Tailing, Part Two
It can't be. Why her, of all people? The thought gnawed relentlessly at the back of his mind.
Handing the handkerchief back to its owner, Junon had no choice but to cut straight to the point.
"What's your business with me?"
He needed to know why Michel was shadowing his steps.
As Junon fixed her with a sharp, intimidating glare, Michel's brilliant blue eyes darted in frantic circles, her mind racing at dizzying speed to concoct any plausible excuse.
This is my only shot... Please, let this work...!
Swallowing hard, Michel blurted out her answer.
"I was hoping you could help me find some work!"
In short: she needed money.
To her fortune, that happened to be an excuse a regressor like Junon could actually swallow.
Looking back on the life before his regression, Junon could recall two pressing financial troubles that had plagued Michel around this time.
First was the money needed to cover the autopsy and funeral expenses following the tragic leaping death at Alios Hall.
Second was the funds she regularly sent to an orphanage on the Granodia estate, which sheltered children left parentless by the war.
Whichever it was, the bottom line remained identical: she desperately needed cash. Yet as a student without an early graduation certificate, Michel had virtually no avenue to earn a decent wage.
When you think of it like that, her story checks out.
Even if she had trailed him to the waterways, they had never officially crossed paths in this lifetime. To her, he was an absolute stranger. What reason could she possibly have to suspect his motives? It was best to settle this quietly and sever any future connection before it began.
"Can't you just look for part-time campus gigs?" Junon asked, his tone dry. "You could enchant artifacts, or assist the teaching assistants and professors prepping for alchemy lectures. There's always work like that."
Michel hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze before finally confessing in embarrassment, "I only know how to cast offensive spells... I haven't taken any applied lectures, so none of the faculty would hire me..."
"Wait, what?"
Junon blinked. He had overlooked that entirely.
At this stage, Michel was merely a noble girl who happened to wield tremendous raw firepower. She had never been one to care for physical conditioning, nor had she bothered studying lucrative practical crafts like alchemy, magiteck engineering, or magical enchanting. At best, her talents were suited for bounty hunting, but without having met the requirements for graduation, she lacked the legal credentials to accept outside guild commissions. She was stranded without a single viable means of income.
The requirement for early graduation wasn't the mere awakening of innate magic—it required full blossoming, didn't it?
True to her future moniker, Michel of the Blue Flame, she could likely manifest her azure fire even now. Yet that unique flame would only demonstrate its true, undeniable worth during the Joint Practical Training. In her current state, the academy instructors would have seen little distinction between her blue fire and ordinary flame magic, summarily dismissing her request for early graduation.
"I really, truly need the money right now," Michel pleaded, her gaze brimming with earnest desperation. "So... won't you please help me out?"
The choice was thrust back into Junon's hands.
She had once been his comrade. When the rest of the party pushed to cast him out, she had been the lone voice arguing until the bitter end that they couldn't abandon him. If he were willing to shoulder the risk, he could afford to extend her a shred of goodwill.
Yet he had sworn to turn his back on every member of Team Tembris. Entangling himself with them carried far too great a hazard.
Still, she's destined to be one of the four breakout stars of the upcoming Start-of-Semester Evaluation. If her money problems get sorted out now, won't her growth go far more smoothly?
He caught himself and shook his head. No. Even without my interference, she's going to achieve dazzling heights anyway. What right do I have to play the benefactor?
A swirl of conflicting thoughts collided in his chest, stretching the silence far longer than intended.
"I'm deeply sorry for what happened before. Noel. John."
"What... what is this all of a sudden?"
"W-We already swore we'd never mouth off again! Why bring it up now...?!"
"It's not like that at all," Sylvia said softly. "I realized my wrongdoing far too late, and I've come to offer my sincere apologies. Even if... I know I don't deserve your forgiveness."
Rather than fleeing from her past misdeeds, Sylvia was making the rounds, apologizing directly to every person she had wronged. It was an act born purely of her own conviction—a desire to sweep away every lingering resentment and make a clean break from who she used to be.
"...Is she setting us up to pull something worse later?" Noel whispered under his breath.
"Hey, keep it down. Don't push your luck..." John muttered back, shifting his weight anxiously.
The two boys stole cautious glances at her, wary of an aristocratic trap. Sylvia understood their fear all too well. When commoners offended the highborn, retaliation was rarely a one-time affair; it hung over their heads like an executioner's blade.
"It's only natural you'd think that..."
Wondering how she could prove her sincerity, Sylvia lowered her posture and bent at the waist, bowing deeply before them.
Both boys went rigid in utter disbelief. For two low-ranking vanguards who had spent their entire academy lives despised for their birth and relegated to the bottom tiers, seeing a noble lady bow in humble supplication was enough to make them pinch their cheeks.
"A bow is little enough comfort, I know... but I hope it might ease even a fraction of the anger in your hearts."
"..."
"..."
With Sylvia's eyes fixed on the paving stones, Noel and John exchanged frantic, wordless looks. Did she completely lose her mind? At the very least, she's definitely not planning to ruin us. If Lady Sylvia is bending her back and bowing her head like this, there's no way she's faking it.
"Uh... your back's gonna hurt if you stay like that."
"Yeah, seriously. If someone walks by and sees this, they're gonna get the wrong idea."
Convinced that the girl standing before them was no longer the arrogant bully from before, the two gave their uneasy forgiveness. Relieved, Sylvia offered a small, grateful smile and produced two small cases, handing one to each boy.
Nestled inside each box was an exquisite fountain pen—a renowned brand whose craftsmanship was undeniable, yet far too luxurious for typical commoners to afford.
"Wait... isn't this that pen? The one from that imperial tale, where a noble admitted their faults to a commoner and gave them a pen as a token of respect...?"
"So that's why she gave these to us..."
Sylvia had bought the pens with the money she had earned from her own labor throughout the day. Having recognized the depth of her arrogance, she was personally presenting them to each of her victims.
"Hey, Noel."
"What?"
"...Don't you think Sylvia looks... really pretty lately?"
"I was thinking the same thing... Seeing her actually smile, she's gorgeous..."
Her once perpetually cold, haughty expression had softened into warmth, leaving more than a few boys blushing red like the two vanguards standing in the courtyard.
Where could he have gone?
She had offered heartfelt apologies and parting gifts to nearly everyone on her list, and almost all of them had accepted with gracious surprise. Yet there was still one person left to whom she hadn't given a pen.
Just one person. The one whose acceptance mattered to her more than anyone else's.
I haven't been able to see him for days.
Junon.
The only person who had seen through the facade of her bitter, unyielding heart and offered forgiveness when she least deserved it. Today was finally the day she might cross paths with her savior, and her heart fluttered with quiet anticipation.
Scanning the academy walkways, Sylvia wandered through the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. At long last, a familiar shock of untamed black hair drifted into view near a secluded side street. But then—
"────."
"───... ────?"
With a girl...? In a gloomy alley in broad daylight?
Sylvia froze. Down the narrow, dim corridor between two stone buildings, Junon was speaking in hushed tones with an unfamiliar figure. The clandestine setting immediately set every instinct on high alert.
I need to hear what they're saying.
Holding her breath so as not to be detected, Sylvia crept toward the mouth of the alley, flattening her back against the brickwork. Peeking around the corner, she narrowed her eyes.
She looks like a noble...
Junon's broad frame obscured the stranger's face, but the tailored coat draped over her uniform was spun from unmistakable high-grade fabric. What was more, the subtle modulation in the girl's tone carried the precise, polished cadence of high-society etiquette. Sylvia couldn't put a name to the silhouette, but she knew at once that this was no ordinary student.
She had intended to observe a little longer, but the next words that left Junon's mouth shattered her composure.
"This is everything I have. Take it. Just don't follow me around anymore, and stay out of my business."
A highborn lady speaking in an alley. Junon reluctantly handing over a wad of bills.
The scene struck Sylvia like a physical blow. She knew the horrific truth behind such sights intimately, having witnessed—and even participated in—similar cruelty before. It was the classic aristocratic game of bleeding the powerless dry, wringing blood from a stone.
Stepping boldly into the mouth of the alley, Sylvia raised her hand.
"Junon."
"Huh? Sylvia...?" Junon started, turning around in surprise.
"Get down."
"Wait, what are you—?"
Before the words could fully leave his mouth, a massive greatsword forged of howling gale winds descended through the alleyway, sweeping forward with ferocious force to obliterate the extortionist on the spot.
BOOM!
The pressurized air detonated between the narrow stone walls. The vertical cleave of wind should have cleaved straight through the noble girl.
Yet reality defied all expectations.
"What...?" Sylvia gasped.
"Haah... Seriously, what in the world are you doing out of nowhere?!"
Two circular, gleaming white Mana Shields hovered over Junon's forearms, firmly locking the wind blade in place. Despite her clear command to drop, the one who had stepped forward to intercept the lethal spell head-on was not the noble girl—it was Junon himself.
"I told you to get down... D-Didn't you hear me?"
"What's gotten into you? We're lucky this alley is empty right now, or did you want to advertise to the entire campus that we're picking fights in public?"
Sylvia fell silent, her hands trembling with a sudden surge of righteous indignation. In her grip, the small velvet box holding the pen she had meant to give him bent under her white-knuckled pressure.
"...She's extorting you, isn't she?" Sylvia choked out.
"What?"
"That noble girl is shaking you down for money! The Noble Faction has a history of ordering students to shake down commoners just to put them in their place! Junon, that's what's happening to you right now!"
The fact that she knew this so intimately was proof that she had once carried out the very same heinous orders herself. Voicing it felt like driving a rusted spike through her own heart, but she refused to stand by and watch Junon suffer that same humiliation.
Taking in her flushed cheeks and frantic breathing, Junon let out a slow, exhausted sigh.
"So... you thought I was getting mugged by the person behind me, and you jumped in to save me?"
Sylvia gave a firm, resolute nod. She had zero doubt.
"Haah... Sylvia. Do me a favor and take a look at who's actually standing behind me."
"...?"
Shih-tzing a defeated breath, Junon shifted his stance, opening up the line of sight.
Only then did Sylvia finally see the face of the noblewoman.
Her rich auburn hair was neatly tied up, framing a composed, strikingly intelligent face. She was the undisputed top academic achiever among the incoming third-years.
"Ah..."
"That's a bit harsh," Michel said, crossing her arms with a pout. "I only asked for a little help because I'm strapped for cash. To treat me like some common thug shaking down lowerclassmen..."
She was as far removed from the Noble Faction's extortion rings as someone could possibly be. Michel was the eldest daughter of the Granodia Count family—a stalwart house famously opposed to the conservative Noble Coalition.
Sylvia stood frozen, all the air rushing out of her lungs. There was only one thing she could say.
"I'm... terribly sorry..."
Before any of them could speak further, the muffled voices of two older men echoed from the adjacent townhouse window, freezing all three in place.
—What was that noise? Sounded like a blast went off right next door!
—Oh, hush up, you old fool. Hearing things again, are you? If a blast went off, our wall would be cracked.
—No, I'm telling you, something's wrong. Let me step out and take a look.
—Hey, keep your eyes on the board! Stop trying to forfeit just because you're losing!
"..."
"..."
"..."
Clearly, relocating was their highest priority.
Michel needed money, and Junon had handed over what he carried on him. That was the compromise he had struck—a way to lend aid to a former comrade without shouldering the catastrophic risk of drawing her into his orbit.
He had firmly stated that getting involved with upper-class students had never brought him anything but trouble, and Michel had seemed to accept that rationale. With Sylvia's misunderstanding cleared up, the three of them had reached a quiet, if awkward, understanding.
"By the way... this is yours, isn't it?" Junon asked, extending a small cloth.
"Ah! That's right! My handkerchief!"
A familiar piece of fabric. The embroidery along the hem was clumsy and uneven, clearly stitched by the hands of young children, but it was an item Michel treasured dearly.
Good. That wraps everything up.
There was no need for further conversation. Any continued dialogue would merely revolve around when and how she planned to pay him back, and Junon had zero desire for her to seek him out under the guise of repaying a debt.
This tie had to be severed here and now.
"You don't need to pay the money back. Just keep your word on what I asked. I'm busy, so I'll be taking my leave."
"Wait... Junon! Wait for me!" Sylvia called out, hurrying after his brisk stride.
Left standing alone in the quiet alley, Michel watched their retreating figures until they vanished around the corner, finally letting out a long, shuddering sigh of relief.
"Phew... Somehow managed to pull through."
She had nearly been caught red-handed. The close call left her heart thumping against her ribs, but as the adrenaline faded, a lingering confusion took its place.
"Still... why did he dump Mistellis leaves and powder into the waterways? Neutralizing agents aren't going to clean out a contaminated sewer system..."
The question rooted itself deep in her thoughts, refusing to budge. And alongside it came another, far more troubling anomaly.
"On top of that... how did he know I don't belong to the Noble Faction?"
When Junon had shifted to reveal her to Sylvia, he had acted with complete certainty. For someone like Sylvia Coutelli, a highborn noble, recognizing opposing political houses was second nature. But for an ordinary commoner like Junon, stuck in Class E, his reaction had been entirely out of place.
It was as if he already knew who she was, inside and out.
Michel looked down at the creased bills clutched in her fingers. Just like the sharp folds pressed into the paper, her suspicion toward Junon was carving a deep, indelible furrow into her mind.