The War Has Begun: Horticulture Club Entry Test!
The test for joining the Horticulture Club was, of course, flower arranging. Seria had grown up in a territory already renowned for its flowers long ago. Kalligo handing over the club presidency to her out of the blue wasn't just for show— the previous president had acknowledged her skills too.
Now, the ones undergoing her evaluation were Irshu and Tarshu from the Winter Duchy. No matter how charitably you looked at it, they had almost no connection to flowers. Sure, flowers bloomed even in the duchy, but that had nothing to do with horticultural expertise. In the first place, the twins had probably joined the club not out of any real interest in gardening, but because of their feelings for Abel.
They hadn't come in good faith. They were here to hunt, not for flowers!
...or so Seria firmly believed. For the sake of the club, she planned to judge them by strict standards. Completely forgetting, of course, that the four other guys— excluding Abel— had come here with their own ulterior motives, just like the twins.
"You're probably not close with horticulture, so I'll just test the absolute basics. That okay with you?"
"Yeah. Sounds good."
"Me too."
"...Alright then. Please handle these flowers as carefully as possible, without damaging them..."
It was no easy task. Anyone without prior gardening experience would just wreck the flowers. But what emanated from Irshu and Tarshu wasn't tension— it was an inexplicable sense of relief.
Seria sensed something off, but the dice had already been cast. All that remained was how the two ducal ladies would fare in the test...
"Huh?"
Something unexpected happened. She'd thought they'd flounder. Assumed they'd butcher the flowers.
But they were doing surprisingly well. Those hand movements— no way this was their first time.
What, what is this? No matter how I look at it, that's not beginner's work. They've done this before. Recently, too— and taught by someone extremely skilled!
And most crucially, there was something oddly familiar about the twins' handling of the flowers. Those gestures. They were from the Winter Duchy, of all places. So why did it keep reminding her of her home territory...?
"Ah?"
No way. No, right? Mother?!
Seria watched their next moves in horror. And once again, she learned that old sayings held no lies.
It was just a hunch at first. But that technique— no matter how many times she looked, it resembled her mother's!
"Done."
"All finished."
In the meantime, Irshu and Tarshu neatly arranged a single flowerpot and presented their results. Then, beaming smiles all around, they revealed what everyone there was dying to know.
"When we visited your territory."
"You said you loved flowers."
"So she taught us."
"The baron's wife."
Of course. Every technique Seria knew had come from her. The baron, as lord of the territory, had his duties first and foremost. In the Frijian Barony, the one qualified to teach horticulture was the baron's wife. And her skills were top-tier in the territory.
Precious guests had arrived in their humble little domain. Flowers were the one thing they could boast about. When the lady of the house heard they were interested, she couldn't just sit idly by. She must have taught the twins everything she knew— sticking to the basics, of course. That was more than enough.
Growing up in a flower-famous territory honed her teaching prowess too. And the two ducal ladies weren't clumsy or dim; they'd pick it up fast, reaching a solid foundational level in no time.
So, in conclusion...
This test had been a pass from the very start.
"...This turned out completely different from what I intended."
Kalligo muttered blankly at the scene, and the other three nodded in agreement. Even Abel let out a chuckle, no different from the rest.
Seria alone clutched her face, moaning, 'Mother...!'
The entry test concluded. The Horticulture Club had gained two new members: Duchess Irshu and Duchess Tarshu from the Winter Duchy. As the most influential power in the north, their status rivaled that of princesses.
In other words, this tiny club now boasted the Empire's third prince, the sons of the continent's top elemental ability users, the son of the southern republic's prime minister, and now the Winter Duchy's duchesses. Oh, and two nobles from the Ascal Kingdom— but that was incomparable, so best to gloss over it.
"Impressive, Kalligo."
After wrapping up club activities, on the way back, Portus turned around. Kalligo, trailing at the rear, stared at him as if to ask what he meant.
"Never thought you'd snag the presidency from your senior in that short time. If I'd known it was possible, I'd have tried first."
"..."
It sounded like admiration at first glance, but Kalligo— well-versed in politics and high society— knew better. That was sarcasm. A provocation laced with mockery.
Truth be told, he'd anticipated something like this. Resistance was expected. After all, this was just one desperate bid to look good for Seria.
Portus, sharp as he was, couldn't have missed it.
"What's with you, water boy? Weren't we allies? Why pick on the prince all of a sudden?"
Alliance. The truth came out at last. That explained the frosty reception all four had given Abel upon entering the clubroom.
The quartet had long sensed their disadvantage, subtly or not. But Abel kept denying it, and Seria only glanced sideways without approaching, so they'd let their guards down. They saw it as a four-way fight. No one had a clear edge, so no one was out— hope for victory lingered.
Humans bet everything on such hopes; it wasn't foolish, just the natural battle of males.
But after the dance, the air between Seria and Abel shifted. They still played coy in front of the others, but the guys weren't idiots. They couldn't see it, but they felt it. A clear, definite change in the pair's relationship.
Abel now held an overwhelming lead, incomparable to their efforts. And Seria kept him closest to her heart.
A battle among males was personal. No one wanted last place. But facing an overpowering foe left two options: submit, or band together and reset the field to fight anew among yourselves.
Obviously, ousting Abel wasn't feasible— physically impossible, and Seria would revolt first.
So the four proposed uniting against him first. A temporary alliance, however long it might last...
It won't hold long, I figured. But cracking on day one...
Rel clicked his tongue inwardly, eyeing the brewing standoff between Kalligo and Portus.
They'd agreed to the alliance just yesterday. One sneaks off without a word to prepare, the other can't hold back and calls him out immediately. And him, quietly spectating. No matter how you sliced it, this alliance was pointless from the start. Hearts didn't align; trust was nil, just endless checking each other. Useless for anything.
"Enough of that, everyone. Heard the news?"
"What news, Rel?"
"Due to circumstances, all exams will skip the written part and do practicals only."
This was Kalligo's wheelhouse, yet Rel— tired of losing ground daily— jumped in first. Looked like the four could be bickering friends, but not allies.
"For real?"
"Yes, Kalligo. Word is, the principal mentioned it himself."
Even ability users dreaded exams. It wasn't laziness or aversion to effort. One test gauged not just you, but your family and nation's standing. A heavy burden.
Written exams especially spotlighted that. Practicals emphasized talent; writtens, diligence. Botch the written, and you weren't just unskilled— you were dumb and lazy. Image ruined.
Thus, academy ability users loathed writtens more than practicals. Most dreamed of skipping writtens altogether.
"And the principal added that it's entirely thanks to Student Abel. Said if you run into him, thank him..."
"Abel?"
"When did Abel even negotiate with the principal?"
"...Haha. Truly remarkable in every way."
He hadn't schemed for it— just preferred practicals over writtens. The quartet grew ever more anxious as Seria's gaze fixed more on Abel.
"Guess we smash the water boy in practicals first, then."
"Pyro's mouthing off again."
"What? I'm actually looking forward to it a bit."
"...Yeah. What alliance?"
Correction: the four idiots bickered on, eyes gleaming to settle scores in the practical exams.