13. Academy Terror WWE
13. Academy Terror WWE
It was tight, if I wanted to call it that—but unexpectedly, I had some breathing room.
Because I wasn't the one carrying out the plan.
The preparations were the Wish Order's responsibility. My role was strictly to intervene during the execution phase; I had next to nothing to prep on my own. At the very least, I couldn't discuss details until the Wish Order made first contact.
Which was why I could afford to eat the breakfast my protagonist friend had prepared and finish it off with a glass of apple juice, feeling relaxed enough.
More to the point.
"How did you get here, exactly?"
"Did the meal suit your tastes?"
"...It was good."
"I'll prepare it for you every morning from now on."
Score.
No, that's not what I meant.
"I didn't get a chance to tell you sooner, Student Rus, but the route to my dormitory—"
"Our dormitory."
"Our... dormitory route changes every time. How in the world did you make it here?"
Come to think of it, she'd brought her luggage too, hadn't she? Groceries and all. How the hell had she pulled that off?
Getting here wasn't just a matter of the streets shifting. We were talking about which alleyways required a specific number of turns, where to switch direction, where to pause and wait—every single variable changed. There was no way to stumble in by chance.
A student walking through an alley happens to pause for exactly fifteen seconds before a fork, takes one step right, then goes left, closes her eyes midway, and walks for over ten seconds blind?
Naturally, I could only assume the protagonist had some kind of method.
But her response was surprisingly flat.
"...Instinct."
"Excuse me?"
"I just... knew where to go. By feel."
Was that... even possible?
Under normal circumstances, I'd have told her to quit the nonsense, but the fact that I was dealing with the protagonist of Dark Kingdom made it sound almost plausible.
More than anything, our protagonist was a 6th Rank. The Chairwoman had assured me that no one could reach this dormitory, but honestly, I'd had my doubts—after all, no one ever had reason to come here.
And she'd really done it by feel?
"...It was also... familiar."
"Familiar?"
"I've been through a labyrinth like this before."
A labyrinth? Was it really on that level? That felt a bit much.
Calling it a labyrinth seemed overly grand. It was just a handful of alleyways whose traversal rules shifted according to a pattern.
Still, if she said so, who was I to argue? She was the protagonist—I could take her word for it. I tucked it away to ask the Chairwoman about later and moved on.
"Right, then let me be clear—you won't mention this to any of the other students—"
"I won't say a word. Ever."
"That's reassuring."
Security concerns aside, a faculty member and a student sharing a dormitory was exactly the kind of thing that invited gossip. Two men, what did it matter? Well, when one was the Finance Director and the other was a 6th Rank new student already generating plenty of talk, it would be stranger if rumors didn't spread.
Illegal admissions, leaked exam content, bribes—they'd chatter about all of it. Unfair, really. I only provided those services to clients who paid proper bribes.
She'd said it so firmly, dead serious—she'd keep the secret. And if word did get out? That was fine. On paper, my registered dormitory was elsewhere. If student sentiment got too heated, I could always spin it using my position as Finance Director.
No real concerns, either way. More importantly, this apple juice was good.
"...Would you like another glass?"
"I hate to impose, but please."
Also, now that I thought about it—how had she known I liked apples? Yesterday's conversation, too. It was puzzling. Could 6th Ranks perceive things like that?
I smiled and held out my glass. She hesitated briefly, then took it.
Pulled out an apple.
Crunch.
...And squeezed it bare-handed?
"Here you go."
"Student Rus? Is this how you've always made it?"
"Yes."
Ah. Hm.
Asking if she'd washed her hands thoroughly would be rude, right? She'd been the one preparing breakfast in the first place.
Drinking apple juice that had been quite literally hand-crushed—the feeling was, how to put it, deeply peculiar.
I'm a man myself, so I'd have preferred a woman making it. Watching another guy do that gave me an intensely unsettled feeling.
'Eh, whatever.'
She'd made lunch and dinner yesterday too, and now breakfast today. Even if it was for the rent, we'd be living together until she graduated—getting embarrassed about it this early was pointless.
I just shut my eyes and drank. The taste was annoyingly good.
Oh, right.
"Student Rus, were you planning to handle dinner tonight as well?"
"I told you yesterday, didn't I? Meals are my responsibility... Do you not want me to?"
"No, no, that's not it. But there's no need to prepare anything for the next two weeks or so."
"Pardon?"
"Finals are coming up soon, aren't they? I'll be swamped with work—I'll likely have to stay in my office the whole time. I don't think I'll be able to make it back to the dormitory until then."
"..."
I'd figured she'd appreciate some time alone, even if I had said I was moving in.
But after hearing my words, the protagonist froze for a moment, then turned those dead eyes toward me.
Terrifying.
"...Is it because of the Chairwoman?"
"Huh?"
"It's... nothing. Still, please stop by sometimes."
"Understood."
I wouldn't be coming back until the terror plan was finished, but there was no need to spell that out.
I smiled vaguely as I answered. She turned away. Seemed to be tidying up the dishes.
But.
Was it just my imagination, or was there something unsettling radiating from her back?
'Why have I been getting chills this whole time...?'
Was the heating broken? The place looked old, but I hadn't noticed any issues like that before.
She was a 6th Rank—probably immune to minor discomfort. Once again, I, a 1st Rank, was truly remarkable in my own way.
'Now that I think about it, the Wish Order has the Dark Sword.'
I knew how to acquire it from the strategy guide, but could I use its power the way that archbishop-level bastard had?
It was a method I was reluctant to rely on—the Order would hold all the leverage in that arrangement—but it did carry the upside of potentially making me stronger.
Still, I'd been planning to probe the topic once Milia made contact.
"...Ah."
"Student Milia?"
"I want to die."
"Student?"
What the hell.
What's wrong with you?
*
Milia—or, to be precise, Pope Milia—was in despair.
That communication was being handled not through voice-transmission magic tools but by letter.
That the reason she'd been living in such a cramped dormitory was a lack of funds.
That the Wish Order itself had been in steady decline all along.
And most desperate of all.
"The Dark Sword...?"
The Wish Order's most vital sacred relic—the very power that made the Order what it was.
The Dark Sword had suddenly vanished.
'Is that... even possible?'
If someone had stolen it, she could at least make sense of it. In her previous life, that whore had undoubtedly been the culprit.
But according to the bishop's letter, the Dark Sword had simply disappeared. Without a single sign.
And theft from an outside party was impossible to begin with. The Dark Sword was still in the process of being slowly crafted. More to the point, the Order's 7th Ranks stood constant vigil over it—you couldn't exactly sneak in and steal it unless you punched straight through them head-on.
A sword that drank human blood to grow, and when finally completed, would grant a wish.
A conceptual-level relic on par with the Holy Kingdom's 'Holy Spear.' It simply existed in this world.
And that Dark Sword had abruptly vanished.
'...No, no. The Dark Sword itself—can't I do something...?'
In truth, the Dark Sword itself wasn't Milia's concern. She'd be lying if she said the wish-granting sword held no interest, but Milia had no need to cling to a blade like that—she trusted her own abilities.
She'd already come within a hair's breadth of success once. She had nearly become the continent's savior, the Pope of a new era, poised to reign supreme. She'd failed, yes—but hadn't she been granted a second chance?
So the Dark Sword as an artifact didn't matter.
The problem was that without it, the Wish Order would collapse.
'That cannot happen!'
The Wish Order had to maintain its prestige, if only so Milia could exploit it. Seizing continental supremacy required the Order as her power base.
The Order was bound together by the Dark Sword—by the small wishes granted through the remnants of its power.
But now that the Dark Sword itself had vanished entirely, the Order's downfall was inevitable. It might even collapse before she could graduate from this academy.
Tchk.
Milia gnawed unconsciously at her fingernails, reading and rereading the bishop's letter with bloodshot eyes.
With or without the Dark Sword, the Wish Order had to endure for Pope Milia's sake. And she knew exactly what that required.
A substitute—something to bind the Order together in the Dark Sword's place.
And a simply obscene amount of money.
With those two things, anything was possible. She knew from experience, having commanded hundreds of thousands—millions—of faithful before.
'A substitute. And money.'
Her head throbbed. Why had the Dark Sword suddenly disappeared? Why was the past diverging from everything Pope Milia had known?
But one thing was clear.
The Finance Director's terror plan had become far more critical than she'd anticipated.
'A substitute?'
The sacred relic the Chairwoman held would suffice. It couldn't fully replace the Dark Sword, but Milia trusted her own abilities.
'Money?'
That... could be earned, somehow. Likewise, having the sacred relic would smooth the way considerably.
In the end, the conclusion was singular. Play along with that bastard Finance Director, and reclaim the Order's sacred relic from the Chairwoman.
And in a sense, this was an opportunity.
'With the Order in chaos right now, I'll make this terror plan succeed and cement my position.'
Crisis was ever the seed of opportunity. Gritting her teeth, Pope Milia penned her reply to the bishop.
An outline of the terror plan, assurances that the Order's turmoil could be stabilized through it, and a carefully crafted self-endorsement of Milia herself.
As of now, the Grandis Academy terror plan had become something that had to succeed—no matter what, from Milia's perspective.
Which was why, when she approached the Finance Director again, she'd fully intended to perform exaggerated deference.
"So, what you're saying is the Order intends to participate actively, correct?"
"Yes. The Order plans to commit its full resources."
"Hmm."
The day after receiving the bishop's reply, she'd gone to see the Finance Director.
He studied Pope Milia's demeanor with a deeply meaningful expression.
"As expected of the Wish Order. Impressive."
"Undeserved praise..."
"Truly, it's no wonder you were the one to bring up the terror plan first. If it hadn't been me, I'd have refused outright. You really are remarkable."
"...Excuse me?"
Brought it up first? The terror? Us?
Before the words What the hell are you talking about could escape her mouth, Pope Milia forced a desperate smile.
"What do you mean...? The terror was something you yourself proposed, Director."
"When did I ever say that?"
"Pardon?"
"I was clearly pressing you about your relationship with the Order, when suddenly you brought up terrorism and all sorts of things. Wasn't that what happened?"
What?
Pope Milia frantically replayed yesterday's events in her mind. Her face drained of color.
She'd woken abruptly, disoriented and unaware of the situation, and had blurted out her acceptance of the terror plan based on 'prior memories.'
Judging by his reaction, the terror itself seemed to align with the past she remembered—but the sequence had been reversed.
A mistake born from this inexplicable regression.
And the Finance Director, utterly shameless, was seizing on that mistake and stretching it for all it was worth.
"Goodness, do you have any idea how startled I was? I hadn't so much as entertained the faintest thought of terrorism, and then suddenly you're saying such terrifying things. I was genuinely frightened."
"...Director."
"But after some generous reflection, I slowly concluded it might not be such a bad idea. Of course... a few of my 'minor' suggestions will need to be incorporated."
"That—!"
"You're free to refuse. I'll simply walk out of here as well."
"..."
"I'm cooperating with the Order's proposal. Surely my input should be reflected, shouldn't it?"
Pope Milia understood.
This Finance Director bastard wasn't a born genius, a negotiation prodigy, or some freakishly sharp intellect.
His capabilities were outstanding, yes—but in the end, he was still a 1st Rank, infinitely lacking next to true prodigies.
And yet, this man who would go on to set the continent ablaze after the academy's fall possessed an ability even Pope Milia couldn't afford to dismiss.
'You damned hyena bastard...!'
He identified his opponent's weakness—their desperation—and tore into that spot without mercy.
More of a tormentor than a strategist. The moment he spotted even the smallest opening, he pried it apart with maddening precision—a man with a ghostly instinct for who held the upper hand in any relationship.
In a few short exchanges, the Finance Director had sniffed out exactly how desperate Pope Milia was for this plan.
Now he stood there grinning, playing his word games.
"...Ah."
"Student Milia?"
"I want to die."
"Student?"
She'd been found out by the one bastard who absolutely should never have seen her weakness. She'd clashed with him often enough while leading the Order—she knew in her very soul just how vicious this man could be.
Pope Milia, crushed by that reality, muttered the words without thinking.
And the Finance Director—that venomous demon-spawn—
Smiled.
"What are you saying."
"..."
"At least wait until after the terror is complete to kill yourself."
Pope Milia felt her mind go blank.
She had to keep bowing and scraping to this demon until the terror was done—and beyond it, until she reclaimed the sacred relic?
Killing another 8th Rank would be easier.
All that was left for Milia was a sigh of resignation.