A Knight Works Hard at His Side Job, Too (1)
Rustle.
The air was unusually sharp in the gray before dawn. The sun crept up by degrees, paling the sky and, with it, the mountain that had been sunk in dark. It was a spectacle if you looked—a treasure of a view, the sort you earned only by rising early. Sadly, precious few people were diligent enough to see a treasure like that.
Students who never got enough sleep, least of all.
"Arin! Get up already. If you don't start getting ready now, you're going to be late!"
"Five... five more minutes..."
"You say that every time and then sleep another fifty. Just wake up."
"Mmm..."
The ghost girl's nagging didn't seem to move her much. She only whined and fussed, as if she had no intention whatsoever of leaving the bed. Watching her, the ghost girl knit her pretty brow and resolved to play her trump card.
"Arin, keep this up and I really think you're headed for a retake."
She shot upright.
"A re— a retake!?"
Whatever drowsiness had been there vanished. She bolted up in a panic. Mornings left her low-blooded and a little pale, but at the single word retake the color rushed into her face. For her, that word was enormous enough to set her off.
"Hehe. Dummy Arin."
"Y-youuu...!"
Only then, fully clear of sleep and aware of where she was, did she jab a finger at the ghost girl. There were things you did, and things you absolutely did not. Telling an examinee she might have to retake!?
That vicious little bitch!
"I can hear all of that, Arin. And anyway, what's so scary about a retake? I don't get it."
"...What would you know, you unlucky little wretch."
Ttak.
How was a ghost supposed to understand an examinee's terror? Irene Windler sighed and snapped her fingers. A hum, and a blue ripple of power spread outward—and in that instant something astonishing happened. The curtains blocking the sun drew back, the window opened, and the stale air and dust that had gathered overnight rushed out all at once. Before she knew it the room was full of clean air and morning light, and she drew in a deep breath of it and stretched, long and loose, as if she were limbering up.
"Hoo. Magic really is convenient."
"If anyone else saw, they'd say you were wasting it."
"Only conservative old fogeys talk like that. And now that I think about it, I'm pissed off all over again!"
"Mmm. I'll give you that one!"
If you actually listened to what the mages she'd started mixing with at the Academy—and the professors of magic—meant to say, it was enough to choke on. They spoke of a gift for mana as if it were some chosen thing, and of magic as a higher wisdom that benighted humans could never hope to understand, or some such. At any rate, there was no listening to it without your stomach turning.
There's a reason mages are despised in this world. Every last one of them seems like a lunatic. Except me.
"Arin. Wallowing in how wonderful you are is fine and all, but shouldn't you be getting ready?"
"...Haa. I don't want to go."
Twelve years of school ought to have been enough. The thought of dragging herself up early for another three years of classes was already bringing on a depression. The sigh escaped Irene on its own.
Then—
"Oh! It's the instructor!"
"Diligent, isn't he. ...Hss!"
"...What a feast for the eyes."
She could see the instructor running. He must have been at it long before she got up; he was drenched in sweat. Droplets beaded on him like dew in the sunlight and threw the light back, and even the sheer diligence of running like that was something to admire.
How does a person run like that every single day?
It was a sight she had seen every morning since moving in. In one sense, it was worthy of respect. The respect lasted only a moment. What pulled the eye harder than the diligent instructor's routine was his body, stripped to the waist. She looked him over so thoroughly that anyone watching would have found the gaze suspicious before anything else.
"...He doesn't know we're watching, right?"
"He won't. More importantly, Arin, get a picture of that. Hurry!"
"A-a sneak photo is a crime..."
"If you don't get caught, it isn't a crime."
"......I-is that so?"
It was a maxim she could almost accept. Pretending she had no choice, Irene brought it out. A rare magical article made by a water mage, said to be worth as much as a building. It bore the grandiose name Form-Copy Imager, but to Irene it was nothing but a camera—an unsettling gift from a greasy duke.
Right now, though—
"Ah. Got it."
Having succeeded at the covert shot, she was glad of the duke's gift for the first time.
Maybe that old guy isn't as bad a person as I thought?
"—Since when has there been a camera? That's a new one on me."
She had been certain her doings and her voice could not possibly be overheard. Unfortunately, his ears and his hearing were, ironically, extraordinary. Distance kept him from catching every word, so Lee Han only registered that she was taking a picture, and he didn't particularly mind the act itself.
Still.
"I ought to ask her to show me how it came out."
He was curious how he'd turned out, and he meant to ask her, one of these days, to let him have a look.
...A covert photographer whose death by humiliation was already on the schedule.
Lee Han was the same as ever. He'd heard from Jake about angels and prodigal princes and the rest of it, but what Lee Han actually did had not changed. He made no effort to go looking for anything, and he had no mind to ask anyone for advice.
The reason?
They'll turn up eventually.
If he had to put it into words, the prodigal prince occupied, for Lee Han, the same shelf as a rare animal. The sort of creature commonly called an albino. A white deer, a white squirrel—wondrous enough if you happened to see one, but no particular problem if you didn't.
Fine if I see him. Fine if I don't.
Not seeing him wouldn't kill anyone. It wasn't even frustrating. So Lee Han was simply waiting for the man to appear on his own.
He's got company. Won't he show up naturally?
After all, two of the "rare animals" were already gathered in one place. Surely he'd notice the presence of his own kind. Lee Han put his faith in narrative logic. Which meant that what he had to do now was not go hunting for the last rare beast, the one that had yet to show itself.
"From this moment, we begin Double Under. All of you, take the ropes the instructor prepared."
"......"
An instructor ought to do an instructor's duty, shouldn't he?
"Ah. And another thing. Those of you who have learned Fighting Art, take the ropes with the red mark. Even if you haven't learned Fighting Art, if you've studied the sword to some degree, take the green-marked ropes. Anyone who has learned neither Fighting Art nor swordsmanship, take the yellow mark."
"......"
"Execute!"
"E... execute..."
Bewildered, the students went and collected the ropes that matched each of them. Double Under sounded grand, but put simply—
"All right. We start jump rope. Red, ten thousand. Green, five thousand. Yellow, just two thousand. Each of you, fill your count!"
"???"
"Heh. Stubborn little shits who won't listen."
Lee Han smiled thinly and drew out an iron club. He gave it a light swing, and it cut the empty air with a vicious whoosh.
"From now on, anyone who fails to carry out the instructor's orders will be having an interview with the instructor until class is over. It'll be a richly nutritious interview, so by all means, look forward to it."
"...How many did you say?"
They had not the slightest desire for an interview with that iron club, and they carried out his orders. Across the training yard, one after another, the sound of turning ropes began to rise.
...Surprisingly, no one gave up on Lee Han's class. That was unusual. The common-born students were one thing, but it was unexpected that the noble brats were still here. Whether they had some scheme in mind, or only some shallow little plot, he couldn't say, but either way the class went on. Whatever lay behind it was never going to become his concern.
And the first order of the class he had settled on was none other than—
"Jump rope looks fun. I used to do a lot of it when I was little, hehe."
"It probably isn't as easy as it looks."
"Really?"
"...Well. For you, it might be."
She was, after all, the monstrously strong helper who had carried every last one of those ropes. The useless assistant instructor had thrown his back out hauling them and been carted off to the recovery room, whereas she was perfectly spry—better than the punks who strutted about announcing themselves as heirs of knightly houses.
"Pathetic."
"Yes?"
"I wasn't speaking to you. And if you're bored, you may rest."
"No, if there's anything I can help with, I will! I'm your maid, even if only for the time being, hehe."
"...That's kind of you."
A thought occurred to him out of nowhere. She was a bit lacking when it came to using her head, but she was modest, and she was kind. After a steady diet of mean-spirited nobles and royalty, standing in front of a soul this pure made him feel as if his dirtied heart were being washed clean.
...No, wait. If there's something there to wash clean, does that mean I'm the same kind of bastard as those mean ones?
The thought flashed through him, but Lee Han firmly denied it. He had no desire to be lumped in with that sort. And so an ill-timed bout of self-examination went on.
Thud...
Unfortunately, the signal seemed to be coming in.
"Ah. Just in time. There's something I need you to do."
"Yes?"
"Go splash a little water on the ones sprawled over there."
"Oh!"
"...No grit at all."
Looking at the students who had passed out under the blow of a mere ten-kilogram rope, Lee Han clicked his tongue. Kids these days, honestly.
How are their bodies that weak?
So frail it was a problem.