A Brief Winter Break (2)
It was truly bizarre.
"I-I was wrong! I swear I won't ever show up in front of you again!"
"Me too... I'll never lay a finger on you ever again!"
"What did I even do wrong...? Never mind, it's my first time meeting you anyway, so I'll just be on my way. Hey, you apologize too, hurry up!"
"Ugh... I was... I was in the wrong..."
What in the world had gotten into these guys today?
While I had been standing in front of the bulletin board lost in thought, the four of them had suddenly barged over out of nowhere and dropped to their knees, spouting desperate confessions like men pleading for their lives. Even if the sun were to rise in the west, it wouldn't have been half as strange as this.
"Y-You saw, right...? We bowed our heads all the way down and gave you a proper apology... right?"
Even at a glance, none of them looked remotely sane. Did someone threaten to wipe out their families for three generations if they didn't prostrate themselves before me and beg for forgiveness?
Faced with something so utterly baffling, the guarded wariness that normally would have prickled along my spine didn't even have a chance to take root. It was simply too absurd.
"Hey... Junon... say something, please...! If you don't, we're going to..."
"Shut up, you idiot!"
"...Fine, whatever. Just get lost."
Whatever was eating at their conscience was obviously terrifying them, but right now they were doing nothing except shattering my concentration.
"We really apologized, okay? We apologized properly, and you forgave us, right?"
"Are you leaving or not?"
"W-We're going!"
Completely panicked, the four scrambled to their feet and vanished down the hall, practically stepping on one another's heels in their rush to flee. It was as if someone had placed a blade directly against their throats.
"Um, Junon."
Even when my attention wandered elsewhere, every once in a while, a small hand would reach out and gently tug at my sleeve.
"...What is it this time?"
"There's something I didn't understand, so I wanted to ask..."
At some point—ever since the end-of-term evaluations concluded—Sylvia had fallen into the habit of quietly drifting over, clinging to my sleeve, and stating her business just like that. Was it laundry advice she had asked about last time? Today, it seemed to be her studies.
I would have liked to help her, but as luck would have it, I had a prior engagement.
"I'll go over it with you next week. I can't do this week."
"Even though it's winter break...?"
She didn't need to finish her sentence for me to understand what she meant. She was wondering what could possibly keep me busy during the break, a time when most of the faculty and students had vacated the grounds.
"I have a meeting with a professor."
"Oh... I see."
"Anyway, this week is no good, so I'll help you out next week instead."
"Okay... I understand."
Just because it was winter break didn't mean I could afford to rest; in fact, the break was precisely why I needed to move that much faster. The moment second year ended and third year began, the mountain of tasks waiting for me would grow exponentially.
My magic might have been a power destined to vanish one day, but a moment was fast approaching—just once—where I would have no choice but to wield it and push through.
My footsteps brought me to the faculty wing.
Why am I so nervous?
It wasn't as if I were meeting someone new, yet my pulse thrummed with tension solely because of who was waiting on the other side of that door.
His instructional methods were so uncompromising and harsh that my memories of him were filled with nothing but suffering, making it difficult to turn the doorknob without hesitation. Even so, what I needed right now wasn't merely grueling physical conditioning; I needed precise critique and tactical guidance. That was why I had to knock.
If someone like Renias were to always appear out of nowhere and resolve everything like she did back at the victory banquet, that would be one thing—but counting on that was foolish. Slipping into a passive mindset would only severely hamstring my freedom of action down the line.
"It's Junon from Class 2-E."
"Enter."
"Pardon the intrusion."
Around this hour, he was likely serving in his capacity as acting vice-principal, though in truth, he was practically the vice-principal already. It was typically the hour when he reviewed the student curriculum and disciplinary policies, but regardless, I was still an enrolled student. Students had every right to request an audience with a professor. That was the institutional privilege I intended to leverage with Professor Munieher.
"What brings you here?"
Stepping inside, I found Professor Munieher holding a teacup, seemingly savoring a rare moment of leisure. Ordinarily, one should never disturb a man during his respite... but I had no choice.
"Since lectures aren't held during the break, I would like to seek private instruction from a professor remaining on campus."
I needed to avoid any situation where I stood helpless and forced to rely on others, just like at the banquet hall. At the very least, I had to be capable of looking out for my own skin.
Knock, knock.
Again?
Of all the times for someone to interrupt, it had to be during his brief respite. Lately, the number of students seeking him out had grown noticeably. Only yesterday, a second-year student had shown up to initiate withdrawal procedures, likely anticipating poor results on the end-of-term evaluations. Consoling fragile young egos was exhausting work, and Munieher had often lamented that coddling them to keep them from crumbling was a job he wouldn't want even if he were twenty years younger.
Another faint-hearted weakling, no doubt.
Both physically and mentally drained from having his rest cut short, Professor Munieher opened the door with a thoroughly apathetic expression. But the apathy vanished in an instant.
"It's Junon from Class 2-E. I would like to request an interview."
Instead of another student looking to drop out over some tedious grievance, it seemed this visit was entirely different.
Junon? The second-year who achieved that absurd, unprecedented score?
Professor Munieher recalled exactly who this student was. Even without that reputation, he had no valid pretext to turn him away.
"Come in and have a seat."
"Thank you, sir."
Dark eyes had been rare even in his youth. And pitch-black hair was far beyond rare—in his entire lifetime, he had known only a single person who possessed it. Gazing into Junon's dark hair and midnight-black eyes, Professor Munieher could not help but momentarily recall a dear friend who had passed away nearly twenty years ago.
Yet his renown as an imperial strategist was not unearned. Casting aside personal sentiment, he curbed his emotions and returned crisply to the matter at hand.
"What brings you here?"
Now then, how would the boy respond? Most students came bearing feelings of inadequacy, helplessness, or defeatist excuses to facilitate their withdrawal. Would this young man prove to be the undisputed prodigy of the recent evaluations—a talent the likes of which hadn't even emerged from Hardia? Or was his score merely the product of blind luck and fortuitous circumstance?
Harboring a subtle spark of anticipation, Munieher awaited Junon's answer.
"Since lectures aren't held during the break, I would like to seek private instruction from a professor remaining on campus."
As he brought his teacup to his lips, the corners of Munieher's mouth twitched upward into a faint smile.
So, it wasn't an unfounded hope after all.
With winter break underway, most students were fixated entirely on preparing for the next hurdle: the start-of-semester evaluation. Yet Junon did not appear to be fretting over mere test scores in the slightest. Was he drawing a much grander blueprint for something far beyond the horizon? It was precisely this caliber of student who separated genuine talent from the common herd.
"I shall instruct you personally. After all, very few professors remain on campus right now."
In truth, that was a white lie. A considerable number of instructors were still stationed on the grounds. Yet why would Professor Munieher take on the task himself? Because it granted him an immediate opportunity to verify with his own eyes whether the boy's staggering evaluation score was the genuine article. If it was real, the number of professors at this academy qualified to instruct Junon would dwindle to a vanishingly small few.
"I appreciate your guidance, sir."
Without a flicker of hesitation, the youth bowed his head, resolute in accepting the rigorous instruction to come. Recalling his younger days of molding promising pupils, Professor Munieher resolved to nurture what might very well be a brilliant new star.
Departing the office, the two made their way straight to the combat training grounds. Operating the Talbrut Ark with practiced ease, Professor Munieher projected a vast desert terrain within the chamber—an open expanse of rolling sand dunes devoid of cover or obstacles. The unspoken command was unmistakable: come at me head-on.
"First, let us assess your baseline capabilities. Hold nothing back."
Though designated a sparring match, there was no realistic scenario where Junon could triumph over Professor Munieher. Even so, demanding full strength meant the professor intended to scrutinize every detail of his performance with absolute precision.
This is a rare opportunity.
Knowing that Professor Munieher was uniquely qualified to illuminate the path forward, Junon steeled his resolve to treat the bout with deadly seriousness.
First, I have to close the distance.
The only tools currently at his disposal were the foundational close-quarters combat skills forged through relentless physical training, and the close-range disruption technique that induced Mana Panic—Anti-Cast. Nothing else. With his eyes peeled for the formation of any magic circles, Junon charged straight toward the professor.
Yet Professor Munieher merely shifted his stance slightly to the side, making no attempt to invoke a spell. The conclusion seemed straightforward enough. His opponent was a scholar past his forties; in terms of raw physical strength, the youth shouldn't be at a disadvantage. But contrary to Junon's expectations, physical prowess was not measured solely by bulk.
Tap.
"...!"
With a light flick against Junon's wrist, Professor Munieher deflected the trajectory of the strike. The punch intended for the sternum skimmed harmlessly past the professor's ribs. Planted firmly in the sand, Junon strained to recover his broken balance, but in that fractional second, Munieher drove a condensed burst of mana straight toward his exposed midsection.
"Kuh...!"
"You managed to guard against that? Impressive."
Had he not hastily manifested a Mana Shield over his abdomen to absorb the impact, Junon would have been doubled over on the ground clutching his stomach. Without missing a beat, Professor Munieher traced a glowing crest in the air and fired a jolt of lightning.
Mages always prepared for multi-casting; evading one spell merely meant walking into the crosshairs of another. Projectiles of elemental energy rained down relentlessly from the front and flanks. The desert arena reverberated with the sharp, grating screeches of magical impacts fracturing and scraping against the translucent barrier.
Through the gaps between the incoming spells, Professor Munieher slipped forward, his hands clad in raw mana, probing for an opening. Junon had no choice but to pour every ounce of his concentration into defense. Landing an effective blow—let alone touching the man—was completely out of the question. Because his unique magic was fundamentally defensive, nothing pierced through, yet it was Junon who found himself continually forced backward to maintain spacing.
"A shield woven from raw mana. Exceptional reflexes, and your application of defensive magic is quite sound. Most students would have collapsed by now."
In the midst of the exchange, Professor Munieher spoke calmly, as if he had already deduced the underlying nature of Junon's magic. It left Junon in an increasingly dire predicament.
This isn't a joke... He's a monster.
Most ranged casters sought an advantage by opening distance. Yet even when confronted with hand-to-hand combat, Professor Munieher didn't rely on magic circles; instead, he blended fluid martial techniques with localized bursts of mana to minimize impact, steadily closing the gap to mount counterattacks. Junon had anticipated a difficult bout, but he hadn't imagined he would be outclassed this thoroughly. One lapse in judgment and he would be eating sand.
"Now then, it's your turn to defend, isn't it? Pay me no mind—if you spot an opening, strike back with all your might."
From that moment on, Professor Munieher began driving Junon relentlessly across the field. He wove a chaotic battlefield, alternating between basic elemental spells, low-tier conventional magic, and sudden, devastating heavy impacts. And finally, an opening presented itself to Junon.
"Hmm?"
Aiming to destabilize the professor's mana flow, Junon channeled his own energy in reverse, driving it directly into the active magic circle to disrupt its structure.
It took!
Once Mana Panic set in and triggered violent vertigo, Professor Munieher would be temporarily stripped of his casting ability. I've got him—for a split second, that thought flashed through Junon's mind.
"Hmph. Is that so?"
The professor's tone carried the cool certainty of someone who had instantly seen through the trick. At the same time, an icy shudder crawled up Junon's spine.
Did I miss something?
The realization that victory had slipped from his grasp hit him the very instant the corners of Munieher's lips curled upward.
"Placing your palm against a magic circle to inject counter-circulating mana... A commendable attempt."
Before Junon could pull back, Professor Munieher seized the wrist that had been channeling the reverse flow. The professor, who was supposed to be incapacitated by dizziness, stood completely unbothered.
"Kh?!"
From the captured wrist, Munieher's mana surged backward into Junon like a tidal wave. The encroaching torrent severed Junon's internal flow at a critical juncture, and the entire world began to spin uncontrollably. The equilibrium within his body collapsed in an instant. From the moment foreign mana breached his circuits through his wrist, he knew everything had gone terribly wrong.
"I... yield..."
He conceded defeat immediately. In this state, even standing upright was impossible, to say nothing of continuing the bout. Dropping to one knee, Junon pressed a hand against his forehead, waiting for the nauseating dizziness to subside.
"An attack like that would cause immense grief to anyone unaccustomed to regulating their mana circulation."
Professor Munieher took hold of Junon's wrist once more, gently realigning the disrupted mana pathways coursing through the boy's body.
"Overall, your performance was exemplary. Allow me to point out a few tactical missteps. Is the dizziness still severe?"
"It's... passing. But how did you counter that just now, Professor?"
"Hmm. That will require a bit of an explanation. Listen closely."
Anti-Cast was a technique Professor Munieher himself would eventually develop years in the future to neutralize specific demonic beasts. Later, when it proved equally devastating in interpersonal combat, a select few students had been taught the principle. Professor Munieher had effortlessly grasped the core mechanics of a future doctrine, and his tactical instruction remained as razor-sharp as ever.
"Setting that aside, why do you rely so heavily on physical martial arts over magic? If anything, it felt as though you were actively avoiding your own spells."
Junon could hardly confess that his magic was destined to fade away eventually. Instead, he offered a practical excuse.
"How am I supposed to fight demonic beasts with a unique magic that possesses zero offensive capability? Besides, my weapon proficiencies are all permanently stuck at a flat zero-point-one percent."
Zero offensive potential. He claimed that defense alone could never slay a beast. A shield might serve well to preserve his life, but he refused to become dependent on it. If he spent years mastering an ability only to lose it later, what would become of him? He would be nothing more than an ordinary man who knew a few basic shield drills. That was precisely why he had prioritized conditioning his flesh and bones over honing ephemeral magic.
"So you focused on tempering your body rather than refining your spells. I see the logic."
Checking the pocket watch at his vest, Professor Munieher decided to call an end to the session for the day. He added that preparing for the upcoming term left him with little free time for private tutoring, and since he had matters of his own to investigate, Junon should seek him out again once the start-of-semester evaluations were concluded.
"While over-reliance on magic is ill-advised, unique magic is an exception to that rule. Unique magic is, by definition, the power an individual can wield with the highest possible efficiency."
"Thank you for your guidance, Professor."
"You fought well. Go and rest."
Though the instruction had been brief, walking away with several indispensable pieces of advice made the venture well worth the effort.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Nothing catastrophic had happened yet; there was no reason not to approach things with a clear, positive mind. Succumbing to needless anxiety would only ruin plans that would otherwise succeed. Mentally centering himself, Junon stepped out of Merak Hall and departed the faculty grounds.
Watching the young man's retreating figure from the entrance, Professor Munieher murmured under his breath.
"A tactic that neutralizes an opponent's magic circle... Ingenious. Calling it 'Anti-Cast' seems fitting."
Having experienced it firsthand, he knew with absolute certainty that the boy's evaluation score had been no clerical error.
"It seems I have encountered a genuine supernova."
Because of Senia's schedule the previous day, they hadn't been able to talk for long. Thus, Michelle sought her out the following morning as promised, gleaning crucial information regarding Junon. Senia had mentioned filtering out anything purely subjective or unverified, but Michelle had expressed heartfelt gratitude, assuring her that what she provided was more than enough.
Yet as the explanation unfolded, Michelle—much like Renias before her—found herself confronted with an uncomfortable reality.
"Junon's unique magic is an opaque white barrier suited for a close-range interception vanguard. Simply put, it functions identically to a shield."
"The very first time he used it was when a guy named Vesta picked a fight with him. I couldn't intervene directly back then, so I ran to fetch Professor Jake, but by the time we got there, his magic had already sprouted. Vesta had been beaten into absolute bloody pulp."
The students of Classes D and E had long suffered under discrimination and systemic oppression from privileged casters. Among them, Junon was a rare exception who had displayed indomitable willpower, refusing to bow his head or surrender, ultimately awakening a unique magic designed specifically to intercept and nullify offensive spells. He had rapidly forced his nascent power to bloom in response to hostile conditions, only for the academy to dismiss and deny his achievements all over again.
To Michelle, whose sense of justice burned straight and true, this was something she could not simply overlook.
"Magic... is being used for garbage like that?"
A flame ignited deep within Michelle's chest, stoking an indignation she found impossible to suppress. Digging into Junon's circumstances had brought her face-to-face with the rot festering in the shadows of the academy, and the revelation stoked her fury higher with every passing moment.
As if to throw fuel onto that simmering fire, voices erupted from a nearby corridor, driving her temper toward the boiling point.
"Hey, you piece of shit, did I tell you to buy this brand?"
"N-No, but..."
"If you've got eyes and hands, do your damn job properly, you useless bastard!"
A dull thud echoed down the hall as a body hit the floor. With Michelle's keen magical sensitivity, she could tell without looking that an offensive spell had been used to strike the victim down.
Systemic persecution enacted out of sight of the uninitiated. Fabricating conflicts to crush and degrade others under flimsy pretexts, all to harvest petty, parasitic advantages. Ever since witnessing the root of this vicious cycle with her own eyes, Michelle had begun to change.
Her fury rose once more, manifesting as an arrow meant to bring judgment upon those who desecrated magic.
Tap, tap.
Her brisk footsteps brought her directly onto the scene, and without a moment's hesitation, an arrow of brilliant blue flame streaked through the air, engulfing the perpetrator in its azure blaze. Even as she struck, she knew that cutting down abusers one by one wouldn't change the underlying reality; this was merely the tip of a massive iceberg. Frustrated by her own powerlessness, she swallowed her lingering anger and turned to leave.
Just then, a figure stepped into her path.
"Whew. Blue flames? That's fiery."
"...Who are you?"
"Ah. The name's Goden. An exchange student from the Artena Empire."
Boasting a frame like a walking mountain, the burly youth shed his playful demeanor and posed a serious question to Michelle.
"Wouldn't you like to stop things like this with your own hands so they never happen again?"
Michelle replied with a bitter scoff.
"If I could change it, I already would have. The problem is that it's impossible."
"You're being far too pessimistic. Why not consider the possibility of a solution?"
"What solution could there possibly be? Even the Principality's leadership can't resolve it. Do you really think one person changing will fix everything?"
"Well, looking at it that way, you're not wrong."
"...See? Even you know it."
Just as Michelle attempted to brush past his shoulder, dismissing his words as meaningless chatter, Goden spoke again.
"I don't know about that. I still think there's a chance."
"What are you talking about?"
"When people who share the same conviction come together—first one, then two, eventually forming a united front—isn't that how they managed to conquer the end-of-term evaluations without falling apart?"
To Michelle, his words sounded unmistakably like an invitation to gather comrades. And as if confirming her suspicion, Goden laid open a new path of possibility.
"I'm going to build a party. And with it, I'm going to shatter the twisted, paradoxical 'justice' those bastards built."
The genesis of Team Tembris. With the recruitment of Michelle Granodia, their legend was beginning to take shape.