End of Semester. (2)
The counseling room was silent. Sylvia seemed on the verge of tears, but she made no sound, and I simply watched.
The untouched teacup sat there, its ice melting with faint ripples. The angle of sunlight streaming through the window slowly shifted.
I detest those who cry.
I'm not crying.
At that moment, Sylvia lifted her head. Her eyes glistened with moisture, but no tears fell, just as she claimed.
I was moved by the praise.
...
Professor Deculein is famous for never praising anyone.
Sylvia's voice and expression showed no change as she offered that excuse. I drew a handkerchief from my pocket.
But I got praised.
Wipe your face.
...
Sylvia took the handkerchief in both hands. Her eyes sparkled like transparent jewels, brimming with tears.
Then, the twenty minutes of counseling time were up.
I'll be going now.
Sylvia glanced at the clock and rose from her seat.
She folded the handkerchief neatly, tucked it into her pocket, offered a impeccably polite bow, and left the counseling room.
I watched her small back as I spoke.
Engrave today's advice in your mind.
Sylvia halted abruptly.
Without turning around, she nodded once and departed.
─Goodbye~
Allen's voice drifted in from outside. The office door opened and closed.
... Does she undervalue herself?
Sylvia was a mage who shone on her own.
She could easily be appointed as a full professor next year, so wasting time under another professor was a clear loss—not just for me, but for the entire world.
But not Ifrin. She was perfectly suited to the magic I researched, so she could grow even more under me.
Professor!
Just then, Allen poked his head in from outside the counseling room door.
Debutante Ifrin in ten minutes! Take it easy~
*
Ifrin the pedestrian was always in her robe and backpack.
The blue robe symbolizing a debutante. The oversized bag bought for thirty elne.
Cost-performance was her top priority, so from afar, she looked like she was lugging a massive brick—and today, it felt especially heavy, clanging with every step.
Clang—clang—the modest cat doll dangling from the bag's bottom tickled the small of her back through the robe.
Ah, my shoulders...
Upon reaching the elevator, she set it down for a brief rest.
Ding—
But the elevator quickly hit the first floor. Hoisting the bag again, Ifrin startled.
Sylvia was inside.
Nothing odd about two debutantes sharing an elevator, but the atmosphere was the problem.
...
Sylvia fixed Ifrin with a piercing glare. A melancholic fury stabbed like a blade. Her narrowed eyes brimmed with You dare—how dare you—
Ifrin mumbled awkwardly.
What? Why the attitude again?
...
She'd half-expected that line deep down.
Parachute.
Sylvia spat something else and brushed past.
... Needlessly creepy. What's her deal with parachute?
If you're gonna do something, just do it. Ominous as hell.
My horoscope's been crap this week anyway, and now her too? Maybe get a new tarot reading.
Ifrin jabbered to the mirror, muttering Arrogant Ifrin— as she hit the seventy-seventh floor, shaking off the unease.
Ding—
Deculein's office at last.
Debutante Ifrin. Come on in~
Yep.
Guided by Assistant Professor Allen, she entered the counseling room.
...?
Yet Head Professor Deculein sat with eyes closed in meditative posture, ramrod straight. Ifrin just stared blankly.
Too distant, too thorny to approach without flaw—he was an existence laced with barbs.
Professor! Debutante Ifrin is here.
At the assistant's words, Deculein opened his eyes.
He nodded curtly at Ifrin.
Sit.
Yes.
Ifrin sat and immediately shed her backpack. Then plunged right in energetically.
Today's career counseling, but I also have questions about the Soda promotion exam.
Soda.
Yes.
She rummaged in her bag for documents. Like Sylvia, she'd prepared extensively right after midterms to challenge the Soda exam.
Proof of diligent class participation so far.
In truth, this was Ifrin's eighth attempt.
She'd started with new professors, but their recommendations held no weight. Lifetime professors like Rellin scorned and ignored her.
Just chased out after harsh words.
Here, in the Plain Magic Exploration club, I uncovered early signs of the Ash Baron attack, plus various civilian volunteer records and...
Deculein watched impassively.
Ifrin was like a child in a speech contest, full of vigor. Facing the toughest professor of all, it was her way of banishing nerves and anxiety.
My grades are all A+ as of midterms, and if I maintain them through finals...
She kept pulling out papers nonstop. The stack on the desk grew like a mountain.
Also from the tower—
Enough.
Deculein cut her off after silent listening. Ifrin froze mid-stand.
Take them back.
...
Ifrin's face stiffened. She bit her lower lip slightly but pressed on without showing it.
I checked all the Soda exam clauses too. Just a quick read—
No need to read them.
... Ah.
A rough breath escaped Ifrin's teeth.
But not surprising. She'd half-expected it.
Yes.
Ifrin packed the papers back. Watching her, Deculein spoke.
Maintain your grades through finals, and Soda qualification will be yours automatically.
... Yes?
Ifrin's sullen eyes widened like a child's, pure and innocent.
Top three overall, and there's no reason not to recommend you.
The meaning was clear: Ace finals, get Soda recommendation.
Ah, yes. Thank you. I'll do my best.
Ifrin scratched her nape.
... If I pass the exam, can I apprentice under you, Professor?
Embarrassed, she blurted it in one breath.
Deculein replied indifferently.
I will not stop you. The hardship is yours alone.
Yes.
Ifrin smiled inwardly.
You're adopting a tiger cub. Wonder if you'll stay this composed in one or two years. When I surpass you step by step...
She'd acknowledged Deculein as the genius of effort on the Floating Island that day, but her challenging spirit burned on.
Then I'll head out.
But as she turned to leave—
Wait.
Her body stiffened at the word. Deculein's signature pressure.
Times like this bred thoughts like Did he read my mind? What did I do wrong?
You have not yet written the check.
...
Ifrin flinched. She tilted her head creakily, mumbling to herself.
Steal it if I don't?
Not at all. It was given on behalf of the tower, not by me personally.
Ah... Actually, I didn't want anything yet, so I planned to save it for when I really need it... like insurance.
Deculein nodded silently—permission to leave. Ifrin bowed hesitantly and exited the counseling room.
Debutante Ifrin. Take care~
Ah, yes. You too, Assistant Professor.
After greeting Allen and closing the office door—
She leaned against the wall, sighing deeply.
Haa... He's so weird, seriously.
Deculein's space felt alien in the very air.
Just being there crushed her shoulders with pressure. One minute felt like ten, the mental and physical fatigue on another level.
See? Heart still pounding.
Can't read his mind either.
Deculein's depths were a mystery.
He'd clearly stolen her father's legacy, driving him—a Soda at thirty disgrace—to suicide.
At Hadekan MT, Ifrin had asked outright, but Deculein neither confirmed nor denied.
A firm denial would've been refreshing.
Thinks it's all his by right?
Still, Deculein was the tower's most status-blind professor, at least.
Even fair to her, who'd declared his dirty laundry.
Just study...
Ifrin shouldered her brick-bag and trudged on.
* * *
...
Leaders, politicians, entrepreneurs across the continent say:
Ashes Heap holds no dreams. No hope. No life. Nothing. All that's forged there is mere ash.
Al Ross knows it's bullshit.
Ashes Heap has life. Hope. Children.
...Though not the best for raising kids.
Not that Al Ross feels any hometown pride for it.
She's ambitious by nature. For an orphan from a fringe kingdom, success was a distant tale, an insurmountable wall—so Ashes Heap was her fallback.
Unofficial top puppeteer on the continent, Al Ross's puppets lurk across the empire.
Linked to her soul, they act lifelike—but none resemble her true self.
Her looks were her complex.
Too beautiful, drawing endless worthless flies.
Welcome.
Today, though, Al Ross visited [Black Kline Hotel] in her true form after ages.
Black Kline was a prime-grade hotel newly opened in the capital. Lodging rates among the highest, but for Al Ross—riddled with daily glitches—it overflowed luxury.
Reservation.
Yes, Lady Solet. Confirmed.
The staff treated guests like nobles—that's what she loved most.
Fawns aplenty, but noble treatment? Only for real nobles.
Surprisingly, Al Ross fussed over such vanities. She just never showed it.
Key for thirty-seventh floor.
Under alias Solet, she'd booked thirty-seven. Black Kline's pinnacle was the fiftieth-floor penthouse, but she lacked the mileage and prestige yet.
Dinner: Foie gras with Laferin.
Yes.
Key in hand, Al Ross boarded the elevator.
In the ornate mirror, she wore a suit—perfect men's attire, save her cinched waist.
...
Habitually, she fiddled with her necklace. No memory of when or how she got it, but it symbolized luck.
Arriving at her thirty-seventh-floor suite, she sat, pulling out a tablet.
Like the tower's whisperboard—a device for communing with allies, the Altar.
Floating Island news: Deculein deciphered runes.
Altar hung a thirty-million-elne bounty on his kidnapping instantly.
... He knew me.
Al Ross thought of the Deculein who'd called her Al Ross.
Just a mundane, lowly villain till now.
Recent Deculein differed sharply from past. Per intel from her office.
... Worth watching. Just for knowing me.
Threat enough regardless, but her imperial visit today wasn't for him.
No plans to join his kidnapping—yet. She only fought sure wins.
She tossed the tablet, eyeing a pamphlet.
A treasure that fits perfectly after ages.
Earned fortunes for treasures like this—time to indulge herself freely...
* * *
Meanwhile, counseling done—
I viewed the [System Shop] in my office.
■ 1. Adventurer's Wind...
⋯
■ 5. Qualitative Mana Enhancement (Stage 2)
: Enhances character's innate mana quality.
: Slight boost to mana output and efficiency.
: 20 Coins
... No need to wait longer.
Recent efforts amassed enough coin. Time had come.
Better now—packed schedule this week, who knows when next free slot.
Resolved, I touched [Qualitative Mana Enhancement (Stage 2)] in the air.
'Qualitative Mana Enhancement (Stage 2)' activated.
You can now harbor purer mana.
System popped up. I waited silently for the impending pain.
Stage one was mild heat, so this too...
...!
Ribs tore like paper, dark blood spraying from my mouth. Clutching my chest, I gasped.
───!
Heart seized.
... Krh.
Pain brief, thankfully—but the soiled desk irked. With Telekinesis, I gathered blood droplets, incinerating them at high heat.
Knock knock—
Professor. Professor Ruina is here—
Allen's voice with the knock.
Enter.
─Yes!
Door opened; Ruina entered.
Hey boss. It's me...?
She halted after steps, sniffing suddenly.
What is it.
Sniff-sniff—
...
Sniff—
Turned into a dog while I wasn't looking?
No... No way. Dog? Harsh words, boss.
Ruina approached, then froze again. Staring at my lips intently.
...
I wiped my mouth with the handkerchief. Slight blood. Brow furrowed instinctively. Caught in such filth.
State your business.
H-Here, this. Boss.
Ruina awkwardly thrust papers forward.
Proposal for the research I'm starting...
Seemed her first task as tower policy chief. I took the documents.
Th-Then, I'll go now. Keep up the good work.
No pitch on her proposal, fled before I spoke.
Assumes approval?
Not bad under Yukline protection. I scanned Ruina's plan.
Hm.
As expected, Magnate's Fortune eyed no flaws—stamped approved without further review.
Bang—!
* * *
Wednesday, 3 p.m.
Finals eve. Deculein's last class.
Line up by affiliation, everyone!
Assistant Professor Allen first sorted 150 debutantes by series. Harmony—talent-dependent—fewest at eleven; Support most at thirty-five.
Stand.
Today's venue: open field. Deculein addressed the 150.
Last class of the semester; nothing more to teach. Today, inspect series application, point out flaws. Five at a time.
First: five support affiliates.
Any magic. Show your best.
Deculein observed each support debutante's spell.
... Eurojan. Wind Armor. Fine application.
Green Earth. Terrascaping useful for beast subjugation.
Deculein knew every spell they cast.
Might think professor, so obvious—
Crystallization falls under support broadly, but magic circle holds harmony traits too. You overlooked. Reason for failure.
Ah... Yes!
Deculein identified failed spells' nature, even advising proper formation.
Again—I'll try again!
Debutante Perit heeded, succeeding next try.
Good. Next five...
...
Deculein could visually observe others' magic circles. His mind brimmed with half-year's Understanding-absorbed circles.
Once shallow magical knowledge now vast as ocean.
Not memorization, though. Didn't mean he could cast all.
Memorization habituated body for chantless, stanceless invocation.
Deculein implemented all but self-inscribed Telekinesis via theory.
Thus, consistent.
Consistent, unshakable.
Unshakable, firm standard—ideal for teaching...
Unaware debutantes saw him as near-omniscient magic encyclopedia.
His godlike insight awed.
Ifrin.
Yes.
Her turn at last.
Here goes.
Ifrin prepared her most complex spell. Whoosh—whoosh—circuits twisted, tangled, hidden: compound series.
Even you, Deculein, can't identify just by sight...!
Deculein eyed her circle for thirty seconds.
Soprano. Useless for you, high difficulty only.
Eh!
Pure elements wind and sound fused: special spell Soprano.
Effect subtle: shifts all area sounds to soprano range.
Stepping stone to Silence—easier precursor for structure familiarity.
But Soprano needlessly complex, interfering with spatial sound. Obscure.
Other debutantes: Soprano? Opera?
Ifrin. Fooling around? Or bravado? One demerit.
No! Again, no demerit please!
But Deculein saw through instantly. Ifrin hastily showed proper spell.
Rumble rumble... Ground beneath her warped like crater. Deculein nodded.
Mountain's Wrath. Has difficulty, but scale too small.
Yes. Bothered me too.
Simple to scale: Enlarge circle. Details in summary later.
Ah. Yes. Then... no demerit...?
No.
Aaack!
Deculein ignored Ifrin, stepping aside.
Next.
Next: Sylvia. She'd glared only at Ifrin; now straightened late as Deculein neared.
Sylvia.
... Yes.
She closed eyes tightly, manifesting her magic.