The Riddle Notice
After pondering the riddle notice deeply, I gave my answer.
“Sounds good to me?”
[Hehe. Of course it does—it's a proposal from this goddess, after all.]
It was awfully arrogant, but it sounded solid enough that I could let it slide.
“Okay. Let's go with that.”
No point in hesitating once I'd made up my mind. Without dragging my feet, I started drafting the notice just as the Goddess suggested.
“Hmm...”
[What's wrong?]
“Nah, it's just... actually doing it isn't as easy as it sounds.”
The truth was, her idea was incredibly simple: make the notice a riddle to decode. At first, I'd been skeptical. Scrambling the details into code didn't seem like it would change much.
The real issue was that the casino might just cancel the auction altogether once they saw the notice. What difference would a cipher make?
But then I realized I'd misunderstood her. The “code” she meant wasn't something like Morse code—a systematic puzzle where perfect decryption reveals the truth.
Put simply, we were going to pose a riddle.
Make the location, date, and target item all vague and ambiguous, lumped together in a hazy mess. Anyone trying to interpret it would be stumped.
They'd have no choice but to prepare multiple candidates and guard them all at once. That way, the problem I'd been worried about wouldn't happen.
They couldn't postpone every auction across all of Britannia indefinitely, right?
Of course, that meant I was the one racking my brain writing the damn thing.
Creating riddles is always harder for the maker than the solver. Balancing it so it wasn't too forced but still devilishly tricky to crack was giving me a headache.
“Goddess, how should I refer to the casino? Like, what metaphor?”
[Hmm... A den of gambling?]
“That feels too straightforward.”
[Then how about 'a place where gold and greed converge'?]
“That might be too obscure—they'd never guess it.”
She started grumbling softly, clearly sulking at my constant pushback.
[Hmph. Fine, do it yourself then. And here I was, trying to help for once...]
“Come on, no need to get upset over this between us.”
Man, this really was tough. I soothed her while inwardly mulling over how to craft the perfect cipher.
As I agonized for the ideal notice, failed drafts piled up.
“Nah.”
Too easy. A three-year-old in the neighborhood could solve it.
“Not this one.”
Who could even unravel this? Even I, knowing the answer, thought it was nonsense.
“Ugh...!”
Way too long and convoluted. It wouldn't even fit on the notice card.
“No! That's not it!”
In the end, I plunged into deep self-loathing midway through another draft.
Behind me, failed cards stacked up like a mountain.
Watching me, the Goddess murmured in an admiring tone.
[You're burning with the soul of an artist.]
How the hell had it come to this? Snapping out of it, I looked around: a poet sat there, endlessly revising for perfection amid failure after failure.
I'd debated compromising for reality's sake plenty of times. But if I half-assed it and it messed up my planned trick, I'd be in deep trouble.
Still, with each flop, I was starting to get a feel for it.
Alright. Phrase it like this here...
Before I knew it, the darkness draping the window had retreated, replaced by the warm light of dawn.
I'd pulled an all-nighter on a single notice.
“Perfect.”
Lifting my heavy eyelids with effort, I held up the notice card.
The riddle inscribed in that tiny space was flawless—no flaws whatsoever.
I nodded in satisfaction and set it down.
Sure, the mirror showed dark circles like inky bruises under my eyes, but right now, they felt like badges of honorable glory.
I collapsed onto the bed and closed my eyes contentedly.
“Time to crash.”
Nothing else mattered—I just wanted deep, uninterrupted sleep.
Then a sweet whisper tickled my ear.
[Kro. Time for school.]
“...Ah.”
Why must you torment me so? Just kill me instead.
“Kro! You okay!?”
Yulia's worried voice pierced my eardrums.
Did I look that bad?
Well, fair enough. I forced a casual smile.
“Yeah. I'm fine.”
“...You don't look fine at all.”
Spot on. Truth was, I wasn't fine in the slightest.
No exaggeration: one blink, and I'd pass out on the spot.
That's why I was keeping my eyes wide open, but it must've looked shocking—Yulia's expression was grave.
Like she was gazing at a terminally ill patient.
It carried a sadness far deeper than mere pity.
“Slept poorly last night. Just tired.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. A quick nap, and I'll be good.”
I plopped into my seat as I said it—a signal to leave me be so I could snag some shut-eye before class.
“Okay. Rest up, even if it's just a little!”
Thankfully, sharp-as-ever Yulia got the hint and gave me space.
Wingless angel, through and through.
Sweet dreams incoming.
Or so I'd thought.
“Hey, loser.”
“......”
“Oi. Don't ignore me—wake up. I know you're not sleeping.”
Poke, poke.
Rachel's finger jabbing my side, as usual.
Normally I'd brush it off, but today it grated like hell.
In this state, no sleep for me. Even if I dozed, I'd jolt awake every 2.5 seconds.
Finally, I scowled and lifted my head.
“Oh-ho. Making faces now?”
“I'm beat. Let me nap. Please?”
“Trying to sleep in this sacred hall of learning? The nerve.”
Hey. Anyone but you saying that rings hollow.
Who's the biggest classroom snoozer in our class?
Can't you just leave me alone for once?
“Hmph.”
“How's that? Tasty?”
She'd slipped something into my open mouth.
Sweetness flooded instantly.
I chewed reflexively and realized it was chocolate.
“Eat up and wake the hell up, loser.”
“...Yeah. Thanks.”
Though she could've just let me sleep without the chocolate.
Still, the sugar rush perked me up better than before.
Of course, it was temporary.
Class started soon after, and drowsiness crept back in.
I couldn't fight it—head nodding off.
“Wake that sleeping student.”
Snapping to attention worked once or twice.
But soon, right back to dozing.
Eventually...
“You there. Go wash your face outside.”
“...Yes. Sorry.”
Feeling every classmate's stare, I slipped out the back door into the hall.
Oddly, Rachel—face-planted on her desk openly—never got called out.
What stealth magic was that?
Grumbling, I trudged the quiet hallway to the bathroom during class.
My reflection in the sink mirror: still ringed with dark circles.
A bit better after dozing in class, though.
“Hoo...”
A splash of water cleared my head some.
Head back, and I'd crash again instantly?
Better take it slow.
Going downstairs felt like full-on skipping, so I'd kill time here.
“Hey. You ditching class too?”
A laid-back voice from behind.
The mirror showed a boy approaching.
Snow-white hair, crimson eyes.
Slender, delicate build and pretty features screamed frail beauty.
But remember: this was the men's room.
Yeah. That guy was a dude.
Looking all girly, voice androgynous, but straight-up male.
His striking looks made him unforgettable.
“Jin Grainzer.”
“You know me? Well, it'd be weirder if you didn't.”
Smug mutter, brimming with confidence.
But he had the creds for it.
In the original story, a major character: the “genius rival.”
Clashes and teams up with the protagonist—top talent and skill among peers.
First-year top student said it all.
Pretty face, unmatched prowess. Seemingly perfect.
But the author balanced it by robbing him of manners.
“Dunno who you are, though. What's your deal?”
Nothing good comes from tangling with him—just exhaustion.
Better bail while we were strangers.
As I mumbled an excuse to leave...
“Ah, you're Kro Morris, right?”
“...Huh?”
How'd he know my name?