The Entrance Exam (2)
Arbel Academy was not a single building.
It was an educational complex larger than a fair-sized town, and getting around the grounds on foot was no simple matter. That was why the Academy kept a train of its own. The next departure was close enough that I decided to ride it to the exam hall.
"God, I am shaking. Heavenly God, please, just let me pass!"
"How do you think the practical's going to work? I heard last year they sparred with the professors."
"The Pruna magic formula—you take A alpha B squared and subtract one..."
I boarded from the platform. The carriage was already packed with examinees, and voices pressed in from every side, so my ears never got a moment's rest. For all I knew, a few of them were NPCs I recognized.
If I'd had any room to breathe, I might have looked around, or tried talking to whoever sat beside me.
Weapon Destruction triggers once you've been holding a weapon for more than a few seconds, right? If it's around thirty, I might still pull something off.
Unfortunately, this was not a moment for leisure. Like every other examinee cramming at the last second, I ran simulations in my head. How did the curse actually work? Was there any way around it? Every kind of idea flickered past, and sadly, testing any of them was impossible. Time was short enough. Worse, I didn't even have a weapon. The inn room had held nothing but ballpoint pens and stacks of books. Philip's background was probably a literature major.
Next stop, Training Hall No. 2. Passengers getting off, please exit through the passage on the right.
"......"
At any rate, while I sat there turning it over, the exam site arrived before I knew it. Examinees spilled out in a rush. I meant to wait until the crowd thinned before getting off, and that was when I saw something fall from one examinee's pocket.
I went over and picked it up. It was a cheap handkerchief, the words Prayer for Success stitched across it in crooked embroidery.
Anyone can tell this matters to someone.
Trash, or a pen, and I would have let it go. Of all things, it had to be something with meaning. However rushed I was, pretending I hadn't seen a person's treasure didn't sit right. I hesitated a moment, then decided to give it back. The examinee was already a long way off. I hurried after her and tapped her on the shoulder.
"Who are you? Did you need something from me?"
"...?"
I was just about to say she'd dropped her handkerchief when the woman turned, and the face I saw nearly made me jump. Brown hair braided over one shoulder. Green eyes full of gentleness. And above all, a pair of mounds so enormous that huge didn't begin to cover them. Front or back, there was no mistaking her. This was Lucy Moreau, one of the leads of Surviving the Academy.
Why is Lucy here?
Everything I knew about her tore through my head. Lucy Moreau—one of the heroines of Surviving the Academy, and the woman who would one day become the Saintess. Her nicknames ran from Official Wife and Mamang to Orphan Collector and Self-Proclaimed Mediocre.
She's even prettier than her illustration.
The moment our eyes met, my whole body locked up. My favorite character in Surviving the Academy was none other than Lucy. I'd romanced her on my very first playthrough, and every party I built after that had her in it. My handle on the community was even GreatEmperorOfficialWifeLucy. That said everything.
Possession... might not be so bad?
The meeting was dazzling enough that the thought slipped out before I could stop it. Then I remembered my odds of failing the entrance exam were over ninety percent, and the thrill died on the spot.
Anyway. I'd called her over and then just stood there with my mouth shut, which was hardly polite, so I held the handkerchief out first.
"It's nothing much. This handkerchief is yours, right?"
"Huh? Why is my handkerchief over there? When did I drop it?"
Lucy stared at the handkerchief in my hand, flustered. She quickly checked her pocket, saw the hole worn through it, and her eyes went perfectly round. Only after she took it back did relief settle over her face. Watching her, I couldn't help the doting smile of a proud father.
"Thank you so much. This handkerchief really means the world to me."
"It says it's a prayer for success. Did your family give it to you?"
"Not exactly. The younger kids at the orphanage made it and gave it to me."
I'd asked without thinking, and the answer caught me off guard. I already knew Lucy had come from an orphanage. Didn't people usually hide a thing like that? Why tell someone she'd only just met?
"Because you're a good person, of course."
"What about me looks like a good person?"
"You picked up a cheap handkerchief like this instead of throwing it away, and brought it back to its owner. How could you not be kind?"
Hmm. Put that way, she had a point. An expensive one, maybe. Not many people would bother returning something this cheap. Look closely, and Lucy seemed naive, but her character was unexpectedly thorough. She'd been like that in the game. She was exactly the same in person.
"I'm Lucy. May I ask your name? If I get into the Academy, I'll be sure to repay you!"
"Call me Philip."
"Philip... such a plain, wonderful name. Two of the younger kids at my orphanage are named Philip."
Philip really was a common name. Philip, Ian, Robert—names like that were this world's version of John Smith. Shout Philip, long time no see! around here and two or three examinees would probably turn around. And she called a name like that wonderful. In the game and in reality alike, Lucy seemed to have a kind heart.
This is happiness...
Talking with my favorite, I couldn't have been happier. If I'd had my way, I would have walked and talked with her all day. But that was an impossible dream, and when I came to my senses we were already in front of the exam halls. Each faculty had its own, so Lucy and I had to go separate ways.
"I'll be praying you pass, Miss Lucy."
"You'll pass too, Mr. Philip! Let's meet again at the Academy, no matter what!"
"Hahaha..."
Lucy waved as she walked away. I watched her in silence, then turned my steps toward the Swordsmanship Faculty exam hall. Her bright energy scattered in an instant, and a prickly, blade-like hostility pressed in from every side. A line waited for the exam hall doors to open, and the men standing in it were glaring at me.
"That his girlfriend? I'm jealous enough to drop dead."
"Just fail already."
"Hope this exam's a spar. Then I can smash that smug face myself."
"...."
Too loud to be muttering. The words jabbed straight into my ears. I didn't particularly care. Even without their curses, my chances of passing this exam were tiny, and my mood was already at rock bottom. A little more abuse wasn't going to make it worse.
If I bomb the exam, maybe I'll apply as a janitor.
Then I could still see Lucy, and meddle in the story to some degree. The more I thought about it, the less bad it sounded. I was giving the janitor plan serious consideration when the exam hall doors opened and a proctor stepped out. He checked his wristwatch a few times. The moment it hit the hour, he opened the doors.
"We'll let the first thirty in. Please follow the proctor inside~"
Written test first, practical after, it seemed. We were moved not to a sparring ground but into a classroom, the desks spaced wide the way they were for a college entrance exam. I picked one at random, sat, and took the test paper and pen the proctor handed out.
Yeah. I'm screwed.
I'd hoped a problem I actually knew might turn up. That hope was brutally betrayed. All I could tell was that the black was writing and the white was paper. Even so, I decided to work through the questions as hard as I could. Who knew? Maybe I was a genius, and I'd understand and solve problems I'd never seen before.
But an F in Intelligence didn't exist for nothing. Every problem I actually tried to solve was wrong, and the ones I'd guessed on were the ones that came out right. The score was, of course, a failing grade. All that remained was the practical. Blow that, and admission to the Academy was as good as gone.
I am disgustingly nervous...
Following the proctor's directions, I headed for the waiting room, set right beside the practical exam hall. One wall was a full window, so you could watch the exam as it happened.
"Looks like everyone's seated, so I'll explain."
Once he confirmed every examinee was inside, the proctor began. This practical, he said, would be conducted through spars between examinees. Weapons would be issued separately. Killing blows were forbidden, and so, of course, was any other cheating.
"The professors will be watching the matches. Please keep in mind that they're looking at each of you on your own ability, more than at who wins or loses."
With that, the proctor left the waiting room, and the place grew noisy at once.
"Match me with somebody weak!"
"No nobles! It's gotta be a commoner!"
"Please, just don't let me draw Young Lord Eshborn or Lady Fiorenza...!"
The proctor had said what he'd said. In practice, it wouldn't be perfectly fair. Who you drew as an opponent would have a pretty large effect on whether you passed. Put bluntly, get wiped out in one second and you'd shown them nothing, so the professors would have no choice but to give you the lowest score. That was why the examinees prayed their opponents would be weak, and, if possible, that they wouldn't meet a child of a noble house.
None of which had anything to do with me.
Yep~ I'm the weakest one here anyway~
Unable to deal with the curse, I was the weakest of the weak, all stats F. Noble or commoner, it was all the same. The only difference was how long it took me to lose. In the end I'd come down from the sparring ground having done nothing at all.
"We'll begin the first match. Examinee Arthur Blackson and Examinee Johan, please step outside."
"All right! Let's do this!"
"Ugh... I'm shaking so bad..."
And so the first match began, and the two who had been called left the waiting room. Conversation slowly died. Tension settled over the room. The practical exam—one that might well decide the fate of the world—had begun.