University (4)
Deculein's gaze always cuts straight through, unyielding. Eyes that pierce only to the truth, as if the path he sees is the one and only way.
No hesitation, no doubt, no fear, no regret—none of those weaknesses exist in him.
Only unshakeable certainty. An ego that believes utterly in its own righteousness.
Yet even that arrogance and pride somehow transform into dignity.
…Even his twisted nature feels aristocratic.
The father who took his own life under Deculein's command had vanished like a mirage scattered by the desert wind, as if he'd never existed. No blemish remained on Deculein, and no one dared question him.
Only Ifrin knew the truth—and she hated him for it, every last bit of him.
And yet.
She lacked the courage to meet his eyes.
A vast wall stood between them, an insurmountable barrier like a curtain descending.
A mage is one who pursues truth without faltering.
Calm amid any variable, unwavering, maintaining a steady pulse to derive their own answers—a race of cold blood.
To doubt oneself, to lean on others, to crumble under pressure… none of that leads to true mastery of magic.
So Deculein, much as she hated to admit it—even hated to think it—might truly be a born mage.
And she… she might have been laboring under some grave misunderstanding all this time.
Perhaps she'd underestimated the Yukline bloodline far too much.
“…”
Ifrin finally bowed her head.
It had been a battle she could never win from the start.
Him, a professor. Her, without even academy training.
Between them yawned an abyss of years, experience, knowledge, and skill.
The nonsense that raw talent alone could bridge and surpass such accumulated gaps in an instant? That was the delusion of fools ignorant of the world.
“…I'm sorry.”
Ifrin forced the words out in a cracked voice.
Her resolve had crumbled. She couldn't even muster the will to fight back.
She was terrified.
So all that was left… was to admit defeat.
“Pathetic.”
Deculein spoke. Ifrin's shoulders trembled. When she timidly glanced up, a shard of contempt glinted in his eyes.
“Composure is the mage's fundamental virtue.”
His words sliced into her chest like a blade.
“If you cannot maintain your equilibrium even over such a trivial assignment—”
She didn't want to hear it. Her mind felt shredded.
“You shall never escape mediocrity.”
She wanted to run. She was suffocating in this filthy classroom.
“A mage, even if provoked by another—”
But.
“Even if they fail time and again, even if pressure tightens their throat—”
But…
“Even if—”
In that instant.
“Your enemy stands before you—”
“!”
Ifrin shuddered from head to toe. A chill raced up her spine. Her wide eyes fixed on Deculein.
His face remained impassive as ever.
“Must always remain cold.”
She understood his words, his intent.
“In such pitiful straits, you shall never reach it.”
She clenched her fists.
At the same time, she felt heat rising from the depths of her chest.
This, too, was a form of passion.
“You shall not even linger at my heels.”
Ifrin did not flee his reprimand.
Instead, she embraced it.
“Ponder why no disciplinary action has befallen you.”
Arrogant as she'd been, what had she accomplished?
From the very first lesson, she'd failed to contain her rage, nearly earning expulsion.
“I seek not your paltry apology.”
Foolish. Idiotic.
A halfwit, a dunce, a fool.
She was still so immature.
“I am disappointed, Ifrin.”
Deculein set the pocket watch on the lectern. He straightened his cuffs and collar—a habit he always observed at the end of lectures.
He turned and opened the classroom door.
“I thought you a diamond in the rough.”
…Leaving those final words behind.
He departed.
But his voice lingered vividly in the air.
What had he expected? Why the disappointment?
He offered no answers.
“…”
Ifrin stood expressionless, replaying his words.
The helplessness that had spread through her body had already burned to ash and scattered.
Thud, thud. She climbed onto the podium.
Where Deculein had always stood, she gazed at the watch he'd left behind.
[5:57:17]
[5:57:18]
[5:57:19]
Time marched on relentlessly.
“…”
Ifrin gritted her teeth at the sight of it.
“…So what if you get disappointed.”
She spat the words like venom and snatched up the watch.
She turned to her desk.
“…I can do it.”
Ifrin rolled up her sleeves. She recalled the incantation, preheating her mana.
Once more, she laid hands on the elements.
“I can do it. Even if you aren't disappointed.”
If not today, then through the night.
If the night wasn't enough, then tomorrow.
…Until she died.
Even in death, she wouldn't give up. The word "quit" had long been erased from her mind.
No—Deculein had erased it.
"I can do it…"
She held back the flowing tears by force.
Strangely, they obeyed.
With the strength of those tears—mere droplets—she conjured mana. She burned her surging emotions as fuel.
Drip—drip— blood trickled from her nose.
"I can…"
Those droplets soon bloomed into metallic roses.
* * *
Leaning against the wall outside the classroom, I reflected.
Nearly seven hours devoted to one person. Yet the reason eluded me.
Today, no death flag had triggered for Ifrin.
There had been no death flag at all.
Ifrin had simply been weak, and I hadn't wanted to witness her collapse.
Ifrin was a good kid.
A unambiguously heroic named character.
Back in my days as developer and player—keyboard-and-mouse user—I'd been a knight far removed from magic, but the Luna family? That I remembered clearly.
She was destined to grow into a mage pivotal to this world, one who positively influenced the main quest.
What she lacked was mental fortitude, resilience, a mage's mindset—and plenty else—but overcoming that required few materials.
The spark that was Luna needed only a log or a splash of oil to blaze on its own.
Of course, whether that blaze would consume me too… who knew.
But this game—this world—had no fixed future.
Fate was the faith of the lazy; I trusted only myself.
Thus, Ifrin wouldn't kill me.
I'd make sure of it.
I'd ensure she never even dreamed of it, never pursued me.
This rivalry wasn't bad. Not what I'd intended, but Deculein's personality could be leveraged this way.
He couldn't possibly be caught by some debutante.
—I can do it!
A triumphant shout leaked from the classroom. I let slip a small smile.
“…Professor or teacher.”
I muttered, but my mood wasn't foul.
Right then.
Your Path
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“…Hm?”
A quest reward popped up out of nowhere.
As if someone far in the heavens approved of my choice today.
Rumble—
Suddenly the classroom door flew open, and Ifrin burst out.
Blind to me against the wall, she waddled down the stairs like a penguin, body protesting the strain.
I watched her go, then entered the classroom.
“Hm.”
…The night classroom was no longer dark.
On Ifrin's desk, every spell shone brilliantly, preserved in stasis.
Goblin Fire floated as ghostly orbs like real specters; Devouring Fog crackled purple like thunderclouds; Rising Metal formed roses.
I glanced at the watch on the desk.
[6:25:05]
Six hours and twenty-five minutes.
A feat in a mere twenty-eight minutes.
Envy crept in.
Irritation, too. Should've pushed harder if I'd known.
“Tch.”
Thus, Deculein's ego refused to let him be kindly.
Only to a select few could he be gentle; only they witnessed his smile… damn high price.
Was this the chosen elite mindset? Utterly vile.
I pulled out the grade ledger and wrote.
*
After dismantling the preserved spells, I headed to the tower parking lot.
I meant to drive home as usual.
“…?”
Late night, chill winds swirling. Beneath the wide lot's magical streetlamps.
There, I spotted an unexpected figure.
A man draped in a coat fit for two grown men.
Like he'd skinned a tiger whole. Broad shoulders, sturdy build—a warrior's frame—but his face, handsome, clashed with the bulk.
I knew him.
Zeit von Brugan Phairden.
Evident from the surname: Julie's twelve-years-older brother, current head of Phairden. A handsome middle-aged man with neat pomaded white hair.
I tensed sharply.
Zeit was infamous for his monstrous combat prowess, a named character.
Initial battle power rank three, and I'd experienced his legend vicariously through my monitor.
Seeing him in the flesh… his size dwarfed LeBron James.
“Professor Deculein.”
He called my name. His expression was stern.
Because of Julie's Frost Stone? Was this a death flag? No way to counter that monster now.
I approached warily and stood beside him. Suddenly, he flashed a broad, friendly grin.
“Hahaha. Glad to meet you. Seeing you here stirs the emotions.”
Disconcerting, but I nodded calmly.
“…Indeed.”
“Aye, nothing major. Just rumors flying that things between you and Julie are rocky, and I had business at the palace anyway, so I came by. Waited here since you were teaching.”
Seemed Zeit approved of Deculein and Julie's marriage.
For now.
“I see.”
“Don't worry. I'll make sure the wedding happens by year's end. I'll arrange dinner this week.”
Zeit's alignment wasn't pure evil.
But his family came first, so not wholly good either.
Benign now, but if Deculein harmed Julie and the house… he'd sever ties without hesitation.
“Dinner is unnecessary.”
“Nonsense. I arranged this betrothal; I bear the responsibility.”
He clapped my shoulder. I instinctively frowned. Zeit noticed and withdrew his hand first.
“Hahaha! That's why I like you. These days' lot only fawn and flatter. You're a real man.”
“…I see.”
“Even a mage with backbone isn't frail.”
Zeit bellowed with laughter.
“Just show up. Picked a restaurant you'll love. No worries.”
His gaze weighed heavy as he stared.
No refusing that.
“It's late, and I have matters. Be off. Nice ride, though. Give me a lift next time. Ha!”
No chance to refuse—he was gone.
His retreating back thudded thunderously, impossibly broad even on second glance.
“…Asking for a car as wedding gift?”
I tilted my head and boarded. The dozing chauffeur jolted, gripping the wheel.
“You're back!”
“Did you drop Allen?”
“I was going to, but he said he was fine and left first!”
I nodded.
“Depart.”
“Yes! Right away!”
* * *
…The next morning, early.
Near the capital, Julie's three-story manor, built by her own hands without aid.
“No!”
“Why so against it?”
In the training yard, an argument raged. A battle of words, not blades.
“We fought. And I'm busy training knights. No time to see him.”
“Sulking over one Frost Stone stolen?”
“Sulking?!”
Julie snapped back. Zeit found her tantrum over dinner absurd; Julie found her brother's incomprehension frustrating.
“Julie. Think. Why'd he buy the Frost Stone? It's metal only for weapons. He's doing it for you—”
“If he truly means to forge a sword as gift, I'll announce the broken engagement the moment he does.”
Words she'd agonized over hundreds of times, never voiced.
Broken engagement.
“…”
The air grew heavy.
Zeit stared silently down at her.
Overwhelmed by his fearsome presence. Barefoot at 210cm, no—the weight of his house crushed her.
Even she, proud against any foe, lowered her gaze.
“I said before: breaking it is folly. Deculein's record dipped, but Yukline remains our staunch ally.”
Zeit had championed the match.
About three years ago, over drinks with Deculein—that's when it began.
“And from what I know, no man loves you like Deculein. Or do you have someone else?”
“…No such person.”
“Then why hesitate? You said politics needs no emotions, Julie. Bothered by his slump? Mages falter sometimes—”
“It's not about records.”
Julie was a knight. Born one, lived one, would die one. Her conviction was her bed.
“Then what?”
…Yet knights couldn't exist alone.
A lordless knight was mere wanderer; only a lord's call made them knight.
“Over a year since betrothal. How long will you delay?”
Her lord was Phairden house.
Thus, she'd accepted this betrothal herself.
“Dinner this week. Deculein's coming, so reconcile then.”
Zeit left it at that and departed.
“…”
Julie stood frozen, then gripped a training sword.
Mana surged coldly along the blade, crystallizing to coat it. She swung—a crescent slash froze the area.
—!
Before ice shattered, flawless combos followed. Elegant swordplay etched lattices in the air.
Thus Julie's fury always manifested in steel.
Swinging by her will alone, cleaving unseen foes, transcending worldly ties in the sword's realm, sublimating emotion.
Eventually, the unbearable became bearable…
…Her subordinate knight, Veron, watched from afar.
He bit his lip until it bled.