A Scratch on the Merit Registry
A scratch marred the side of the Merit Registry.
It was right next to Ronan's name.
Until yesterday, the ink had been sharp and clear.
Ronan Beir
- Precision Disarmament
- Seal Intact
Beneath it, a fresh, long gouge ran down the page.
It looked as though someone had stabbed the tip of a blade into the parchment, dragging it down.
A small parchment note was pinned right beside it.
Subject: Same as above.
Suspected tampering with the seal on the Forbidden Book Stand.
Unauthorized access to Royal Crest Records.
Credibility of the three witnesses requires verification due to personal relationships.
The cadets gathered in front of the cafeteria were staring at the writing.
"It says 'personal relationships'?"
"They must mean Lya from the healing department, Cerise, and Neris."
"Does that mean their testimonies yesterday were just them taking his side?"
Lya's expression hardened.
She looked first at the bandages on Ronan's wrist.
"They're even using your wrist injury like this."
Cerise stared at the scratch on the registry.
The tip of her scabbard rested low against the floor.
"Tampering with the registry is no different from stabbing someone in the back on the dueling grounds."
Neris stepped closer to the note.
Her face looked as though she had barely slept.
But her eyes were clear.
"The phrasing is strange."
"How so?"
Ronan asked.
Neris pointed to the last line of the note.
"It calls it a suspicion, but the conclusion is already decided. It discredits the testimonies first."
Ronan didn't smile.
He hadn't even picked up a tray.
The first thing Ronan had grasped this morning wasn't a spoon, but the scratch next to his name.
"I can understand them scratching my name,"
he said.
"but scratching the names of you three as well was a mistake."
Someone slowly clapped from among the crowd.
Clap.
Clap.
It was Varken.
The silver thread on his blue magic department sleeves caught the morning sun.
He stepped out from behind a pillar, looking as though he had been waiting from the very beginning.
"A mistake? Investigations are naturally uncomfortable."
Lya spoke in a low voice.
"An investigation?"
"A royal crest appeared in the library records, and a cadet from the knight department was involved. Of course we have to verify it."
Varken looked at Ronan.
"If you have nothing to hide, open it yourself. There's an appeal form beneath the note."
He tapped the red string wrapped around the parchment with his finger.
A seal of a sword and a book was stamped into the wax.
It looked like the library's seal.
But the lines were slightly shallower than the crest on the librarian's gloves.
Ronan didn't look at it for long.
Looking at it too long would only lead to explanations.
And what he needed right now wasn't an explanation.
"What if I tear it?"
Ronan asked.
The corners of Varken's mouth curled up.
"That would be destroying the seal."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you're evading suspicion."
"So it's a crime if I open it, and a crime if I don't."
"Those are the rules."
"Sounds less like rules and more like a trap."
A few cadets gasped.
Varken's brow twitched.
"Watch your tongue."
"I am."
Ronan took a step forward.
"So I don't plan on tearing it."
Lya stepped up to his right.
"Your wrist."
"Just a quick one."
"You said that yesterday, too."
"Today will be even quicker."
Neris chimed in immediately.
"Liar. You have to make it even thinner."
Cerise added curtly,
"And more precise."
Ronan looked at the three of them in turn.
"You all have very different ways of worrying."
Lya's eyes softened slightly at his words.
But Varken couldn't smile.
Ronan's left index finger twitched ever so slightly.
The pure mana in the air gathered at his fingertip.
A single silver line manifested in the air.
It was too thin to be called a sword.
But everyone knew by now.
Once that line passed, only pretense would be cut away.
The Phantom Sword did not cut the red string.
It did not break the wax.
It did not tear the parchment.
The tip of the blade slipped into the gap between the string and the paper.
Beneath the knot.
A space too narrow for even a fingernail to fit.
Snip.
It wasn't the sound of cutting.
It was the sound of something bound coming undone.
One of the outer knots of the red string went slack on its own.
The bottom of the parchment slowly parted.
The folded inner side was revealed.
There was writing.
It was very small.
But as Ronan's Phantom Sword slid beneath it, the folded paper flattened out.
The cadets gathered in front of the cafeteria leaned forward in unison.
Cerise read first.
- If Ronan cuts the seal, immediately accuse him of destruction.
Lya's hands stiffened.
Neris read the next lines.
- Discredit Lya's medical testimony as personal favoritism.
- Discredit Cerise's sparring testimony as resentment over her defeat.
- Discredit Neris's observation records as an obsession with research.
The cafeteria fell silent.
The color drained from Varken's face.
Ronan looked at him.
"Should I keep reading?"
Varken opened his mouth.
"That is a fabrication."
"You were the one who just told me to open it."
"You used your Phantom Sword to create those words."
"Did I create this too, then?"
Ronan directed his Phantom Sword toward the registry.
The silver line settled over the scratch next to Ronan's name.
It didn't gouge the scratch.
Nor did it cover the ink.
It merely lifted the very thin red wax dust trapped inside it.
It was smaller than dust.
But as it caught the sunlight, it gleamed red.
Neris gasped.
"The same wax."
Cerise said.
"The hand that scratched the registry must have handled the sealed string immediately after."
Lya looked at Varken.
"You tried to make someone with an injured wrist look like a liar?"
Those words seemed to hit Varken the hardest.
Varken took a step back.
Then he looked at the edge of his sleeve.
Red wax dust was clinging to it.
He hurriedly tried to brush it off.
Ronan's Phantom Sword moved first.
The blade didn't touch Varken's hand.
Instead, it precisely lifted a single silver thread from his sleeve.
The red powder trapped between the silver threads fell to the cafeteria floor.
Pitter-patter.
It was a small sound.
But that sound was louder than Varken's excuses.
"If you're going to imitate a library seal,"
Ronan said,
"you should at least brush off the dust."
Someone let out a quiet laugh.
The laughter quickly spread.
It wasn't ridicule.
It was different from the laughter directed at Ronan just a few days ago.
This time, it was directed at Varken.
Varken gritted his teeth.
"I was only following the academy's rules—"
"If it were a rule, you would have written it openly,"
Ronan pointed to the inside of the note.
"instead of folding it up and hiding it."
"How dare someone like you—"
"And."
Ronan's voice dropped.
The laughter in the cafeteria stopped.
"I can tolerate you scratching my name."
The silver Phantom Sword stood erect right in front of Varken.
"But I won't let it slide when you scratch the names of the people standing next to me."
Lya caught her breath.
The tip of Cerise's scabbard moved slightly.
Neris looked at Ronan's fingertips.
It wasn't the look of someone studying a subject.
It was the look of someone on the same side.
Varken couldn't say anything.
His silence was the verdict.
Just then, the clerk in charge of the Merit Registry pushed through the crowd.
The librarian followed.
Instructor Hagen stood a short distance away, arms crossed.
The clerk's face hardened the moment he saw the registry.
"Who touched the registry?"
Ronan handed over the note.
"It's written here."
That was the end of the explanation.
The librarian looked at the inner side of the note, then at Varken's sleeve.
Then he spoke briefly.
"It is not the library's seal."
The clerk looked at the scratch next to Ronan's name.
"The scratch cannot be erased."
Lya's expression stiffened.
But Ronan shook his head.
"Don't erase it."
The clerk looked at him.
Ronan looked at his name on the registry.
"Leave it."
"Why?"
"So everyone can see who crossed the line first."
The air in front of the cafeteria changed.
The scratch no longer looked like a mark of suspicion.
It became proof of someone's failed attempt to defile Ronan's name.
The clerk dipped his pen in fresh ink.
And he wrote a brief note beneath the scratch.
[UPDATE]
- Forged Seal Fabrication Confirmed
- Ronan Beir: Cleared of All Charges
Instructor Hagen called out.
"Varken."
Varken couldn't lift his head.
"Take down the note."
"Me?"
"You put it up."
That single sentence fell clearly across the cafeteria.
Varken's hands trembled.
He began peeling the notes off the pillar one by one.
Rip.
Another sheet was torn away.
As each paper fell, the cadets' gazes drifted away from him as well.
The person who had stood with the rumors just moments ago was now clearing them away with his own hands.
Ronan didn't say anything more.
There was no need to push him further.
Tearing down the note he made with his own hands.
There was no clearer price than that.
Lya grabbed Ronan's wrist.
This time, it was in front of everyone.
"Is it over?"
"Probably."
"Then put your hand down."
"Is that an order?"
"Yes."
Ronan obediently lowered his hand.
Lya carefully pressed over the bandages.
"It's heating up."
"I barely used it."
"Lying is also forbidden."
Neris said immediately from the side.
"It wasn't just a little. You even separated the wax dust."
Cerise also nodded.
"The final strike was good. The strain on your hand was bad."
Ronan looked back and forth between the three of them.
"I have three allies, but I feel like I'm just getting scolded."
Lya replied,
"We're scolding you because we're on your side."
Neris also said,
"I wouldn't scold a subject of observation. I'm speaking to you because you're a companion."
Cerise said curtly,
"Next time, call us first."
Ronan was silent for a moment.
Rumors are fast.
And scratches on the registry last long.
But the people standing in front of it also remain.
Ronan pressed his fingertips against Lya's handkerchief tucked inside his coat.
He bowed his head slightly to the three of them.
"Understood."
And he looked at the registry again.
That name.
The scratch remained.
But now, there were other words next to the scratch.
Forged Seal Fabrication Confirmed. Cleared of All Charges.
The scratch someone had carved became proof that they had failed to diminish Ronan's name.
At least in front of the cafeteria, the word "failure" would not be thrown around so easily.
Instead, a very low voice spread.
"We shouldn't try to mess with Ronan using rumors."
The words were quiet, but clear to Ronan's ears.
It was different from the word "failure" he had heard at the main gate.
It wasn't a word pushing someone away, but an acknowledgment of who had turned the tables this morning.
Ronan pretended not to hear.
He didn't pull his wrist from Lya's grasp.
Cerise stood on his left, and Neris took one last look at the fold of the note.
Varken was still peeling the notes off the pillar.
The last note was slowly torn down.
The sound fell to the cafeteria floor like the last rumor of the morning.