A Reaction She Shouldn't Have Shown

A week that must have felt like an absolute nightmare to the freshmen finally came to an end.

"Whoaaa! Meal money!"

"We can finally buy food!"

The lower-class students erupted into cheers. It turned out these weekly events weren't entirely bad after all!

I, on the other hand, was shivering in pure terror like the veteran grinder I was.

"Arcadia, whatever you do, please do not have tea out on the patio this week."

"My goodness, Di. Didn't you miss our little tea dates? Has spending time with your big sister become such a chore, such a bother? Sob, sob."

"Ack, that's not it at all! It's a matter of safety!"

Arcadia, who had been playfully dabbing at fake tears, popped her head up from behind her hands. "Safety? Could anything possibly be more perilous than last week, when Giant King Crabs were scuttling across every hallway?"

"Rain is scary while it falls, but what comes after it stops is ten times worse!"

Having spent her entire life alongside the sea, Arcadia was a water-affinity character through and through, which probably explained why she couldn't relate in the slightest. But the academy was situated right up against a mountain range. This wasn't the maritime power known openly as the Florence Kingdom—and whispered behind closed doors as the 'Seafood Medley Kingdom'—where people could innocently marvel about fresh, non-salty water falling from the sky.

"Good morning, everyone! I trust you all had a wonderful week? Well, even if you didn't, what can you really do about it? You're just fragile, powerless little freshmen. You'd best just convince yourselves that you had a lovely time!"

Monday morning, first-period homeroom. Professor Mahabharata, the shapeshifter, began the day by driving everyone's blood pressure straight through the ceiling with a cheery grin.

"Oh, by the way! A new weekly event, [Beware of Mosquitoes], has been declared for this week, so please exercise extreme caution whenever stepping outside! You all learned just how terrifying mosquitoes can be during the entrance exam, didn't you?"

Grimaces rippled across the room as students recalled nearly failing or being barred from magic circles because of those infernal insects. Even so, they still had no idea what kind of horrors a true mosquito advisory actually entailed.

"Hey, Orknodi. Looks like a whole bunch of mosquitoes are coming."

"How wonderful. I stocked up on insect repellent just in case. Looks like business will boom once again this week."

"Tch. Guess I can't go fooling around in the mountains. I'll have to eat my bananas later."

While my companions were busy trading idle chatter, everyone's gaze suddenly snapped toward Sing, the Eastern swordsman, who had abruptly bolted up from his seat by the window. It wasn't just our little circle staring at him. Sing was known throughout the upper class as the quietest, most stoic student in the roster. Seeing him react so violently piqued everyone's curiosity.

"Did he leave the faucet running in the washroom?"

"Maybe he forgot an assignment."

"Could he have remembered a sweetheart back home? I mean, he's blunt, but he is rather handsome."

Unfortunately, every single theory missed the mark.

"A swarm!" Sing roared.

"Whaaaat?!"

He wasn't daydreaming—he was staring in sheer shock at the sky outside. A black cloud of mosquitoes was hurtling straight toward the windows, and every single one of them was the size of a grown man's fist.

An English economist once famously remarked that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. The Dragon Principal was the living embodiment of that proverb. He bore no actual malice toward the students. In fact, it was his genuine consideration for their well-being that drove his actions—which was precisely why Professor Mahabharata found himself questioning his life choices today.

"Headmaster, what reason did you have for summoning a swarm of mosquitoes this time?"

"Pests and pestilence inevitably follow in the wake of a great flood! Would it not be terribly inconvenient if the freshmen roamed about while the grounds are being sanitized and fumigated?"

"Your intentions are always so very noble, Headmaster. It is just that the curriculum proves far too lethal for the students."

The Dragon Principal puffed his chest out with indignation. "If they cannot even endure that much, do they truly deserve to study at the greatest educational institution in the world?"

He never, ever shut up about being the greatest in the world. Had the giant reptile already forgotten that his academy had once produced ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the single greatest villain the continent had ever seen?

"Must I personally remind you of that one undergraduate who, under your careful tutelage during the academy's early days, grew up so big and strong that he became a full-fledged Demon King?"

"Now, now! We were all just playing around back then, weren't we? Everyone makes mistakes in the beginning. That is how one learns and becomes seasoned!"

The dragon laughed it off with shameless nonchalance. Mahabharata had to concede the point. When all was said and done, the Headmaster had softened considerably over the past millennium. In the old days, he was the sort of primal beast who would storm royal palaces demanding tribute, smash castle spires to rubble, abduct princesses, and strip imperial treasuries bare just to line his hoard with gold and rare treasures. Now that he had thrown himself so thoroughly into this new roleplay of running an academy, he at least maintained the outward appearance of an educator.

"Be that as it may, I must implore you to tread lightly so the children do not perish. We hold a Guardian Observation Day once a month. What on earth will the parents think if they arrive to find a classroom half-empty, with flower vases sitting on deceased children's desks?"

"This younger generation is remarkably fragile, isn't it?"

"...They will conclude that you are an atrociously cruel evil dragon who abuses children until they die."

"I completely reject that assessment!" the dragon roared in fury. "Do you have any idea how much restraint it takes for me not to torment those fresh little rookies the exact same way I torment the fourth-years?!"

"...Then I would be profoundly grateful if you continued to exercise that admirable restraint."

Speaking not as a dragon's guardian, but as the weary Head of First-Year Affairs, Mahabharata offered the most sincere plea of his life.

Weekly events were unpredictable beasts. Dictated entirely by the Headmaster's erratic whims, they caused certain characters to crash in utility while sending others skyrocketing into the meta. That being said, if a player were shallow enough to constantly ditch unfavorable companions and suck up to whichever ones had the advantage that week, their social reputation would plummet into the dirt. Building solid bonds during peacetime and refusing to abandon struggling companions just because circumstances turned sour was essential. While novice players found this difficult to follow, experienced veterans treated it as an absolute golden rule for surviving the academy.

The academy operated on an elemental rotation: last week favored lightning and penalized fire, while this week favored fire and heavily penalized water. Rather than frantically chasing after whichever elemental character held the advantage, seasoned players cultivated a chosen handful of elements like a diligent farmer sowing seeds.

High-level players analyzed probability: out of the dizzying array of weekly events, which ones held the highest statistical chance of triggering, and where did the Headmaster's current interests lean? Treating the Headmaster's psychology as the ultimate puzzle was the hallmark of an advanced player. But true veteran grinders didn't bother with any of that nonsense. They simply raised whichever companions they liked. Why? Because a true veteran possessed the mechanical skill to overcome any disaster thrown their way!

At that level, you saw players like the Hero Ishtar, who dumped everything into pure strength and exclusively recruited muscle-brained heavy hitters, or roleplayers who built floral harem parties based solely on charisma stats. Occasionally, you even ran into genuine lunatics who built so-called 'Crazy Psycho Lesbian' parties under the premise of being 'easy enough for an idiot to understand.' Those playthroughs were so terrifying that even watching them on stream gave me chills. I would never touch a build like that with a ten-foot pole.

Jigoku was technically part of that psycho ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠party archetype in the game's original code, though hilarious enough, he turned out to be the mildest flavor of crazy among them.

Fortunately, the only groups I had formed so far were my [Entrance Exam Party] and my [Group Project Outcast Party]. There was zero chance of me being abducted by psychotic yandere classmates and used as a living floor mat while missing all my lectures. All I had to do was quietly swat away mosquitoes and survive the week.

"The assignments are scarier than any mosquito..."

"I finish one homework assignment, and a new one pops up. I finish that one, and another one appears. I finish that one, and yet another one..."

"Did imperial bastards seriously grow up doing this kind of early education since they were toddlers? What terrifying monsters."

Well, ordinary students were far too busy drowning under mountains of coursework to care about weekly events. Which meant it was time for Orknodi to step up!

My [Entrance Exam Party]—consisting of Giselle, Isabelle, Son Ocheon, Dorothy, and Rockfell—was in good hands since Giselle had already hoarded a mountain of insect repellent. However, my [Group Project Outcast Party]—made up of Hestia, Jigoku, Lotto, and myself—had absolutely zero counter-measures against aerial pests.

A Berserker (Physical), a Trigger-Happy Pirate (Physical), and a Pugilist (Physical). Such was the sorrow of pure-physical builds lacking wide-area elemental mana. That was where the all-around magical swordsman, Dark Princess Orknodi, had to carry the squad!

"Hey, Orknodi, did you hear? In our third-period class, Basics and Understanding of Mana Usage, we're finally going to learn actual spells!"

"I hope we learn them quickly!"

"Same here! See you later, Orknodi!"

With Butler Jona's strict warnings lingering in the back of my mind, I had deliberately kept my magical prowess sealed until now. But the time had finally come to show them what I could do.

Professor Bronze was thoroughly displeased with the distracted attitude of her prime disciple candidate.

"Cadet Orknodi. State the objective ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of this lecture. Why are we learning how to appraise the value of paintings today?"

"Wealthy households frequently use fine art for money laundering, but because there are genuinely valuable works, worthless trash, and cunning forgeries, accurate appraisal is an absolute necessity, ma'am!"

"Your mind is wandering elsewhere, yet the answers flow like water. Are you bored with my lecture?"

Orknodi waved her tiny hands frantically in denial. "Not at all!"

"Then focus. You don't need to drool over the canvases like the boys in the back, but at least make an effort to appear engaged."

Professor Bronze had prepared this lecture with great ambition. Knowing full well that ordinary landscape paintings would bore the class to tears, she had brought in a curated collection of portraits featuring extraordinarily scantily clad men and women. Among them were cheap, provocative erotic prints, classical nude studies painted with professional models, and world-renowned masterworks celebrated for their celebration of the human form.

The primary age demographic for first-year academy students was between eighteen and twenty—the exact age when romantic and sexual curiosity peaked. In frontier regions, youth that age were already married, raising their first child, and acting as heads of households. Whether experienced or not, students in this age bracket were bound to be captivated by the bare silhouettes of the opposite sex. Orknodi, on the other hand, was so young that she showed absolutely zero interest.

"Whoa. Look at that attire. Do women in taverns really wear clothes like that?"

"I can't stop drooling... Hnghh..."

"Bigstone. Would you please stop staring at that canvas and then glancing at me while imagining me naked?"

"I-I wasn't! Who said I was doing that?!"

The second-year inseparable duo, Bigstone and Lizna, were at it again—flirting so relentlessly that everyone around them secretly prayed they would just start dating already and hit the bitter boredom stage of a relationship.

"Oh my goodness... Big sister was telling the truth. The male students are swarming like flies. Does wearing daring, revealing clothes really make you that popular? Should I... should I start dressing like that too...?"

Meanwhile, the naive first-year Titocoga was busy eliciting profound pity from everyone within earshot by revealing that she had fallen for another one of her older sister's terrible pranks.

"They reveal far more skin than the dancers of the Southern Plains," Isabelle muttered, attempting to sound completely professional while utterly failing to disguise the crimson flush creeping up her neck. "And the paintings of shirtless men are quite... striking."

That was how normal students reacted. That was healthy. It was Orknodi's thoroughly impassive demeanor that was profoundly abnormal.

"Tch."

Aside from Sing—whom Professor Bronze was convinced was an unhinged psychopath whose sole interests in life were swords and bloodshed—everyone had some sort of reaction. But Orknodi's behavior was utterly baffling.

"Orknodi. Could it be that you aren't merely distracted, but actually familiar with illustrations of this nature?"

There was no youthful bashfulness typical of someone seeing such art for the first time, nor was there any prudish disgust. Instead, her posture exuded pure boredom—an attitude of someone who had seen so much of it that she was sick of it, looking down upon the pieces as though they were low-tier trash. Professor Bronze had asked the question on a whim, but the answer that came back sent a shiver down her spine.

"Whoa. How did you know?"

To reiterate: the paintings Professor Bronze had brought were masterfully chosen. They were more than enough to make red-blooded youths blush and rivet their attention to the blackboard. Short of explicit intercourse, these were remarkably sensual, suggestive works capable of stimulating anyone who wasn't a bloodthirsty madman. For a ten-year-old girl to display absolute boredom and seasoned familiarity toward such material was deeply troubling.

"...Have you seen things far worse than this?"

"Ah."

Orknodi, who had answered so casually a moment before, suddenly froze. Her eyes darted nervously around the lecture hall, panic flickering across her innocent face.

"Professor... you aren't going to punish me for looking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at naughty things too early, are you...?"

Professor Bronze's heart sank into an icy abyss. There was only one thing worse than the art she had brought to class: witnessing actual adult acts in the flesh, or being subjected to graphic imagery so frequently that all sense of shame had been stripped away. And all of that before a child had even reached her tenth year.

How could a child ever be subjected to such an environment? Every scenario that crossed Bronze's mind was utterly horrific.

Either she had been raised in the backrooms of a brothel, or someone had dragged her through the red-light districts from infancy, forcing her to observe the brutal realities of the flesh trade as part of some twisted 'education.' Even in a world where marriage was legal at fifteen, ten was monstrously young. And this was not a boy, but a delicate young girl. It bordered on outright psychological torment.

They were conditioning her. Telling her that this