The Guarantor
If the first gate had been a test of independence,
and the second gate a test of creativity,
then the third gate was purely a trial of combat prowess.
I never imagined passing the Academy entrance exam would be this difficult.
Having barely scraped by after enduring the third gate, Irene turned to the presiding proctor.
"Has this exam always been conducted this way every year?"
"Pretty much."
"Is there really no need to test the combat capabilities of those who passed the second gate?"
"Why would we? Martial might is only necessary for passive, inferior students who lack autonomy and imagination."
"...!"
"Northern Grand Duchess Irene. You served as an active combat mage on the northern borders, personally taking part in thirteen distinct frontlines. Having lived through such vicious warfare, you ought to know better than anyone, shouldn't you? That brute force solves nothing."
The words struck a chord deep within Irene.
No matter how many battles were fought, war never truly ended. Killing and slaughtering yielded nothing but mounting casualty counts and hills dotted with graves pinned by broken blades. Exhausted by the relentless struggle against the demons, the Northern Grand Duke had sought an answer in the capital. That very search was what had brought Irene to sit for the Gift Academy entrance exam in the first place.
"The logic holds across the board. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Sing?"
"I cannot say I find it agreeable," Sing replied, his tone even. "However, if that is the Academy's policy, we have no choice but to comply."
Outstanding prodigies like Irene and Sing cleared the third gate with ease. Even those who stumbled had merely failed the Upper Class qualification; there would be more than enough chances for them to secure admission during the re-examinations for the Lower Class.
Even after going through all of this, the fact that my evaluation fell short of that little runt's stings my pride.
It was not just Irene and Sing. Every single passing examinee shared the exact same thought.
Orknodi had proven an overwhelming disparity in skill not once, but twice. She was the undisputed runaway favorite for valedictorian. They needed to scrutinize her every action, watching her every breath to absorb whatever lessons they could.
There must be a profound reason she goes around picking up pretty pebbles.
With utter solemnity, Irene carefully slipped a smooth, rounded stone into her inner breast pocket.
Total Accepted Examinees: 2,130
After several days of eating, sleeping, and resting in the lounge to patch up injuries and restore spent stamina, the finalized results flashed across the Mana Board.
Dorothy and Rockfell had both passed, but the two childhood friends remained cooped up in their private quarters, evidently finding it too awkward to look each other in the eye.
"Look at that absurd headcount."
"Over two thousand accepted examinees... That is significantly more than I had anticipated."
"Bwahaha! Who cares? Most of 'em are just small fry who wouldn't last a single punch against our little peanut anyway, right?"
Unlike my giddy companions, my mood remained distinctly sour.
It had nothing to do with my previous squabble with Proctor Minerva. It was because of the way the qualifiers were divided into groups.
"Groups, huh? I've never seen such a categorization before."
"It's a regional breakdown."
"Does Lady Orknodi know something about this?"
"A is the Outskirts. B is the Central Region. C is Special. Since the Central Empire spans so much territory, the eastern, western, southern, and northern outskirts are all lumped together as peripheral frontiers. We're probably Group A."
"To go through the trouble of selecting qualifiers only to segregate them by their origins... I find that rather difficult to grasp."
"It's not about re-segregating them. Examinees from the Outskirts and examinees from the Central Region took their exams at completely different testing sites, so they're naturally categorized under separate umbrellas."
Giselle and Isabelle stared at me with strange, searching expressions.
"Do noble households teach such trivia as well?"
"Orknodi, whenever the topic touches upon the Academy, your knowledge base becomes strikingly disproportionate."
"I-it's just a coincidence! I only remembered what my tutors taught me!"
Just as I scrambled to pass off Giselle's idle musings as my excuse, a grave, stately voice cut into our conversation.
"Now that strikes me as exceedingly odd."
The top-ranked figure of the Western Noble Coalition, Lord Andersen Pretzel, interjected after listening in from the adjacent table.
"Even I, Andersen Pretzel, second son of Grand Duke Pretzel—the foremost noble house of the Deutsche Kingdom, the wealthiest among the Western Three Kingdoms—had no inkling of such facts. Yet here stands an examinee who knows them intimately."
"Th-that just means my Papa is infinitely more impressive than yours!"
Forgive me, Papa. If I don't use your name at a time like this, when else am I supposed to use it?
"Information gathering capabilities that surpass the premier ducal house of the Western realm's greatest power... Truly fascinating. Orknodi, I eagerly await the day your hidden pedigree comes to light."
"I quite agree," added another voice. "Unless one is royalty of an empire, such granular intelligence defies explanation."
Ranked second in the Western Noble Coalition, the group's lone lady, Arcadia, narrowed her gaze over the rim of her folding fan, her eyes flashing with a keen desire to see right through me.
Her attire was a head-spinning clash of styles: an Eastern cheongsam hugged her frame, a southern barbarian tribal tattoo adorned her exposed shoulder, and an ornate folding fan—the quintessential luxury accessory of central noble ladies—rested in her hand.
Known among players as the 'Icon of Rootless Fashion' for mindlessly latching onto every single passing trend, she was a supporting female character hovering somewhere in the late twenties of the official popularity polls.
Tch. Look at Arcadia daring to talk back to me.
"My, this little lady has a remarkably irked expression. You aren't entertaining rude thoughts about me, are you?"
"...Not particularly? I was just thinking that if you threw on a northern fur coat, you'd have successfully assembled the entire four cardinal directions."
"Oh my! What unexpected taste you have! As a matter of fact, I've already prepared a fur coat for the winter season. To appreciate my aesthetic vision... aren't you a clever, darling child?"
Gaining affection points from a Tier-2.5 supporting character who ranked even lower in popularity than Yui—the Tier-2 NTR heroine—didn't bring me an ounce of pride.
"Here, this is a specialty of our Florence Kingdom: deep-fried squid. I bought some because the restaurant attached to the lounge was selling it. Since we are both ladies, we really ought to chat about fashionable accessories sometime."
...Well, that was how I felt before receiving the fried squid.
"Arcadia is officially my Tier-1 ultimate bias starting today! Nobody is allowed to disrespect her!"
"...Tier 1? I don't quite comprehend the terminology, but I take it that's high praise in children's parlance? I shall accept the compliment with grace."
Munch, munch.
Nom, nom, nom.
As I devoured the crispy squid with sheer gusto, my body shivering in delight at the shattering crunch and savory chew while my head bobbed left and right in pure bliss, a crow began tapping its beak rhythmically against the lounge window.
"What is that?"
"There's something tied to its leg."
"A carrier crow," Sing remarked, leaning casually against the wall. "In the East, we bind parchment containing missives to the legs of birds and send them aloft in lieu of communication spells."
The crow perched on a nearby desk, expertly pecked open the cord securing the parchment with its beak, and dropped the paper.
Flap, flap!
Without a second's hesitation, the bird charged straight toward a nearby feeder bowl!
"Reminds me of Orknodi."
"Heh. I must concur."
"Bwahaha! Look at that, a flying peanut has arrived!"
"Hey! Don't call me that! I'm not a peanut! I'm still in my growth phase, and I'm going to grow super, super tall! Just you wait, I'll hit two meters and thirty centimeters easily!"
"Isn't that a bit excessive for a lass?!"
When I cited the height of my old muscular male character, Son Ocheon clutched his belly and howled with laughter. If I still had that body, I would be glaring down at this insolent monkey from a towering height to teach him a lesson about perspective!
"Examinee Orknodi. This note is addressed to you. It's a summons from Proctor Minerva instructing you to report to the counseling office downstairs."
Ugh. Why did it have to be that woman of all people?
Dragging my reluctant feet, I made my way down to the counseling room.
"What did you call me here to lecture me about this time?"
"I summoned you today on a separate administrative matter."
Minerva pushed a chart toward me.
"What's this?"
"This document outlines the allocation criteria for Group A, Group B, and Group C. Qualifiers are categorized into the Outskirts for Group A, the Central Region for Group B, and Other for Group C. This designation persists even after formal matriculation."
"I'm Group A anyway, aren't I? I received my ticket in the Outskirts and took the entrance exam at an Outskirts testing facility."
"That is precisely where the issue lies. Upon cross-referencing our records, we discovered that Examinee Orknodi has never once been registered with the International Identity Registration Magic Archives. You are an unregistered entity."
"Ah."
A terrible premonition crept up my spine.
Wait. No way, right?
"An unregistered person cannot belong to the Outskirts, nor can they belong to the Central Region. You are an individual who does not exist—someone unacknowledged by society at large. Group C is a collective reserved exclusively for those whose origins remain entirely obscure."
"Huh? So what happens to me then?"
"Your freedom of movement will be revoked. Wherever you go, you will be required to move under the strict surveillance and explicit permission of an assigned instructor."
No!
If that happened, I wouldn't be able to roam around gathering Stat Stones, nor could I clear essential early-game world events! I wouldn't be able to sneak into the forbidden archives to tear out forbidden texts disguised as mundane books, fight the gargoyles concealed among the stone statues, or set the botanical garden ablaze to harvest the mandragora!
"Hmph. Can't you let it slide just this once?"
"Out of the question."
Minerva was utterly merciless.
"Therefore, Examinee Orknodi, you were slated to be shadowed twenty-four hours a day by an instructor appointed directly by the Main Building."
"That's way too cruel!"
"...Or so I would have liked to say. However, for the past three days—seventy-two hours—we waited to see if someone would step forward to vouch for your identity. And a guarantor has indeed presented himself."
With a flick of Minerva's hand, the heavy curtain at the corner of the counseling office parted to reveal a familiar, suit-clad gentleman.
"Jona!"
"It has been some time, Milady. Have you been in good health?"
I dashed across the room and threw my arms around his leg in a tight hug.
The butler whose loyalty sat at a permanent, unbreakable one hundred the moment he was summoned. The only existence in this entire other world I could trust completely—my personal butler, Jona Waihiemhai, who would never betray me under any circumstance.
"You must refrain, Milady."
"Guh."
Pressing a single firm palm against my forehead, Jona casually pried me off him. Even though I felt I had grown considerably stronger, I couldn't hold a candle to Jona's monstrous physical strength.
"The Academy proctor is observing us. Please conduct yourself with proper decorum, Milady."
"Tch. Why haven't you changed at all? It's been ages since we last saw each other, and the first words out of your mouth are 'You must refrain'?"
Was he not even a tiny bit happy to see me?
When I pouted and grumbled, Jona's notoriously terrifying countenance shifted as the corners of his lips curved upward—just a tiny, microscopic fraction.
Whoa...
Even for someone who knew he was my loyal butler, that look was lethal. A chilling smirk that looked like he was about to beat someone within an inch of their life.
This man should never be allowed to smile in public.
"Jona. Your smiling privileges are confiscated for three weeks!"
"......?"
Who else on this continent could possibly stomach a smile like that? Which meant that from now on, that terrifying face was strictly for my eyes only.