Week Two Evaluation (1)
A gentle stream of tea trickled into the porcelain cup, steam rising in delicate ribbons carrying the faint, earthy fragrance of steeped leaves. Serving freshly brewed tea meant one thing: a guest was arriving.
No sooner had the tea finished steeping than the rhythmic, crisp click of heels sounded outside. The reception room doors swung open, heralding the visitor's arrival.
"Welcome, my lady." The headmaster of Mirpark Lord School rose to his feet at once, bowing with polished gentlemanly decorum.
Strands of pale beige hair fluttered as the guest stepped inside, settling still only after she sank into the sofa. "To be frank, I had my doubts at first," the headmaster murmured. "I never imagined you would lend us a hand like this, Lady Erika Scherpen."
"Do not flatter yourself," Erika said, cutting him off sharply as she crossed her legs. "This is hardly charity. We merely share aligned interests."
The headmaster let out a soft chuckle and took a sip of his tea. "Well, that is true enough. Still, who would have thought a noble lady of your standing would work so diligently to ensure the victory of our children?"
"Watch your tongue."
"Rest assured, no one is eavesdropping in this room. I took measures to ensure complete privacy, purely in the interest of building trust between us." Unfazed by her sharp edge, the headmaster replied with an oily, practiced smile. "After all, I know the truth. Even if you've thrown your lot in with Tembris, noble blood still runs through your veins, Lady Erika."
His sly grin widened as he stressed the word noble, a transparent effort to appeal to her aristocratic pride.
"Spare me the flattery," she snapped. "Drop the pointless banter and look at this."
She tossed a thick sheaf of papers onto the low table with a dull thud.
"Hmm... Quite different from the first week's evaluation," the headmaster mused, skimming the pages. "If memory serves, you asked us to avoid targeting one specific class back then."
"The circumstances have changed. This time, Lebrant students are taking part in every single match."
"Ah, I see." The headmaster grinned, immediately grasping her underlying intent. You want this thorn in your side broken beyond repair. "You have nothing to worry about. Mirpark is a domain of high nobility. There is no chance we would ever lose to greenhorns from a backwater like Shirakh. Dragging down a single peasant student of unknown origin into the abyss will be trivial."
"Your grandstanding is no concern of mine," Erika said coldly, rising from the sofa without glancing back. "Just make sure you carry out what you've been tasked to do. I'll take my leave."
"As you command, my lady. I am certain the Holy Emperor, your former mentor, will be most pleased as well."
Erika walked out, her footsteps fading down the corridor.
"Heh. Hehehe..." The moment she vanished from sight, the headmaster dropped his servile posture and leaned comfortably back into his chair. "A pity, Lady Erika Scherpen, but we are not your hounds."
Wiping the smile from his face, he picked up a small silver bell and rang it. Moments later, three students filed into the room.
"These are your targets."
"Hmm... They're all marked individually."
"Do we have to hold back and pick them off like last time? That was such a pain."
"No," the headmaster said smoothly. "That won't be necessary."
He laid the documents flat across the desk, uncapped a thick oil marker, and drew a single, decisive line straight through the names.
"Run wild to your hearts' content. As much as you wish."
"Really?"
"This is a sparring match, is it not? A few injuries are only natural. And should you feel on the verge of losing, you have full permission to unleash the power granted by His Holiness."
Secure victory by any means necessary. In other words, they had just been granted full authorization to fight with everything they had.
"Finally, a chance to show what I can really do."
"My hands were itching anyway."
"..."
"What's with you, Demian? Not feeling it?"
Not feeling it? Demian sneered internally. As if.
"Ah, I get it. You were looking at this guy, weren't you?"
"Well, that one definitely belongs to Demian."
"Oh? What is this about?" the headmaster asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing for you to worry about, Headmaster," one of the boys replied with a grin. "Demian just happens to have a very personal score to settle with someone fighting under Shirakh."
"A personal grudge, is it? So long as the plan proceeds without a hitch, do as you please."
"Understood, sir." The two boys nodded eagerly.
It's my turn now, Demian thought, his eyes burning with venom. I'll beat you into a bloody pulp until you can't even stand...!
He would tear apart the brats this man had trained, breaking them piece by piece.
And in the end, it'll be you. Junon.
Demian ground his teeth so hard they clicked. In his clenching fist, the profile sheet bearing Junon's face crumpled into a crushed ball.
Four days had passed.
Aris, who had not shown so much as a shadow of herself since the incident, finally made an appearance.
"Where on earth have you been all this time?!"
"Do you have any idea how long our necks grew waiting for you, Teacher?"
"Seriously, you're way too mean!"
Yet the voices that greeted her were not pelting stones of resentment. They were the affectionate, petulant whines of children genuinely glad to see her.
"I'm sorry, everyone."
Their warmth felt almost unearned. She had failed to teach them a single meaningful lesson, yet here they were, welcoming her back with open arms. She couldn't begin to fathom why.
I should have come back sooner. A pang of regret struck her. Perhaps she should have listened to Senia's advice from the very beginning. But dwelling on her shortcomings would help no one. Right now, there was only one thing she needed to give these children.
"All right, shall we see how much your skills have improved?"
She needed to act as though nothing were wrong. She had to return as their bright, dependable teacher so that not a single second of their remaining time would go to waste.
"Yes, ma'am!!" The students answered more vigorously than ever before, falling in behind her.
They headed straight for the mock combat room. And once there, Aris found herself stunned all over again.
Their formation...
It was remarkably well-organized. While it could not yet compare to the instinctual synergy of seasoned veterans, it was exceptionally rare for students their age to maintain positional discipline and understand their individual responsibilities so clearly.
"What comes next? I can't remember...!"
"Idiot! He told us to reapply the reinforcement buff!"
"Right, right! That was it!"
As they engaged the simulated demonic beasts, they seized an opening to execute a clean formation shift and launch a counteroffensive. For experienced mercenaries who had internalized combat through blood and instinct, such maneuvers flowed naturally. But for novice students who had barely grasped foundational theory, executing a coordinated shift mid-battle was supposed to be nearly impossible.
Yet right before her eyes, they were doing exactly that.
How do they know how to do this...?
While Aris stood frozen in astonishment, the beasts fell one after another, their numbers steadily thinning.
She swallowed hard. The entire sequence felt terrifyingly familiar. Even when their movements were rough and their transitions clumsy, the tactical rhythm itself was identical to something she knew intimately.
Though the beasts projected by the Talbrut Ark were vastly weaker than their real-world counterparts, Aris couldn't find a single flaw substantial enough to critique. Half of the curriculum she had spent countless hours preparing with Senia's guidance simply vanished into thin air—rendered completely unnecessary.
With a final, sharp clash, the last beast dissipated into particles of light.
"Yeah! We did it!"
"Good work, everyone. Let's take a breather and get some feedback from Teacher."
The Talbrut Ark hummed down, powering off. Only when the simulated terrain dissolved back into the bare hall did Aris realize the exercise was truly over.
"Did you... practice this all on your own?" she asked, her voice trembling faintly.
Her students nodded in unison, not a single one hesitating.
"Everyone worked really hard. We're your students, Teacher. We swore to show the evaluators that we truly learned something from you."
"Back then, we were just dead weight. We arrogantly charged in without knowing anything, and we couldn't do a single thing to protect ourselves."
"Since you saved our lives... we wanted to prove ourselves. We wanted to be ready to stand our ground if something like that ever happens again."
"So we practiced everything we were told back then, over and over. Because that was what you taught us."
"Everyone..."
"Besides, we heard your own evaluation grade depends on how well we perform. We couldn't let ourselves drag your name through the mud."
Even though classes had been officially suspended, they had booked this mock combat room every single day to train. This cohesive, structured formation was the fruit of pure, stubborn effort.
But how?
She had heard that temporary instructor reassignments were attempted, but the students had submitted formal petitions and outright refused to attend lectures under anyone else. Without an instructor guiding them through combat doctrine, how could they have acquired such practical execution?
It defied logic. Someone had to have helped them.
"That person helped us," the class representative spoke up, noticing the bewilderment in Aris's eyes.
"That person...?"
"The one who came to rescue us with you, Teacher."
The answer pointed straight back to him.
"Teacher Junon, was it? He recreated that battlefield for us multiple times."
"And every time, we practiced holding the exact formation you told us to take back then."
Junon.
The moment his name reached her ears, a faint tremor ran through her limbs. But she couldn't simply stand there shaking. Taking a slow, deep breath, she pressed her hands firmly against her shoulders in a quiet ritual of self-assurance until the trembling gradually subsided.
Right. I can't keep running away.
Just as Senia had bluntly told her, this was an obstacle she would have to confront eventually. She could not afford to live in fear—not of his name in conversation, not of his silhouette in the distance, and certainly not of speaking directly to the man she had once pushed away and refused to believe.
"I see. I'll have to thank him properly."
It was yet another debt. The weight she owed Junon was growing heavier by the day. Yet she would not rush forward recklessly as she had in the past. Having learned the agonizing cost of letting her impatient temper run wild, Aris had begun to change.
"Since you've drilled this one formation into your bones, let's try something different this time."
""Yes, ma'am!!""
To ensure Junon's help would not be in vain, she had to build their foundation starting from the true beginning. That, Aris resolved, was where she would start.
I still haven't forgiven you.
— Junon
Tucked deep within her inner coat pocket, that brief, blunt note still remained.
The remaining days slipped by in a blur, bringing the prolonged Faction War event toward its climax as the second-week evaluation finally arrived.
Once again, Professor Muniherr stepped up to the podium overlooking the arena.
"Greetings, fledglings of the Principality. I can only wonder whether you have prepared yourselves adequately."
Yet for some reason, his demeanor was noticeably sharper than before. The fact that he addressed them as 'fledglings' rather than 'students' sparked immediate murmurs in the crowd, leaving many to wonder who had managed to foul his mood.
"The display during the first-week evaluation was utterly disgraceful. To speak frankly, my expectations for today are barely any higher."
To put it bluntly, no one had met the senior professor's exacting standards during the opening week. And because he harbored zero optimism for this second phase, the entire student body was subjected to scathing criticism before the main event had even begun.
"In light of the reasons just stated, the second-week evaluation will be conducted over two days. Detailed timetables will be distributed to each participant, so examine them yourselves. Ah, and let me make one thing clear in advance: there will be no adjustments to the schedule."
Astonishingly, that curt notice was the only remark in his entire speech concerning the actual competition.
He really must be thoroughly disgusted, Junon thought, watching the platform.
Dazed, bewildered expressions spread across the arena. Just as in the first week, another abrupt announcement and last-minute schedule overhaul had thrown everyone's carefully laid preparations into complete disarray.
"Good grief... With changes like this, our entire strategy is out the window!"
"This is absurd. Going in without any scouting information just turns the whole thing into a blind brawl!"
It was not just Shirakh. Across every provincial delegation, the strategies and countermeasures prepared over the past week had been rendered useless in an instant, plunging the waiting grounds into pure chaos.
"Lana. Ethan."
""Y-Yes?!""
Neither Lana nor Ethan had escaped the panic.
"Don't lose your heads," Junon said calmly. "The very first matches to begin are the individual duels for the Lord School representatives—meaning kids in the exact same boat as you two. It's just a simple smokescreen."
"Now that you mention it..."
"...You're right."
"What I taught you doesn't change regardless of the format. Whatever event you find yourselves in, just remember those basics and execute them properly."
With those parting words of advice, the second-week evaluation officially commenced.
"All Lord School students participating in the individual duels, please proceed to your assigned combat fields immediately."
""We're heading out, Teacher!""
"Go on, get moving."
Junon waved a hand until the silhouettes of the two youths disappeared into the tunnel.
That quiet gesture did not go unnoticed. High up in the spectator galleries, a pair of dark, luminous eyes tracked his every movement with sparkling curiosity.
"So Senior is over on that side. Let's see... Shirakh, is it?" Renias smiled brightly, scanning the tournament bracket in her hands.
Beside her stood another figure.
"Ron? What's with that serious look on your face?"
"..."
"Mm, you're focusing. I'll keep quiet then."
Ever since entering the arena grounds, Ronelion had not taken his eyes off Junon for even a second.