The Lazy Young Master Is Too Competent (1)
Once he'd accepted the Emperor's offer, everything moved at breakneck speed.
"We originally intended to give you the Vice-Headmaster's office, or even the Headmaster's own room, but since you asked for this one, Prince Luid..."
The Imperial Academy Main Building, the Head Professor's office.
Luid looked around the spacious room.
"Thank you."
Phoenicia said it with a faint smile.
"I heard you sacrificed yourself to keep my father from resigning—taking on a professorship you never even wanted."
"??"
Luid had done no such thing.
"Forgive me. Where is my mind. Let me show you around the office first."
Phoenicia walked him through the details of the professor's office.
"This entire building can withstand up to 3rd-Circle magic. That said, most professors only experiment up to 2nd Circle here—for anything 3rd Circle and above, the standard practice is to head down to the magic workshop in the basement."
Magic was broadly divided by rank into First, Second, and Third classifications. If rank was the fine-grained sorting system, the latter was the broad one—much like the concept of first, second, and third dimensions.
Phoenicia opened a door set into the wall. With a long mechanical whir, it swung open to reveal a basement staircase swallowed in darkness.
"From 3rd Circle onward, soundproofing doesn't quite hold, so there are noise issues between floors. Though I doubt any professor would dare lodge a complaint against you, Prince Luid, no matter how loud you were."
Phoenicia smiled brightly and closed the door.
"You've probably already heard this, but you're free to do whatever you like. Your mere existence at the Academy is benefit enough. All I can say is thank you for coming, and thank you for helping us. And..."
Phoenicia stepped in front of Luid.
She didn't ruffle his hair the way everyone always did, or look down at him with that insipid how adorable expression. She simply bowed her head, slowly and deliberately.
"I owe you an apology."
Luid tilted his head, puzzled. He couldn't think of a single thing Phoenicia would need to apologize for.
"You were just one ordinary student, Prince Luid, and we asked you to hunt down a warlock. That was too much to demand of anyone."
"...Professor Phoenicia, you don't need to apologize."
Phoenicia lifted her head and smiled.
"I'm apologizing on my father's behalf. He clearly wants to, but his pride makes it difficult, I think. Still—please don't hold it against him too much. He's simply terrible at expressing himself. He isn't a bad man."
"I know."
Luid, who bore Clifford no particular ill will, nodded.
Phoenicia straightened her clothes and continued.
"Then I'll take my leave. If you need anything at all, just say the word—my office is right next door. Oh, and how should I address you from now on? Professor?"
"Just call me Luid."
"Yes, Lord Luid."
"Luid."
Phoenicia's face flushed red.
"...Luid."
"Drop the formalities."
"That might... take some time."
Phoenicia couldn't bring herself to speak casually to him. If she did, and he took offense and stormed out of the Academy again... She couldn't let that happen. And yet, she had a feeling that if she started speaking comfortably with him, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from fussing over him.
"So what am I supposed to do here, exactly? Teach classes or something?"
Luid asked just in case.
Phoenicia shook her head.
"Nothing. You don't have to do anything at all. As I said, your very existence already has an enormous impact on the Academy."
"I see."
Phoenicia bowed and left the room.
Left alone, Luid thought it over carefully.
"So I don't have to do anything, huh..."
But he was getting paid.
Even he had no intention of swallowing a salary whole and doing nothing but eat and sleep. Well—probably.
"I suppose I should at least meet the Emperor's bare minimum expectations."
Luid decided he'd do this one thing as a courtesy. If they'd demanded even a little from him, his laziness would surely have outweighed his conscience. But when everyone kept saying you don't have to do anything, just exist—well, naturally, he felt like helping out.
If the plan had been to extract something in exchange for goodwill... then it had worked perfectly.
Luid attended a meeting.
If he was going to do anything, he figured he should get a feel for the atmosphere first.
The table in the Academy's conference room was round. An artistic statement, apparently—everyone could speak as an equal. And the man behind the idea was the First Emperor. Whenever someone was obsessed with equality, it was usually the First Emperor's brainchild.
"...Then, let us begin the second-quarter meeting of the Imperial Academy."
A somewhat heavy silence hung over the conference room.
The Academy was in the midst of upheaval. Clifford's resignation. Luid's appointment as Honorary Professor. Both were to be officially announced at today's meeting. What no one had expected, however, was Luid's attendance.
The professors kept stealing glances at his face.
"I imagine many of you have questions before we begin." Phoenicia read from her documents. "The honorable and noble Imperial Academy, founded by the First Emperor and carried on for some four hundred years—"
"Ahem. Tsk tsk."
Clifford cut in with his customary throat-clearing, offering unsolicited instruction.
"When your introduction drags on like that, your actual point never lands. Information should be delivered short and clean. Fluff belongs in the garbage bin."
Luid was reminded of a historical drama. The crown prince handling state affairs as regent, the king watching silently before interjecting his two coppers now and then.
Clifford looked exactly like that. Claiming it was by way of example, he declared:
"I hereby entrust my full authority to Phoenicia and to Luid Christopher. Officially, I remain Headmaster—but the direction of the Imperial Academy shall be decided by these two."
Clifford was a lightning rod. If Phoenicia were elevated straight to Headmaster, the backlash would have been fierce. He'd raised a fuss about retiring, but the Emperor had ordered him to stay on as a figurehead.
'It really is the only way to soften the resistance. Age is the one thing no one can argue with.'
Lucius was a wise emperor. His political instincts were undeniably sharp—the drive to push through without a moment's hesitation once he believed something was right, and the charisma behind it, were the marks of a true leader.
Luid genuinely believed this. Absolutely not because the man had handed him a sun-drenched, food-rich gold mine of land for free.
"Therefore, all discussions are to be held with these two. I merely sign the payment documents."
Phoenicia pursed her lips, tossed her papers onto the floor, and addressed the professors without her script.
"I am Phoenicia Finens, and as of today, your Vice-Headmaster. I look forward to working with you all."
The professors applauded in unison. Not one of them raised an objection. It was no secret that Phoenicia had already been doing the Vice-Headmaster's job for some time.
Then they turned tense, wary eyes on Luid. He was the real question mark. None of them yet knew what his role would be.
'I think I heard the word professor...'
'Head Professor? His skill is certainly...'
'Professor seems off, given the Headmaster's wording. Deciding the Academy's direction is no small authority.'
"As you all know, this gentleman's name is Luid Christopher Windsor."
Phoenicia deliberately stressed the name Windsor.
"His official title is Honorary Professor, but that is merely a pretext. Prince Luid is here to protect this Academy, which was recently targeted by a warlock. Until days ago he was a student—but I trust no professor here is foolish enough to make the blunder of treating him as one."
"...!"
Luid already knew all this. The Emperor had stressed, over and over, that there must always be a plausible justification. He was definitely not being asked to actually fill that role.
...What a slippery old snake.
"We'll go over the rest in due time—for now, let's tackle the urgent matters first."
Phoenicia spoke with practiced ease. She had gathered every professor today partly to make these announcements, but mostly because of one critical agenda item.
"First item on the agenda. As you are all aware, the conflict between nobles and commoners within the Academy has recently reached its peak."
"Ahem."
An uncomfortable murmur rippled through the professors.
Noble-commoner conflict. A perennial topic, but this time it was worse. The nobles had been tormenting the commoners with quiet, methodical cunning—always stopping just short of breaking the school rules.
"Shouldn't we be intervening?"
"It's murky. None of their actions technically violate the rules. If anything, it's the commoner students casting magic indoors and such."
"...Commoner students are already walking on eggshells. Some have come forward complaining of harassment."
"Under the First Emperor's Will, are we not obligated to intervene?"
"Commoners and nobles cannot be equal."
Luid said it in a quiet voice. But the effect was thunderous. The room fell silent in an instant.
"How could they be, when they've grown up in entirely different worlds?"
"Prince Luid. Nevertheless, we cannot disregard the First Emperor's Will."
The only black-haired man in the room—Leffen Chaser—spoke in a calm, measured tone.
"I didn't say to disregard it."
Luid delivered the words he'd been waiting years to say.
"Stop just telling people to be equal on the surface—build the environment that makes it possible. Teach the kids etiquette. Proper formal training. I'll say this flatly: etiquette education alone would erase half this conflict."
"......"
The brief silence had a reason.
The Academy already ran etiquette education for the commoners. Of course it did. The problem was that the nobles threw tantrums and refused to attend, shrieking about commoner appeasement and whatnot.
Luid knew that perfectly well. Which was exactly why he added one more condition.
"Make it mandatory."
"Mandatory... you say?"
"That would surely run contrary to the First Emperor's Will—"
Don't discriminate. No corporal punishment. Don't force students to do things. Nurture them with love. Be generous with the students.
That was roughly the spirit of the First Emperor's Will. And yes, it was right—if the population were educated to a certain level, equality becomes a value worth treasuring.
But not in a medieval world. Seriously, just try handing the common folk of this era the right to vote. The Empire would be a smoldering crater within ten years.
'The real villain of this world is the First Emperor. No question.'
Luid was certain of it. He'd love to get one good look at that smug, chosen-people face of his.
Still, openly debating whether the First Emperor had been wrong wasn't wise. To the nobles of this era, the First Emperor was the standard—the very definition of it. The man who built the Empire. If anything was strange, it was that he hadn't been deified.
"So we go around it. We introduce demerit points."
"Demerit points?"
"Yes. For example—Phoenicia, three demerit points."
Phoenicia blinked.
"Four?"
"Talking back, thirty points."
"??"
"No response, seventeen points. Total, fifty—congratulations, Phoenicia, you're expelled."
Phoenicia caught on immediately.
"I see—you want us to institute a system like that."
"Points by themselves aren't a punishment at all, are they? Nothing's being directly penalized, so it doesn't violate the First Emperor's Will either."
The Academy always handled everything through formal tribunals. As far as Luid could see, that was wildly inefficient.
'Why is there no demerit system here? Isn't this bread-and-butter stuff?'
The answer came at once.
"Are points to be handed out on the spot, without a disciplinary committee? On an individual's judgment?"
"That's right."
"...Doesn't that rather invite controversy?"
'Why are you being pointlessly decent about this...'
In Luid's view, the nobles were part of the problem too. Far too well-mannered. If this was the Middle Ages, shouldn't they be going around saying 'How dare a commoner—!' at every turn? Like Damon.
"What matters is the immediate recognition that consequences are instant. A tribunal convened next month and a small penalty handed down on the spot have completely different impact. If someone awards points unjustly, hold a meeting against that professor later and penalize them."
Luid waited for the next objection.
Something like 'Surely you don't expect us professors to be punished?' or 'Demerit points just for skipping etiquette class seems a bit much...'
But the professors' reactions were nothing like he'd expected.
"Th-then let's do it that way."
"A truly, truly pressing matter indeed."
Luid was flustered by how easily they'd all been persuaded.
'Something's wrong. Changing an established order always brings fierce resistance.'
But Luid didn't understand. Unlike the Academy's students, who'd been so prettily hook, line, and sinker fooled by that flimsy mask of equality—these people had no such illusions. To a high noble, a word from another high noble was law!
Not a single soul in this room had the standing to contradict Luid Windsor.
Clifford peered at the professors through one half-lidded eye, then rapped his gavel.
"Ahem, tsk tsk. Can't muster a single word against a twelve-year-old. That settles it, then."