant older sister” act from earlier had been a complete farce.

Fuli was wearing comfortable-looking brown overalls, with a black cap worn backward to keep her long brown hair restrained. It was a simple, unassuming outfit—suitable for an engineer—but paired with her tall, slim physique and incredibly attractive features, the overall look had a strangely beautiful disharmony to it.

With another grin, Fuli began our tour of the workshop. My unplanned participation didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest, and she happily answered all of my extremely beginner-level questions without even a hint of annoyance. I knew being friends with Rosa (who, despite her genius, lacked common sense in many ways) meant Fuli was genuinely patient and tolerant, unlike my older sister. She was also just a genuinely good person.

Toward the end of our tour, I spotted something incredibly out of place—not for the workshop, but for this world. “Fuli, is that...? What is that?!” I spluttered, pointing at the dusty object.

Fuli glanced at it. “Oh, it’s just something Dad and I came up with a few years ago, when we were trying to design a faster magicar,” she replied, shrugging. “It’s a two-wheeled version—a magicycle, we named it. We were trying to make it as small and as light as possible, and that’s what we ended up with. You can probably tell just by looking at it, but balancing on it was basically impossible, and it kept toppling as soon as I started up the engine. In the end, we decided it probably wasn’t gonna be a feasible project.”

Unlike Japan, bicycles weren’t really a thing in this world, let alone motorcycles. Strengthening Magic made traveling by foot much easier, and most of the roads were unpaved, even around the capital. When I thought about it now, the fact everyone back home had happily maneuvered their way around on such unstable vehicles without a second thought had started to seem rather strange. People from here would probably call bicycles “magic” if they ever ended up in the reverse situation to mine. Like Fuli had said, maintaining one’s balance on a two-wheeled vehicle was difficult—but it was also something anyone could achieve through practice. My four decades of maneuvering through the concrete jungles of Japan had proven as much.

Something had been on my mind recently. What does it mean to be an outlaw in the springtime of life? Only one answer came to mind whenever I pondered that question, supported by evidence in the form of countless similarly themed manga: Motorcycles. Motorcycles were the key ingredient in the recipe for an outlaw youth. Obviously, I’d never so much as touched a motorcycle in my previous life.

“Let me take it for a test ride! Please, I’m begging you! Speed is youth!”

Fuli nodded somewhat hesitantly at my sudden request. “Er, sure. Just try to go slowly, and only in a straight line... It’ll still fall over pretty much straightaway, though. Be careful, okay?”

◆◆◆

“Woo-hoooooo! The breeze feels amazing!” I cried, urging the magicycle around for another lap of the somewhat cramped, yet complex test track located behind the workshop while Fuli watched, her expression stiff. Though Elevato Engineering was located outside of the main city in the more spacious suburbs north of the Nine Square, I’d still been shocked to discover they maintained their own private test track, considering the size of the workshop itself.

While I’d never ridden a motorcycle in my previous life, I’d heard it said that it was essentially the same as riding a bicycle, which theoretically meant I already had the skills I’d need to ride one (well, to stay upright on one at least). Thankfully, the controls were also incredibly simple. It was definitely a bumpier ride compared to my bike back in Japan, and the steering was rather sensitive, but after a few laps I was already pretty confident.

“You look like you’re having so much fun, Allen!” Rosa shouted, smiling.

Grinning, I turned the magicycle around for another lap, my mind racing with all the possibilities my unexpected discovery had unlocked.

◆◆◆

“Honestly, I’m shocked, kiddo. I’ve ridden that thing. I know how difficult it can be even on the slightest curve, and yet you mastered it like it was nothing... I guess I should have expected as much from Rosa’s little brother—no, ‘Rosa’s pride and joy’ might be a better way to describe you.” Fuli smiled wryly, and Rosa nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

“That’s right! Allen’s always been great at using magical devices! He used to help me test out my creations all the time! Ah, those were the days...”

Although I had qualms about her use of the word “help”—as I remembered it, my contributions had been closer to “being forcibly used as a guinea pig”—she was right; using magical devices had always been a specialty of mine, even before my awakening.

Shame I couldn’t care less about making them, really...

In this case, I probably owed the majority of my success with the magicycle to my experience with bicycling in my past life rather than any particular talent in this one, but I obviously chose to keep that theory to myself.

“To be honest, a device like that is more unstable the slower you go, so it gets easier with a bit of speed. It takes a bit of time to get used to the steering, but I think anyone could ride one with a bit of practice. Seriously, it’s got a lot of potential. You could take it down narrow streets unlike a magicar, and above all, it’s fast—fast enough to make up for any negatives I could come up with. Personally, I think the potential of two-wheeled magical vehicles should be explored as a matter of priority,” I declared.

Fuli grinned. “Oh, so this is what Fey was talking about when she said you’re full of good ideas. You know, the most important part of magical craftsmanship is remembering not just to make something because it’s possible, but to make things that are necessary. Us magical engineers can have a bad habit of getting too caught up in making things just because we can, which sometimes means the devices we end up making are completely out of touch with what people actually need. Reckon I could ask ya to tell me what you think could be improved about it?”

Apparently, it wasn’t just Rosa who Fey had become pen pals with after the disastrous barbecue—she and Fuli were clearly in contact too. I had some reservations about letting the three get too friendly, but realistically, there wasn’t much I could do about it. Considering how much I relied on Fey every time I needed something made, Rosa’s newfound friendships with the two other magical craftswomen probably benefited me more than it might harm me.

“Let’s see... Well, first of all, I actually have two models in mind—one aimed at the general public, and another that would take advantage of the wind-based magic style I’m currently developing. If you were to design a prototype for the wind magic option, the priority would be to make it lighter and faster. Specifically, I think the front section is too heavy, and the whole thing is longer than it needs to be—with some adjustments, the maneuverability would improve a lot. Also, the tires—they’re too thick. I think they’d still be fine at about three-quarters of their current width, which would also make the whole thing considerably lighter.”

Fuli furrowed her brow. “Hmm... The best way to improve the performance of a magicar is to make things lighter, so I see your point, but there is a reason the front section is so heavy and why the overall body is so long. Our initial design was a lot more compact, but because it’s propelled by the rear wheel, the front wheel kept lifting off the ground when accelerating, so we made the front section heavier and the body longer to compensate for balance. It’s one of the downsides of a two-wheeled vehicle.” She shrugged. “As for the tires, I think it would still run fine on paved roads if we did make them thinner, but what about on dirt roads? With less surface area, you wouldn’t have enough friction to provide adequate grip, you know? The tires we used for the prototype are made of amberslime resin, and they’re pretty much the best commercially available option.”

I grinned. “Yeah, but that’s where wind magic comes into it. I’m pretty sure most of those problems can be counteracted by an aspect of wind magic I like to call ‘aerodynamics.’ Specifically, if we attach small ‘reversed wings’ to the front section at the right angle, the wind blowing past them will generate a force that pushes the front wheel down and keeps it on the ground. Well, that’s my theory, anyway—I can’t be sure it’ll work until I try it.” I smirked, brimming with confidence.

I was basing my hypothesis on the spoilers and automotive wings I’d seen on racing cars back on Earth. They might have been common on motorcycles too, but I didn’t know enough about them to say for certain.

Fuli looked somewhat confused. “Aerodynamics...? I don’t really think you’d be able to get enough power from just air to keep the front wheel on the ground, but let’s say you could. Wouldn’t the force just make it really hard to turn?”

“Oh, so downforce is generated by the wind hitting the wings at a certain angle, so I’d be able to shift that angle with magic, you see? I think I’d still be able to turn pretty easily by simply shifting the wind off the wings whenever I needed to turn.”

I was pretty sure I’d be able to change the angle of the wind via mana circulation, even at the high speed a magicycle could run at—after a good deal of practice, of course. Also, while I’d decided against any attempt to explain it (I lacked the confidence to do so properly) I’d already had some experience with manipulating the natural wind to control a vehicle, albeit a sailing ship rather than a magicycle. Since my theory here worked off a similar principle, I was decently optimistic about my ability to handle it.

“Wow, this seems like it’ll be pretty fun! I’m so glad to find out your wind magic has more uses than just lifting skirts, Allen,” Rosa chirped, looking genuinely overjoyed. “Fu, I don’t know if what he’s suggesting is possible or not, but do you think you could give it a go with him? He just seems so excited... I’ll help out in any way I can, of course!”

“Of course I will,” Fuli said with a grin, thumping her chest in an exaggerated fashion. “I promised li’l bro here that if he ever needed help, I’d be ready and waiting! And what was it called, the aerodynamics you mentioned? Using the air to generate force is a real crazy idea—and I like it. I dunno how well it’s gonna work, but if it does... Well, I reckon I’ll have found my next pet project. Okay, so what was the plan again? You wanted to attach backward wings or something to the front section, right? Did you have a specific shape in mind? Also, is there anything else we’re gonna need?”

“Yeah, that’s right. They’re not the flapping kind of wings or anything though, so it shouldn’t be too hard... For starters, I’m thinking they’ll want to be about twenty centimeters long, and slightly rounded on the bottom. As for the surface area, I’d like to try a couple of different options—can you make around five different prototypes with slightly increasing measurements? And they’ll need to be made out of the lightest but sturdiest material possible...” As I spoke, I used a nearby twig to draw a rough sketch of the wings in the dirt below. “As for other needs... If possible, I’d like to ensure we leave enough elbow room for future modifications.”

Fuli cocked her head in confusion. “Modifications? We haven’t even finalized the design yet. If you want to change anything, why wouldn’t we just do it now?”

That’s beside the point! Rifling through my vague memories of those motorcycle-centric manga, I pieced together a somewhat plausible explanation. “Ah, that’s not what I meant. My vision for this vehicle is that you’d start off with what we might call a ‘stock model,’ but you could then customize it with all kinds of unique modifications—or ‘mods’—to really make it yours, if you know what I mean? Like, picture yourself hanging around with your wind magic buddies. One says something like, ‘Dude, you changed to a straight exhaust pipe and a rocket cowl? Looks cool, man,’ and you reply, ‘Nah, those three trumpet horns you’ve got hanging off the back are even more awesome,’—you know?”

Fuli, of course, didn’t seem to really understand the nuance behind my delusional ramblings. “A trumpet... Oh, like something that can make a loud noise while you’re riding? Are you thinking of adding it to scare off monsters?”

“Oh, no. I don’t like loud noises, so I wouldn’t add a trumpet horn. I’d rather attach a nice quiet radio instead.”

Fuli looked even more confused. “Then what would be the actual purpose of the straight exhaust pipe or the—what was it again—rocket cowl?” she asked.

The utter seriousness of her expression caught me off guard. I’d just plucked the terms out of an old manga, so in reality, I actually had no idea what a straight exhaust pipe or a rocket cowl were meant to do.

“Rocket cowl... Well, it’s a mod that lets the magicycle fly through the sky, of course! Ha ha ha...” I chuckled awkwardly, trying to wave the whole thing off as a joke. Unfortunately, Fuli’s eyes were already sparkling with unmasked excitement.

◆◆◆

One week later, Rosa and I returned to Elevato Engineering.

“Fuli, please... I need to rest...”

We were in the middle of trialing out the various wing options to figure out which one generated optimal downforce. Obviously, the whole reason we were here had been at my instigation, so I wasn’t suffering; if anything, I was rather enjoying myself. Even enjoyable work had its limits though. I’d been riding the prototype model (which had now been fitted with heaps of very expensive-looking sensors) around the track for hundreds of laps by this point without rest, and I was exhausted. While the acceleration had improved greatly thanks to the weight-reducing improvements I’d suggested, the magicycle’s balance was still suboptimal, and my wind magic-based downforce control was still incredibly lacking. All in all, I was actually going slower now than I had been a week prior.

“Huh? Yeah, I guess that’s fine. I’ve got most of the data I need. Let’s just reset everything back to the original settings and get you to do another fifty laps, and then we can take a short break. It looks like you’ve gotten used to handling the controls a lot better now, so I want to see how much difference there is now compared to the data from the first set of laps.”

Fifty laps?! And for just a “short” break?! Where’s your compassion, Fuli?!

“Honestly, I doubted this would work at first...” she continued, “but I reckon we’re onto something here. The whole thing still relies heavily on your wind magic, so I can’t say for certain, but if we keep at it, we might actually be able to make something incredible. It’s been a long time since a project’s got me this excited.” She grinned, tucking a loose strand of her brown, wavy hair behind her ear.

I’m really not good at dealing with magic craftspeople when they’re like this... Which is nearly always, come to think of it.

Grimacing, I spun the magicycle around and prepared for another set of laps.

◆◆◆

“That’s it, li’l bro. I’ve got everything I need.”

Somehow managing to survive the fifty laps, I climbed off the magicycle and promptly sank to the ground. The combined effort of manipulating the high performance vehicle while fumbling around with my still rudimentary wind flow control had worn out my nerves a lot more than I’d expected. For example, every time I’d passed through the S curve section of the track, I’d needed to shift the wind flow off the wings, turn the handlebar, then shift the wind flow back onto the wings while stepping on the accelerator, and repeat for every bend. The process had to be performed precisely and quickly, and to be honest, it was extremely difficult. The magicycle had wobbled all over the place to the point of being embarrassing. Further adjustments to the design and a lot of practice would be needed before I could even think about calling myself a decent magicyclist.

“You were amazing, Allen! Here, I brought you some iced tea,” said Rosa, beaming as she held out a glass.

I’d been staying with her at the family estate since our visit to the workshop the week before, only leaving when Dew summoned me for work at the Order. Naturally, she was therefore in an excellent mood. Her mood had only improved further when I’d agreed to train with her a few days prior, after she’d mentioned “wanting to relax a bit.” We’d sparred from sunrise to sunset, and she’d been grinning like a fool ever since. Knowing I’d be unable to predict her punches normally, I’d instead tried using wind magic to anticipate her movements, and somehow managed to impress her enough that she’d actually praised me. My face had still ended up looking like I’d run into a brick wall at full speed—repeatedly—by the end of the day, of course.

I accepted the proffered glass and took a large gulp, before exhaling deeply. “Thanks, Rosa. I feel like I’m alive again now.”

Fuli had taken my joke about flying magicycles to heart that day. She’d held me hostage for hours thereafter until she was finally satisfied with the plans her skillful questioning had elicited from my vague—and entirely hypothetical—explanations. In the end, she’d told me to give her a week.

“I need to get a few bits together to run some tests. Come back in a week, and we’ll take it from the top. Then I’ll be able to tell if it’s gonna be possible or not.”

I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was about the sheer excellence of her investigative ability, seeing as how she’d graduated top of her class from the Royal Academy. Mere intelligence wouldn’t have been enough to get her the valedictorian spot; she also knew exactly which questions she needed to ask to arrive at the answer she sought. During my interrogation, I’d ended up explaining the concept of dynamic lift I’d (supposedly) discovered during my sailing trip with Dan.

Apparently, the dream of “flying through the skies” held just as much irresistible allure in this world as it had once had in my past one—particularly for Fuli, whose research was already centered around engine-propulsed magical vehicles. In just one week, she’d already made various prototypes of the wings I’d described, made significant adjustments to the magicycle itself, and had gathered an exhaustive collection of sensors and measurement tools. I didn’t want to think about how much money she’d invested in the project in such a short time.

Fuli was smiling. Despite being visibly sleep-deprived, the exhaustion somehow only added to her attractiveness. Being a beautiful woman really is like playing life on easy mode, huh...?

“Right then, break time’s over! The ground test went even better than I expected, so let’s move onto the flight model testing. If everything goes to plan, we’ll have taken the first step toward developing a vehicle that can actually fly. Just be careful not to hurt yourself!”

Wait, you call that “going well”?! Also, it hasn’t even been five minutes yet!

Still, I knew there was no point in arguing with her, so I reluctantly redonned this world’s version of a motorbike helmet and wriggled back into the expensive-looking monster leather suit I’d only just managed to squirm my way out of.

The flight prototype had two key features. The first was the cowl, a sort of shell which covered the whole body of the magicycle and reduced air drag. The second was the two large wings which could be extended and retracted at will. Though the prototype was surprisingly light (apparently on account of the various monster-derived materials Fuli had used) the limited maximum speed of the magically powered engine still wouldn’t generate enough lift to get the magicycle flying. However, if I used my wind magic to forcibly increase the atmospheric pressure below the wings, it would theoretically produce the necessary lift.

Of course, since magicycles—much like motorcycles—relied on their tires for propulsion, continuous flight wasn’t a possibility at this stage. Today’s test was simply to confirm whether the combination of wings and wind magic would actually generate enough lift to get the magicycle into the air. If things looked promising after today, the next step would be to come up with something that could generate continual propulsive power while in the air, similar to what we’d call a propeller (or a jet engine) in my past life.

I was starting to realize just how ambitious an undertaking I’d accidentally signed up for, but there was no turning back now. To be honest, ever since I’d discovered the combination of wind magic and dynamic lift, I’d instinctively known I was going to end up working on the reinvention of the airplane sooner or later—an endeavor to which I’d given the code name “Project Fairing.”

Back in Japan, the terms “cowl” and “fairing” were actually used interchangeably in regards to motorcycles—but when it came to airplanes and rockets, “fairing” was the only correct term. I knew I was probably being a little too fastidious about it, but at the same time, there was no good reason not to use the proper terminology.

Once again adorned in my safety equipment, I straddled the flight prototype. With the main wings retracted, I began to slowly loop my way around the course, gradually increasing my speed while making sure the magicycle’s performance remained consistent. Then, just as I turned onto the hundred-meter-ish home stretch, I extended the main wings, fully accelerated, and shifted the wind flow away from the front wings. The front wheel immediately lifted off the ground, and I hurriedly attempted to redirect the flow of air to increase the lift under the main wings. Unfortunately, I overdid it. The rear wheel swung upward with incredible force and pitched forward as the magicycle began to somersault.

Crap.

I leaped off before I became a pancake, using Magic Guard to protect my body as I rolled away. The magicycle, on the other hand, smashed against the ground and slid for about fifteen meters before making a loud bang as it burst into flames, expensive sensors and all.

“Allen! Are you okay?!” Fuli cried as she rushed toward me, her face deadly pale. Fortunately, I’d slid away from the crash zone exactly as planned, so I hadn’t been injured. I raised my hand and waved, hoping to alleviate some of her worry.

◆◆◆

“Seriously, I nearly had a heart attack. What were you thinking, going full throttle on the second lap? I wasn’t mentally prepared! Don’t do that again, okay? I’m just glad you didn’t break anything...” Fuli muttered, continuing to pat me all over for signs of injury despite my protests. Thankfully, she eventually decided I was indeed uninjured and ceased her pat-down, sighing in relief.

“You had me worried for a second too, but you’ve always been great at running away, haven’t you?”

Surprisingly, Rosa wasn’t anywhere near as concerned as I thought she’d be—though to be fair, she’d probably determined I wasn’t injured just by watching me move as I’d stood up.

“I’m really sorry, Fuli. I completely wrecked the prototype, and all those sensors... I’m guessing they were, er, quite expensive...?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

Fuli froze for a moment before shaking her head, looking somewhat dumbfounded. “Well, they definitely weren’t what most people would consider cheap, sure, but honestly it’s not much of a loss to me. Besides, I already got more than enough data to make up for the cost. But seriously, you’re worried about the equipment after a crash like that? Your prioritization is just as abnormal as the rest of you, Allen.”

Huh? I mean, yeah, it was a big flashy explosion and all, but I was obviously well in the clear... Although I suppose it was only obvious to Rosa, and she’s definitely not the yardstick for “normal” thinking. It probably would have looked like a really near miss to anyone else.

I smiled awkwardly. “The front wheel lifted upward a lot faster than I expected it to, but I miscalculated the force of the lift and lost control. I should have been more careful. I’m sorry.” I lowered my head again in apology.

Fuli blinked a few times, stunned—before seizing me by both shoulders and squeezing. “You don’t need to apologize! I mean, did you see what happened?! Even with your body weight, the rear wheel went up like it was nothing! Do you know what this means?! If we figure out how to get the center of gravity just right, the combination of wind magic and magical movement technology has the power to let a person fly! Think about the door you’ve just opened here, li’l bro! ‘Oh, I broke some expensive equipment, boo-hoo.’ Are you kidding me?! This is amazing!”

Too close, too close, too close! Fuli was shaking my shoulders rather forcefully by this point, and the resulting effect—like zooming in and out on a picture of a beautiful woman—was definitely not good for my inexperienced heart. While the potential of our “invention” was probably one of the most important discoveries this century from Fuli’s perspective, to me, it was just a cooler version of a common vehicle. The difference in our excitement levels was to be expected, really.

“Hmm... I agree that the center of gravity needs some adjustment, but I think you need to be careful about it, Fu...” mused Rosa, much to my surprise—she’d previously declared she was leaving things in Fuli’s capable hands, on account of her own lack of experience in the magical movement field.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Fuli replied. “If we rely on a specific center of gravity too much, Allen’s body weight, his posture, and different equipment will probably throw it—”

“Because once he’s really able to fly, I want to ride on the back!”

She was only saying that because she wants to hitch a ride?!

Fuli smiled wryly at the typically Rosa-like remark and placed a hand on my sister’s shoulder gently, as if she were about to attempt to reason with her. “Yeah... I wanna ride on the back too.”

You too?!

◆◆◆

By the end of the day, we’d decided on our immediate course of action, which consisted of three main points. Firstly, Fuli would design and construct a new “ground” prototype model based on the data she’d acquired today, to be lent to me on a temporary basis. My job would be to test it out and provide feedback. At my insistence, Fuli would take ownership of any patents for designs or anything else that came out of our joint project, and use them to continue the development of two-wheeled vehicles for the general public. She’d objected at first, but I’d refused to back down. With her leading the way, magicycles would surely become a common sight along the streets sooner rather than later, which would benefit me greatly—my vague dreams of going on motorcycle trips with my friends would become a reality within my grasp.

Incidentally, the magicycle ran off refined magic stones for fuel, which were common enough that they were sold everywhere. As Fuli explained, I could also hunt monsters myself and use their stones for fuel, but the unprocessed stones weren’t great for the engine, so it was more of an emergency measure than a feasible alternative. As it turned out, I’d apparently also need a permit to drive on the public streets—basically equivalent to a driver’s license back home. Luckily, Royal Academy students could acquire a permit with just an application, without being required to complete any of the standard courses or tests—although we still had to learn the road rules on our own, of course.

The second point concerned the “flying” model. Fuli would take charge of the design, adjusting the balance and other components as needed, as well as developing a new engine that could generate continual propulsive power while the magicycle was midair. By her rough estimations, it would probably take at least a year to perfect the development of said engine, so my role would be to visit the workshop as needed to assist with testing.

The third and final point of our strategy also concerned the flying model—namely, that we would develop it in secret.

“Are you sure, Allen? If I asked Dad, he could definitely get this approved as an official project for the kingdom—or we could easily gather private sponsors on our own. Either way, we’d be swimming in funding,” Fuli had said, but I’d asked her to refrain on both counts. My fleeting three years of school life were already being eroded by my work with the Order; I wanted at least some part of my extracurricular activities to remain firmly within the realm of “hobbies.”

Fuli had smiled at my explanation. “You and Rosa are like two peas in a pod, you know? Neither one of you gives a damn about making a name for yourself, even though it would be so easy... Taking on a massive project like this, and calling it a ‘hobby’? I’m seriously impressed, li’l bro. All right. I reckon we can scrape through with funding, and to be honest, it’s probably better to keep it under wraps until we have a better idea of how well it’s gonna work. It’s definitely gonna change society as we know it, though.”

Once again, I’d found myself thanking my lucky stars that Fuli was such a genuinely good person.

However, Fuli had requested we include her father Ashim on a personal basis—as the president of Elevato Engineering, rather than as an official researcher who reported to the king—saying she’d definitely benefit from his cooperation. I’d happily agreed, although I had asked for an official confidentiality agreement to be signed first.

And thus, I’d taken the first step on the quest to acquire the legendary item all outlaw youth stories needed: a motorcycle.

The Gathering

The rest of summer break went by in a flash, with most of my time reluctantly dedicated to my work at the Order. Any free time was largely spent at Elevato Engineering or laying the necessary groundwork for setting up the Sailing Club, including finalizing a mooring point at the naval docks for our recently delivered Calmwinds ship. I’d had way too much to do, and far too little time, and before I knew it, there were only two days left until school began again.

With Rosa finally satisfied with the amount of time we’d spent together, I’d returned to the dorm the previous night. It had been deserted when I’d briefly stopped in after my solo trip to Sardos County, but with just two days until classes started up again, it seemed like most of the students had now returned to the dorm. I headed down to the dining hall for breakfast, exchanging casual greetings with the other residents I passed along the way. It was strangely relaxing to be back here after such a long time away.

“Oh, Allen!” As I grabbed my tray, a familiar voice called out to me and I turned to find Stella, her pink hair tied up in the usual pigtails. “You’re back—and just in time too. I’ve got a message for you from Fey and Jewel.”

“Hey, Stella. It’s been ages. Did you cut your hair or something?” I replied, taking a shot in the dark.

“I haven’t cut it in years, you twerp. You tryna pick a fight or something?” she snapped, scowling.

In an attempt to break the “foot-in-mouth” curse that had clearly been placed on me upon my reincarnation, I’d devoted myself to trying to put into practice all of the tricks I could remember from Secret Strategies for the Popular Man, a book I’d read in my previous life. One such trick, if I remembered correctly, was to comment on any changes a woman made to her hair or clothing, no matter how minor said change might have been. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t particularly observant when it came to noticing inconsequential changes of that type.

I’m sure there’s something different about her though... I just have no idea what.

I apologized sincerely. “Sorry, Stella. I just thought you looked a little different.”

Stella’s mood improved in an instant. “Oh, I cut my bangs! It’s unusual for you to notice something like that, though.”

So girls consider “cutting your hair” and “cutting your bangs” as two completely different things... The bar is set way too high here...

After waiting a few moments for me to finish standing there blankly as I tried to figure out how girls’ minds worked, Stella moved the conversation along forcibly. “Anyway, like I was saying... There’s a joint social gathering for youth from the Dragoon and Reverence Regions today, and Fey and Jewel wanted me to ask you to drop in if you had the time. It’s in the main ballroom of a place called the Runemarquise Hotel. Starts at 10 a.m. They said they’re not actually expecting you to show up, but if you feel like it, no harm in checking it out,” she said, passing me a single sheet of thick paper.

It looked kind of like a formal wedding invitation. The two large crests were the first thing to catch my eye. The first, a fire-breathing dragon, was the crest of the Dragoon family; the other, a giant eagle with its wings outstretched and a sword clutched in its talons, belonged to the Reverences. Fey’s and Jewel’s full names were written above their respective crest, while the location and time were written on the back.

The Runemarquise Hotel... Even a country bumpkin like me had heard the name before. The Runemarquise Hotel had been operating in Runerelia for over three hundred years, and was one of the most prestigious establishments in the whole city. While I hadn’t been curious enough to visit it before now—especially without any valid reason for doing so—I would be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in taking a look at this world’s version of a five-star hotel.

I just don’t care about the “social gathering” part...

Still, the fact they’d blatantly said they weren’t expecting me to show up actually made me want to drop in, if only to prove them wrong. If it was anything like a networking mixer back in Japan, I assumed I’d be able to hide among the mingling crowd without drawing too much attention, and I was also slightly curious to see how Jewel and Fey behaved outside of the Academy walls.

“Ah, thanks. I’ll have a think about it. What about you, Stella? I know your family is part of the Trouvere Region, but if those two are running it I thought they’d still invite you.”

“Hm?” Stella tilted her head. “Oh, they did invite me, but I turned it down. I spent the whole summer break going to enough parties and banquets for a lifetime, and my folks aren’t even all that active on the social scene. I’m sure everyone else had it a lot worse than me...” She frowned. “I don’t really like parties and stuff in the first place, anyway.”

Huh... Guess it wasn’t just Dan who spent the summer being forced to schmooze. Stella’s father was a viscount just like mine, and from what she was saying, she and the rest of my classmates had probably all spent their summer break rubbing shoulders with their fellow elite. The only instructions I’d received from my parents, on the other hand, were contained in a very simple letter from my mother just before the semester had finished.

“Take care of your health and do as your heart desires. Contact me if you run into any trouble.”

There’s no way Dad would’ve had the guts to turn down an invitation from a marquess or even a count, so maybe our family is just too unimportant to get invited to anything? Hmm...

The more I thought about it, the more suspicious I began to feel, so I decided to stop thinking about it entirely. After thanking Stella, I found an empty seat and set about conquering one of Thora’s meals for the first time in nearly two months.

◆◆◆

The hotel in question was situated directly off Fifth Street (the central street of the capital) near where it intersected with Third Avenue. The classically constructed five-story brick building immediately gave off those “place of historical significance” vibes.

What was it that set a first-class hotel apart from any other hotel? The answer to that question would differ wildly depending on who you asked, but to me, it was the hospitality—that is to say, the quality of service you received—that really defined what a first-class hotel should be. Of course, that wasn’t to say things like facilities, prices, meals, and historical significance were unimportant, but even if a hotel had room to improve in some of those areas, I could still consider it five-star quality—if it had the hospitality to match. It was time to see how a first-class hotel of a fantasy world held up against my standards.

I’d arrived slightly after 11 a.m. with the hope the gathering would already be in full swing, buzzing with excitement (and just a little trepidation) as I walked through the main doors.

“Welcome to the Runemarquise Hotel, young master. Will you be staying with us tonight, perchance?” As soon as I walked in, a middle-aged man with slicked-back hair greeted me with a polite smile. With his stiffly pressed uniform and neat grooming, Coil (according to his name tag) looked every bit the textbook example of a fancy hotel doorman. His voice was deep and calm, and his movements brisk and vigorous. Our brief interaction had already given me a sense of how much importance the hotel placed on hospitality, and it was in their favor.

“Oh, no. I’m actually here for the Dragoon-Reverence Reception. Can you point me in the direction of the main ballroom?”

Coil signaled another employee standing nearby, made a few discreet gestures, and turned back toward me. “Of course, young master. Please, let me show you the way,” he said with another smile, and we began walking. “We at the Runemarquise Hotel are most honored to be charged with guiding Lady Feyreun and Lady Jewelry’s guests. I apologize, but may I ask for your name and invitation?”

“Oh, sorry. My name is Allen Rovene. Er, I only got the invitation this morning, so I’m probably not on the list of attendees though...” I replied, holding out the sheet of card Stella had given me earlier.

I saw Coil’s eyes widen for a split second upon hearing my name, but he quickly resumed his earlier expression. “You are indeed on the guest list, Master Allen Rovene. As it happens, I’ve been instructed to show you directly to Lady Feyreun von Dragoon and Lady Jewelry Reverence in the unlikely event of your arrival.”

Nope.

“Ah, there’s no need for that, please. I’d like to get a feel for how events like these usually work first, so I’d prefer to disappear into the crowd, if you know what I mean. Would it be possible for you to keep my arrival a secret for now? I’ll go and greet them soon enough, of course.”

Coil peered at me curiously for a moment. “Am I correct in saying you’re not fond of attention, Master Rovene?”

He’d hit the bull’s-eye, in fact. “Um... Yeah, you’re exactly right. How did you know?”

He smiled warmly. “When you do this sort of work for as long as I have, you begin to gain a sense for a person’s character based on their words, their facial expressions, and their mannerisms.”

See? For a hotel to be called first-class, this is exactly the caliber of staff I’d expect them to employ. He’s probably spent years carefully watching guests to make sure they’re having a problem-free, good time.

We climbed to the second floor, where Coil surreptitiously guided me past the open double doors to the main ballroom with a discreet nod to the staff member holding what I assumed was the guest list. We turned the corner and stopped at a smaller side door.

“Please enter through here whenever you’re ready, Master Rovene. I hope you have a splendid time. Excuse me.” With another polite smile, Coil turned on his heel to leave.

“Wait!” I called after him. “Thank you for your wonderful care, Mr. Coil.”

Though he looked momentarily surprised at the fact that I’d used his name, Coil’s face soon lit up with a delighted smile.

◆◆◆

Peering through the open side door quickly revealed it was situated on the rear side of a few long, food-laden tables. Several people passed in and out of the door as I waited, coming and going from the airy balcony nearby, so I was able to slip in after one such guest without being noticed.

As I’d expected of a party hosted by Fey and Jewel, the main ballroom was ridiculously massive, just as the guest list must have been; there had to be well over a thousand people mingling and moving around. I’d been impressed by the hotel’s delicate yet elegant interior design since I’d first walked in from the street, but the main ballroom was even more exquisite, while still avoiding being ostentatious. The careful maintenance of what was clearly a rather old-fashioned aesthetic simply spoke to their pride in their long history.

Joint gathering or not, it would have been impossible to fill a room of this size with only young nobles from either the Dragoon or Reverence Regions, even if some had traveled to the capital from elsewhere rather than already being in Runerelia. I assumed at least some of the crowd was made up of attendants, commoners with influential backgrounds, or acquaintances from the nobility of other regions. Many of the Dragoon and Reverence Region nobles present probably attended one of the many other schools in the capital, an apparently common trend among those with parents or relatives whose work took them to Runerelia.

While there was a range of attire on display—from extremely formal to neater but casual—everyone I saw was clearly accustomed to the etiquette an event such as this demanded. I’d done my best to dress for the occasion, wearing a thin navy jacket over a white button-up shirt and beige trousers—all of which I’d coincidentally purchased a few days earlier when Rosa had dragged me shopping. I’d just agreed to buy whatever she’d chosen for me, to tell the truth.

I’d briefly considered just wearing my usual, comfortable clothes, but since the reception was being held at this world’s version of a first-class hotel, I’d instead decided to dress a little more appropriately—a decision I was currently incredibly thankful for. Based on what the other guests were wearing, showing up in my normal attire would have been like showing up to a cocktail party in a T-shirt and cargo shorts, and a surefire way to stand out.

I need to make sure I thank Rosa at some point...

Though the bustling crowds made it hard to be certain, I was pretty sure I could see Fey, Jewel, and some of my other classmates from the Academy toward the front of the room, which suited me just fine. Everyone who could recognize my face was as far away as possible. After piling up a small plate of the delicious-smelling food, I secured a position against a nearby wall and began to chow down while listening to the conversation a group of six slightly older girls were having nearby.

“Lady Jewelry Reverence is just gorgeous, isn’t she? I was so surprised! And not only is she in Class A at the Royal Academy, they also say her talent for holy magic is equal to that of Saint Sally—can you believe it?! And she’s so generous with her charity work with the Church... She’s just such an inspiration to me as a fellow woman.”

“I know—and then there’s Lady Feyreun, of course. Her beauty truly astounded me the first time I saw her. Heir to the Dragoon title and an incredible magical craftswoman—and so confident! I can’t even imagine being able to stand up in front of so many people without even the slightest hint of fear like her... Such composure for a girl of her age! No wonder ‘the empress’ Melia saw fit to name Lady Feyreun her successor at just twelve years old!”

Huh.

While part of me suspected something was wrong with my ears, it seemed as though the Dopey Duo (aka Fey and Jewel) were actually thought of quite highly among our peers. I glanced toward the front of the room again. Fey, who was wearing a glittery dress that exposed her shoulders, stood side by side with Jewel, whose pink dress was relatively modest in comparison, as they engaged in polite conversation with the long line of guests that had formed in front of them. They certainly were confident and composed, just like the girls nearby had said. A little way behind them—not so close as to be a disturbance, but close enough to immediately react at the first sign of danger—stood a few armed knights, presumably their bodyguards.

Looking at them like this, you’d think they were fully fledged young ladies from elite noble families... Well, they are fully fledged young ladies from elite noble families, I guess.

“The boy standing beside Lady Feyreun, with the sharp gaze that hits you like a bolt of lightning... That’s Parley Avinier, is it not? Son of Count Avinier of the spear master Aviniers? Oh, isn’t he handsome? He’s just so rugged and gallant for someone so young. He must have endured incredibly rigorous training to have such overwhelming manliness, I’m sure of it. I’m completely taken with him! Oh, do you think it’s acceptable for someone like me to approach him?”

I chanced a peek at the group as the Parley fan finished speaking, only to see a beautiful girl with her hands clasped as though in prayer staring wistfully at Parley like he was a famous idol.

You know what, Parley? I think I might be starting to hate you now.

The gaggle of girls continued to talk, with the conversation focusing on one Royal Academy student after another with such incredible detail that I began to wonder just how they’d managed to acquire it. They knew more about most of my classmates than I did, not to mention about other students I’d never even heard of. They’d just started discussing the mysterious Popol (a member of the Hill Path Club) and how he allegedly enjoyed being yelled at by the coach—a ridiculous topic of conversation, in my opinion—when someone called out to me from behind.

“Hey, instead of hanging on the wall like a painting, don’t you think your time would be better spent actually talking to someone or other? Let me guess—first time at a party like this?”

From his tone and his friendly smile, I could tell the stranger hadn’t meant it unkindly. He had close-cropped hair and a strangely weathered face that made me think of a helpful grandfather, though I knew he had to be in his teens.

I laughed shyly. “You’re right. It’s my first time attending something like this, and I feel a little out of place... I guess you could tell?”

The boy’s smile widened. “Yeah, I could tell; it’s pretty obvious when you’re standing there like a statue in your brand-new clothes. Don’t worry about forcing yourself to rub elbows with the bigwigs, okay? Let’s just try and get you comfortable with the place.” He held out his hand. “I’m Maquite, from the Reverence Region. Nice to meet you.”

“Sounds great! Thank you! I’m from the Dragoon Region, and my name is, um... Pork...”

Oh, dammit.

I hadn’t wanted to give my usual alias “Lenn,” to avoid it being publicly linked to “Allen Rovene” on the off chance my true identity got exposed at some point today. Unfortunately I hadn’t had the forethought to prepare a different alias instead, and in my panic had accidentally readopted the cringey porcine moniker I’d meant to renounce forevermore.

“Pork...? Huh. Does your family breed pigs or something?”

“Yeah, something like that...” I mumbled, scratching my neck awkwardly.

Maquite looked me straight in the eye and grinned. “I think it’s a great name! You can really tell how much your parents must love pigs!”

You’re so sweet it’s giving me cavities, Maquite.

A few minutes later, Maquite was in the middle of teaching me all the basic party etiquette I apparently needed to know, like the correct way to hold my plate. Watching me earlier—in all my inept glory—had probably been quite painful for him.

“So essentially, you want to make sure you’re holding your plate, glass, fork, everything, in your nondominant hand, and keep the other one free at all times. It takes a little bit of practice, but anyone can do it. It’s all well and good if there’s a table nearby like earlier, but you might not be so lucky the next time someone offers you a handshake—and keeping them waiting while you run around looking for a place to dump your plate doesn’t always give the best impression, you know?” he said with another friendly grin. First impressions didn’t lie: He truly was a kind and helpful person.

“Of course! Thank you!” I replied earnestly.

It was then that the conversation of the still-gossiping sextet turned to the Academy student I’d been anticipating most.

“It’s such a shame the man of the hour hasn’t made an appearance.”

“I know... Lady Fey and Lady Jewel both have their hearts set on him, if the rumors are to be believed! Yet he continues to look upon them coldly, remaining aloof and still somehow so alluring...”

“They say to be near him feels like a knife against your skin—you come away in such pain, yet you can’t stop yourself from going back for another touch... The incubus of the Royal Academy...”

“He must be utterly beautiful to gaze upon, I’m sure of it!”

I could literally feel my face stiffening with every word. Please, please be talking about Leo... I’ll even begrudgingly acknowledge he’s got a nice face, just so long as it’s not—

“I just want to see him even once... The mysterious Allen Rovene!”

Welp, time to leave.

Just as I’d decided to fade into the background, Maquite placed his hand on my shoulder with a cheeky grin. “It’s about time I showed you how to work the room at an affair like this. As it just so happens, I’ve got an ace up my sleeve that’s gonna be perfect for today.” With me still firmly in his grasp, he called out to the group of girls. “My ladies! While you are clearly rather well-informed, if your desire is to unravel the truth of Allen Rovene...” He smiled. “Then you probably shouldn’t overlook the treasure trove of information who’s here with us right now.”

◆◆◆

“I apologize for interrupting you, my ladies. Maquite from the Reverence Region, at your service. Now, a good friend of mine has an acquaintance in the Reverence’s own private intelligence team, which means I’ve come to know some of their top secret findings about Allen Rovene himself. Above all, I know that the key to unlocking the secrets of Allen Rovene walks among us here today—a source that you, not to mention everyone else here, would unknowingly overlook.”

Maquite grinned again, clearly confident, but I didn’t like the way this seemed to be heading. His source is an acquaintance of a friend? Back home, I’m pretty sure we would have called that “a complete stranger” (aka, not trustworthy at all) but maybe things are different here?

Apparently so. Despite what I considered to be the utter unreliability of Maquite’s source, the girls were hooked.

“A source we would overlook, you say?”

“Oh, how exciting! Will you tell us more?”

Seeing that the girls were hanging on his every word, Maquite leaned in to whisper in my ear. “See, the primary point of these gatherings is always the exchange of information. It’s like a game, and if you’ve got information no one else knows up your sleeve, the game is as good as won. You could say the game begins well before you even walk through those doors, you know?”

“Huh... You’re amazing, Maquite—but is there really a ‘key source’ like that here?”

Because it sure sounded like these girls already have a pretty good grasp on nearly everyone I know...

“Of course there is,” he whispered. “Deliberately spreading false information is against the rules of this game, you see? People will lose trust in you.”

A few seconds later, Maquite and I were completely surrounded by the girls, to his clear delight. I felt more like we were being besieged, personally. My heart was racing as I waited—probably more so than the girls around us.

Never in a thousand years could I have predicted his next words.

“That source’s name is Tudeo Moonlit, the son of Viscount Moonlit from the Dragoon Region, who enrolled at the Royal Academy alongside Allen just this year.”

◆◆◆

Tudeo was just so unremarkable that I’d forgotten about his existence entirely. I was pretty sure he’d joined the Hill Path Club though, and I thought I might have seen him once or twice at the standard dorm...

“Have you heard of him before?” Maquite asked.

“No, never.” The girls exchanged dubious glances, and I knew my own expression wasn’t far off. Well-informed though they were, it would have been highly surprising if any one of them had known of his existence, considering even I’d forgotten it.

“Oh, wait...” one of the girls chimed in. “I’m also from the Dragoon Region, and I think I have heard of him, actually. Is he the one who got accepted into Class E? The, er, rather provincial boy, without any particular presence...?”

Sorry we’re such bumpkins...

The Moonlit Domain was adjacent to our own, on the other side of the mountains. While they weren’t known for producing anything in particular, their domain was slightly larger than ours in both prosperity and population, which probably explained why my father seemed to think of Viscount Moonlit as his rival.

I’m pretty sure he was whining about the Moonlits and the entrance exams when we had dinner together before I left Crauvia... Come to think of it, I’m sure I must have spoken to Tudeo once or twice since school started. I just forgot we had any sort of prior connection...

“I wouldn’t expect you to know of this connection, my ladies. After all, this is still highly classified intel, known to only a select few...” Maquite lowered his voice yet again, until it was nearly overpowered by the clamor around us. In response, the girls leaned in closer, tightening their circle of besieging. Though I wasn’t using Scouting Magic to enhance my hearing (for once), they were now so close that I could hear one swallowing in anticipation.

Maquite scanned their faces, and seemingly satisfied with their hunger for more, continued his report. “As it turns out, the Moonlit Domain and the Rovene Domain are direct neighbors—and furthermore, I’ve been told there is confirmed evidence the two viscounts are working together on a research project concerning the selective breeding of wheat, which indicates how close the two must be.”

“Really?!” I exclaimed reflexively, surprised. That’s news to me... Well, he is always whinging about something or other to do with Moonlit—when not bickering with him directly—but I guess some kinds of friendships work like that, right?

“Now that you mention it, I believe I did hear something of the kind... Yes, that’s right. Viscount Rovene entrusted Viscount Moonlit with some of the selectively bred wheat seeds for planting in his own domain, or something of the kind... Oh, and when Viscount Rovene presented his results to ‘the empress’ Melia Dragoon at the spring General Meeting, Viscount Moonlight also attested to his own bountiful harvest.”

So it’s true?! Dad and Moonlight are actually best buds?! I had absolutely no idea... While I still couldn’t imagine my father being capable of presenting his research in front of a marquess without fainting, if two people from completely different backgrounds had both heard the same information, then there was a pretty decent chance it was indeed the truth.

“Of course, some might say their domains being neighbors and the viscounts being close indicates nothing. However, there is one more critical piece of evidence concerning Tudeo himself,” Maquite continued, his skillful and persuasive articulation drawing the girls in like a magnet. The circle narrowed once again, and I could now see other people around us had started to listen in too. To tell the truth, I was just as desperate as they were to hear what he’d say next.

“And that evidence is...” He paused deliberately for a moment. “That on the very day they were accepted into the Royal Academy, both Tudeo Moonlit and Allen Rovene moved into the standard dormitory. Think about it, friends. In the first place, two applicants from neighboring rural viscounty families both getting accepted into the Academy is nearly unheard of. But for both to then choose to live together? It can’t be a mere coincidence. Sure, as a Class E student, Tudeo would need to pay the full board to live in the Noble Dormitory—but after getting into the Royal Academy, can you imagine any noble choosing to live in the so-called Doghouse rather than spending a few thousand riels for a room in the Noble Dorm instead? Of course not!” Maquite declared forcefully.

I’m sorry, Tudeo... I didn’t realize you’d been there since day one...

Though I hadn’t noticed Tudeo’s presence, I knew exactly how he must have felt. Neither of our families were particularly well off—in comparison to this part of society, anyway—and an unreliable allowance necessitated a frugal mindset.

“It does seem rather peculiar, now that you mention it...” one girl murmured, while the others nodded in tense agreement.

“There’s only one possible explanation. Owing to the close ties between their families, Allen and Tudeo have known each other since they were very young—you could say they basically grew up together. And in some obscure corner of the Dragoon Region, those two made a vow: to work together, to push each other to improve, and then to take this kingdom by storm. And the result? They both got accepted into the Royal Academy, and together moved into the standard dorm. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about what goes on there under the banner of ‘Sturdiness and Sincerity’...”

Maquite finished his report with conviction. He was completely and utterly wrong, of course, but I couldn’t deny his persuasive ability. I wonder if this is how all of those ridiculous rumors started...

“So Tudeo is Allen Rovene’s...”

“...childhood friend, and closest companion.”

“Which must mean the standard dorm’s code of frugality and discipline was created by not just Allen, but Tudeo too? I can’t believe there was another such luminary hiding in the shadows all this time...”

This isn’t good.

Our little huddle was beginning to draw more and more attention, to the point where I was pretty sure I could detect a few people using Scouting Magic to listen in from a distance. Maquite had been incredibly kind to me, a complete stranger. Entirely inaccurate though his conjecture was, I knew it was only a series of misunderstandings rather than a deliberate lie. However, when it inevitably got exposed as inaccurate, Maquite’s reputation would take a nosedive—and I didn’t want that to happen. While I was pretty sure sticking up my hand and saying, “Hi! I’m Allen!” wasn’t going to go over too well, it probably wasn’t going to be possible to correct Maquite without revealing myself.

It was now or never.

“Um, Maquite? That was very entertaining, but I think your intel might be a little flawed,” I said nervously.

Maquite glanced at me with a smile, not seeming annoyed by my interjection in the slightest. “Oh? Have you heard something different? I’ll admit, a good part of what I said just now was my own interpretation of the information I’ve learned. I’d be happy if you could point out where I was off the mark!”

Reluctantly, I decided to reveal my true identity as innocently as possible. “Sorry, Maquite, but the truth is... Actually, I’m Allen. It was just too awkward to tell you earlier, aha ha ha, ha ha, ha...”

The glares that turned on me were harsher than I expected, sending a shiver down my spine. No, “harsher than expected” didn’t even begin to describe it. Their eyes were dark and piercing, with a sharpness that said, How dare you claim to be our god, you charlatan? and made me feel as though I was about to get caught up in a violent religious conflict.

Maquite, in stark contrast, was smiling at me kindly. “I think you’re amazing, Pork—it takes a lot of courage to try and make a joke in front of all these people. But it’s not easy to make a stranger laugh, okay? You might just need a bit more practice.”

“No, I wasn’t trying to make a joke, actually—”

“You need to wear your own name with pride, Pork! It’s not like I can’t understand how you might feel about it, but one day, you’ll treasure the profound love your parents felt when they gave you that name—I’m sure of it!”

...dammit.

◆◆◆

Unfortunately, due to some prior familial engagements, Kate—Allen’s bespectacled, “student council president” vibes-emitting classmate—had only just arrived at the Dragoon-Reverence Reception, entering the main ballroom through the same door Allen had used earlier. Her family, the Sancalpars, belonged to what was known as the courtly nobility, meaning they’d been promoted to aristocracy by the royal family itself, though they held no territory of their own. For generations each successive head of the Sancalpar family had held a prestigious position in the Yugrian government, furthering their family’s extensive annals of Yugrian and Rondenean history.

Born and raised in Runerelia, Kate had visited the main ballroom of the Runemarquise Hotel on countless occasions. Therefore, she knew exactly where the food and drinks would be located—and with her family’s peerage being equivalent to that of a baron’s, she wasn’t so self-important as to flag down a waiter to fetch refreshments on her behalf. No, she was more than happy to fix herself a glass of orange juice before making her way over to Fey and Jewel, which was exactly what she was doing...

“Allen? What in the world could he be doing over there, I wonder?”

...when she spotted the throng of forty or so people discussing “The Secrets of Allen Rovene”—before noticing the boy himself standing in the center of the circle, his blank eyes like those of a dead fish. For some reason, the others seemed to be calling him “Pork.” He held a plate in one hand, sloppily piled high with a veritable mountain of desserts.

Kate sighed. “He’s up to something strange again, isn’t he?”

◆◆◆

“Sorry I’m so late!”

“Kate! I’m glad you could make it. That dress is lovely. It goes perfectly with your hair.” Fey grinned as she gestured toward the modest black dress Kate had chosen, with tiny flecks of glitter that sparkled every time she moved.

Kate giggled warmly. “Thank you for the invitation! You look beautiful too, Fey. That sequined cami dress is just amazing on you.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” Fey replied with a wink.

“I’ve missed you, Kate,” said Jewel. “And what a gorgeous brooch—it’s exactly the same color as your eyes! I’m so glad you came. There’s quite a few people I’ve been wanting to introduce you to. How are your younger brother’s studies coming along?” In complete contrast to Fey’s more daring number, Jewel wore a more conservative ankle-length pink dress with a high neckline.

“You look very pretty, Jewel, and as elegant as always,” Kate replied with a smile. “We’ve finally started to make some progress with his studies, so I hope to be back at the dorm tonight.” She sighed. “Honestly, he spends his whole life skipping school and will barely acknowledge me when I speak to him, but now all of a sudden he asks me to help him study? It’s not like I have all the time in the world, you know! And do you know why he’s had a sudden change of heart? Because he saw Allen fighting in the Nova Cup, and apparently now idolizes him... Good grief.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, we’ve still got a year and a half until he’ll be taking the entrance exams, and if he can stay as determined as he is now, I think he might just scrape through—though, as his older sister, I’m still not particularly happy about his motive for this whole endeavor. Speaking of, are you two aware of what’s going on over there?”

“Over there?” Jewel repeated, tilting her head in confusion.

Kate sighed again, pointing toward the bustling crowd near the food-laden tables. “Yes. I believe I heard someone calling him ‘Pork’?”

Upon a closer look in the direction Kate was indicating, Jewel and Fey soon noticed a very familiar face.

“Well, it would seem I miscalculated—but for once, I’m rather happy about it,” Fey drawled. “Allen’s clearly quite busy eating all that cake, so it’s probably best if we go to greet him, don’t you think?”

◆◆◆

What the hell are all these people thinking, treating unreliable gossip like it’s unquestionable classified information?! Hell, you could ask any Academy student and they’d be able to tell you my looks are downright mediocre, so what’s up with the “utterly beautiful” rumors?! That’s just wishful thinking!

By this point, I’d tried to declare my true identity in several different ways, but no one would deign to so much as listen. Some old general in Ancient Rome had once said that people would only readily believe that which they wanted to be true—or something to that effect, anyway. I now suspected he’d probably been right.

But back to the current situation. Though the flavors had been somewhat lacking, I’d just finished conquering the full range of desserts on offer, which meant one thing.

Guess it’s about time for me to dip.

“Er, Maquite? I should probably be off now. Thanks for taking me under your wing today—I learned so much.”

Maquite turned to me with a smile, the same kind, friendly smile he’d worn ever since he’d first called out to me—

And then suddenly, his smile froze.

“Is that right, Pork?” The unpleasantly familiar voice came from right behind me. “Let me teach you one more thing, if I may. At a party like this, it’s considered impolite to leave before exchanging greetings with the hosts. You’re looking very nice today...” Fey giggled. “It’s good to see you after so long.”

I can’t believe they managed to sneak up on me...

“You honor me, m’good lady, but I am naught but the humble son of pig farmers! I wouldn’t dare to intrude upon your refined selves with my lowly presence—” I slipped into my “Pork” persona almost reflexively as I replied without turning to face the newcomers, desperately searching for the nearest exit. Unfortunately, I’d only taken a single step before Fey darted around, sealing off my escape route.

“That’s quite enough of that, Allen. I’m glad you decided to drop in, but stuffing your face and running without even saying hello to your school friends after two whole months—honestly, what were you thinking? I had so many plans for us over the summer, but you didn’t reply to a single one of my letters... I might be more resilient than most girls, but even I have a point where I’m brought to tears, you know?” Her expression was uncharacteristically forlorn, and a chorus of sympathetic sighs sounded from all around me.

“You seriously expect me to believe you’d cry just because I didn’t come to say hello?” I scoffed. “Anyway, I was actually just coming to say hi before I left. So hi—and bye.”

Fey laughed. “You still don’t understand the first thing about how to treat a maiden’s delicate heart, do you, Allen? Even I can cry sometimes—when I feel it’s necessary, of course. But such matters aside...” She grinned dangerously. “Here’s another tip for you. The first thing you should do at an event like this is to casually compliment the clothing or accessories of your gracious host. Well? Are you going to compliment me?” She twirled on the spot like a model at a fashion show.

Really? Maquite didn’t say anything like that...

Unfortunately, though I knew the sequined, open shouldered dress Fey was wearing was probably the work of some high-end designer, for me—with my comparatively “commoner core” sense of style—the only words that came to mind were “extremely gaudy.” In my past life, I’d once seen a news segment about an international fashion show featuring some overseas high-end labels, and I’d had exactly the same reaction then.

As for accessories... While her necklace looked unusually simple, the jewel that hung at the hollow of her neck was unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and I didn’t doubt for a second that whatever special methods they’d used to make it so smooth and shiny had demanded an eye-wateringly expensive price tag.

Despite my utter lack of knowledge, it was clear I had to praise something before Fey would let it go. If it was a compliment she wanted, a compliment it would be.

“Your dress is so flashy that it’s making my eyes sting, Fey. It’s so you. And your necklace is rather remarkable too,” My attempt was met with poorly concealed laughter from our ever-growing audience, which didn’t particularly surprise me. Even I had known it wasn’t a particularly good compliment—I just wasn’t capable of anything better, given the pressure of my current situation.

Thankfully, Fey didn’t mock or scold me like I’d been sure she would. Instead, she turned red and looked away shyly for a moment, before replying with a wide grin. “Thanks, Allen! That jacket suits you perfectly too!” The hushed giggles stopped instantly.

I really don’t get this girl...

Kate was the next to greet me. “It’s nice to see you again, Allen. Though come to think of it, I did see you at the Nova Cup recently, recklessly picking a fight with the entire Rosamour Empire... Honestly, is the word ‘discretion’ missing from your personal dictionary?” She sighed. “Well, I assume you had various ulterior motives, like always... But to return to the matter at hand—why bother going to all the trouble of coming here, only to attempt to sneak out without even saying hello? What in the world could you be thinking, I wonder?”

Godolphen had all the ulterior motives. I just got manipulated like a puppet on a string.

“I just wanted to check out the capital’s premier hotel and get a feel for the atmosphere of a gathering like this—”

That was what I’d been about to say when he’d caught my eye—the somewhat reluctant figure shrinking away from the outer edge of the throng. His deep red suit—with matching tie and waistcoat—was rather flamboyant for someone our age, and yet, he was still somehow basically invisible.

“I’m gonna see you guys in class every day once school goes back, aren’t I? Today, I actually came to see...”

The crowd parted as I strode through, approaching the boy I’d spotted with a friendly grin.

“Tuey, it’s been ages! How was your summer? Did you go back to see your family?” I cried, and in an instant, every gaze in the main ballroom was directed squarely at Tudeo Moonlit.

◆◆◆

I felt a little sorry for Tudeo—especially after seeing the completely dumbfounded look on his face—but without his (unwitting) cooperation, Maquite’s reputation would definitely plummet. Plus our fathers were apparently pretty friendly, so I wouldn’t mind actually becoming friends with Tudeo, rather than just in rumor.

Much to my relief, Tudeo managed to nod in response—albeit barely—and I continued my overly familiar spiel. “So you did go home! That’s great. I had so much on over the break, I couldn’t fit in a trip back to Crauvia, which was a real shame. How was the wheat harvest from the spring sowing?”

“Er, um, it was pretty good in our domain... And in yours too I think, Alle— Er, Allie...?”

Great job, Tuey! That’s the kinda ad-libbing skills I’d expect from someone who got into the Royal Academy! I definitely wanna become friends, neighbor!

“You know, I was staying at our city estate until yesterday, but I felt so much more at home as soon as I got back to the dorm, somehow. Well, I guess for us two—enjoying our time in the standard dorm together right from the very start—that place is already kinda like a second home, hey?!” I said, throwing an arm around Tudeo’s shoulder.

“How unexpected, Tuey,” Fey drawled, her eyes narrowing in the dangerous, feline way I’d grown to dread. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about your friendship with Allen. Luckily, my grandmother just so happens to be in town tonight. I’d love for you to join us for dinner so we can hear all the details of your close friendship.”

The main ballroom, which had fallen completely silent, descended into immediate chaos.

“So Pork... He really was the Allen Rovene...?”

“And what’s more, he all but ignored Lady Fey and Lady Jewel just to greet that boy in the red suit?!”

“For both Allen and Lady Fey to call him by such a familiar nickname...”

“Just who is he?!”

Mwa ha ha. Everyone’s got their sights set on Tuey now—but he’s not the only one they need to pay attention to...

I sighed pointedly. “Man, they got us good, Tuey. The Reverences have a pretty formidable intelligence team, right? And someone here managed to piece together all the clues and figure out the—” (unbeknownst to me) “—close relationship between our families. I couldn’t help but be impressed, honestly... You’re something else, Maquite,” I said with a grin, gesturing toward the boy in question with a nearly theatrical flourish.

The commotion got even louder as all eyes turned from Tudeo to Maquite, who—after looking over his shoulder confusedly—was now pointing at himself as if to say, Me?

Jewel giggled warmly as she walked toward Maquite, her heels clicking against the floor in a steady rhythm—and then, she held up one hand, and the uproar ceased in the blink of an eye.

“Maquite,” she said sweetly, “it seems we have much to discuss, hm? Please come by my estate this evening. My father Marquess Reverence and I would be delighted by your company at dinner.”

Fey grinned. “Actually, Jewel, rather than needing to compare our findings later, why don’t we avoid the hassle and simply dine together this evening? Grandmother and I—and Tuey here, of course—can join the three of you. Allen will come as well, obviously,” she suggested, teeth bared like a lioness on the hunt.

“Sorry, but I’ve already got plans,” I replied nonchalantly. “And speaking of, I need to get going now, actually. Oh yeah, Tuey!” I said abruptly, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ve been obsessed with magicars lately. I was thinking about starting up a club—do you want to do it together? Have a think about it!” I turned back to Fey and Jewel. “Don’t force Tuey and Maquite into doing anything they don’t wanna do, okay? Great! See you in a few days!”

And with that, I turned to make my escape. The thought of dinner with the Dopey Duo was frightening enough, but with two marquesses on top of it? There was no way. Besides, I already had important plans—namely, practicing at the Academy’s archery range to my heart’s content. Before I could take a single step, however, Tudeo grabbed me by the wrist.

“Allie!” he said, his face flushed. “I... I like magicars too!”

Wait, Tuey’s actually interested in magicars too?! Awesome! From the look in his eyes, I could tell he meant it. It made sense, really. Back in our remote domains, the most advanced form of transportation we had access to were horse-drawn carriages, so for bumpkins like us, magicars represented the endless possibilities of a life in the big city. I could completely understand why someone like Tuey would find them so fascinating. Given the circumstances, I assumed Tuey didn’t have much hands-on experience with magicars, but neither did I. The most important thing was passion, and he clearly had that in spades.

“I thought you would! It’ll probably be best if you’re the club captain, okay? Great! Okay, I’ll see you at school!” I cried as I all but ran for the door, this time successfully making my escape.

Phew... Everything somehow worked out fine, and without Maquite losing face either. Plus, I think Tuey and I are friends now? I can’t wait to invite him over for a good old-fashioned hometown gossip session.

Summer break was well and truly drawing to a close. I was a little sad to see it end, but at the same time, I was satisfied; I’d enjoyed anything and everything that my first ever fun, fulfilling summer break in my new life had to offer.

◆◆◆

And thus did the curtains close on the first half of Allen Rovene’s first year at the Royal Academy.

Surprisingly, in spite of the name he’d made for himself over the course of those first six months—being heralded across the kingdom as a once-in-a-generation prodigy and as the very symbol of that generation itself—the accounts of his remaining school years are comparatively unremarkable in contrast to his tumultuous first semester. One plausible reason for this is due to the successive rise to prominence of his many talented classmates which began soon thereafter, which may have served to reduce public notice of Allen Rovene. But the other reason, the most important reason of all...

...is that he, in all likelihood, foresaw the necessity of stepping aside—knew that the time had come for him to turn from raising the army he’d gathered in that first semester to nurturing it, before it was too late.

Allen Rovene—a boy whose extraordinary, abnormal foresight would eventually result in him being proclaimed as a “time traveler”—was already preparing for the twists and turns that would later follow in the records of Rondene’s history, a future which, at that point, was unbeknownst to all but him and the gods themselves.

Graphia Indina

Early fall, in the Rosamour Empire...

The Rosamourian capital of Olympus played host to one of the few schools on the continent said to rival the Royal Knight and Mage Academy of Yugria: the Olympus Magic College. Unlike the Royal Knight and Mage Academy of Yugria, however, the Olympus Magic College only admitted those of the proper noble pedigree, such as Graphia Indina—a girl who was, as of that moment, on a rather violent rampage inside one of the College’s many training halls.

“Are you even trying, you bastards?! Worthless slackers! I’ll beat you all to a pulp!”

Indeed, several students had already collapsed around her, all of whom were coughing up blood.

Classes had just begun for the latter semester at the Olympus Magic College, and immediately, Graphia’s classmates had begun to praise her for her third consecutive victory in the Nova Cup. However, said praise had been somewhat more reserved than usual, for they’d heard about what had happened after Graphia’s official victory—heard about the unsanctioned fight where she’d been given a handicap, toyed around with, and ultimately been handed the win out of pity. Yugria’s up-and-coming star or not, she’d been beaten by a mere first-year, and soundly at that. Graphia’s classmates, of course, were well aware of her indisputable skill, and therefore had no intention of mocking her about the fight. They were, however, itching to ask her about the true events of her match against Allen Rovene, a name even those in the Rosamour Empire had started to hear rather often in recent times. More than anything, they wanted to hear her firsthand impressions of the boy.

But they didn’t ask. They couldn’t ask.

And naturally, their resulting behavior—tiptoeing around the issue as though avoiding a swelling abscess—had quickly pushed the proud Graphia Indina over the edge.

◆◆◆

“Let’s wrap things up here, shall we, Graphia? It’s rather unseemly for the head of the disciplinary committee to be the one disturbing the peace, after all—and taking your anger out on your friends won’t make you any less miserable. I’ll see you in the student council parlor after class, yes?”

The reproachful voice came from behind Graphia, and she paused in her violent criticism of her classmates to turn and glare at the silver-haired girl. “Being the head of the disciplinary committee makes it my job to discipline these slackers, doesn’t it?” She snorted. “Miserable? Me? Don’t think I’ll let you look down on me just because you’re a princess, Princess. I can still rearrange that pretty little face of yours.”

“How dare you talk to Princess Aliche in such a manner?!” snapped Eclaire, another member of the student council and one of Aliche’s usual entourage. “There are some lines even you shouldn’t cross, Graphia!”

“Shut your mouth, you useless parasite,” Graphia retorted with a glare, causing Eclaire to take half a step back out of pure reflex. To her credit, she did return Graphia’s glare with one of her own, though she did remain silent as commanded.

With a tired sigh, Aliche turned her icy stare on Graphia once more. “Stop taking your insecurities out on your allies. I won’t say it again. You know better than anyone what’ll happen if you don’t cool off, don’t you, Graphie? If you don’t cool off...” A faint glow flickered in Aliche’s outstretched hand. “You’ll burn.”

Graphia bared her teeth in response, her distinctive snaggletooth protruding like a fang. “Look at you now, student council president. I still remember when little crybaby Liche couldn’t do anything but hide behind me and blubber. You wanna try me?” She grinned. “Try me, then.”

Aliche smiled. “It’s not good to dwell on the past—you end up stirring memories better left undisturbed... Right, Bunbun?”

“Pffft!” Their audience, who’d been watching the interaction with bated breath, couldn’t stop the laughter that suddenly exploded from within them.

“Humph.” Graphia sniffed, indifferent—though her indifference didn’t last long. “I’ll kill you all, you bastards!”

“You’re as bad as each other,” Eclaire said with a sigh, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Settle down before this turns into—”

It was too late; the chaotic clamor of the developing fight drowned out the rest of her sentence.

◆◆◆

“Well, it doesn’t seem as though your fighting skills have grown dull, Graphie. I’m glad,” Aliche said, lathering ointment over the darkening bruise she’d received courtesy of Graphia’s spear.

Graphia snorted. “Your stupidly fast spellwork’s gotten even faster too. I’m just glad you didn’t have a wand on you,” she replied, still roughly applying salve to the various burns that covered her body.

Aliche shrugged. “You only had a practice spear, so we were equally lucky in that regard, I’d say.” She paused for a moment. “Graphie... Why are you so upset? There’s not one person here who doesn’t recognize your talent, nor the incredible effort you put in to cultivate it. I know you must be frustrated to have your impeccable record stained on account of some boy’s underhanded tricks, but no one here faults you for it. You know that—and the Graphia I know is too proud to take out her own frustrations on those around her.” She turned to Graphia as she finished, peering at her intently—questioningly.

At first, Aliche had assumed Graphia’s outbursts were an attempt to silence the understandably upsetting rumors. But a week had passed, followed by another one. The students had developed a keen awareness for Graphia’s presence, and the idle gossip had faded entirely—and yet, Graphia’s mood had only worsened. It was clear that there was something more to Graphia’s temper, but Aliche hadn’t the slightest idea as to what that was.

“Dunno what you mean,” Graphia finally replied, looking away.

Aliche, however, wasn’t so easily defeated. As both the princess of the Rosamour Empire and as Graphia’s friend, she had a responsibility to discover what, if anything, was missing from the reports of what had happened that day in Yugria. It was why she’d gone as far as to usher Eclaire (a girl who was essentially her attendant) out of the room. However, Graphia now refused to so much as return her stare. Aliche knew Graphia well, which was why she’d intentionally lured her into a fight, thinking that Graphia would be more likely to open up after exchanging a few blows. It hadn’t been as effective as she’d hoped, unfortunately. Sighing internally, Aliche moved to the next strategy, and began to reminisce.

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing that underwear too... It must be quite hard to find it in your size these days?”

“D-D-Don’t start talking about it again, Liche!” Graphia roared, turning to face—or maybe hit—the other girl. “Wait...too?”

Aliche giggled. “We must have been, what, ten years old? It was the first time you and I spent time outside of the palace together, I believe. I still remember how strangely bright and dazzling the sun felt on that cloudless fall day.”

Graphia snorted again. “All I remember is being pissed off at how you’d let your idiot brothers walk all over you, even though you were more talented than the lot of them combined.”

Though she still smiled, there was a slight sadness in Aliche’s eyes as she continued speaking. “You’ve always been like this, Graphie. Despite being kinder than anyone, you always think you have to play the villain because no one else wants to. I realized, you know. All those years ago, you really wanted the Bearbear underwear, right? But you saw that my heart was set on Bunbun, and I’d already made you promise that we’d get matching ones. You saw how happy I was, and decided not to risk upsetting me—even if it meant upsetting yourself in the process.”

Graphia frowned, annoyed. “I don’t remember the stupid tiny details.”

“Liar,” Aliche shot back. “Tell me the truth for once, Graphie, because there’s no point trying to hide from me anymore. I know everything—like how you’ve been protecting me from the schemes of all of my sibling’s supporters, even before I started gathering my own.”

Graphia raised an eyebrow, though her attempt at innocence didn’t last long before the self-satisfied smirk began tugging at her lips instead. “Ha. Doesn’t that mean it’s all thanks to me that you had the opportunity to get stronger and form your own faction without having to deal with them pressuring you? You’re as pathetic as ever, Liche. And you’re wrong. I only did it for my sake. As if I’d let those incompetent fools rule over me—makes me sick even thinking about it.”

Aliche looked at Graphia sadly. “Stop it, Graphie. Stop playing the villain with me. I’ve admired you more than anyone, ever since I was a child. I know everything about you—and I can see right through you. There’s no one more worthy of playing the role of hero than you, yet you pretend to be the bad guy simply because you’re conscious of what, your snaggletooth? As your biggest fan, I simply can’t accept it. It’s charming, not the mark of a villain.”

“Charming?! First him, now you?! Cut the crap!” Graphia shrieked.

“Oh, come now. A snaggletooth being the mark of demon blood in one’s veins is just an old wives’ tale. There’s no proof that demons even exist in the first place! And even if they do, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re stronger and more honorable than anyone I know,” Aliche said with a grin. “Now, this ‘him’... Whoever could you be referring to, I wonder?”

There was only one person in the Rosamour Empire reckless enough to use a word like “charming” to describe Graphia’s famously hated snaggletooth, and that was Aliche herself. But outside of the Rosamour Empire...

Privately, Aliche thought she might have just discovered the reason behind her friend’s terrible mood—a certain boy who’d been said to have toyed with Graphia like a child...

◆◆◆

“I didn’t think much of him at first...” Graphia finally mumbled after a long pause, pointedly looking away.

“Allen Rovene, you mean?”

Graphia nodded slowly. “I barely even noticed him. I was too focused on Leo Seizinger—I mean, the kid’s talented enough to be called a prodigy even among the rest of the Seizingers, you know? He had a handsome little princely face, and he was strong—you could tell just by looking at him. Compared to him, Rovene was nothing—just an ordinary face, and not even a little bit of presence.” She ground her teeth together, fighting to keep back the tears already threatening to spill from her eyes.

Graphia loathed showing weakness to others more than anything, so the mere mention of Allen Rovene bringing her to tears was beyond Aliche’s wildest imagination. A cold shudder ran down her spine, though she somehow managed to keep the shock out of her voice as she prodded Graphia for more information.

“But that wasn’t the case, I take it?” she asked with feigned nonchalance. “According to the reports we received, the boy was no more than a cowardly pervert who used a disgraceful trick to incapacitate you after realizing he stood no chance in an honest fight...” Though Aliche already suspected there was more to the story, she knew that showing the boy anything but disregard would hardly prompt Graphia to reveal more.

Graphia nodded. “I thought so too, after the match was over—thought I was clearly the stronger one, and I would’ve won if not for his wind crap. I couldn’t let it end like that. I couldn’t come back here in disgrace—that’s what I thought. So, I watched him. Waited for a chance to attack.”

Graphia’s response was more like the girl Aliche knew. When she’d read the reports, she hadn’t been able to imagine her friend obediently shuffling off with her tail between her legs after being made a fool of in front of thousands of spectators.

“I thought you must have restrained yourself because the so-called Indomitable Godolphen was nearby...” Aliche murmured.

Graphia paused for a moment, staring blankly as though reliving the events of that day. Slowly, she shook her head. “No. The old geezer still seemed powerful enough, but he didn’t show any sign of intervening, not even when he probably should’ve. I kept waiting. Once Rovene got his equipment back from Olivia—the Rudion brat—and got himself all dolled up in his Royal Knight uniform, then I would strike—show everyone which of us was the stronger one. That was the plan, anyway.”

At that moment, the tears she’d been fighting to hold back began to spill down Graphia’s cheeks. “I couldn’t move! I was looking at his back the whole time, and it was like I could hear him saying it! ‘Just try it!’ ‘The Cup’s over. Come at me now, and you’ll be dealing with a Royal Knight this time!’ It was insane... It felt like I was looking at a veteran soldier, not a school kid. He didn’t even notice me—he never had, right from the start! I wasn’t a threat in his eyes! No matter how much space there was between us, he could still sense my every movement. I could feel it. And that stupid wind kept blowing, like it was taunting me, and I... I just couldn’t move,” she sobbed. “I can’t forgive myself. I couldn’t take that step knowing it could cost me everything! I might have been able to beat him when it came to talent, but I lost to him in courage, and I can’t forgive myself for it!”

Graphia’s innermost emotions had burst out of her like water from a broken dam, and it was all Aliche could do not to get swept away by the flow as her friend clung to her, sobbing like a child.

“Thank you for telling me, Graphie,” she said softly, patting her friend’s back reassuringly. “I understand how you’ve been feeling now. My hero’s first ever loss...”

Graphia shook her head violently, still wailing. “I’m not a hero! I wasn’t there for Rosamour’s glory, I was there for my own! I lied to myself over and over, used every dirty trick in the book to make sure I won, and he wouldn’t even look at me! I’m a stupid, pathetic loser, just like my grandfather!”

“You still shouldn’t have lashed out at your friends, Graphie,” Aliche reproached gently. “But I understand why you did it. You’ve never really felt threatened before, have you? This is a good thing, though. It’ll be a valuable experience if you use it right. Build yourself up again, piece by piece, and next time, you won’t lose—not to him, or to yourself. And when you beat him?” Aliche smiled. “You’ll do it as the hero, Graphie, not the villain. You can do it. I know you can.”

She felt Graphia attempt to pull away from the embrace, but Aliche only held on tighter.

◆◆◆

“So why are we sneaking into a lingerie store again...?” Graphia asked sullenly, but although her eyes were red and puffy, there was a certain freedom to her expression—one that only came from opening up to a good friend.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Aliche replied, deadly serious. “We’re building you up again piece by piece, and this is the foundation. While it will be sad to say farewell to our beloved Bunbun, we’ve both outgrown that design—in more ways than one—so this is an excellent opportunity, don’t you agree? The very first thing we need to do is find you some proper adult panties that no one will dare ridicule. We’re a little too old for matching underwear these days, so how about this? You can pick a style out for me, and I’ll do the same for you, hm?”

Graphia hesitantly scanned the interior of La Vie Style, Olympus’s leading feminine delicates boutique. The range covered everything from children’s to the incredibly risqué, and there were what seemed to be thousands of styles to choose from. Naturally, neither of the pair—a princess and an archduke’s daughter—often shopped for their own necessities, so while Graphia and Aliche wore identically aloof expressions, both girls were remarkably nervous on the inside.

Graphia sniffed. “I already told you, I usually wear very mature, sexy underwear. Make sure you pick something suitable for me, because I won’t wear anything childish!”

Aliche giggled. “Of course, I know you’re usually quite particular about your fashion choices. I’ve heard all about how you told thousands of people how you usually wear black, lacy underwear—but I also know that you actually prefer lighter colors and cuter designs, so worry not. You’re in capable hands, Graphie.”

Understandably, Graphia’s ears turned bright red as her friend slid a knife over the still-fresh wound of the singular memory she’d do anything to forget. “What the— Which idiot was stupid enough to include that kinda crap in their report?! And I really do wear black, sexy underwear these days! I’m grown up now!”

Aliche didn’t seem convinced. “Oh, really? Well, how about something like this, then?” she said, dangling a black strip of fabric with delicate embroidery between her fingers. The rear section featured a rose motif, though for some reason, the fabric came to a low ‘V’ shape in the middle. Thin strings connected it to the front section, which was comparatively simple, given that there was barely any fabric for embroidery to feature on. While it wasn’t quite as thin as the strings that circled around the waist, it was thin enough to only cover the critical areas—and barely at that. The matching bra featured the same rose embroidery, though the semicircular cups left little to the imagination. Together, the set was an extremely risqué number—just as Graphia had claimed to prefer, of course.

“Wh-Wh-What the hell is that?! You’d be better off just wearing nothing!”

Her suspicions confirmed, Aliche couldn’t hold back her grin as she beheld the visibly flustered Graphia—a grin which, to Graphia, meant she was being mocked. “I knew it, Graphie. Like I thought, you prefer something like these pink or yellow ones, right? With more ribbons than embroidery—”

“You’re wrong, Liche! Actually, I just thought those—” she gestured roughly toward the black panties, “—were a bit too plain!”

“Huh?! You thought those were plain? Oh, my... Well, then perhaps something like these?” The next pair Aliche held up were basically see-through. The white fabric wasn’t just thin enough that you might be able to spot a freckle through the fabric; it was so thin that you’d be able to see everything.

“Wh-White?! As if a girl like me could ever wear white panties! You can have those, Liche—they’re perfect for you! Now find me something a little more suitable!”

“Me?!” Aliche exclaimed with a gasp. “You want me to... Well, you can have those!” She pointed at a nearby mannequin. It was clad in a sparkly brassiere, while a tiny butterfly only just hid the crotch from view. Apart from the tiny butterfly, the rest of the underwear consisted entirely of string—and, after a second glance, Graphia realized the brassiere itself looked more like someone had mistakenly looped a fabric headband around their chest rather than an actual protective garment.

“You... You’d look better in those too,” Graphia said after a long pause.

“Stop being so unfair, Graphie!” Aliche shrieked. “Oh, look at those purple ones! You see the butterfly on them—it’s a poisonous one! Perfect for a girl like you!”

“See, now you’re getting me!” Graphia shrieked back. “How about these, Liche?! They’re nice and simple, just like you!” She flung the garment in question into the air like a trophy, revealing the gaping hole right where it mattered most. The matching bra was just as confusing, featuring two open hoops that framed, rather than covered, the areas in question.

Aliche covered her eyes. “H-How indecent!” she screamed, before promptly beginning to hunt through the store for even more indecent items.

And so the two girls pressed on with their quest, easing some of the crushing weight on their shoulders by parting with what, in truth, was only a trivial sum of money. The towering piles of underwear they bought that day were promptly and wordlessly agreed upon as representative of a shared, treasured memory—one to be tucked away in the depths of their closets, safe from the world forevermore.

◆◆◆

With Graphia’s reluctant permission, Aliche soon informed the higher-ups of the emperor’s court of what had truly happened during the fight between her friend and Allen Rovene, along with Graphia’s impressions of the boy himself. The Rosamour Empire adjusted their evaluation of the boy fittingly, noting his apparent ability and potential for growth—and breathed a collective sigh of relief.

The wind spirits he’d evoked, as it turned out, were almost certainly the result of the masterful use of Scouting Magic, rather than actual divine beings. While his skill was undeniably impressive for someone of his tender years—and while there was still a significant chance the boy would pose a threat to the Rosamour Empire in the future—by knowing the mechanisms behind his attack, they could now develop a strategy to defeat him, should the need come.

We understand Allen Rovene, they thought.

What a relief, they thought.

The Magicar Club

It was a rare free weekend afternoon about two months after the start of the second semester, and I decided to use it to stop by the Magicar Club’s garage, located just inside the forest on the Academy grounds. As I’d expected, Tuey was inside, fiddling around with a magicycle with an expression of undeniable joy.

◆◆◆

Tuey—better known to most as Tudeo Moonlit—and I had started up the Magicar Club together.

Late in the evening after the Dragoon-Reverence Reception, I’d heard a hesitant knock on my door and had opened it to find Tuey standing there, a battered magicar magazine clutched tightly in his shaking hands.

Incidentally, while he and Maquite had been thoroughly interrogated by Jewel and Fey after my departure, it seemed as though he’d somehow managed to avoid being roped into a dinner party with the two marquesses. By the time he’d returned to the dorm and worked up the courage to knock on my door, it was already past 10 p.m.

“We’re basically hometown buddies, Tuey! Just barge in whenever you like from now on, okay?” I said.

Tuey took a deep breath, and lowered his head. “Sorry, Allie. To be honest, I’ve... I’ve always been kinda scared of you. Well, maybe ‘scared’ isn’t the right word... It was something like a combination of awe and...” He winced. “And jealousy. You just seemed like you lived in a different world to someone like me, and I was stupidly jealous of everything you had, and I ended up putting a wall between us so I didn’t have to look at you... I’m pathetic, I know,” he said with a bitter grin.

No wonder he managed to get into the Royal Academy, even coming from a background like his.

It was no easy thing for someone his age to admit to their shortcomings so readily, and even less to admit them directly to a classmate like Tuey just had—something I understood better than most, thanks to a whole extra lifetime of lived experience.

“Why did you choose to move into this dormitory, Tuey? If money was the issue, I thought you would’ve sold up and moved over to the Noble Dorm after ‘residential rights’ here became such a hot commodity...”

Tuey smiled weakly. “It was about the money at first. My dad might be boasting about me to anyone who’ll listen, but apparently he never thought I’d actually get in, so he didn’t bother preparing anything in case I did. He didn’t know anything—not about this place being called the Doghouse, or about being able to move into the Noble Dorm if I took out a loan, none of it. So obviously, neither did I.”

I returned Tuey’s weak smile, remembering my own father’s similar lack of preparation for my own admission. He’d been so focused on whether or not I’d pass the exam that he’d completely neglected to consider what would happen if I did. Unlike in my previous life, I couldn’t simply use the internet to look up tips and tricks for new students at the Royal Academy—and even though I was technically a noble, a country kid like me didn’t have the connections or resources to conduct much useful research on my own merit either. Sadly, information disparity was just another frustrating aspect of living in an academic meritocracy.

“Well, we may be nobles,” Tudeo continued with a shrug, “but I’ve got a lot of siblings, and we’ve never really been too well-off overall, so it’s not like I can really complain about the living conditions in this dorm or anything. I had it in my head to look into moving out after I had things a little more figured out, but before I knew it, living in this dorm actually became something to aspire to. I had people offering me unbelievable amounts of money in exchange for my room here—but for some reason, some part of me knew that giving it up would mean giving up a lot more...” He chuckled awkwardly. “You probably don’t have any idea what I’m saying, though.”

I knew exactly what he was saying. If I was in his shoes, I definitely would have turned down the offers too—but the point for dwelling on (and even discussing) bygones was over. The Tuey I wanted to meet was the one who’d read that tattered magazine from cover to cover too many times to count, and so, I quickly changed the topic.

“Whatever, all that stuff’s in the past now! By the way, what’s that you’re holding?” I asked curiously, trying to steer the conversation toward something more exciting. It worked, though Tudeo was still rather shy as he began to speak again.

“Ah, um, it’s the latest issue of a magicar magazine that comes out twice a year. My dad brought me one back from the capital as a souvenir when I was nine, and it’s been my favorite thing ever since. I can’t get to sleep if I don’t read at least a few pages every night. I had to promise to study twice as much for the entrance exams to get him to order this one all the way to our domain for me, actually.”

With that, he began flipping through the well-loved magazine with vibrant passion in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but get drawn into his explanations about his favorite magicars. To be honest, most of the specifics he mentioned—the maker, the model, what made this one different from that one, and so on—went completely over my head, but regardless, I really enjoyed listening to him. It was the same when I listened to Coco talk about monsters; I’d always loved listening to people ramble on the things they were passionate about.

In return, I explained the magicycle development project I was working on with Elevato Engineering, though I kept quiet about Project Fairing—both because of the confidentiality agreement, and because the flying model didn’t really fit the “vibe” I was envisioning for the Magicar Club.

“Elevato Engineering?! The boutique magicar workshop led by Ashim ‘Godhand’ Elevato?! The Elevato Engineering that started off as no more than a local repair shop, yet rapidly shot to the forefront of magicar technology development on account of Ashim Elevato’s groundbreaking innovations in the field, which led to the biggest magicar manufacturers personally donating astronomical amounts of funding to further his work?! That Elevato Engineering?!” Tudeo rattled off, barely pausing to breathe. “I thought Ashim had recently taken a step back from active research and development?”

Godhand, huh...?

Apparently, Fuli’s father wasn’t just a leading figure in the magical movement technology sphere, but in the magicar field in general.

“Yeah, that’s the one. I just lucked into it, really. But let’s talk about the Magicar Club! You’ll be the club captain, right?”

Tudeo recoiled, clearly taken aback, before vehemently shaking his head. “You were serious about that?! If you’re setting up a Magicar Club, I want to join—I really, really want to! I was so happy when you asked me! But there’s no way I can be the captain.”

“Why?”

“Why...?” he repeated back, shaking his head. “I’m a first-year, and in Class E for that matter. I’m not confident I’ll be able to move up next year either. With a partnership with Elevato Engineering, other kids would be racing to join the club...” He sighed. “But not if I’m the captain. I’m not qualified! I have no actual experience, and I already know what they’ll all say—that I’m just a parasite, leeching off you because we grew up in the same area.”

Not this again.

I was fed up with it—with caring about what class someone was in, with worrying about what people might say. None of it mattered. When people let stuff like that hold them back, they’d never actually do what they wanted. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand Tudeo’s hesitation, of course. As much as we liked to consider ourselves rational, humans were, at heart, ruled by our emotions. Tudeo might not have had any actual experience, but he did have passion; to me, that was the only “qualification” that mattered—but not everyone would feel the same, especially knowing of our (allegedly) long friendship. It was understandable that many kids would turn their noses up at a club run by a complete novice, particularly one that lacked confidence in himself.

But the Magicar Club didn’t need to win any popularity contests. It needed to be a gathering point for those who genuinely loved magicars. We just needed to get the gear rolling, and slowly but surely the members would come, drawn in by Tuey’s pure passion. It would take time, but in the end, it was meant to be fun. There wasn’t much point in starting a club like this if you weren’t going to enjoy yourself while doing it. Slow and steady would win the race.

“I get why you’re worried, Tuey, and I agree—I think it’s probably better for me to take a step back for now. So how about this? You set up the club, and organize all the activities how you see fit. I won’t be involved at all, and everyone will think of the Magicar Club as Tudeo Moonlit’s personal accomplishment, because that’s what it will be. I’ll join the club as a normal member a little later down the track. I’ll help you out with anything you need behind the scenes, of course.”

Tudeo’s face paled. “But that doesn’t make any sense! You could advertise your partnership with Elevato Engineering and have kids tripping over one another to join! You could probably even use it as a way to get sponsorship from big magicar manufacturers. With you in the spotlight, we’d have the best students in the Academy signed up in minutes, and who knows what the club could accomplish—”

“No,” I interrupted. “Having something you’re truly passionate about... Do you know how precious that is? Have more confidence in yourself, Tuey,” I continued, speaking slowly yet forcefully. “Do you know why I want to start this club? It’s because it seems like it’s gonna be fun. It’s because thinking about magicars excites me. I listened to what my heart was telling me, and chose to follow it. You don’t need any qualifications—or anyone’s permission—to follow your heart and devote yourself to the thing you love.”

Tudeo blinked a few times, rendered speechless. I pressed on. “I don’t want to start this club as a means to a specific goal, or as a way to make a name for myself or gather a band of followers. I want to start it because I want to have fun, plain and simple. I want everyone who joins to have fun. I want to enjoy my life here at the Academy, and explore new opportunities for that life. This club isn’t special either—all of the clubs I’ve started have been for the same reason.”

It was one of my biggest regrets in my past life—a youth wasted, afternoons spent slaving away for my future in a cram school instead of living. My whole school life had felt like little more than a bad joke. But I’d been given a second chance, and the Royal Academy wasn’t just home to the best and brightest students in the kingdom, but some of the most fascinating, enthusiastic ones too. Here, we’d be able to build a club based on passion and inspiration—the complete opposite of those cram schools with their sterile “future guaranteed!” mottos.

After I’d explained the premise of my vision for the club, Tudeo still seemed confused. “But that just means I’ll be taking the credit for all the work you’ll do in setting up the club... Plus, it kinda sounds like all you want me to do is have fun? You’re not aiming to develop something specific, or anything?”

Now you’re getting it, Tuey!

I couldn’t control the grin that spread across my face. “Yep! The most important thing in life is being able to dive headfirst into doing the things you love. Ultimately, that’s the only goal of this club, and the reward is the experience gained along the way. Having a specific project in mind is fine too, of course. As long as you’re having fun, anything goes. Building or modifying magicars, developing new technology, learning to drive—anything at all! So? What do you say?”

I’d said my part. Any further attempts to convince him would probably only have the opposite effect, and I didn’t think it was necessary, anyway. The look in Tuey’s eyes gave an answer louder than any words could.

◆◆◆

“Are you overhauling it again?” I asked with a wry smile, after it was clear that Tudeo was too absorbed in his work to notice my arrival.

“Oh hey, Allie. Just give me a sec,” he said, before immediately returning to his task with an expression of utmost concentration.

The Magicar Club was up and running, largely thanks to the generosity of Elevato Engineering. They’d furnished us with a few simple general-purpose magicycles and the basic tools we’d need to get started, in return for ongoing cooperation with their own magicycle development projects.

“Allen, you need to sort him out,” called Pisces, one of my classmates from 1-A and another member of the club. “Tu’s been taking the magicycles apart every chance he gets ever since Ashim complimented him for his maintenance skills, even though he barely rides them! They must put something in the water out where you’re from that turns people into talented weirdos.” He nodded seriously at his own hypothesis, to which I responded by slapping him on the back of the head.

Three days after the semester had started, Tuey had submitted his club proposal to Ms. Musica. Naturally, the conversation between Tudeo and I at the Dragoon-Reverence Reception had, by that point, spread around the school like wildfire. The next day, I found myself mobbed by aspiring club members. I told them all the same thing—the club was Tudeo’s personal endeavor, he was the captain, and I had only helped him with the proposal. If they wanted to join, they’d need to seek out Tuey. Basically, it was in the same vein as the Magical Craftsmanship Club I’d made Fey set up and had subsequently left to its own devices.

Well, that was how I’d intentionally made the Magicar Club seem, anyway. At least while the club was getting started, Tuey and I had only wanted people with a genuine interest in magicars to join up, rather than those lured in by an interest in me. That way, we’d hopefully avoid any idiotic rumors about Tudeo riding on my coattails. When Fey had first started the Magical Craftsmanship Club, there had been plenty of kids lured in by her personal reputation, regardless of whether I was involved with the club or not. After I made it clear that I (allegedly) wouldn’t be joining the Magicar Club, though, the droves of hopeful applicants vanished as quickly as a receding tide.

Ultimately, the founding members numbered just three: Tuey, Pisces, and a boy named Match from Class 2-D. Tuey didn’t seem disheartened by the minimal interest, however; if anything, he was overjoyed that even two people had joined. Their chaotic (and sometimes disastrous) attempts to ride the shared magicycles—and more importantly, the genuine laughter and smiles that resulted from said attempts—had lured in another two club members over the past two months, another second-year and one third-year. All five of them came from families where the idea of owning a private magicar had never been within their means.

In reality, over ninety percent of the students at the Royal Academy came from either viscountal and baronial families, or from commoner backgrounds. While the higher-ranking countal, marquesal, and ducal families had more resources to devote to their children’s education, they made up only a fraction of the overall nobility, and thus only a small portion of the student body as well. Throughout the centuries, there had been many proposals championing “favorable treatment” for Academy applicants hailing from said higher-ranking nobility, but each of those proposals had been quashed by none other than the Yugrian Royal Family themselves.

According to the history books, Arthur—the founder and first king of Yugria—had left behind one final precept on his deathbed: that the talent needed to sustain Yugria should be gathered from far and wide, not just from among the privileged. While the kingdom still clung to its aristocratic system over a thousand years later, the Royal Academy had always maintained an admissions policy that gave no weight to any applicant’s position in the social hierarchy. The difficulty—and the value—of maintaining such a policy was no easy thing to describe.

But back to the present.

Out of the three magicycles Elevato Engineering had donated, the only one I could see in the garage was currently spread across the floor in front of Tuey. The other two, I assumed, were in the possession of Match and the two new club members, who were probably riding them around in the forest nearby. Their current project consisted of trialing new ways to improve the ridability and compiling their findings into reports for Elevato Engineering. To be honest, it sounded—and looked—like a lot of fun, and I’d wanted nothing more than to join them in their celebration of youth. Until I was satisfied that the Magicar Club had become an entity in its own right, however, I’d reluctantly forced myself to continue watching from the sidelines.

Tudeo and I had, at one point, gone to thank Ashim Elevato in person for his generous support of the club. As I probably should have expected of someone related to Fuli, Ashim was both handsome and somewhat intimidating. When we’d expressed our earnest gratitude, he’d simply replied, “Kids like you shouldn’t waste your time worrying over trivial things like that,” and laughed. Later, Fuli had told me Ashim had been incredibly impressed by Tudeo’s determination to recruit a band of like-minded, passionate club members, rather than relying on my name for instant popularity.

She’d also added, “I mean, look at it from our perspective. We’re gaining access to enthusiastic test drivers who are good enough at Strengthening Magic to avoid much risk of injury, who can write accurate reports, and can learn basic maintenance and repair in no time at all—and we’re not even paying them! Donating the equipment was the least we could do, seriously. There was no way he would’ve passed up a chance like this,” with a wink.

“I might not be riding much, Pisces, but you lot barely ever stop,” Tudeo finally said, stretching as he stood. “You should be thanking me for taking care of them. Sorry to make you wait, Allie. Did you need something?”

“Yeah, actually.” I grinned. “I’d like to join the club. I’ve hit my limit of sitting around being jealous while everyone else has fun.”

Tudeo, beaming, immediately nodded. Pisces, on the other hand, seemed eager to assert his dominance. “Oh, so you are joining after all? Just so you know, I’ve become pretty good with a magicycle over the past two months—but don’t worry. As your more established clubmate, it’s basically my job to teach our newbie the basics.”

Mwa ha ha.

What Pisces didn’t know, of course, was though I had yet to join the Magicar Club, I had instead spent the past two months leaving a permanent mark on the Elevato test track. My magicycle, as you’d expect, had received constant upgrades over that time, improved by the very reports Fuli received from the club. I couldn’t wait to see Pisces’s reaction when I showed up with my custom magicycle—let alone his reaction once I started riding it.

“Thanks, Pisces! That would be a massive help!” I replied with a somewhat evil grin. Seeing my expression, the rather perceptive Pisces immediately stiffened.

◆◆◆

“My Overhaul.”

Such was the title of Tudeo Moonlit’s first article in Key Drive (Yugria’s one and only magicar magazine) that would later release to much acclaim within the magicar community.

Compared to their four-wheel counterparts, the recently emerging two-wheeled ‘magicycles’ were cheaper to manufacture, consumed less fuel, and could be more easily maintained by the owner, all of which resulted in a significantly lower overall running cost. While their size and affordability did impact their performance when compared to a magicar, the magicycles could be modified, and those with the time and money to invest could easily find themselves in possession of a high performance vehicle. Accessibility and potential—the two key ideas that drove Tudeo Moonlit and Allen Rovene’s goal of fostering a wide community of magicycle users.

When magicycles first began entering the market, it heralded a new age. Personal magical movement technology was no longer a possibility exclusive to society’s richest, but a plausible dream for even those in the working class. With its release coinciding with the publication of “My Overhaul,” the FATA-1—the first magicycle model resulting from the joint development project between Elevato Engineering and a notable magicar manufacturer—immediately sold out, with the waiting list for advance orders quickly extending more than a year into the future. Some of the FATA-1’s explosive popularity could likely be attributed to members of the Royal Academy’s Magicar Club, who had been frequently spotted riding prototype models around Runerelia’s outskirts. Following the release of the FATA-1, all major magicar manufacturers quickly began developing their own versions of the two-wheeled vehicles.

Incidentally, “My Overhaul” later became the first in the “My” series of articles penned by Tudeo Moonlit. The articles, which served as yet another testament to Tudeo’s profound expertise on and affection for the magicar field, had an immeasurable influence on both the development and popularity of magicars within Yugrian society, and would one day come to be regarded as something akin to fundamental literature within the community.

Side Story: Behind the Scenes of the Dragoon-Reverence Reception

Tudeo Moonlit, of Class 1-E at the Royal Academy, looked at each of the two sheets of paper for what felt like the hundredth time, and let out a long sigh.

The thick, glossy sheet in his right hand was an invitation to a certain social gathering hosted by none other than Feyreun von Dragoon and Jewelry Reverence, both members of Class 1-A at his very school. Both girls, of course, also respectively belonged to one of only nine marquesal families who all but ruled over the Kingdom of Yugria. The reception, held at the prestigious Runemarquise Hotel, had been organized with the idea of fostering connections between the promising youth of the two regions.

Ostensibly, to receive an invitation to such an important gathering could be seen as something of an honor. In reality, those with enough resources and know-how could—if they pulled the right strings with the right connections—acquire a so-called golden ticket with relative ease. Being a Royal Academy student, however, Tudeo hadn’t needed to pull any strings for his invitation—much to his despair.

The Moonlit Domain, Tudeo’s home, was located in the farthest reaches of the Dragoon Region. It had no notable exports or wealth to boast of, and that fact, combined with a rather excessive number of siblings, meant Tudeo hadn’t experienced a particularly affluent childhood. He’d never even visited Runerelia until he’d come to take the Royal Academy entrance exams, and his experience with fancy gatherings like the upcoming Dragoon-Reverence Reception was basically nonexistent.

While Tudeo was shy, he wasn’t quite so introverted that it made talking to others painful—unless, of course, those “others” were the kingdom’s best and brightest. Tudeo was still struggling to find common ground with his fellow Academy students, and given his record in the hallways and classrooms, there was no reason to believe the rest of Runerelia’s young elite would prove any more forgiving conversational partners. While his father had dragged him along to various small Dragoon gatherings over the summer, Tudeo had been too fixated on avoiding any etiquette blunders to have any conversations of substance.

Tudeo sighed again, his eyes drifting to the other main contributor to his current despair: the piece of paper in his left hand.

Truth be told, Tudeo already had plans for the day of the Dragoon-Reverence Reception. The annual Runerelia Motor Show was the biggest event of the year for magicar enthusiasts, and Tudeo was very, very enthusiastic. His obsession had started in his early youth, when his father had returned from a trip to the capital with a copy of Key Drive, Yugria’s only magicar-focused magazine. He was so obsessed, he couldn’t even get to sleep at night without reading at least a few pages, despite already knowing them by heart. Mere words couldn’t describe what Tudeo had felt the first time he’d seen a magicar with his own two eyes after arriving in Runerelia. The Runerelia Motor Show, held in late summer every year, featured the newest models and innovations from major manufacturers across the continent, all under the one roof. Attending it would be like a dream come true. In fact, it was coming true. Tudeo had scrimped and saved all the money he’d earned working as a private tutor over the first semester, the culmination of which was currently held in his left hand—one general admission ticket to the show. Tudeo couldn’t stand the idea of all of his hard work going to waste.

And yet...

Tudeo glanced at his closet, and at the austere, deep red suit hanging within. It had arrived a few days after his parents had learned of the reception, with a note instructing him to “stand out and promote our domain.” The eye-catching shade—the result of the dyes that were one of the Moonlit Domain’s scarce exports—certainly guaranteed he would not blend in.

Tudeo sighed for the third time.

“I can’t just skip it, can I...?”

◆◆◆

He’d arrived thirty minutes before the indicated start time, and yet the foyer of the hotel was already swarming with people. Tudeo joined one of several lines, staring ahead blankly as he slowly shuffled forward—and froze as he noticed one attendee after another handing over what seemed to be some kind of admission fee. Thanks to the tutoring job he’d secured by using his status as a Royal Academy student, Tudeo’s financial situation wasn’t quite as grim as it had been during his first few weeks at the Academy. However, his ticket to the Motor Show hadn’t come cheap, and he definitely didn’t have much surplus for unexpected expenses.

It didn’t say anything about an admission fee, did it...? Tudeo thought. He was extracting the invitation from his breast pocket to check when a man called out to him from a few steps away.

“Welcome to the Runemarquise Hotel, young master. If you’ll please follow me, I can assist you at another reception counter.”

Tudeo jumped slightly, not having noticed the hotel employee approach him. He looked at the indicated counter, and turned back to the employee, somewhat perplexed. “Oh, yes. Right. Er... Are you sure? There’s still so many people in the line...”

The man smiled graciously. “But of course, young master. Invitations such as the one you hold, with the personal signatures and family crests of our two eminent hostesses, were distributed to only a select few. I have been granted the honor of escorting those distinguished guests. If you’ll come this way?”

The other guests around Tudeo began whispering loudly following the man’s explanation. Though Tudeo had come to expect the special treatment he tended to receive on account of his status as a Royal Academy student, he still felt uncomfortable every time it happened. He’d spent his childhood surrounded by the commoner children back in their domain, treated no differently to any other boy or girl in spite of his “noble” status.

Tudeo’s gaze landed on the simple, gold name tag on the man’s chest. Black lettering spelled out the name “Coil,” but there was nothing to indicate the man’s role or position within the hotel.

“Oh, I see... Thank you,” Tudeo mumbled, letting the man lead him away from the line. “Um, sorry to ask, but how much is the admission fee for today’s reception? I, er, forgot to check before I left home...” he asked, wincing.

Coil blinked. “The...admission fee?” he repeated. He then noted the uneasy way Tudeo glanced back toward the front of the crowd and gave a small nod of understanding. “All costs associated with today’s event have been covered by the two organizers, so no fees are required from any guests.” He tilted his head toward the line. “Those are...congratulatory gifts, shall we say? It is a voluntary token of appreciation some guests give to the organizers as a way of celebrating a gathering such as today’s.”

“Gifts...” Paying closer attention, Tudeo could now hear the way each guest repeated a generic phrase about congratulating the hostesses on their magnificent party as they handed over hefty, well-tailored drawstring pouches. He also now noticed the fact that the attendants didn’t seem to be confirming the amounts received or providing any change.

A cold sweat rolled down Tudeo’s back.

He hadn’t heard anything about this kind of custom before. Obviously, he hadn’t prepared any kind of fancy drawstring pouch. The battered coin purse inside his jacket pocket held only a single thousand-riel coin and a few grimy one-riel coppers, his living expenses for the next month. For a brief moment, he imagined the spectacle it would cause when a so-called distinguished guest like himself attempted to hand over a few loose coins as a congratulatory gift or tried to ask for change. In fact, there was probably a very good chance his monthly living expenses didn’t even come close to the standard amount for a congratulatory gift.

“Of course,” Coil said gently, as though he was reading Tudeo’s increasingly chaotic thoughts, “much like all your fellow Academy students today, no gift on your part is necessary. Your status at today’s gathering is viewed in a similar regard to that of our gracious hostesses—which is to say, the majority of those participating today have come largely to interact with you and your school peers. Not preparing a gift is perfectly acceptable from an etiquette perspective in such cases, and indeed, most of your peers have not offered any tokens of appreciation.”

Tudeo breathed a sigh of relief. “I understand. Thank you for taking the time to explain everything to me, Coil.”

For a moment, Tudeo’s use of his name seemed to take Coil by surprise, before his face lit up with a delighted smile. “You are most welcome, Master Moonlit. I hope you have a splendid time today.”

After thanking Coil once again, Tudeo slowly made his way into the main ballroom.

◆◆◆

“Short though our time here today may be, please, enjoy yourselves to your heart’s content. We hope this opportunity to deepen the bonds of friendship between our two humble regions might, in some small way, help contribute to the future prosperity of this great kingdom.” Fey smiled warmly. “Well, without any further ado—”

“Cheers!” Jewel and Fey said in unison, clinking their glasses together lightly. It was precisely ten a.m., and the Dragoon-Reverence Reception had officially begun. Immediately, a swarm of well-wishers and self-servers rushed toward the front of the room, converging upon the various Royal Academy students who’d taken up position there. Fey and Jewel, of course, were the most popular target of the crowd’s affections, and within moments a long queue had formed, snaking its way around the ballroom.

The participants for today’s event weren’t limited to Royal Academy students and other nobles attending one of the slightly less prestigious schools in the capital. The future heirs of prominent manufacturers in every field, from glass to textiles to furniture to weaponry, were also in attendance, as well as the children of prominent artists, musicians, restaurateurs, or other such figures of cultural importance. The implicit guests of honor—the Royal Academy students—made up only a small percentage of the overall attendees. While numbers did naturally vary each year, there was, on average, around ten students hailing from each respective region for each of the three years of schooling, numbering around sixty participants in total between the two regions. As a result, the ratio of well-wishers to Academy students was extremely unbalanced.

Even Tudeo—much to his horror—immediately found himself on the receiving end of their attention. His first conversational partner had been a boy who’d introduced himself as the heir to a shoemaking company Tudeo had never heard of. The next had been a girl whose parents ran some sort of allegedly prominent opera troupe (which Tudeo also hadn’t heard of, lacking even basic knowledge about the form of entertainment). At regular intervals, Tudeo also found himself being approached by a series of older girls who all seemed to have chosen formfitting dresses that emphasized their chests. Each of them also seemed bound by some unspoken rule to introduce themselves while standing so close that they might as well have been pressed against him, something Tudeo tired of quickly.

“Excuse me, I just have to use the restroom...” Tudeo muttered, making his third escape to the safety of the bathrooms in one hour. After loitering near the sinks for a minute or two, he circumnavigated the entry to the main ballroom and made his way to the balcony instead, desperate for some fresh air. Leaning on the railing, he let his eyes wander across the city while the chatter of a nearby group reached his ears.

“Where’d you go? Find yourself a cash cow yet?”

“Nah—no one of any immediate use, anyway. No one gives a crap about an average company like ours.”

“This is so damn annoying. My old man told me not to bother coming home without setting up meetings with at least three Academy kids. How does he expect me to make any kinda impression with this many people here? Man, he’s gonna kill me tonight...”

Hearing this, Tudeo smiled bitterly, far from feeling offended. Just like himself, the boys were fighting their own personal battles in the cutthroat war of high society—

“Oh, but did you see that guy in the bright red suit?”

Someone snorted. “I know, I know! I nearly pissed myself when I saw him! Total bumpkin, that guy.”

“Yeah, but did you know he’s an Academy student too? Some kid from the Dragoon Region who managed to trip and fall into a spot in Class E this year.”

“You’re kidding me. Why the hell do we have to suck up to some lame loser who just got lucky?! I’m sick of this crap!”

“You said it.” His friend sighed. “At least the food’s good. Forget this. Let’s just go get something to eat, so today’s not a total waste of time.”

Tudeo reflexively shrank back behind a pillar as the group began to shuffle away, roaring with laughter. The dry breeze that whirled through Runerelia’s streets sharpened suddenly, stinging as it passed him by.

What was I thinking, coming to a place like this...?

The years and years of relentless effort, night after night of endless revision, day after day of loneliness and desperation while clinging to life in an unfamiliar city—it all felt utterly pointless now. An indescribable sense of emptiness gouged itself into Tudeo’s chest.

“I really wanted to go to the Motor Show...”

He stayed there for a while longer, gazing out over the city until the overwhelming sadness and regret abated enough for him to return to the main ballroom.

◆◆◆

A strange tension hung thick in the air as he reentered the spacious room. All eyes were fixed on the parade of Royal Academy students led by Fey and Jewel as it twisted its way from the front of the room toward a crowd near the smaller side entrance. Tudeo nimbly secured a place at the end of the snaking line as it passed, using his new vantage point to examine the crowd in question. It didn’t take long for him to notice the parade’s target—Allen Rovene.

Tudeo froze.

The Rovene Domain—where Allen had grown up—shared a border with his own. Their fathers had apparently been classmates at the same Noble College, and Tudeo had often been on the receiving end of one of his father’s rants about Bellwood’s allegedly poorer grades and miserable athletic skills, comparisons which only served to make his father seem excessively self-conscious. When it had come to light that both Tudeo and Allen would be sitting the Royal Academy entrance exams, his father had started lecturing him about “not losing to Rovene’s youngest brat” at least several times each day. However, Tudeo didn’t share his father’s hostility toward Allen. In fact, he didn’t have any particular feelings about the boy whatsoever.

That was, of course, until they’d both started at the Academy. Class 1-A at the Royal Academy that year was defined by an extraordinary cast of prodigies and geniuses, many of them already well-known enough for Tudeo to have heard of their names even before his arrival in Runerelia. Yet somehow, in the midst of such distinguished company, Allen Rovene was the name on everyone’s lips.

Tudeo knew comparing himself to Allen was a pointless endeavor. Their respective positions in Class A and E were as good as being from two different worlds, despite their near identical backgrounds. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off Allen—couldn’t stop himself from watching as the other boy blazed his own path, drawing in supporters along the way. Day by day, the inescapable, unfathomable being that was “Allen Rovene” took up more and more space within Tudeo’s mind. In truth, Tudeo was scared of Allen by this point. From a rational perspective, Tudeo knew it was unlikely his feelings of inferiority were unique to him; he’d wager many of the other students at the Academy felt the same way, though he lacked the nerve to discuss it (or anything else, for that matter) with them.

He snuck a glance at the boy in question, his gaze joining a mosaic of others. The looks Fey and Jewel were giving Allen were loaded with evident affection and desire, while those of their many onlookers dripped with blatant jealousy. Allen, for his part, seemed more annoyed than flattered—

And then it happened.

“Tuey, it’s been ages! How was your summer? Did you go back to see your family?”

In the blink of an eye, the hundreds of gazes previously fixed on Allen were now squarely focused on Tudeo himself.

◆◆◆

“Morning, Tuey! How’s the Magicar Club coming along?” Feyreun von Dragoon said with a grin as she swaggered through the open doors, Parley Avinier trailing behind her.

It was the first weekend morning after the reception, and Tudeo was single-handedly attempting to clean up the old storehouse Ms. Musica had designated as the Magicar Club’s garage when the unexpected visitors arrived.

“Oh, Lady Feyreun!” Tudeo stammered, surprised. “Er, yes. It’s good. Two other students have joined now.”

“Is that so?” Fey replied, slowly surveying the dust-covered warehouse. “How excellent. But why are you cleaning? Wouldn’t it be easier to get some of the custodians to do it for you?”

Tudeo shook his head, smiling awkwardly. “It’s fine, really. I wanted to do it myself. When I think about this place being a home for our own magicars just a few days from now, I just get so excited... I can’t help myself from wanting to make it as beautiful as I can. Just cleaning makes me so happy, I could cry.”

His life had changed that night. Allen’s voice still sounded clearly in his ears. Tudeo had to dive headfirst into doing the things he loved. The only goal was to have fun, and the reward would be the experience gained along the way. While he’d wiped, swept, polished and mopped every corner of the warehouse, it was those words that had played on repeat inside Tudeo’s head.

Fey looked at Tudeo—a mop in his hand and, true to his word, tears in his eyes—and burst into laughter. “Sorry, sorry,” she finally said, wiping away a tear of her own. “I shouldn’t laugh. Anyway, I came to give you something. There was a little bit of surplus money left over from the congratulatory gifts from last week’s reception—after expenses and whatnot—so Jewel and I decided to distribute it among the Academy guests as thanks for their participation. You’ll accept it, of course?”

With that, she held out a heavy-looking leather pouch. Tudeo accepted it out of reflex, looked inside, and nearly dropped the pouch in shock. It was nearly overflowing with gold thousand-riel coins, a single one of which would cover his room and board for a whole month. He hurriedly closed the pouch and held it back out to Fey.

“I could never accept this much, Lady Feyreun! Besides, the guests who gave you this money would never agree to it ending up in the pockets of someone like me.” He smiled bitterly. “Like I explained after the reception, I’m not actually particularly close to Allie or anything either...” he continued. During Fey and Jewel’s intensive questioning session after the reception, he’d honestly explained that he didn’t know why Allen had chosen him to be captain of the club, nor why he’d tried to make it seem as though they were old friends.

However, Fey simply responded with her usual grin, ignoring Tudeo’s attempts to return the pouch. “Well, after the party, I did think your appointment was maybe just another of Allen’s usual whims, so I did confirm it with him—whether there wasn’t anyone better suited to lead the club, and if it was really okay to have decided on you so spontaneously.”

Tudeo stiffened. He knew everyone else at the Academy—himself included—probably felt the same way.

“But Allen just scoffed at me, you know?” Fey continued, beaming. “He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes said it all. Just wait and see, they said. You’ll understand soon enough.” She grinned. “Allen doesn’t think there’s anyone more qualified than you are, Tuey. I could tell. I just came to have a look for myself, and you know what? You should have a little more confidence in yourself.”

Another moment from that night flashed across Tudeo’s mind, the words reverberating vividly inside his skull. “Having something you’re truly passionate about... Do you know how precious that is? Have more confidence in yourself, Tuey.”

Fey gently pushed Tudeo’s hands—and the hefty leather pouch clutched within—back against his chest. “By the way, when I tried to give Allen his share, he just handed the pouch back without even looking inside, and told me to put it toward the new tools I’m developing for his Geography Club. If you’re still feeling reluctant, why don’t you put your share toward getting the Magicar Club set up?” With a final smile, she turned to leave, Parley trailing close behind.

Snapping out of his shock, Tudeo hurriedly raced after them. “Thank you, Lady Feyreun! I’ll put it to good use!”

Fey paused, turning around. “Oh, that’s right, Tuey,” she said, as though she’d just remembered something. “It’s about time you dropped the Lady—we’re friends, after all!” And then, with a final grin and a loud giggle, she was gone.

◆◆◆

“Are you sure you made the right choice, Lady Fey?” Parley asked, frowning. In reality, the pouch she’d so readily given to Tudeo had contained her own share of the voluntary contributions—half of the total sum collected. In giving it away, she’d shouldered her full portion of the party expenses, which was, of course, no trivial amount.

“What do you think, Parley?” Fey replied cheerfully, grinning with rare, genuine delight.

Parley shrugged. “Well, I find it hard to believe it’ll go to waste—though I do think you should have at least explained where the money actually came from.”

Fey chuckled. “He wouldn’t have taken it if I had. Besides, you want to see it too, don’t you?” She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze narrowing on the lonely, run-down warehouse among the trees. “The Magicar Club Tuey’s gonna build with that money?”

Parley followed her gaze, remembering the solitary figure Tudeo had cut just moments before, wielding his mop with the care of an artist with a brush. He shrugged again. “I can’t say I’m not a little bit curious, I suppose... Just as a fellow Dragoon vassal, of course.”

Chapter Four: The Mad Hound Unchained

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

“Lennnnnn! I’ve been waiting for ya! I wanted to talk to you about something—you got a minute?”

After a day of long-overdue hunting, I’d just arrived at the southeastern branch of the Explorer’s Guild with a small band of Apple House members in tow when (much to my dismay) the chubby idiot from the Gold Rat co-op had called out to me. The round boy had spent weeks picking fights with me back when I’d first started working as an explorer, despite being thoroughly beaten each and every time, and now—for reasons beyond my understanding—seemed oddly fond of me.

What’s his name again? Benza? Yeah, sounds about right.

“Do I look like I have time to sit around giving you advice? And I already told you to stop acting like we’re friends, idiot. It just makes me wanna punch you more,” I replied, not even bothering to stop as we continued toward the processing counters.

However, Benza refused to back down, racing after me with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Nah, it’s not about me, bro! Something’s going on that might affect every co-op in the city, Apple House included! At least hear me out, would ya?”

I sighed. I sincerely doubted whatever Benza thought was “going on” was anywhere near as serious as he seemed to believe. However, if there was a chance it could cause trouble for Apple House, I knew I probably needed to at least hear what he had to say. On the other hand, if I did agree to listen to him, he’d probably take it as further proof of our nonexistent friendship. That possibility was something I keenly wanted to avoid, both out of self-preservation and out of respect for my fellow Apple House member Roy, who’d been on the receiving end of Benza’s excessive violence a few months prior.

I’d just decided ignoring Benza was the correct response when Roy chimed in, much to my surprise. “Come on, Lenn. Benza’s grown up a lot these past few months. He’s been looking out for our kids whenever they get into trouble, and he’s stepped in to help them a few times too. Let’s wipe the slate clean and hear him out at least, okay?”

Wait, really? When did the uncivilized fatty over here become a civilized fatty?

I shrugged. “Well, if you’re fine with it, I guess I can hear what he has to say,” I muttered, to which Benza replied with a most uncivilized “Heck yeah!”

Yeah, people don’t change that easily, do they...?

Leaving the wagons with Po and the other kids, Roy, Benza, and I headed into the branch.

◆◆◆

Once we’d secured a table in the small dining hall, Benza turned to me. “Bro— I mean, big bro... Have you heard of the Lotz family?”

So much for not being a serious problem.

My previously good mood took a swift nosedive, which I attempted to alleviate by smacking Benza on the back of his head. “Who the hell are you calling ‘big bro,’ you knucklehead?! You’re the one who’s nearly eighteen!”

“Yeah, but when it comes to strength and courage, you’re years ahead of me—that’s why you’re the big bro! Age doesn’t come into it! In my heart, you are my older brother!” Benza declared loudly, his voice trembling with an odd (and entirely unnecessary) solemnity.

In your heart? Who are you, some kinda overdramatic anime character?

“Don’t just unilaterally decide we’re family, you presumptuous bastard! Call me that again and I’m leaving, okay?! Now hurry up and spit it out! I’ve got better things to do than sit here and gossip with you!”

Benza still looked like he had something to say in regards to my unsolicited adoption, but I shot him a sharp glare, and he reluctantly moved on to explaining the matter at hand.

◆◆◆

Benza, as it turned out, was remarkably unskilled in the art of explanation, but after a number of follow-up questions and some supplemental information, his story went something like the following.

There was a secret underside to Runerelian society—something I had heard about, albeit barely—made up of various organizations which ruled over different areas of the city. The area around the southeastern branch was the territory of one such group, known as the Red Dragon Syndicate. The underworld organizations typically didn’t interfere with the legitimate business activities that took place within one another’s turf, but did step in to settle disputes of a somewhat shadier nature, as well as quarrels between the co-ops under their care. In return, those smaller affiliated groups would show their gratitude in the form of a “monthly financial gift”—protection money, essentially.

Thanks to Strengthening Magic, people in this world were generally quite a lot stronger than those in my past life, and had proportionally quicker tempers. Fighting was more common too, since salves and magic made injuries much easier to recover from. The formal peacekeeping organizations (i.e., the police force and the Royal Knights) didn’t stand much chance of keeping on top of every disagreement that arose in the city, and as a result, the presence of said underworld organizations was tacitly tolerated.

When I’d visited Solcoast, a drunk Mimosa had complained about her struggles as “the face” of the town, a role which now seemed remarkably similar to that of the underworld leaders here. In a city where a large percentage of the people you passed on the street could already tear a monster apart with their bare hands, they were the ones who ruled in the backstreets, the shadows—the ones who kept the outlaw side of society from spilling out into the light. It was a world where being too greedy or too high-handed would get you killed in your sleep—a world where sheer power would get you nowhere without the skill to back it up.

But returning to Benza’s explanation...

Basically, as the capital of Yugria, Runerelia was too vast and complex to be ruled over by one organization, so different groups had lain claim to each part of the city. The Red Dragon Syndicate, which ruled over the eastern part of Runerelia, was one such group.

However, the balance of Runerelia’s underworld was falling into disarray.

Runerelia’s underworld had existed for nearly as long as the city itself, and had matured appropriately; it had been decades since the last major conflict or dispute between organizations. That all seemed to be changing now. About ten years ago, a new group known as the Lotz family had emerged onto the scene, poaching affiliated co-ops from the ruling organizations to build their power.

They’d shown little inclination toward following the unwritten—yet implicitly established—rules of the underworld when it came to their subordinate groups. When it came to exploring, for instance, the other organizations maintained a sort of gentlemen’s agreement to take turns picking up the low-paying yet essential requests that kept the city running, such as cleaning the streets or helping on construction sites. There was also an unspoken understanding between the various organizations to forbid their explorers from excessive harvesting and hunting, thereby preventing resource depletion. The explorers under the protection of the Lotz family didn’t abide by such agreements, however—a fact which had become only more obvious as their influence had grown.

For example, it seemed they were the ones responsible for the countless monster carcasses left abandoned in the various hunting grounds around the city’s outskirts of late. The Lotz explorers would harvest only the valuable parts, like the horns or claws, and leave the bulkier, less profitable meat to rot. Those carcasses had begun attracting more dangerous species of monsters to the hunting grounds nearest to the city. Grasslands that had previously provided a safe place for weaker Runerelians—civilians and explorers alike—to forage for plants were now perilous, and the situation was only getting worse by the day.

The average Japanese person might have asked, “Why not just regulate such behavior by law?” However, laws meant little without systematic authority to enforce them. Even if laws were passed forbidding the wasteful behavior, the offending explorers would simply ignore them without repercussion. Ultimately, it would amount to nothing. It hadn’t been much different back in my previous life. Throughout history, there had been all kinds of international treaties readily signed by nations with opposing interests—treaties that were in reality full of loopholes, and devoid of meaningful repercussions for breaking them. The Explorer’s Guild had tried to impose penalties on said behavior in their own way by limiting the number and frequency of requests available to the Lotz-affiliated explorers, to little effect. Apparently, the Lotz family had a large network of clients and buyers beyond those who utilized the Guild’s request system, rendering the punishment largely ineffective.

The larger organizations who ruled Runerelia’s underworld had issued warnings to the Lotz family time and time again, especially in recent years. However, those warnings had had about as much effect as the Guild’s attempts to penalize them. While the higher-ups from Lotz had publicly agreed to start keeping their subordinates in line each time, it had been nothing but lip service. At the same time, the reproachful leaders of those organizations had started coming under attack, their assailants unknown, but definitely not unskilled.

And with every passing day, Runerelia’s underworld descended further into chaos.

◆◆◆

“Our boss has started saying he’s gonna defect from the Red Dragon Syndicate to join the Lotz family too...” Benza continued glumly. “He says the Red Dragons aren’t doing their bit to protect us anymore, so there’s no reason for us to keep being loyal to them. ‘Once the money and the food stops rolling in, it’ll be the young kids here who end up missing out first’—something like that, anyway. But I’m not sure. You always say it’s about ‘the principle of the thing,’ Lenn, and I feel like joining the Lotz family ain’t right. But I’m not all that smart though, y’know? So I wanted to know what you thought, Lenn.”

In truth, I already knew the Lotz family wouldn’t be able to keep up their current behavior for much longer. It was just too reckless. Even the Lotz-affiliated idiots I’d had the misfortune of meeting—the Bumbling Beard Bros, and the petty underling named Red—could surely see the fast-approaching fist of justice...

Okay, maybe not the Bumbling Beard Bros.

The Third Legion had already turned their attention to the Lotz family, suspecting their growing boldness was being fueled by hostile foreign powers. Whether they were currently trying to sniff out the identities of said instigators or whether they were simply letting things play out for a little longer first, one thing was certain: If the Lotz family didn’t ditch the troublemakers and clean up their act soon, they’d find themselves at the mercy of the Royal Knights. Captain Dew had told me to keep my nose out of anything Lotz-related, an instruction I had no qualms about following. As long as they kept away from me, I was more than happy to keep my nose squeaky clean.

That being said, I obviously couldn’t explain any of that to Benza right now.

“It doesn’t matter what I think you should do, in the end. You just need to follow your instincts,” I replied with a shrug. “I can’t say I’m a fan of what those Lotz guys—or whatever their name was—are doing, and to be honest, I don’t think they’ll keep getting away with it for much longer. But with things as they are, it’s not like it’s gonna be easy for anyone else to force them to change their ways either. The question is whether or not you’re willing to take the risk. Either you go over to their side, where you can make enough money to survive easily, or you stick it out on your own. You’re not gonna be able to change anything without getting a lot stronger than you are now. Living life according to your principles, living freely... It isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

Benza gaped at me in shock. “You’re saying I should just give up?! You’re the one who’s always going on about doing things the right way! But what, now that the other guys are big and strong, you think I should just take it lying down?! You’ve knocked some sense into a whole buncha kids from the southeastern branch since you showed up, Lenn. If we rounded up all of them, we could make things a little better—at least around these parts. You’re the only one who can lead us, big bro!”

So that’s what he really wants me to do.

Benza wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was trying to improve the current situation for not just himself, but for the kids around him too. I had to give him credit for that. Unfortunately, when it came to doing something like this, relying on someone else to take the lead wasn’t enough—not when it was something you truly believed in. Besides, his potential opponent had been powerful enough to bring the Red Dragon Syndicate to their knees, so there was no way a bunch of kids would be able to restore any meaningful order. If anything, his little gang would be swiftly overtaken and exploited, and things would just get worse.

“Look, Benza. Our co-ops are mostly full of kids, right? And most of the time, they’re working inside the city walls. They’re still gonna be safe for a while yet. I ain’t some knight in shining armor, and I’ve got my own crap to deal with right now.” I shrugged. “So yeah—I think you should take it lying down. If you’re not happy with that answer, get stronger and fight back yourself.”

I raised my voice just slightly as I continued speaking. “Of course, if the Lotz family starts getting in my way, or tries to lay a finger on Apple House...then I’m not gonna take that lying down.”

Benza looked somewhat enraged, but I was starting to get sick of his inexplicable fondness for me anyway, so his reaction suited me just fine. Nudging a bewildered Roy to his feet, I turned to leave—which was precisely when the trio who’d been eavesdropping on us from a distant table made the poor decision to stand up and block the exit. Among them was Goatee, one of the two Bumbling Beard Bros I’d escorted to the village of Ment. They hadn’t said one word since we’d walked in, probably wary of my Scouting Magic. Unfortunately for them, the unnatural absence of speaking had only made them more noticeable.

“We’ve been looking for you, Mad Hound,” Goatee said with a sneer, loud enough for the whole dining hall to hear. “I thought you’d come by in no time at all, but you’ve kept me waiting here for two weeks, you know? Hope you don’t mind, but I was listenin’ in on your little chat. Still playing at being a grown-up, eh?” He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “You remember Red? He still wants to see ya. Come with us, Hound.” He placed his hand on my shoulder as he said it, as though we were old friends.

In an instant, the room was filled with hurried whispers and anxious murmurs. Benza was looking at me like I’d just committed a heinous betrayal, not that I really cared.

I sighed.

Not that I really care, but...

Goatee’s overly familiar behavior—and specifically, the way his hand was still resting on my shoulder—was really, really pissing me off.

◆◆◆

“Don’t come near me,” I said, brushing Goatee’s hand away and taking another step toward the exit. As I moved, the two other men did too. Both were tall and muscular, and looked at least somewhat capable (though obviously not enough to worry me in the slightest). They stood shoulder to shoulder, closing off the already minuscule gap in the walkway to the exit as they cracked their knuckles menacingly. Well, I assumed they meant it to be menacing; in reality, it was anything but.

If these guys are explorers, they’ve gotta be C-Rank at highest... Probably lower, though.

In the Explorer’s Guild, it was pretty widely accepted that the wall between C-Rank and B-Rank was near insurmountable. Anyone could claw their way up to C-Rank with enough time and effort, but B-Rank and above was only attainable by those with genuine, extraordinary talent—the kind of talent that couldn’t be acquired through effort alone.

“Aw, you seriously think we’re gonna let you just walk out the door? We’ve been stuck here for two whole weeks waiting for you, brat,” said the first meathead.

“We went looking for ya at Apple House, but that old fart Rynde said he didn’t even know where you lived and told us to rack off... Stubborn old bastard,” the second meathead spat. “He got any idea who the hell he’s messin’ with?!”

For a split second, Cher’s face flashed across my mind, and I heard his gruff voice telling me to “just give ’em the old one-two and get it over with.” Brushing the thought aside, I instead summoned up the last vestiges of my innate patience. While the generally accepted violence in this world continued to have a negative influence on me, there was still a large part of me that wanted to adhere to the philosophy I’d held in my past life—that it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Seems like there’s something wrong with your ears, so I’ll say it one more time. I don’t wanna deal with you—any of you. And as long as you stay outta my way, I’ll stay outta yours. Don’t come near me or Apple House again,” I said, glaring at the two meatheads in my path, who recoiled slightly.

They caught on quick.

Goatee, on the other hand, clearly suffered from a shortage of brain cells. He’d wandered over to Roy, throwing an arm around the boy’s shoulder as he smirked at me. “You’re strong, Mad Hound. I’ll give ya that. But you need to learn that us grown-ups have our own ways of fighting. Are you gonna be able to protect everyone all the time? A busy B-Rank like you?” He cackled. “Little Roy here seems a little nervous. And let’s see... What about those two brats out at the processing counter? Po and Reena, was it? This city’s a lot smaller than you’d think, kid!”

I let out a long sigh. On the one hand, even if things did escalate into the kind of “grown-up fight” Goatee was hinting at, there was no way I’d lose. I was a member of the Third Legion of the Royal Knights of Yugria (albeit a provisional and chronically overworked one), and I had more than a few tricks up my own sleeve. But that wasn’t the issue here. No, the issue was that Goatee had crossed a line—one I thought should never be crossed.

What did Captain Dew say again? “When you’re playing around at being an explorer, just act the same as you always do and don’t get mixed up with them,” right? And “if anything happens, you let me know.”

I contemplated Dew’s instructions, my head surprisingly clear, the cold anger kept temporarily at bay.

“Look, all you gotta do is come with us. Nothing bad’s gonna happen. Red’s taken a likin’ to ya, for some reason,” Goatee continued, grinning as though he’d just delivered some good news.

I could have simply given into their threats and followed them like a docile lamb, ensuring everyone’s safety as well as my own. But I knew if I did, they’d just break out the same threats the next time I said no. I’d already promised myself this lifetime would be different. I was going to life freely, and without regrets. I’d never be able to keep that promise if I let myself be tied down by bastards like these.

In life, the first step was always the most important.

As per Dew’s instructions, I acted exactly how “Explorer Lenn” would in a situation like this—by crossing the gap between Goatee and I in a few short steps and driving my knee directly into his abdomen.

“Gu—”

Goatee only managed to choke out a single syllable of the pained groan before he sank to his knees and started vomiting.

◆◆◆

When the man with the scruffy little beard first called out to Lenn like they were old friends, I didn’t know what to think.

Why would Lenn know any of those crooked Lotz bastards?! It doesn’t make any sense!

I remembered the day I’d met him vividly.

Two Gold Rats had come running back from a job on a construction site with tears in their eyes. According to them, they’d told off some new kid from Apple House for slacking on the job, only for the kid to threaten them with a hammer until they fled.

In the world of exploring, there was nothing that hurt more than being looked down on.

The other Gold Rats and I had swallowed their story hook, line, and sinker, and went to Apple House in search of their leader—some geezer named Rynde—to settle the matter the old-fashioned way. It was there that I experienced my first beating at Lenn’s hands. He’d treated me to a taste of the punch I’d landed on Roy’s stomach, and the kick I’d given him when he was already down. Before I knew it, I’d blacked out. I’d been beaten by a little kid.

Back then, I’d been living in my own little world—one where no one could defeat me when it came to bare-handed fighting, and where the reason for my lowly E-Rank was because I got into too many fights, not because I wasn’t strong enough. That was my world, and I was the king of it. Heck, I’d even beaten a C-Rank explorer in a fight by that point, some jerk fresh from the countryside who didn’t understand how things worked in the capital.

Our boss had looked into things after our humiliating defeat at Apple House, and quickly discovered our Rats were to blame for the whole thing. We apologized, and the matter was settled—but on the inside, I was still a mess. Spurred on by my pathetic, wounded pride, I went to get my revenge. Day after day, I sought Lenn out; day after day, he knocked me flat.

“Don’t come near me,” Lenn said, looking bored as he pushed the man’s hand away.

Oh, right...

It was the same look he’d given me every time I’d challenged him to a fight. It was the same emotionless words, said in the same flat tone. The feeling of being disregarded had pissed me off even more. I’d kept trying, wasting my already meager savings on salves to heal myself each night for another attempt the next day.

Just look at me at least. Just let me get one punch in—

That particular day, I’d been even more determined than usual. It hadn’t mattered. He’d beaten me as easily as he always did. I’d been so frustrated, I’d cried, hand clamped over my mouth to muffle the sound.

Lenn had picked me up off the ground like I weighed nothing at all, not letting go until I’d found my footing. A second later, he’d plucked the salve from the pouch on my belt and started slathering it over the grazes. I had no idea what was going on. Lenn had noticed my shock, grinned, and sent me back to the ground with another good punch. “Take tomorrow off,” he’d said—and lying there, sprawled out across the dirt, I’d found myself smiling. All of my frustration had vanished in the blink of an eye.

He could have easily avoided me if he’d wanted to. Instead, he’d put up with me, letting me thoroughly embarrass myself day after day without ever getting angry or making fun of me. He was different—so much so that it felt like he was living in an entirely different world.

I’d asked him to lead us in our fight against the Lotz family, and he’d immediately shot me down. I couldn’t blame him. We’d been nothing but nuisances to him—there was no way he’d jump to help us the second we started begging. But I’d asked anyway, because Lenn wasn’t just strong.

He might do it. He’s the only one who would.

I’d asked anyway, because I’d hoped. He was just the kind of person who gave people hope.

Two meatheads stood in his way now, though they didn’t look any stronger than me at best. They wouldn’t stand a chance, even if it was two against one—and sure enough, they shrank back after a single threat from Lenn.

But the third Lotz guy—the one with the scruffy goatee—played dirty.

“You’re strong, Mad Hound. I’ll give ya that. But you need to learn that us grown-ups have our own ways of fighting. Are you gonna be able to protect everyone all the time? A busy B-Rank like you? Little Roy here seems a little nervous. And let’s see... What about those two brats out at the processing counter? Po and Reena, was it? This city’s a lot smaller than you’d think, kid!”

Lenn sighed. It was a long, long sigh. He turned slowly, his gaze drifting toward Goatee—and I felt my breath catch in my throat the second I saw his expression. His face was pale, not with fear, but with anger. A cold, sharp anger. For a moment, he was as still and as silent as death, like his heart had stopped beating entirely. He just stood there, staring at Goatee.

Goatee was clearly an idiot, because he seemed to think Lenn’s sudden silence meant he’d given up. “Look, all you gotta do is come with us. Nothing bad’s gonna happen,” he said, grinning like he’d won.

That was the first time I understood what it meant—

Lenn closed the gap between himself and Goatee in a few short steps, and without hesitating for even a second, he drove his knee-deep into the other man’s abdomen. Goatee crashed to the floor, writhing around in the contents of his own stomach. Lenn’s eyes were completely devoid of mercy as he looked down at him.

That was the first time I understood what it meant for the Mad Hound to be unchained.

◆◆◆

“You little bastard! Don’t think you’re gonna get away with messing with the Lotz family!” Meat (as I’d impulsively decided to call the first of the two meatheads) shouted, as both he and Head charged at me from behind. I sent Meat flying with an upward kick to the jaw, flinging him at least three meters across the room and into a table. As soon as my foot touched the floor again, I pivoted on it, swinging around to deliver a roundhouse kick squarely into Head’s ribs. Judging by the crunching sounds, they probably had a good few fractures between the pair of them. Within just seconds, both Meat and Head had fainted.

I walked back over to Goatee, sneering down at the bedraggled man. “Did you seriously think I’d be scared by such a pathetic threat? Still, I feel kinda bad for you, so I’ll throw you a bone. Let’s go. I’d like to say hi to Red.”

Unfortunately, Goatee’s reaction to my generous offer wasn’t as grateful as I’d hoped for. I’d done my best to go easy on him, but he was either weaker than I’d thought, or otherwise just pretending—either way, his only response was a weak groan.

If I’m gonna do this Lotz thing, I may as well do it right—that’s what I’d thought when I’d made the decision to introduce Goatee to my knee, but apparently, my enthusiasm had backfired somewhat. I’d resigned myself to a meeting with Red, but now I had no idea where the hell I was meant to go.

Just as I was beginning to question the soundness of my plan, my savior came in the form of a pudgy boy bearing an incredibly wide, truly unappealing grin, and a small bottle of healing elixir.

“Here ya go, big bro!”

“Who the hell are you calling big bro?!” I shouted, slapping him on the back of the head once again, snatching the elixir out of his hands at the same time.

The Bust

I forced the elixir down Goatee’s throat and promptly demanded he lead the way to wherever Red was.

He nodded weakly, still trembling. “Lotz’s headquarters...in the western slums...take you now.”

Taking the initiative for once in his life, broad, boorish Benza had just run off toward the branch’s store to buy another round of medicine but it seemed like it wasn’t going to be necessary.

“Roy, I’ve got a little errand to run, so I’ll see you later. Make sure Po and Reena get back safe for me, yeah?” I said nonchalantly before turning to leave.

Roy’s hand clamped around my wrist. “C’mon, Lenn. You’re biting off more than you can chew. Let me get Pops at least, okay? It’ll be better odds with two of you.”

I shook my head. “Find him, but don’t tell him to come. Let him know what’s going on and tell him I said he needs to stay and keep an eye on Apple House for at least a couple of days. And... Tell him I said I’m quitting the co-op, and that I’m grateful for everything he’s done for me until now,” I said firmly, lowering my head.

Roy’s face reddened in anger. “The hell?! As if I’m gonna let you quit, you bastard! Us Apples are the ones they’re threatening! Why are you trying to take it all on yourself, huh?!”

I was angry too—more so than he was, probably. At the same time, though, my decision to stand up to the Lotz family wasn’t some heat of the moment whim. My head was remarkably clear, and I didn’t regret my decision for a second. I had no idea how far the Lotzes were willing to go, or what kind of dirty tricks they’d try to pull. This way, the Apple House would take on the role of innocent victim, rather than involved party. It was the only way to keep them out of trouble—but it would only work if I was no longer one of them. And so, I didn’t regret my decision.

I don’t regret it, but...

Leaving the Apples, who’d taken a clueless bumpkin like me in with open arms, and had freely shared everything they had with me... The thought was an undeniably lonely one. If it wasn’t for them teaching me the ins and outs of life in the slums, I never would have been able to maintain my “Explorer Lenn” disguise until now. They’d shown me around Runerelia’s best triple-threat eateries (cheap, fast, and filling) and also the less-utilized but still indispensable spots where the food was crap but the portions were huge. On delivery jobs, they’d pointed out the city’s hidden shortcuts through the back alleys and over the rooftops, and taught me how to sneak into the tower that looked out over the whole of Runerelia—“Just in case you ever need a good place to sit and think,” they’d said.

My time with the Apple House co-op had shown me a thousand ways to savor the hidden pleasures of this world; knowledge unattainable from within the Royal Academy’s walls, not even with a hundred years of study. The incongruously kind Roy and Amur, the cheeky and adorable Po and Reena, and all of the other kids—they were all my teachers. Then there was Pops. He’d taught me the ABCs of exploring, but more importantly, he’d taught me what it meant to be an ordinary person in this kingdom, and what common sense was to the common man. It was thanks to Pops (and his knuckles) that I’d been able to maintain a level head in this unbalanced world.

If I kept my own nose out of things, the Lotz family would inevitably be sniffed out by the Royal Order before long. However, I had no way of knowing just how long that would take—and left unchecked, there was a decent chance they’d cause real harm (say, by kidnapping some of the Apple kids, or other, more heinous crimes) before their time came. More importantly, I’d made a promise to myself to crush anyone who got between me and what I wanted—no matter who it was. If I didn’t stand by that promise now, it would only result in more Lotz-inspired morons crawling out of the woodwork.

“It’s me they’re after, Roy,” I said, keeping my tone deliberately light in a futile attempt to ease the heaviness weighing on my heart. “I can’t let Apple House get caught up in this for my sake. But lose the long face, okay? It’s not like I’m saying we’re never gonna see each other again. I’ll drop by for a visit as soon as this whole thing blows over—tell the kids I said that too, yeah?” I finished with a smile, right as the surprisingly swift Benza returned with the superfluous elixir and a solemn expression.

“Don’t worry, young Roy,” he declared with unnatural grandeur. “I’ll protect Lenn with my life. You just focus on getting the kids to safety.”

How about you focus on getting the hell out of my way?!

◆◆◆

Goatee and I climbed into the medium-sized carriage waiting nearby and began the journey from the southeastern branch toward western Runerelia. Benza had tried to insist upon coming along (rather obstinately so, in fact) but I’d firmly turned him down. If the Order’s suspicions were correct, that the Lotz family had been infiltrated by foreign spies, it meant I stood little chance of getting what I wanted via peaceful negotiations. That being the case, I’d have to rely on slightly more violent methods to help them realize the mistake they’d made in messing with me. One way or another, I wasn’t going to get out of this without a fight, and obviously I wasn’t stupid enough to take along my own handicap. If things went south, I’d easily be able to escape on my own, but dragging Benza along with me? Impossible.

Of course, I could always pretend I hadn’t noticed his presence and leave him behind, but I was pretty sure doing so would ruin my sleep for a night or two. Rather than subjecting myself to short-term nightmares, it was easier to simply not bring him along in the first place.

But Benza had been persistent. In the end, he’d forcibly lugged himself into the carriage and refused to budge an inch—and I, fed up with his pigheadedness, had waited until we’d started moving and he’d let down his guard before sending him flying out with a good kick and a “It’s too cramped in here, fatso!”

It had been harsh, even for me. Benza must have hit his head or something, though, because instead of getting angry, he just sat in the dirt crying while screaming crap like “You’re too damn kindhearted, big bro!” and other cryptic nonsense. I’d grumpily shouted back, “Buy some good medicine this time, not the cheap shit you always use!” and tossed a thousand-riel coin in his general direction, making us square for the elixir I’d used on Goatee earlier.

It took around one and a half hours to reach the Lotz family headquarters by carriage. At first glance, the four-story building looked like any other construction business, though the pretense was somewhat ruined by the two lookouts stationed at the door and the four or five thuggish types loitering around on the street outside. I scanned the vicinity with feigned nonchalance, plotting out a theoretical route of escape if things took an unfavorable turn.

And then, with my preparations complete, I set my internal dial to “outlaw mode.”

“He’s a guest of Red’s,” Goatee said to the lookouts. I was promptly ushered inside, where we headed directly up to the fourth floor. A short corridor led from the staircase to a large door, guarded by yet another lookout who sleepily began spouting something about leaving my weapons with him for safekeeping. Goatee, probably eager to finally get away from me, sidestepped the lookout and opened the door—which is when I struck.

The door crashed open as Goatee went flying into it, his journey forcibly accelerated on account of my foot on his back. After knocking the lookout to the floor with a single right hook, I followed Goatee into the room.

◆◆◆

I quickly assessed the situation as I made my way inside. Thirteen pairs of eyes belonging to thirteen generically ugly thugs focused on me simultaneously. Two of them—who I assumed were the boss’s bodyguards—seemed marginally capable compared to the others. Sitting opposite Red on the lounges to my right was a somewhat mild-mannered seeming man who I also decided to keep an eye on. Aside from those three, though, it didn’t seem like anyone else would pose a threat.

On the opposite side of the room, a tanned man with hollow cheeks and dark circles under his eyes sat at an impressively large desk. It was the kind of tan that never faded, the permanent mark of decades working under a hot sun. His bloodshot, restless eyes hinted at a fragile state of mind.

I’m guessing this guy is Chable Lotz.

Behind Chable, floor-to-ceiling glass windows dominated most of the wall, most likely treated with a Scouting-resistant glaze.

Finally, Red, who was still relaxing casually on the lounges to my right, opened his mouth to speak. “Your manners are even worse than usual today, Mad Hound,” he drawled, his foxlike eyes narrowing even more as he peered at me. “Or did that idiot do something to upset you?”

Ignoring the sharp glares of our audience, I strode up to Red and drew my dagger, slamming it hilt-deep into the table in front of him. “Red...” I said, crouching down and staring him straight in the eye, so close I could feel his every breath. “Are you my enemy?”

Red sighed heavily, casting an annoyed glance toward Goatee where he lay sprawled on the floor. “Dear me... What’s he gone and done now? You just can’t find decent errand boys these days.”

◆◆◆

He sighed again. “Clearly our scruffy friend here screwed things up, but no, I’m not trying to make an enemy of you, Mad Hound. I have high hopes for you, actually. I made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t to cause any trouble, but...” He shook his head. “I’ll get straight to the point. I asked him to bring you here because I want to invite you to join the Lotz family. I’ll make it an enticing offer, of course. Specifically, you’ll be my right-hand man, and once you’ve shown you’ve got what it takes, you’ll fill my shoes after I become boss. You get where I’m going with this, right? Eventually, you’ll become the head of the Lotz family—the kings of Runerelia’s underworld. What do you say?”

The room immediately descended into chaos.

“Red’s right-hand man?!”

“So what, he’ll be third in line to the boss’s spot?! We’re gonna be reporting to some snotty kid?!”

“C’mon, Red! The other syndicates will piss themselves laughing at us!”

Is everyone in this family an idiot?

I immediately turned him down. “No thanks. Not interested. The only thing I want is for you to not come near me ever again,” I said, glaring at him.

Our staring competition was cut short by the amused laughter of Red’s companion. “Dear me... It’s just like you said, Red. He’s rather impressive for someone of his tender years. To come all the way here with no backup and behave so recklessly? Even I can’t quite believe my eyes.” He grinned at me. “A pleasure to meet you. You can call me Tormore. Now, don’t be so hasty, Mad Hound. Life gets rather boring when you force yourself to be so composed all the time, don’t you think? We’re offering you a chance to rule the underworld of the biggest city in Yugria, you realize? Just think about it! So much money, you’d never be able to spend it all! Your pick of any woman in the kingdom! The city’s most delicious food and finest alcohol on your table with just a few words!”

“No thanks. Not interested. The only thing I want is for you to not come near me ever again,” I repeated.

My pick of any woman in the kingdom? As if I’d be lured in by such a ridiculous offer...

Unfortunately, my expression had clearly betrayed what my thoughts had worked so hard to hide, because Tormore doubled down. “If you’d like, I could even arrange for two or three beauties to be waiting for you upon your departure here today?”

Really?!

No, no! Cut it out, you idiot! You’re making it sound like I said I was interested! Unlike you, a former Japanese person like me doesn’t vibe with treating people like objects, gross jerk! Besides, there’s no way I could bring outsiders into the Royal Academy dorms anyway! Not that I was considering it in the first place!

“You’ve really made a name for yourself in Runerelia, Lenn. We could easily find a few fans of yours among the Lotz girls, hmm? Of course, since they’d be doing it out of the goodness of their hearts, I’m sure they’d take extra good care of you. If you’re concerned about keeping up appearances, we could easily arrange for a private residence for you so your, shall we say, activities would go unnoticed.”

Really?!

Ugh... Nope, not even an atom of interest. Not at all. Not at all!

This guy is definitely a spy though, isn’t he? I need to be careful...

“N-No thanks. Not interested. The only thing I want is for you to not come near me ever again,” I said firmly, turning him down for the third time.

It was at that point Chable started shouting. “Oy, you idiots! I said you could mess around tryin’ to win the kid over, but who the hell said you had to kiss his ass while doin’ it?! And now you’re talkin’ about makin’ him the damn successor?! What, you think this family’s sunk that low?! Bleat! Get your ass over to the western branch and drag back every tough bastard you find there—now!”

Bleat—the man I knew as Goatee—stood up and ran from the room.

◆◆◆

“Now listen here, brat. The western branch is full of our explorers, yeah? He’ll be back here with forty or fifty of ’em on his tail before long. Do you see what I’m gettin’ at?”

“I’ve got no idea. What are you getting at?” I replied, curious.

Chable glowered at me. “It means you ain’t leaving here until you’ve agreed to our offer.”

What a waste of time. Clearly this guy’s just a decoration. I mean, who confidently comes out with such a cliché line?

Ignoring Chable, I turned back to Red and Tormore. “Well? Are you gonna leave me alone?”

“Don’t turn your back on me!” Chable thundered. “I’m the boss here! Do you know what’s gonna happen to that little co-op of yours if you piss me off?!”

Sighing, I looked back at Chable. “What are you talking about? Apple House? I quit just a little while ago.”

Chable sneered wickedly, clearly pleased to have gotten a reaction. “Well, well, aren’t you an upright little fellow. Didn’t want them dragged into this, eh? Unfortunately for you, the real world don’t work like that. When us adults find a weak point, that’s where we drive the knife in—hard. Unless you want to be the reason your friends get killed—”

“Killed? Did you just say...killed?”

He was threatening mere children—kids who’d welcomed me with open arms and had treated me like family. In an instant, my thoughts turned cold and razor-sharp.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. You see what you’re dealing with now? If you don’t drop the attitude, I’ll make sure they suffer first, and no one will ever find their broken bod—”

I yanked my dagger from the tabletop and rushed at Chable.

“Hold it, you son of a bitch!” one of his bodyguards shouted, jumping into my path. When he realized I wasn’t planning to stop, he jabbed at me with his spear, to little effect—the room was too narrow and crowded for the efficient use of such a weapon.

This guy isn’t anything to worry about.

Sidestepping the thrust, I darted around the man, jumped over the desk, and grabbed Chable by his collar, before wrenching him upward and slamming him face-first into the window behind.

“GAAAH!”

Drops of blood and shards of glass showered to the floor. Judging by the way it had broken, the window had been made of tempered glass, but it hadn’t been anywhere near as sturdy as the glass used in the garrison’s windows—which made sense, considering how expensive and rare said glass was. If Chable’s window had been fitted with the same glass, smashing his head into it a hundred times still wouldn’t have left a mark. Well, on the glass, at least.

Four stories, huh...

I regularly leaped from three-story heights during physical training classes at the Academy, so an extra floor or two wasn’t going to cause a problem. My escape route had been secured. Breaking the window had also removed the hindrance the Scouting-resistant glaze had caused, and since I’d already used my dagger to destroy the anti-Scouting device installed on the underside of the table, from a tactical perspective I was in a much better position than I had been upon entering the room.

Ignoring the cries of outrage behind me, I took another step forward, dangling Chable over the newly exposed four-story plunge.

“Boss!”

“You’re not getting outta here alive if you even think about letting go of him, brat!”

Excluding myself, twelve people remained (fully) within the room. Out of them, four weren’t showing any genuine concern for Chable’s possible plummet, probably not realizing I was now Scouting them. Red was shaking his head in a bemused fashion, while Tormore was struggling to keep his laughter at bay.

So there’s at least four spies, if not more.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s rushing to help you, hey? Guess you’re not as popular as you thought. Unless... Wait, are they worried I might accidentally drop you if they try anything? Don’t tell me you can’t handle a tiny drop like this!” I said mockingly, reasonably sure he wouldn’t die from the four-story fall even if he was astoundingly weak.

“Don’t get cocky just because you got your ass kissed, you little shit! If you know what’s good for ya, do what I say and put me down!” Chable spluttered, glancing down in terror. “Get him, you idiots! He doesn’t have the balls to drop me anyway!”

Seriously? I think you and I have very different interpretations of “ass-kissing”... Still, I’m impressed that someone can be so sure of themself while being dangled out of a building by the scruff of their neck.

I yanked Chable back inside the room, before immediately slamming him into the adjacent window. A second shower of blood and glass rained down upon the floor, and my Scouting Magic became even more unimpeded.

“Guuuargh!”

“I reckon you’re the one who doesn’t know what’s good for ya, Chable. What, you think I’m gonna let you go all nice like?” I smirked. “Sorry, but I ain’t that kinda guy. I’m throwing you down there with everything I got—a nice diagonal angle should do the trick. Do you really think the four goons waiting to catch you down there will get to you in time?”

“J-Just try it, bastard! You’ll be dead before you reach the door! You hear me?! If you wanna get out of here alive—”

Once again, I retracted Chable inside and slammed him through the next window.

“Guu—”

“Don’t make me laugh. You’re saying you’ll let me just walk outta here if I help you now? You think I’m stupid? Why would I help a guy who’ll just order his lackeys to kill me anyway? It just doesn’t make sense.” I shrugged. “Basically, you’re gonna die, Chable. No way around that. As for what happens after... Well, that’s for the living to worry about, hey? See ya.” I seized Chable with both hands and activated my Strengthening Magic, preparing to slam him toward the cobblestones far below with all my might.

◆◆◆

Chable, finally seeming to realize the position he was in, immediately changed tack. “Wait! W-W-Wait! Let’s talk about this! We’ll leave you alone, okay?! Your friends too! I’ll give you money, as much as you want! Please! I’m begging you, please don’t let go!”

This guy’s just wasting perfectly good oxygen.

“I can’t trust a word you say,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. I lifted him even higher and prepared to let go, which was when the man pissed himself. Grimacing, I hauled him back inside and slammed him to the ground, planting my foot firmly on his back when he started attempting to crawl away like a slightly wet cockroach. “I just remembered something, actually. What was it you said about my friends? You’d ‘make sure they suffer first, and no one will ever find their broken bodies,’ and so on... Did I get that right?” I looked down at him coldly. “Doesn’t seem fair to let you die so quickly and easily all of a sudden.”

I pressed down with my foot, crushing him against the floorboards as I sorted through my tangled state of mind, trying to figure out the answer to a question that had been haunting me for some time: Could I kill someone if it came down to it?

Ultimately, I decided I probably could, especially when it came to people like this—people with no regard for the lives of others, people who’d kill me without a second thought. Of course, I didn’t want to kill anyone, and I knew doing so would likely take a mental toll. At the same time, I was pretty confident that if it came down to a life-or-death situation, I’d be able to take another’s life if it meant saving my own. The only reason I hadn’t simply let Chable fall was because I’d judged that killing him wouldn’t benefit me in the slightest. If anything, it would only make things harder for myself, just like he’d said.

Normally, finding a happy resolution for both sides would be impossible given that one side (aka Chable) had taken things so far, but it was obvious he had no power here. He was just a decoration, a scapegoat. I could leave him squirming on the floor and strike a deal with Red and Tormore and still walk out of here having achieved my goal of mutual noninterference. Really, that was probably the ideal outcome, considering the Royal Order seemed content to leave the Lotzes to their own devices at present.

However, if we couldn’t settle things peacefully, then I’d have a problem. And in that case—

“What the hell are you standin’ around for?! Kill the brat already!” Chable shrieked, tears, snot and drool flying from his chin. Between the broken windows and his high-pitched yells, we’d apparently attracted some attention, as men we’d passed on the streets and floors below began to stream into the room. Unfortunately for Chable, the clumsy swings and an obvious lack of familiarity with their weapons weren’t nearly enough to make me break a sweat. Like an expert factory worker manning a lackey conveyor belt, I dispatched them with methodical efficiency, alternately sending them flying toward either side of the room with tremendous force.

Eventually, the flood of flunkies began to ebb, which the two apparent bodyguards from earlier took as their opportunity to flank me. The one on my right brandished a spear, the one on my right a wickedly sharp sword, and both wore equally unpleasant smiles.

“Hee hee! Nice job, Mad Hound. How long can you keep up that easygoing attitude of yours though, eh? Close-quarters fighting like this, even a kid like you is gonna wear themself out eventually—and I reckon your mana’s at its limit already. I mean, multiple opponents, multiple blind spots, gotta keep your Magic Guard up because one hit could mean you’re done for...” He grinned widely, revealing yellowed teeth. “Bleat’s gonna be back from the western branch any time now with the others, and you’ve got nowhere to run. This is what happens when you bite off more than you can chew, Mad Hound!” the swordsman—and suspected spy—exclaimed triumphantly.

You think I’m outta mana already? Who do you think I am—Parley? That wasn’t even a warm-up... My mana battery’s still at full capacity, idiot.

I tested the waters by taking a few casual steps toward the swordsman. He responded by darting farther to the right, while the other bodyguard circled around and closed in from behind.

They’re trying to stretch this out... Guess they do have at least a few brain cells between them. Too bad it’s not gonna do them any good.

I took another step forward, and sensed the spear-wielder following me once again. As soon as he moved, I spun around and rushed toward him, closing the distance between us in the blink of an eye.

Spies or not, at the end of the day they’re nothing more than hired goons.

Of course, Chable probably hadn’t realized any of his men were spies when he’d hired them. Either way, they weren’t following him out of any loyalty. They were motivated by money, and in explorer terms, guys like this weren’t gonna pose any more threat than a C-Rank at most. If they were actually capable fighters, they’d make more money working for the guild than they would serving as boring bodyguards for a generic mob boss. I was a little disappointed, to be honest. I’d been hoping for more of a challenge, but this? This was a textbook example of the dangers of throwing money around as a means for rapid organizational expansion.

I brought my dagger down somewhere around the middle of the spear’s shaft, sending the vastly more dangerous edge clattering to the floor, before slamming my foot into his face with a roundhouse kick. As the spear-wielder dropped like a sack of bricks, the other bodyguard thudded toward me. His movements were slow enough to make me yawn, but I held off on reacting until he was near enough to swing at me with his sword. I dodged his head-height swing easily and responded with a backhand blow aimed at his cheek. Right before it connected, though, he suddenly increased the output of his Strengthening Magic, ducking down just in time to avoid my fist and thrusting up at me from his crouched position.

“Tch!” I jumped backward, putting a safe distance between us.

He was holding out on me.

The swordsman was definitely no ordinary goon—and he might even pose something of a threat.

“C’mon, kid! What, you getting a bit tired? Too bad—it ain’t nap time yet!” the swordsman yelled, bombarding me with unremarkable, simplistic lunges and jabs. I parried with my dagger, weaving and twisting just enough to dodge his strikes and keep a safe distance between us. Within less than two minutes, the swordsman was breathing heavily.

What, too busy playing the part of a bargain-bin gangster to keep up with your basic training?

“Something...ain’t right with you...brat!” the man wheezed between gasping breaths. “Do me a favor and...die already! You don’t have the guts...to kill me...bastard!”

If it’s that much effort to talk, you could just keep quiet, you know...

To killers like them, my own aversion to taking a life might as well have been written on my forehead.

Holding back is making them too confident... I might have to rethink this in the future.

His movements were even slower now, and as he lunged at me with another uninspired jab, I made my move. I leaped backward, swapping my dagger for my bow mid-jump and firing a single wooden arrow straight at his heart.

“Argh!”

I’d assumed the swordsman wouldn’t have been able to avoid the shot, but he’d apparently been conserving just enough energy to twist to the side. Unfortunately, this meant the arrow I’d aimed at his metal breastplate instead pierced him through his right arm. I closed the gap between us in a few short steps, offering the man an appropriately cold-blooded smile.

“Thanks for volunteering,” I said, my voice cool and utterly emotionless. “You’re right. It’s about time I learned what killing someone really feels like.” I drew my dagger once more as I spoke, and the swordsman scrambled backward, his previous arrogance no more. The second he took his eyes off me, I drove my fist into his nose and sent him sliding across the floorboards, immediately unconscious.

Compared to the missions Dew sometimes sent me on with the Order, subjugating the Lotz lackeys had been child’s play. Though, that’s probably because he gets off on assigning me missions where one wrong step means death, but still.

Someone chuckled. “Too bad, Hound. You shouldn’t underestimate your betters.” One of the goons I’d dealt with earlier had stood up, having recovered from his forceful introduction to a wall. He sneered at me nastily as he strolled over, seemingly unworried. “Tell me, how are you liking the taste of high-strength monster sedatives, hmm?”

“Monster sedatives? Oh, do you mean this?” I replied curiously, before stabbing the blowgun dart he’d shot at me a few minutes earlier deep into the side of his neck.

Thanks to the supreme power of wind magic, I’d been aware that the generic mob character (and the last of the four presumed spies) had only been pretending to be knocked out the entire time, his attempts at furtive glances anything but discreet. Despite being entirely conspicuous, he’d taken a while to make his move, and pretending I hadn’t noticed his obvious ogling had been harder than the actual fighting. He’d waited until the swordsman had me on the defensive to take his shot, but it had been easy enough to change the dart’s trajectory with a quick blast of wind magic, leaving it stuck harmlessly in the leather of my vest. Seconds later, the luckless lackey collapsed in a drooling, gasping heap.

Finally, I turned back toward Red and Tormore. The two men—calm and composed just moments ago—stared back at me in horror, rivers of sweat running down identically ashen faces.

◆◆◆

The Explorer’s Guild, Runerelian Western Branch...

“Oy, you lot! The Lotz family headquarters is under attack! If you’re with us, get your asses over there! The brat’s a little skilled, but it’s just one kid you’ve gotta take down—the more of you come, the quicker we’ll deal with ’em. Pull your weight, and you’ll get paid. You lot know how generous the Lotz are, yeah?! Get moving! First come, first served!” Bleaton—otherwise known as Goatee—shouted, attracting the collective attention of the western branch’s dining hall.

For a moment, the room fell silent—then erupted into chaos, as the money-hungry lower-ranked explorers who made up most of the crowd bolted, trampling one another in their haste to get to the door. In less than a minute, the previously bustling dining hall—and the entire western branch—was virtually deserted. Only the higher-ranking explorers who operated independently of any co-ops (and therefore owed no allegiance to the Lotzes) remained.

One such explorer, a man in his mid-thirties lounging with his feet up on a dining hall table, called out to Bleaton from the corner. “Hey. Name’s Belt, leader of a little party called Burning Soul. We’re not bound to the Lotz family or anything, but it looks like we’ve got some time on our hands all of a sudden—I reckon we wouldn’t mind helping ya out, if the payment’s decent. Who’s this brat in need of a spanking?”

Bleaton smirked. “Burning Soul’s members are all C-Rank, right? Ain’t got no problem with you joinin’ in on the fun. You’re lookin’ at twenty thousand riels if you help us teach ’em a lesson. Like I said, he’s just a kid—some little upstart from the southeastern branch who’s gotten a little too big for his boots. They call ’em the Mad Hound, but he ain’t nothin’ more than a snotty punk. Easy money for guys like you.”

The few remaining occupants of the dining hall fell silent at his words. Belt immediately removed his feet from the table and assumed a more well-mannered posture, staring pointedly at the floor.

“What, you’re not interested?” Bleaton continued, annoyed. “You’ll probably rake in even more if you play your cards right, y’know? Besides, the brat’s probably on his last legs by now! A bunch of explorers who are as good as B-Rank versus a single kid—you’re really gonna sit here twiddlin’ your thumbs instead?”

Belt, his expression stiff, waved Bleaton off as though shooing away an annoying fly. “Stop wasting our time. There’s no way we’d go up against the Mad Hound for that kinda chump change. We picked a fight with him in a tavern once—didn’t last a second. And just to twist the knife, he dragged us into the middle of a brawl with that asshole Cher! Broke all my damn equipment, and it took two weeks before I healed enough to work again! And then there’s that bastard Rynde to worry about...” Belt shuddered. “I wouldn’t help you out for all the money in the king’s coffers. Now go away, would ya? I don’t want anyone to think I’m associated with you.”

Irritated, Bleaton cast his gaze across the rest of the dining hall. To his dismay, all eyes were now looking anywhere but in his direction.

◆◆◆

“It is a little cramped in here, hey?” the brat muttered, his face ghostly pale. Cold eyes locked on mine as he approached me, his fingers twisting through my hair as he wrenched my head upward, wringing out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a groan from my throat. “Lucky for you, it sounds like your reinforcements have arrived, Chable. I’ll go down to greet them, okay? You just wait right here. I don’t think I’ll be gone for very long. And don’t worry—I’m not planning to run away or anything, so you can just relax. I’ll be back soon,” the Mad Hound said, his mouth curving into an unpleasant, thin smile. He clapped me on the shoulder before turning to leave, strolling out the door and down the stairs with leisurely, unhurried steps.

The sound of fighting soon echoed up from the lower floors, followed by the screams. It took less than ten minutes for silence to fall once more.

◆◆◆

When I returned to the fourth floor after my little venture into pest control, I found that Chable had somehow managed to crawl underneath his desk, where he was now shaking like a leaf. It didn’t surprise me. In the end, he was just a pawn, a decoration placed on the highest shelf by other’s hands. Expecting some grand show of courage now would be nothing but a waste of my time.

Ignoring Chable completely, I made my way toward Red and Tormore. “Don’t come near me ever again, got it?”

Neither one of the profusely sweating men replied.

I kicked out at the table between us, driving it into their shins. “I didn’t hear your answer,” I pressed, tilting my head to one side.

Tormore was the first to find his tongue. “I’m impressed...” he murmured. “No, I’m astounded. I would have enjoyed working with you, if only that idiot Chable hadn’t ruined everything...”

I kicked the table again, flipping it over with a loud crash. “I don’t remember asking about your feelings. Maybe you’d rather settle this with our fists? Or...” I leaned forward, peering at him closely while he averted his gaze. “Maybe you’re not so keen on fighting in a nice, well-ventilated room like this one, hm?”

After destroying the anti-Scouting device, the first thing I’d detected was the odd airtightness of the room—a perfect environment for the use of sleeping gas or similarly underhanded tricks. For caution’s sake, I’d made sure to smash a few windows (with Chable’s unwilling assistance).

My guess had hit the bull’s-eye, judging from the ever-increasing rivers of sweat pouring from Tormore’s forehead. His right hand, which had been reaching toward his pocket, stiffened. I glared at the now speechless man.

Red sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Looks like it’s our loss. How about we finish up with the violence for now, hey?” He looked around him. “Still... We’ve probably attracted a little too much attention to sweep everything under the rug. Can we come to an agreement? I know it’s selfish of me to ask you for any kind of favor, but we’ve got our own reputation to uphold, and the Guild and the Order will both want to know what happened here. Of course,” he said, making a sweeping gesture with his hands, “we won’t be bothering you or Apple House ever again. I’m suggesting we present the unfortunate events of today as a transgression on the Lotz family’s part, and after much negotiation, you’ve forgiven them for causing such trouble. In return, the Lotzes won’t set foot anywhere near Apple House or the southeastern branch ever again. I know we don’t have the right to ask for such leniency, but I’d be incredibly thankful if you’d consider the offer.”

It was probably the best outcome I could hope for, all things considered. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about their reputation of course, but choosing to continue engaging with them now had every chance of leading to trouble in the future, and would only increase the risk of danger befalling the Apple House kids. I didn’t know what the Royal Order’s plans were when it came to these guys either, but crushing them outright here and now would probably throw a few spanners into the works.

“Fine,” I agreed, only for Red—apparently already forgetting the reality of his situation—to test the waters with an additional request.

“Could you give us a way to get in touch with you? If there’s anything we need to adjust about our little arrangement—making sure our stories align, and so on—it would be inconvenient if we couldn’t reach you for weeks on end again. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely necessary to avoid any trouble for you and Apple House, of course.”

What a pain in the ass...

While Red was clearly attempting to lay the groundwork for his next nefarious plot—whatever it would be—he did have a point.

I’d have to figure out an untraceable contact method, though—

At that moment, my Scouting-heightened senses pricked up in unison as they detected the movements of a single person—one who was currently racing up the stairs at a near unthinkable speed.

Crap. Whoever this guy is, he’s nothing to sniff at... I might have a hard time beating him.

A cold bead of sweat trickled down my back. I rushed toward the broken windows to secure an escape route and nocked an arrow to my bowstring before spinning around and aiming it squarely at the open doorway. I was just in time. A fraction of a second later, a figure lunged into the room—

◆◆◆

“Which one of you half-wits thinks you can threaten Apple House, eh? The name’s Rynde Izrapole, and I’m here to have a little chat,” Pops bellowed, his beloved spear nearly catching on the doorframe as he stomped into the room.

I lowered my bow, sighing in relief. “Hey, Pops. We’ve actually just wrapped things up here. Shouldn’t you be back at Apple House looking after the kids?”

Pop’s brow unfurrowed somewhat as he noticed me, closing the distance between us with broad, heavy steps. “Saki’s lookin’ after them. She came by as soon as she caught wind of your little show at the southeastern branch. Ain’t many idiots with the balls to mess around with her.” He frowned again, a vein throbbing in his forehead, before suddenly bringing his fist down on the top of my head with all his might. A dull ringing echoed inside my skull.

“The hell were you thinking?! Damn fool! Did you already forget what I told you?! If anything happens, you come and tell me first! Looking after you kids is my job, you got it?! So next time you think about underestimating the Apple’s Rynde, think again! I don’t care how strong you are—a kid like you doesn’t get to shoulder every burden on your own!”

Ow.

It had hurt. It had really, really hurt—enough to bring me to tears. But beyond the pain there was something else, a strange, swirling kaleidoscope of emotions now threatening to spill out along with my tears.

I might have thirty-six odd years of emotional maturity from my past life tucked away in here, but I guess at the end of the day, there’s a part of me that’s still just a twelve-year-old kid...

I jumped as Pop’s hand brushed the top of my head once again. This time, though, his calloused fingers didn’t form a fist, but roughly tousled my hair. “C’mon, kid. Lose the long face. Next time, ask us adults for help, and you won’t end up crying about it, y’know? Seriously, what a mess...” Pops trailed off, surveying the room—still scattered with blood and groaning Lotz lackeys—with what seemed to be utter astonishment.

I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry, Pops,” I apologized meekly, bowing my head.

Chable, who’d until just moments prior had still been a quivering, blubbering mess on the floor, seemingly felt this was an opportunity to approach Pops. “D-Do you know what your little brat here has done?! How are you planning to compensate us for—”

Without any hesitation whatsoever, Pops drove his fist directly into Chable’s abdomen, sending the man hurtling toward the far wall, spittle foaming around his lips as he collapsed once again.

“I didn’t come all the way here to deal with underlings,” Pops spat. “You bastards think you can threaten to hurt my kids? Think you can force him—” he jabbed a thumb in my direction, “to come along with you and not answer for it? Compensation?! I’m not paying you jack! I’ll tear you all to pieces! Hell, I came all the way down here to settle this personally, and your boss won’t even come out to greet me?! You all got shit for brains or something?!” he roared, his deep voice booming off the walls like an old church bell as he scanned the room.

As impressive as his show of strength was, I regrettably had no choice but to burst his bubble. “Actually, Pops, the ‘underling’ you just laid out was Chable Lotz—the boss...”

“Huh? Seriously? You got any elixir on you?”

“I forgot to bring any...”

◆◆◆

The Lotz family headquarters, shortly after Allen’s departure...

It wasn’t until after the Mad Hound turned a corner and vanished from sight that Tormore, from his vantage point through the now glassless window frames, let out a sigh of relief before turning his attention on the man beside him.

“What were you thinking, Red? Staying away from the boy and his co-op is one thing, but why relinquish our grasp on the area around the southeastern branch, especially when he didn’t even mention it?”

Red shuddered, his vulpine eyes narrowing as he reflected on the encounter. “The Mad Hound is... He’s not quite normal... I miscalculated. It seems like we’re not going to be capable of domesticating him. At the same time, he’s still wet behind the ears when it comes to some things. He went all docile the second Rynde got here, and despite the mess he made, he didn’t kill one person today, not even when his opponents were helpless. You’d think he was a naive little kid, right? But the bloodlust in his eyes... It told a different story. He’s a strange one, all right.”

“I thought the same. There’s something about the kid that just doesn’t add up,” Tormore replied, frowning. “I can tell you’re still up to something Red, but I don’t want anything to do with the Mad Hound ever again. We’re not going to win him over, no matter what tricks you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“I understand your hesitation, but doing nothing isn’t an option. Zest isn’t going to overlook something like this.” Red licked his lips, a hungry gleam in his eyes. “The Mad Hound doesn’t care about our little part of society in the slightest—that much is obvious. We might not be able to win him over, but he won’t interfere with our plans either. If we use his naivety to our advantage and make sure he feels like we’re keeping our side of the bargain, it won’t be hard to strike up a little ‘business relationship’ with him before long, hm? You’ve heard the rumors. It seems as though Gin from the Red Dragon Syndicate is back in the city. Right now, that man unmistakably poses the greatest risk to our plans.” He smirked. “Soon enough, everyone in Runerelia’s underworld will know the Mad Hound is the only person the Lotz family will negotiate with. With a rumor like that flying around, we won’t need to go near the southeastern branch to control it. Explorers will be flocking to the Mad Hound whether he realizes it or not, and before long, the Red Dragon Syndicate will fall apart.”

The cogs in Tormore’s mind began to turn, and he let out a delighted giggle. “Now I understand. The Mad Hound’s reputation will soar, but he won’t realize we had anything to do with it. The attention will overwhelm him sooner or later—far too great a burden for a mere boy to handle alone. We just need to ensure he doesn’t see the Red Dragon Syndicate as a viable source to help with his little popularity problem. Rynde’s always been a lone wolf, and I can’t imagine the Mad Hound would show any interest in Gin either... We can’t be too careful, though. We’ll destroy Gin’s reputation, and make it known he and the Mad Hound are on poor terms. Our little birds will have some work to do.”

Red nodded. “There’s little risk of retaliation, given that ostensibly the Lotz family will have no connection to the Mad Hound. Publicly, we’ll have done nothing more than tip our hats to him. Then we simply keep putting the pressure on him until he has no choice but to ask for our help, which we’ll gladly provide, of course—for a fee. And once he owes us, he’ll learn soon enough it’s the kind of debt that never gets repaid.”

Unpleasant laughter echoed around the room.

◆◆◆

“‘Mwa ha ha ha ha,’ basically,” I said, wrapping up my report. “Well, they kept laughing for a little while afterward, but that was the gist of it. Complete idiots, both of them.”

It was the following day, and as ordered, I’d gone to Dew to report the details of my encounter with the Lotz family. I’d just finished recounting the conversation that had taken place immediately after I’d turned the corner.

I seriously don’t think they didn’t realize I’d destroyed the anti-Scouting device... I mean, they couldn’t have been that oblivious, right? They probably just assumed I was too far away to hear them... Idiots.

Dew—who had until this point been listening intently with a deep frown—grabbed my ear and yanked me toward him the second I’d finished.

“Ow! Captain, you’re gonna tear my ear off!”

“Are these just for decoration, you little shit?!” he shouted, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “I told you to stay out of this!”

“No you didn’t!” I replied, defiant. “You said, ‘When you’re playing around at being an explorer, just act the same as you always do and don’t get mixed up with them,’ and ‘if anything happens, you let me know’—remember? I did exactly what Explorer Lenn would do by exchanging a casual greeting with them, telling them to stay away, and I came to tell you everything as soon as I could! I followed your orders to the letter!”

Ideally I wouldn’t have had to interact with them at all, but I’d had little choice. I’d only done the bare minimum, however—just enough to keep the Lotzes out of my hair in the future.

“Aaahhh... You gotta stop doing this, Allen. One day I’m gonna choke on my laughter because of you,” Patch said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Seriously... Dew, the Third Legion, and the Royal Intelligence Bureau combined couldn’t find anything on the Lotzes, and you just go and sneak in all alone, hospitalize half their men on a whim, and accidentally pick up some crucial information along the way? And your takeaway from the whole thing is that they’re ‘complete idiots?’ How in the world do you end up having such a good time wherever you go, Allen? You got any tips for living a life like yours?”

I didn’t do it for the fun of it or anything...

“This isn’t a joke, Patch!” Dew bellowed, despite the fact that Patch had dissolved into another fit of teary laughter. “Get out of here! Go through all the files we have and figure out who this Zest guy is!”

“Dear me...” Justin interjected, seemingly serious. “I underestimated you, Captain. There’s a reason you’re the pride of the kingdom! Captain Dew Orwell the Untouchable! I can’t believe this was all part of your plan! That’s why you gave Allen those orders, right? Risking the reputation of the entire Third Legion was a bold move, but you knew Allen could figure out the true nature of those complete idiots! Pfft—” he snorted, unable to keep up the facade of admiration any longer.

“You can cut the crap and get outta here too, Justin! We’ve gotta sniff out who’s been backing the Lotz bastards before they turn tail and run! We haven’t been able to find any connections between them and Rosamour—or Justeria, for that matter. One of them must be behind this, though, and we don’t know how many other nations they might have on their side already. Whoever it is, they’ve been operating in Yugria for over a decade! Do you know how dangerous this could be for us?!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Justin replied nonchalantly. “Since Allen went to all the trouble of sparing them all, we’ve got plenty of leads to follow up while they’re all focused on him. So let’s see, we’ve got Red, Tormore, the swordsman, and the guy with the blowgun, right? We’ll have eyes on all four. We probably don’t have to worry about the two bearded ones anymore, but I’ll make sure the Intelligence Bureau gets a description of them, just in case.”

In a heartbeat, Patch’s and Justin’s casual grins disappeared, replaced by the cool, precise focus of professionals. After they’d left the room, Dew turned back to me, still glaring. “Just thank your lucky stars you did come to report to me straightaway, or you wouldn’t be getting off so easily.” He frowned. “So I get why they’re spreading the story about how you single-handedly crushed them, but what are you gonna do now? All eyes are gonna be on the Mad Hound after this. You’re gonna have spies trying to follow your every footstep. Plus, if you keep meeting with the Lotzes, your true identity is gonna come out sooner or later—and if they find out you’re actually an Order member, you can be sure they’ll try to take out everyone who knows the truth of this little situation. How did you tell them to get in contact with you, anyway?”

“I told them to talk to Benza from the Gold Rats...” I mumbled, embarrassed. He’d touched on the one thing I hadn’t wanted to bring up. “Everything was starting to seem like it was gonna be a big pain, so I dumped it all on him...”

◆◆◆

“Huh? Seriously? You got any elixir on you?”

“I forgot to bring any...”

Pops froze, clearly trying to figure out a way to undo what he’d just done (that is, mistaking Chable for a random underling and knocking him senseless) while I looked on awkwardly. The next moment, my ears twitched as my Scouting Magic picked up an array of unexpected voices.

“Big broooooo! Your trusty friend Benza is here with backup! Ten men willing to lay down their lives for Lenn, a man among men!”

“Yeah! Don’t keep all the fun to yourself, Mad Hound!”

“You’re not gonna give up now, are ya, Lenn?!”

Peering out the broken window, I could now see Benza—clad in a strange white coat that seemed to offer no protection in the slightest—thundering down the street, a thick club clutched in one hand. Behind him, an assortment of somewhat familiar faces followed. The majority of them were explorers who’d picked a fight with me on one occasion or another, and whom I’d subsequently beaten black and blue.

“Er...” I started, entirely bewildered. “Looks like the doctor’s just arrived, Pops.”

◆◆◆

Eventually, Benza and his band of mediocre men managed to make their way through the maze of unconscious lackeys I’d left for them to arrive at the fourth floor. They were, understandably, somewhat shocked.

“I can’t believe it...” Benza mumbled. “Just you and one senior citizen managed to do all of this...?”

I smacked Benza on the back of the head.

“Don’t call Pops a senior citizen! Who do you think you are, huh?! You can call him Mr. Rynde, you hear me?! Mr. Rynde!”

Pops shrugged and grunted. “I’m no spring chicken, and I don’t really give a damn what he calls me.” He turned to Benza. “Lenn did all of this by himself, though. The party was already over by the time I got here.”

Benza recoiled in shock at Pops’s words, before proceeding to close his eyes and tilt his head upward, trembling with deep (and entirely unnecessary) emotion.

He’s just taking the piss at this point.

The thought of Pops mistaking Benza and I as friends mortified me greatly.

I snatched the elixir from Benza and poured it down Chable’s throat. He nearly immediately came to, but unfortunately, it seemed like we’d broken the man. He could only tremble, apparently incapable of even simple speech.

“I don’t think the boss is up for any further discussion today,” Red drawled. “I can speak for the Lotzes in his place—though really, I think we were just about done. Right, Mad Hound? There was just the little matter of us being able to get in touch with you...”

I was starting to get really ticked off.

I’m not gonna get Pops or any of the Apple House kids involved in this again.

“This is Benza, from the Gold Rats,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “He might be a real pig, but he’s got guts, at least. If something happens, you can let him know.”

I’d purposefully phrased it to imply that Benza would then pass the message on. Of course, I had zero intention of actually giving Benza any way to contact me.

“Benza from the Rats, right? Got it,” Red replied, smirking. “We’ll stay out of the city’s east from now on, so I’ll be counting on you from time to time.”

“Sure thing,” Benza replied, his face a mask of fierce determination.

◆◆◆

Dew’s face twisted in confusion. “Benza from the Gold Rats, you said...? Who the hell is that?! Is he gonna be able to keep a bunch of no-good explorers in line?! You trust him, right?!”

I laughed. “Don’t ask me! I barely know the guy. I doubt it though—I mean, it would be hard for anyone, after all. I just dumped the job on him because everything was shaping up to be a real hassle, you know? Oh, you don’t have to worry, though. I told Benza afterward I’d be unreachable for a little while due to certain circumstances, so nothing’s gonna come of it—and if anything goes wrong, I told him to ‘follow his heart,’” I said and laughed, having plagiarized the advice from the title of a self-help book I’d once owned. “Man, he was so fired up! ‘I, the unworthy Benza, will follow the teachings of Lenn, a man among men, for the rest of my life!’” I quoted, chuckling with false, desperate bravado.

Dew remained silent for a moment. Just a moment.

“WHAT’S SO FUNNY, YOU LITTLE SHI—”

◆◆◆

The Mad Hound had stormed the headquarters of the Lotz family—at the time, the unchallenged rulers of Runerelia’s underworld—and single-handedly defeated over one hundred of their men in the process, before skillfully negotiating their all but unconditional terms of surrender. The incident sent shock waves through Runerelia’s underworld, elevating the Mad Hound to a position of top prominence among the shadowy recesses of society.

Some considered his reluctance to kill as an indication of the Hound’s leniency, while others interpreted it as a conscious decision for the sake of the subsequent negotiation. Others still assumed it was because the Hound was, realistically, merely a child. In later years, this inconsistency would become a central piece of evidence for those who argued that Allen Rovene and the Mad Hound were, in fact, two entirely different people. Allen Rovene used any and all means necessary to achieve his goals, even taking lives if the situation demanded it, while the Mad Hound was abnormally averse to killing. Perhaps there was some profound philosophy behind said discrepancy, or maybe it was a mere whim on Allen Rovene’s part. Or perhaps there was some truth to their argument, and the two truly were different people.

On another note, that day also marked the first notable appearance of the notorious troublemaker who’d go on to appear in many retellings of the Mad Hound’s achievements. The boy—abandoned at an orphanage in his earliest years of life, and left without even a surname—was still simply known as “Benza” in those days.

His journey on the path of true manliness had only just begun.

Side Story: The Captain’s Council

The Briar Baronry...

“Rosita Laureato, reporting as commanded. I’ve finished the first draft of the darkwolf mission report. Would you mind taking a look, Captain Suzunami?”

It was the day after Allen and company had departed for the capital following the extermination mission, and Rosita had just arrived at the temporary office Suzunami had availed herself of within Baron Briar’s private estate. In one hand she held a thick stack of papers that neatly summarized the details, progress, and results of the aforementioned darkwolf extermination mission.

“As fast as ever. Thanks, Rosie,” Suzunami replied, taking the report with a smile. A few minutes passed while she flipped through the pages before nodding. “It’s well written. Your assessment of the initial personnel distribution and the mid-mission command decisions are a bit too harsh though, don’t you think? There’s no need for you to be overly critical just because you developed the strategy yourself, Rosie. The point of a report like this is to allow anyone to clearly understand what happened out here, okay? If you’re going to insist on adding your own analysis of the events—which isn’t a bad thing, I should add—you at least need to separate your observations from the facts. You understand?” Suzunami handed the report back to Rosita, smiling softly as she noticed the other woman biting her lip anxiously. “Having a strong sense of responsibility isn’t anything to be ashamed of, Rosita. Especially when people have been injured. But reflecting on your shortcomings and writing a report are two different things.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. I’ll fix it right away,” Rosita replied, saluting the captain. She turned to leave, but Suzunami continued speaking.

“Saying that, however... I do think there’s something to be said for a well-written analysis, especially given the rather abnormal course of events during the mission. I’m going to have you compile your reflection as a separate thesis of sorts. Dante and his squad are transporting Black Thunder’s remains to a laboratory in the capital for us, so I imagine we’ll have the results before too long.” She smiled. “I’ll be heading to Runerelia myself for the captain’s council toward the end of summer, once everything settles down after the Foundation Festival. I think it would be beneficial to present your thesis there along with the standard report. Can you have it done by then?”

Rosita’s deep frown eased slightly. “Of course, Captain. I’ll get started immediately,” she replied, saluting once more.

Suzunami’s mouth curved into a wry smile as she watched the younger woman go. Rosita Laureato was, in many respects, a force to be reckoned with. She’d graduated from the Royal Academy at the top of her class, and was capable enough for Suzunami to have handpicked her to be her adjutant at the tender age of just twenty.

Normally, Rosita wouldn’t have submitted a report like the one Suzunami had received just now; the impact of the recent mission—and her marginal failures therein—had clearly affected her young adjutant. One’s first command resulting in injured parties would humble anyone, but Suzunami suspected that wasn’t the only reason.

No, Suzunami believed that meeting Allen Rovene had affected Rosita even more significantly than those few blunders had.

Since graduating from the Royal Academy, Rosita had dedicated herself to walking the path of a Royal Knight. She’d set her gaze firmly on the future, focusing only on improving. Her career achievements so far reflected that unyielding determination. Therefore, it was easy for Suzunami to imagine that Rosita had never once experienced the shock of being overshadowed by someone junior to herself. In terms of overall competence, Rosita was still probably superior to Allen. While the boy’s talent for Scouting Magic had shocked even Suzunami herself, she knew Rosita too well to believe the woman had lost her composure after merely witnessing some skillful magic, even if it was cast by a boy nearly half her age.

Sage Godolphen and Dew had always talked about the boy as though he was a real handful, but Suzunami’s first impression of Allen Rovene had been quite the opposite. By all appearances, he’d seemed to be a calm, intelligent boy. But—

That raw potential.

Suzunami was sure of it: Rough around the edges though he was, if not for Allen Rovene their latest mission would have ended in failure with a grievous number of casualties. In spite of this, the boy in question hadn’t shown the slightest sign of arrogance. His attempt to show off to Rosita had been aimed at attracting the woman, not taunting her, and he’d turned bright red after Suzunami had pointed it out.

Allen possessed not only unthinkable mana and instincts, but an unreserved control over the pure, raw freedom that set humans apart from other creatures. Rosita, just like Suzunami, must have sensed the limitless potential for growth the boy held as a result of said cocktail of characteristics. If the younger woman could face herself honestly, she’d find the answer she needed to move past this unexpected setback. If anything, Suzunami believed Rosita had what it took to turn her encounter with the boy into fuel for her own extensive development.

Suzunami flung open the wide bay windows and leaned against the ledge, smiling as she surveyed the grounds below. A cool breeze swept over the tablelands, ruffling the edges of the report Rosita carefully carried as she walked toward the Sixth Legion’s main tent. Her head was held high.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Suzunami murmured to herself. “Dew... I kinda get how you feel now—why you’d spare even a second of your scarce time to train him...” Her eyes narrowed as the refreshing breeze picked up, still firmly watching her adjutant’s determined figure as it continued to retreat.

◆◆◆

Runerelia...

“Long time no see, Dew. Thanks for sending your men to help with the mission in the Briar Baronry. How’s Manon healing up?” Suzunami called out to Dew, having spotted him after turning a corner of the hallway. The two were in the Order’s command post in the Royal Palace, en route to the council room.

“Suzunami?” Dew said, looking over his shoulder. “Been a while since you’ve been back. You don’t need to thank me for following standard procedure—and you don’t need to worry about Manon either. Injuries are just part of the job, and he’s back in the field now anyway,” he replied grumpily.

Suzunami’s previously stiff expression loosened at his response, and she closed the short distance between them, draping an arm around his shoulder from behind. “Nah, I do need to thank you this time. If it wasn’t for your guys—especially that little protégé of yours—the Endymion forces would’ve suffered a lot of casualties. There’s a good chance the whole mission would’ve failed, and you can imagine what that would’ve meant for the civilians out there.” She smirked. “Seems like you’re quite fond of Allen, hmm?”

Dew glared at her. “He’s not my protégé or anything, the little bastard. He’s just a brat who can’t keep his nose outta every bit of trouble he comes across.”

“Oh?” Suzunami replied, bemused. “He really didn’t strike me as the troublemaking type... Does he seriously cause you that much stress? You’d be hard-pressed to find more than one or two kids his age with his level of combat experience... Of course, Dante did mention you’ve made a habit of off-loading all your own missions on him.”

Dew scowled. “He’s meant to be my apprentice, but the brat doesn’t listen to a damn word I say. I wanted to give him a mission he’d fail at so he’d learn to do what I tell him for once. I kept setting him harder and harder challenges, but...” He huffed. “The kid’s careless when it comes to life in general, but he’s stupidly cautious when push comes to shove. He barely ever struggles out in the field, and he actually freakin’ enjoys it when he does, the little psycho. At this point there’s no way I can make things any harder for him than I already have.”

Upon seeing Dew’s sullen expression, Suzunami burst into laughter. “Looks like we’re all going through the same struggles, Dew. Nurturing someone is always gonna be difficult—but that’s precisely why it’s so fun, don’t you think?”

Dew snorted. “What the hell is fun about any of this, Suzunami? Do me a favor and see if you can beat that crooked personality outta him next time you cross paths,” he said, and pushed open the door to the council room.

◆◆◆

“We’re all here now. Please, take a seat, and let’s begin,” said Wex, the head seneschal of the Royal Order and third highest among its hierarchy. Including Wex himself, all of the expected attendees—each holding a position of prominence in Yugria’s military administration—were already present. Some had sent their vice captains or similar representatives in their place, like the captain of the Fourth Legion, who was currently otherwise occupied with the security of the Yugria-Rosamour border.

The purpose of the regular captain’s councils was for the kingdom’s military elite to discuss the current state of the Yugrian Defensive Strategy Framework, and consider any amendments for formal ratification during the framework’s next review. Representatives from each legion also exchanged vital intelligence with the other attendees, resulting in discussions that were naturally wide-ranging.

Today’s meeting, for instance, opened with a report on fortification development along the kingdom’s borders, followed by a summary of the current progress of each legion’s recruitment efforts. They then went on to debate necessary personnel changes and promotions within the Order before hearing various reports concerning the espionage activities of surrounding nations. Essentially, if any information needed to be shared, the captain’s council was where it would happen.

“That concludes the report of the darkwolf extermination mission in the Briar Baronry, including the subjugation of the dangerous specimen known as Black Thunder,” Suzunami said, placing Rosita’s report back on the table.

Wex nodded appreciatively. “Please give Rosita Laureato my regards for her meticulous work. It’s not often we have the pleasure of receiving such a comprehensive and coherent report.” He paused for a moment. “With Captain Hugo’s report earlier, and now this... The current trends of monster activity in Yugria cannot be overlooked any longer. The appearance of abnormally strong specimens like Black Thunder are becoming only more frequent, as is the scale of monster-led catastrophes. During the Foundation Festival, we also received reports indicating similar trends in surrounding nations. Be on alert, everyone—and if the opportunity arises, please strive to analyze any notable encounters in a thesis similar to the one we’ve just seen.”

He waited for everyone to nod before continuing. “The next order of business concerns the experimental police boxes being trialled under the supervision of the Third Legion. Captain Dew, if you’d like to summarize?”

“Right,” Dew said. He started with a cursory explanation of the police boxes currently being trialed in the capital at the suggestion of none other than Allen Rovene, before launching into a presentation of the results acquired from said test sites.

“As you can see, the crime rate in areas adjacent to one of the boxes has decreased by an average of forty percent. Public safety at nighttime has improved in particular. Each box needs a team of at least two officers present at all times, so even working on a shift system like in the trial, the personnel requirements are gonna be significant. In the grand scheme of things though, the installation of police boxes across the capital will eventually reduce the overall workload of the police and the Order. If you look at the data...”

Dew continued his analysis, pointing out each of the various figures displayed on the adjacent wall by the projector-type magical device on the table—figures which, incidentally, had also been compiled by Allen.

“So statistically, we can assume towns and cities with a certain population level and economic status—basically anything around the size of a county capital or bigger—will benefit from implementing the police box system, based on this break-even point analysis. Towns any smaller than that won’t benefit much, so they should maintain their current centralized police stations... Yeah, that’s about it. Any questions?”

Wex raised his hand. “Any questions, you say... I don’t know where to begin. Well, first of all, let’s start with this so-called break-even point analysis of yours. It’s quite a novel way of analyzing data, isn’t it? I’ve never seen anything even remotely similar...”

“Yeah, probably not,” Dew replied. “Actually, the stupid brat who proposed this trial in the first place came up with it. Obviously, since we don’t have any decent maps, the data around population density is pretty sketchy. Same with the economic data. Basically, he said it’s only a rough estimate in the end, and that he can’t really visualize any ‘corollary effects,’ whatever that means.” He shrugged casually and began digging in one of his ears. “Well, rationally speaking, I think he’s probably right about using county capitals as the cutoff point for now.”

Wex nodded. “I see. The Ministry of Commerce has recently submitted a petition on behalf of the Merchant’s Guild, asking for more police boxes to be set up as soon as possible. Apparently, areas with police boxes and those without are experiencing a significant disparity in sales, particularly in the evening. Real estate values are also soaring on streets adjacent to the boxes. They’re claiming it’s ‘grossly unfair’ and want us to rectify the issue immediately,” he said, smiling amusedly. “The police boxes garnered a lot of attention from other nations during the Foundation Festival as well, not only for the increased safety, but also in regard to their effectiveness as tourist information centers, as a landmark for lost children, and so on. Most importantly, they’ve served as a means for the police force to integrate itself more closely with the civilian community, and the response from Yugrians in general has been extremely positive. Rough though the data may be, I fully believe the police box system does indeed have many benefits to offer the community at large. Therefore, we intend to move ahead with large-scale implementation, gradually increasing the number of police boxes both here in Runerelia and in the regional cities and towns. Any thoughts, Captain Dew?”

Dew shrugged again. “I trust your judgment, Wex.”

With a final nod toward Dew, Wex took charge of the conversation. “I have one final matter to discuss today... It relates somewhat to our previous topic, and is something His Majesty the King has taken a personal interest in. I am, of course, referring to the ongoing project to develop a detailed map of the entirety of Yugria. We’ve just received the first experimental map of Dragreid and its outskirts from Marquess Dragoon.”

As he spoke, Wex slid a render of the map in question under the projector, drawing significant admiration from the gathered attendees. While the style of the map was extremely simple, it depicted the relative positions and shapes of the towns, highways, rivers, mountains, and forests surrounding the centralized Dragreid with remarkable precision. It was immediately evident that this was a far cry from the so-called maps they’d relied on until now, which in reality amounted to little more than artistic renderings of a given landscape drawn from memory and intuition. What was laid bare here, however, was the true shape of their kingdom (albeit only a small part thereof), a sight none could claim they’d seen before.

“It seems His Majesty was similarly impressed. However...” Wex trailed off, brow furrowed.

There wasn’t a single person present who didn’t understand the reason behind the seneschal’s current frown. The map wasn’t just detailed; it was dangerous. Excessively so. If development of these detailed maps continued, the knowledge gleaned would certainly benefit future military operations in a significant way. However, on the off chance those same maps ever fell into enemy hands, Yugria’s military would lose their so-called home advantage when dealing with incursions, every inch of their terrain laid bare to foreign eyes.

“The Royal Academy Geography Club, who initially developed this project, have proposed that maps of this ‘rudimentary level of detail’—in their words—should be made available to the general public as soon as feasible,” Wex finished. “Does anyone have any thoughts on the matter?”

“What the hell does the brat think he’s doing...?” Dew muttered, his head in his hands. For a moment silence fell over the council room, but it was soon shattered by Suzunami’s laughter.

“Ha! He goes and makes a map like this and has the guts to describe it as rudimentary? That’s Allen Rovene for you—always keeping us on our toes, eh?”

Lured in by Suzunami’s sheer delight, everyone else joined in on the laughter, with the exception of Dew.

“Ba ha ha! Regardless of the boy’s opinion on the matter, there’s obviously no way we can release something like this to the general public! Dew, what the hell are you teaching the kid?” Hugo—captain of the First Legion—said, nudging Dew’s shoulder before standing up to leave.

“Hmm... I’m not opposed to the project—it will certainly assist greatly when it comes to the kingdom’s governance. I agree it needs to be strictly monitored by the kingdom itself, however,” mused Randy, captain of the Royal Guard. “Dew, keeping your apprentice in line is your responsibility. Don’t let his youthful enthusiasm go too far.” He too prepared to depart, clapping Dew on the shoulder encouragingly as he stood.

“Of course... Dew, you’re his master, so this is all your fault.”

“Stop messing with me,” Dew growled. “Between the Sage’s account of the Nova Cup earlier and all this, how many times do I have to hear that stupid brat’s name in one day?! I’m exhausted...”

“Come on, Untouchable Orwell! Pull yourself together!”

Unfortunately for Dew, the joking reprimands and encouraging slaps didn’t cease until everyone else had left the room in twos and threes. In the end, only Dew and Godolphen remained.

“Well, it seems as though you’ve got your work cut out for you, Dew,” Godolphen said, chuckling warmly. “The best of luck to you!” Clapping Dew lightly on the shoulder, the old man began to make his way toward the door.

“Hang on a damn minute! You’re his bloody homeroom teacher, you senile geezer! Take some responsibility!”

Side Story: Sowing Future Seeds

In every world and every generation, you’ll find a common trend within the “young delinquent” subculture—the existence of a group of prominent, charismatic figures, collectively referred to as The Four Kings of one thing or another, or something to that clichéd effect. For instance, at the southeastern branch of Runerelia’s Explorers Guild, those figures were as follows:

Shuma, from the Round Piece co-op.

Major, from the Common Wealth co-op.

Ninatta, from the Cheerful Witch co-op.

Benza (sometimes also known as “uncivilized fatso”), from the Gold Rat co-op.

While all were yet to achieve a rank higher than D or E, it was widely accepted that from among The Four Kings of the Southeastern Branch, each still in the promising growth period of their late teens, the leader of the next generation of Runerelian explorers would emerge.

However...

Recently, Benza’s reputation as one of those four had been plummeting. The reason, of course, were the rumors that had been spreading lately. Supposedly, Benza had been knocked flat by some kid named Lenn—a recent addition to the Apple House co-op—on not one, but multiple occasions. Furthermore, he’d apparently started treating Lenn, a boy six years his younger, as though the kid was some sort of syndicate leader and Benza his lowly underling. Though Benza’s raw physical strength had always commanded respect from all around him, in truth, the boy had never had any close friends—and now, with said rumors buzzing about, the few followers he’d once had were gone like the wind.

Benza himself didn’t really seem to mind, though.

Partially, this was on account of his personality. He’d never been good with words, and while he did belong to a co-op, he struggled to work with others, instead preferring to operate as a lone wolf. Additionally, Benza had also encountered a certain person recently—a person who seemed to understand him for who he truly was. It was a novel experience for him, and as the days passed, Benza had begun to think if that person understood him... Well, that was enough. The opinions of anyone else no longer mattered to the boy.

The person in question was of course Allen Rovene, though he himself surely had no idea of Benza’s strange affection toward him. Personally, Allen had little interest in any form of interaction with Benza. It wasn’t as though he was reaching out to the older boy himself or anything. He was simply responding to Benza’s daily requests for a rematch with the respect those challenges deserved.

In truth, Allen didn’t actually dislike Benza’s painfully straightforward personality. Whether he’d admit to that, however, was another matter entirely—if he’d even realized it in the first place. While he certainly thought the other boy was irritating, Allen always had admiration to spare for honest determination. Even after grasping the sheer difference between their abilities, Benza hadn’t once resorted to underhanded tricks or returned with backup, a mindset Allen rather admired. He was just mortified by the idea of anyone mistaking him and the incredibly uncivilized fatso as friends.

Back in the Rovene Domain, when Allen’s mana core had started developing, it was accompanied by his being labelled as “special”—a word that might as well have meant “different.” Friends he’d grown up playing side by side with began to distance themselves from him, treating him as though he were a dormant volcano or a swelling abscess. In some ways, Allen’s current reality—like his daily visits from the unreserved, unintimidated Benza—had made the memories of those gloomy days a little easier to bear.

Even without words, there was much you could learn simply from facing an opponent head-on, without pretensions or hesitations. A faint understanding of how your opponent saw you was one of those things.

Benza was lacking in many things. Intelligence. Dignity. A family. His talent for Strengthening Magic was the only thing about him that was above average—well, that and his waistline. With so little to offer, Benza had always harbored a belief that no one would ever understand or accept him.

Until now, that was.

◆◆◆

“Oy, Benza. You got a minute?”

The question came from one of Round Piece’s usual faces, a rough-around-the-edges kid Benza had worked alongside on more than a few requests. Shrugging, Benza dropped the raw ore he’d been in the middle of lugging into the factory and followed the boy, who led him around the back of one of the nearby warehouses. Compared to the hustle and bustle within, this part of the factory grounds was all but deserted.

The boy waiting for him there was Shuma from Round Piece, his distinctive red hair slicked back in his usual style. Four of his usual crew hovered nearby, all of them half-decent explorers who’d made something of a name for themselves at the southeastern branch.

“Benza! What’s this I’ve been hearin’ about you bein’ on a losing streak with some brat named Lenn these days? Is that why you haven’t shown your ugly mug recently?” Shuma greeted him, draping an overly familiar arm around Benza’s shoulder.

“Ain’t got nothing to do with you,” Benza snarled, pushing Shuma away. “What do you want?”

“Huh? Word on the street is, you actually admitted defeat to that kid... It just don’t sound like the Benza I know. You’re pissed off, right? We’d be happy to lend you a hand. You’re not the only one with a bone to pick with that cocky newbie.”

“Do whatever the hell you want, but I ain’t interested. Don’t bother me while I’m working for crap like this,” Benza replied, turning to leave.

“What’s the problem? I ain’t saying you gotta join my crew or anything if I help ya. The brat’s not the only new face who’s popped up recently, y’know? All I’m saying is, you and me being on kinda good terms will probably be good for both of us. It’s not like you’ve got a lot of options. Ninatta and Curitta won’t team up with guys, and that bastard Major’s a freakin’ creep,” Shuma continued.

To his surprise, however, Benza didn’t reply, or even slow down.

“Oh, wow... Benza the Rat really ain’t the man I thought he was,” Shuma said, sneering. “Looks like the brat really did clip your claws, huh?!”

Benza stopped in his tracks, twisting to glare at Shuma. “What did you just say?”

Shuma smirked, pleased to have gotten a reaction out of the other boy. “Whoa, settle down! You ain’t thinkin’ to pick a fight with all of us now, are ya? Or maybe grovellin’ to just one guy ain’t cuttin’ it for ya?” he provoked him further, gesturing for his lackeys to surround Benza.

“You wanna try me?!” Benza spat, knocking one of the boys to the ground with a surprisingly fast punch. “Go for it! Let’s see whose claws have been clipped!”

“You’ve done it now, you bastard!” Shuma cackled. “You all saw it—he made the first move! Oh, you’re gonna regret this, fatso!”

This, Benza thought, must be what drowning felt like. He’d been trapped in a tiny well, arrogantly convinced he was the strongest creature in the world—but suddenly, the stone walls had crumbled around him, giving way to an endless, stormy ocean.

Benza roared.

“I’ll take the lead! You guys circle him!”

But how could he change? How could he become something more than his insignificant self? Those were the questions that had been plaguing Benza ever since he’d come face-to-face with the blinding light that was Allen Rovene. He was barely treading water at this point, the vague yet heavy urge to become better threatening to pull him under the surface at any moment.

But Benza hadn’t sunk yet.

“Let go of me, you cowards! Are you too scared to face me one-on-one?!”

“You started this, fatty! Don’t start crying now just ’cuz you regret it!”

That day wasn’t one of Benza’s finest, and his thorough beating at the hands of Shuma’s gang was just the start of it. Upon his eventual return to the Gold Rats’s base, he was harshly scolded for abandoning the request midway. Obviously, he didn’t receive any payment for his half-done work, and his standing with the Explorer’s Guild also dropped greatly. It wasn’t the first time Benza’s proclivity for fighting had caused trouble on a jobsite, so he also received a formal reprimand from the guild warning him to change his behavior or else.

In terms of ability and potential, Benza could have easily made his way to D-Rank already. The reason he remained perpetually stuck at E-Rank instead was entirely on account of his inability to correct the behavior he’d just been warned about once again.

For his whole life, Benza had only been able to rely on one thing—his strength. Recently, however, no matter how many fights he got into and won, it didn’t leave him with the sense of reassurance he’d grown to crave. These days, the same victories he’d once relished merely left a bad taste in his mouth, almost as though he was rotting from the inside out with each and every punch.

And yet, for some reason, today’s Benza had no regrets.

“Dunno how long it’s been...since I lost to someone other than Lenn...” Benza muttered to himself, the words intermingled with painful wheezes. “Lenn definitely...coulda beaten them...”

Darkness had fallen over the city. Sprawled in the dirt behind the run-down factory, Benza stared up into the starry sky.

He was struggling to stay afloat.

Benza reached out, grasping at stars he knew he’d never reach. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was. But somewhere deep inside, he knew he had to change. If he didn’t, he’d drown.

◆◆◆

“Lenn! What’s up, bro? Heard you taught that kid Shuma a thing or two the other day, right?!” Benza cried as he ran toward me, face glowing with excitement and perspiration.

What the hell are you so happy about?

I frowned, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop acting like we’re friends before it gets through your thick head? I don’t know anyone named Shuma. And next time you pop up outta nowhere, I’m gonna punch you outta reflex.”

It was harsh even for me, but I wasn’t going to let him try to get any closer to me than he already seemed to think he was. Maintaining a sensible distance was better for both our sakes. For some reason, though, Benza—who usually would have started sulking at this point—was still trailing after me happily.

“He’s from Round Piece? Guy with red hair? Everyone’s saying him and his crew ganged up on you out in the plains, and you took ’em all out in less than a minute!”

Oh, right. He was the idiot who tried to snatch one of the rouvultures I’d just hunted. Yeah, pretty sure they were calling him Shue or Shuma or something.

I’d actually agreed to hand over the rouvulture, both to avoid the hassle and because it would be easy for me to simply hunt another one, but he’d then tried to demand I hand over my second rouvulture too, and I’d been forced to teach him the error of his ways on principle.

At first I’d actually been planning to go easy on him, but right before he’d swung at me he’d started crowing about “beating the crap outta that Rat Benza” a few days before. Figuring he was therefore decently strong, I’d started off with a quick punch to the abdomen—nothing too violent, I’d thought. The sickening crack of his rib breaking still echoed vividly in my mind.

I sighed. “How the hell did you lose to someone like him anyway? Don’t let yourself go too much, fatty. See ya.”

I mean, they’re both pretty damn weak, but I’m still sure Benza’s stronger than that guy was. Guess he must have caught him off guard or something... Either way, thanks to him, I had to lug those Round Piece guys all the way back to the city! I’m a busy man, you know?

“Yeah, it was pretty pathetic,” Benza admitted sheepishly. “Hey, wait up! You’re pretty famous around here these days, so I reckon there’s a good chance more and more idiots will wanna test their luck with you pretty soon. Not that they stand a chance, though... Anyway, I just wanted to tell you to watch out for Major from Common Wealth and the Cheerful Witch sisters, Ninatta and Curitta. They’re probably the only ones who might be able to hurt you.”

“Huh. Are they any good, those guys?” I asked, dubious. Benza surely had a pretty good idea of my own strength by now. If he’d gone to all the effort of coming to warn me about those three in particular, it probably meant he did actually believe they could pose a risk.

“Well, Major went to an explorer’s training school, so he’s pretty experienced. Plus, he’s got a real temper, and he’s a nasty creep. He likes to gang up on his opponents, so he’ll always have ten or twenty of his crew lurking nearby. Ninatta and Curitta are just annoying. They don’t back down, and their cooperation is something else. I could beat either one of them in a fight alone, but—”

Benza stopped mid-sentence, having lost the ability to speak on account of me punching him directly in the stomach.

“Guaaah...”

I don’t know why I bothered asking.

At the end of the day, the people we were talking about shared a playing field with Benza, which meant they were more or less only as strong as he was. They could work in teams of two or twenty, for all I cared—it wouldn’t make them any stronger individually, nor would it do anything to improve their presumably poor manners. In contrast, the playing field I’d come from may as well have been located on another planet. A fight against the “threats” Benza was trying to warn me about wouldn’t even amount to a warm-up exercise for any of my classmates—not even Coco or Jewel, neither of whom could really boast about their hand-to-hand combat prowess.

I scoffed. “You all need to take the delinquent lifestyle a lot more seriously! Where’s your pride as outlaws?!”

When did my beloved outlaw way of life disappear from this wretched society...?

True, the bouts I had against my classmates during our regular lessons did sometimes force me to push myself, but that was it. It wasn’t even close to the vague, romanticized delinquent life I’d dreamed of, starting fights with wild abandon and forming brotherly bonds in blood. My classmates wouldn’t start a fight without first conducting a lengthy analysis of the political impacts it could have—and even then, they wouldn’t do it. They simply had too much class.

I had, at one point, invited Al to become a delinquent with me. To my disgust, he’d grinned at me and said, “Sounds fun! What do I have to do?” while digging out a pen and paper to take notes.

Assailed by the memories of that particular disappointment, I slumped over, despondent.

“Thanks for the advice, bro! You’re the best!” Benza said cheerily. He flashed me his usual unappealing grin before walking away, the sheer decency of it sapping me of what little energy I had left and leaving me feeling entirely miserable.

◆◆◆

“You the Mad Hound? The name’s Ninatta, from Cheerful Witch. This here’s my sister, Curitta. We need to talk to you for a minute.”

I’d been strolling along the streets of the eastern worker’s district and enjoying the last bit of warmth from the setting sun when the two girls had cornered me. If I had to guess, I’d say the pair were probably somewhere around the ages of seventeen and fifteen respectively (if they went to a Japanese high school, I’d assume they were a third-year and a first-year). Both girls were dressed similarly, clad in the loose-fitting pants I associated with construction workers and sleeveless linen vests. Each had a leather belt looped around their waist, with various carpentry tools hanging from each side. Their hairstyles were basically identical too, short and spiky on top and shaved on the sides, and both wore the same blindingly red lipstick.

With a name like Cheerful Witch I was kinda hoping for mages, but these girls are just run-of-the-mill brawlers... Shame.

◆◆◆

“In you go,” Ninatta said, before noticing my confused look. “We’re working on this place at the moment. No one will bother us in here.”

The place they’d led me to was an unfinished building. Apparently, the tools hadn’t just been for show. Throughout Yugria, you’d come across many people with normal jobs who worked as explorers on the side to make some extra money. Some were apprentices, struggling to survive on the abysmal pay rate they received, while others simply picked up a few requests during the slower periods at their actual jobs. Others used it as a means to fund their own future workshops or companies. The reasons were endless.

“Don’t those loose-fitting pants get in the way while you’re working?” I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity any longer.

Ninatta regarded me with a dubious look. “Your priorities are out of whack, kid. You’re seriously asking about my clothes?” She shrugged. “Well, we sure as hell aren’t wearing them for fashion. We have to climb around and bend a lot on the job, so the less restricting our clothes are, the better. Plus, if there’s a sharp beam or whatever sticking out, it’ll catch on my clothes first, and I can avoid walking straight into it.”

Huh. So her pants are basically the same as a cat’s whiskers, then... Sounds pretty handy, actually.

While I revised my opinion on the merits of baggy clothing, Curitta bolted the door behind us, securing it in place with a hefty lock.

“I’ll cut to the chase. To be honest, we don’t have anything against you, yeah? But someone’s spreading rumors about how we’re scared of you, and our precious girls from Cheerful Witch are starting to get bullied because of it. We’re an all-female co-op, so we get looked down on enough as it is, especially the younger girls. So how about we settle this—” She rushed toward me, and I could hear Curitta doing the same from behind. “Once and for all!”

Everyone’s always so quick to resort to violence here... Well, it’s not like we were gonna be able to settle things with words anyway.

Activating my Magic Guard, I blocked Ninatta’s foot with my left arm, leaping into the air a second later to dodge Curitta’s sweeping kick.

Ninatta scowled, easily recovering her footing before immediately jumping backward, gently landing atop the thin steel beams of the nearby scaffolding.

She’s got a decent sense of balance, and her instincts aren’t that bad either. But—

“Let’s see how you like this!” Ninatta screamed. Leaping from the scaffolding, she swung one leg straight upward until it nearly brushed against her nose, taking full advantage of the height to add more power to the axe kick currently directed at my head.

Thunk.

I could have easily avoided the move, but I deliberately hadn’t, instead catching the blow on one arm just like I had the previous time.

“What the—”

The sisters gaped in shock—understandable, really, given I’d just neutralized the gravitational force of Ninatta’s full body weight without even flinching.

Unfortunate though it was, their Strengthening Magic wasn’t anywhere near the level it needed to be for them to pose a threat to me. Actually, I was pretty sure they were even weaker than Benza. When it came to bare-handed fighting like this, I’d win every time, no matter how many times they challenged me.

Right as Ninatta landed on the ground—once again managing to maintain her footing—I rushed at her with a sweeping kick of my own, knocking her down. As she twisted around, scrambling in an attempt to get back on her feet, I stomped down hard, my foot just inches from her face.

It was a warning. Imagine what would happen if I hadn’t deliberately missed. Imagine what would happen if this much sheer power had collided with your face instead of the concrete.

They didn’t seem like bad people, really, and I’d prefer not to have to fight them if at all possible. Hopefully, they’d understand the warning I’d so graciously given them, and that would be that.

“Just stay away from me, please. I don’t have any interest in getting involved in your little turf wars or whatever it is you guys do. As long as you don’t bother me or anyone from Apple House, I’ll stay out of your business,” I said, my voice devoid of any emotion, and turned to leave. Curitta still stood between me and the exit, glowering at me with a crazed glare.

“Don’t screw us around! You beat Benza and Shuma to a pulp with no questions asked, so don’t start cutting corners now, Mad Hound! I hate bastards like you who look down on us just because we’re women!” she screamed, reaching for the belt at her waist.

“Curitta, stop! We’re no match for him—” Ninatta cried, clambering to her feet in an attempt to control her sister, but it was too late. The chisel was already clutched in Curitta’s hand, sharp edge gleaming under the lights.

I let my Strengthening Magic flood through me, closing the distance between us in the blink of an eye. Before she could move, I’d wrenched her arm upward, eliciting an anguished groan from the girl.

“Let me tell you a few things,” I said, dropping into the low, rough tone I favored while disguised as Lenn. “First of all, I ain’t some kind of gentleman who refuses to hit a woman. I just don’t feel like hitting you. Try me on another day, and you might not be so lucky. If that pisses you off, come find me again after you get a bit stronger. I don’t see any point in fighting either of you if you can’t even beat that fatso Benza in a one-on-one fight.”

I mean every word of it. While physical differences between the sexes existed here just as much as they had in my previous world, those differences were entirely negated by the existence of Strengthening Magic, meaning there was nothing unfair about picking a fight with someone of the opposite sex. Well, the chivalrous mindset ingrained in me during my previous life did make me feel slightly reluctant on occasion. However, I sparred with my female classmates all the time, and memories of a childhood spent being pummeled in the name of training by my mother and sister did alleviate most of my hesitation around the idea. Physical strength and the strength I was talking about were two different things, and when it came to the latter, being male or female made no difference. The strength I referred to was an instinctive, primal thing, the body’s natural reaction in times of danger.

“Second thing. I hate people who don’t treat their tools with respect—and that includes idiots who think it’s okay to bring their work tools into a fight.” I glanced up at the chisel still clutched in her grasp. “I feel sorry for it, seriously. It’s obvious you’ve never even tried to take care of it. If you don’t have the money for maintenance, go find Bem the blacksmith in the eastern slums. If you tell him I sent you, he’ll teach you how to take care of your tools properly, at least.”

The second part of my warning was simply a matter of personal preference. I didn’t intend to lecture the sisters too strongly, but as a former Japanese person, I just couldn’t bear to see tools treated with such disrespect. While I didn’t think the Japanese mindset of cherishing one’s tools would ever find much popularity in a world like this one, it didn’t change my belief that the way one treated one’s equipment gave a clear insight into their character.

I squeezed her wrist firmly, waiting until I heard the chisel clattering against the concrete before driving my elbow into her back.

Curitta groaned, sinking to her knees and slumping face-down on the ground. I scooped up the rust-covered chisel calmly as I knelt down beside her, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Third thing. I’ve got a lot of stuff I want to do, and I have no intention of dying before I’ve done every last bit of it. I’m a coward, so the next time you point a blade at me...” I pressed the edge of the chisel’s blade against her neck. “I won’t be so merciful. People die. Too quickly. Too easily. I know that better than anyone. You’ve been warned.”

I didn’t bother waiting for a reply.

◆◆◆

“Lenn! What’s up, bro? Heard you taught those sisters— Guuah!”

This time, I punched him before he could even finish his opening remarks. “How many times do I have to say it, man?! Stop acting like we’re friends! You and I are complete strangers, okay?!” I turned to leave, but to my surprise, Benza sprang to his feet before I’d even taken a step.

“Ouch... Wait up, Lenn! I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Weird. That punch should have knocked him down for at least twenty seconds.

“You told Ninatta and Curitta not to challenge you again until they could beat me, right? Well, everyone’s heard about it, so a bunch of people who want to fight you have been testing their luck with me these days!” Benza added helpfully, possibly having noticed my confusion.

Oh yeah... I might have said something about Benza to them, I guess. I don’t really remember...

Benza, to his credit, didn’t seem even remotely annoyed that I’d offered him up as a qualifying round without his consent. He actually seemed rather pleased, judging from the wide, unattractive grin he offered me now, holding his fists together in a gesture straight out of a generic martial arts movie.

Well, if he’s happy to take the role of breakwater, who am I to stop him? It just means the flood of idiots won’t be able to reach me as easily.

“Fine. What did you want to ask me? I don’t have all day,” I asked, deciding I could at least hear the boy out.

Benza’s expression turned deadly serious. “I’m still weak—way too weak. Nobody knows that better than me. So how can I get stronger, bro?!” he shouted, loudly enough to cause more than a few of the pedestrians nearby to jump in surprise.

The sheer embarrassment of being associated with him made me want to slap the other boy, but I managed to suppress the urge out of respect for the genuine determination in his eyes. I did sigh in a show of annoyance, though.

“Ugh... Fine. I got two pieces of advice for you. First, read some damn books.”

The instant I said it, Benza’s face twisted in tangible despair. “B-Books? But, that’s kinda... I mean, I barely went to prep school, and I get a headache and start sweating just hearing the word ‘study’—I’m not joking, bro. Like, I’m not already sick or anything. I ain’t good with letters either. I can barely write my own name.”

What happened to all the motivation you had a few seconds ago, huh?

“I didn’t say anything about studying, idiot. It’s not like I’d expect you to be able to do it anyway. Besides, studying stuff you have no interest in and no desire to learn is just a massive waste of time. I’m just telling you to read. Books, trashy magazines—I don’t care what it is. Just start getting some words into your head.”

“I thought you’d tell me to hunt some really dangerous monsters like the bloodbear you took down on Mount Gryetess... Risk my life a little or something, you know... Can I seriously get stronger from just reading?” Benza asked, tilting his head in what was clearly confusion rather than doubt.

I sniffed disdainfully. “You’re the one who asked me for advice. It’s up to you whether or not you wanna believe me—I’m not gonna waste my breath trying to convince you. If you can think of another way to get stronger, just do that instead.”

In reality, the advice to “just read” wasn’t something I’d thought about in any particular depth, but more of a spontaneous hunch. I didn’t think I was mistaken about it though.

“Okay... What’s the other thing, then?” Benza asked nervously, and I grinned before giving him the second piece of advice. By the time I’d finished speaking, Benza looked to be on the verge of tears.

◆◆◆

When Runerelia’s young delinquents needed to let off some steam, there was only one place to go: Vogueberth, in the city’s eastern worker’s district. The tavern was more spacious than it had any right to be, and the booze was nasty but cheap. Tables for billiards-like games and other drinking pastimes were dotted around the place, and using them was free of charge. It was the perfect spot for penniless youths with time and energy to waste, whiling away the hours with idle talk of vague dreams and maybe a tankard of barely potable beer, if they could afford it.

“Benza... You seriously back here again?”

Benza had barely stepped inside when Shuma from Round Piece called out, his voice laced with obvious disgust. Ninatta and Curitta sat nearby. In fact, the majority of Vogueberth’s clientele tonight was made up of their respective crews. Shuma and the Cheerful Witch sisters had never been on particularly good terms, but they’d established a temporary truce of sorts in order to deal with the common, Lenn-shaped thorn in their sides.

Incidentally, Major from Common Wealth—the last of The Four Kings of the Southeastern Branch—hadn’t been seen in Runerelia recently. Apparently, he and his underlings had been blackmailing some of the Apple House kids on a regular basis, and had obviously incurred the wrath of the Mad Hound when he’d come across one of the shakedowns in progress. While some of the details were still unclear, Major had reportedly taunted the Mad Hound by saying something along the lines of, “Do you know what’s gonna happen if you accuse officially trained explorers like us without any evidence? Unless you want the guild to demote you, buzz off until you’ve got some proof,” to which the Mad Hound had replied, “I’d love to be demoted,” before proceeding to beat Major and all of his followers to a pulp. Eventually, Major had admitted fault and apologized profusely, but for some reason, the Hound had refused to accept it, instead stubbornly demanding Major “hurry up and get them to demote me already!” Ultimately, Common Wealth had had to step in and apologize to Apple House before the matter was fully settled.

Benza had tried to ask for more details once, but there was something about the way Lenn’s expression had darkened upon hearing Major’s name that made Benza decide to hold his tongue. He’d never know it, but he’d made the right choice in following that gut feeling.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson after yesterday, idiot? Why the hell do you keep coming back here? What, do you think it’s gonna make the booze taste better if you drink it while laughing at everyone who’s lost to the Mad Hound or something? I’ll warn you now, I’m not gonna let some fatso who worships a mangy farm dog look down on me,” Ninatta jeered, her disdain immediately echoed by the rabble of delinquents around them, all of whom were regarding Benza with utter contempt.

Benza shook his head brusquely. “Nah. I ain’t here to look down on you guys or nothing.” With that, he headed for the bar, ordering the same cheap ale he had the day prior before heading to a table in the very corner of the tavern and pulling out—to everyone’s surprise—a book. The book in question, which immediately had the boy grimacing as though attempting to decipher a difficult academic text, was titled Quantity is King! A Complete Guide to Runerelia’s Most Generous Meals.

“Why are you here then? Did your puppy tell you to come spy on us or something? Well, you can tell him he’s gonna get what’s coming for him. We ain’t gonna roll over for—”

“Can you cut it out?! Lenn ain’t the kinda person to ask for that kinda crap,” Benza interrupted, annoyed.

“Just answer the damn question, bastard,” Ninatta pressed, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “It ain’t like you to beat around the bush, and it sure as hell ain’t like you to own a book. Just spit it out already.”

Benza sighed deeply, resigning himself to his fate. “I’m here because...because this is where I need to be if I want to become stronger, apparently. Lenn told me if I can beat the challenge I find here, I might actually be able to become strong enough to stand a chance at beating him!”

Shuma and Ninatta glanced at each other. “So, what—you’re gonna come here every day and fight until you can defeat us single-handedly, or something?”

Benza shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin, taut line. “He reckons... He reckons what I’m lacking is friends. He said I’ll always be weak unless I find some real comrades, people I can clash with honestly. ‘Stop acting like you’re a lone wolf, Benza,’ he goes. He told me to find friends I can punch when they piss me off.” Benza smiled. “Friends who hit each other instead of saying hello—who get into fights when they’re happy or sad or even when they’re in the middle of sharing their dreams or whatever. If I can’t find friends like that, I’ll never be a true delinquent—that’s what Lenn said. He goes ‘Doesn’t losing to someone younger than you all the time annoy you? Go find some friends and get them to help you figure out how to beat me, and come find me again.’”

After hearing what was in reality simply another example of Allen’s spur-of-the-moment whimsicality, Shuma and Ninatta exchanged another glance. “What kinda hellish friendships does that guy have?” Shuma finally retorted.“And in the end, all I’m hearing is that you are here because you want to fight us. Right?”

Benza looked like he wanted to reply, but was struggling to find the words. Ninatta and Curitta watched him, brow furrowed and lips moving wordlessly, and sighed in unified exasperation. “So to put it simply, you’re saying you wanna beat the crap outta the Mad Hound one day, right?” Ninatta summarized, raising one eyebrow.

Benza nodded vigorously. “Yeah! That’s right! I gotta get stronger! Lenn needs me to, for some reason—I can feel it! And if I don’t start now, I won’t make it in time!”

Shuma and Ninatta exchanged a third glance, both puzzled by the sheer ferocity with which Benza declared his vague hunch.

“I gotta become a guy who can thrash Lenn, and I gotta do it soon! I just know it!”

◆◆◆

It would be some time before the true significance of that day came to light.

Benza was lacking in many things. Intelligence. Dignity. A family. Yet, in spite of his many inadequacies, he still possessed a strange and inexplicable allure. In the weeks that came to pass, promising young explorers from all over Runerelia began to flock to a nondescript tavern in the city’s eastern worker’s district, drawn in by that mystifying charm. Several months later, those same explorers would become the founding members of Mad Dog, an explorer’s clan established immediately after the Mad Hound’s assault on the Lotz family’s headquarters.

Mad Dog...

One day, that clan would be regarded as the soil from which the next generation of young talent had sprouted. The world wouldn’t realize for some time just how important that clan—and the talent it nurtured—would one day prove to be, however.

Afterword

Thank you for reading volume 4 of Pens Down, Swords Up. Words aren’t enough to describe the joy I feel at being given the opportunity to publish yet another volume of this story. Maro (who I must once again thank for their brilliant illustrations), the publishing staff, my family, and you, the readers—thank you all for supporting me.

I’m writing this afterword in early August, and the Paris Olympics are just about to come to an end. Owing to the significant time difference between Japan and France and my status as a stubborn salaryman-slash-author, I wasn’t able to watch many of the events in real time. However, the snippets I did manage to catch still granted me a healthy dose of inspiration and motivation.

One recurring thought I’ve had recently is that the world sure has become a pretty convenient (and sometimes inconvenient) place these days. It’s a thought that’s probably been at least partly influenced by the X (formerly Twitter) account I finally started recently, after saying I would do so for years on end. I’d get myself ready and sit down in front of my laptop to write, but the words wouldn’t come, and before I knew it, I’d been submerging myself into an ocean of Olympics updates and random news stories for three or four hours. I feel like most people can relate to that experience.

The world became a far more convenient place with the emergence of social media. I find a lot of joy in being able to share small moments that have resounded with me with a wide-ranging and welcoming audience, and I myself am fueled by the wealth of information and inspiration I receive from them. On the other hand, however, sometimes that wealth of information isn’t as restrained as it should probably be, with inappropriate posts easily causing significant societal problems. What I’ve come to realize lately is that even the most convenient tool in the universe can easily become a tool of great harm, depending on the way it is used.

I’m sure you’re probably just thinking something like Aren’t you just trying to blame your own lack of focus on social media? though (ha ha).

Anyway, I apologize (as always) for another of the lengthy preambles that seem to have become a running theme throughout my afterwords. In volume 4, we’re finally introduced to some of the lands beyond Allen’s home of Yugria, and bear witness to young prodigies clashing in the name of national pride. We begin to get a sense for the conflicts bubbling under the surface between some of these uniquely structured nations, and we—along with Allen—might have come to have a hunch about some of the problems our protagonist might soon encounter.

I have another hunch though: that Allen, innately positive as he is, will somehow manage to simply skirt his way around any difficulties that do appear—that he’ll call upon the primordial power we humans possess, the one which allows us to overcome the challenges we all face.

I hope this story might, in some small way, provide some of that positive energy for you, the reader too.

Well, I guess I should take this opportunity to promote my X account, @mao_nishiura! If I haven’t blocked myself from accessing it for personal reasons (ha ha), you’ll sometimes find me posting there when the whim takes me. Please check it out if you’re interested!

Mao Nishiura