11. The Academy's Spring
11. The Academy's Spring
The fine print would need closer analysis, but I'd been a student here myself until a few years ago—I had a rough idea what these guys were after.
I went straight down to the first floor, broke up the cluster of jabbering staff near the entrance, and stepped out through the main gate.
The Food Supplies Management Head, who'd been sweating bullets in front of the protestors, lit up the moment he spotted me.
"F-Finance Director!"
"Section Chief, let me handle this."
"Yes! I'll leave it to you!"
It was a strange sight, watching a middle-aged department head put that much faith in me. Even stranger when the junior staffer standing right behind him was my academy classmate Laura.
For a guy who normally never dealt with students—just pushing papers—this must have been rough.
I gave him a reassuring nod and walked out in front of the gathered students.
They'd clustered in front of the building, red cloths tied around their heads and wooden signs clutched in their hands.
"Students, hello. I'm Adam Caines, the Finance Director."
"Finance Director...? This academy has a post like that?"
"Logically speaking, of course it does."
"I know about the professors, but the staff's a mystery."
"So... is he a big deal? Forget how young he looks—he's practically our age..."
The crowd stirred when I stepped in place of the Food Supplies Management Head. Not because of my influence, but because I looked way too young for a department-head title.
I quickly swept my eyes over the students.
'Navy blue bracelets.'
That meant second-year students—magic department, specifically.
Headcount was roughly two hundred. Considering Kirke's classes were so popular that attendance usually ran into the hundreds, a majority had shown up here.
Still, the faces farther back and in the middle were full of mischief and curiosity, unlike the ones right in front. They'd probably come because it looked like fun, not because they actually believed in the cause. Good.
The slogans on the signs matched what I'd heard earlier. The Academy Must Not Abuse Professors. Guarantee Professors' Rights. Students Learn Best From Healthy Professors.
And standing right at the spearhead: a 3rd-year male student, one of the very few.
I could see exactly where this needed to go.
'If it were the Student Affairs Department Head, he'd have smoothed this over gently.'
Unfortunately, I didn't have his people skills, nor a wealth of experience handling these situations.
So I preferred the laziest approach over the best one. Besides, I didn't have time to be fussy about minor headaches like this.
"Hold on! Who cares who this staffer is! We're here for the professors' rights——"
"Grandis Academy Code, Article 51, Section 3: On assemblies within academy grounds."
"Wh-what...?"
"A gathering of one hundred or more students for a unified purpose requires prior submission of documentation and a formal application to the Academic Affairs Office for approval. Exceptions apply for educational activities and impromptu assemblies."
"W-wait a second."
"Judging by the chants you've been shouting and those signs, this clearly isn't educational. And given how organized it all looks, it doesn't appear very impromptu. So you must have acquired a permit in advance—correct?"
Obviously, this assembly was completely impromptu. But school rules are like labels—you can stick 'em on a nose and call it a nose, or stick 'em on an ear and call it an ear.
When it comes to interpreting rules, students are fundamentally outranked by the faculty. And if I, as the judge of whether students broke the rules, declared that this didn't look impromptu—well, tough luck.
The ringleader—a 3rd-year guy—seemed to know where I was going and tried to argue.
I raised my voice to cut him off first, so the other students who still hadn't read the room could hear me loud and clear.
"This rule exists to prevent student rampages and safety hazards—like crowd crushes—that occur when large numbers gather. Under this Code, violations carry a minimum of ten demerit points, up to on-campus service and suspension."
"What...?"
"S-suspension?!"
"...Hey, let's get out of here. I'm dead if I rack up any more demerits."
"We didn't do anything! We were just watching from the back!"
"Wait! Guys!"
The moment I dangled school rules and disciplinary action, over fifty out of the two hundred scattered like the tide going out. The ones who'd only come to gawk, or the ones smart enough to bail the instant things turned sour.
Most of them had been in the back, so the 3rd-year up front had no way of stopping them.
The sudden drop in numbers made the remaining students shift uneasily.
Time to push harder.
"Furthermore, even if you had a permit, this demonstration—right outside the building where faculty are working—is strictly outside those terms. You there."
"Uh, me?"
"What's your name? I'll need to remember it. You're in Professor Kirke's class, aren't you?"
"Um... uh... I'm leaving right now!"
"Lance!"
"Shut up! You dragged us here—figure it out yourself!"
Hypothetically speaking: a staff member who clearly outranks everyone singles out a specific student with an angry scowl and demands their name.
What do you do?
Answer: You run.
It's basic instinct. Having a professor remember your name is scary enough. But a high-ranking official who tosses around Professor Kirke's name like it's nothing? Remembering your name?
Any academy student with a functioning brain would stammer an excuse and bolt. Even more so, after I'd just brought up rules and punishment.
I'd deliberately bypassed the ringleader and targeted a weaker-looking kid in the front row instead. The type who'd fold immediately under the pressure of being asked his name.
A little office-life know-how I'd picked up as Finance Director.
Once that front-row student fled, the crowd's anxiety spiked all over again.
Because the next one to get singled out... might just be them.
'The obvious ringleader there has some spine. He won't cave.'
But not every student is like him. Especially not when they'd swarmed here trusting purely in numbers.
Let's be honest: students worried about a professor's health and work environment? That isn't the norm. A few might genuinely care, but for the vast majority, a sick professor isn't a source of worry—it's a canceled lecture. They'd fret for a moment about the professor's well-being, but... that's about it.
The fact that such a huge crowd turned out for this protest could only mean one thing.
That 3rd-year bastard had recruited them. I could see right through whatever bullshit he'd peddled.
"And you mentioned professor welfare and well-being earlier."
"Th-that's right! As students, we're deeply concerned for the professors' health—"
"Honestly, I never imagined we'd have this many students so dedicated to their studies. You've violated school regulations, but as a faculty member, I can't exactly ignore such sincerity."
"Then!"
"So. I'll see to it that Professor Kirke's missed classes receive supplementary lectures. Absolutely mandatory."
"......Huh?"
The bewildered response didn't come from the 3rd-year ringleader. It was a death rattle coughed up by the student next to him.
What, not happy? Didn't you say professors' health meant better education?
Then you'll get exactly what you asked for.
"And I'll go a step further: a pop quiz at the start of every single lecture. The number of group projects will also increase significantly. Given how passionate you are about these lectures, I'm sure you won't complain about quizzes and group work."
"............"
"Wasn't Professor Kirke's exam multiple-choice? This time, we'll switch it to essay questions. And as for grade processing..."
"W-we're sorry! We messed up!"
"Hey, let's go! Before the Finance Director piles on anything else!"
"There aren't really make-up lectures, right? Classes are still canceled today, RIGHT?!"
"Guys! Don't scatter—!"
"Cut the crap, senior! You go enjoy your pop quizzes and group projects on your own!"
"You bastards!"
A stampede.
The hundred-odd remaining students fleeing in every direction was a spectacle in itself.
Once the thunder of footsteps and the dust clouds settled, fewer than ten were left.
Which meant, in other words—
Ten of them hadn't run despite everything I'd just said.
These were the real believers.
"Student, your name?"
"...Osley Dalton."
"Osley Dalton. Ah, now I remember. You're the 3rd-year magic department vice-chair, aren't you?"
"Y-yes."
The top chair was obviously Kassandra; I'd memorized the vice-chair's name by chance.
Osley Dalton. Second son of the Dalton barony, 3rd-year magic department vice-chair.
And he'd applied for a master's program spot in Professor Kirke's lab.
"You framed this broadly as 'professor welfare,' but we both know you meant Professor Kirke specifically."
"I...!"
"If this is about Professor Kirke, she volunteered for it."
"Excuse me?"
"Word is her recent research hit a snag, and she's developed stress-induced hair loss. The academy recommended she rest—we told her pushing further could land her in serious trouble—but she refused to listen. And it's not like we can force her."
Stress-induced hair loss... or hair loss from a hair-loss inducer. Whatever. Hair loss is hair loss, right?
And recommending she rest was true. We'd also told her that any missed work would mean a proportionally reduced salary and the loss of her faculty room-and-board benefits.
In the end, Kirke had nodded along and agreed to continue her research herself. So as far as I was concerned, she'd given consent.
Osley's expression crumbled into bewilderment. His motive was obvious. He just wanted to score brownie points with Kirke.
Thanks to Kirke's image as a genius young professor, her lab was large and crowded with master's program applicants. I'd heard the competition was fierce. He must've been desperate to leave an impression however he could.
Hence the protest. Playing the "I'm so worried about Professor Kirke!" card.
How'd he rope in the other students? Probably sweet-talked 'em: "The professor will be so moved, she'll go easier on the grading." "I'm in her master's program, so I'd know—she'll definitely hand out bonus points and good scores." He'd run his mouth off with that crap.
The fact that a 3rd-year had wormed his way into a 2nd-year lecture said it all. The rest of the diehards still here were probably gunning for Kirke's lab too.
I could end this petty little affair right here... but.
'Magic department vice-chair. Plus, if they're after Kirke's lab, they're likely top-tier students.'
These guys.
If I shoved them into Kirke's lab now, wouldn't the hair-loss treatment research speed up? I'd heard most of Kirke's grad students had been hospitalized after the hair-loss-inducer leak anyway.
A professor's graduate-student slots were normally capped, but that was a formality I could easily fix with a bit of string-pulling.
Alright.
"Osley, I was a little harsh earlier. I understand the concern you students have for Professor Kirke."
"Finance Director."
"So here's the thing... Seeing as I'm rather close with Professor Kirke..."
Listen up, you lot.
"Call it fate. If you might do me a small favor or two, I'll put in a good word for you with Professor Kirke."
"R-really?!"
"Of course."
Just my luck—I'd been thinking how handy it'd be if I had more students to use besides my junior, and here they were.
Right then.
So, how should I make use of them?
*
Clatter.
Ruth dropped the decrepit blade, grinding her teeth as she glared at it.
Without blood to feed it, the Dark Sword had grown old and withered.
And its influence was getting stronger.
'My thoughts and personality feel like they're... veering toward extremes.'
Just a few days ago, hadn't she resolved to kill Kassandra? Plenty of other options had existed, even knowing Kassandra was aware of the regression.
Yet she'd immediately thought of drawing blood.
...The side effect of awakening the Dark Sword a month ago was still lingering.
The Dark Sword. A Demon Sword forged of darkness.
Simply holding it granted an array of abilities and an absurd level of power.
But befitting the name "Demon Sword," it demanded a price. Though, if you really thought about it, the price wasn't that steep at all.
Compared to its power, having to feed it blood and endure a warped personality was a bargain.
Even now, though she was ranked 6th Rank, Ruth could exert power approaching the 7th Rank if she wielded the Dark Sword with intent.
So she couldn't just throw it away. In this future that kept shifting unpredictably, that blade would be a massive asset.
All Ruth could do was remain as vigilant as possible against the Dark Sword's side effects and costs.
But, for the first time in a long while, she'd found something fruitful.
"...So it was."
Swish.
Ruth flipped the page of a report she'd obtained through her authority as student council vice-chair.
Specifically, an audience-request log. It contained the list of those who'd requested a meeting with Adam just over a month ago.
Amatrius Delphia Beatrice.
And the timing was right after Beatrice's second duel with Chloe Pisti.
Right when Beatrice had overcome her chronic illness.
'Adam was definitely involved in helping Beatrice overcome that illness.'
Perhaps this audience request was to express her gratitude. The record—showing she'd forcibly requested a meeting with the normally inaccessible Finance Director—only added to its credibility.
There was also a report on the summoning-ritual incident from a month back, and the contents of what happened during the festival.
The vice-chair position let her access far more than she'd expected.
'With this...'
Did she even need to drop out of the academy? Could she use this vice-chair role Adam had nudged her into to accomplish something?
The thought crossed her mind, but anxiety followed close behind. The fear that she'd mess things up again—like during the summoning ritual, or when she'd blackmailed Chloe.
Come to think of it, had Chloe Pisti told anyone about the disguised Ruth? It didn't seem like anyone was on alert for a stranger in the academy.
From the start, Ruth's aptitude was for swinging a sword, not cracking her skull over schemes. The more she thought, the more her head ached, so she sighed and shut the report.
'...I want to see him.'
The thought floated up from nowhere. When things got this hard, this agonizing, there was one face she always longed to see.
Adam, who had always been on her side. Who had always helped her with a smile.
That face she still couldn't forget, couldn't bear to cut away, burned vividly in her memory even now.
Just as a sullen mood settled over her—
"The festival... the Finance Director..."
"...Just now... what..."
Familiar voices drifted in from outside the dormitory.
It wasn't the owner of the face she'd been imagining. But it was a voice she couldn't forget.
The Chairwoman, and Chloe Pisti.
The two of them were talking near the dormitory.
'What's this?'
Ruth immediately snatched up the discarded Dark Sword and expanded her energy sense.
To be safe, she pressed flat against the wall, killing her presence. She melted into the shadows of the room, making sure to avoid detection.
'I might be able to glean something else.'
The Chairwoman and Chloe Pisti. Even individually, they warranted extreme caution—so if the two of them were holding a conversation, this was a golden opportunity.
Especially since right now, their only connection was simply that of Chairwoman and student, with no obvious reason to be entangled.
Ruth began listening closely to the conversation, and—
"So... on the last day of the festival."
"I watched the fireworks with the Finance Director. Thank you for recommending such a good viewing spot, Chairwoman. We had a wonderful time thanks to you."
"...Ha."
"......?"
It was intel, sure, but in a completely different sense, it was nothing she'd ever expected. So while she listened quietly, Ruth's expression twisted into a frown.
Why, though?
A faint flicker of inexplicable defeat and anger. Just a little.
Just the very faintest bit, she seemed to feel it.