Senior vs. Junior (6)
At first, the first-year professors had been stunned by the very concept—targeting the second-years to compete for points, and including the Empire’s princess among them, no less. Yet as time went on, they found themselves worrying about something else entirely.
“Wait, isn’t this just inflating the first-years’ egos instead of crushing them?”
It was said that a skilled mana user could single-handedly wipe out an entire army, but that only applied when facing non-mana users. No matter how carefully the second-years had been selected, twenty against two hundred was simply too much. And since those twenty weren’t even allowed to group up, from each second-year’s perspective it might as well have been one against two hundred.
Yet once the assignment actually began, the professors were forced to be shocked once again.
This wasn’t a matter of advantage or disadvantage. It was a one-sided slaughter where a fight barely even took place. The second-year members, who should have been at a numerical disadvantage, were overwhelmingly crushing the first-years as if the difference in numbers was nothing more than decoration.
If a few of the first-years’ ace-level students hadn’t managed to take down some of the targets and shift the momentum, the first-years might have been completely annihilated by the heavily restricted second-years.
“Still, the current atmosphere isn’t bad.”
“There’s some minor friction, but it seems the students understand they shouldn’t be fighting each other right now.”
“It would be nice if this helped them realize the importance of cooperation.”
The first-year professors were rather satisfied with the current situation. In any case, they had brutally crushed the first-years early on, successfully clipping their egos to some degree, and had even managed to teach them the lesson that ‘we couldn’t do it separately, but it worked when we joined forces!’
When they had first heard the plan, they had nearly blurted out that it was insane, but looking back now, it really was a splendid development. All that remained was for the second-years to apply appropriate pressure, drive the first-years into a corner, and secure the final victory.
That was how it should have gone.
“Huh? Why are the second-years moving together with the first-years?”
“They said to go easy until Alphons Betuart was taken down? Well, from the second-years’ perspective it’s a kind of lesson, but to go this far just for grades…”
“It looks like they’re betraying their own classmates. Aren’t they worried about future repercussions?”
Confusion.
“No, how does he know the tactics and weaknesses of the other key members so well?”
“Well, more than half of those twenty are the ones who usually hang around with him.”
“And somehow… it looks like he’s naturally taken the lead among the first-years. Is it just me?”
Bewilderment.
“The first-years are fighting each other!”
“Why? Why are they doing that?! There are still so many targets left!”
“It’s Chrome Midas! The teams he’s leading are sweeping up all the points, so the other first-year students have lost their minds!”
Shock.
Only then did the first-year professors finally understand what Chrome had done.
He had created a single faction among the first-years and was supporting them. That was all.
He hadn’t lured them into some strange trap-filled area, nor had he tampered with potions to poison them. He simply warned them of dangers, gave appropriate advice on how to deal with enemies, and took charge of supplying materials for treatment and support.
With utmost sincerity.
But that very support was more lethal than any other scheme. A unit with sufficient numbers, full combat strength, thorough knowledge of how to counter their opponents, and steady supplies would naturally produce overwhelmingly superior results compared to units without those things. And those results would inevitably spread to all the other students.
They had no choice but to spread.
Because the broadcasts announcing the scores kept ringing out without pause.
And those whose names became known this way now became targets of their fellow first-years. After all, this assignment was not only a battle between first- and second-years, but also a civil war among the first-years themselves.
“Wait, even so, shouldn’t they just defeat all the second-years first and then compete among themselves?”
“No, that won’t work. Defeating a ‘target’ gives you all of their points, but a first-year is only worth one point per team no matter how many points they’ve accumulated.”
If they didn’t do it this way, student B—who stole all the points A had painstakingly gathered at the last moment—would end up with a higher score than A. Therefore, the more the teams working with Chrome monopolized the points, the more desperate the other first-years became. If they didn’t quickly eliminate Chrome’s members, it would become impossible to overtake them in points later even if they did defeat them.
And they couldn’t afford to let the second-years be defeated first either. That would eliminate their own chance to earn a large number of points.
The result was the complete mess visible beyond the relay screens.
The harmonious scene of cooperation the professors had been so pleased with had vanished long ago. Watching the students curse, insult, swing blades at, and even grab each other by the hair, the first-year professors could only stare in utter horror.
“He… he planned for this?”
Was that boy truly just a student? No, more importantly—could they really just let him run free like this? Shouldn’t they lock him up somewhere?
Whether aware of their concerns or not, the fight only grew more intense.
“Ugh…”
With a dull thud, another first-year student collapsed, and the now tiresomely familiar broadcast rang out once again.
The testing ground was a complete disaster. Trees bent at odd angles, burned black, or riddled with holes. Craters gouged into the ground. Shattered weapon fragments and torn scraps of clothing. It was a good thing the black butterflies retrieved every student the moment they fell; otherwise the sight of bodies strewn everywhere would have made the scene even more gruesome.
No, at this point, the real miracle was that no one had actually died.
“Ha.”
Iris let out a hollow laugh. Is this really what a proper educational institution is supposed to look like?
With a tired sigh, she sank to the ground. Several other surviving first-year teams were still visible nearby, but they too had run out of strength to fight. They lay sprawled across the ground with limbs limp, dignity as nobles completely forgotten. Iris could understand perfectly.
Even she, at this particular moment, wanted to throw away all her ambitions and just crawl into bed and sleep.
A blond young man wearing a monocle approached her and held out a small bottle.
“Care for a drink? I’ve used up all the potions, but I still have some beverages left.”
“……”
Iris stared at him blankly for a moment, then took the bottle with an expression that said whatever, let’s just do it and gulped it down. The faintly sweet liquid with a hint of fruit flavor slid down her throat, bringing vitality back to her dried-up body. It tasted as good as it was effective.
The young man—Chrome Midas—silently handed drinks to the others as well, and they accepted them without a word. They hadn’t understood the situation as clearly as the professors watching from outside, but they weren’t fools. They had realized long ago that they had been played.
Even so, none of them seemed particularly angry. It was hard to know exactly what to be angry about, and in any case, every single person still standing here had gorged themselves on points. Effectively, they were already the winners. The remaining fights were little more than an afterword.
So they asked simply out of curiosity.
“How much of this did you plan from the beginning?”
At Iris’s question, Chrome rested a hand on his chin for a moment in thought before answering.
“It started the moment I heard the rules. It ended just a little while ago.”
“But we’re still here.”
“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know what happens from here either. I have no idea ‘which side will come.’”
The first-years tilted their heads at the blond young man’s words, but soon understood what he meant.
In the distance, a brown-haired girl in an even worse state of ruin than the first-years here was slowly walking toward them with weapons in both hands.
The young man with the monocle muttered casually.
“So, will you settle things among yourselves and call it a day? Or would you like to have a go against that scary young lady over there?”
The students exchanged glances, then nodded. In perfect unison, they declared:
“We’ll think about it after we beat you up first.”
The wicked merchant, Chrome Midas, pulled out a wooden club and smiled.
“These juniors are finally showing some real promise. You’ll adapt to the academy just fine.”