6. Tradition, Corruption, Malpractice, Custom
6. Tradition, Corruption, Malpractice, Custom
"For many years, the professors of the magic department have been permitted to select and personally own one research outcome of their choosing. While this began as the Chairwoman's early gesture to attract exceptional faculty during the academy's founding days, there is no reason for it to have continued this long."
Professor Kirke's delivery had the clarity of a seasoned educator—concise and to the point. Her tone felt less like a confession or a crisis of conscience and more like a lecture delivered to students.
Perhaps that was precisely why the response from the faculty escalated so fiercely.
"Professor Kirke! Have you lost all sense of restraint?!"
"Kirke! What in the world are you saying?!"
"That is our tradition!"
It made sense that the magic department, boasting the largest number of professors, produced the loudest outcry—the declaration was aimed directly at them.
The martial arts and administration professors outnumbered them when combined. Yet they did not react with the same outrage.
Every professor at Grandis Academy already knew this arrangement existed in the shadows, and none of them felt any pressing need to feign shock.
Moreover, Professor Kirke kept speaking despite the shouts from the magic department.
"Using this privilege, this 'benefit,' magic professors primarily claimed research with strong commercial potential or results that would significantly advance their careers. When I first received my appointment, this benefit was among the very first things I heard about."
Professor Kirke phrased it with just the right amount of calculated ambiguity—exactly as the Finance Director had advised.
It was true that magic professors had used the Custom to claim profitable research and career-enhancing results. But any result that produced even a trivial profit still counted as commercially viable, and what research outcome wasn't career-enhancing if you framed it that way?
Dean Villend had always been cautious. The magic professors knew that even a tradition, even a custom, would end if they crossed certain lines. They had largely avoided claiming excessively valuable research.
Not that every magic professor had been so restrained. And from the perspective of the other departments, even the mere possibility that someone could claim a large-scale research project was infuriating.
The only reason no one had spoken up before was that the magic department held the strongest position at Grandis Academy, and the Chairwoman had tacitly permitted it during the founding era.
This moment was different.
Even knowing Professor Kirke was deliberately stoking them with vague language, the martial arts and administration professors gladly played along.
They had no reason to split hairs.
"Ownership of research results? What is the meaning of—?!"
"Even if the magic department represents Grandis Academy, is this not a gross overreach?!"
"Employment contracts clearly grant the academy shared ownership of research outcomes—are you telling me the magic department has been flouting that under the excuse of some 'custom'?"
"This is outrageous! You've kept this going for decades?!"
"You must have already claimed countless critical projects! And you still call yourselves scholars?!"
There wasn't a single professor unaware of the magic department's Custom. Yet the martial arts and administration faculty voiced their indignation and resentment as if hearing about it for the first time.
The ignorance was an act; the outrage was entirely genuine. What sense did it make that only the magic department enjoyed such benefits when they were all professors of the same academy?
Years of resentment and jealousy, built up through blatant favoritism, now had a sanctioned release.
If you traced the root cause, it was the Chairwoman who had tacitly permitted it. But that had been in the academy's earliest days, and there was a rationale—attracting faculty. Human nature tends to resent not the one who first granted the privilege, but the ones who flaunt and exploit it before your eyes every day.
The martial arts and administration professors raised their voices against the magic department.
The conference room turned into a marketplace in an instant.
"I welcomed this benefit even as I harbored profound doubts. A truly hypocritical stance. Had I kept silent, this privilege would have continued under the name of 'custom,' as it always has. But I could no longer endure it."
She had used the Custom quite well herself, and more flagrantly than anyone.
"We did not become professors purely to pursue profit. Are we not scholars and educators who sought the farthest reaches of our disciplines, our martial arts, our research? How can such educators avert their eyes from their own conscience?"
The words weren't wrong, but plenty of professors had been drawn by the industry's highest salaries and extensive benefits. Professor Kirke herself was not so different.
"And so, after long deliberation, I stand here today. If this brands me a traitor, draws scorn, or even leads to my dismissal—I accept it."
She would not accept it. If she were truly dismissed, Professor Kirke would fight it with everything she had.
"I merely make this Declaration of Conscience as a professor of Grandis Academy."
In the end, the entire confession was built on lies. Anyone who knew Professor Kirke's true circumstances would have cursed her as a breathtaking hypocrite and a shameless fraud.
But her own dealings with the Custom had been kept rigorously secret. Only Dean Villend, the Chairwoman, and the Finance Director knew. Likewise, no one could possibly know about her backroom deal with the Finance Director.
If no one knows, does a lie even count as a lie? And even if someone did know, it hardly mattered.
When a falsehood benefits those who hear it, and aligns with what they already believe is morally right, plenty of people will choose to look the other way.
Professor Kirke's Declaration of Conscience came to an end.
"................"
"............."
The magic professors glared at Professor Kirke as if they wanted to devour her, while the martial arts and administration professors regarded her with warm approval. A strange, contradictory tableau—perhaps intensified by how loudly everyone had been shouting moments before.
The dean of the martial arts department, a middle-aged man covered in scars, gave a firm nod.
"Professor Kirke, we thank you for your Declaration of Conscience."
The dean of the administration department, an older woman with gentle eyes, smiled.
"It cannot have been easy. That was an act of courage."
And then the dean of the magic department.
With the bewildered stares of his own faculty upon him, his position beside the steely-faced Chairwoman made everything clear.
Dean Villend, having already received his instructions from the Chairwoman, finally spoke.
"...Professor Kirke's Declaration of Conscience fills me, as dean of the magic department, with profound guilt. Chairwoman."
"............."
"There is no falsehood in Professor Kirke's words. As the one who bears the responsibility of dean... I offer my resignation."
"Dean!"
"Dean! You mustn't! Why would you—!"
"Professor Kirke! You—!!"
"Quiet. All of you."
"""................"""
The Chairwoman, who had been listening in silence from the head seat, shut every mouth in the room with an expression of cold iron.
Her influence was absolute—she had sustained this academy on her personal wealth alone, accepting no subsidies or donations. Unswayed by competing interests, she could enforce her convictions without compromise.
One word from the Chairwoman, and Dean Villend really would be gone. Beyond him, the entire magic faculty could be purged. It would throw the academy into chaos, but the terrifying part was that the Chairwoman was fully capable of doing it.
Every professor fixed their eyes on her, their faces carrying some mix of anticipation, dread, frustration, hope, and resignation.
"...This story goes back decades—far more than a few. I had just founded Grandis Academy and was scrambling to recruit competent professors who could properly educate students."
"Some came seeking me out because they knew my name, but most of them were martial artists. The magic department had almost no one. The dean at the time came to me with a suggestion."
"Let us offer a special 'benefit' to attract magic professors."
"After deep consideration, I accepted the proposal. Decades passed, and we arrived at today."
"I never imagined that benefit would persist all this time as if it were a tradition, a custom."
That was a lie. The Chairwoman remembered the Custom perfectly well. She had simply tolerated it—kept it secret—because she was the one who had permitted it.
Yet the professors found her words reasonable. The Chairwoman ruled the academy like an Iron Lord, and iron-fisted rule usually imposed a workload to match.
The light in the Chairwoman's office rarely went out even late at night—a well-known fact. Some students used it as a landmark to navigate by.
But now, a magic professor—the most celebrated young genius in the academy, no less—had made a Declaration of Conscience.
And through it, the Chairwoman gained both a clear pretext and a certain conviction.
A pretext to abolish a custom she herself had begun, and a conviction rooted in something else entirely.
──Something close to self-loathing.
"As this academy's Chairwoman, the greater fault lies with me for failing to recognize this entrenched rot far sooner."
"Chairwoman."
"Dean Villend, I am rejecting your resignation request. And Professor Kirke."
"Yes, Chairwoman."
"Had it not been for your Declaration of Conscience, this abuse masquerading as 'custom' would have continued. You have my sincere gratitude."
"You overpraise me. I merely did what was necessary."
"And make no mistake—this matter will not be handled lightly."
The Chairwoman stood like a presiding judge delivering a verdict. But what punishment could possibly fit the crime?
Abolishing the Custom was a given. The punishment also had to decisively quell the martial arts and administration professors' resentment over the magic department having sucked honey for decades. Yet it couldn't cripple the magic department itself—they were, undeniably, Grandis Academy's heart.
Was there even a punishment that satisfied all those conditions? The professors posed the question silently, waiting with bated breath for the Chairwoman's next words.
"Head of Academic Affairs. Finance Director."
"Yes, Chairwoman."
"Yes, Chairwoman."
The Chairwoman abruptly summoned the two department heads who had entered alongside her.
They stepped forward with measured deference, and the Chairwoman addressed them in a voice of absolute frost.
"Head of Academic Affairs. Re-examine the magic department's research records. Compile and submit a full accounting of every research outcome claimed under the Custom."
"Yes!"
Even in the face of a grueling order to review decades of research, the Chairwoman's devoted follower answered with bright-eyed enthusiasm.
"Finance Director."
"Yes."
"For the next ten years, reduce the salaries of every professor currently serving in the magic department."
"...!!!"
"C-Chairwoman!"
"Newly hired professors are exempt. This applies only to those currently on the faculty."
"Understood."
Ordinarily, a professor's income didn't come solely from salary.
There were thesis stipends, research allowances, fees for conducting external research—multiple supplementary streams of income.
But Grandis Academy was a different story. The base salary itself was simply obscene. To put it bluntly: ten times what professors at other private academies earned. Bonuses and special allowances were entirely separate.
As a result, many professors relied on their salary far more than on stipends or allowances. So the word "salary reduction" hit with considerably more force.
When your primary income was that vast, you hardly needed to fret over side earnings. But for exactly that reason, a salary reduction at Grandis Academy ranked among the most severe penalties possible.
The martial arts and administration professors looked broadly satisfied. They all understood just how devastating a salary cut was within this academy.
The magic professors' eyes smoldered with resentment, but—
"Do you have objections?"
"We...."
The moment the Chairwoman's gaze fell upon them, every mouth shut and every head bowed.
Beyond mere authority or presence—merely meeting the eyes of an 8th Rank existence was enough to silence anyone.
"I will touch nothing beyond your salaries. And still you object? After decades of personally owning your research? After hoarding privileges denied to every other department's professors?"
"...No, Chairwoman."
"Dean Villend. This must never happen again. If any more so-called 'traditions' or 'customs'—any further entrenched privilege abuse or evil practices—arise in the future, you are to report them immediately."
"I will take it to heart."
"Good."
With that, the Chairwoman quietly left the conference room. The Head of Academic Affairs followed, and Professor Kirke—perhaps having received prior instructions—trailed after them as well.
Naturally, the magic professors' gazes converged on the only person left standing before Dean Villend: Adam Caines, the Finance Director.
The Chairwoman had spoken of a salary reduction.
But she hadn't said by how much.
"Dean Villend."
"...Finance Director."
"We will now discuss the terms of the salary reduction plan. Please take your seat as dean."
"Very well...."
Dean Villend's face darkened. He must have been through the wringer—he'd spoken with me first, then been summoned to the Chairwoman's office to hear the full scope of the operation. He was probably cursing the timing of his deanship and might even be blaming me.
'I did tell him this wasn't about punishing the Custom.'
That wasn't a lie. After all, this was a mess 'voluntarily' triggered by Professor Kirke's Declaration of Conscience.
What would he say if he knew the sole purpose of this entire production had been to cut costs—specifically, to slash the single largest expense, the professors' salaries?
Of all the pretexts I could manufacture, the magic department's Custom had simply been the best fit, and the timing had been right.
I quietly surveyed the professors from other departments smirking at the demoralized magic faculty.
'They're all the same breed.'
The magic department's scandal was simply the largest. Similar customs and entrenched abuses existed in every department.
Most professors were good people, of course. Genuine scholars, dedicated educators, diligent professionals.
But every organization has a few mudfish that stir up the water.
'Just you wait, you bastards.'
Last year I'd been too busy simply surviving and adapting to the job to even think about this kind of work. This year was different.
Starting with the magic department's Custom.
I was going to slash costs everywhere, increase revenue, and haul this academy out of the bankruptcy pit.
Because if I didn't—
If I didn't...
──I'm sorry, Finance Director... I'm sorry I was such a stupid Chairwoman.
──You live on. Live in my place...
...If I didn't—wait, what?
I could have sworn I just heard something. A voice.
I shook off the sensation, chalking it up to imagination, and let my eyes sharpen.
The magic professors must have realized it too—that their livelihoods for the next decade now rested in my hands. Their stares were shot through with dread.
'So, how much do I cut for the gossip to really spread about a proper salary reduction?'
If I had my way, I'd have taken a blade to their research budgets too. I'm letting you off easy because I don't want the whole department collapsing, you ingrates.
In any case, a legal blade was now in my hand, sharpened on a pretext no one could challenge.
Time to dance.