The Truman Show
The Truman Show
The Imperial Academy was broadly divided into five faculties.
The Military Faculty, where students learned swordsmanship, various weapon arts, strategy, and tactics.
The Magic Faculty, which researched magic, spirit studies, and alchemy.
The Humanities Faculty, which specialized in general academic studies.
The Engineering Faculty, which researched various technologies, especially magic engineering.
And finally, the Arts Faculty, where students studied literature, music, fine art, and other arts.
Among these five faculties, the most popular were undoubtedly the Military Faculty and the Magic Faculty.
Graduating from those two faculties at the Imperial Academy practically guaranteed a successful career.
Top performers were appointed to imperial offices or courted by the Magic Tower with their own research labs, so countless talents applied, and competition within was fierce.
There was not a single legion commander—the highest military position in the empire—who had not graduated at the top of the Academy, and among the Magic Tower elders, one was said to be not bright but diligent solely because he had graduated second in his class, which showed just how intense the competition was.
That did not mean the other faculties were easy.
The Humanities Faculty was one of the career tracks for imperial civil servants, and the Engineering Faculty was one of the essential tracks for entrepreneurs who researched and developed various technologies and struck it rich by opening famous shops in the capital.
But the Arts Faculty was a little different.
Those majoring in music were somewhat better off, but the rest—literature and fine art—were in poor shape.
Music had sizable demand and popularity, since every imperial province had large theater troupes and music was an element that could never be omitted from noble banquets.
But without noble patronage, those in literature and fine art were left to scrape by.
For literature, the main sources of income were interpreting ancient languages or writing heroic epics occasionally commissioned by the imperial family or the Magic Tower.
For fine art, the main sources of income were noble portraits or occasional mural work.
But that demand was extremely limited, and the substitutes were far too strong, so most could not escape poverty.
Thus, wealthy nobles often used a workaround: if their children seemed to lack any particular talent, they pushed them into literature or fine art to get them into the Imperial Academy.
Competition was low, so admission was easy, and since money overflowed in their households, the goal was simply to attend the Imperial Academy, broaden their connections, earn a diploma, and save face.
"This is serious. Professor Saint, who handled fine art, resigned so suddenly—how are we supposed to fill the vacancy...?"
"He even stepped down from his post as exclusive painter to the imperial palace due to sudden personal circumstances. There was no way to stop him."
The Arts Faculty had fallen into great difficulty just before the Academy's opening.
The problem was the sudden retirement of Saint, who had served as the Fine Arts Department's professor.
Filling the vacancy left by someone who had departed citing personal reasons was by no means easy.
Saint had served as the imperial palace's exclusive painter, so he was the most renowned painter in the empire.
It was safe to say there was no talent capable of replacing him.
In the first place, the number of people walking the path of a painter was shrinking day by day.
With the invention and popularization of the magic camera, even commoners could easily take photographs, so no one would pay an expensive price for a painting.
Only nobles with overflowing money occasionally commissioned portraits as a pastime.
"What about Sir Jerome? He did graduate at the top of our faculty's Fine Arts Department."
"He was famous for the new lecture building that appeared at the Imperial Academy when he graduated."
In other popular departments, graduation rankings were determined strictly by grades, but in the non-mainstream Arts Faculty, rankings were sometimes determined by donations.
Since it was a field where skill was hard to measure objectively, such tricks were difficult to prevent.
And since donations from wealthy graduates funded scholarships for struggling students anyway, everyone knew but turned a blind eye.
But while the top spot could be sold for money, a professorship could not.
However humble the position, the honor of the Imperial Academy was at stake.
They could not bring in someone without skill.
"Then what about him?"
"Him? Who exactly are you talking about?"
"I've heard that if you ask who the most famous painter in the empire is these days, Rupert Somerset comes to mind as a rising star."
"Ah! Now that you mention it, his painting skill was truly outstanding."
Claude, dean of the Arts Faculty, perked up.
Since he had majored in literature, he could not call himself an expert in fine art, but even to his eyes, the artwork in the picture books and manga volumes Rupert had recently created and popularized was extremely impressive.
Honestly, it looked superior to the paintings of Saint, the previous professor, which said it all.
With that level of skill, no one could object to appointing him as a professor at the Imperial Academy.
However,
"But isn't he enrolling in our Academy this time?"
Claude recalled having sent an admission letter to the Somerset Count's House, Rupert's family.
"A letter arrived not long ago saying he would not be enrolling."
It was unexpected.
No matter how unpopular the Arts Faculty was, to be accepted to a place others would pay money to enter and still not come.
In any case, he thought it was fortunate that the disaster of a student serving as professor would not occur.
"Still, he is far too young."
The minimum age for admission to the Imperial Academy was fifteen, but the custom was to enroll at seventeen, the age recognized as adulthood.
The fact that Rupert, who had been scheduled to enroll this year, was also seventeen bothered him.
The youngest member of the faculty was in his late twenties, and even he had caused controversy at his appointment because he was young.
Seventeen? Severe backlash was expected.
'But in terms of skill and justification, he is exactly right.'
Dean Claude's worries deepened.
***
"Alright! Let's start by removing these blackout curtains."
After Rupert collapsed and was forcibly confined to his room, the workshop became livelier than ever.
For the time being, instead of additional work, they only had to print copies of the published fourth volume of <Iron-Blooded Alchemist>, so the schedule was full of breathing room.
"Ugh... so it was daytime now."
Sunlight streamed brightly into the workshop.
The workshop employees shed tears as they faced the dazzling sunlight.
'It's still midday, everyone!'
The image of Rupert insisting it was still midday when clearly much time had passed flashed through their minds.
The artisans, locked in the workshop and having lost their sense of time, would finish their work with doubts and clock out, only to find it was always pitch-dark outside.
But now those days were over.
Taking advantage of Rupert's absence, the employees proceeded to normalize the workshop.
"We have to remodel this door too! It can only be locked and opened from outside—isn't this a prison?"
The artisans who had removed the blackout curtains immediately rushed at the door and dismantled the lock.
Now no one would be able to lock the door from outside to prevent the artisans from escaping.
They would no longer have to see that terrifying sight—the one who was locked up himself yet grinned while drawing, a face that could haunt their dreams.
"I don't like this bathroom either!"
The bathroom installed in a corner of the workshop on the grounds that going back and forth outside lowered efficiency.
Efficiency was just an excuse—it was a vicious scheme to trap artisans who tried to escape by claiming they needed the bathroom.
"How about tearing that down and turning it into a break room?"
"Good, I'll go get a hammer!"
The skills of the artisans Rupert had trained had improved beyond recognition.
With a few quick knocks, they demolished and cleared away the bathroom in no time, their movements reminiscent of skilled laborers on a modern construction site.
"And these damn potions!!! We have to hide all of these too."
"Uh... aren't those actually pretty decent?"
A new hire's comment put the brakes on the artisans' attempt to hide the vitality potions Rupert had purchased in bulk.
He was an employee named Jensen, whom Rupert had recently selected personally through an interview.
The others had opposed his hiring, asking if he wasn't clearly a thug, but Rupert had strongly recommended him, saying there was no talent like him, and so he had been chosen.
"What? You think these are decent?"
"Well... after drinking them, I felt full of energy and in a good mood."
The artisans stared at Jensen as if he were insane.
They had thought something was off when he followed Master Rupert's orders without complaint, but now he was even following Master Rupert's taste in vitality potions.
Did madmen have some way of recognizing each other?
The artisans looked at Jensen and shared the same thought.
By the time they finished the workshop's major renovation, the sun was already sinking low in the sky.
As the sky dyed the workroom red, the artisans stopped working.
"Alright! Let's have dinner. If we're doing night work, we need to fill our stomachs."
The artisans, who had headed toward the dining hall as usual while discussing today's menu, suddenly felt something strange.
Why were we about to eat?
There was no Rupert watching over them now, and the workload had long been finished.
"Can we really clock out?"
"But we finished all the work, didn't we?"
"I feel like I should do some research..."
Before they knew it, the artisans had been conditioned by Rupert's work patterns without realizing it.
Even though clocking out now was clearly the right thing to do, their feet would not leave.
Even though the door had been remodeled and they could leave just by turning the handle, they hesitated.
"I'm... going to leave. I'm clocking out now."
"Wha... what! The sun is still up outside!"
Despite his fellow artisan's horrified reaction, he did not stop walking.
His expression was stiff, but his movements were full of resolve.
"Returning home before the sun sets is a normal human life."
'If Master Rupert is watching... please cut me some slack. Can't I at least enjoy the happiness of dinner with my family?'
Creeeak.
At last, his hand turned the door handle.
It was the moment the door opened.
"I might not see you tomorrow, so I'll say goodbye in advance. Good morning, good afternoon, and good night!"
And so he clocked out.