The Disciplinary Committee (3)

"Luid has arrived."

"Well, of course he has. That rascal would come running the moment— wait, what?"

Headmaster Clifford lifted his head from the mountain of paperwork and removed his monocle.

"The good-for-nothing is here?"

"That is correct."

Clifford was genuinely taken aback by Phoenicia's words. In an instant, a memory from the past flashed through his mind.

"Hah... I told him to uproot a great tree just because he saw a withered twig, and the blasted boy actually managed it. A miracle, truly a miracle. In a case like this, should I praise the twig, or curse the great tree for letting itself be pulled up so spinelessly?"

"You should curse the lunatic who gave the absurd order to uproot a great tree over a withered twig in the first place."

"Ugh, raising a daughter is a complete waste of time. A complete waste."

He hadn't intended to attend this disciplinary committee at all. For the Headmaster of the Academy to waste time on an event whose outcome was already written—now that would be a crime.

But if Luid Christopher was going to appear, that was another story entirely. Of late, nothing in the world interested Clifford more than Luid.

And so Clifford hauled his considerable backside out of the chair.

"What on earth is that good-for-nothing thinking?"

"Forgiveness, surely. Forgiveness is a noble's virtue, after all."

Clifford spoke as he watched Phoenicia open the great doors of the Headmaster's office.

"Godsdammit."

He walked out with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his hands clasped behind his back. Phoenicia, staring at his retreating figure, trailed after him with an exasperated grumble.

"What could possibly be bothering you this time? There's something almost sweet about you wanting to show mercy."

"Sweet? That kid's a loose rock rolling down a hill. What's sweet about that!"

"Haah, Headmaster. It's unbecoming to hate only one side of a dispute. A headmaster must be impartial."

At those words, Clifford stopped dead in his tracks.

He shot a glare over his shoulder at Phoenicia, as if she'd said something utterly ridiculous.

"I haven't done a single thing yet?"

"You were about to! You spend half of every single day badmouthing Luid!"

"What? When have I ever—!"

Only that very morning, he'd spent four solid hours grumbling over the reply he'd received from the Duchess of Windsor: 'Count Clifford. If you don't like it, expel him and send him back to me. Let my son get a look at my face.'

Phoenicia had a hundred things she wanted to say, but barely held them in.

"You're painting me as a villain! I am fairer than anyone, you brat!"

Barking his complaint, he quickened his pace toward the hearing hall.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

It was the first time Clifford had seen Luid in the flesh.

Luid Christopher—the genius of the century.

The mere fact that such a figure hailed from the Imperial Academy was an enormous asset to the institution. That was why Clifford had recruited him with even the absurd condition of 'no obligation to attend classes' attached.

Granted, that decision had been within Clifford's professional judgment, but quite apart from any rational calculation, it had privately irritated him to no end.

That was also why he'd never conducted a personal interview at admission.

In any case, Clifford's first impression of Luid went something like this:

'Well now. If this one turns crooked, he could ruin the world twice over.'

Even through the eyes of Clifford—Headmaster of the Academy and one of the continent's Great Magicians—the boy's mana capacity was impossible to measure. It simply had no visible end.

If that had been all, he wouldn't have thought this deeply about it. But near Luid's heart, Clifford had glimpsed something black. So black that it looked as though a hole had been punched clean through his chest.

Clifford had never in his life seen blackness like that—a black like polished void. If one gathered and compressed every scrap of mana in existence, would it look like that? He couldn't say. But one thing was certain.

'The genius of the century? Hah. Right now, he's my student.'

For the present, the boy was one student among 1,001. Someone under his charge to guide, and Clifford had a duty to steer Luid Christopher down the proper path.

Dismissing his farsight, Clifford spoke.

"This disciplinary committee concerning the unauthorized use of magic will now begin. The investigating officer of the case will make his statement."

Gilbert, third-year of the Swordsmanship Department and the assigned investigator, rose to his feet with his documents in hand.

"The question of responsibility in this case is a simple one. Catherine Obillion picked an unprovoked fight with the victim while he was in the middle of his meal, and when the victim declined to take the bait, she flew into a rage and launched a preemptive strike with the 3rd Tier spell, Ice Pistol."

Gilbert turned a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠page, his expression weary.

"In the course of this, the victim did respond—using an application of the far higher-order spell, Gravity. However, he employed it strictly in self-defense, and bears no culpability whatsoever for the outcome."

Gilbert set his papers down, his face drawn with boredom.

"Honored judge. Catherine Obillion not only threatened an innocent victim, but even afterward refused to acknowledge the gravity of her offense and attempted to evade responsibility. Her launching a surprise attack on a victim who wasn't even holding a staff marks her offense as exceptionally grave. Therefore, I request that the perpetrator Catherine Obillion be expelled, so that justice may be upheld at the Imperial Academy."

Having finished his statement, Gilbert sat down.

The Headmaster turned his gaze on Catherine.

"Catherine Obillion, you may speak."

"......"

Catherine kept her head bowed and said nothing.

The frigid stares. The crushing pressure and tension. The despairing certainty that no words she offered could make anything better.

All of it pressed down on her at once.

"Catherine Obillion."

Clifford called her name once more.

"Catherine Obillion."

Still, no answer came. Clifford faced forward and made his declaration.

"Then I rule that there is no room for extenuation. Accordingly, this disciplinary committee will conclude with the expulsion of Catherine Obill—"

Just as the light was draining from Catherine's eyes—

"I object."

Luid rose from his seat.

Clifford shot a sharp look at the drowsy-eyed boy.

'You got caught, you little rascal. I have no idea what you're angling for, but...'

Internally, he was wearing a smile more sinister than any dark mage's.

'But you won't get your way.'

"You claim an objection?"

"Yes."

"It had better be a legitimate one. If your grounds are trivial, then—"

Luid wore the expression of a man saying, and then what?

"—I hereby sentence you to the extreme punishment of one month of cleaning the Headmaster's office."

Luid didn't so much as blink.

'That? I could just wave a hand and—'

"Naturally, magic is forbidden."

Luid felt his life flash before his eyes.

His sleepy expression turned dead serious.

"Make your statement."

As soon as Clifford finished, Luid spoke calmly.

"Using magic at the Academy is prohibited, yes—but only offensive magic that harms others is punished severely."

Luid turned to look at Gilbert and blinked, slow and deliberate.

"Simple everyday-craft magic, as I understand it, ends with a light penalty."

Gilbert was famous for his investigative acumen rivaling—some said surpassing—his skill with a sword. He always saw straight to the heart of a matter, which was how he'd earned the epithet 'Gilbert the Truthful.'

And right now, he was in an agonizing position. His tired eyes flicked sideways at Luid. The boy was the younger brother of his superior, Amelia Windsor.

He was torn between doing his duty properly and letting himself lose graciously.

"Gilbert. If an investigating officer of your standing loses to that good-for-nothing, consider your promised letter of recommendation to the Imperial Knights revoked."

Gilbert instantly turned to Luid and unleashed his rebuttal like a bursting dam.

"The spell Catherine Obillion used was Ice Pistol. Against a mage without a barrier, its power is more than enough to kill. Furthermore, the victim is known throughout the Academy as 'Luid the Indolent.' While a morning barrier is an essential routine for every mage, there is a strong possibility this was a calculated strike at the known negligence of the victim. And above all, Ice Pistol is unambiguously an offensive spell. It is not everyday magic."

"That statement fails to account for my level."

Luid was completely unabashed.

"To me, a 3rd Tier spell isn't even up to the standard of everyday magic."

"......!"

It was an outrageous thing to say.

And yet not a single person in the room could offer a rebuttal to that insolent claim.

"Besides, it's called 3rd Tier, but that's all shell and no substance. The spell's structure and the quality of its mana were at the 1st Tier level. Nobody dies from getting hit by that. It was the kind of thing that'd feel refreshing at most."

"That's utterly absurd—!"

Gilbert's voice rose.

Then he mastered himself and continued calmly.

"It changes nothing. The simple fact that Catherine Obillion directed magic at a person is what matters."

"Nobody gets expelled for flicking a droplet of water at a passing stranger."

"That's the point—it wasn't a droplet of water, it was a 3rd Tier spell!"

Gilbert was frustrated. Not so much frustrated with Luid as with himself. There was clearly a flaw in the argument somewhere—he could feel it—but he couldn't for the life of him put it into words.

"Even setting my level aside, the conclusion holds. Fired at an ordinary passerby, it would have stung a little. That's all. Wouldn't you agree, Sir Gilbert?"

Luid's eyes dropped, cold as drawn steel.

"Are you questioning my magical talent?"

"......"

Gilbert fell silent. He was of the Swordsmanship Department. A knight could hardly pass judgment on a mage's magic.

But Gilbert could not back down here. He couldn't throw away his precious letter of recommendation over something this absurd.

It was the moment he opened his mouth to argue—

"Oh, and I'll be writing that recommendation myself."

Gilbert immediately twisted at the waist to face the Headmaster.

"As the victim himself says, Catherine Obillion had no real intent to cause harm—considering the victim's reputation as a genius, she merely chose a means of venting her anger. I ask that her punishment be reduced—"

"I think it's you who's about to be expelled?"

"I withdraw my request. As I was saying, her offense is extremely grave—"

Clifford let out a sigh.

"Sit down already, you fool."

"Yes, sir."

Gilbert pressed his arms to his knees and sat bolt upright in perfect form.

Clifford regarded Luid with an unreadable look.

'So the boy knows how to wield a rather clever tongue, does he?'

Luid hadn't beaten Gilbert with logic alone. He'd weaponized his standing as the victim and his title as a genius, and it was precisely for that reason Gilbert had found himself unable to mount any real counterargument.

'Heh heh. A fascinating brat, as ever. Then how about this?'

But Clifford had no intention of simply letting Luid have his way.

"Very well. Your objection is admitted. On one condition: you explain yourself, Luid. What punishment do you believe is fitting for Catherine Obillion?"

The crux of this case was never which tier of magic had been used. It was that barely a month had passed since the entrance ceremony, where everyone had been expressly warned not to use magic.

What was needed, then, was a measure that would make every student present think, 'I had better never carelessly use magic.'

Expulsion was simply the fastest, surest way to deliver that lesson—which was why he'd chosen it.

But what if Luid argued for acquittal?

That would be a flagrant disregard of his authority, and then it wouldn't stop at cleaning duty—Clifford would force the boy to attend classes too. He planned to keep Luid within arm's reach and give him a proper education in character.

'Genius or not, he's still a brat at the end of the day. He'll never produce a verdict everyone can accept.'

Assigning punishment proportionate to the weight of an offense was, in truth, an extraordinarily difficult thing.

A genius who had never once in his life tried to understand another person could never arrive at a rational answer.

Clifford was certain of his victory.

"Speak up. If you claim expulsion is too harsh, then surely you have an alternative. Or—don't tell me you're actually arguing for acquittal?"

"I never said expulsion was too harsh."

"What?"

Clifford's eyes narrowed.

"Then why in the blazes are you here?"

"Because it's too weak."

"...Too weak?"

"Expulsion is far too lenient. That pathetic excuse for magic made me deeply uncomfortable, after all."

Heh. Clifford gave a hollow laugh. He couldn't have imagined this answer in his wildest dreams.

"Then say it with your own mouth. What punishment at this Academy is harsher than expulsion?"

'Plenty. Oh, plenty.'

Nobility, that's what.

Creatures who would sooner die than surrender ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their pride.

And Luid had only promised to stop the expulsion—not to go easy on her.

He glanced at Catherine, whose pupils were shaking violently, and spoke.

"I propose that she go to the Feast of Magic, bow, and offer a formal apology—then work there as a waitress for one year. Unpaid, of course."

Clifford doubted both of his ears.

Then, cautiously, he asked:

"...Tell me, is the Obillion family some old sworn enemy of the Windsors?"

Meanwhile, Gilbert was aghast.

'How can anyone be so utterly merciless?!'

The Feast of Magic was a restaurant staffed entirely by commoners.

Obillion or not, she was still nobility. To make a haughty noble daughter bow before commoners and apologize—not to mention wait tables in their dining hall.

And unpaid, on top of it all!

'Honestly, she'd be better off just expelled...!'

If nothing else, Gilbert was certain of one thing: the unpaid part was simply too cruel.