This Wasn't How the Event Was Supposed to Go

Chapter bosses are terrifyingly strong.

As a rule of thumb, they can wipe the floor with a dozen of their peers in an effortless, one-sided slaughter.

They probably don't know any better, but watching this from the sidelines feels like watching a horror movie.

Publicly ostracizing and bullying Hestia, someone who could literally tear a grown person in half with her bare hands? What was worse, the sheer venom on display was on an entirely different level compared to when they picked on that apprentice knight girl in the dining hall. This wasn't merely the petty teasing of girls gathered in small cliques, snickering and gossiping behind someone's back. This was a calculated, full-blown public humiliation orchestrated by Upper Class freshmen who had gathered with deliberate malice.

Yet even knowing the insults were completely unjust, not a single soul stepped forward to help Hestia.

Is it because of how she looks?

The Mana Body Refining Method compresses mana to elevate its quality, while the Mana Cultivation Technique expands total mana volume and capacity. Hestia was undeniably powerful, but she had never learned either esoteric art. Unable to compress her muscle mass through mana, her physique had bulked up into a mountain of raw muscle that defied conventional feminine grace. To make matters worse, in an academy crawling with highborn aristocrats, her reputation was merely that of a lowly mercenary.

On the other side of the ledger, the people she would cross by taking her side were Imperial nobles reigning from the heart of the continent—and there were five of them. Crossing even one was terrifying enough, yet five had banded together. Countless freshmen believed that getting on their bad side would mean ruin, whether inside or outside the Academy gates.

Why in the world is a main boss getting pushed around like this anyway?

Absurd as it seemed, this was fundamentally a fantasy-based game world. A heavily muscled woman boasting sky-high potential who looked overwhelmingly powerful on paper could actually be physically overwhelmed by a slender noblewoman endowed with refined mana arts. Of course, in Hestia's case, she possessed enough sheer brute force to tear apart cultivation techniques, body refining methods, and anything else in her path.

"Excuse me, ladies. You're from Group B, aren't you?" I chimed in, calling out in a loud, perfectly confident voice.

"A cute little thing barely over a hundred and thirty centimeters tall with bright, starry eyes... Well, well. So you're Orknodi?"

"Orknodi? You mean the one who beat Northern Grand Duchess Irene and Young Lord Andersen of the Pretzel Grand Duchy from the Western Noble Coalition to take the top spot in Group A's Upper Class?"

"That explains everything. Truly, the standards of the boondocks are beneath notice."

The Imperial noble daughters raised their hands to cover their mouths, snickering. A vicious malice gleamed in the squint of their mocking eyes. Unlike the loudmouths in the cafeteria who had only hurled verbal insults, this bunch looked fully prepared to throw hands. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Their aura was downright savage.

"You've picked enough of a fight," Hestia growled. "If you've said your piece, get lost."

"My word. Are you trying to save face in front of a child?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"If only you'd kept quiet. Then you wouldn't have to suffer such an agonizing lesson."

"You team-killing butcher."

"Oh my, look at her fists trembling."

"How utterly barbaric. Are you going to swing them? Just like you did when you eliminated your own mercenary comrades?"

Hestia had never done such a thing. Her teammates' elimination wasn't Hestia's fault; it was born of the mercenaries' own greed. Blinded by scores, the mercenaries had picked a fight with someone they never should have touched, suffered a crushing defeat, and then tore each other apart in an ugly, self-destructive spiral. That was the real truth behind the downfall of the Western Mercenary Alliance.

The Group B noble daughters, completely oblivious and indifferent to the truth, slandered her without hesitation.

Even setting aside that she's a chapter boss, watching this is just painful.

Hestia's class was Berserker—otherwise known as a frenzied warrior. It was a vocation that traded pure rage for boundless destructive power. Because they frequently lost their reason in the heat of battle, they were notorious for attacking their own allies. Naturally, their popularity was at absolute rock bottom.

Despite being a frontline class, Berserkers couldn't hold aggro on enemies slipping toward the backline, and they routinely ignored or even threatened their own teammates. Both popularity and public perception were dreadful. While undeniably devastating against bosses or in high-stakes duels, their sheer volatility made them an extreme off-meta pick among players. The party member nobody wanted. Reliability score: zero.

Maybe that was why my heart went out to her all the more. After all, the vocation I was aiming to pick up at the Academy was also one of those universally shunned classes.

"I've heard wild dogs only bark in terror when they run into a real predator. You ladies look just like that right now."

"Hah?"

"Wild dogs?!"

"How dare you utter such outrageous drivel before Imperial nobility! Have you lost your mind?!"

"Ah, my apologies."

At the word 'apologies,' their faces instantly swelled with smug superiority. Did you really think I was backing down?

"You're ganging up on one person and spewing nothing but vulgarities, so I couldn't possibly imagine you were Imperial nobles. I should have taken your total lack of home upbringing into consideration."

The Group B Upper Class freshmen's expressions turned murderous. One of them shot a discreet glance toward the crowd surrounding us.

"Ah, my legs gave out—!"

"Who keeps shoving?!"

A few girls clad in pantyhose slid toward Isabelle under the cover of the crowd, driving their elbows into her ribs and slamming their knees into her thighs.

"Urgh!" Isabelle let out a stifled groan at the cheap shot.

There was no way on earth I was going to let that slide.

"Oh no, I'm losing my balance! I'm gonna fall~!"

Grab!

"Eeeeeeek!"

"Let go of my hair this instant—?!"

Having their scalps seized in a vice grip, the pantyhose girls shrieked, flailing their arms wildly. In desperate retaliation, they clawed at Isabelle's clothes and mine, trying to drag us down by our hair. But with subtle, practiced sweeps of my arms, I parried their frantic grasps, forcing everyone nearby to scramble backward in panic.

"Waaaah!"

"Ow, ow, it hurts...!"

With handfuls of hair yanked clean from their scalps, the pantyhose girls collapsed to the floor in a puddle of tears.

"You've really lost your mind, haven't you?!"

"The ones who recklessly lunged forward into danger are at fault, aren't they?"

The ordinary students, wanting no part of this brewing disaster, backed away en masse.

"Besides, Miss Hestia here is a member of Group A. She was a fellow competitor who took the exact same exam I did. Insulting my rival is the same as dismissing the achievement of me, Group A's valedictorian."

The Group B Upper Class students fumed with rage.

"Got quite the big head just for topping the ranks among frontier bumpkins, haven't you?"

"Words clearly won't suffice with her."

"Lady Lotto, please teach her a lesson."

Among the noble daughters clad in standard academy uniforms with pantyhose—the modest attire mandated by Imperial noble tradition never to reveal bare skin—one girl dressed completely differently stepped forward. As long as skin was entirely covered, it didn't strictly have to be pantyhose. Under that philosophy, a female student with shoulder-length bobbed hair stood clad in an unprecedented full bodysuit.

Tap, tat.

Stepping forward with light, rhythmic footwork, she snapped a kick into the empty air, whipping up a violent gale. The sharp crack cutting through the atmosphere and the razor-honed trajectory made it blatantly obvious: that blow carried more than enough power to shatter human bone.

"Kyaaa! Lady Lotto, you're so cool!"

"Please wink at us just once!"

Lotto was showered in ecstatic cheers from the Imperial noble daughters. Emboldened by her demonstration, the other Upper Class girls puffed up their chests.

"See that? She learned her craft directly from a specialized martial artist hired by her family. There's an arena right ahead. If you spar with her, you're going to get hurt—badly."

"Why don't you apologize to your seniors right now? Grovel on the floor and say, 'I'm so sorry for being an uncivilized barbarian from the boondocks.' Maybe then we'll go easy on you."

"My, my."

"Giggle."

"Oh, how lewd~ If she did something like that, she might die of utter humiliation, wouldn't she? Ahahaha!"

Hestia surged forward in fury. "Cowards! If you've got a problem, take it out on me! Do Imperial nobles really have to strike a little kid just to save their pathetic face?!"

"It's all right, Miss Hestia. After all, I'm technically Group A's top qualifier." I pointed straight at the girl named Lotto, singling her out. "If you're so confident, come to the arena. I'll humor you with a match."

The Group B girls seemed to place blind faith in Lotto. Little did they know, I already knew that girl inside and out.

The first semester midterm exam of freshman year. The moment Hestia's mind completely snapped and she went on an indiscriminate killing spree. The corpse lying sprawled on the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ground, limbs violently torn apart—that corpse had this exact same face.

Alternatively, if an early appearance trigger was hit: before the entrance ceremony, a noble daughter gets cleaved cleanly in two—bisected straight down the middle—and the dead noble then also shares this exact same face. In every single route, she was the Group B student destined to be slaughtered first by Hestia. That was , the champion these noble girls were idolizing.

How is the timing so uncannily identical?

One day before the entrance ceremony. Even if Hestia didn't go berserk, an event existed where an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠accident occurred during a sparring match, leaving one student critically injured. And the heavily injured student doomed to end up in a full body cast in the infirmary was none other than 'Lotto.'

Did the developers just despise short bob cuts or something?

She was a villainous NPC destined to suffer horrific fates in every timeline, guaranteed to meet her end before the first semester of freshman year concluded. No matter how smugly she tried to provoke me, I couldn't feel anything other than amused pity.

Winning was a foregone conclusion; the real challenge of this duel was exercising enough restraint not to accidentally kill her.

"Group A Upper Class valedictorian and Group B Upper Class's Martial Noble Lotto are having a match!"

"Where?!"

"Arena Number Three inside the training hall!"

Rumors spread like wildfire. Over a thousand students flocked to witness the duel. Considering the 981st cohort had 2,130 freshmen in total, nearly half the class had assembled.

To Orknodi, this was a guaranteed-win event. An intervention purely meant to prevent Hestia's premature corruption. However, the impressions of the spectating students witnessing the standoff were completely different.

"Wait, they're seriously sparring with a kid that small?"

"This is way too much."

"Is a noble trained in martial arts seriously allowed to do that?"

Even the pretext under which the duel was arranged was utterly appalling.

"A little kid stood up to help a girl being bullied, challenged her, and she actually accepted?!"

"Where on earth is their noble dignity?"

"Scumbags. Does the Empire only give noble titles to cold-blooded, heartless villainesses?"

Cursing and jeering rained down from all directions. The noble daughters seated in the spectator stands flushed crimson with shame. A martial-arts-trained noble lady bullying a tiny child. Even in their eyes, this was an ugly, indefensible brawl that defied any attempt at justification!

As the crowd's sentiment swung overwhelmingly into deep sympathy for Orknodi, one of the Group B Upper Class noble daughters couldn't take it anymore and subtly chimed in: "Her name is Orknodi, you know! She's a half-orc, so wouldn't she have more than enough brute strength?"

"That's right! Honestly, if someone has blood mixed with filthy orcs, can we even consider them human?" The instigator's friend hastily backed her up.

"Unbelievable. To utter such blatant racial slurs in this day and age? Do you even hear what you're saying?!"

"Shameless Imperial thugs! The thought that trash like you shares the title of noble makes my skin crawl!"

"Go drop dead!"

Furious denunciations lashed out. Booing cascaded like thunder. Facing the torrential condemnation and jeering directed at a 165-centimeter Imperial noble pugilist who had challenged a 133-centimeter toddler under such disgraceful pretenses, the most bewildered person in the entire arena was Orknodi herself.

What's wrong with these guys? In the original game, it was the exact opposite.

The stands that had once jeered like that had now flipped a full 180 degrees.