Seniors and Juniors (Part 2)

Strange...

Sylvia stared at the bulletin board, thoroughly perplexed by her surprisingly decent evaluation. Just last semester, nearly every classmate sharing Class C with her had tumbled down into Class D or E—or, worse yet, taken a vertical nose-dive straight into the newly established Class F. As a result, a seething mob of students who refused to accept the test results had gathered around the board, their protests mounting by the second.

"Does this make any sense?! I finished fast enough to place in the top ten of the End-of-Term Evaluation, so how the hell am I in Class F?!"

"Same here! How on earth did they grade this?!"

"Hey, didn't you cross the finish line right around the same time as me? Did you get an F too?"

"Yeah, Class F. Doesn't look like time mattered at all."

"The examiner needs to make the rubric public! There's no way this wasn't rigged!"

Under normal circumstances, the Start-of-Semester Evaluation took the form of Joint Practical Training. Because it functioned as a direct step up from the mock combat duels of previous terms, few ever dared to contest the outcome. This time, however, an investigation into the field exercise had brought a scandalous revelation to light.

Following an extensive probe, Professor Muniher officially announced that someone had sabotaged the subterranean drainage network by deliberately dumping wastewater saturated with demonic beast blood into the Underground Waterway. Declaring that a compromised assessment was utterly meaningless, the academy wiped the slate clean and assigned every single participant a flat zero.

In truth, the move was a calculated cover-up to conceal Charlotte's Mana Rampage, but it left the student body's pent-up grievances with nowhere else to go. Because the Start-of-Semester Evaluation had been discarded, the previous End-of-Term Evaluation became the sole metric for determining class assignments—and the scores earned by those Professor Muniher openly termed 'dead weight' were nothing short of catastrophic.

Then why am I still in Class C?

Sylvia couldn't help but wonder. Fully expecting to have scraped the absolute bottom of the barrel during the End-of-Term Evaluation, she racked her brain for any possible justification for keeping her seat in Class C, yet came up empty. But before she could dwell on the mystery any longer, the restless crowd swelling before the newly posted scorecards shattered her train of thought.

"Noel? How the hell are you in Class C? Did they swap our grades?!"

"Hold on, that John guy got into Class C too! Hey, spill it! What dirty trick did you pull?!"

"I-I don't know anything! I just did my best!"

"Besides, why are you taking your anger ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out on us?!" Noel fired back, his temper flaring. "If you dropped, it's because you messed up!"

Watching the noble students crowd the two vanguards, Sylvia frowned. If things got out of hand, she fully intended to intervene.

"The exam's already over," she cut in, her voice cool and steady. "Why not just accept the results and move on?"

"Ha! Look at these commoner runts, getting bolder by the second."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Says the guy ranked lower than the 'runts,'" Noel sneered. "Felt great looking down your nose at us, didn't it? Looks like you'll be looking up from now on."

"You dare...!"

"I'd let go if I were you," Sylvia warned, directing a sharp gaze at the former classmate clutching Noel's collar. "Start a brawl here, and the faculty will be handing out disciplinary demerits before you can throw a punch."

There was no chance she would ever repeat the mistakes of her past. Though her words were delivered as calm advice, there was a quiet, unyielding edge that made it clear she wasn't bluffing. Even so, the noble students bared their teeth, refusing to back down.

"Who are you to lecture us, Sylvia? What, been hanging around that bastard so much you've forgotten what it means to be a noble?"

"'That bastard'?" Sylvia's eyes narrowed. "Who are you talking about?"

"Play dumb all you want! You've been tailing that piece of trash Junon everywhere lately! We figured you were just dragging him around like an obedient pet, but it looks like you've gone soft on him!"

"Haa..."

Sylvia let out a weary sigh. Do these idiots even realize how many academy regulations they're breaking right now?

Insulting Junon made her knuckles itch to pummel them into the dirt, but stoking the flames any further would ignite a full-scale riot. Knowing that all too well, she forced herself to swallow her temper.

The tension stood on a knife's edge.

On one side stood the privileged clique, who had swaggered in only to find their worldview shattered by results they refused to accept. On the other stood the marginalized students, who no longer had any reason to bow their heads under their tormentors' heels.

The two factions were divided like oil and water, primed to erupt into violence at the slightest spark.

"What's going on over there? Why is everyone so worked up?"

"I wonder... It wasn't like this when I checked earlier."

Having just arrived to finalize their course registrations, Junon and Renias observed the unfolding standoff from the shadow of a nearby colonnade—an ironic pairing if there ever was one: the so-called 'weakest vanguard' who had crawled up from the bottom of Class E, and the radiant idol of the academy, gleaming like a polished jewel at the apex of Class A.

The moment Junon's name left their lips, the crowd's toxic curiosity naturally pivoted toward the score earned by the disgraced former vanguard. By that point, the sensible students—including Sylvia—had already begun quietly stepping away to avoid the impending disaster, leaving behind only the most stubborn, pride-blinded agitators who couldn't stomach defeat.

"Wait, don't tell me Junon..."

"Let me check!"

At the mention of his name, the self-proclaimed elite jostled forward once more, their eyes scouring the Class Assignment Exam board. A heartbeat later, an incredulous hush washed over them.

"Class... A...?"

"A-Are you blind?! Is he really in Class A?!"

No matter how many times they rubbed their eyes, the pristine letter engraved beside Junon's name remained an indisputable, unyielding A. The boy they had treated as nothing more than cheap gossip and frontline fodder now held an official seat among the very best of the academy.

The reaction was as explosive as it was predictable.

"How does the weakest vanguard jump straight into Class A?! That makes no damn sense!"

"The evaluation was rigged! There has to be favoritism at play!"

"Exactly! How could an incompetent dead weight like him ever belong in Class A?!"

An outcry far fiercer than before surged through the corridor, their venomous outrage coalescing into a single, concentrated spearhead aimed entirely at one person.

Well, this is turning into a complete mess, Junon thought, watching from afar.

Around this time of year, the Noble Coalition was always hunting for any excuse to drag Professor Muniher down from his position. If this riot boiled over, Muniher would undoubtedly be forced to shoulder the blame. Renowned though the imperial scholar was, he had yet to establish a deep political foothold within the Principality's aristocratic circles.

Right. Stepping in right now will only pour oil on the fire.

Knowing that his presence would only escalate the hostility, Junon resolved to stay put. The immediate priority was keeping his fiery junior calm.

"Renias, there's no need to pay any attention to people like—huh?"

He turned his head. The space beside him was completely empty.

Where the hell did she go?!

He glanced left and right in mounting panic, but there wasn't a trace of her silver hair. A cold bead of sweat trickled down his spine as a terrible premonition struck him. He swallowed hard and slowly tracked his gaze toward the center of the crowd.

"Ah, for crying out loud..."

Letting out a muted groan that nobody else could hear, Junon squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hand.

"Then by that logic, why am I in Class A?"

"Great, another moron whining about the weird grading criteria putting them in—"

"H-Hey... look behind you..."

"What are you wetting yourself for? It's probably just another useless frontline—"

"Shut up, you idiot! Look behind you!"

"What the hell is your problem?! Who could possibly be standing there that has you so terrified—wait... huh?"

The student who had been enthusiastically tearing into Junon and Class A finally spun around. The sneer on his face petrified into stone in less than a second. His jaw dropped, and whatever arrogant rebuttal he had prepared died instantly in his throat.

"Since I share Class A with Junon-sunbae, does that make me an honor student who only got there through favoritism too?"

Renias's tone was sharper than a winter frost, dropping the surrounding temperature so precipitously that an icy chill seemed to settle over the entire hallway. The suffocating pressure clamped every mouth shut in an instant.

These students spent their lives tearing others down to puff up their own egos, but not even the most delusional among them could deny the overwhelming prowess of the Lantana Ducal Family's prodigy. To slander Junon's placement in Class A while standing in front of Renias was, by extension, an insult directed straight at her. Staring into those freezing dark eyes, all they could do was freeze in terror.

Yet their stubborn vanity refused to break entirely. To bow down here would mean surrendering the fragile supremacy and pride they had built on wealth and lineage.

"...If Lady Renias carried Junon's score on her back, then it makes sense," one of them forced out, voice trembling.

"Excuse me...?"

"Is it really that impossible for a Class A student to drag an incompetent Class E partner across the finish line? Especially someone of your caliber, my Lady?"

"Watch your tongue," Renias said, her voice dropping into an icy register. "As his partner during the End-of-Term Evaluation, I know better than anyone what transpired. Do you truly feel no shame in defaming Junon-sunbae simply because you cannot stomach your own inadequacy?"

The students flinched under her razor-sharp rebuke, but having backed themselves into a corner, they dug in their heels.

"Isn't it the truth, though?! The whole point of the two-person teams was for us to support the vanguards!"

"Yeah! Some people arrived late entirely because their partners held them back! How does that justify throwing us into Class F?! The grading was clearly defective!"

"An exam without transparent guidelines cannot be considered valid!"

"Abandoning a useless partner was a valid tactical decision in itself! If this was a true evaluation, our judgment should have been rewarded, not penalized!"

One by one, the disgruntled nobles banded together, shifting their focus from insulting Junon to desperately justifying their own failures. They rationalized their cowardice, loudly arguing that their choices were beyond reproach and that the test itself was fundamentally broken.

Even Renias found herself momentarily constrained. Because Professor Muniher had never publicly disclosed the precise grading rubric, she couldn't definitively refute their claims without institutional backing. Emboldened by her brief hesitation, the students' hubris flared once more, and their discontent rapidly coalesced into an organized protest.

When crude protest banners began unfurling along the balustrades, Professor Muniher finally emerged, his expression thoroughly disgusted.

"Worthless brats. Incapable of recognizing your own incompetence, yet bold enough to bare your fangs...?"

Tsk, tsk. You really shouldn't have started a protest, Junon thought from the shadows. He had seen that exact look on Muniher's face in his past life.

"Very well," the professor stated dryly, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like a executioner measuring the block. "Since you clamor for it so desperately, I shall enlighten you on the grading criteria of this exam."

His face said it all: Throw your tantrum. See where it gets you.

Arrogant fools need to be crushed thoroughly beneath the weight of reality.

Professor Muniher was known to offer generous guidance to those who recognized their shortcomings. But against insolent vermin who refused to acknowledge their station, he never hesitated to deliver an unvarnished, merciless barrage of facts.

Whirrr—

"What is that...?"

A magic tool hummed to life, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠projecting the detailed scorecards and mana indices of two contrasting students high into the air. On paper, their baseline mana statistics were virtually identical. Yet while one had plummeted straight into the abyss, the other had achieved an astounding leap in rank. In a single stroke, the projection proved that raw mana reserves had played no role in the discrepancy.

"Listen closely, for I shall now explain the standards you so eagerly begged to hear."

Muniher's grading criteria were drawn directly from the brutal realities of actual warfare. Though the testing grounds had been devoid of live demonic beasts, every single category was anchored in ruthless military logic, choking the protests right out of the students' throats.

"Man is an intelligent being defined by the ability to utilize tools. When provided with equipment, a student should at least possess the wits to deduce its function. Does even the simplest manual task require you to chant a spell?"

The crowd winced.

"If an evaluation appears suspiciously straightforward, an alert mind should question why. You failed to exercise the slightest skepticism because your skulls are stuffed with nothing but superficial spells."

He paced forward, his voice cutting through the hall like a whip.

"When no clear objective was provided, did none of you possess the initiative to investigate your surroundings? Not an ounce of the tenacity expected of Principality citizens can be found within you."

"Did you believe the two-man cell was a mere decorative formality? If you cannot even cooperate with a single partner, what delusions lead you to believe you could function within a full squad?"

"The fact that you mindlessly rushed out of the testing grounds the moment you completed the bare minimum proves beyond doubt that you lack the fundamental capacity for tactical judgment."

"Vigilance is the paramount virtue on a real battlefield. Anyone who received an E in this category would be nothing more than a corpse-in-waiting, dragging down their comrades."

Under that devastating barrage of reprimands, the students' flimsy grievances evaporated into dust. Professor Muniher drew direct parallels between the testing chamber and a war zone, tearing apart every excuse with flawless, incontrovertible logic. As he compared the two projected scorecards and picked apart their specific blunders, the dissenting voices died away until complete silence reigned.

Had that chamber truly been an active frontline crawling with beasts, every single one of those complaining nobles would have returned inside a pine box.

Hmph. Quiet at last, are you?

Stripped of every counterargument, the students tucked their tails between their legs, casting nervous glances at one another. Just as the silence threatened to suffocate them, an oily voice cut through the stillness.

"That strikes me as quite a leap in logic, Professor Muniher."

"What business brings you here, Professor Norbell?"

"I merely heard a commotion and came to see what ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the trouble was. Word reached me that there was widespread dissatisfaction regarding the class assignments."

"That is not what I asked," Muniher replied coldly, calling out the imperial adjunct for meddling where he had no authority.

Maintaining a smooth, unabashed smile, Norbell stepped forward to address the crowd.

"Leaving matters in this state will hardly convince the student body. In that case, how about we resolve it like this?"

Watching from the gallery, I could piece together exactly how events had played out in the previous timeline.

"Professor...!"

"Sniff... Professor Norbell...!"

"Professor, was he right? Were we truly in the wrong...?"

"It is not your fault," Norbell crooned in a soothing tone, playing the part of the benevolent mentor while wrapping his arm around the noble faction. "This examination was riddled with unprecedented anomalies, after all."

The disgraced Class F students flocked around him like chicks around a hen, crying out his name in pathetic appeals for salvation. And Norbell, wearing his mask of gentle magnanimity, shamelessly took their side against the academy's own standards.

Cut the crap, you crooked bastard, I thought, narrowing my eyes.

"Since the makeup evaluation is scheduled as a series of duels," Norbell announced smoothly, "you will simply have to prove your worth with your own hands this time."

It all clicked into place. I finally understood why the practical subjugation exercise of the Start-of-Semester Evaluation had been scrapped in my past life, replaced by a sudden round of competitive duels.

It was because of these entitled hypocrites.