The Lazy Young Master Is Far Too Competent (2)

The students of the Imperial Academy were in an uproar.

"A new school policy?"

"A full tuition waiver?!"

The Academy's tuition was steep — expensive enough that even ordinary noble families felt the pinch of it.

Commoners and nobles of small territories received a measure of discount, but even with that, the sum remained nothing to scoff at.

"Forget those uncivilized commoners... Why would tuition matter? The letter of recommendation is what matters!"

Whether mage or knight, the highest honor anyone could aspire to was service to the Imperial court.

A single record of employment in the Imperial household was enough to find work anywhere with ease.

But entry into the palace demanded connections, always. Those deemed untrustworthy were never hired, no matter how exceptional their talent.

In other words, the letter of recommendation was the very reason people came to the Academy. Until now, such letters had been granted by no clear standard — and suddenly, a definite one had appeared.

Perhaps that was why the students focused not on the demerits, but on the merit points.

"Merit points for attending an etiquette class? +3? Hah. Who in their right mind wastes time on useless subjects like that? Aren't you laughing at this too, Hannah?"

One of the commoner students turned to her neighbor with a sneer curling her lips.

"...What are you doing?"

"Huh? Oh, uh... nothing."

The friend beside her was already halfway through filling out an application for the etiquette class.

"You'd get swept up in the nobles' scheming like that?!"

"W-well, the tuition would be free..."

"...Put me down for one too."

"I knew you'd come around. I had one ready."

"See, Hannah? You're a genius."

Meanwhile, some looked upon the notice without so much as a flicker of interest.

That someone was Hershey.

Oh, I see.

That was the full extent of her reaction.

Anyone of marquis rank or above was classified as high nobility, and for those whose only purpose was securing their succession, the offer held little appeal.

Her only thought was that she would have to avoid the demerits. That, after all, would be unbecoming of her honor.

Hershey gave the notice a single passing glance and walked off — toward the wing of the main building where the professors' offices were gathered.

Knock, knock.

Hershey rapped quietly on the door.

Beyond it, she sensed the flow of mana.

The door swung open on its own. Hershey cast off the expressionless mask she'd worn a moment before and slipped inside with a bright smile.

"Luid! Ah — should I call you Professor Luid now?"

Honorary Professor Luid.

This was his office. Luid stared at her blankly from atop a fur cushion spread on the floor, his face still carrying the look of someone freshly woken.

"Hey, Hershey."

Cute again today...!

Luid's eyes were special. They glowed brightly even in darkness — a trait he shared with Amelia, and it seemed, with the Windsors as a whole.

That was why, in a darkened room like this one, he looked almost unreal in his beauty.

Luid drew back the curtains with telekinesis and took his seat. Sharp sunlight flooded the room, washing it in brightness.

Luid was so small in stature that he seemed not to sit in the chair so much as be cradled by it — an image so adorable it bordered on painful.

Hershey laid out the lunch boxes she'd brought, one by one, on the table. At that moment, Miho, perched on Hershey's shoulder, hopped down onto the very fur cushion Luid had only just risen from.

She curled herself into a tight ball, clearly delighted with the spot. Luid's brow furrowed.

"Hey."

[Yes?]

Miho tilted her head, puzzled.

"That's my spot. You're shedding fur all over it. Go sleep somewhere else."

[Awww...]

Miho sulkily wound her tail around her belly and flopped down on the cold marble beside the cushion instead.

Hershey smiled and eased into conversation.

"The Academy's policy changed today, apparently. The reward and penalty point system, was it...? Did you know about it?"

"Yeah. I made it."

Hershey's hands froze mid-motion as she lifted the lid of a lunch box.

"Y-you what?"

She was more than a little taken aback.

"Why? Does it seem bad?"

Luid genuinely wanted to know how she felt about it.

He'd passed it off easily enough, but the students' reception of it was another matter entirely.

Needless to say, Hershey had no intention of ever questioning Luid's judgment.

She answered with complete seriousness.

"I'd been wondering what genius would devise such a noble and righteous system — and of course, it was you, Luid. It's a brilliant policy. Calling it revolutionary would be no exaggeration at all."

"...I don't think it's quite that impressive."

Luid thought that, all things considered, she was laying it on far too thick.

"Will there be any backlash?"

Backlash against Luid's policy...?

The mere thought of it made Hershey deeply displeased.

If such a student existed, she fully intended to demonstrate the power of House Minerva, which had kept quiet for far too long.

"There won't be."

"...Sorry?"

"Yes?"

Hershey wore an expression of pure, guileless innocence.

Well, surely not, Luid thought, and dug into his lunch.

This tastes genuinely terrible.

Would it kill that man to lay off the poison-detection magic for once?

"The idiots are all fixated on the merit points, but no. The real story is the demerits."

Catherine narrowed her eyes as she spoke to Justin. Justin answered with righteous conviction.

"Reward good behavior, punish bad. That's justice."

"Justice, my ass. Is there anything in that head of yours but flower fields?"

Catherine sighed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and patiently explained.

The double edge hidden within this new policy.

"To put it in terms even you can understand — the professors intend to cook students however they please, exactly to their taste. Step one toe out of line, and the demerits start piling up."

"No way. I don't believe the professors would do that."

Justin held the Academy's professors in genuine respect.

"We'll see. I'm skeptical. The nobles all sneer at commoners as it is — so tell me, do you really think professors busy watching their own backs will hesitate to hand out demerits?"

"Of course they will."

"Ugh, you know nothing. Fine. You'll figure it out when you see it for yourself."

Catherine went ahead and pushed the door open. Time for the etiquette class — Noble Etiquette.

Catherine had long since pushed Justin toward the etiquette lessons, so he'd always been attending.

She knew that learning proper manners would prove far more useful someday than learning how to farm.

"Huh? There's a lot of people today."

The lecture hall was more crowded than usual. Justin craned his neck, looking around.

Catherine spoke with evident contempt.

"Obviously they'd swarm in once they heard about merit points. Other classes only give +1, but etiquette gives +3? Whoever designed this practically screaming 'take etiquette' is honestly a bit off-putting."

As Catherine and Justin took their seats, students poured through the door as if released from a dam.

"...Why are nobles here, of all places."

Catherine's face twisted.

"Slimy opportunists. No noble alive needs to learn etiquette — they've come to farm easy points, guaranteed."

"Ah... right, of course."

Catherine's guess was dead on.

A number of nobles had switched their course selections to whichever subjects ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were most advantageous for racking up merit points.

Etiquette was one of them. It was, after all, a field where nobles held an overwhelming natural advantage.

"That old bat who fawns over nobles must be thrilled."

"Calling a countess an old bat? Catherine, that's not right."

"Oh, so learning etiquette taught you respect now too? 'Harmony between commoners and nobles'... how revolting. It's like a cat fussing over a lion."

Catherine scratched her ear with her pinky, utterly unmoved.

Just then, the door opened. She assumed it was the countess who taught the class — but she was wrong.

Isn't that Lady Hershey?How can anyone carry themselves with such grace?

The one who walked in through the door was Hershey Minerva.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Catherine didn't like it.

Didn't peg her for that type. So she's here chasing grades like everyone else, huh.

Of course, Hershey had only come looking for the class most likely to breed resistance to Luid's policy — nothing more.

Hershey sat down without exchanging a word with anyone. For a moment her gaze seemed to linger in Catherine's direction, but it soon settled straight ahead.

Then the guest lecturer of Noble Etiquette, Countess Milleium, entered. The slight upturn at the corners of her eyes gave her a fierce, perpetually irritated look.

But the moment she scanned the room — landing on Hershey in particular — her expression melted into honey.

Good grief. So her face is even capable of that.

Justin was dumbfounded.

"We have quite a few special guests with us today. Could it be that you all expected Countess Milleium here to be exceedingly gentle, and thus generous with merit points? Ohohot! What an accurate prediction indeed."

Emma Milleium covered her mouth as she laughed. She'd been stuck catering to backwater provincial nobles and commoners, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the sight of high nobility in her classroom put her in an excellent mood.

"Let us begin the lesson. Since so many of you are new, we'll start with the fundamentals."

Emma pointed at Hershey.

"Lady Hershey, in dining etiquette — which side should the fork rest upon?"

Hershey rose from her seat with a puzzled look.

"...The right side."

"And when setting down your teacup, what must you do?"

"Set it down as soundlessly as possible."

"A perfect answer. I shall award Lady Hershey five merit points for her excellent response—"

"?!"

The students' expressions shifted all at once.

The nobles lit up with delight; the commoners turned sour. Naturally so — Countess Milleium had just declared, loud and clear, that she intended to discriminate.

At that moment, Hershey answered with firm resolve.

"I'm grateful for your kind regard, but I must decline."

Countess Milleium faltered, caught off guard.

Is this not what she wanted?

"I'm only here to observe today. Please carry on with the lesson as you always would. And as for me — kindly pay me no special attention."

The flustered Countess Milleium scrambled to redirect her gaze.

"Ahem. Then, next... Justin?"

Justin rose with a stiff expression.

"It's been a full two months since you joined my class. Have you been washing yourself properly?"

The nobles snickered. Asking someone if they bathed was, in effect, asking whether they even knew how to walk.

"...I'm doing my best."

Emma's eyes narrowed.

"Doing your best? Is washing oneself such a monumental task?"

"I'm short on time, and I don't have the money for such luxuries."

"L-luxuries?"

Emma stared at him in disbelief.

"If you consider basic hygiene a luxury, why would you bother coming to an etiquette class at all? You've just earned three demerit points."

"......"

The commoners fixed Emma with glacial stares. The nobles wore faces of smug satisfaction.

Justin sat back down without a word.

Catherine murmured quietly.

"Told you so, didn't I? Justin."

"......"

The look in Justin's eyes as he regarded Countess Milleium sank, cold and still.

Phoenicia hurried toward Luid's office, documents clutched to her chest for her report.

Luid's policy had been an unqualified success.

It certainly warranted closer observation over time, but for now, the results spoke for themselves.

Ever since the Every Library incident, discrimination cases had been reported nearly every single day — yet for the past two days, not a single such report had come in.

Phoenicia recalled Luid's words: 'Make them focus on the merit points rather than the demerits. For instance — don't punish students for skipping etiquette class; reward them for attending it.'

The effect had been superb. On its very first day of implementation, the reward and penalty system was drawing enormously positive reactions.

How could he turn it around in a single stroke like this?

She remembered what Clifford was forever saying. 'Nothing is harder than solving a complicated problem simply.' Luid had done exactly that hard thing.

Knock, knock.

Phoenicia rapped on the door with a small smile playing on her lips.

No answer came. She remembered what Luid had said yesterday — 'If you need something, just come in.'

"Vice-Headmaster Phoenicia. I'm coming in."

Phoenicia opened the door.

And the moment she stepped inside, the sight before her robbed her of words.

Luid was curled up asleep on the tiny fur cushion on the floor, curled like a cat.

"......"

Their eyes met, and a brief silence hung in the air.

Phoenicia laughed awkwardly.

"Um... that cushion, you see — it's meant to be a familiar's nest..."

"?"

"...It's said that Young Master Luid uses an arctic fox as his familiar, so... that's why I put it there."

"Nothing ever dictates what a thing must be used for."

"...!"

Phoenicia marveled at the breadth of Luid's thinking, and quietly repented her own prejudice.

...Though Luid's face had gone rather red.

No wonder it seemed small.

He was mortified.