9. No Man Is an Island
9. No Man Is an Island
The festival.
I never understood the point of it even as a student, and I still don't now.
Maybe things were different for the relatively leisurely magic and martial-arts departments, but the administration track was known as the commoners' great hope, which meant just about every genius commoner in the kingdom flocked to it. Staying near the top of the class there meant studying like your life depended on it.
The people around me—Laura, the daughter of the Edelweiss viscounty, not to mention that lunatic junior of mine who never gave a damn about grades in the first place—they all ignored the festival entirely and just buried themselves in assignments and preparation.
So from where I sat, the festival barely registered unless you'd decided outright to treat the whole thing as a vacation or had already given up on your studies.
'Well. I did have a good seat for the noise of those magic and martial-arts bastards having the time of their lives.'
Maybe because of that experience, I honestly don't understand why a festival needs to exist at all.
Does it help with learning or education? No.
Do the students at least get some rest out of it? From what I've seen of them staggering around drunk every other night, they're perfectly capable of resting on their own.
Can it shore up our finances? That's before we even get to the festival budget requests that are sure to flood my desk.
Festivals are an academy tradition? Bullshit. If the academy goes bankrupt because of a festival, are you going to take responsibility?
No matter how I look at it, canceling the festival is the right move.
Besides, from what I've read in web novels, every time a festival gets held, something shows up—a terrorist attack, an invasion—crises that wouldn't exist otherwise pop out of nowhere.
Having drawn that conclusion, the moment I got back to my office I drafted an emergency festival-cancellation proposal and handed it straight to the Chairwoman.
"Uh, Finance Director?"
"I trust the Chairwoman will naturally understand my reasoning."
"Ah, no matter how I look at this, I...don't think so."
"Pardon?"
Chairwoman.
What do you mean by that?
*
The Chairwoman had met with Julius for the first time in a while, and the moment she returned to her office she found herself thoroughly taken aback.
No time to dwell on the news her younger brother, the Margrave, had delivered.
Because the Finance Director had brought her a truly unprecedented proposal.
"So, you want to abolish the festival?"
"Correct."
The Finance Director's expression read as if to ask what the problem could possibly be, and for a moment the Chairwoman was about to reply with "Does that even make sense?"—
—but she swallowed the words before they left her throat.
She knew all too well what kind of person her Finance Director was.
'Simple emotions or reasons won't move him.'
Adam Caines, true to the title of Finance Director, was someone who saw everything through the lens of money.
She didn't mean that as a criticism. In truth, Adam had frantically studied and worked to produce the results visible today, despite beginning with neither experience nor knowledge.
It would hardly be an exaggeration to say he now effectively ruled Grandis Academy together with the Chairwoman herself.
...Though strictly speaking, "ruled" was the wrong word. "Struggling desperately to keep it alive" came closer.
Even so, this particular move was something of a shock.
'It's an event we've held every year since the academy's founding.'
It wasn't simply about symbolism. The indecisive, softhearted Chairwoman had died on that rooftop. Only the iron-willed Chairwoman Adam had forged remained...or so she liked to tell herself.
In any case, Adam was right: in the academy's current financial state, holding the festival was far from a good idea. Especially when Grandis Academy's festival was the sort of massive affair that spanned an entire week.
Still, the Chairwoman did have a reason for voicing her opposition.
"Setting every other issue aside, the student backlash will be enormous."
"That is a cost we'll have to bear."
"Well, the thing is...you came up through the administration department, so you probably don't realize this...but for the magic and martial-arts departments, the festival is a rather significant event."
"You mean how, while the administration students are bleeding from the eyes studying through the night, they're guzzling alcohol, pairing off in the snow, and running themselves ragged having fun?"
"That is part of it, but to be precise, it matters most to the children of the great noble houses."
"...Hm."
"Adam, you've been taking bribes yourself, so you must know—there are quite a few students in magic and martial arts from houses like Claudia, the County of Reinholt, the Marquisate of Kellam. And for them, the festival serves as a venue for legitimate socializing and deal-making."
Should the academy, a place of learning, be allowed to double as a political arena?
The Chairwoman's answer to that question was: "I don't mind."
Those born into the great nobility can never shed that shell for as long as they live. The shell of their high station is armor that protects and sustains them—but also a prison from which they can never break free of its standards.
Even gaining the title of student by coming to the academy changed nothing. Their essence remained that of high nobles, and their every word and deed carried political weight.
The Chairwoman wasn't the sort to fail to grasp that. She herself was, after all, simultaneously the Chairwoman of Grandis Academy and the Kingdom's sole 8th Rank.
For the children of the great houses, politics and intrigue were as ordinary as breathing—and the festival was the stage on which they played out those games to the fullest.
"Ever since Grandis Academy became the kingdom's premier institution, the children of the great families have enrolled here, and they naturally fell into the 'custom' of gathering at the festival to discuss various matters."
"Another custom."
"This one isn't an entrenched abuse or anything like that, at least. I don't know every single thing that happens at the academy myself—if the Head of Academic Affairs hadn't tipped me off, I'd never have known."
"Ah, right. That man was the third son of the Kellam marquisate."
"He lost his factional struggle and was driven out of his house and now works as the Head of Academic Affairs, but his knowledge remains intact."
"In that case..."
"You're also taking bribes from Miss Risha and other students. If you suddenly abolished the festival, naturally they'd ask you what's going on. You can't simply bulldoze through this."
"...Hm."
"Didn't you once say that bribery is the art of relationships?"
The Finance Director took in the Chairwoman's full explanation, then shut his eyes as if in deep thought. The Chairwoman cheered inwardly.
I did it! I talked the Finance Director down. I can sway the Finance Director's thinking!
Savoring the triumph of her first-ever logical victory over the Finance Director, she nodded to herself. He seemed to finish his ruminations and looked toward her.
For an instant, the look in his eyes made her heart skip—but she feigned composure and met his gaze evenly.
"And that aside, the festival involves coordinating with multiple merchant guilds for supplies. And while I personally couldn't care less, this is still an academy, so at least one festival..."
"You're right, Chairwoman. Abolishing the festival outright would generate multiple problems."
"Exactly! As expected of the Finance Director!"
"But even allowing for all that, the expenditure eaten up by the festival deals a heavy blow to our finances. Factoring in the artifact reimbursement from His Highness, the costs we saved substituting this year's midterm exam, the compensation we just received...this year, yes, we could manage without much strain."
Fwip.
The Finance Director turned over the documents he'd brought.
They contained detailed graphs and commentary on all the festival budgets that had been executed to date.
"What about next year? The year after? What if we fail to grow our finances? And isn't this precisely the moment to save on the costs this festival would consume?"
"...That's."
"My stance hasn't changed. Not entirely devoid of personal feeling, but that doesn't alter the fact that the festival is unnecessary budget drain. A gathering for the high nobles' children? Set a different date—it doesn't have to be the festival. Coordinating with merchant guilds? Tell them we won't be purchasing this year. Is that illegal? Money spent by visitors? Most of it ends up in the students' and shopkeepers' pockets, not ours. Student backlash? It'll certainly be severe, but I fear the academy's bankruptcy more than I fear that."
"..............."
She'd thought she'd won him over. Had she failed after all?
Then at the very least.
"I'll earn the festival budget myself...!"
"Do you plan to go monster hunting? The Chairwoman who's quietly run this academy for decades suddenly sweeping up money on monster-extermination campaigns—no one would suspect a thing, of course."
"Th-then, how about a deep-sea fishing vessel again—"
"Are you serious? I didn't send you out there to earn real money in the first place. I simply wanted you to feel, viscerally, exactly how much you'd lost on that futures trading."
...So that was what that had been.
She had, indeed, spent a week aboard a deep-sea fishing boat, slaying sea monsters without sleep, returning over ten ships, all loaded to the gunwales.
And the money she'd made from it barely covered a single day of the academy's budget. And that was the bare minimum—payroll, maintenance—not accounting for building repairs or anything else.
She had become noticeably more reactive to expenditures after that.
"If the Chairwoman, who has been quiet for decades, suddenly starts earning money outside the academy, anyone with half a brain will conclude that while we may not be right on the edge of bankruptcy, we're at a somewhat precarious level. Which is why I chose something that would let you stay hidden, ideally short-term, and among the harshest forms of physical labor—hence the deep-sea boat."
"............."
"And didn't you suffer terribly from the backlog of work after returning in only a week? Whether it's monster-hunting or anything else, the Chairwoman cannot leave the academy vacant."
She had, this time, slain a kraken and collected bounty from the port city's viscount—but just how many people in the kingdom could take down a monster of that scale? Even in disguise, one's fighting style would give away their identity.
And Adam was right in the first place: as Chairwoman, she couldn't afford to be away from the academy for long.
Then were they truly left with no choice but to abolish the festival?
The Chairwoman had been faintly deflated—
"In any event, regarding the festival: whatever backlash may come, it won't reach a level that overturns the academy, so ultimately, abolition is the correct decision."
"Is that so..."
"...However, there is also truth in what the Chairwoman says. Abolishing it abruptly will make those aftereffects troublesome."
"Finance Director?"
"So we pursue a middle ground. Between keeping the festival and eliminating it."
"Pardon?"
What on earth did that mean?
The Chairwoman couldn't fathom how to find a middle path between two mutually exclusive options.
The Finance Director nodded as if the matter were settled.
"We hold it for a single day. Perhaps two."
"...The festival?"
"Originally it runs a full week, does it not? We'll confine it to just a day or two, suppressing student discontent and the various aftereffects to a minimum. Does that not suffice? The high nobles' children can hold their gathering within those same one or two days."
"You're serious?"
"Additionally, looking at past festival records, more than half of visitor-derived income is concentrated on the first and second days. Of course, most of that goes into students' and shopkeepers' pockets, but the academy does take a cut, so it's better than nothing."
"B-but how...? Do we simply issue an official notice shortening the festival period?"
"We could, but there's no need. I have a better idea."
"What sort of idea?"
"There was an unavoidable accident."
She'd just heard something deeply ominous.
"An...accident?"
"All we need is a compelling, unavoidable 'reason' to stop the festival after a day or two. Naturally, not something like 'the academy's finances are on the verge of bankruptcy so we can't continue.' It should be something every student can easily accept."
Did such a convenient reason truly exist?
But the Chairwoman knew from experience: the things the Finance Director spoke of with such conviction were, every last one, grounded in clear reasoning—however extreme—and at the same time absolutely necessary.
Most of all, the news that the festival would still be held gave the Chairwoman a thread of hope, and she looked to the Finance Director with that hope in her eyes.
"Four days ago, two incidents. The day before yesterday, three. Yesterday, one. And already one more today."
"...?"
"That's the count of explosions or building collapses somewhere on academy grounds. By now, such incidents are routine to the students. They accept them without a second thought."
"...You don't mean?"
"We stage an accident during the festival. The location: the laboratory of a magic-department professor. An explosion and building collapse there will force the cancellation of the academy-wide festival."
"B-but a middling accident won't do. The festival is held all across the academy, and as you know, the academy's scale—"
"I'm well aware. What's more, the research wing is deliberately set apart from the student areas. Normally, an explosion there would pose no obstacle to festival proceedings."
"Then..."
"And that's where we use Kirke."
"Professor Kirke?"
How in the world did he plan to use Professor Kirke to cause an incident severe enough to force the festival's mid-cancellation?
Knowing the Finance Director's nature, he wouldn't want a truly massive incident that collapsed multiple buildings and incurred additional costs. Could he produce a sufficiently disruptive accident while keeping expenses minimal?
"As it happens, with the season changing, the wind from the research complex has been blowing toward the academy's central district."
"Why bring up the wind all of a sudden..."
"It will be the same a month from now, during the festival. The weather patterns have held steady year after year. So. What do you suppose happens if, during Professor Kirke's research on a hair-loss remedy, the 'hair-loss inducer' she's been using as part of her work accidentally leaks?"
"...Pardon?"
"A fortuitous accident collapses Professor Kirke's laboratory, and by even greater good fortune, the hair-loss inducer kept for research is dispersed into the air—and then the wind, blowing right toward the academy's central district, carries it along?"
"............."
"Even if we announced the festival would continue, the students would refuse."
Had work stress finally driven him insane?
Even for the Chairwoman, who regarded the Finance Director with special warmth, it was a horrifying notion.
But leaving the plan itself aside—if it succeeded?
'The festival's cancellation would be an unavoidable event, so the students and merchant guilds would accept it. And since the festival did proceed, discontent would be significantly reduced. The blame for mid-cancellation would fall squarely on Professor Kirke, who caused the incident. And because it was cut short, the budget would be recovered, and the remaining supplies could simply be used.'
There would be some friction—supplies procured with the full week in mind, budget already spent, visitors mid-journey. But one way or another, the festival would have been held while minimizing its cost.
There was just one problem with this plan.
More accurately, a problem the Chairwoman could solve.
"...How do you plan to convince Professor Kirke? Once this plan executes, she'll become a public enemy among the students. The resentment will be enormous."
"Ah, that is true."
"If you lack a good method, leave it to me. I will 'persuade' Professor Kirke."
The Finance Director, of course, would not need to know what form that persuasion took. Better he didn't.
The Chairwoman's eyes grew briefly, dimly menacing.
"No, it's fine. It's true Professor Kirke is a goddamn traitor to the realm, but squeeze her too hard and who knows what she'll do. So we need to dangle a little carrot as well."
"A carrot?"
"Just trust me."
At the smile on the Finance Director's face as he said it,
the Chairwoman briefly lost all words.
Not because it was handsome, or striking—
"You can look forward to it."
"............."
—but because it was the truly, profoundly wicked smile the Finance Director sometimes wore.
Am I really this far gone, to feel flustered even at an expression like that?
The Chairwoman ducked her reddening face and quietly prayed for Kirke's soul.
*
"H-have you lost your mind?! Why would I ever accept a plan like this?! As it is, some of the magic-department professors are already pretending to make mistakes when they fling spells at me—and now you want the students to turn hostile as well—"
"Professor Kirke, your clothes are looking rather threadbare."
"................"
"I've noticed the number of graduate students under you has significantly decreased. Which probably explains why the cleaning's been slipping, too. Still, I'm relieved the research appears to be proceeding well enough."
"That's because someone slashed my salary by ninety-eight percent!"
"And yet your research funding arrives on time, every time. Of course, the moment you use it for personal purposes, that ends. In any case, this is also a good opportunity for you, Professor Kirke."
"What nonsense are you—"
"Twenty percent of the salary that was cut."
"...!!"
"If you accept this plan, I'll restore it. You'd be doing nothing but research during the festival anyway, wouldn't you? I'll reduce your lectures to the bare minimum as well. Just focus on your research until the resentment subsides."
"Th-that's."
"You weren't planning to go somewhere during the festival, were you? Were you entertaining other ideas?"
"Absolutely! Absolutely not."
"Then you'll accept. Think carefully. Twenty percent."
"...Twenty percent."
"Of your current salary, that is a tenfold increase."
"...I'll do it."
"I didn't quite catch that."
"I'll do it, I'll do it! I am sick to death of filling my stomach with nothing but water! I want to eat a proper meal like a human being at the very least...!!"
"An excellent choice, Professor."
"...You devil."
"Ten percent?"
"I shall never utter foolish words again. I will follow whatever the Finance Director says!"
"That's the spirit."
Professor Kirke.
Recruitment via salary negotiation(?) complete.
I walked out of her lab while she was still bent at the waist in a bow, and spent a while strolling the academy streets.
The negotiation was done, but I still had work to do.
'She was obviously acting strange.'
I'd thought as much for a while now—Kirke is clumsy at hiding her thoughts or feelings. Maybe it came from being hailed as a genius, from never being in a position where she had to hide anything.
Anyone could see she'd been planning something. Personal business, revenge against me—something. The intent had been plain.
I filed the Kirke situation away in memory while pondering how to handle my next item of business.
"...F-Finance Director."
"Mm?"
"Ah, I just happened to be passing by, and it looked like you might be troubled by something."
A voice I'd heard once before.
Red hair, a black ribbon tying a ponytail, and the way she approached—hesitant, half-flinching.
It was the female student I'd met during the duel with Beatrice: Chloe Pisti.
"Student Chloe?"
"Is there...anything I could help with, perhaps?"
Hm.
Now that I thought about it, wasn't she just the right person?
"I can't offer grade bonuses or scholarship money. Is that still all right?"
"I-it's fine."
"Then you've come at a perfect time!"
"Eep!?"
She seemed to want to avoid me, and yet at the same time practically forced herself to approach—it was written all over her.
What did it matter? Free high-quality labor. I seized Chloe by the shoulders before she could flee.
"Just a few small favors, Student Chloe."
I said it with a smile.
"...Yes."
And Chloe—
so deeply awkward, yet with the faintest hint of something almost natural—
nodded.