Auction (1)
"That's it. Figure out the rest of the Understanding on your own."
The lecture ended. Deculein, having wrapped up his three-hour class, left without a backward glance. Sylvia started to follow but hesitated.
She had questions, but her pride wouldn't allow her to chase after him.
"......"
Sylvia simply sat there and began meditating and contemplating.
Theory and intuition. Professors who possessed both were rare, but she had no need to cling to Deculein over something like that.
Theory was just a "framework" anyway. Even that was merely a "shaky" standard. Magic was a protean flow driven by mana, inherently unbound by theory from the start.
Suppose this: What if the quality of mana suddenly changed inside a dungeon or barrier?
Theory would inevitably falter.
What if a mana storm upended the entire magical formula? In the face of a raging mana disaster? In the unstable atmosphere right after a mana explosion?
Could theory remain constant amid such a sudden plunge into crisis?
No.
For a mage, theory was merely imperfect.
A theory that had always been right could prove wrong in an instant, or one might have to cobble together an entirely new one depending on the altitude.
Thus, what a mage must pursue was solely their own perfect "intuition." At its peak, that sense would reign as law itself.
"......"
Sylvia sat for a while, staring at her notes.
She had faith. Faith that she could resolve even theory through her own intuition.
"......"
Faith that she could find the answers without anyone's guidance.
"......"
A small triangle. A larger inverted triangle enclosing it. A circle embracing both shapes even more vastly.
Pure Elements—water—composed of six straight lines and one curve.
The combination of that water and fire.
Replaying Deculein's explanation in her ears, she thought fiercely.
She could wield the theoretical framework he presented with her Tri-Color. She could paint combinations of pure elements like a picture.
In that process, theory was merely a "path." The one walking it was herself...
"......"
...This was a problem.
She needed a mage's notebook. As expected, a regular art sketchbook had its limits.
A mage's dedicated notebook, which automatically output magical formations and circuit flows to some degree. She needed to transcribe her notes into one.
"......"
The issue was that her Tri-Color didn't linger long in this phenomenal world.
Of course, the pencil stayed gripped in her hand eternally. But the graphite forming letters on the notebook scattered after an hour.
"......"
Meanwhile, the lecture spanned a whopping 60 pages.
Even if she got a mage's notebook right now, it would all evaporate while she copied it over.
"......"
Sylvia looked around.
No one was there.
The room was already empty.
What kind of learning fervor had Deculein's lecture ignited in them?
"......"
Blinking blankly at her notebook and pencil in turn, she agonized, but no answer came.
Sylvia murmured softly.
"What should I do?"
If she left it like this, her notes would vanish. Even transcribing to a mage's notebook would mean inevitable loss.
In this dire crisis, the only solutions were... to ask the professor directly, or find someone who had taken notes "diligently" and "well."
* * *
Aisle A, seat 3 in the Magic Tower library.
Ifrin finished her three-hour review. Glancing at the clock with bleary eyes, it was past midnight.
"......Who knew I could make something like this."
She muttered dazedly, looking at her notebook.
Deculein Lecture Notes Summary
She had bought the notebook instead of bread for dinner to record the lecture.
"What is this? I heard it wasn't like this before."
Slumped in her chair, she sighed it out.
To be blunt, Deculein's lectures had long been infamous.
They seemed explanatory at first but devolved into self-praise, he guilt-tripped you into buying his book—or else 5,000 elne!—and yet the exams and assignments were brutally hard...
That was why even the chief professor's class had plenty of open slots during registration.
But today's lecture wasn't like that. She wanted to nitpick it down, but compared to other professors, the quality was on another level.
It was genuinely helpful.
Truth be told, Ifrin hadn't clearly understood why pure element magic was called "Pure Elements." Not from the Academy, she had used magic intuitively without reading a single theory book.
Deculein had filled that "ignorant gap" that had itched at her most.
"It wounds my pride..."
No, there's no pride to wound.
If I absorb your knowledge and grow stronger than you, wouldn't that be humiliating for you too?
"Right. That's right. Heuheuaang~"
Convinced on her own, Ifrin stretched grandly and headed out.
On the way back to the dorm, she saw undergrads eating hot dogs on the roadside.
...Looks delicious.
Ifrin rummaged in her pockets. Not a single coin. She had bought notebooks with her meal money. University mages used special "magic notebooks," so writing supplies were exorbitantly expensive too.
"Hey! Ipi! Ipi!"
Then someone from behind called a weird name.
"Ipi!"
That Ipi is definitely me.
But why shorten a perfectly fine name like that?
Ifrin turned grumpily. A girl with light pink hair named Dabi—class rep for Debutante 1st-year Magic Department—came panting up.
"Ipi, Ipi! You took Professor Deculein's class, right?"
"Yeah. So?"
We're not even friends—why call me that nickname? Irritated, but Dabi grinned slyly and cut straight to it.
"Got those notes? The Wizaboard blew up today. Everyone's saying Chief Professor Deculein's lecture was amazing. I'm hunting for copies—if you have notes, I'll buy 'em. Just let me copy."
Buy. Money. Notes. Copy.
Someone buying my notebook for money.
Words that could buy her dinner today piqued Ifrin's interest.
But.
"I'd like to, but you know. Disciplinary committee wasn't long ago. I was too shaken to even listen properly."
She didn't want it known she had reviewed Professor Deculein's lecture so diligently.
"Oh, really? Well... can't be helped."
Dabi wrinkled her nose. Ifrin smiled bitterly.
"Sorry."
"Gotta try other commoners then. Bye~"
She left quickly, muttering, "Those types can't even grab luck falling in their lap~" It was pitiful.
No, going to other commoners? So she only targets the broke ones? But I'm noble, not commoner?
I may be broke, but do I lack pride?
...If she'd offered once more, I'd have caved.
Gurgle—
Ifrin clutched her starving stomach and walked on.
Staggering along, she bumped into someone else at a corner.
"......Huh?"
A blonde mage in the finest velvet robe. Nobly aristocratic at a glance, from a great house.
Sylvia.
"......"
She stood stock-still in the middle of the straight path, glaring at Ifrin.
Ifrin, approaching hesitantly, sensed a chill and stopped at a safe distance.
"What're you doing here?"
Ifrin asked. Sylvia stared silently at the notebook in Ifrin's hand.
"......"
"Hey?"
Ziiing—like a laser, then whoosh! She lunged for it.
Ifrin yelped in surprise and hid the notebook behind her back.
"Wh-what the—hey!"
Sylvia didn't give up at once. Like a hook snatching prey, she swiped wildly three times, then slyly retreated.
Ifrin was dumbfounded.
"What the hell? Seriously, what's your deal? Gone gangster now?"
"......"
Sylvia said nothing, just smacked her lips regretfully, spun on her heel, and click-clack went away.
Her silhouette vanishing into the dark was straight out of a ghost story.
"Whoa, creepy. What's with her......"
Psychopath or something.
Fearing another attack, Ifrin hugged her notebook tight and cautiously returned to the dorm.
Gurgle—grrr rumble—
Her stomach roared in the dorm hallway.
"Ugh...... First mage to starve to death, seriously. What's wrong with free meals? They make bank."
At least tuition and dorm were free. Otherwise, she'd have died ages ago.
Shuffling grumpily down the hall to her door.
"......Wow. So childish."
Ifrin muttered in disgust.
Stuff like that, courtesy of Sylvia's fans, presumably.
"Pathetic losers, seriously pathetic."
Tsk. She erased it with magic, opened the door—and there was an envelope on the floor.
A glance: Imperial University Tower's [Sponsorship Certificate].
■ Recipient: Debutante Ifrin Luna
■ Amount: 100,000 ∃
"......That was kinda clever."
Her heart skipped, then sank.
Sponsorship my ass. Who'd sponsor me, marked by both Ilayde and Yukline houses?
Clever, but a bit smarter and it'd have been perfect.
Hurts that rumors of me being broke are already everywhere.
"100,000 elne? This guy's insane?"
Knowing no one would sponsor, she set it to max 10 million elne.
But 100,000 elne? If you're faking, go big... or... hmm... the forgery's pretty refined...
What, this psycho even faked the seal?
Definite report material.
"Gonna claim the bounty."
Thanks, kid. You're dead. Sneering, Ifrin headed straight to the magic administration office near the dorm.
"Um, hey. Here to report something."
"Report?"
The counter clerk paused typing and tilted her head.
"Yeah. Someone forged this and slipped it in my room."
"Forged?"
"Yep. Even the seal. Probably pranking me."
"......Pardon? Oh, okay. Let me check."
"There's a bounty, right?"
"No, there isn't."
"Oh......"
Ifrin scratched her neck, waiting.
Then...
Three minutes later.
"......"
Ifrin shuffled out of the office, soul drained from her face. In her hand dangled the sponsorship certificate.
"This......"
She clutched it with both hands, peering close.
"This...... Is this a dream?"
100,000 elne.
She slapped her cheek.
100,000 elne.
It stung like hell.
100,000 elne.
Real 100,000 elne.
Flinch— a breeze made her shudder; she glanced around warily and tucked the certificate inside her clothes.
Someone might see. That I have 100,000 elne.
Thieves might come. To steal my 100,000 elne.
Hurry to the bank.
Creeping along, eyes darting everywhere, Ifrin soon couldn't move and squatted by the road.
Something surging inside her heart hindered her steps.
"......Ugh."
Ifrin buried her face between her knees, gritting her teeth.
Unknown emotions welled to her throat. She tried holding back, but couldn't.
"Hic."
Was this what it meant—the world was still worth living in? Someone saw past mage house harassment, recognized her talent.
But how'd they know?
Dunno, me neither.
"Kuhuk...... Keuheuk......"
Beast-like sounds, weeping or growling unknown. A bizarre wail on the roadside.
Ifrin sobbed like that for a while, forcibly swallowing tears too hard to bear.
* * *
...The crisp first weekend of April.
The day of the promised auction—to buy the Frost Stone—I rode to the city of 'Luten' where the auction house was.
"Entering Luten. Schatzinsel in five minutes."
The driver said.
"Good. Well done. Rest easy when we arrive."
"Pardon? Oh, yes! Thank you!"
Luten, one of the empire's richest commercial cities, gleamed dazzlingly. Not quite modern skyscrapers, but tall buildings abounded, some streets lined entirely with luxury boutiques and jewelers.
We passed the splendor to our destination: the seaside auction house.
I read the sign effortlessly.
As expected of a motif from the Sydney Opera House, Schatzinsel's grandeur was immense.
At the entrance—ground level to the sea—I descended under escorts' guard.
My body was covered in wounds, making movement tough. Fresh from sword practice at the mansion.
"This way, Chief Professor Deculein."
Via VVIP passage to the lounge.
"We'll guide you when it's time. Rest comfortably."
I nodded, sat, and killed time.
Or tried to—then ran into an unexpected person.
Mysterious ash-gray hair that stood out anywhere, plus a white armored knight.
Why armor even at parties and auctions, who knows.
Julie.
Never imagined meeting at an auction.
She stood in the lounge center, saw me, and approached with firm knightly steps.
I greeted with eye contact.
"I heard you referred two mages to the disciplinary committee."
Julie spoke first. I regarded her. Another meddling visit, it seemed.
"Your ears are slow. Only hearing now?"
"Slow? I heard yesterday. Is it true?"
"Yes. Shall I call that my fault too?"
"......"
Julie seemed at a loss. Unfamiliar with details, hard to comment. She just worked her lips and said:
"They're Debutantes. Fresh to the Tower, brimming with dreams and hopes. Don't despair them. Don't repeat the past. It'll return as karma someday. This is my final advice to you."
Final. The word was a period.
Julie had made up her mind.
Truth be told, so had I. No matter how cool and beautiful a knight, I had no desire for a marriage unseen even in this life over something so trivial.
...Plus, no joke, I could die at the wedding. Death flags swarmed her surroundings.
Especially that sister of hers was extreme.
"I shall not."
I nodded—affirmation and conversation's end. Julie bowed silently and left.
Watching her back, a curiosity struck.
"Yet, did this auction house draw you to me?"
"......Wh-what? Delusions have limits!"
Julie whirled, reacting loudly.
Good enough.
I tried reading quietly, but she sidled up and added:
"'Delusions have limits' means I didn't come for you. That you think I came for you is the delusion......"
I nodded.
Julie eyed me suspiciously, retreated, paced, returned, and muttered clearly:
"Really. I have my own business here—"
"Understood. Once is enough."
Was she underestimating someone with the Understanding trait?
I cut her off firmly; she pouted and left.
...After misunderstanding first herself.
Her quiet grumbling was oddly cute.
Smiling, I startled.
No way Deculein's feelings for Julie had transferred too.
Of course, seeing her didn't make my heart pound or vision blur...
Then.
To our esteemed guests visiting Schatzinsel: The auction will commence shortly. Please follow your attendants' guidance. Thank you.
The broadcast signaled the start; I rose. A small head trailed my back to the auction hall, saying:
"Seemed you didn't understand, so last time—"
"I understand."
"You said that last time too. Planning to spread useless society rumors again—"
"I won't. Believe me."
"I'm not here for you. No."
"I said I know......"
We entered the auction stage amiably(?) and parted to our seats.