Delinquent Deskmate and Duel with the Hero
Red bobbed hair. Crimson heterochromatic eyes with sharply upturned corners. A uniform tailored so tight it barely qualified as decent. My desk mate, Rachel Scarlet, was the picture of a delinquent girl with a rough edge—no matter who looked at her. Her actual personality wasn't much different.
In the original story, she was said to have a foul mouth but a soft heart inside. Honestly, though, that didn't ring true to me at all.
"Hey."
As per her demand, I greeted her flatly, and her bright red eyes stared straight at me. She let out a small snort, flopped onto her desk, and muttered under her breath.
"Hmph. What a boring guy."
What the hell kind of reaction was she fishing for from me? I greeted her because she asked, and now it's boring? What does she want?
[He's really boring, isn't he?]
'Goddess, whose side are you on anyway?'
[Of course I'm on your side, naturally.]
It didn't feel that way, but I let it slide for now. Still, was she seriously planning to sleep the moment she sat down?
I quietly observed Rachel, who had face-planted onto her desk. Soon, a steady, soft breathing rhythm filled the air. She was out cold for real. She was even snoring lightly, deep in slumber. It hadn't even been a full minute since she laid her head down—this had to be some kind of prodigious talent.
I decided not to wake her. It'd be pointless anyway; she'd just go back to sleep, and I'd only get called a loser for my troubles. She'd wake up on her own when class started, right?
"Alright, let's begin today's lesson. First, open your books to..."
My assumption was wrong. Even after the bell rang and the teacher entered, she showed no signs of stirring. The problem was that the teacher started class without bothering to wake her either. Did he not notice? Or was he ignoring her on purpose?
Either way, class was underway, and if things stayed like this, Rachel would sleep through the whole thing and fall behind. The Academy wasn't some ordinary school. It was a brutal, eat-or-be-eaten world where students fought tooth and nail every day just for a slight edge in grades.
Sure, it was her choice, so she'd pay the price—but if I could help it, better to wake her. She hadn't dozed off mid-class; maybe she just slept too deeply to hear the bell.
"Rachel. Class started. Wake up."
"Mmm... Huhn."
She scrunched her eyes and mumbled in her sleep. With no choice, I grabbed her shoulder and gave it a light shake.
"Nngh...?"
"You up?"
"What the... Why's the loser in my dream..."
Still half-asleep, she babbled nonsense. Not content with that, she even poked my cheek.
"Huh?"
"Um... Could you stop that?"
Blinking eyes. Her unblinking stare made me uncomfortable, so I averted my gaze.
[Hehe. You're embarrassed.]
'Isn't it weirder to be unfazed in a situation like this?'
That was when it hit her—this was reality. Rachel's face stiffened, her mouth twitching wildly. And then—
"Kyaa!!"
She let out a scream, fragile and girlish, totally at odds with her image. Every eye in the class turned our way. The teacher, mid-lecture, cleared his throat uncomfortably and warned us.
"You two. One more peep, and you're out of the room."
"...Sorry."
Why me too? I didn't do anything! This is so unfair...!
I glanced sideways. Rachel's face was beet red, totally flustered. I sighed.
Luckily, nothing else noteworthy happened after that. Afternoon break before the next class, after lunch. Rachel, lounging idly beside me, finally spoke up.
"Hey. Loser."
"Yeah?"
"What's next class?"
The schedule's right there if you turn around—why ask me? Not in the mood for bickering, I answered obediently.
"Sparring."
"Oh. Sweet."
Her face lit up instantly—she loved the next class. For me, not so much.
Sparring was exactly what it sounded like: hands-on combat training. Students paired up for one-on-one magic duels. No dull theory—just a legal chance to slug it out. Naturally, it was one of the most popular classes.
But not for me. As I'd mentioned before, the character I possessed, Kro Morris, was a total extra with abysmal combat skills. Without the Goddess's power, I was arguably the weakest in class.
No matter how I fought, I'd lose—it'd be weirder if I liked it. Still, what could I do? Skipping wasn't an option, so I'd muddle through like always: fight half-assed, lose, done.
The Academy had a dedicated sparring hall. Gathered there, we listened to our instructor, Robert.
"As always: no injuries in sparring. But if someone gets hurt, stop immediately and check on them. Understood?"
"Yes."
After the usual boilerplate safety spiel, unlike normal, he added something extra.
"And starting today, unique magic is allowed in spars."
"Woo!!"
The bored kids erupted in cheers. Unique magic was simple: magic tied to a mage's personal traits. In this world, every mage had a mana circuit, unique as a fingerprint in shape and nature. That birthed their signature spell.
The opposite was general magic: stuff anyone could learn, no restrictions.
As you might guess, mine was Illusion Magic—stage tricks like doves from hats or card flourishes. Useless in a real fight. So even with unique magic greenlit, it changed nothing for me.
[Aren't you being too modest? You're a fine mage yourself.]
'That's with your power, Goddess. It's not night right now.'
[Have a little more confidence, child.]
Easier said than done. She had way too much faith in me. I'd only been in this body a month—being rough with magic was par for the course.
"Next: Kro Morris."
"Huh?"
Lost in thought, it was suddenly my turn. Already?
"Versus Layered."
"Got it."
The boy strode forward at his name. Shit. Why him of all people?
Brown hair, wooden sword at his side. This story's protagonist. His unique magic: body enhancement. In a magic-dueling world, slicing foes with a sword—classic, appealing hero vibe. The guy's protagonist material through and through.
Unlike some illusion-trick punk. Now I had to face the hero—on the first day unique magic was allowed, no less. Total cliché: the scrub jobber to gauge his power.
[Fight on. This body cheers for you.]
'Thanks, I guess.'
Yeah. Even the protagonist doesn't have a goddess in his corner. I'd give it my all. Call it the extra's jolly rebellion. Win or lose, no regrets—beating the world's hero would be nuts anyway.
I stepped up. We faced off.
"Kro. Good luck."
"Yeah. I'll do my best."
Heroic nice-guy Layered shook hands fair and square. Under the teacher's refereeing, the duel began.
"Ready? Fight!"
Tweet!
Whistle blew. Layered boosted his body with magic right away. I wasn't idle—flicked a playing card to probe. His wooden sword swatted it aside.
But that was a feint. I whipped out rope to bind him.
"Hup!"
He sliced the ropes effortlessly. Clean cut with a bokken? Brutal.
Going for the quick win, he charged. Sword tip at my throat.
"That's it."
"Is it, though?"
"...What?"
Shimmer. My image vanished like a mirage. Layered froze in shock.
I struck from behind—
Clang!
Blocked cold. As expected, he won.
"Layered wins."
The teacher's flat call. I sighed. Phew. Tough as hell. Gave it everything, but still miles off.
[Not bad at all, though. Chin up.]
'True. That last move had me thinking I might actually win for a sec.'
Heading back to recover my spent mana, Layered marched right up to me.
'Worried I'll be down? Coming to console me?'
Sweet if so—protagonist's a softie. But his face was stone-cold, pissed off. No clue why.
"Why'd you do that?"
"Huh? Do what?"
"No need to play dumb. I know you held back."
[Oh my.]
What the hell?