13. Academy Terror WWE
13. Academy Terror WWE
"So... you're telling me Student Rus Spero is going to live here with you?"
"Yes, Chairwoman."
"Have you lost your mind?"
That night, after eating a proper meal for the first time in recent memory—
Rus had brought her luggage over, but the room wasn't fully cleared yet. There were still things to fetch: a bed, a wardrobe, and the rest. She'd gone back to her original dormitory for the time being.
She'd probably finish moving as soon as lectures ended tomorrow.
Provided this dormitory was still standing by then.
The Chairwoman's fury was, to put it mildly, disproportionate.
"Cancel it."
"But, Chairwoman—"
"This dormitory was placed under the Finance Director's name in the first place. Another student living here is absurd."
I didn't bother asking the obvious question: if it's under my name, doesn't that mean I can do what I want with it? The Chairwoman had been this way for more than a day or two.
Maybe because I'd spent enough time around her, I'd started categorizing her anger into distinct stages—like something out of a sitcom.
And right now, despite her tone, her anger was at a very ambiguous level. She was genuinely upset, but since she couldn't find a way to argue me out of it, this was closer to a half-hearted tantrum.
Isn't she over a hundred years old? This sort of thing happens when menopause hits. Menopause... that has to be it, right? Anyway.
"Even so, I can't turn down fifty times the rent."
"B-but in terms of the academy's total finances, that's not a large sum of money!"
"True, that's true."
"So—!"
"And yet, when I stop to think about it, I'm newly impressed by you, Chairwoman—singlehandedly blowing through two years of the academy's budget in one go."
".........."
Chairwoman, sunk.
Had to be the only 1st Rank in history to take down an 8th Rank, right? At any rate, I steadied the wordlessly defeated Chairwoman, guiding her into a chair—her head hanging low—and handed her the tea I'd prepared in advance.
Expensive, but it was her favorite. I kept a supply on hand just for moments like this.
"Chairwoman, you know me. You know I don't take actions that would harm you or the academy."
"...Even though Rus Spero is a fellow male student, he's still a 6th Rank swordsman. You remember the entrance ceremony, don't you? What if he suddenly snaps and attacks the Finance Director?"
"Mm."
"I protect you with Rigid Energy constantly, but if a 6th Rank truly struck with full force in an unguarded moment—there's no telling what might happen."
Her concern wasn't unreasonable. I didn't live in this dormitory for no reason.
Never mind the aging facilities—this was the safest dormitory in the academy. The alleyway leading here changed every time, and only the Chairwoman and I knew the pattern.
But if Rus started living here, that would mean one more person who knew the pattern. From the Chairwoman's perspective, she had every reason to worry.
By academy standards, I was a pathetically weak 1st Rank, after all.
'Let's be blunt: if he launched a surprise attack while the Chairwoman and I were asleep.'
Even so, as an 8th Rank, the Chairwoman's Rigid Energy barrier protecting me probably couldn't be pierced. Probably. But the mere possibility was enough to make her uneasy.
She wouldn't have reacted this way if it were any other student. The problem was that it happened to be a 6th Rank who at least theoretically could pierce her Rigid Energy.
I understood her feelings. But—
"Chairwoman, do you trust me?"
"Well, of course I do."
"Then I hope you'll trust my judgment too. Student Rus isn't the sort of person who would do that."
".........."
No, seriously, he's not. You think he's the protagonist for nothing? Setting aside property damage and budget demolition, the person I trust most after the Chairwoman is Rus Spero. The thing I trust most is money, obviously.
More importantly, I had another reason that could actually persuade her.
"Besides, right now, leaving me alone here might actually be more dangerous."
"What do you—"
"The Wish Order's infiltrators. Even putting Milia aside, I estimate at least one more operative of 6th Rank or higher has slipped in. Above all, this is someone who—admittedly by borrowing the Dark Sword's power as an exception—managed to evade even your detection, Chairwoman."
"...The Wish Order."
"We can't predict what abilities they might possess. Moreover, I'm the one who stepped forward to orchestrate this terror operation—the odds they'll trace it back to me are high. If the Order finds some way to reach this dormitory—"
"They could harm the Finance Director."
"In that situation, Student Rus would be a tremendous asset."
Obviously, the best outcome was that nothing like that ever happened. It would also mean putting the protagonist himself in danger.
And trying to warn the protagonist—'be careful, an unidentified entity might ambush you at night'—was a problem in its own right. At that point, why not just tell him a terror attack is coming soon?
The situation was ambiguous in several ways. Having the protagonist in this dormitory created problems, but there were clear advantages too. The Chairwoman seemed to accept that part, however reluctantly.
She'd probably already understood—this was just her lodging a token complaint.
As she sipped her favorite tea and watched me persuading her with a smile, the Chairwoman seemed just a little satisfied.
"If that's the Finance Director's wish, then fine. And... you look better. Your complexion."
"Pardon?"
"I specifically spoke to the dining hall and raised the faculty discount rate. You weren't using it, were you?"
"......Mm."
"I told you. You're already not sleeping enough—at least eat properly!"
Given the dormitory security I'd just outlined, we couldn't exactly have a cook come here or order delivery. That left me cooking for myself or eating out.
My cooking skills, candidly, were mediocre. And the Chairwoman worked even more than I did, so she had no time to come cook for me. That made eating at the dining hall the best option.
'So I have been buying boiled potatoes at a discount and eating those.'
This was one of the few things the Chairwoman nagged me about. I tried to economize on eating—discount or no discount—and she insisted I at least eat properly.
On this point, I had no rebuttal. She was worrying about me and looking out for me, and I was effectively refusing her.
But who knew where the money I saved this way would end up being needed? More than anything, if I let myself care too much about food, all the other desires I'd been suppressing might start leaking out in ambiguous ways.
I was human too. I wanted to have fun, I wanted to eat well, I wanted to rest. I was just holding back because I was thinking about my position as Finance Director and what lay ahead.
The Chairwoman sighed at my wry smile and looked at me with faintly reproachful eyes.
She knew. She knew that no matter how much more she said, I wouldn't listen. This little back-and-forth had repeated itself so many times already, and I was grateful that she kept trying to look after me to the end.
"...Anyway. How do you plan to explain this to Student Rus? If you're not careful, he might start suspecting something's about to happen at the academy—and that the Finance Director is involved. But if there genuinely might be an attack, you can't just tell him nothing."
"There's a simple solution."
"Oh?"
"I just don't enter the dormitory. Problem solved."
"But Student Rus has already moved his luggage—...ah!"
The one not entering was me. There wasn't much time left until the final exams when the terror operation would take place anyway.
About two weeks. I could eat, sleep, and wash in my office. If I was right next to the Chairwoman, there'd be no chance of an ambush either.
The Chairwoman's face brightened, and for some reason she flicked her tongue briefly before a question seemed to strike her.
"But if you're not going to stay in the dormitory anyway, doesn't that make all those reasons about Student Rus protecting you unnecessary?"
"......Mm."
"Be honest. You just couldn't turn down fifty times the rent, could you?"
"No—how could I? It's fifty times!"
Fifty times. Fifty times, you hear me? Money that just duplicated itself fifty times over while I stood still?
Sure, in terms of the academy's total finances it was a small sum—but it was still a small sum at a time when we desperately needed every bit, and it was fifty times the rent.
Frankly, I couldn't say no. The correct order of operations was to accept first and come up with the justification afterward.
"At any rate, the terror plan comes first."
"The Wish Order will contact us soon, I assume?"
"They've already read my thoughts, and I told them I'd do it. They'll come. We could go meet Milia ourselves, but..."
"Absolutely not."
"...Understood."
I had no desire to hand the initiative to the Wish Order, but in this matter, I had to be the only one visibly acting. If even a hint of the Chairwoman's involvement showed, the Wish Order would flee immediately.
It was also practically certain that at least one additional operative of 6th Rank or higher was involved. If I tried to seize the initiative by going to meet Milia first, things could spiral into the worst-case scenario.
For now, waiting for the Wish Order to make contact first was the optimal course.
"Still, depending on how the Wish Order shows its hand, I've compiled a report outlining possible responses."
"I've organized everything I know about the Wish Order as well. First, the Wish Order began before the Holy Kingdom even became a hegemonic power—"
We spent the night talking. I was tired, but having eaten a solid lunch and dinner made it bearable. Dinner, for the record, had been an omelet and pasta. All hail the protagonist.
That said, we weren't skipping sleep entirely. We parted around four in the morning, and I planned to shut my eyes for an hour before heading out.
"...You're awake? Eat your breakfast."
"......Student Rus? How did you get in here?"
"Why, does it bother you?"
"No, that's not—"
"Your breakfast is getting cold."
"Thank you very much!"
Rus, how the hell did you get in here? The alleyway pattern changes every time. Every time!
I set aside that minor question and inhaled the crisply grilled sandwich and scrambled eggs. Eating a meal a man had made for me first thing in the morning felt a little strange, but shoveling it into my mouth took priority.
And something the protagonist might not have known: I loved sandwiches where even the bread crusts were grilled. People in this world always cut off the crusts when they grilled sandwiches. What a waste.
It was probably just that the protagonist also happened to like this style of sandwich. That was all. An uncanny coincidence, down to the apple juice—my absolute favorite.
'Do I really need to stay in my office?'
The food was good enough to make me seriously consider that question.
Was this what life was supposed to be...?
*
Sskritch. Sskritch.
Curtains drawn. Door blocked. A room where you couldn't see an inch ahead of you.
A space that originally would have been used as a female student's dormitory.
Now, thoroughly ransacked, someone moved through the darkness.
"...Tch. All useless."
The muttering came from the room's owner. Milia—a 3rd Rank mage in the Administration Department.
Unusually for an administration student, she was a 3rd Rank mage, and so she'd been granted a private room in one of the better dormitories.
But right now, Milia was moving through the dark like an intruder in someone else's room, clearing away objects as if they offended her.
Crash!
"Not here either."
Where the hell did you put it?
She was unmistakably Milia, yet the being glaring with irritation radiated an unsettling dissonance. Any student who knew the original Milia would have had to double-check: was this really her?
That reaction would have been only natural. The person tearing the room apart was certainly Milia.
And at the same time, she was not Milia.
'You worthless bitch.'
Not a 3rd Rank mage in administration, but the former leader of the Wish Order who had once plunged the continent into chaos.
The one who had sacrificed tens of thousands of followers to kill even the 8th Rank the Empire had sent.
The one who had called herself savior, the new Pope—'Milia.'
She was the only one here now.
'Useless.'
The target of Milia's ceaseless chewing-out was none other than the original Milia.
Pope Milia had definitely died. Yet for reasons she couldn't fathom, she had awakened in her own past body.
Setting aside the fact that she'd once styled herself Pope, her own achievements amounted to nothing more than 3rd Rank. She couldn't understand how this situation had come about.
Even so, Pope Milia didn't fall into confusion. Her creed was simple: if you can't understand it, ignore it.
The only consequence was that when Pope Milia's personality had awakened, the original student Milia's personality had been practically killed in the process.
That was only natural. Unless you controlled it through magic, as a certain 7th Rank top-tier mage might, two personalities couldn't coexist—especially not when they were truly the same identity rather than a product of psychosis or schizophrenia.
And in terms of lived experience, knowledge, and disposition, Pope Milia was overwhelmingly superior to student Milia.
Student Milia's personality had been stripped of nearly all its soul without a chance to resist. She couldn't even raise her voice anymore.
'Hey, you fucking bitch. Say something. I said say something.'
Initially, Pope Milia hadn't paid it much mind. But now a problem had emerged.
How she had awakened in her past self, what had become of the past personality—she didn't give a damn about any of that. But precisely because she'd unilaterally killed the other, she hadn't been able to fully absorb student Milia's memories or knowledge.
What did it matter if this was her past self? That was what Pope Milia had thought—until the facts proved otherwise.
This was unmistakably the past. But it wasn't quite the past Pope Milia knew.
'I never used a room like this. I lived in a much better one. My major wasn't civil engineering—it was psychology. What the hell is going on?'
No matter how many times she asked inside her head, student Milia barely maintained existence. She couldn't possibly answer.
Pope Milia clicked her tongue irritably at that fact and slumped down in the darkness.
"Where in the world is the contact method?"
As an infiltrator of the Wish Order embedded in Grandis Academy, Milia naturally possessed a means of communicating with the Order.
In her 'original' memories, that had been a communication magic tool. Expensive, but a method that could absolutely guarantee secrecy. She'd assumed it would be the same this time.
But no matter how many times she searched this godforsaken cramped, shabby room, no communication magic tool revealed itself.
Pope Milia was suffocating with frustration.
'That Finance Director bastard—he did propose the terror operation just like before.'
Finance Director Adam Caines. As far as Pope Milia was concerned, the most laughable and halfway-insane bastard alive. A lunatic who proposed orchestrating a terror attack on his own academy.
There'd definitely been a reason. What was it?
'Training? To make the protagonist grow? Something like that, I think.'
She'd only overheard it, so she couldn't catch the details—but that alone was enough to confirm the Finance Director was out of his mind.
Training? Protagonist? Growth, his ass. He was clearly gripped by some delusional disorder or genuine psychosis.
At any rate, even if that was the case, the terror operation itself was a massive boon to the Wish Order—and, more precisely, to Pope Milia. So the moment she'd awakened in her past body, she'd accepted the operation and come straight to the dormitory to assess the situation.
But the dormitory where she was supposed to have lived had someone else in it. Her major was different. And everything else was different too.
'That whore who needs to die is 6th Rank?'
Rus Spero. The very person who had killed Pope Milia—a bitch who absolutely had to be eliminated in advance.
The rumors Pope Milia had overheard on her way to the dormitory were enough to tell her something had gone badly off course.
So first, she'd tried to contact the Order—to find out if anything had changed on their end, to gauge their current situation.
"God dammit."
And she couldn't even find the communication magic tool.
There were letters on the desk she'd smashed while handling it roughly earlier, but it wasn't as if she lacked money—there was no way she'd have used such cheap, trash-grade paper for communication.
She'd deliberately darkened the room and attempted to summon the Dark Sword's power according to the Order's doctrines, but even that wouldn't work properly.
True, later on, that whore's hands would end up seizing it—but at this point in time, the Dark Sword should still be safely with the Order.
'Tch. Still.'
She'd returned to the past. That fact alone was enough to make Pope Milia smile a thoroughly wicked grin.
If she could somehow eliminate Rus Spero—that single variable—then this time she wouldn't fail. She would become Pope, become the savior, and reign supreme over this world.
For his sake, if nothing else.
'First, recover the Sacred Relic.'
She'd play along—pretend to cooperate meekly with that Finance Director bastard—while recovering the Sacred Relic from that monster of a Chairwoman.
The dimwitted Order headquarters didn't realize it, but the Sacred Relic the Chairwoman possessed wasn't simply a powerful artifact. Only Milia knew its true function.
In the previous cycle, she'd stolen it at the cost of her life in the chaos after the Chairwoman died and the academy collapsed.
'This time is different.'
If she could just recover the Sacred Relic quickly, by any means, there was no need to linger in this academy. The academy's collapse was still at least two more years away, and Pope Milia couldn't endure that meaningless stretch of time.
She could already glimpse an angle—if she played this terror operation just right, the Sacred Relic could fall into her hands.
Pope Milia's lips curled upward into a smile.
Truly wicked.
...And in a certain sense, deeply ignorant.