Story (3)
Sudden note exam.
Ifrin dove in relying solely on her own skills first.
But the very first sentence of the first problem—a calculation blending countless numbers and circuits—stretched on nearly infinitely.
"Ugh……."
Ifrin visualized the mana circuit in her mind. But something went wrong, and whoosh—flames erupted in midair.
Just then, Prince Kreto raised his hand.
"Professor. Does that mean we can discuss with others?"
Deculein replied curtly.
"Precisely as stated. Though I will question your understanding of the content."
Kreto glanced slyly at Roserio. But she was already lost in a trance.
The iron-gray mana flickering in her eyes.
They said mana becomes special at the Ether rank. True to form for the genius of smelting, Roserio—even her overflowing aura gleamed metallic.
"……Ah."
Ifrin lost herself in the sight for a moment but quickly returned to her exam paper.
She began serious computation and calculation, jotting complex equations onto the magic answer sheet.
"Ifrin……?"
Suddenly, Drent called her in a sly tone. She turned to him.
"What do you think of this?"
Drent cleared his throat with a hem-hem and showed his answer sheet. It started similarly to Ifrin's, but errors crept in afterward.
Ifrin pointed.
"Yeah. See here? I calculated these two parts separately, then fused them."
"Oh, really? I did it all at once."
"That's too hard that way. Better to take it easy, right?"
"……Splitting it up feels harder to me?"
"I'll show you. Look."
"Okay."
Drent nodded at her words.
As the two consulted and passed the time,
Thud—!
Roserio suddenly stood and approached Deculein.
"Here."
She handed over her answer sheet.
Deculein skimmed it impassively and nodded.
"Pass. Proceed."
A new passage appeared where Deculein gestured. Roserio entered first, followed by the red-furred munchkin.
"I'm done too."
"Me too~"
Next came addict Astal, Professor Ruina, Professor Rellin, and so on…….
For Ifrin and Drent, mere Soda ranks, it was undeniably tough.
"……Just half left."
Ifrin checked the clock. Ninety minutes had passed. Now Kreto had joined her and Drent.
"This part. I think this is the key circuit for purifying mana. What do you two say?"
"Yes. Seems like it. Drent senior, you got the calculations?"
"Yeah, almost done."
And so the three pooled their heads, puzzled over it, divided tasks, and worked for three hours.
Tick—
Deculein's timer rang.
"Time's up. Submit."
"Ah, yes!"
The three stood together and handed in their sheets.
"……."
During that brief moment as he scanned them, tension coiled like a noose around their necks, sweat beading on their palms.
"Ifrin."
Deculein, having received the sheets, looked at her.
"Yes."
Ifrin answered promptly. Deculein pointed to a section of the answer sheet.
"Whose idea was this segmentation and fusion of the incantation?"
Segmentation and fusion.
Splitting the incantation, calculating separately, then meticulously joining it.
Easier said than done—the difficulty rivaled organ transplants.
Success could save the dying; failure hastened death or birthed a chimera with a monkey arm grafted on.
"Uh, mine…… My idea. These two helped with calculations and disassembly…… And the fusion was me……."
Ifrin said meekly. Deculein gazed down at her coldly.
We're screwed. Drent and Kreto, sensing it from his reaction, sighed needlessly.
But Deculein's next words were:
"Excellent."
Praise no one saw coming.
"……?!"
Ifrin, who had bowed her head expecting rebuke, looked up with wide eyes.
He spoke in his usual dry tone.
"Hone this technique; it will prove invaluable later. You pass."
"Nice!"
"Phew……."
Drent whooped instinctively, Kreto sighed in relief, and Ifrin just stared blankly at him.
"……."
Confusion swirled.
In her whole life, she'd never heard "excellent" today—until now. Not flattery or exaggeration, but genuine, from no one.
And that first praise, from Deculein of all people.
Was this mere "conciliation" too……?
"Ifrin! Let's go!"
"……Huh? Uh, yeah……."
Drent tugged her along. Dazed, she followed like a paper doll.
The second lecture hall, gathering only passers. The floor was earth, a stream flowed ahead, greenery grew, and fireballs drifted lazily.
"Pass: 100. Fail: 50."
Even in this open-book exam allowing consultation, 50 failed to write answers or grasp basics. In three hours, a third of the students were cut.
"The remaining 100 are deemed to understand the 'fundamentals.' Assignment time."
Assignment. With that, Deculein condensed the ground into an awl shape.
A spell called Mold of Earth.
"This is an utterly simplistic use of the earth-attribute spell Mold of Earth. Not a longsword, dagger, or axe—just a nine-stroke awl."
Mold of Earth shaped soil into weapons, usually paired with Telekinesis or swung by hand.
"Draw it out. Mold of Earth needs at least twenty strokes for a usable weapon."
Roserio chimed in, thrilled at her specialty.
"Nine strokes makes a mere awl. Twenty for a dagger. At thirty, you craft something sharper than a blacksmith's forged blade."
"Indeed."
Deculein nodded at her elaboration.
"Yet the essence of 'pure application' lies in pushing the 'basics' to their limit. Allen?"
"Yeees."
Allen, standing nearby, handed over mana alloy. Deculein gripped the awl from Mold of Earth.
"Pure spell use amplifies even the simplest spell's output infinitely, scaled to the caster's capacity. For example."
The nine-stroke awl's sharp tip pierced the mana alloy.
Crack—!
Roserio's eyes bulged.
"This puny awl pierced mana alloy worth five thousand elne."
A hole gaped in the alloy. Stunned, Roserio reached out.
"G-Give it here!"
Deculein tossed it. Roserio instantly formed her own awl with Mold of Earth and stabbed the alloy.
Ting—it merely bounced off with a clear ring.
"How? How'd you do that?"
"I used Mold of Earth, but any spell suffices."
Ignoring Roserio, Deculein continued.
"Pierce, shatter, or melt this alloy with a spell of fourteen strokes or fewer—assignment complete."
Ifrin and the students gulped.
Better than nine, but fourteen strokes were still basic.
That mana alloy, though…… It screamed high-grade at a glance. Five thousand elne meant mid-tier at least.
"Fail, and you're out. Due next class. Now……."
Deculein snapped his fingers. The remaining 100 grew uneasy.
They thought class was over.
"We begin theory."
Theory remained.
99th floor of the Magic Tower. In the circular office the size of a drill field, the chairman and her dog waited.
"Professor Deculein! What brings you here?!"
I went straight up after class and handed her a single paper.
"Ooh! This must be that paper Professor Deculein was researching! The one! Paper…… right……?"
The excited chairman froze, looked at my face, then the paper, my face again, the paper once more.
Repeating that dozens of times, she slammed her palm on the desk.
"Aha~! It's a dream!"
"No, it's not."
"What?!"
The chairman clamped her gaping mouth with both hands, face screaming utter shock.
"If this isn't a dream…… Professor Deculein! Is that your real skin?!"
I stared silently.
Her reaction was unexpected. I figured she'd coo delightedly upon receiving the paper.
Squawk—the chairman shrieked.
"No answer! It's fake! It is!"
"It's not."
"Then why……."
As a gossip hound, she'd normally rejoice at such news. Yet she seemed far from thrilled, brows furrowed in rare confusion and dissatisfaction.
"……Professor Deculein! Professor Deculein! Professor Deculein!"
"Why call thrice?"
"You're submitting this as is?!"
Adrienne pointed to a paragraph in the paper.
The first page.
Introducing the First Author.
"Yes."
I nodded.
She peered at the paper again, nearly pressing her eyes to it.
"Hoo……."
A deep breath, as if holding it.
It's real?! She looked up at me, shouting.
"……Professor Deculein! You're really submitting this?! Once I approve, no revisions!"
"I know."
"No way! You're not the real Deculein?!"
She jabbed a finger. Instantly, gale-force winds—Wind Erosion, the ultimate spell shredding all magical and mana-based harm on targets—engulfed me.
Whoooosh—!
"……What do you think you're doing."
After five seconds, the gale subsided.
I straightened my tousled hair and clothes, glaring. Her eyes sparkled mockingly.
"……The real Professor Deculein?!"
"Unnecessary suspicion."
She hem-hemmed.
"Fine. I have to believe it then…… Should I?!"
I understood her repeated questions.
This paper held an unimaginable act for the original Deculein—something that wouldn't happen even if the world split.
"No matter how I think!"
She traced the sentence with her finger.
"First author!"
First Author meant, simply, the paper's owner.
The name appearing first on the prime real estate of the first page.
"Two names?!"
My paper listed 'Monarch Deculein.'
And beside it, at equal prominence: 'Soda Kaigan.'
"For your personality, this can't be…… Hm?"
Then she tilted her head.
"But no proof experiments yet?"
"Correct."
Precisely, I couldn't experiment.
My paper was pure theory. For firm validation, practical testing—'magic application'—was key, but I lacked the talent.
"Theory for now, but magic application soon feasible."
I had Ifrin below me. She'd grow enough to grasp this paper in half a year at most.
Magic realization was her role.
"Sure. Theory first, experiments later—happens sometimes!"
Adrienne hummed oddly—hum-hum-hoo—and nodded.
"And new Pure Element invention! If that's solid, theory alone suffices for recognition! Go on, Professor Deculein! Let me read!"
She pulled massive round glasses from her desk drawer, perching them on her nose bridge. Bigger than her face.
"I hate anyone nearby when studying! Shoo! Shoo!"
She waved me off.
"Understood."
I took the elevator straight to the first floor.
Star-studded night sky already. Heading to the tower parking lot, a slick blond leaned against the wall, eyeing me.
"There you are."
Ihelm smirked.
"Hey. Heard something wild. You gave your paper to that guy's daughter? Said you'd return it if she gets it in a month?"
"……."
"Why? What if she actually understands?"
"She won't."
"Aha~ As expected. Just messing with her? Figured she can't, so watch her squirm?"
I shook my head.
His smug vibe grated. That loose, buttery tone especially.
"You've changed. Old you wouldn't pull that."
I kept walking. Ihelm fell in step.
"Hey, Deculein. Walking like this brings back memories, huh."
"No."
"C'mon, back in the day—hey, wait. Too fast!"
I lengthened my stride.
My long-legged pace outstripped him quickly—not running, just marching, yet magic-tier speed.
…….
Ihelm tsked.
"Damn. Walks like that."
Deculein vanished fast. No need to chase.
Said what I wanted; heard what he had.
"Hey. Hear that?"
Ihelm eyed a massive tree near the tower. Ifrin, hiding behind, flinched.
"Heard, right? Gave you the paper knowing you couldn't get it."
"……Knew that since last night."
Ifrin emerged, arms crossed snappishly. Her bratty look twisted his lips.
"Knew and hid? I asked loud for you to hear, thinking you didn't."
"Got a question. For you."
"What."
"What were the three of you."
"……What?"
Ihelm furrowed his brow. Genuine.
Ifrin snorted, repeating.
"Dad, Deculein, you. Spill, or no testimony from me. Something comes, something goes."
"……."
"Right?"
Ihelm gaped, half-amazed, then sighed softly and chuckled.
"Yeah. Friends. Me and Deculein."
"……Friends?"
She echoed; he corrected, musing.
"Were we?"
"What? My dad?"
"Lackey."
"……You son of—"
"Kidding, kidding! Haha!"
Ihelm flushed at her demon-faced glare, clutching his belly, tears welling.
Ifrin stomped the ground with her heel.
"Don't laugh!"
"Sorry, sorry. Fine."
Huff! Ihelm exhaled, continuing.
"We were equals, sort of. Your dad clung to Yukline's skirt."
"Skirt?"
"Yeah. Brains."
He tapped his temple.
"Your dad snagged Yukline with this head."
Ifrin pondered.
Snagged Yukline…… Vague phrasing.
"If Deculein fell for Dad's theory—"
"Hey. Only Deculein in Yukline?"
"Huh?"
To baffled Ifrin, Ihelm grinned slyly.
"Hadekan's Yeriel is Yukline too. Late Ether mage Dikailen was Yukline. His two wives too."
"Ah…… Then—"
"No. Shh."
Ihelm shushed suddenly.
"That's enough. More endangers your neck. Yukline's a great house. Know too much, they might kill you."
"……Professor Deculein?"
"The Yukline house."
Ifrin stared straight. Ihelm met it firmly.
"So be my witness. Present evidence if you have it. If."
"I do."
Ihelm's face hardened, serpentine cold.
He asked lowly.
"You do?"
"Yes."
"What."
"……Secret."
"Secret?"
His smug mug crumpled like a dumpling.
"You messing with me? Gotta know to sync stories—"
"Letter with Dad. Bringing to hearing. And no syncing with you. Your name's not in it."
Ihelm fell silent at her boldness, lips tight, hissing.
"……Fine. He ignored me too."
He raked his hair roughly, nodding.
"Anyway, got it. Letter—solid evidence, make sure. I'll back you; hit hard. Rewind ain't that beholden to Yukline."
Ihelm turned and walked off.
Drunken sway in moonlight. Watching, Ifrin sighed.
"Haa……."
Right path? Truly correct? She didn't know. Maybe dead wrong. Utterly.
──But.
If this way Dad's name endured in magic circles. Unforgotten. His tower humiliations reversed.
If she could proudly claim being his daughter.
"……Dad."
Ifrin pulled the paper from her bosom.
Deculein said "understand in a month, it's yours"—impossible from the start.
Never meant to return it.
"Weird, right?"
Thus, if she was Deculein's Achilles' heel, as Ihelm said.
If she could ruin him. Truly sever his ankle.
"Should be thrilled. Jumping for joy……."
Ifrin felt misty regret rising inside.
Unusually bitter.
"……."
Because of that future self she'd met someday?
Not happy, sad, relieved—just mouth tasted foul.
Like canker sores.
"……Steel yourself."
Ifrin murmured low.
"Steel yourself……."
Her voice rose to the night sky.
Uncertain resolve circled like breath, scattering. Shattered in chill wind.