6. Tradition, Corruption, Malpractice, Custom

My goal, as Finance Director of this academy, was to normalize its financial state.

I'd already done plenty toward that end—accepting bribes from a few students, attempting to send Beatrice back home, negotiating with dwarves and merchant companies.

But almost all of that concentrated on revenue. The underlying assumption was simple: we're short on money, so we need to go out and make some.

That approach has a clear ceiling.

'In the end, you can't count on long-term income without subsidies or donations.'

Bribes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had to be handled covertly, which kept them small. Scaling up meant real corruption within the academy—a whole new problem in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠its own right.

The artifact I'd squeezed out of the King bought us another month and more breathing room, but that had been nothing more than a windfall—unplanned and temporary.

The academy's lifespan? Sure, it had lengthened. But time kept passing regardless. Earn a day by spending a day, and you're only maintaining the status quo.

Which didn't mean I could slack off on finding more revenue. The simple reality was that even maintaining that status quo was growing harder by the day.

So I needed another path.

Increasing income isn't the only road to financial normalization, after all.

'Then cut costs.'

If you can't substantially increase the money coming in, you just have to reduce the money going out.

And among the academy's many expenditures, the one I had resolved to target was this:

"F-Finance Director. Are you serious? Abolishing the Custom...?"

"Of course, I don't intend to eliminate every custom. But from now on, no magic department professor will personally own their research results."

"That's absurd! That's our privilege—!"

"The fact that you regard the Chairwoman's goodwill as a privilege is itself proof that you've strayed very far from the original intent. According to the employment contract you signed upon your appointment as professor, all research results are co-owned with the academy and may not be used unilaterally."

"But everyone who knows anything knows that Grandis Academy grants its professors ownership of their research! If you abolish that now, we won't be able to attract capable—"

"Grandis Academy has already earned its reputation as the finest in the Kingdom, and we are inundated with professors who wish to work here. More to the point, if a professor's only reason for seeking appointment is personal ownership of research results, we would rather decline them ourselves."

"Even so..."

"Most importantly, shouldn't we be precise about the wording? This 'privilege' is granted to 'magic department professors'—not to 'all professors,' is it?"

"......"

Abolish the Custom enjoyed by the magic department professors.

What did that have to do with cutting costs? As a standalone measure, honestly, not all that much. Professor Kirke's abuse of the Custom was an extreme outlier. In the ordinary course of things, a professor owning their research rarely caused the academy meaningful losses.

Just as not every research project generates revenue, profitable research was generally shared with the academy. In practice, the income from such research was substantial.

Take Professor Kirke's healing potion formula—there had already been multiple projects of comparable profitability in academy history, and their revenues had been the single greatest contributor to keeping the institution afloat even after the Chairwoman's personal fortune was nearly exhausted.

Abolishing the Custom was, first and foremost, a catalyst.

The catalyst I needed to achieve the cost reductions I wanted—while also being the easiest one to start with.

"Even if that's true, no matter how high the Finance Director may stand, you cannot unilaterally abolish a custom that has endured for decades!"

"Hm."

"This is brazen tyranny—a naked power grab by the Finance Director!"

Take away something that's been given, and vested interests always resist. Even when it originated from the Chairwoman's goodwill, as the saying goes—let goodwill continue long enough, and people start mistaking it for a right.

It's the same principle as a new company commander ordering the abolition of the new-recruit reporting assembly, only for the soldiers to keep it alive in secret, grumbling that he's destroying some great and glorious tradition.

In the end, they get something out of it. For soldiers, the thrill of hazing newcomers; for professors, tangible advantage.

This resistance was entirely expected.

'But the thing is.'

There was a reason I was having this conversation with Professor Kirke rather than Dean Villend.

"You needn't worry. I'm not the one abolishing the Custom."

"What...? Surely not the Chairwoman...?"

A reasonable assumption. They could push back against me, however grudgingly, but opposing the Chairwoman was impossible from the start.

The academy's founder, who had poured her own fortune into running it for decades, an 8th Rank martial artist who had devoted herself sincerely to education—how exactly would anyone overcome her?

And since the rumors painted me as the Chairwoman's right hand, her closest confidant, or—according to the more absurd gossip—her secret lover, the assumption was understandable.

"No."

"Th-then."

"It is Professor Kirke."

"...Excuse me?"

Professor Kirke was right that if I stepped forward myself, the backlash would be severe. I could use her as a meat shield, but I wouldn't escape taking flak myself.

Because in the end, it would look like a newly appointed Finance Director had destroyed a fine "tradition" just to pad his own achievements.

From the professors' perspective, the academy had no financial problems at all—the Chairwoman was still the wealthiest person in the Kingdom, and the institution looked like it would endure for another hundred or two hundred years. Their view was perfectly natural, given what they knew.

But what if it wasn't the new Finance Director who stepped forward—what if it was a fellow magic department professor?

One who, moreover, had already abused the Custom to the point where Dean Villend himself was concerned?

And who—'officially'—had never been publicly revealed to have used it, and could thus be presented as someone still untouched by it?

"What... are you saying?"

"More to the point, you haven't even used the Custom yet, have you? An abolition now would have little material impact on you, would it?"

"If I do such a thing, I'll become the common enemy of every magic department professor! Why on earth would I accept that proposal?"

"In exchange, you'll be able to cross over to the Holy Kingdom that much sooner."

Professor Kirke, who had been protesting loudly, stopped cold—eyes wide with shock.

Did she think I wouldn't know?

"Professor, you were suddenly in urgent need of funds. And yet, didn't you hand your research over to the Church for free, calling it 'pure faith'?"

"...How do you know that?"

"Did you really think that after you forcibly took personal ownership of a research result of that magnitude—wrapped in the logic of 'well, that's the Custom, nothing to be done'—the academy would simply let it slide? I've already spoken with the Church."

"......"

Thanks to that, I now had a clear picture of Professor Kirke's true aims. The cardinal on their side was sharp—she had handed over the entire record of their conversations.

From the Church's perspective, a professor they had no prior connection with had suddenly appeared, declared the research was hers by right of this Custom, and offered it as a donation. There was no reason to refuse.

The cardinal, however, had been perceptive enough to sense how large the matter was and had hinted at a willingness to return the research. After deliberation, I declined. Likely, they wished to avoid making an enemy of the academy—or, more precisely, of the Chairwoman.

Of course, it wasn't as if we had rolled over like idiots—a contract was a contract, so they'd handed it over. That sort of thing. Even if we took it back, the Church would still be the only entity capable of producing the improved potions, so we'd have had to deal with them anyway. I simply concluded a new arrangement on the spot.

In exchange for the academy raising no objection over the matter, we would receive a fixed quantity of healing potions monthly at no cost. That alone felt a little inadequate, so the remainder was converted into a personal "favor" I could call in from the cardinal when needed.

"You handed over your research for free to build a firm connection with the Church, nurtured that relationship over time, and once the hair-loss remedy was developed, you planned to relocate permanently to the Holy Kingdom. Even if you had to share the intellectual property rights and hand most of the profits to the academy."

"......"

"After all, all you truly need is a track record of accomplishing what the Church itself could not."

When she'd talked about the remedy taking twenty years, she had probably meant it sincerely. If her only goal had been moving to the Holy Kingdom, she could have crossed over the moment she donated the healing potion formula. But according to the cardinal, what Professor Kirke wanted was a high-ranking position within the Holy Kingdom.

In short, she'd been using the academy as a stepping stone for her career. That wasn't, in itself, a major problem. Just as the Chairwoman had tacitly permitted the Custom in order to attract professors, job changes among academy faculty were common enough. Morally, some might call it betrayal and point fingers, but it wasn't illegal.

It was simply that Grandis Academy was the finest in the Kingdom, so hardly anyone had wanted to leave—until now.

"Of course, the other magic department professors will condemn you harshly and make you a target of hatred. But that doesn't make you the enemy of everyone, does it?"

"...You mean the martial arts and administration department professors."

"From their perspective, the magic department has been hogging excessive special treatment. If a young genius professor—one who has 'never used the Custom'—steps forward to smash it, they'll be delighted."

And if she refused? The outcome was obvious.

I'd expose everything—her abuse of the Custom and her scheme to relocate to the Holy Kingdom. Then I'd exploit the resulting chaos to achieve my aims regardless. That had been the original plan.

The problem was that the magic department was the academy's main pillar, and chaos on that scale could demand far too much time and effort to clean up. So I'd chosen a different path.

Professor Kirke was already cornered, but she'd still need bait if I wanted her to step over willingly.

"I assume you'd rather not spend a literal twenty years developing a hair-loss remedy. Wouldn't you prefer to shorten that timeline if possible?"

"You mean..."

"For the next three years, I will increase your research funding tenfold over the current level. Three years should give you a rough sense of how long it will actually take, shouldn't it? Naturally, this won't come through the magic department—I'll channel it to you directly."

"You already know, then."

"About the discord with your fellow magic department professors? Of course. Dean Villend gave me a quiet heads-up."

Why else would a dean pass along a message that the other professors in his own department were concerned about their colleague? It was his way of signaling me while staying as far from the political fallout as possible—the best he could manage, given his position.

After receiving the Chairwoman's documents yesterday, I'd had my junior check into it immediately. The magic department students, it turned out, had frequently seen Professor Kirke arguing with other professors.

"Jealousy and containment seem to follow you closely. The fate of a genius, perhaps?"

"......"

"And if you step forward yourself, every magic department professor besides you will come under heavy fire from the rest of the faculty. Rather satisfying, wouldn't you say?"

In any case, Professor Kirke had no other option but to accept. She should have reined herself in. She'd tried to exploit the academy and the Chairwoman a little too greedily, hadn't she?

Still—if she genuinely succeeded in developing the hair-loss remedy and gave eighty percent of the profits to the academy, our finances would dramatically improve. I was willing to be generous about that. Just a little.

"...If I refuse this proposal, you'll bring my use of the Custom into the open immediately, won't you."

"Don't worry. Even if only for the sake of the hair-loss research, you won't be dismissed. But your position—already besieged by jealousy and containment—will grow even narrower. Instead of twenty years, it might take twice that. And your research funding will dry up for reasons no one can quite explain."

"So that's why you never announced it officially, and kept it quiet...? A checkmate."

"Well then. What will you do?"

I extended my hand toward Professor Kirke, who was grinding her teeth in agitation.

She stared at my hand for a long moment.

"...Once the development is complete, I trust my relocation to the Holy Kingdom will proceed smoothly."

"Succeed in the development, and I'll negotiate directly with the Church myself. Focus solely on your research. In any case, stepping outside will only draw glares."

"I'll keep that in mind."

At last, Professor Kirke took my hand.

Help her move to the Holy Kingdom? I would. Assuming the academy hadn't gone bankrupt before then.

If it went bankrupt, the promise would be unenforceable anyway. And if the hair-loss remedy actually succeeded and staved off bankruptcy, I'd be happy to help that much. Though I would, of course, quietly tip the cardinal off about Professor Kirke's... temperament.

'I do hold a bit of a grudge.'

Once you've been thoroughly screwed over, you don't let it go easily.

Fortunately, the cardinal was a reasonable person, so I'd minimized the damage. But if she hadn't pulled that stunt with the donation in the first place, I could have negotiated from a much stronger position—and extracted far more. With the Church already holding all the research data, a stonewall from her would have put me in genuine trouble.

She'd pulled that shit with the healing potion research and offered not a single apology, then had the gall to announce she'd spend twenty years of academy money on more research. That had really pissed me off. Brace yourself. You've clearly got the skills, so I intend to wring you dry.

I didn't know why she was so fixated on a high-ranking post in the Holy Kingdom, but so long as she stayed focused on the hair-loss remedy, it was all for the—

──Kirke. So your face at the academy was a mask all along. To think you'd reduce the Holy Kingdom to this!

──You... I remember you from the academy. The perennial dead-last student?

──I will never, never forgive you...! Kirke!!

──Yes, I was terribly inexperienced back then. This time, I'll kill everything connected to that past.

"......"

"Finance Director?"

"No... it's nothing."

What had that just been?

The moment I took Professor Kirke's hand, I'd heard voices—like an auditory hallucination, or tinnitus.

They weren't my voice. I'd heard them somewhere before—I was sure these were voices I knew.

And yet the voices I'd clearly heard, together with their content, vanished from my memory in an instant. Only a faint afterimage remained. I couldn't remember a single word of what they'd said.

...What on earth had that been?

Professor Kirke was watching me with questioning eyes.

All I could do was meet her gaze with a slightly twisted expression of my own.

*

The day cursed by countless souls: Monday.

From early morning, Grandis Academy's main conference hall was thronged with people.

"What's all this about, so suddenly? Are we dealing with a matter of grave importance?"

"The research budget planning meeting's already done."

"Word came from the Chairwoman herself. Every professor in magic, martial arts, and administration is to suspend classes and assemble."

"Well, cancelled classes are fine by me. Once this is over, maybe I'll take the whole day off for once. Surely this won't count against our allowed cancellations?"

"But where is Professor Kirke...? Surely she hasn't skipped out because of that precious research of hers? And where is Dean Villend?"

Professors from magic, martial arts, and administration.

They had gathered in the same conference hall where the budget planning meeting had been held, and now a low buzz of voices rose—some speculating about the reason for the summons, some simply enjoying the cancelled lectures, others chatting with colleagues.

A few professors trembled with unease, wondering if trouble had befallen the academy, while others noted the absence of certain faces despite nearly the entire faculty being present.

Soon enough, their voices subsided.

Something.

Something bearing an overwhelming presence was drawing near the conference hall.

"All professors, rise."

"The Chairwoman is entering."

The deans of the martial arts and administration departments, seated at the very front, took the lead in marshaling the faculty.

Every professor stood at proper attention, and the doors opened.

"I'm sorry for calling everyone together so early in the morning. Please, be seated."

"We greet the Chairwoman."

"""""We greet the Chairwoman!"""""

The salutations and honors were as elaborate as those welcoming a sovereign of a nation.

Within the academy, at least, the Chairwoman's standing was indistinguishable from a king's—so the comparison wasn't much of an exaggeration.

The Chairwoman acknowledged the professors' greeting with a light nod and took the head seat, the four people she'd brought in with her arrayed behind her.

The Head of Academic Affairs, and the Finance Director.

The appearance of two individuals who counted as true powers even among department heads drew the professors' attention—

But compared to the remaining two, the interest was modest.

"Dean Villend."

"Yes, Chairwoman."

"Begin."

"Understood."

One of the remaining two—Dean Villend, wearing a somewhat somber expression—stepped forward before the professors with heavy strides.

After a brief cough to clear his throat, he spoke.

"This emergency meeting has been convened because of a professor's declaration of conscience."

"Declaration of conscience...?"

"What does that mean?"

"Surely... not?"

"Professor Kirke, speak."

"Yes, Dean Villend."

And the last of the four—Professor Kirke—came forward, her expression as coolly composed as ever. She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seemed to glance sidelong at someone for a moment, but regardless.

At the appearance of the young professor known as the magic department's foremost genius, most of the martial arts and administration faculty merely tilted their heads in puzzlement.

Only a handful of magic department professors, as though struck by intuition, opened their eyes wide.

"I stand here as a professor, before you all, to make a declaration of conscience. I offer my infinite gratitude to the Chairwoman for providing this forum."

"Continue."

"Here and now, I—"

"That—that can't be...!"

"Professor Kirke! Shut your mouth at once!"

"Nonsense!"

Only then did the professors—specifically, the magic department professors—realize what Kirke was about to say, and a few shot to their feet or raised their voices.

A single gesture from the Chairwoman forcibly sealed lips and drove them back into their seats.

Behind her, the Head of Academic Affairs glared fiercely at any professor who showed resistance, while the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Finance Director—ostensibly in the role of recording secretary—continued writing something down.

Dean Villend lowered his head with a somber expression.

"—wish to confess the 'special favor,' the entrenched privilege abuse and the evil practice that the magic department's professors, myself included, have continued to enjoy."

Professor Kirke.

Dropped a bomb on the conference hall.