Infiltrating the Octagon (Part 7)
Morning arrived.
Fighting through the night as an arena dog had left my entire body stiff and sore.
"Ngh...!"
I arched my back, joints popping in a rapid cascade as I stretched. Though I had slept soundly during the brief hours granted to me, the lingering fatigue still clung to my limbs like damp wool. I worked the aches out of my arms and legs with a few deliberate stretches, then rolled my neck in slow circles, quietly sorting through the events of yesterday.
"..."
Rattle.
I slid open the desk drawer to reveal a pouch bulging with banknotes—the advance payment I had collected the night before.
"Paying this right away won't be easy either... Hmm."
The aristocracy always kept a hawkish eye on emerging capital. Having personally advised the Lewen Merchant Guild that disbanding would be in their best interest, I needed to be equally cautious about how I moved money. Twenty-five thousand Alte. While hardly a fortune compared to the coffers of high nobility, a sudden transfer of that size would never escape their notice.
Even the arena's announcer had slyly probed me, asking how I planned to spend the purse. If anyone caught wind of that sum suddenly flowing into the Academy, they would scent the trail immediately and track down where it came from.
"As an independent sponsor, I'm only permitted to cover tuition for up to five students, so that's out of the question. Does that mean my only option is to route it through a legitimate organization?"
Even if I justified the expense, the origin of the funds remained a problem. The moment someone asked where this much coin originated, I would find myself trapped in checkmate. If asked whether there existed an organization willing to vouch for me with complete trust... I would have to answer that none existed.
What a mess. I couldn't pay it openly, nor could I slip it in secretly. I had thrown myself into the ring because I needed the coin, yet I lacked any clean way to actually hand it over.
"Ugh, let's just get some more rest first."
It would have been stranger if my head didn't hurt from all this.
Cain had lost his livelihood and his workplace overnight.
Junon's appearance that morning had wiped away much of what he relied upon, yet none of it felt like a loss. If anything had truly changed, it was just one thing: the red warning light on Lumia's failing health had shifted back to a cautionary yellow.
...I truly cannot fathom what is going on inside Hyung-nim's head.
Had the man intended to wring something out of him, it would not have been out of place for him to demand, "Become my loyal dog." Having witnessed Junon's overwhelming might firsthand, Cain would have bowed his head and submitted to his will without a moment's hesitation.
Having seen far too many aristocrats steeped in greed and cruel amusements, Cain had been fully prepared to accept such servitude for Lumia's future. Whatever was demanded of him, however ruthlessly he might be used, he was ready to throw his life on the line. He had taken it as an inevitable certainty that the man would treat him like a puppet, especially when all his vulnerabilities were laid completely bare.
Yet Junon had chosen a different path.
Though he had set conditions, they were not a command to bow, submit, or break. Cain, who had stood on the precipice of losing everything, had ultimately lost nothing at all.
At the very least, he knew he could never place Junon—his Hyung-nim—on the same level as those rotten nobles.
This must be the place.
His footsteps noticeably lighter, Cain came to a halt outside a clubroom. Taking a breath, he raised his knuckles.
Knock, knock.
"If that's a visitor... it must be an applicant. Michel, go answer it."
"Me? Aris, wouldn't it be better if you..."
"No matter how nervous you get about social standing, when duty calls, you have to step up! Interviewing applicants every single time is wearing me out too, you know!"
"A-all right, I'll go. Yes, coming!"
The hurried footsteps of a female student setting down documents drew closer. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a flustered young woman with a reddish-brown ponytail.
"Hello. May I ask what brings you to our team?"
Cain could tell at a single glance. Even the smallest gestures she made possessed an unmistakable grace, signaling her highborn blood without needing a word of introduction. Yet whether a noble received him or not mattered little. The fourth condition Hyung-nim had set for him remained absolute.
"I saw your recruitment notice and decided to apply."
"I see... Our admission process is somewhat rigorous, so there will be a practical test. Will that be all right with you?"
"Yes."
This was the final demand among the four conditions set in exchange for curing Lumia: join Team Tembris. While Junon had offered plausible explanations for the other requests, he had said nothing about this one. In a sense, it was the only condition that stripped him of his freedom, yet Cain did not view it as a cage. Rather, he found himself wanting to understand the reason Junon had pointed him here.
"Whew—finally got to see Michel welcome a new recruit. Noble blood or not, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
"...No."
"You're a quiet one, aren't you? Why don't you come inside and fill out a brief profile first?"
The woman who stepped forward carried an entirely different aura from the reddish-brown ponytail girl. From experience, Cain could tell she was no noble. She was the one whose name had spread far and wide following the recent defense against the Orthoptera swarm.
"Understood. And since I am well aware that you are both third-years, there is no need to use formal speech with a second-year like me."
"Oh? Quite easygoing, aren't you? Great. Our team leader will be here shortly for your practical evaluation, so please wait inside until then."
Most academy teams leaned heavily toward one social class, rarely mixing nobles and commoners on equal terms. Administrative staff might be hired from outside, but they were treated as workhorses, never true comrades. Furthermore, skill evaluations were typically decided by documents displaying magical aptitude rather than genuine capability.
Yet this team operated on a completely different standard. Personalities aside, their eyes held no cloud of prejudice when looking at another person.
So, Hyung-nim foresaw even this.
Directing him to seek out Team Tembris and join their ranks had carried clear intent. Cain felt certain of it now: beneath the blunt, standoffish demeanor of that upperclassman, there had never been a single shred of malice.
With each passing day, the ugly truths behind the gambling parlor unraveled further.
These were the nepotism hires who had once occupied hollow, do-nothing positions created solely for the convenience of corrupt Academy officials and professors. Hired hands who had stoked endless conflicts for personal gain and twisted facts through propaganda whenever public outrage began to subside. Having spent their lives feeding on false titles and deception, they were now meeting their ruin in this wretched pit.
"Yeah! Get up and fight! At least make yourselves useful to our wallets!"
"Academy fence-sitters. Should've done your jobs properly when you had the chance, tsk tsk."
Once their crimes were proven and their positions revoked, no honorable place remained to take them in. Having tasted easy coin, corruption, and influence, returning to ordinary labor proved unimaginably difficult. Destitution had driven them here in search of work, and some, having squandered every copper they possessed on wagers, were now cast into the ring itself.
It was poetic justice. Those who indulged in the sickness of gambling and those who lost everything only to end up in the cage like the very slaves they used to watch were cut from the exact same cloth.
Several of the fighters tearing into one another like pit dogs inside the octagonal ring had been brought down by Team Tembris. Charlotte had personally pieced together disparate records, pointing out glaring contradictions until their targets were rendered speechless. She had essentially orchestrated their downfall herself.
No matter their plight, she felt not an ounce of pity. All she spared for them was a silent click of her tongue and a cold, detached gaze.
Yet whenever that indifferent gaze drifted toward a single combatant, a faint light stirred in her eyes. Or perhaps... it was a gaze tinged with sorrow.
"Stay down, you bastard! Stay down!"
"What on earth is with this guy...?!"
The current format inside the Octagon was survival: a chaotic battle royale where a crowd of fighters was thrown into the pit, and whoever remained standing at the very end claimed victory by any means necessary. While the arena's floor remained largely unchanged, the perimeter was ringed with deep trenches of water, introducing a brutal dynamic where even the weakest contender could eliminate a powerhouse simply by shoving them off the edge.
By the nature of such an event, weaker combatants naturally formed temporary alliances, while the strongest were targeted first and forced to weather assaults from all sides. And right in the center of that tempest stood one youth, holding his ground against the horde.
Splash!
—Number 28 eliminated.
Crash!
—Number 41 eliminated.
"Number 28 and Number 41 are out of the ring!"
Charlotte had never been fond of blood sport. Even now, with the deadline to secure the ledgers fast approaching, she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the pit.
"..."
Though Charlotte knew virtually nothing about martial arts or close-quarters combat, she could tell that the boy in the ring possessed extraordinary movement. With a single step, he reduced the onlookers to stunned silence, stirred the crowd into a murmur, and then drew out deafening cheers. Beyond the iron bars, icy tension and boiling fervor traded places at his whim.
It was a display that commanded pure awe.
His posture was precise, his movements honed to an instinctual perfection ingrained deep within his bones. Behind those iron grates, she could scarcely imagine the sheer volume of grueling discipline required to forge such technique. That was precisely why her eyes remained fixed on him. She simply could not understand why someone who had poured such immense effort into his craft was wasting his talent in a den like this.
In the ring, the boy was now contending with four foes at once.
Though he wore heavy gauntlets, these opponents were seasoned and aggressive, preventing him from overpowering them as cleanly as before. Hounded relentlessly by enemies wielding weapons, he was forced onto the back foot. A blade grazed his flesh, drawing a thin crimson line across his skin.
Just as Charlotte began to look on with sorrow, fearing this was where he would fall—
The tide turned in an instant.
"...Huh?"
A sudden, sharp dissonance struck Charlotte.
The hooded boy was armed with nothing but gauntlets. Unlike the hulking brutes wielding heavy wooden cudgels and iron pipes, he shouldn't have been able to land decisive blow after decisive blow from a defensive position. Yet what seemed like a desperate attempt to deflect incoming weapons suddenly shifted as a faint, ethereal glow enveloped his fists, upending the battlefield in a heartbeat.
That faint light clinging to the gauntlets was unmistakably mana.
And it was a mana she had felt somewhere before—a presence inextricably linked to her past.
The sheer uncanny familiarity of that magical signature sent a shiver down her spine, making every fine hair on her petite frame stand on end.
What is this feeling...? I know this... from somewhere...
She furrowed her brow, desperately clawing through the fog of memory, but time was not a luxury Charlotte possessed.
"Number 5, the hooded fighter downs another opponent! Ah, he's looking somewhat winded now, but only a handful remain! In a survival match where tables can turn in the blink of an eye, you can't afford to look away for even a second!"
The announcer's shout broke her trance, snapping the young girl back to reality.
Right! I came here to find evidence, what am I doing?!
Shaking off her daze, Charlotte sprang into motion, frantically searching for ledgers and records that could be submitted to the authorities. Yet her search, delayed far longer than it had been in the previous timeline, was already setting another ripple of distortion into motion.