There, All Done Writing, Right?
"You can't go doing that, squirt."
"Ow!"
A dull clonk rattled my skull. When I jerked my head up from the blow—delivered by a fist as solid and heavy as a forearm-sized boulder—Son Ocheon was staring down at me with pure disdain.
"Hey, runt. Have you been hanging around your fancy employer so much that you've started playing merchant?"
"Hmph! That hurt, you know!"
"I hit you so it would hurt. Mugging people and demanding points to buy their stuff back is straight-up extortion, ain't it?"
"B-but these guys said awful things to Hestia! They're terrible people!"
Even Hestia had the decency to pick her targets. If you looked closely at the lot of them, every single one had it coming.
"Even so, is shaking down weaklings really your style? If you're gonna beat them half to death, do it clean and proper. Don't go running around like some crooked corporate baron forcing sales on people."
"Fine... I'll keep that in mind next time..."
"Not next time. Starting right now."
"Yes, sir... Right now, too..."
Son Ocheon was still a core companion, a tenured founding member of the original Orknodi party. Being a monkey beastman, once he got sulky it was a massive headache to deal with, so I decided to humor his stubborn streak just this once.
Yet the students with swollen, bruised black eyes only seemed to look at me with even greater dread.
"Here. Take your flag."
"I-I-It's fine! Really! We don't even need the flag, just please spare our lives!"
"Huh? See? He says he's fine!"
"You knucklehead. He's only saying that because he's scared out of his wits. Just give him the damn flag."
"Fineee..."
Reluctantly, I shoved the flag into one boy's hands.
The moment his fingers touched the fabric, he burst into full-blown, wailing sobs.
At the adjacent tables, his dining companions kept their heads glued to their metal trays, utensils entirely frozen, maintaining a suffocating, graveyard silence.
What was with this atmosphere?
I listened to Uncle Son Ocheon, did a good deed, and returned their flag! Why were they acting like I was the grim reaper?!
"What's going on? Did something bad happen to you guys?"
"N-No, not at all! W-We're just... naturally quiet people..."
"Hey! Shut your mouth and just eat your food!"
Another student hastily jabbed an elbow into the ribs of the boy trying to cover for his bruised friend, shutting him up on the spot.
It stung a little to see them this terrified when even an idiot could read the room. But my brief sulk was cut short by the prickly heat of several dozen gazes boring into my back. I glanced around the dining hall.
"That guy's academy life is completely finished."
"She's just gonna come back and beat him up whenever she gets bored, isn't she?"
"I bet she decided that instead of taking their flags, she's going to beat them to death."
"Let's get out of here. Fast."
"If she catches us looking, we might end up on her hit list too."
"Wait, I haven't even finished my milk..."
"Do you want to drink your milk and ruin your entire academy career, or throw it out and survive?!"
All at once, students abandoned their complimentary milk cartons and rushed toward the disposal bins with half-eaten trays. They dumped precious cuts of meat into the trash without a second thought and sprinted out of the cafeteria as if the building were on fire.
Watching the bruised victims and their friends scatter in absolute pandemonium left me entirely flabbergasted.
"W-Wait! Stop right there! You still have to accept my apology!"
"It's fine! You don't need to apologize!"
"Take your flags with you too!"
"Keep them! You can have every single one, just please, please forgive us!"
"??"
I did everything they asked, apologized nicely, and tried to be a model student—yet somehow, I had only terrified them even more.
"That's what happened! You have to discipline her!"
"And why should we do that?"
The patrol instructors merely gave a cold, bureaucratic reply to the gaggle of students who had rushed over, pouring out every petty grievance and embellished detail imaginable.
"Violence that occurs during the acquisition of flags for assignments under Teachings of the Headmaster does not violate school regulations. There will be no physical sanctions."
"How can you say that?!"
"When you used your authority to extort 'protection fees' in Points from the lower-class students and monopolized access hours for Group B's training facilities, the instructors did not intervene either."
It wasn't because the instructors lacked the power to stop them, nor was it out of fear of their noble backers.
"The Headmaster respects human free will. Be it an inclination toward good, or toward evil."
The Headmaster did not care for moral trivialities. Consequently, the academy's fundamental policy was to refrain from active intervention in student conflicts.
"Instead, we evaluate. We observe your conduct across campus—who broke which minor rule, who displayed model behavior worthy of merits. And from that, we tally your Points."
Points were almighty.
Justice within the academy existed solely through the ledger of Points.
Only then did the students finally realize that the Headmaster's decree—that Points were everything—had been the absolute, literal truth.
"If you feel wronged, enroll in the Knight Faculty's physical combat courses. Once you grow stronger through the power of learning, you won't have to wander the halls getting beaten up."
"Hmph! Fine. It was our mistake to rely on instructors in the first place. A noble's problems will be settled like nobles."
A noble wins through connections!
The only people who truly cared about noble dignity were fellow aristocrats. With their minds made up, the students stormed off, determined to plead their case to a professor hailing from the Imperial aristocracy.
Wednesday, Period 3: Professor Weird's Basics and Understanding of Mana Usage.
True to form, the dryad professor captivated the lecture hall in an outfit woven purely from leaves and vines—a daring ensemble that exposed far more skin than it concealed.
"Last session, we gathered the puzzle pieces of natural mana. Today, we will write down the theoretical formulas required to actually utilize those pieces."
Chalk in hand, the dryad professor turned her back to the class, and the students' eyes immediately drifted away from the blackboard to fixate on her figure.
Even from the front, the scant foliage failing to fully cover her underboob and upper cleavage practically invited the imagination to flesh out a pair of ripe, succulent fruits. But seeing her completely unbothered by her bare midriff, with sharply defined vertical abs and a neat, charming navel, I was certain that at least half the lecture hall—male and female alike—had already lost their minds.
And the other half?
Hopelessly mesmerized by her back, no doubt.
Watching that supple waist taper down into a dramatic S-curve brought all sorts of wild thoughts to mind—from wanting to wrap your arms around it to tracing a fingertip straight down her spine.
Of course, while everyone was busy daydreaming, an uncomfortable reality gradually dawned on them: Wait, isn't the chalk moving a little too fast?
"Orknodi. Isn't Professor Weird's backside incredible? I've never seen hips that pretty. I know dryads are supposed to be charming, but do you think she does special glute workouts?"
"Dorothy. If you keep staring, you're going to regret it. Start taking notes."
"Notes? Can't I just wait until she finishes writing the whole—wait, what?! When did she write that much?!"
The secret lay in her vines.
Acting like extra pairs of hands, dozens of supple vines wielded board markers, sweeping across the massive 1,200 by 5,000-millimeter blackboard at terrifying speed.
Even if a person sketched with both hands, ordinary students would struggle to keep pace. Yet she was scribbling away across five distinct sections simultaneously with over ten vines at once.
Given that human students possessed only two hands, keeping up with the transcription was an exercise in sheer futility.
Glancing back at the sweat-drenched, panicking students, Professor Weird smiled with utter satisfaction.
"There, all finished writing, right? Then I'll wipe it clean."
"Wait, Professor!!!"
"How could you do this to us?!"
"You literally just finished writing it a second ago!"
"We haven't copied down a single line! You have to give us time to write!"
A chorus of desperate shrieks erupted across the hall.
Professor Weird merely tilted her head in mild confusion.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Excuse me?!"
"I am the one who finished writing."
"......"
Indeed.
Even the youthful, vibrant Professor Weird—who looked so underdressed she would be branded an exhibitionist anywhere outside campus—had a fatal flaw.
She was a thoroughly selfish, ruthless tenured professor who couldn't care less about what her students felt.
I demonstrated the magnificent superiority of a wood nymph to the students. Why should I care about their feelings?
That was her genuine, unfiltered philosophy.
Naturally, I already knew she thought this way.
This woman was simply proud and thrilled that she had completed such flawless, exhaustive theoretical notes. Her true objective was flaunting her supreme talent to the world—not acting as an earnest educator guiding boneheaded fledglings toward wisdom and culture!
"Waaah! I didn't even get half of it!"
"I only copied half the formula! I can't understand any of this! An incomplete circuit is just useless garbage!"
Dorothy, the apprentice forest keeper from the outskirts, as well as Rosini from the Red Magic Tower and Sandcooker from the Yellow Magic Tower—the arrogant prodigies of the Imperial magic towers—were all wiped out without mercy.
"Looking for notes on Sector 1-2!"
"Did anyone manage to copy down Sector 1-3?!"
"I have Sector 1-4! Willing to trade with anyone who got Sector 1-3...!"
"I'll pay five Points! Just let me look at it once, please!"
"I'll give five Points plus my dessert rations for the next week!"
"Ten Points!!!"
"What?! Giving up two meals' worth of Points for a single page of notes?! Are you insane?!"
"I have plenty of money! Points can be recovered! But a blown grade, an academic suspension, and the scorn of my noble house can never be undone!"
Once the lecture ended, Basics and Understanding of Mana Usage devolved from a trading floor into pure pandemonium.
Because most students naturally transcribed from the far left out of habit, almost everyone had only copied Page 1-1, leaving the rest of the board virtually blank in their notebooks. Very few possessed the presence of mind to target alternative sections with the intention of trading notes later.
"Uwaaah... What do I do? We're only on the second lecture and I'm already doomed!"
"Don't cry, Dorothy. I took notes."
"Really?! Which parts did you get?!"
"Pages 1-3 and 2-3."
"Whaaat?! 1-3 is completely out of stock, and only one person in the entire hall managed to write down 2-3!"
"When you take notes, you target the rarest, highest-value sections first. That's the only way you can swap with others to piece together the complete set."
Dorothy's shoulders slumped forward.
"B-But I only managed to copy Page 1-1, 2-1, and 2-2..."
"It's fine. I'll let you copy mine."
"Seriously?! But the pages I have are practically worthless! Are you sure that's okay?!"
"Of course. We're friends, aren't we?"
"Orknodi...!"
"In exchange, you're going to take the pages you copy from me, sell them to the other kids for ten Points each, and cut me a fifty percent broker fee!"
"......"
I already knew the entire curriculum by heart. The only reason I bothered lifting a pen was for a good old-fashioned Point duplication glitch.