6. Tradition, Corruption, Malpractice, Custom
6. Tradition, Corruption, Malpractice, Custom
The area where the professors' laboratories clustered was one of the most dangerous mage realms in Grandis Academy.
Some of that came from the graduate student dormitories and magic labs—the two places where the most catastrophic accidents in the entire academy occurred—but more than that, the entire zone carried an uncanny atmosphere all its own.
"What do you want for lunch today?"
"You can even think about food after those research results?"
"Forget about them. Your labmate who joined at the same time is already getting ready for his defense——"
BANG!!!!!
"——isn't he? That's exactly why I'm saying let's just enjoy a decent meal."
"Fine, you ass. Let's go carve up some meat or something."
A neglected lab left collapsed, the building next door suddenly exploding—and yet the passersby didn't so much as flinch. They threw up defensive spells or knocked debris aside with their weapons, then went right back to chatting and laughing.
Not that "passersby" was the right word; no ordinary student had the nerve to set foot here in the first place. Everyone walking these paths was either a professor or a graduate student.
And every last one of them met whatever blew up around here with a resounding whatever-the-fuck attitude.
Until, that is, they spotted a particular figure and froze solid. Even the grad students who'd just casually swatted away debris went rigid.
"Director Adam of Finance, good morning!"
"A very good morning to you!"
"Thank you for all your hard work."
They bent their heads in greeting, so tense that their voices came out strange.
The office of Finance Director of Grandis Academy carried that much weight. The Finance Director decided everything—lab budget allocations, research grant approvals.
And so while there were certainly those who looked upon him unfavorably, professors and their graduate students all treated the Finance Director with the utmost deference as a matter of course. Who would take responsibility if a bad impression got their research funding cut?
"Finance Director, my professor has asked me to convey that he would very much like to meet with you——"
"Finance Director, our research this cycle——"
"It would be the greatest honor if you would attend our lab's defense——"
"The preparations for this paper——"
A swarm of people converged on him, all hoping to snag even a little more funding. A pack of wolves starving for budget and grants.
I politely declined every request and made my way toward the person who had been waiting for me from a distance.
As though an invisible barrier were in place, the closer I drew to that person, the more the grad students peeled away, until at last a white-bearded old man smiled at me with a benevolent expression.
"It's been a while, Finance Director."
"Dean Villend. My apologies for not visiting more often—official duties keep me occupied."
"Apologies? The Finance Director's overtime marathons are so widely known that even I've heard about them. Please, come in."
"Thank you for your consideration."
Dean Villend. A man from the Empire's Magic Tower, once a candidate to become the Archmage's disciple—the very Archmage who now led the Tower.
His abilities were outstanding, but he was pushed out in the Tower's factional struggles and eventually settled in the Kingdom.
After that, he caught the Chairwoman's eye and became a professor, ultimately rising to Dean overseeing the entire magic division.
By academy regulations he was nominally on the same department-head level as me... but his 7th Rank power and his seniority—second only to the Head of Academic Affairs in length of service at the academy—meant he was, in practice, treated a full rank above any mere department head.
The one saving grace was that he'd been driven out of the Magic Tower by political infighting, and because of that he refused to entangle himself in academy factions or political matters.
We chatted idly as we walked to the Dean's office, and once I'd taken my seat, he spoke.
"Right. You said you wanted a meeting with Professor Kirke."
"I assume you're well aware of what happened during this year's research budget allocation meeting."
"A reagent spell to restore damaged hair and regenerate follicles on scalps where the hair had been permanently lost, wasn't it? Frankly, if it hadn't been Professor Kirke who proposed it, I wouldn't have believed such a thing possible."
"Because even the Church hasn't managed it?"
"At least in the fields of healing and regeneration, the modern magical academia still hasn't caught up to the Church. And even the Church gave up on developing a hair-loss cure, didn't it?"
"Which means if it truly succeeds, the profits will be immense. That is why I've come in person as Finance Director to see Professor Kirke."
"Hmm."
"And more importantly."
I narrowed my eyes slightly, and Dean Villend—who had kept up his kindly smile—quietly met my gaze.
What came next was something we both knew well.
But it was nowhere in the academy regulations.
"...Hasn't Professor Kirke already received a 'welfare benefit'? I refer to the improved healing potion research."
"You're... calling that a benefit?"
"It's a matter the Chairwoman herself acknowledged. What could I possibly say against it?"
"In that case, I'm grateful—but truth be told, I was uneasy. No matter how long-standing the 'Custom' has been, Professor Kirke's case clearly crossed a line."
"You thought I'd come here to reprimand or discipline her?"
"If that weren't the case, there'd be no reason to keep Professor Kirke's application of the 'Custom' a secret, would there? I'm the only one who knows—even among the deans. So I was quite anxious. What a relief."
Dean Villend's political instincts and perceptiveness were sharp, entirely separate from his aversion to political entanglements. If he'd had no political talent at all, he'd never have held onto the dean's seat.
And Dean Villend had just spoken of "welfare benefits" and "the Custom."
That was precisely why I hadn't crushed Professor Kirke immediately, and why the Chairwoman, after much deliberation, had chosen to look the other way.
Now that he understood my purpose wasn't disciplinary, the dean breathed easier. He'd been more anxious than he let on.
"Then would it be all right if I went to see Professor Kirke right away?"
"Of course. She's been terribly busy with research preparations lately—do pass along my regards. The other professors in her field have been worried as well."
"...Understood. Ah, and Dean."
"Hm?"
"The Chairwoman has summoned you. She asked that you come by today if at all possible...."
"The Chairwoman herself? Very well, I'll go at once."
The Chairwoman calling in the deans of magic, martial arts, and administration was a routine matter. So Dean Villend immediately agreed and began getting ready to head to the Chairwoman's office.
...Now I could leave the dean to the Chairwoman.
It was time for me to do my own job.
*
Professor Kirke's laboratory was a three-story building.
She had been appointed a professor barely into her early thirties, and since then she'd accumulated a string of successful research projects.
It was no exaggeration to say she was the most famous professor in the entire magic division—Dean Villend brought her up constantly in dean meetings.
Rumors even circulated that she was being lined up as the next Dean of the magic division, so the lab naturally matched her standing.
As I stood before the building—which felt more aptly described as a research complex than a mere lab—a neat, professional graduate student guided me inside.
"Finance Director Adam, we've been expecting you. Professor Kirke is in the room just over there."
"Thank you."
If this were a regular staff member or a stickler-for-hierarchy Guard Corps officer, I'd have spoken casually without a second thought. But while the administrative departments—mine included—and the professors were deeply intertwined, they were ultimately seen as distinct categories in the broader structure.
So professors treated even the most junior staff courteously, and the staff in turn treated professors and their graduate students with respect.
The room I entered was nicely furnished—clearly intended for receiving guests rather than conducting research.
And there was Professor Kirke, sitting in a chair with a somewhat anxious air. She rose and approached me.
"Welcome, Finance Director. My apologies for contacting you so late about this meeting. I've been very busy with research preparations lately...."
"Isn't it a hair-loss treatment—research that even the Church declared impossible? I understand completely. Still, you claimed sixty percent of this year's entire magic-division research budget. So I trust money hasn't been an issue."
"...No, it has not."
Among the documents I'd received from the Chairwoman, there had been some indication of funding irregularities, so I'd poked lightly—and the reaction was better than I'd expected.
Was she hoping I'd notice? Or had she been trying to hide it?
Either way, it wouldn't matter once today's conversation was over. I smiled and sat down across from Professor Kirke.
"I've heard you're busy, so we'd best skip the small talk. The reason for this meeting is the hair-loss treatment research you're conducting. And I...."
"Once the treatment is developed, its intellectual property rights will be jointly owned with the academy, and should future profits arise, the academy will hold the right to eighty percent of them."
"............."
She beat me to the punch.
Honestly, I was a little surprised. Given Professor Kirke's objective, it was a perfectly logical move, but the potential gains she stood to lose were so enormous that I'd assumed she wouldn't give them up easily.
"Isn't this exactly what you came to discuss? I'm aware that my last 'Custom'... clearly crossed a line."
Some called it a welfare benefit. Others called it the Custom.
Every organization practically has traditions that go by the name of custom. Hazing freshmen in universities, new-recruit initiation ceremonies in the military, the old-boy-network privileges in the legal profession.
These things aren't spelled out in any rule or regulation, but they've been practiced for so long that they've become traditions handed down naturally.
Grandis Academy had several such customs. A top-ranked graduate from the administration program who applied to the academy was guaranteed to be hired. Commoners entering the magic or martial arts divisions faced a degree of differential treatment. A newly hired staff member had to serve as the most junior for at least a full year, no matter what.
Sometimes called custom, sometimes entrenched privilege abuse, sometimes evil practice, sometimes tradition.
What Dean Villend and I had mentioned, what Professor Kirke was referring to now—that was one of those customs.
To be precise, it was a custom the Chairwoman had created, and a welfare benefit for the professors.
"When Grandis Academy was first established, the Chairwoman promised high salaries, excellent research environments, and various other benefits in order to recruit capable professors."
"............."
"And among those benefits, there was one that was never put in writing but was permitted separately by the Chairwoman herself."
This entire problem originated from one simple fact: the Chairwoman had far too much money.
Isn't more money always better? How could that be a problem?
To put it more precisely, in the early days of the academy's founding, the Chairwoman had so much money—absurdly much—that she refused even the subsidies a normal academy would naturally accept. She turned down donations from alumni, too.
After all, the academy—the Chairwoman—had more than enough money. So she saw no point in accepting subsidies or donations that might open the door to outside interference.
Put nicely, she was upholding her convictions about education. Put bluntly, it was arrogance.
A normal academy secures its budget mostly from subsidies, donations, tuition, and research outcomes. But she refused subsidies and donations, and tuition was set at the absolute minimum under the principle of ensuring equal access to education. All impossible without the existence of the Chairwoman.
And from that, a derivative privilege arose—a custom and a benefit reserved exclusively for the magic division professors.
"One single exception: a professor may retain full and sole ownership of their own research results."
"............."
"A tradition spanning decades, and the finest welfare benefit possessed only by the magic division professors."
The moment you hear it, your first instinct is to ask if that's even remotely reasonable. Yes, without professors, the research wouldn't happen—but does that mean the academy, which provides the funding, the facilities, the entire environment, gets zero credit?
Professors and the academy are meant to be mutually supportive partners in research. Naturally, the results ought to be shared, not owned unilaterally by one side... but.
Backed by the deans' proposals at the time, the Chairwoman ultimately looked the other way and allowed the "benefit" to stand in practice. To their credit, the professors of that era still had some conscience; they limited the results they claimed sole ownership over to personal passion projects or small-scale work that might earn a bit of extra money. But that restriction was meaningless in the long run.
Not all research generates profit in the first place, and depending on the field, some people spend their entire lives researching without ever earning a single coin. The improved healing potion was an outlier—work of that magnitude rarely came along.
And so ten years passed, then twenty, then well over twenty. In that time, the custom gradually hardened into tradition—a privilege and an entrenched abuse that any magic division professor was entitled to claim.
So, was the idea truly as stupid and gullible as it sounds?
'Of course it was fucking stupid.'
...But.
The fact remained: the policy had brought gains, too.
"Thanks to it, professors eager to transfer flooded into Grandis Academy all at once, and within a few short years the magic division boasted the finest faculty in the Kingdom—which in turn produced visibly superior educational outcomes."
"...That's correct."
Imagine a fledgling startup promising the four major social insurance programs, remote work options, top-of-the-industry salaries, and a slew of other benefits in order to recruit employees.
Someone would inevitably call them insane for a new company to offer all that. Other companies don't do it because it costs way too much. There's no need to go that far just to hire people.
But in the end, countless employees would want to join that company, and the CEO—the Chairwoman—would be able to handpick only the experienced and the highly skilled among them, instantly elevating the startup to a whole new level. It would leap to the ranks of the top corporations overnight.
I didn't know where the money came from, but she had so much of it that even after giving away that much, she could still run the enterprise for decades without a hitch—so operations carried on without a single problem.
The trouble that had been accumulating little by little over all that time was this:
Now, at last, the Chairwoman's money had run out, and everything had blown up.
"Professor Kirke, you said you know your application of the Custom crossed a line."
"...Normally, what one takes ownership of under the Custom is a minor piece of research for personal satisfaction, or a small project guaranteeing modest returns to secure one's later years."
"But your improved healing potion research was the kind that could generate enormous profits. It should, by all rights, have been shared with the academy."
"I needed... money urgently. The profits that would trickle in later weren't anywhere near enough. I needed money right then."
"Professor."
"That's why I planned this hair-loss treatment project. So that this research might, even in some small way, earn me leniency!"
If I bent over backward a hundred times and then bent a hundred times more, I could see the logic in Professor Kirke's thinking, taken on its own terms.
She'd needed money urgently, so she'd claimed ownership of a project on a scale the Custom had never been meant to cover and sold it off to the Church.
She knew it was wrong, so she'd launched a new project—one capable of guaranteeing even greater returns—to cover her sin. Going so far as to offer joint intellectual-property ownership and an eighty-percent profit share to the academy.
Given Professor Kirke's abilities, she might even have pulled it off.
The problem, however, lay here.
"Then what timeframe do you anticipate for this research?"
"Pardon? Well, the healing potion's development took about ten years since I began it during my master's... so I'm projecting around twenty years for the hair-loss treatment."
"I see."
It was the gap.
Obviously, if she succeeded in developing a hair-loss cure even after twenty years, it would be a revolution. Professor Kirke was an acknowledged authority in life magic and had already produced an outstanding breakthrough—she'd continue to be funded without difficulty.
But the current Grandis Academy didn't have the luxury of waiting twenty years. The place was going bankrupt in three, for fuck's sake.
Therefore.
"About that Custom—that welfare benefit I mentioned earlier."
"Yes."
"Don't you think it's no longer necessary?"
"...Pardon?"
"Grandis Academy has already secured a faculty that is more than sufficient—overflowing, in fact. Its position is unassailable. There's no longer any reason to go to such lengths to lure in more professors."
"Wh-what are you...."
"So I intend to abolish what has been carried on under the names of tradition, welfare benefit, and custom. To me, as Finance Director, it looks like nothing more than evil practice and entrenched privilege abuse."
"Finance Director...!!"
"The academy is not a place that exists to accommodate individual profit or personal circumstances. It is a place to educate students, conduct research, and advance knowledge. Nothing more."
This was about the finances—and beyond that, about restoring the academy to normalcy.
We'd given you everything already, you professor bastards. Top-of-the-industry salaries. Generous benefits. Research environments with no shortcomings. Even an extra research outcome to take home under the name of the Custom.
The academy had sacrificed and devoted itself for you.
So now it was your turn to put yourselves on the line for the academy.