Lucia
One week earlier, during the Introduction to Mana lecture, Iria’s mana had measured at eighty-four.
It was an absurdly low figure—unprecedented in the entire history of the Academy. The average mana capacity of a first-year student hovered around seven hundred, so hers had not even reached a fifth of the mean.
But was that still true now?
Mana was a power that grew with use. The more one emptied the vessel of the body, the wider that vessel became. After a full week of deliberate training, what would Iria’s capacity look like? She even possessed a borrowed mana-regeneration ability, after all.
To confirm the results of her efforts, she paid a visit to Albert’s office.
“So you want your mana measured again?”
Iria nodded.
“Well… I don’t mind, but don’t get your hopes up. Mana capacity doesn’t increase that quickly.”
Albert spoke as he produced the measuring crystal. Iria placed her hand upon it.
And then—
The change was hardly dramatic.
“Oh… it did go up a little. About thirteen points.”
“……”
Iria felt a faint disappointment.
Lately Iria had been living each day at a relentless pace. Mornings were for lectures; free periods were spent in the library, studying the language and gathering information. And of course she never neglected her mana training—emptying every last drop before sleep and waiting for morning to refill it.
As a result she had grown reasonably skilled at drawing mana out and distributing the meager amount with efficiency. She was making the most of every hour given to her.
And right now—
“Iria! Today’s the day we spar!”
“……I refuse.”
—she was once again trying to figure out how to refuse the periodic duel challenges that kept finding her.
The scramble for the top rank at the start of every academic year was practically a tradition at the Imperial Academy. As the current first-seat, Iria was expected to bear that weight.
“I already told you I’m busy. If you enjoy fighting so much, go challenge someone else.”
Crushing them with raw force, as Albert had once suggested, was certainly an option. Yet she had her own reasons for declining. Simply meeting an opponent’s eyes allowed her to gauge their strength with fair accuracy. They were all far too weak to justify the bother and wasted time of a spar. There was nothing to gain, and a single slip of control might kill them. Until she mastered restraint, avoidance seemed wiser. Killing someone here would end her Academy career, and she still had unfinished business.
Then someone else approached.
A purple-haired young woman strode forward at the head of her followers, clearly intent on speaking with Iria. She swept the crowd blocking her path aside with both hands.
“Why don’t the small fry clear out?”
Lucia Aster.
The moment Iria saw her, her eyes sharpened. Hadn’t she said there would be no second time? Did Lucia truly remember that day as nothing more than a dream? Or did she honestly believe she could win?
“Hey, look over there. That’s Lucia Aster herself.”
“The recommended enrollee?”
The unexpected appearance of a heavyweight set the onlookers buzzing. Lucia let the chatter wash over her with practiced indifference. Ordinarily the noise would have irritated her, but today it was welcome—witnesses were exactly what she needed.
Iria fixed her gaze on Lucia’s eyes, yet their lines of sight never quite met. Despite the composed expression on her face, Lucia was wary.
“You’re Iria, correct?”
Lucia asked as if confirming a fact. Students crowded around the two of them, eager for the spectacle. It was a clash of giants: the current first-seat versus the recommended student rumored to be even stronger. The purpose was obvious—another bid for the top rank.
“I’ll be blunt. Spar with me, Iria.”
Lucia’s lips curved into a thin smile. With so many eyes watching, refusal would not come easily. Rumors already painted Iria as a hollow first-seat. Turning down a challenge staged this publicly would only cement the image of a cowardly fraud who refused every fight.
But—
“I’m sorry, but I must decline.”
Iria was not the sort who cared about surrounding stares. Whatever people thought of her, whatever gossip they spread, it never touched her.
Lucia had expected exactly that response. She tugged at the glove on her hand. A few of the sharper students realized her intent and covered their mouths in disbelief.
“Sorry, but you don’t get to refuse.”
She stripped the glove free and flung it at Iria.
“This is a Ranking Match.”
“……”
The glove struck Iria’s body with a soft thud and dropped to the ground.
A Ranking Match was the Academy’s official method of settling rank. A lower-ranked student could challenge a higher one, and unlike ordinary spars it carried binding force. The system existed precisely to prevent mediocre talents from monopolizing the top seat. Consequently a Ranking Match could not be refused without special cause; refusal automatically swapped their ranks and obligated the higher student to grant one demand of the challenger within reason.
That did not mean challenges were free of risk. A Ranking Match was never a one-sided demand. Should the lower-ranked challenger lose, the reverse applied: the loser had to fulfill the winner’s request. Money, possessions—even becoming the winner’s slave—were all possible. That was why none of the earlier duel requests aimed at Iria had been Ranking Matches. The stakes were simply too high for a casual bout. Both parties carried equal risk.
Lucia’s smile turned sharp.
“Well, Iria? Feeling more inclined to spar now?”
“……”
“Or do you still want to refuse? Just say the word. Either way is fine with me.”
Yes—either way, so long as she walked away with the first-seat. Yet deep down Lucia hoped Iria would accept. She wanted to deny the nightmare of that day. The pinnacle of the first-years had to be her, not Iria. She needed to prove it before as many eyes as possible.
“If you want to refuse, kneel right here and lick my foot. I’ll overlook it if you do. How about it?”
She prodded harder, deliberately wounding pride, demanding a humiliation that would make refusal impossible. The atmosphere was coercive, yet no one present rose to Iria’s defense. Many openly sneered. The hollow first-seat farce was finally ending, they seemed to say; she had refused every challenge, and now she would get what she deserved.
On the surface it looked like a lower student challenging the first-seat. In reality no one expected Iria to win. Her mana capacity was far below even the average Commoner. Lucia’s, by contrast, stood at four thousand four hundred—the highest among all first-years. And she was not even a combat-magic major; she belonged to the swordsmanship department. As the second daughter of the prestigious Aster sword family, her recommended admission had never been empty prestige.
A brief silence settled while Lucia waited for an answer.
Then—
“Do you truly want to spar with me that badly?”
Iria finally spoke. Her emotions usually ran thinner than most people’s, yet this time clear displeasure showed. She had been insulted not once but twice—by the same person. Had the warning that day been too mild? Or had Lucia simply lost her mind?
Whatever the reason, it was no longer Iria’s concern. Lucia had formally issued a Ranking Match challenge and declared that refusal meant kneeling to lick her foot. Such blatant provocation finally snapped the patience worn thin by endless duel requests.
“Of course. That’s why I came looking for you. You think I have time to waste?”
Seeing Iria’s expression sour, Lucia pressed on as though she had been waiting for exactly that reaction.
“So? Are you doing it or not? Shall I take my shoe off to make the licking easier?”
One last jab.
“……Fine.”
“What?”
“Let’s do it. The spar.”
Iria accepted the duel.
I received fan art.
Thank you.