The Storm's Enrollee (1)
Professor Babalk. No matter how outstanding Yohan’s entrance results were, are you truly certain it’s acceptable to place him on the stage beside those three?”
Sayer, a professor serving under Babalk’s faction, simply could not understand it no matter how he turned it over in his mind. What was the point of elevating a northern barbarian with no notable background onto the dais…? And so, before the entrance ceremony began, he had voiced his doubts to Professor Babalk. After all, the one who ultimately oversaw the preparatory proceedings for this ceremony was none other than Babalk himself—the white-haired old monster known far and wide as the “Doom Professor.”
“There’s no reason it shouldn’t be fine. He earned the top spot; the justification is there.”
“But their stations don’t match at all, do they? His Highness the Crown Prince, the Magic Tower’s heir, and even Her Highness the Grand Duke’s daughter. Any one of those three would be remembered for generations, yet you intend to put a mere knight up there with them…”
“Shut your mouth, you pathetic, brainless fool!”
“Hieek…!”
Yet Babalk’s roar crushed the objection with laughable ease.
“Have you forgotten what the Babalk School’s goal is?! Before you became a professor, you were a student I personally raised in this academy. I’m certain I repeated it to you over and over while keeping you at my side!”
“I-it is the irreversible annihilation of demons and the demon army!”
“To achieve that, I devoted my entire life to researching the first Hero. But every attempt was blocked. The Demon King’s immortality could not be broken.”
“That’s not true. There are still plenty of solutions left…”
“No. My will was wrong. It failed. It was ruined. It was derailed. It was mistaken. It was crushed… Failedfailedfailedfailed.”
Babalk muttered like a madman. But since he had always been this kind of person, there was no real shock in it.
“…You already know that too, don’t you, Professor Sayer?”
The old professor scratched at his head and exhaled roughly. Sayer was overwhelmed by the sight. Babalk continued in a lamenting tone.
“My life doesn’t have much time left. I can feel it in my bones. And then Yohan appeared. Carrying a massive hammer capable of shattering this seemingly unsolvable dilemma.”
“…Is Yohan truly that significant?”
“Sayer, do you have any idea how many stars I’ve unearthed in my time?”
He answered without hesitation. “Enough to form an entire galaxy, sir.”
“You know your numbers. Yet I can declare with certainty that he possesses the greatest potential among them all. At least in terms of the goal our Babalk School seeks to achieve.”
These were words one would never expect to hear from the Doom Professor. Sayer’s mind reeled.
“The student named Eclipse also showed some possibility, but her level was abysmal. Had Yohan not appeared, I would have failed her. At present, the only one displaying genuine, textbook talent is Yohan alone.”
Just what kind of potential had Professor Babalk seen in him to act this way? Even Professor Casacos, who had recently returned from an observational lecture, had grown visibly excited on similar grounds. Just who was that bastard, that everyone kept praising him like this?
“…Therefore, I must turn that arrogant fellow into a supernova. A powerful supernova strong enough to explode even the star hanging over the Demon King’s heart.”
“In other words…”
“I will make him a Hero. That is why I am placing him on the entrance ceremony stage alongside those three children. Whether there is opposition or not, I do not care, Professor Sayer.”
Clench—
“So I’m asking you nicely. Shut up and just follow my instructions. Understood?”
Babalk grabbed Sayer by the collar as he spoke.
“…Yes, Professor Babalk.”
Under the threat, Sayer lowered his posture and acknowledged his own foolishness. His original role had been paperwork anyway. If he wished to avoid further irritating the old professor’s nerves, he would do well to simply perform his duties properly.
“That Yohan or whatever his name is. It pisses me off. All my life I’ve slaved away like a dog beneath him, yet I never once received such praise?”
Yet on the other hand, he could not hide the jealousy that filled his heart. He was the founder of the Babalk School that he had studied his entire life. The man he revered. The very person who had never shown such open favoritism toward anyone in his life was now blatantly doting on someone else. Even Sayer, who had spent decades claiming to be his finest disciple, had never received such treatment.
When he thought about it, an absurd wave of envy surged through him. Therefore, Sayer secretly decided on a small act of revenge. If he simply neglected to inform the top student in advance that he would have to stand on the dais and deliver a speech… Then, flustered, the boy would likely show an unsightly display completely contrary to Professor Babalk’s expectations. No matter how talented he was, there was no guarantee he could improvise a speech on the spot.
Sayer wanted to make Yohan suffer for such a childish reason.
Let’s see how this turns out.
When the headmaster’s congratulatory address ended, the three figures gathered on the dais—no, four including me—were each expected to leave a few words for the entire 65th class.
What was this? Why did I have to give a speech alongside these people? The fact that I, Kim Yohan, had achieved top marks in the 65th class was something I had only just learned. I genuinely questioned whether earning the top entrance score warranted such an insane special privilege that it broke all social barriers and granted one the right to stand up here and speak.
There had been nothing like this in the game, either.
But.
I steadied my mind. No—I had to steady it. If I had come up here alone, I would have had no anchor and remained in a constant state of tension. Yet—
…As expected. My prediction was correct.
The moment I stepped onto the dais, I could clearly see the faces of the people lined up below. I might not have noticed with the Crown Prince Bankait and the Magic Tower woman Gremory, but with two members of the northern faction also present on stage, I could see some of their expressions twisting strangely. They were visibly preparing to begin their jeering. The realization struck my brain like lightning: I must not, under any circumstances, commit any action that could be held against me in front of those bastards.
Even if I was flustered.
If I showed the disgrace of babbling nonsense here, I would have no face left to raise before my respected lady. And that would be no different from humiliating the North. I knew that better than anyone.
Therefore, I quietly gazed down at the back of the lady standing before me.
…This is how I feel. So please, I beg you not to waver either, my beloved lady.
However, if my lady were to fail to uphold the promise we had made first… Well, down there I would have no choice but to stay silent, but up here I could at least offer some small assistance.
When I thought of it that way, every factor that had been stirring up fear simply vanished. My heart found calm once more.
“…That concludes my words. I was your friend, Bankait. To all 65th class cadets, please think of me not as Crown Prince but as a fellow classmate and equal. Thank you!”
…Setting such thoughts aside for now, the first to speak was none other than our Crown Prince.
Within the 65th class, Bankait was, in a word, the “class president” type. Calling the next emperor a mere class president felt far too frivolous, yet the image he wished to project to others was exactly that of a perfect class president. Look at him—standing on the dais with his hand stretched high toward the sky, even showing the shamelessness to offer a thank-you. It was far too relaxed an attitude for someone who had just delivered a speech that lasted a good five minutes or more.
Golden hair, deep green eyes. Everyone was captivated by that splendid appearance, gazing up at him in admiration. Yes. Before he was Crown Prince, he wanted to be seen as the cheerful “friend of all.” Despite the risk that such behavior could undermine his authority, he deliberately raised his tone on the dais and earnestly asked everyone to treat him as an equal.
“Your Highness the Crown Prince!”
“Thank you, Your Highness!”
“Long live Crown Prince Bankait!”
A few were so enthralled that they broke formation and spontaneously shouted. Completely different from the gazes directed at our faction. For military cadets to behave that way was no different from saying their discipline was in shambles. It only proved that the Crown Prince bastard possessed the charm to make people act like that.
…Disgusting bastard.
But I knew that appearance was fake. They had no idea how rotten his insides were. The sight of everyone fawning over him nearly made a sneer escape my lips.
Trash. Let’s see how long you can keep up that good-person act. The moment you lay a hand on my lady, I will trade my own life to kill you first.
No, I should just kill him when the chance arose. Along with every last one of those trying to serve under him. All of that “class president” act from Bankait? Pure performance. He was the 65th class’s representative mastermind.
I wouldn’t even mention his hobby of lusting after women and indulging in greed. That much could be called personal preference. The real problem with him was something else: the fact that, despite being the Crown Prince, he took pleasure in ruin.
Ruin. The act of deliberately driving people into a pit of despair and fear, then savoring the sight of their destruction. There was no particular reason he enjoyed it. It was simply his nature. Without any context whatsoever, Bankait wanted to see others fall into terror, so he killed people without hesitation. His heart was utterly cunning; he would use or ally with any being if it meant dragging others into ruin and hopelessness. Even if that being was the Demon King.
That’s right. In the original history, the one who corrupted Lady Karalin after she was expelled from the academy was this very bastard. He had wormed his way into her crumbling mind, recommended the power of demons to her, and pushed her until she became a witch.
I can’t even stand looking at his face. In a way, Bankait is a far closer enemy than Shagalor, who is currently stuck in the territory playing hell-mode defense.
Therefore, there was no chance my favor would ever turn toward him, even if the world split in two. As I stared at his filthy face, I swallowed my hatred.
He had no idea I harbored such feelings, but that bastard would soon reap the consequences of the vicious life he had led.
Next, another figure stepped onto the dais. The heir of the Four Magic Towers, Gremory Aregore. She swept her hand through her hair as if showing it off to everyone. Whoosh— A pleasant citrus scent like lime spread throughout the entire venue. It was a fitting fragrance choice for her, given her overall light-green image.
It was the most basic of basic spells used by Gremory, who had already reached the rank of Archmage: “transforming a portion of the water particles saturating the air into perfume.” Honestly, it seemed like a waste of talent, but—
“Wow, that smell…”
“Amazing. So beautiful…”
“Ever since I was little, my dream has been to become a mage under the Magic Tower?”
First impressions were important. Knowing that, she had clearly done it on purpose. Gremory spoke without unnecessary preamble.
“Gremory Aregore, successor to the Emperor’s teacher, blesses the two years you will spend together with me—”
Honestly, her characteristic gentle drawl at the end of her sentences was rather pleasant to hear.
“If you ever lose your way, anywhere, at any time, come find me or my colleagues from the Magic Tower. The Tower is generous to all who use magic and pursue knowledge.”
To summarize her words: if you want connections, come cling to me. As long as you act like a decent human being as a mage, I’ll take anyone into my faction. It was a statement truly befitting Gremory, who had a great interest in power. The Aregore family held no title, yet they were the mage boss family that united all Four Magic Towers spread across the empire. Given that background, they also occupied the noble position of offering counsel to the imperial family across generations.
No, the Aregores were the family that had originally established the foundations of the empire. That was why Gremory, immediately after the Crown Prince, had deliberately and blatantly revealed her ambition by mentioning “the Emperor’s teacher” and so on.
I’m this kind of big shot, you know… hehe.
In other words, that was the context. Well, an Archmage wanting to act as the boss of mages is only natural. Strictly speaking, the daughter of a Tower Master should have remained shut inside the Tower receiving education until she achieved greatness, but the reason Gremory had enrolled at Sigmund was because her family held the unique position of being the imperial family’s teachers. It was political theater—Our family is this deeply connected to the imperial household.
However, unlike Bankait, she was not an existence that would harm Lady Karalin. At least the larger framework surrounding her was that of a student. No matter how interested she was in power, she had simply come to live a normal school life. She did not run around causing chaos on another level like Bankait. Therefore, I had no particular reason to feel hostility toward her.
But.
The problem arose with the very next turn. It happened the moment it became Lady Karalin’s turn.
“…………”
When it was the lady’s turn, the atmosphere among the students—who had been bright and excited only moments before—visibly plummeted.
As expected.
I swallowed hard. I had known this would happen.