Distrust and Hatred (3)
Even if my past self had made a habit of skipping classes, there was no way I wouldn't recognize that name.
If Professor Muniherr of the Marquis Emerald house was a scholar who had achieved prominence in magical engineering and ascended to the seat of Imperial Chancellor, she was the titan who had overturned nearly every fundamental definition of Mana Origin Science—the pure study of mana's genesis—through dozens of seminal treatises.
Denis Flovel Beryl.
To think I would stand face-to-face with a living legend. It was something I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams.
"You don't have veto power here," she said briskly. "The training intensity will far exceed whatever you've conjured up in that head of yours. But I guarantee the results will speak for themselves."
"...May I ask just one question?"
"Mmm, I'd rather you didn't if it's nonsense."
"It's a question regarding magic."
"Oh? Well, in that case, fire away. Ask whatever your heart desires."
If she truly was the preeminent contemporary authority in magical academia, then she would surely possess an answer to this question.
"Once someone awakens a Unique Magic... is it possible to ever lose it?"
In this wretched, hellish world, I had always believed that whatever power I possessed could never truly blossom. I had written it off as a strength destined to vanish someday, slipping through my fingers like sand. That was precisely why I had to hear this answer, no matter what.
The professor paused, momentarily startled. She exhaled a heavy breath through her nose before offering an answer a beat later than usual.
"To lose it, you say? As far as my knowledge extends, such a thing doesn't exist. Theoretically speaking, it shouldn't even be possible."
So even the foremost authority in the field couldn't account for what had happened to me. I thought as much. It wasn't the first time my expectations had missed their mark.
Yet that wasn't the end of her answer.
"Instead," she continued, "there are cases where the very essence of the power shifts. Such cases are vanishingly rare, primarily because the individuals themselves never realize how their power has changed."
It hadn't disappeared, but changed?
Did that mean the power I thought I had lost had merely shifted its nature? Why? How could one even identify that change?
No, those weren't the pressing questions right now.
My throat tightened as I swallowed dryly.
What if my power hadn't truly vanished? What if the mana that had dissipated, reducing me to dead weight and a burden on everyone around me, hadn't actually been erased from existence? What if my existence was never meant to be so pitiful that I had to hold others back just to survive—what if, through ceaseless effort and dedication, I had always possessed the potential to stand firmly on my own two feet?
Those chaotic thoughts sank deep into my chest like that heavy gulp of saliva, making my heart thud violently against my ribs.
Calm down. Just ask her slowly. The Imperial Chief Researcher of Mana Origin Science is standing right in front of you. You can get every answer you need.
Fighting to suppress the tempest surging within me, I carefully opened my mouth again.
"Does that mean... they remain completely unaware that their power didn't vanish, but merely took on a different form?"
"Exactly. There was a similar case in the Empire. In fact, it happened to a close friend of mine. She could only ever cast fire spells, so everyone assumed that was the attribute taking root. But as it turned out, she was actually a light-attribute support mage."
There was a precedent? So in my past life, had I simply failed to notice? Could I truly change, even starting from right now?
To think that was the truth. The realization that my future wouldn't necessarily end with me degenerating into dead weight made my spirits soar as though I were flying.
"Hah... To think I'd end up bringing that story up to a kid I'm supposed to teach."
"Ah..."
Only then did my soaring thoughts crash back down to earth, and I realized my probing had struck a sensitive chord. There had been a distinct hesitation in her voice when she mentioned her friend, and her expression prior to speaking had carried a reluctant edge. While I had succeeded in getting the answer I sought, I had inadvertently wandered into painful territory.
In moments like this, changing the subject was the wisest move.
"...Could you, um, put me down first?"
"Ah. Right. My apologies. It's been quite a while since I had to flex my muscles like that. Slipped my mind."
The blades of grass that had surged into thick vines swiftly retreated, returning to their original, tranquil lawn as though nothing had transpired in the first place. Normally, such high-level manipulation would leave distinct traces, yet not a single torn blade remained. It was a level of finesse I had never witnessed before.
Just how absurdly precise was this woman's mana control?
"Do you mind if I just call you Junon? You can refer to me as Professor Denis for now."
"You may call me whatever you like... but what did you mean by teaching me?"
"What? Muniherr didn't explain anything to you? Ugh, that man..."
She spoke of him without a shred of honorifics. Whatever else I didn't know, it was abundantly clear that she and Professor Muniherr shared the kind of easy rapport typical of old schoolmates.
Watching her grumble about how he dumped extra responsibilities on her without even briefing the student, I couldn't shake the creeping feeling that I had stumbled into serious trouble.
"Muniherr can't personally tutor you right now because of the upcoming Start-of-Semester Evaluation. You know that much, don't you?"
"Yes. To prevent any suspicion of favoritism or misconduct, direct private contact between presiding faculty and students is strictly prohibited. I'm aware of that rule, but..."
"Well, that stiff-necked fool told me he was taking on a disciple and practically begged me to look after you in his stead. So here I am, filling in."
The longer I listened, the more bizarre it sounded.
"Professor Muniherr's disciple...? Me?"
Receiving guidance from him once or twice was one thing, but being called his disciple felt wildly out of place.
"I suppose you wouldn't know. Can't blame you."
I had no idea what she meant at first. But when she casually added that Professor Muniherr had never once permitted a student to receive personal guidance from him until now, my jaw practically hit the floor. So simply because I was the sole student who had ever received his direct instruction, I was considered his disciple?
Regardless of the semantics, it didn't change the reality standing before me. The woman facing me was a titan whose name was etched into history, someone even an academic novice like myself knew well—one of the twin peaks at the pinnacle of magical research.
"I apologize for whining earlier."
"Drop it, drop it. I'm sure you had your reasons. More importantly, I want to see what you're capable of with my own eyes right now."
"If it's my baseline, there should be records from my recent magical assessment—"
"Paper metrics are utterly useless. The only way to know is to see it firsthand."
Wait... firsthand?
Following Denis, Junon found himself stepping back inside the Mock Combat Room. Holding an unactivated Talbrut Ark in her palm, Denis turned to him with an inquisitive arch of her brow.
"Now then, let me ask you something. My little disciple's Unique Magic falls under the interception category, correct?"
Junon nodded silently.
"In that case, how have you carried out attacks until now?"
"Well... I left that entirely to my teammates. As a Close-range Interception Vanguard, I have virtually no aptitude for weapons."
Hearing his answer, Denis clicked her tongue and shook her head, as if to say he had entirely missed the point.
"Just because you're a Close-range Interception Vanguard doesn't mean you're exempt from participating in an offensive."
Junon blinked, utterly baffled. From everything he had ever been taught, vanguards carried weapons and defensive gear simultaneously precisely so they could contribute to both offense and defense. If an interceptor wielded a weapon, it was to compensate for their lack of offensive power; if an offensive frontliner equipped armor, it was to patch up vulnerable defenses.
In actual battle, an interceptor held the line, soaked the impact with a mana-coated shield to buy precious time, and only struck with a weapon when an absolute opening presented itself. Her words seemed to discard the very foundational doctrine of vanguard combat, outright denying everything taught in the academy's textbooks.
Sensing his profound confusion, Denis shifted her angle of approach.
"A tactic that forcibly injects foreign mana in reverse against a spell circle to disrupt an opponent's internal circuit flow... Anti-Cast, was it? Word has it you used that technique. Am I right?"
"Uh... yes, but..."
In truth, that was a technique Professor Muniherr had engineered in the previous timeline. Junon couldn't fathom why she was bringing it up now, but Denis pressed on before he could deliberate.
"Then can you truly say that Anti-Cast isn't an attack?"
"That's..."
Anti-Cast had been conceived specifically to neutralize certain monstrous threats. While its primary function was disabling shifting cores, the technique itself remained an overtly hostile, offensive action.
"It... would be accurate to call it an attack, yes."
"Indeed. Mana is ultimately defined by how you choose to wield it. People may possess differing constitutions and individual traits, but there is always a fundamental balance." Her lips curled into an enigmatic smile. "Especially when it comes to Unique Magic."
With those parting words, Professor Denis channeled her power into the Talbrut Ark. The ambient light warped, dissolving the stone chamber into a sprawling, oppressive landscape choked with dense thickets, towering ancient boughs, and murky wetlands—a suffocating jungle simulation.
"Just so you know, this Talbrut Ark is a custom unit I specifically borrowed from Muniherr. Its Assimilation Rate is calibrated to fifty percent. So you'd best stay sharp."
"F-Fifty percent?!!"
Even during the high-stakes semester evaluations, the rate had only been pushed to twenty-five percent. Fifty percent meant the simulated feedback carried half the physical consequence of reality. Facing monsters under such conditions was a lethal undertaking that strictly demanded full-party coordination.
At fifty percent... a single misstep means my bones will snap like dry twigs!
Realizing the sheer lunacy of the situation, Junon shouted in a panic.
"I can't take down beasts under these parameters! At fifty percent assimilation, it's impossible for me alone!"
"Did I ever say you'd be fighting monsters, my dear disciple?"
"...Excuse me?"
"I didn't populate this simulation with a single demonic beast."
Junon stared blankly. Wasn't the entire purpose of the Talbrut Ark to project simulated monsters for combat training? If there were no beasts, why in the world had she brought him here?
Seeing the sheer chaos swirling in Junon's eyes, Professor Denis let her lips part into a thoroughly wicked grin. In that fleeting instant, the roots beneath her boots coiled and twisted together, rapidly knitting into the massive silhouette of a towering wooden effigy.
"Your opponents are me and this little fellow."
"YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?!"
A student pitted one-on-one against a grandmaster professor inside an arena running at fifty percent assimilation? Every instinct in Junon screamed at him to turn tail and run.
"For your information, I intend to run you through the wringer far harder than Muniherr ever would. We won't stop until I see tangible results. Don't worry, I won't let you die. Though you might find yourself knocking on death's door a few times."
Dear gods above... Professor Muniherr was an absolute angel compared to this woman!
Although the final grades for the Joint Practical Training had been temporarily withheld, the exercise could hardly be dismissed as meaningless. The indispensable value of the frontliners—a role long looked down upon by noble spellcasters—had been laid bare, and the disparity in casualties had hinged entirely on their presence.
While there had been no fatalities, the fact remained that severe injuries had occurred, with Junon himself having hovered on the brink of death. Thanks to the shared ordeal, the surviving vanguards now walked the halls with their shoulders held a little higher. Furthermore, having tasted actual combat together, the students found a blossoming sense of camaraderie that bridged previous social divides.
Case in point: Henna, currently perched beside Sylvia.
"Ngh... Henna, I don't think I'm doing this right..."
"Nobody gets it on the first try! Keep looking in the mirror while you work the strands."
"Whew, I had no idea tying up hair could be this exhausting."
Henna had served as the vanguard in Sylvia's practical group, but they hadn't started out on friendly terms. With Sylvia—an untouchable powerhouse viewed almost like a natural disaster by Classes D and E—anchoring the squad, the other teammates had strutted around with puffed-up chests. Since every member except Henna hailed from Class C, Henna had felt thoroughly alienated from the outset.
Under the constant disdainful glances of her peers, Henna had seriously contemplated requesting a transfer out of the squad. That was when Sylvia had stepped in.
"If we don't have a vanguard, who exactly is going to buy time for your dreadfully slow casting?"
Though her words had been blunt, there hadn't been an ounce of falsehood in Sylvia's eyes. And as if to prove her point, a Giant Kud Rat had ambushed their party moments later.
When the four casters found themselves besieged just as Sylvia had warned, Sylvia hadn't commanded Henna; she had politely requested her aid. Terrified by the monstrous rodent's unexpected ferocity, the four students would have suffered catastrophic harm had Henna not held the frontline with unwavering grit.
"See that? You owe your lives to the very vanguard you looked down upon."
Sylvia had reprimanded them with cold, cutting severity, leaving no room for argument. Her words and actions had unequivocally championed Henna. Thanks to the combined efforts of the two girls, all six members returned from the Start-of-Semester Evaluation unscathed, and Sylvia gained a fiercely loyal, wonderful friend in Henna.
Back then, she seemed so untouchable and severe.
Who could have guessed that the formidable prodigy who had manifested a roaring blade of wind to pin down a massive demonic beast was, in reality, a girl who couldn't even braid her own hair? Watching her now, the observant Henna saw Sylvia not as an aloof noble, but as an endearing, delightfully clumsy young lady.
"H-Henna...? Did I tangle it again...?"
"Pfft... Hold still, Sylvia. Let me untangle that for you."
Smothering a chuckle, Henna stepped behind her friend and deftly began sectioning and styling the silver-grey locks. Offering gentle explanations as her fingers danced, she gradually dismantled the gloomy, guarded aura Sylvia usually wore, replacing it with an airy, radiant charm.
"And... behold! Take a look in the mirror."
"Whoa..."
"Sylvia, you've been hiding that face behind your hair for way too long. Just braiding a few sections makes you look gorgeous."
"You're exaggerating..."
"I'm really not! You're stunning. I honestly don't get why you insisted on keeping your face covered up until now."
A few slender strands of Sylvia's ash-grey hair had been delicately plaited and pinned back with a tasteful ribbon, neatly framing her features. The transformation was striking. Sylvia stared at her reflection with quiet wonder, while out in the corridor, several passing students turned their heads to steal a second glance.
See? She's an absolute beauty.
She rarely smiled, which kept her delicate features obscured, but a subtle touch of styling was all it took to make people stop dead in their tracks.
"Well? How do you like it?"
"Mm. I love it. A lot."
Henna silently questioned the competence of the maids back at the Coutelli estate. How could they neglect such a pretty face without ever styling her properly? Those servants had to be completely blind.
"By the way, Sylvia."
"Yes? What is it?"
"What brought this on? It's not like you to suddenly want to change your style."
While the maids' neglect was puzzling, what truly piqued Henna's curiosity was Sylvia's sudden desire to dress up.
"Oh, that...? U-Um... someone suggested that trying a new look might be nice for a change of pace, so..."
"Suggested a change of pace? Who did?"
"J-Just another friend!"
Though she maintained a straight face, Henna's mischievous, meddlesome instincts flared to life.
"Heh~. Don't tell me someone caught your eye?"
"N-No! Absolutely not! I was just talking about a friend!"
Despite her frantic denials, the sheer crimson flooding Sylvia's cheeks betrayed her completely. As the blush crept down to her neck, Sylvia dropped her head and buried her burning face in her hands.
Oh, she's got it bad.
If she had simply laughed it off with a calm denial, Henna would have dropped the tease. But scrambling to claim it was 'another friend' was practically screaming that it was about herself—especially considering Sylvia had never had any close acquaintances to begin with.
Sorry, Sylvia, but I'm going to have to look into this.
If some smooth-talking scoundrel was trying to take advantage of innocent Sylvia, Henna was fully prepared to break his kneecaps herself.
Ophelia, daughter of the Grand Duke of Ardelion.
Not long ago, Goden, her dearest childhood friend, had paid her a visit. He had mentioned needing additional members for a new party he intended to form. And now, the very person Ophelia had intended to introduce to him had arrived unprompted.
"Aris McKenhaim... I must admit, I didn't expect you to seek me out first."
"Well, it's about time I settled down somewhere," Aris replied smoothly. "Besides, I've heard whispers that things are growing rather precarious both inside and outside the Principality."
"And is that your sole reason for wishing to join a party that hasn't even been formally announced?"
Aris uncoiled a long strand of her vibrant pink hair from her finger, her lips parting into a radiant, flawless smile.
"Even if a mangy dog struts among a pack of wolves pretending to be one of them... that doesn't make it a wolf, does it?"
"...Pardon?"
Her words were cryptic enough, but there was something profoundly chilling beneath that pleasant smile. Ophelia told herself it was merely an illusion, a trick of the light.
Yet the arrival of this girl was nothing short of a spark landing directly upon dry kindling.
"I'm only joking, of course," Aris added with a soft, melodic laugh. "I merely thought that if there are any troublemakers running about, I could teach them proper manners, Your Grace."
Once again, an ominous storm began to gather on the horizon for the regressor.