Chapter 71
Chapter 71
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 71
>Chapter Title: The Common Sense of Academy Festivals
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12. The Common Sense of Academy Festivals (1)
*
-Alchemy experiment in progress. Knock before entering.
>-Baby sleeping. Do NOT knock.
A faint stench seeped from the cracks of the clubroom door, which was sealed off with perfect access control.
The Faculty of Magic, the College of Theology, the Department of Knightly Arts. This bizarre club, formed by the eccentrics of these three faculties, was usually an object of avoidance, but its reputation was even worse at this time of year.
No one dared approach the clubroom, which reeked of fermented herring and was filled with students from unrelated departments conducting experiments.
This was because all the good-natured alchemy students who might have protested that they were sullying the department’s honor were crawling around their labs like zombies. This is why people should major in the humanities. (The arts and physical education are, in a broad sense, the humanities. Because all they do is have fun.)
“Add more anchovies.”
“B-but… if we add any more…!”
“Add more!! Are you trying to ruin the project!”
“Fine! Fine, damn it!”
The researchers, looking as though they were creating a homunculus or a philosopher's stone, added the ingredients to a giant container with trembling hands.
“Taste test… Do a taste test!”
“I… I already tried it. It's your turn!”
“I’m in charge of production! Don’t pass the bomb to me!”
“Bomb? Did you just call our passion and memories a bomb?”
After a heartwarming scene of them passing the fruits of their research to one another,
And after a good while longer, at last.
“It’s… done…”
“Damn it. I never thought I’d live to see this.”
“Are we sure it’s done? To me, it just looks like a dissected monster corpse.”
“Stop hitting me with facts.”
They gathered in the middle of the dark clubroom, celebrating each other's contributions with the solemnity of minions summoning an ancient god.
The sight of their white coats splattered erratically with red liquid was no different from a slaughterhouse, save for the smell.
Tossing aside his sweat-soaked mask, Oswald lamented.
“It was a long and arduous time…”
Yujin quietly closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross. The angle was perfect for a theology student.
“Our Father in heaven, may Your glory bring peace to this land.”
“Ah, stop with the blessing! It’ll get purified!!”
Yuri slapped Yujin’s back and smiled warmly.
“But everyone worked hard. I really didn’t think this would work.”
“I knew it would. Of faith, hope, and love, the greatest of these is faith.”
“It’s too early for everyone to relax.”
Oswald calmly waved his hand. He slowly approached the preservation container.
“We've only just taken the first step of our experiment. Our goal is far grander than this.”
“Right. Because… ‘that day’ is coming soon.”
Yujin swallowed dryly and whispered ominously.
“That day. At the university festival… our club will dominate every department and every other club. May the Lord have mercy. The power of advanced civilization…!!”
“Honestly, I don't think anyone will eat this.”
“Hey now, don’t you know about national pride? Watch your mouth. This is a superfood that can prevent cancer, epileptic seizures, and dementia.”
“Did you really believe that?”
A dish of vegetables salted, seasoned with red pepper powder and fermented fish sauce, then left to ferment.
That’s right.
They had made kimchi.
Kimchi, after all, is a simple dish made by salting vegetables, throwing in fish sauce and spices, and then fermenting it.
In a world with vegetables (cabbage), fermented fish (anchovies), and red pepper powder, there was no reason they couldn't make it.
It might look and smell bizarre now, but every 21st-century Korean knew a universal truth.
Kimchi generally becomes edible when fried or boiled. This was a truth proven over long years by the owners of frozen pork belly restaurants who stir-fry cheap, Chinese-made kimchi.
Bringing 21st-century culture to ride the great wave of capitalism was ‘common sense’ in transmigration stories, so the three transmigrators readily decided to seize this opportunity.
It was a certain day, one week before the festival began.
“We’re going to be rich!”
That very day, they submitted an application to the student council to open a booth. In a world without Michelin, they boldly named it ‘Michelin Fine Dining’.
***
“The festival is coming up soon.”
“Mm.”
“Do you have any plans for the festival?”
Ivan tilted his head at Isabelle’s question.
A festival was merely an extension of the university schedule. And in a broader sense, that meant it was no different from the regular academic curriculum.
Therefore, to Ivan, a festival day and a non-festival day were not significantly different.
“Nothing.”
“FI!! NALLY!!!”
Isabelle threw down the wooden sword she was holding and let out a bizarre shriek. It wasn’t a pleasant sight, so he silently picked up the fallen sword and placed it back in her hand.
“Then let’s go see the festival together!”
“See the festival?”
“Yes! You know, the usual stuff. Maybe some target practice, and, uh, right? What else is there at a festival… a magic show, maybe…?”
In a world where firearms were considered low-tier weapons of war, would shooting balloons really be a popular game?
And in a world with magic, what was so special about a magic show…? Most magic tricks could be replicated with mana in this world.
While Ivan was tilting his head, Isabelle’s eyes were sparkling.
“Whatever! It’s a festival! We can look around together, right? And, uh, escort. Yes. There might be an emergency!”
“Mm.”
She wasn’t wrong. And that was surprising. Surprising, in that an inhabitant of this barbaric, pre-modern medieval fantasy world had voiced a logical opinion.
Typically, when a festival takes place at the academy, one of the following disasters is guaranteed to occur.
An enemy attack, a professor's death, a bombing, a dragon or an equivalent great beast rampaging, a declaration of war by rebels.
As he had once recalled, the academy suffered more invasions than the front lines. It was only May, and there had already been three major incidents at the academy.
Ivan looked at Isabelle with a solemn gaze and nodded.
“Let’s do that.”
“Wow!! Awesome!! Really!!? This guy really listened to me…?! Q-quickly, pinch my cheek. I can’t believe this is real.”
“Stop fooling around and finish your training.”
“It’s real, all right.”
Ivan brought his wooden sword down on the grumbling Isabelle.
*
There’s no need to describe elves as arrogant and self-righteous. That would be redundant.
But even for such elves—or rather, precisely because they were such elves—a firm class hierarchy existed among them.
This was no different from the cultural systems built by England, with their ‘gentlemen’ (who engaged in piracy), and Japan, with their ‘people of Wa/harmony’ (who also engaged in piracy).
It could be called a transcendent commonality shared by the peoples of island nations. In a country where the only escape is the sea, it's a culture that forces politeness, lest they engage in mutually assured destruction.
Therefore, elves, like many island nations, are peaceful, harmonious, and respectful cultural citizens who conform to the class hierarchy.
“Um… Miss Grikenkos?”
“Yes?”
“Have you been… um, upset about something for a while now?”
“Oh my, upset? Whatever do you mean?”
“No! It’s nothing! Excuse me!!”
An elf scurried away in fear. Elfihera sighed as she watched the scrawny elf’s retreating back.
One after another, they were all pathetic. The girls were sly, and the boys were scrawny.
Ah, to think there wasn’t a single sturdy, robust man to be found.
At this rate, they would have no choice but to import manliness from the ‘humans’. The future of the elves was so bleak.
“Why do you keep scaring the kids?”
“What about it.”
“I’m talking about you. You can barely contain your killing intent.”
The woman who had dragged a chair right up in front of her was one of the few she couldn’t drive away with force.
Evelyn Rustfits, daughter of Duke Rustfits, the Chairman of the Privy Council.
She was the girl who had built the largest faction among the elves at this university. Normally, Elfihera might have responded with a smile, but the timing was not good.
“Let’s talk later, Miss Rustfits. I have a headache right now.”
“Oh my, shall I call a priest for you?”
“Mind your own business.”
Leaving the bewildered Evelyn behind, Elfihera coldly replied and left her seat. She hadn’t seen Ivan for ten whole days.
She was in a state of extreme low pressure, and what’s worse, she couldn’t even blame others for the situation. She’d had many chances to meet him, had gone to see him many times, and had even prepared gifts.
The problem was that she couldn’t get close enough for him to recognize her features.
“Ughhh…”
Elfihera clutched her sleeve and ground her teeth.
It was fine that she was a magical genius. Not just fine, but rather expected! Who could argue that the daughter of Veolgrin wasn’t a magical genius?
The problem, however, was that the effect had been too powerful.
Completing an original, unique spell in her twenties was an admirable feat, even among elves.
Although the spell was a mental one, with its effects limited entirely to herself, what an incredible achievement it was to create such a powerful spell that could distort one’s very perception of the world, and without any side effects.
The only problem was that it was *too* incredible.
‘I can’t… look at his face properly…!!’
From a window, she looked down at Ivan chatting amiably with a lowly human woman in the schoolyard and ground her teeth.
That woman was actively rubbing her useless chest fat against Ivan’s arm as she followed him.
Not that the man was anything but a madman who couldn't be dealt with without an aphrodisiac… but still, she couldn’t tolerate a stray dog daring to mark its territory on her property.
But… but!
‘I can’t… get… closer!!’
Using the Illusion-Shaving Spell, she could see Ivan’s bare face.
But if she saw his bare face, she couldn’t approach him…!!
What a paradox. The first day she completed the spell, she had confidently gone to see Ivan, only to turn around and run away.
His husky voice that seemed to scrape up from deep within, his deep and solemn eyes, the smooth line of his lips when he occasionally smiled faintly… and the memories that only she and the man shared.
It was too destructive a combination.
Because he just so happened to strike a direct hit on her preferences.
And because he looked much, much younger than she had thought. To the point where she even felt a sense of familiarity. So… so.
‘I can’t let this go on…!’
To gain an advantage over the foolish human woman trying to shave his beard and the vulgar human woman who fawned over even his beard, she needed a greater tool.
Fortunately, she knew something the other foolish humans (a redundant phrase) did not.
The vision of happiness shown by the ancient evil god. Within it, she had confirmed Ivan’s preferences. She had a complete grasp of Ivan’s secret tastes, something other humans couldn’t even imagine.
A comb and a dog chew.
With those two, she could secure a unique position among these lesser creatures who only knew how to launch a simple physical assault.
Elfihera, with firm resolve, rose from her seat.
*