Mask (2)
Assistant Professor Allen's office on the 77th floor, where he pretended to head home before doubling back. A peaceful, cozy space.
Three bookshelves lined up along the right wall, ending with the assistant professor's desk—spacious enough for a typewriter, pencil holder, and thick textbooks.
As he habitually swept and cleaned the dim office, Allen felt an odd sentiment.
Deculein had already left, and faint starlight brushed the distant night sky.
It was strange.
Was it because he'd guarded his side for so long?
No, he'd only caught his eye relatively recently. Everyone else had fled from his tyranny and paranoid perfectionism, leaving Allen behind by default.
Getting noticed wasn't even part of the plan to begin with.
Which made it all the more peculiar.
While with him, Allen had simply studied magic eagerly, read books, prepared lectures, taught students...
Lived like an ordinary assistant professor. As if this was the life he'd always wanted.
Allen closed his eyes and murmured to himself.
—You have earned my trust.
A voice that seemed to comfort his efforts.
Deculein had said that, but he didn't know the truth. Didn't know Allen was far from trustworthy.
Not even the "Allen" he called was his real name.
—Stay by my side.
Deculein's final request. Allen recalled his own response.
—Of course! Naturally!
...
Allen slowly opened his eyes and gazed at the distant sky, murmuring.
"It's been a while since I've met someone as inscrutable as you."
At first, he'd thought Deculein deserved death. Just a noble tormented by madness, a worthless human he could snuff out with a flick of his finger.
But suddenly, he'd changed, shown sincerity. His exterior was always cold, but that made the fleeting warmth all the more radiant. Out of curiosity, Allen had saved him from death without realizing it.
The Verhert train terror. Veron’s assault.
Allen had witnessed it all, even severed Veron's wrist himself.
"But... I don't think I can honor your trust."
Gradually, cracks formed in the distant night sky's darkness.
The night shattered, revealing dawn's light. A breaking scenery.
"...This mission lasted too long, I suppose."
The sunrises he could witness "as Allen" were now few. The day he'd leave this immersive world grew near.
He couldn't afford regret.
Such emotions weren't permitted to him.
"I've grown too accustomed to being Allen."
Allen pressed his forehead to the window glass. Feeling the chill seeping in from outside, he sniffled at his oddly warmed nose tip.
A clear midsummer weekend.
Julie was enjoying a rare bout of idleness. Her charge, Deculein, was safe in the annex; Phairden Knights duties were light; her routine morning training done.
"Ooh..."
She played with the attendants in the mansion's lounge.
And rightly so—the attendants' lounge brimmed with modern wonders. Various board games, but especially the "radio" captivated Julie.
"It's not a crystal orb. How does sound come out?"
"Ah~ the radio? We were amazed at first too. Something like a mana stone circuit board inside? I don't know the details, but it catches 'frequencies' or whatever, and there are about thirteen 'channels' broadcasting stuff you can listen to."
Mana stone circuit board. Frequency. Channel. Broadcast.
All new words to her.
"Fascinating. So you can hear magical beast tournament commentary through this?"
It cost over 5,000 elne with a one-year lifespan—a bourgeois luxury—but imperial media companies were launching their own "channels" lately.
"Yes. No need to buy tickets for the broadcast. Can't see it, so it's frustrating, but still."
Julie oohed nonstop, a puppy curled on her lap—the one the imperial servants raised together.
Knock knock—
The door opened with a knock. It was Deculein's direct secretary, "Ren," back from an outing.
"Guard knight. It's time for your schedule."
"Ah, yes."
Julie quickly straightened her clothes and prepared for duty. Her casual wear was already light armor—no need to change.
...
Noon, with the sun high.
I arrived at Hadekan. First item on today's agenda: the groundbreaking for the "Marik underground passage."
"How did you think of building a train tunnel underground? Haha!"
"Professor Deculein's foresight never ceases to amaze!"
Many dignitaries had gathered at the tunnel entrance. Prominent figures from politics and business.
Yeriel and I greeted them.
"The underground passage was Head of House Deculein's idea, but the shops were mine."
Yeriel placed her hand on my chest and smiled warmly.
Chatter in the room halted instantly. They held their breath, glancing at me.
"Quite right."
Only then did they burst into laughter—kakakaka—flattering Yeriel.
"Indeed! As expected of Professor Deculein's sister."
"That cleverness must run in the family!"
"Exactly!"
This whole affair was politics, networking. They even suspected the bond between Yeriel and me.
"Now, let's begin the groundbreaking~"
Yeriel proudly grabbed the scissors.
We all cut the tape at the passage entrance together.
Clap clap clap—
Cheers and applause opened the underground passage.
They urged me to join them inside, but I shook my head. The rest was Yeriel's domain.
"I have a full schedule today, so I'll pass. Get details from Yeriel. This project is essentially under her purview."
"Ah~ is that so? A pity."
"Enjoy the festivities in Hadekan."
Disappointed as expected, but they soon followed Yeriel into the passage.
"Julie, we're leaving."
"Yes."
Afterward, Julie and I turned to go.
But one person followed. Julie blocked her.
"Halt. State your identity before approaching."
A sharp tone, but the middle-aged woman replied unfazed.
"Investor."
Bun hat and suit. I confirmed her face and nodded to Julie.
"It's fine. Wait inside."
"...Pardon?"
"We have private matters to discuss. Step aside."
"Ah, yes."
Julie hesitated but boarded the car, glaring through the window.
Al Ross spoke.
"Your head looks fine."
"Al. You invested here too?"
"Al? ...Ah, me. Yeah. Seemed profitable."
Al Ross shrugged and suddenly spilled information.
"Jukaken and the Altar haven't given up on you. Probably plotting in their heads. Stay vigilant."
"...Hm. What about Gerec?"
Gerec was crucial. "Mad Named" were special even in the game—hard to handle, but explosive in power, strategic weapons once unleashed.
"Gerec's underground for now. And... the Altar's preparing an assault. That's why I'm here."
I furrowed my brow. Al Ross glanced around and pulled his bun hat lower.
"Assault?"
"Don't know details. They're going rogue now, info's thinning. But given their nature, it'll be spectacular."
"Reason."
"Fanatics aren't fanatics for nothing. Mad minds defy normal logic. Watch crowded places."
Gale
"Could've used a crystal orb."
"...Safer than that junk."
Al Ross delivered his message and vanished like a shadow.
I watched his retreating figure, then boarded the car.
"To the tower."
Second item: tower project inspection.
"Yes."
Ren accelerated without a word, but the gaze beside me burned. A glance—Julie stared with a distinctly sulky face.
"Who was that?"
She asked the moment our eyes met, as if waiting.
"No need to know."
"..."
Julie pouted and sat primly again.
*I won't ask since you said no need to know—* her words said, but her glare forward was the sulkiest in the world.
...
Meanwhile, Ruina was advancing her magic project in the lab.
Requested funds fully approved, royal disciples returned. The royal tower project had stalled on budget, but the chief secretary's "approval" stamp wielded immense power.
All set up in just a week after submitting the plan.
Of course, rumors swirled: "Ruina's become Deculein's subordinate—" "No, more like a loyal dog—". Ruina didn't deny them. Her feelings toward Deculein had softened somewhat.
"Come on, everyone. No need to skimp on mana stones! This isn't the kingdom! Recycle moderately, use freely—"
Encouraging them, the lab door opened. Ruina startled at the figure beyond.
"Professor Deculein? What brings you?"
"Spot inspection. Chief secretary's duties."
Deculein examined the sixteen mages' tables one by one; they bowed awkwardly. Ruina stood beside him, arms crossed.
"No worries. It's an idea I've prepared long ago. Just lacked funds—results are guaranteed."
"Confident?"
"Of course. But the issue is cost. Ten million elne is initial materials; could balloon near twenty times that."
Two hundred million. Ruina inflated it deliberately. Deculein didn't blink.
"Proceed."
No doubt, no suspicion. Just checked the documents and left. Always neat, perfect demeanor.
"..."
That ordinary poise, that series of gestures—somehow left Ruina wistful.
She sighed involuntarily and followed him.
"Hey."
Calling out, Deculein turned.
"Here."
Ruina offered a candy jar. At the sudden gift, Deculein's brows twitched in disbelief.
"Macqueen territory specialty, Quirina Candy. Only blooms in summer, tiny amounts—rare stuff. Our territory's star product."
"And?"
"This little jar's a thousand elne. People line up at higher prices; reservations backed up three years."
Despite her pitch, Deculein showed no interest. Ruina stuffed it into his suit pocket forcibly.
"Even if you won't eat it, your fiancée will love it. Guaranteed. No one hates this candy."
Julie. Mentioning her, Deculein finally nodded.
Ruina smirked and stepped back, waving.
"Bye."
"...Very well. Unexpected, but accepted."
Deculein took the jar from his pocket and tucked it into his inner one.
Thirty minutes later.
Back in the car, Deculein stared blankly at Julie.
"What."
Her sulky face still sharp. Wondering, Deculein ostentatiously pulled out the candy jar.
"Eh?"
Seeing the brand, Julie's face transformed.
Like a puppy spotting a treat, she leaned forward sharply—slurp—swallowing. Her dilated pupils tracked the jar's every move.
Amazed at the effect, Deculein chuckled.
"Where'd you get that? Looks delicious."
"Quirina Candy—you know it?"
"Yes. Of course. Since childhood, a dream candy among us. The eternally unmelted candy."
"...I see."
Pop—he opened the lid, took one out. Julie cupped her hands like a plate. He placed it there; she popped it straight in.
Crunch crunch—munch munch—
Joy filled her chewing face. That good, huh? I smirked.
"I'll give one as a reward when you do well."
"...!"
Julie's eyes widened; she began the most fervent vigilance ever.
...Imperial University finals season. Undergrads, mages, knights—everyone frantic, exhausted. The campus felt shrouded in thick malaise.
Not Sylvia.
Full marks today, yesterday, tomorrow—all perfect. Her streak would last forever.
"Hm hm~"
Whistling unusually, Sylvia pulled a cherished paper from her robe's inner pocket.
Application: Deculein
Application written last night.
Deculein would refuse, of course, but associate professor review minimum was one year anyway.
Sylvia wanted to learn from him the remaining six months. And she could persuade him.
"I'm home."
"Lady~ you're back~?"
Attendants greeted her return with bright smiles. Sylvia found their unusual vibe odd. Sly, somehow.
"Lady. Made a friend without telling us~"
"What nonsense."
Friend? As if she had any. Never made one in her life.
...The reason was in the living room.
"What's this."
A Ifrin-lookalike slept on the sofa. Sylvia approached closely.
"Snoooore..."
It was Ifrin.
Lying cozily under a blanket.
"Snoooore..."
Fluffy unlike this morning—she'd showered here.
"Insolent Ifrin."
Sylvia crossed her arms, glaring.
Suddenly, their prior talk resurfaced.
—So. The stationery you sent your sponsor and this handkerchief's crest match.
—Yeah. That's how I knew my sponsor was watching me. Shame I didn't see their face. Cried during the play.
Ifrin's handkerchief was Professor Deculein's.
So likely, her sponsor too.
Just that fact filled Sylvia with immense irritation and stress.
Why does Professor favor only this one? Because her father suicided? For that alone?
If you don't accept me as assistant, I might reveal it to Ifrin.
...Whatever.
"Snoooore... Ow!"
Sylvia pinched Ifrin's nose, yanking side to side—whoosh.
"Aaaack!"
Ifrin screamed awake; Sylvia wiped her hands immediately.
"Wh-what, you!"
"Why barge into someone else's house."
"Not while someone's sleeping..."
She clutched her red nose. Hurt so bad tears welled.
Ah, nosebleed?
Nose running.
Sylvia narrowed her eyes.
"Why're you here."
"...Paper. I figured out the paper's secret."
Ifrin's words put an exclamation over Sylvia's head.
"Figured out?"
"Sigh. After all I endured... Anyway, look. Seems plain paper, right? But..."
Ifrin gripped the paper, manifesting pure element magic. Ordinary "water." Deculein's paper soaked through.
"You brainless Ifrin, you're dead..."
Sylvia nearly throttled her in rage, but the paper's form twisted bizarrely.
Ifrin smirked confidently, raising a finger.
"Paper's what? Wood. Wood's earth and water combined, right?"
Soaked and condensed, the paper spread, transforming into a 3D space.
"Too easy. Know this place?"
Sylvia nodded.
Tower's special 40th floor: Roquel's Forest.
"This paper recorded the exam site."
"..."
Sylvia eyed Ifrin anew. While I took exams, this one did this.
Good call making her slave.
"Heh! See? Now buy it!"
Ifrin snorted.
"Buy what."
"Our deal. Roahawk."
"..."
Sylvia was dumbfounded.
She'd promised during exams, but this one wanted Roahawk yesterday, today, every day.
"Oh right. Let's all go today. With your mansion staff."
"No."
Sylvia shook her head, but the pleased attendants suddenly raised hands.
"We're in~ If it's lady's friend~"
They beamed, changing clothes. Sylvia was helpless.
A deal was a deal; Ifrin solved it. Even Professor Deculein would agree.
"...Fine."
"Yay~"
...One hour later.
Someone visited Sylvia's now-empty mansion.
"Sylvia~"
Ilayde head Gilteon. Calling his daughter, he entered—but no Sylvia, no servants.
Glancing around the living room, Gilteon shrugged. Mansion utterly vacant.
"Group outing?"
He walked to Sylvia's door, knocked.
Knock knock—
"Sylvia. You here~?"
No reply. No reaction.
"...Hm."
Scratching his nape, Gilteon slyly opened the door. Empty room. Just a panda doll staring from the bed.
"Finals, after all."
Meant to make nourishing food for his girl. Grumbling to leave, he spotted a document on Sylvia's desk.
"Report card?"
Checking mansion sounds, he crept to the desk, snatched it.
"Hm..."
Initial curiosity faded to stone. Face paled coldly; rage kindled.
Veins bulged on his hand.
Gilteon crumpled it unwittingly.
I, Sylvia, wish to serve under Professor Deculein. As the only one among 150 debutantes to receive full marks on his midterm...
"...Impossible."
Gilteon set the mystery application down. The crumpled part smoothed perfectly, unmarred.
But Gilteon's expression wouldn't smooth—fiercer than ever.
"Applying under Deculein?"
Sylvia. Whether you harbor affection, admiration, whatever fleeting fever from youth—I care not.
But.
You are Ilayde before Sylvia.
Ilayde can never be under Yukline.
"Heh..."
Gilteon sneered hollowly.
Too sheltered, hearing only good things.
Family feuds. War. Mages' ways. That cold, cruel world—he'd deemed it premature for her.
"...Hahaha."
But now, the time had come.
No more watching.
A lion's cub groveling under a mere wolf would stain the family eternally.
...Sylvia.
You must know now.
Yukline and Ilayde.
That tangled, tenaciously vicious
chain of mutual hatred.
Gilteon was ready to drop the mask.