How Long Will You Keep Me Waiting?
“Where is it?! Where are you?!”
The situation had already ended, but a young voice belatedly echoed from far off in the forest. I slipped my six treasured swords into my briefcase.
“Where are you?!”
The chairman. She came flying in on her own treasured staff, whooshing through the air.
“Oh?!”
Her eyes widened at the sight of the demon with its brow pierced clean through.
“You’ve already taken care of it!”
“……”
I tried to wipe the splattered blood from my face with a cleansing spell. But the mana-infused blood resisted my magic. With no other choice, I dabbed it off with a handkerchief and tossed it away.
“As expected of a Yukline wizard! You utterly demolished that demon! What spell did you use? Ah! That cross-section looks like it was pierced by metal… Could it be my invention, Whirlwind Blade Drill?!”
“The name is childish.”
A sharp edge crept unconsciously into my voice. The chairman flinched, jerking her head back.
“W-what? Everyone said it was good!”
“Who would dare speak ill to you, Chairman?”
I said no more and turned away. A tiny mutter slipped out from behind me.
“R-really? It’s really that bad?”
“Yes.”
“Ah……”
Her face fell. That feigned immaturity of hers grated on me, but what came next was brutally genuine.
The chairman hoisted the demon’s corpse and hurled it.
Boom—!
It rocketed past my shoulder like a cannonball, slamming into the ground. Chunks of flesh and blood sprayed everywhere.
“Whirlwind Blade Drill is no good, huh……”
The chairman muttered listlessly, while I calmly strode through the heart of the blood mist. Thanks to psychokinesis, not a single droplet clung to me.
As we descended the mountain, the tower’s wizards were already swarming the area.
Ifrin came to mind. I’d been unintentionally too rough with her.
I grabbed one of the onlookers at random.
“You there. There should have been one Debutante wizard—”
“Professor Deculein.”
An unfamiliar voice cut in. I turned toward it.
“I trust you’ve been well.”
A handsome man with a soft, melodic tone. His radiant golden hair and priestly robes gave him away at once.
A named figure from the Cathedral, the most devout and pious priest of them all.
Terpe.
“We’ve rescued the wizards. However, Professor Deculein, I’d like to ask you separately about the internal situation.”
Terpe was a man of beautiful character, but from Deculein’s perspective, he was profoundly inconvenient. In a word, he aided those who harbored grudges against Deculein.
“Speak with the chairman inside. Whatever your purpose, she’s blown the corpse to bits.”
“Ah, I see.”
Terpe nodded and waved goodbye to the wizards he’d saved, then headed into the mountain. The wizards he left behind stared at me in fear.
I called their names.
“Julia, Perit, Rondo.”
“……Y-yes.”
Julia answered, her face pale and drawn.
“Is the remaining one all right?”
“Pardon? Oh, yes! Ifrin is at the university hospital right now—”
“Very well.”
I turned away without hearing the rest.
Mental fatigue weighed heavily.
I’d never felt such an aching longing for home… and now professors were rushing over from afar.
“Professor! Are you all right?!”
Aftermath processing, imperial reports, paperwork, Cathedral coordination—the flood of tasks this late at night came to mind, and for some reason, I felt like running away.
Chirp-chirp-chirp— Chirp-chirp-chirp— Chirp-chirp-chirp—
Sunlight filtered through the window. Ifrin opened her eyes at the sound of birdsong.
“……”
She blinked vacantly.
A white ceiling. She was in the university hospital.
“You’re awake.”
A voice as gentle as sunlight tickled her ears. Startled, Ifrin bolted upright.
“Pleased to meet you.”
It was some priest. True to the warning about handsome men, Ifrin first shielded herself with the blanket.
“Wh-what the hell?”
“I am Terpe, priest of Yurep Cathedral.”
“……Parfait?”
Terpe smiled at her as he spoke.
“Ifrin Luna. You’ve grown so much.”
“……You know me?”
Ifrin furrowed her brow suspiciously.
“I knew your father, Miss Luna. I’ve seen photos of you plenty of times.”
“……So?”
Mention of her father put her on the defensive.
“I came to ask about what happened at Darkness Mountain today… or rather.”
Terpe smiled faintly.
“It seems you haven’t grasped the situation yet, Miss Luna.”
“……Yeah. Embarrassingly, I fell for an illusion spell—”
“Professor Deculein saved you.”
“Ah…… Right.”
“What ensnared you was a demon’s presence. Darkness Mountain has been temporarily closed, and the Cathedral is now searching it alongside the tower.”
Ifrin covered her face with both hands.
Sure enough, that memory hadn’t been a dream.
She’d ended up needing Deculein’s help.
—You damn halfwit.
That cold voice still rang vividly in her ears.
“But separately from that incident, as the daughter of an old friend—”
“Hold on. Friend? My father’s?”
“Yes. Perhaps it was one-sided on my part, but I know what he went through. If you ever need help—”
“No.”
Ifrin shook her head without hesitation. Her expression hardened.
Terpe looked mildly surprised.
“That’s fine.”
Herself and Deculein.
Deculein and Luna.
That knot was hers to untie alone.
No one else’s help, no room for interference.
At least when it came to her father’s death, only she could judge Deculein.
“No, I don’t want it. Stay out of it, Tefefe.”
Her resolve drew a quiet laugh from Terpe.
“In that case… shall you rest more?”
“Huh?”
“It’s Wednesday today. And 2:45 p.m. exactly. Thirty-six hours have passed.”
Midnight Tuesday had somehow become Wednesday afternoon.
Ifrin stared blankly, a sense of forgetting something nagging at her.
Terpe filled her in.
“Yes, Professor Deculein’s lecture. Of course, no one would blame you for skipping, but with that professor’s towering pride… whether he’d count it as attendance is another matter.”
“……Ah!”
Ifrin shot to her feet.
“Miss Luna, studies are important, but you’re mentally drained right now—don’t push too hard.”
“Yeah! You get home safe too, Teforo!”
“Hm? Ahaha. Yes, thank you. Take care. You’re giving me so many names today.”
Ifrin bolted straight out of the university hospital.
She ignored the shouts of “Take your medicine!” and sprinted full-tilt.
Even at top speed, it was over fifteen minutes from the hospital to the tower.
Huff—! Huff—!
She raced desperately and barely arrived at 2:55.
Panting, she flung open the door to Room A on the third floor and stumbled into the lecture hall—only to freeze.
“Huh?”
The setup was different from last class.
A larger room, with long magic tables assigned to each student, laden with earth, sand, wood scraps, water, and other elements.
“Iffi! Here!”
Julia shot her hand up. Ifrin nodded and took the seat beside her.
“You okay? I visited, but you wouldn’t wake. Not a big deal, right?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Slept like a rock for once—feelin’ great.”
Insomnia since her father’s suicide.
Three years without more than four hours a night, yet now it felt like she’d caught up on all that lost sleep—refreshing, even.
“Condition’s top-notch, huh.”
“Glad to hear it……”
Then the front door opened, and Professor Deculein entered.
He was with a short wizard whose name and face were unknown.
“Greetings. This is Assistant Professor Allen.”
“?!”
The sudden announcement stunned everyone, but Ifrin was hit hardest.
Assistant professors typically advanced to associate or full on their own merits after, so with enough achievements, they could leave anytime without Deculein’s approval.
That’s why Deculein never had one.
Even her own father had slaved under him until thirty, stuck at Soda Rank.
Imagining her father back then still made her neck prickle—and now an assistant professor?
Why appoint one now, after never having done so in his life…?
“As I mentioned last week, today is time for embodiment.”
Ifrin’s head spun with vertigo, but she pinched her thigh to shake it off.
“I shall assign five tasks utilizing the lecture material. Results will factor into your grades—approach them earnestly.”
Assistant Professor Allen bustled about, placing clocks on each magic table.
“Your tasks are as follows.”
Snap—!
He flicked his fingers. The assignments materialized in the air.
1. Will-o'-the-Wisp
2. Engulfing Smoke
3. Billowing Metal
⋯
“You have three hours. Begin.”
The wizards immediately preheated their mana.
Ifrin hurriedly placed her hands on the table’s elements.
First up: Will-o'-the-Wisp.
She got the hang quickly. A combo of pure elements—fire and wind, no doubt.
Combine fire’s incantation with wind’s properties—that had to be it.
Ifrin constructed the incantation in her mind, channeling mana along the circuit…
No, more properly with the mana…
Actually, the incantation over mana…
Just then, Assistant Professor Allen passed by. Without realizing, Ifrin shot him a piercing glare.
Crack—!
The circuit snapped, the spell shattering.
Wrist aching, Ifrin bit her lip. Heat rose from her artifact bracelet—a sign something was wrong.
“Ah, hold on.”
She knew it was off, but suddenly the incantation escaped her.
Her head throbbed.
Restless, she bowed her head to calm down.
And then.
“Will-o'-the-Wisp confirmed. 4 minutes 1 second.”
Already?!
Ifrin gaped in shock.
Sylvia, as expected.
Sylvia had fixed the Will-o'-the-Wisp to her table and was onto the second task.
Ifrin frantically rebuilt her incantation, but focus eluded her.
“……Ngh!”
This was too weird.
Mana moved erratically, her stomach churning with hunger.
Gathered mana scattered, incantations botched, circuits broke.
All her diligent review, repeated endlessly—none of it worked. As spells crumbled, confidence plummeted, making magic harder still.
In that vicious cycle, a voice looped in her ears.
……You damn halfwit, you damn halfwit, you damn halfwit, you damn halfwit, you damn halfwit, you damn halfwit, you damn halfwit, you damn halfwit……
She had to ignore it. No reason to care.
But she couldn’t.
“Why am I a halfwit…… Why the hell am I a halfwit……”
Breath ragged, face crumpling amid headache and hallucination, on the verge of tears…
Sylvia caught Ifrin’s breakdown with a sidelong glance.
“……”
Hmph.
A faint breath escaped her impassive lips.
Not cool-headed for a wizard, not composed, not sturdy.
Too fragile, brittle, unable to handle her own emotions—shaking every which way, a mess of flaws.
In mage temperament terms: volatile or frail.
Ifrin, you’ve truly been eliminated from the race.
Sylvia let out a quiet sigh and turned away.
“……Debutante Sylvia. 25 minutes 15 seconds. Tasks complete.”
Five tasks in a mere twenty-five minutes. Neatly fused pure elements preserved as spells adorned her desk.
“Professor.”
Deculein approached at the assistant’s call.
He examined Sylvia’s results. She felt a twinge of tension—and faint embarrassment from last time’s indecent mishap(?).
“Sylvia.”
Deculein said.
“Yes.”
Sylvia braced for any criticism. If she couldn’t withstand his scrutiny, she wouldn’t have signed up.
But.
“Flawless perfection. You may go.”
The praise was utterly unexpected.
Sylvia’s eyes widened. At the same time, she sensed Ifrin’s gaze nearby. Sylvia deliberately met it.
Ifrin’s hands trembled; she hurriedly looked down.
Her tasks remained stalled.
“……”
You don’t need to envy me. No need to mind me.
You’ll never reach this height.
Just watch.
“Thank you.”
Sylvia bowed to Deculein and strode out. Passing Ifrin, she deliberately let her heels click loudly.
Ifrin flinched like a startled penguin.
Only then did Sylvia realize her own feeling.
Exhilaration.
That halfwit crumbling—it was so satisfying she could hardly bear it.
“Julia. You may go.”
“Rehin. You may go.”
“Eharron. You may go.”
The wizards in the hall dwindled.
From 150 to 100, 100 to 50, 50 to 25… yet Ifrin had completed only one task.
Overwhelming last place.
“……”
Her mind was a blank white. Still, she refused to quit. She forcibly wrung out mana.
Bracelet and mana resonated fiercely, but this damn Engulfing Smoke showed no sign of manifesting.
Drip— Drip— Drip—
Wringing mana until nosebleed burst forth.
Crimson drops stained the table’s dirt.
“Drent. You may go.”
Even as that voice strangled her throat.
“Roton. You may go.”
Each departure shook her hands, numbed her knees.
“Kane. You may go.”
This moment was nightmarishly dreamlike.
And despairingly real.
“Doyian. You may go.”
And finally.
“Eurojan. You may go.”
“Yes!”
Eurojan—the last besides her—passed.
She was alone.
“……”
She didn’t want to give up, but time ran out first.
Ifrin let her arms drop.
Thud!
She faceplanted into the table. Noseblood mixed with dirt smeared her face.
No thoughts came.
Tick— Tock— Tick—
Everything felt numb.
Tick— Tock— Tick—
Professor, three hours are up.
Allen’s voice drifted faintly from afar.
Head home, then.
Yes. I’ll stay and—
Their words faded. Why, she didn’t know. Maybe dirt clogged her ears.
Thump, thump.
Ifrin knocked her forehead on the table.
Self-loathing.
Hating herself for failing even this, vowing grand revenge for her father then fleeing home never to return—pathetic, flailing here. She buried her nose in the dirt and sobbed.
Tick— Tock— Tick—
In a soundless world, only the second hand mocked her.
Time flowing relentlessly, tick-tock.
Tick— Tock— Tick—
How much time passed?
How long did she spend alone?
Tick— Tock— Tick—
Ifrin slowly lifted her head.
Night outside the window, the lecture hall dark and unlit.
“……Sniff.”
She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Filth clung everywhere. Wiping with her sleeve only smeared it into mud.
A total mess.
Like her.
“Haa……”
A sigh near resignation.
The lecture was over.
No—had been for ages.
Precisely: she’d failed.
“……Hoo.”
Soaked in regret and defeat, swollen like a waterlogged sponge.
Body heavy, legs refusing to move.
“……”
Staggering, she took one step toward the dorm.
“!”
Glancing absently at the podium, Ifrin’s eyes widened. Sand-flecked lips parted.
The vast, empty-seeming hall.
“Ah……?”
There, at the lectern—he still sat.
Upright as ever, watching her.
She hadn’t noticed his wait.
His voice washed over her.
“……5 hours 47 minutes.”
In the darkness, his blue eyes were the only light, reflecting her pathetic, frail self.
“Ifrin Luna.”
Still cold, yet a transparent timbre unlike that night.
A hint of warmth in that voice.
The incessant tick-tock ceased.
“How long do you intend to keep me waiting?”
……Time in this space had stopped.
Such an indescribably strange moment.