Human Rights for a Grad Student? (2)
‘Ah, no. Let’s calm down and think this through.’
Lucy tried to compose herself and reconsidered Gilliam’s invitation to rest together.
‘…Isn’t that exactly what it means?’
A guy and a girl, really just resting? Nothing more?
Lucy swallowed hard.
Her mouth suddenly felt itchy. What was she wearing down there right now?
Then, a shrill beep-beep-beep clawed at her eardrums.
“Ah…”
Her excitement deflated.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a pager. From Professor Fraham… my advisor.”
Ganne Fraham.
The academy’s new professor, the one from the original story who drove Lucy to a suicide-murder combo.
“…She calls you at a time like this?”
Anger laced Gilliam’s voice.
Anger on her behalf. Something hot welled up in Lucy’s chest again.
But even so, out of habit, Lucy was making excuses.
“Sh-She must have urgent work.”
An excuse.
For the past three months since entering Professor Fraham’s lab.
And if nothing changed, it would continue forever.
An excuse to others—and more than anyone, to herself.
Say that, and everyone tactfully dropped the subject.
She must not be able to quit easily. Guess I have to endure for now.
“Really?”
But.
One oblivious young man rejected the excuse.
“Really that busy? So swamped she has to drag you in?”
No.
Lucy knew Professor Fraham wasn’t that kind of person.
But.
Still.
“Then what am I supposed to do…!”
Once an advisor was set, changing them was practically impossible.
Lucy had only two choices.
Abandon academia, or grit her teeth under Fraham. Someday she’ll approve my thesis. Someday she’ll let me graduate.
Unless Fraham suddenly retired or dropped dead, there was no other path—
“Then I’ll go in your place.”
“…?”
And before midnight that night.
Professor Fraham was dismissed from her position for academic ethics violations.
“……Huh?”
Lucy blurted it out the moment she ran into the returning Gilliam.
“H-How did you do it!?”
“Made her admit to the plagiarism.”
“No, how did you make her do that…!”
“Hm…”
He pondered for a moment.
“By calling her ‘ajumma’?”
“What the hell does that mean!!!?”
**
Professor Fraham’s lab.
A site where several grad students, their eyes lifeless, were being worked to death late into the night.
Fraham, face twisted in fury, snapped at someone approaching.
“You’re late! Can’t even come running when I page you—what kind of researcher are you? Who’s the student?”
A hysterical spinster in her forties.
That summed up Professor Ganne Fraham.
“Professor Ganne Fraham, right?”
“Who the hell are you? New student? Interested in mana physics?”
“Someone who knows both your master’s and doctoral theses are plagiarized.”
Professor Fraham’s heart skipped a beat.
“What the hell are you talking about!?”
Of course, it was true—they were plagiarized.
But she could never admit it. That would be social suicide.
A battle of wits…!
What info does he have? What’s he after, pulling this stunt?
A game of probing desires and cards to get what you want.
And there was one sure way to gain the upper hand.
Shake the opponent’s emotions.
Enrage them, dull their thinking.
Fraham’s specialty.
“Think you’re a duke’s heir, so you can spout any nonsense and get away with it…!”
A half-drunk glass of water sat on her desk. Fraham splashed it at Gilliam.
Splash!
“Wake up.”
Drip, drip.
Lukewarm, leftover water—reeking like ajumma breath—ran down Gilliam’s body.
“This is the academy. Time to knock that arrogant nose down.”
An insult even a commoner could barely endure.
For a lofty duke’s son? Unbearable.
Heh.
Fraham smirked inwardly.
Come on, lose it. Then I’m just the victim who got tangled with a psycho.
Plagiarism rumors? Just a lunatic babbling. No need to respond.
But Gilliam didn’t shake.
Figured she’d pull this.
He already knew Fraham’s true colors.
A smidge of academic talent, plus the ability to shatter people’s mental states. That’s how she’d clawed her way to professor.
This was a romance fantasy world.
Losing composure and showing ugliness was social suicide.
But Fraham’s attack bounced off Gilliam.
Instead, Gilliam had a final weapon to smash her mental, calm, and poise.
One-shot kill.
Ultimate and vicious.
“Sure thing, ajumma.”
“……………What?”
“Got it, ajumma.”
Fraham’s facial muscles twitched grotesquely.
Holding up surprisingly well?
She wiped water from her clothes, nose wrinkling like she’d sniffed vinegar.
“Ugh, ajumma stench.”
Fraham let out a banshee scream and lunged at Gilliam.
.
.
.
“So after some back-and-forth, she spilled everything.”
—Yeah!! I ghostwrote that bitch’s thesis!!! She should be grateful her talentless scribbles saw the light of day!!
—Plagiarist. Ajumma.
—I’ll kill you!! I’ll kill youuuuuuuu!!!
—Murderous. Ajumma.
Having heard the whole exchange, Lucy had no idea what to say.
Too many emotions swirled in her chest—what to start with?
Joy.
Absurdity.
Catharsis.
Freedom from never seeing that woman again.
Disbelief.
Anxiety about what came next.
But while her head blanked—
“…Thank you.”
Her heart spoke on its own.
With a single tear.
“Really, truly, so much… thank you, boy.”
Lucy Merhantia was freed.
“If there’s any reward you want… I’ll do anything.”
“…Anything?”
“…Yeah.”
Really, anything.
Even the ‘rest’ for two that they couldn’t do last night.
“Then for about three hours starting now.”
“Th-Three hours…!?”
That long?
Don’t guys get tired after one go?
Her breath quickened. Her mouth went dry. Three hours. Wow, three hours? If they went that far, wouldn’t she be completely dyed in his colors? Living next door, a convenient—
“Let me give you compliments.”
“…………?”
——————
The professors’ lounge was a serene space with potted plants.
But now, every professor in the academy gathered, locked in grave discussion.
“Same cadet, right?”
“Yes. Handled by another cadet, they say.”
Orh Gent, the High Ancient Language professor, dead from a heart attack due to his chronic condition.
And Ganne Fraham, Mana Physics professor, forced into disgraceful retirement after her research misconduct was exposed.
Fraham’s basically… kicked out of the academy…
She made too many enemies.
Won’t go down easy…
A petite female professor trembled.
“Th-That, that scoundrel cadet, Gilliam Everchess… is he… maybe planning to kill us all… or something?”
The lounge fell into heavy silence.
“…Hm.”
“…Uh, um.”
Hard to deny.
Two already dead, back-to-back.
“If so… why?”
“Gilliam was always a scoundrel, but not this type…”
“M-Maybe… he holds a grudge against the academy…?”
Amid the increasingly anxious professors, one stayed calm.
Kadisha Flarehart, who’d taught Gilliam’s first class on day one.
—It’s true you won’t tolerate injustice, won’t yield even to demands like grade tampering, right?
Would someone with a grudge against the academy say that?
To Kadisha, it looked like the others were deluded.
“Maybe Gilliam just doesn’t think much of it?”
All eyes turned to her.
“Maybe it’s just this: Gilliam said something offhand, Orh Gent happened to have a heart attack, and Fraham… we all knew she overworked her grad students, right?”
This was a romance fantasy world, where beating around the bush was virtue.
Kadisha wouldn’t normally speak so bluntly.
But with things veering weird and the two involved unable to hear anyway, she went for it.
And maybe.
A little.
—Isn’t sincerity more important than truth?
Influenced by those eyes staring straight into hers.
“…Flarehart, that’s too coincidental, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Just accidentally killing two professors in a row?”
The petite professor counted on her fingers.
“D-Day 1: scratches the crown prince’s faction. Day 2 morning: kills one professor. Day 2 evening: breaks another’s mental, social suicide. All coincidence?”
“Well…”
…Hm.
Now that she heard it, it did sound suspicious.
The silent dean spoke up.
“Anyway, you trust Everchess, Flarehart?”
“Well… a bit…?”
“Perfect timing, then.”
The dean smiled.
“For next week’s dungeon exploration, take lead for Everchess’s group? It was Professor Syrion’s, but as you see…”
“Eek…!!”
The anxious petite professor shrank back.
“Understood. I’ll cover it.”
Kadisha sighed inwardly.
He won’t bombard me with compliments the second he sees me again, right?
…Probably not.
What’s there to compliment about her anyway.
But.
She couldn’t deny looking forward to his praise a little.