End-of-Term Evaluation (5)
Such was the nature of schools: students endured relentless lectures, stumbled through mistakes, swallowed scoldings, and gradually stockpiled knowledge and experience.
Yet without a proper yardstick, how could anyone prove they had actually mastered what they were taught?
Comprehensive examinations were an inevitable reality, staged periodically like clockwork to chart each student's growth. Depending on a professor's syllabus, such assessments took many forms—aptitude tests, practical evaluations, midterms, finals, and surprise pop quizzes.
At Lebrant Academy, however, only two exams truly mattered.
The End-of-Term Evaluation, and the Start-of-Semester Evaluation.
Across the academy's three trimesters a year, these two evaluations carried the heaviest weight by far. Performance and practical results were converted into scores, and from those scores, class placements were forged.
They revealed who had fallen behind, or who had suddenly blossomed in an area previously thought unremarkable. They were also the crucibles where a student's latent potential was most likely to manifest—where unique magic sprouted and bloomed in response to aptitude and sheer grit.
Because they charted the entire trajectory of a student's future, these exams were more critical than any other. Yet the general consensus regarding this particular End-of-Term Evaluation was abysmal.
"It feels a bit strange to call this an end-of-term evaluation."
"I know, right? A real exam should have a lot more to it. Didn't those professors from Hardia completely underestimate us?"
"They didn't even say anything when I split up from my partner. If I'd known, I would've ditched them from the start and finished way earlier. They just held me back."
"You got off easy. The imperial exchange student I got paired with told me to strip naked and swim across the river! I gave him respect because he was an upperclassman, but he turned out to be an utter scrub, worse than the vanguards!"
"Figures... Even in Hardia, vanguards are completely useless."
"A vanguard's just a meat shield, after all. Thank goodness I paid good money to learn basic magic."
"Sigh, this exam felt completely pointless. What are they even trying to evaluate?"
"Didn't they just dumb it down for the vanguards' sake? Not that those blockheads will ever climb up the ranks anyway."
"All you had to do was sprint to the finish and set up camp. If I'd known that, I would've run even faster!"
"Keep dreaming. We still have the Start-of-Semester Evaluation ahead. Come on, let's go grab a drink in town."
The End-of-Term Evaluation was supposed to be the culmination of everything the students had learned, yet the overwhelming reaction was either bewilderment or dismissive mockery. Grievances spilled out left and right—Hardia's teaching methods were flawed, the Artena Empire's vaunted prestige was slipping—as students loudly vented their dissatisfaction with the entire ordeal.
Having cleared Stage 4, waves of examinees filed out of the grounds in chattering droves. Soon, only the professors and proctors responsible for grading remained.
Professor Muniherr had pinched the bridge of his nose so many times he had lost count.
"Tsk. They claimed this place was brimming with talent... This isn't talent. It's a walking catastrophe."
Was the evaluation itself flawed? Far from it. The issue lay squarely in the students' abysmal mindset. Thus far, not a single one had met Muniherr's standards. That alone spoke volumes.
Far from being combat-ready assets, this year's first- and second-years were so wretched they would be lucky not to actively drag down their allies on an actual battlefield. How could anyone dare call this disorganized rabble an 'elite'? They were the absolute dregs of the barrel.
Muniherr silently cursed the local faculty who had bragged about Lebrant's distinguished honors track. He could now fully understand why the Grand Duke had sent an urgent summons to Hardia.
"Um... Professor..."
"What is it?"
"Professor... I swear I'm not exaggerating. There is literally nothing to record..."
"Same here, sir..."
"...What an absolute farce."
Things had degenerated so thoroughly that the proctors stood holding blank evaluation sheets, utterly helpless. Suppressing the curses rising thick in his throat, Muniherr snatched the clipboards from their hands.
"Whew... How many have left so far?"
"Ahem... About sixty percent of all first- and second-years, sir."
The proctors nervously watched Muniherr's dark expression. Sixty percent. Well over half the student body.
Sixty percent of the underclassmen had marched right through the grounds without grasping even a shred of the exam's true intent, then blithely walked out the exit. A headache pounded behind Muniherr's temples as he wondered how he was supposed to grade this mess and assign classes.
He had personally designed this testing ground to establish a rigorous, practical curriculum, only for six out of every ten students to earn a flat-out failing grade. In the end, Muniherr decided it was time to bring down the axe on the rotten branches.
"We'll need to open a new class."
"Sir? Wouldn't dividing the cohorts further make administration even harder?"
"I don't mean an upper tier. We need a pen to contain these bottom-feeders. Who knows? Perhaps a few of them will come to their senses during the Start-of-Semester Evaluation and actually take it seriously."
"Then... you mean a Class F, below Class E...?"
"Precisely. Carve out a tier at the very bottom."
Class assignments hung on the combined results of two exams: the End-of-Term Evaluation that closed the term, and the Start-of-Semester Evaluation that opened the next. The students still had a narrow window to crawl out of the gutter. If they spent the short break preparing earnestly for the next evaluation, they might yet dodge being consigned to the newly forged abyss of Class F.
"What about the remaining forty percent?"
"Some are still working through the course, and a few notable individuals have caught our attention."
"...A small mercy in a sea of disaster."
Muniherr exhaled a weary breath of relief. With sixty percent failing, he had dreaded the prospect of dumping the entire student body into the lowest tier. It seemed a sliver of hope still lingered in this hopeless academy.
Unlike when he had reviewed the rotten wood, his expression softened as he scanned the reports of those who were growing in the right direction.
One pair had looped back to the cliff to inspect whether there was anything abnormal about the rock face.
Others realized the task of 'crossing the river' might not refer to the obvious waterway, and actively searched for hidden streams.
Even these minor initiatives were commendable. A good number of students had properly offset the points lost from rushing up the cliff in Stage 1 by excelling in other criteria.
This is how it should be. Exactly like this.
At last, he was seeing examinees with the proper posture. When given zero instructions, an examinee should naturally wonder what lay beneath the surface and question whether a hidden objective existed. It was only sensible to ponder why the exam appeared so simple and what unstated traits it was designed to test.
Acting on impulse at the starting line was forgivable, but settling into complacency and taking the easy way out was not. That had been Muniherr's exact design when he drafted this evaluation.
Looking closer, a few genuine gems shone through the rough.
"Phew, that's pretty freezing!"
For instance, there was the student by the far bank who, unlike his foolish partner, had stripped off his shirt and crossed the freezing river entirely bare-handed without casting a single spell, driven by raw wilderness survival instincts to keep his clothes dry.
"I thought this was how we should log it, but... something feels off, doesn't it?"
"Mm... Erika, I think you're right. Let's adjust the contour intervals. We have to if we want to mark this elevation properly."
"I'm so glad you're with me, Michel. I could never have managed this alone."
"Erika, you were the one who noticed the total absence of magical beasts. And you were the one who suggested that mapping the terrain was the real answer."
There was the second-year pair who hadn't forgotten that this was a two-man operation. They stuck together, fully mindful that the trial had an underlying purpose.
"The leaves aren't changing color at all. That means the objective isn't purifying contaminated water... What could it be, then?"
And there was the second-year girl who, despite parting ways after a disagreement with her partner, was pursuing the exam's intent through her own methodical deductions.
Every one of these students showed clear evidence of pondering the hidden test beneath the surface.
Goden, Erika, Michel, Senia... and a handful of others. I should make note of them.
Even through Muniherr's notoriously stringent eyes, these were names worth remembering. Just as he took solace in the fact that genuine talent could still take root even in such wretched soil, jotting their names down on his personal notepad—
"Ah, testing. Can you hear me, Professor Muniherr?"
A telepathic transmission crackled in from the proctor overseeing Stage 2.
"What is it?"
"Well, the thing is..."
Much like the dilemma Professor Jake had faced earlier, an irregular pair had emerged whose grading defied standard rubrics.
"Which pair were you talking about?"
"Those two right over there, sir. The second-year male—"
"Hush. The names aren't important right now. Let's just watch."
Arriving on the scene, Professor Muniherr immediately tuned his attention to the duo's conversation.
"Senior, is this enough?"
"Plenty. Leave them there. I'll bind the rest with the rope."
Shunning magic at the start might have been chalked up to coincidence, but even now, Junon and Renias showed no intention of casting a single spell. They were maximizing the utility of the gear supplied in their Aurum Pockets, going so far as to untie the small cords attached to their canteens to use as binding material.
It was as if they saw right through the hidden objective that Muniherr had assumed no student could possibly grasp.
...Don't tell me they haven't used magic at all from the very beginning?
A second-year boy with black hair and dark eyes he had never seen before. Beside him, a first-year girl with silver hair and dark eyes he recognized. As Muniherr focused on the pair, a strange flicker of anticipation sparked in his chest.
"Say, Senior."
"Hup...! What?"
"Even after clearing the cliff in Stage 1, why aren't you using any magic?"
"Because I plan to cross purely on my own two feet."
When the silver-haired girl asked that while hauling a log for the black-haired boy to lash together, Muniherr's eyebrows twitched in sudden surprise.
Earlier, the boy named Goden had at least grown up in Hardia and trained under Muniherr's own tutelage, so his practical mindset was somewhat expected. But what had this second-year just said? He planned to cross using nothing but his bare body?
He never received any instruction from me... Did he deduce the prohibition on magic all on his own?
That single line struck straight at the heart of the evaluation's true purpose.
Crisis strikes on the battlefield without warning. How does one respond when cast into the direst of plights, stripped of the ability to use even a shred of magic? While the scenario was meant to test whether students possessed that fundamental wariness, Muniherr had never expected anyone to pinpoint the exam's core concept so cleanly. In fact, he had assumed not a single student in this academy would even come close.
His anticipation swelled like a balloon as he held his breath, hanging on their every word.
Yet, as if reminding him that balloons were made to pop, that swelling hope was punctured in the very next breath.
"Doesn't it get... exhausting, doing it all by hand?"
Junon gave the lashed logs a firm tug to test the raft's stability before answering Renias's question.
"If it bothered you, you should've said so sooner. You don't need to worry about me—feel free to go on ahead at your own pace. They said we could split from our partners once we reached Stage 2 anyway."
"No, it's not that! I was just curious. If you wanted, I could easily carry you across with magic, so I wondered why you were taking the hard road on purpose."
"Mm... It's just a personal problem of mine."
"A personal problem?"
"My unique magic sprouted, sure, but it's completely useless in a place like this. That's why I have no choice but to get by with manual labor."
"Ah... I see. Oh, let me handle that part! Pass it over. This is actually pretty fun."
Leaving those cryptic words behind, the two went right back to crafting their raft with singular focus.
...So that was it.
For a brief moment, Muniherr had dared to hope. He had wondered if someone here treated this entire exercise as a true battlefield, approaching every moment with deadly seriousness—a rising star possessing the tactical mettle required of a field commander. The boy's dark hair and dark eyes had even momentarily overlapped in his mind with the memory of an old comrade who had returned to the earth long ago.
Indulging in excessive expectations was never wise. He needed to return to his duties as a professor and exam overseer.
"Where are the records of their actions?"
"Right here, sir."
"Hmph..."
Scanning the log, it appeared this Class E student had recognized early on that he possessed zero magical aptitude, pivoting entirely to physical conditioning instead.
It wasn't tactical insight after all. Pure coincidence.
Though disappointed, Muniherr conceded that the boy's practical resourcefulness still merited high marks. He personally marked down the scores for Junon and Renias on the ledger.
"I've handled the ambiguous criteria myself. Take shifts monitoring them and score the remainder as standard."
"Pardon? P-Professor! Wait a moment!"
"I have my hands full weeding out the mountain of students who failed. We'll speak later."
Muniherr dismissed the original proctor to take a rest, assigned a replacement, and turned back toward the main pavilion.
Left behind, the two instructors exchanged deeply troubled looks.
"Uh... should we call Professor Muniherr back?"
"What's the matter? What happened?"
"The thing is... the reason I didn't know how to score them had nothing to do with the criteria the professor just graded."
"Hm? Explain it to me."
As the flustered proctor scratched his head and recounted the full details, the newly arrived monitor's eyes widened in realization.
"Mm... It's certainly troubling that they've already figured out the true nature of the clock, which isn't supposed to be revealed until Stage 4..."
"Right? But if we call the professor back on the comms now and try to explain, wouldn't that go terribly...?"
The new proctor nodded in hasty agreement. Professor Muniherr was currently in a foul temper thanks to the sea of failing dregs. If they interrupted him over what he might view as a trivial squabble, his wrath would come crashing down on their heads.
"Let's just log it for now. We can bring it up later once his temper cools down, can't we?"
"That sounds for the best. Ah, and just to be clear, it's not that I'm trying to dodge his wrath or anything. You know that, right?"
"Listen to you make excuses. Even if the professor saw it himself, he'd probably dismiss it as a fluke anyway. Don't worry about it."
Yet it was precisely this slipshod negligence that would cause the entire evaluation to spiral completely out of control.