The First Practical Exercise
Contrary to the professor’s claim that Cultivating Insight was an elective open to both first- and second-years, only a minuscule handful of second-years were actually seated in the lecture hall.
Isabelle felt the uneasy stirrings of an ominous premonition—an instinct honed by her adventurer’s intuition.
“Why are there so few second-years?”
“It is still the course registration adjustment period, is it not?” Giselle replied smoothly. “I am certain more students will arrive once the starting bell draws near.”
Just as Giselle predicted, students gradually trickled into the lecture hall as the minutes ticked by. Yet the vast majority of the newcomers were first-years. Not a single additional second-year walked through the door.
“See? The upperclassmen aren’t increasing at all.”
Perhaps Isabelle’s unease proved contagious, for Giselle, unable to shake his nagging suspicion, rose and approached the small cluster of second-years.
“Pardon me, seniors. Might I inquire about something? It appears curiously few second-year upperclassmen are attending this lecture.”
“Bothered that out of all these freshmen, the three of us are the only second-years here?”
Giselle offered an affable, disarming smile. Bigstone, a 2nd-Year Intermediate senior, casually fiddled with the crest on his uniform—the proud mark of a second-year. Having been mere freshmen themselves until last year, being addressed as ‘senior’ was still a novel, intoxicating thrill. Wanting to bask in the sensation and put on airs for just a moment longer, he dragged his feet on answering.
“I think I know why,” Orknodi piped up, her curious little face poking into the conversation between Giselle and the senior.
“Huh?”
“Isn’t it because this course has a terrible reputation?”
“N-No! Don’t go saying such dreadful things! The professor is right over there, what on earth are you—!”
“Then why are you sweating bullets?”
“Who’s sweating bullets?!”
“You are, Senior.”
“I am not!”
“It’s not because you got an F last year and are retaking the class, which is why there are only three of you, right?”
“No! It’s not like the professor grades stingily, or the assignments are ridiculously hard, or there are nasty rumors that she’s a dangerous lunatic!”
Several first-years who had been eavesdropping with rapt curiosity suddenly put on sour faces and slipped out the door.
“And the reason I tried not to let anything show in front of you freshmen was definitely NOT because I was praying for more underclassmen to fill out the bottom of the grade curve!!”
About a dozen more first-years glared at Bigstone with venomous disdain before promptly walking out of the lecture hall.
“And just because the professor used to be a chivalrous phantom thief active in the Holy Central Empire, there is absolutely NO danger of students being treated like thief apprentices or having their social standing ruined!!”
Half of the remaining students instantly surged toward the exit in a frantic stampede, chasing after the freshmen who had fled earlier. Most of them were Group B commoner recruits who lacked the reckless courage to gamble their future careers on a forbidden course.
“Oho. Bigstone, my boy. To think you harbored such impure motives while attending my lecture.”
“Aaaaargh! She heard me!!”
If you had just kept your mouth shut, none of this would have happened! Why did you suddenly go full-throttle on a suicide run?! Isabelle marveled inwardly at what a profoundly bizarre upperclassman he was.
Tee-hee.
Apparently finding the spectacle thoroughly amusing, Orknodi covered her mouth with one dainty hand and giggled, mimicking the gesture Arcadia often made. Arcadia’s habit was itself an imitation of Imperial high-society noblewomen, meaning Orknodi had ultimately ended up putting on the airs of an Imperial aristocrat—yet she looked so completely adorable doing it that no one could possibly mind.
“S-Should we leave too?”
“Orknodi is staying.”
“If Group A’s top student is toughing it out, why should we care about walking on eggshells around the Empire bastards?”
“The Central Empire.”
A solemn, resonant voice called out from the far corner of the classroom, demanding a correction.
“The term ‘Empire’ refers simultaneously to the Holy Central Empire and the Eastern Empire. I find it exceedingly unpleasant to be lumped into the same category as them. Correct your phrasing clearly.”
It was Sing, the Eastern swordsman whose extraordinary presence had commanded respect ever since the entrance exams.
“Whoa, look at his expression. He looks ready to kill someone.”
“Sorry, man. If I got lumped in with Central folks, I’d be pissed off too.”
“Of course we meant the Central Empire, obviously.”
Sing closed his eyes and lowered the hand resting on his scabbard. Only then did the suffocating tension that had gripped the room finally dissipate.
“Listen, everyone, don’t get the wrong idea,” the female senior beside Bigstone sighed, waving her hands defensively. “Bigstone isn’t crazy. He just accidentally inhaled vapors while brewing an experimental potion, so he’s stuck with the Truth Confession status ailment for a week.”
Forces the afflicted to loudly blurt out their innermost thoughts and secret feelings while desperately attempting to deny them.
Duration: 7 Days
“That’s not true! She is definitely NOT the friend I harbored a secret crush on, I definitely didn’t confess and get brutally rejected because of the potion’s effects, and I am NOT afflicted with a Truth Confession debuff! I don’t want to die of embarrassment at all, and I am definitely not too flustered to look her in the eye right now!”
“…As you can see, this is his current state.”
This senior is spilling his entire soul right now.
Wait… could there actually be a chance between them? She rejected his confession, yet they still hang out together.
The eyes of the remaining first-years, Isabelle included, brimmed with unbridled fascination. As a barrage of eager questions began pelting the senior—asking when he confessed, what kinds of questions appeared on the first semester midterm, where he hid his secret safe, and so on—Isabelle leaned down to check on Orknodi.
“What do you think, Orknodi? Do you really think this class will be okay?”
“Of course! The lectures might be brutal, the grading stingy, and our reputations dragged straight into the abyss, but as long as it’s fun, who cares?”
“……”
Isabelle found herself seriously contemplating whether she ought to flee the classroom—not for Orknodi’s sake, but for her own future. But before she could make up her mind, she realized they had wasted far too much time on the ridiculous senior.
Rrrrriiiing…
“That will be enough idle chatter. It is time for class to begin.”
The lecture had officially started.
The professor began by introducing herself. Turning to the blackboard, she penned her name in large, flamboyant cursive script.
Bronze de Estrada
“Bronze de Estrada. That is my name.”
Rrrrriiiing…
“As Bigstone so eloquently mentioned, prior to being invited as a professor at this academy, I operated as a chivalrous thief across the Central Empire.”
Rrrrriiiing…
“Some may question my qualifications, but a chivalrous thief is an occupation that treats the nocturnal streets of the Empire as its playground of adventure. I am more than qualified to serve as a professor in the Faculty of Adventure, so you may rest easy.”
Rrrrriiiing…
“Um, Professor. The bell keeps ringing.”
Unable to endure the incessant noise any longer, one of the freshmen raised a hand. The chime had continued uninterrupted since the start of class, showing no signs of stopping.
“Ah. That happens to be the method by which you may leave this lecture.”
“Excuse me?”
“One can cultivate insight through reading textbooks, but it can also be honed through direct, intuitive practice. Moreover, a chivalrous thief is a class that moves on its feet. As such, I intend to conduct a light practical exercise for everyone present.”
Professor Estrada casually twirled a conductor’s baton in one hand, flicking it through the air with practiced rhythm.
At that moment, Orknodi reached out and tugged at the sleeves of Isabelle and Giselle’s uniforms.
“?”
Meeting their puzzled gazes, Orknodi offered a mischievous grin and clamped both hands firmly over her ears.
Is she telling us to copy her?
Her childlike playfulness must be acting up again.
Still, covering one’s ears in the middle of a lecture is far too disrespectful…
Just as Isabelle opened her mouth to offer a gentle reprimand, Professor Estrada swept both arms wide like an orchestral maestro, flashing a roguish grin that mirrored Orknodi’s own.
The very next instant, an unimaginable uproar—one entirely unfitting for a classroom in the world’s preeminent academy—erupted violently.
Beep-beep-beep-beep!
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Wake up! It’s morning! Wake up! It’s morning!
Rrrrrriiiiing! Rrrrrriiiiing!
SCREEEEECH!
Wrrrm—. Wrrrm—. Wrrrm—.
Ring-a-ding-ding right in your ears!
BEEP—. BEEP—. BEEP—. BEEP—. BEEP—. BEEP—.
Rrrrriiiing…
“Aaaaaargh!”
“My ears!”
“I’m going to lose my mind!”
A deluge of alarms ambushed them from every conceivable angle! Overwhelmed by the sensory assault of sheer auditory terrorism, Isabelle and Giselle recoiled in horror, desperately clamping their hands over their ears.
“Now then, students! Allow me to explain the terms of our first practical exercise! Any student who demonstrates sufficient ‘insight’ to locate a hidden bell within this classroom and deactivate it may depart immediately!”
“Naturally, those lacking insight shall remain trapped in this cacophony alongside myself!”
“As a point of interest, should every single bell be discovered, everyone may exit at once! If you all join forces and disarm every bell, I shall even award bonus points—provided, of course, that applies exclusively to those who persist in the search until the bitter end!”
The first-years instantly understood the terrifying gravity of what Bigstone had blurted out earlier.
“Isn’t this completely sadistic?!”
“No wonder the second-years refused to take this class!”
“Wait, we have second-year upperclassmen with us! The seniors will definitely know how to escape—!”
Before the freshmen could finish their plea, the three second-years snatched up an emergency escape axe, an emergency exit light hanging above the door, and a standard classroom chair, shouting in unison:
“Object, revert to your true form!”
“Return to Original Form!”
“Found you, you miserable alarm clock!”
Poof! Poof! Poof!
With three soft puffs of smoke, the disguised items transformed back into ticking alarm clocks. Watching the second-years triumphantly slap down on the shut-off buttons, the first-years froze in utter disbelief.
“The clocks had transfiguration magic placed on them?!”
“Good gods! That’s blatant cheating!”
“W-We haven’t even learned that kind of magic yet!!”
Professor Estrada accepted the silenced alarm clocks from the three upperclassmen, humming approvingly as she nodded.
“As expected of second-years, you aren’t sluggish like the greenhorns. You pass. It seems retaking the course wasn’t entirely in vain.”
“You heard the lady. We’re taking our leave, juniors.”
The freshmen stared at their retreating backs with eyes dripping with betrayal.
“Seniors! How could you abandon your own juniors and escape by yourselves?!”
“We were abandoned just like this last year.”
“!!”
It was a generational legacy of pure malice, handed down across academic cohorts through the proud, unyielding tradition of this lecture!
Amid the ocean of despairing freshmen, only Isabelle and Giselle wore entirely different expressions, their eyes widening in shock as they turned to look down at the young girl beside them.
“Orknodi… How on earth did you know this would happen?”
“Lady Orknodi… does your family provide briefings on practical coursework beforehand?”