The Lazy Young Master Is Too Competent (4)

"This has to be stopped."

The commoner club, the Magic Club, was a popular one that should have seen every commoner in the Academy turn out for every single meeting.

And yet only four people had gathered. Everyone else had dropped out, scrambling to do whatever ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it took to earn merit points. Those who remained felt the crisis keenly.

"Merit points? This system only benefits the nobles. It goes against the will of His Great Majesty the First Emperor!"

Justin, who had been listening in silence, bit his lip.

At first, he had genuinely thought the merit and demerit system was wonderful. He'd assumed it was a policy for commoners, not nobles.

After all, the nobles' behavior had been crossing the line more and more lately.

But his assumptions had been wrong. A number of the professors were clearly catering to the nobles' whims.

"I agree."

"…Oh, so you've finally come to your senses? After cheerleading every single thing they put forward."

The club president stared at Justin as though he'd grown a second head.

"Either way, we have to stop it. By any means necessary."

"And how exactly do we do that?"

"We petition the Headmaster."

"…You think the Headmaster will take our side?"

Catherine snorted.

"Believing the Headmaster would side with the commoners is laughable in itself. He's with the nobles. The high-and-mighty ones at that."

At Catherine's words, the commoners pressed their lips shut.

They knew she was right.

And yet they couldn't simply sit still either.

"To think they'd deliberately divide the commoners like this…"

"That's not what's happening."

Justin said it with conviction.

"The policy itself isn't bad. What's bad are the professors who abuse it. How about this?"

Every eye in the room turned to him. Perhaps he could untangle this suffocating mess.

"We make a list."

"A list?"

"Yeah. A list of the professors abusing the merit and demerit system."

"…And what do we do with it?"

Justin declared, bold and unbowed.

"Nothing."

"…I'm sorry, what?"

Catherine gaped at him as if he'd lost his mind. She opened her mouth to give him a piece of it—but Justin continued.

"But, without fail."

Justice burned in his eyes.

"Someday, without fail—there will come a day when we need that list."

And then, at that very moment—

"Well, well. How utterly contemptible."

"?!"

Damon strode toward them, his face twisted in scorn.

"What on earth did I just walk in on? You pitiful lowborns."

"Students dissatisfied with this system will start appearing soon."

Second quarterly meeting of the Imperial Academy.

Every gaze in the room was fixed on Luid.

"Isn't that a difficult thing to assert, Young Master Luid? The friction has visibly decreased already. Everyone is desperate to earn merit points."

There's no way Justin would just sit still.

He didn't need to peer inside Justin's head to guess what he was thinking.

Sooner or later, he would call the system unreasonable. Merits and demerits were left entirely to the professors' discretion. With no clear standard, it was inevitable that someone would end up wronged.

"Professors, please make note of the following. These are the standards for demerits and merits. And—do adjust things carefully so that, if at all possible, no one gets expelled."

With magic, Luid set a sheet of paper down before each person present.

"With this, most of the grievances should be resolved—maybe not all of them, but most. If any of it seems unfair, we can revise the standards through discussion in this very meeting."

The paper read as follows:

…Reading that last item, Phoenicia thrust her hand straight up into the air.

"…Young Master Luid? Ah, forgive me—Professor Luid?"

"Yes?"

Luid regarded her with wide, guileless eyes.

"Why does napping in class earn +1 point?"

"They're at an age when they need their sleep. If they're tired, it would be pitiful not to let them rest."

Phoenicia let out a long sigh.

There was no mistaking it—the man's personal bias had leaked straight into the policy.

But every other score was drafted with astonishing precision. There wasn't a single crack to pick at.

How did he produce this in a single day…?

In any case, Luid carried the meeting forward.

"Mind you, this is nothing more than a stopgap. In the end, it leans on the professors' own discretion."

Someone, after all, might well decide that handing out merit points for picking up trash was absurd.

In that case, they could pretend not to see it—or refuse outright, blatantly. The chart would never be distributed to the students, after all.

More than anything else—

Even if only because of the Countess, Justin is bound to harbor serious grievances—

The Countess and Justin were opposites in every respect. Justin's defining trait was his unbending pride in everything he did, and the Countess despised anyone who presumed to strut above their station.

"Do you have a solution in mind?"

Phoenicia asked gently.

"We wait."

"…I beg your pardon?"

"You can't get full on the first sip, can you? Slow, steady change beats a sudden upheaval every time."

Truthfully, he already knew the way.

But Luid wanted to let the Academy's professors arrive at the answer themselves.

I'm only stepping forward this once, after all.

He wouldn't be doing this every time. Having everyone lean on him would be a problem in its own right—

It would probably be fine.

He could say with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠certainty, at least, that the conflict between commoners and nobles would be patched over.

A student's true enemy is the professor, after all.

With a powerful third enemy suddenly on the scene, were they really going to keep squabbling among themselves?

Luid rather doubted it.

"Oh, and one more thing. Please ban the nobles who are sneaking into etiquette classes like a bunch of freeloaders."

"Yes. We were already planning to take action on that."

Because of one grand, lofty goal—teaching commoners proper hygiene—attending etiquette class had been made worth merit points.

But what about the nobles?

Unless they stood to inherit their houses, nobles needed merit points just as desperately. Being noble didn't automatically mean being rich, after all.

So a few of them had chosen to shuffle into etiquette classes and rake in points the easy way—

Which was simply wrong. It was the kind of thing that bred resentment in commoners and honorable nobles alike.

So Luid had cut it off at the source.

But if he stopped there, that would be the real inequality.

So that leaves only one thing left, doesn't it.

Luid decided it was time to wrap up this noble-versus-commoner arc for good.

"Since I'm a professor now too—would it be all right if I held a lecture of my own?"

"…!"

At Luid's bombshell, every eye in the room went perfectly round.

Clifford in particular looked utterly unable to believe it.

The brat who had bolted from the Academy the moment they tried to make him lift a finger—holding a lecture?

But Luid had been planning to hold one all along.

The bare minimum the Emperor expected of him.

It wasn't, as everyone assumed, about patching up the conflict between nobles and commoners.

Because Luid himself believed he had something to teach.

"……."

Hershey stared at the poster for a very long time.

"What is this?"

She rubbed her eyes.

But the perfectly legible lettering refused to change.

"It can't be…?"

Hershey simply could not make sense of it.

"Th-the Fairy of Delin's magic lecture?"

"You've got to be kidding me…!"

"I have to take this class!"

The buzz among the students was the greatest in Academy history.

"See? I told you I was right! Young Master Luid was appointed professor this term!"

"Good heavens. A twelve-year-old is really a professor?"

It all traced back to a certain rumor.

The news that Luid Christopher had become an honorary professor of the Imperial Academy.

Some had believed it outright, but the majority had dismissed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it with an oh, come on, there's no way.

And now this notice was living proof that Luid really had become a professor.

"That's our Luid for you. See that line there? 'Commoners, no entry.'"

"So even Luid looks down on commoners, huh."

"Are you an idiot? It's the opposite. Some boneheaded professors were handing commoners special treatment worth nothing but etiquette lessons, so he stepped in himself. He's the one actually giving out points."

"Oh…! Now that you mention it, that makes perfect sense!"

The nobles grasped in an instant why Luid was offering three whole points just for attending.

Already brimming with resentment, they showered Luid with praise.

"That's a great noble house for you!"

"Windsor never disappoints! No wonder His Majesty holds him so dear—pure, sound logic!"

"Exactly, this is how it should've been from the start. What kind of sense does it make to hand commoners extra points?"

The result was killing two birds with one stone.

The news of Luid's professorship—which might otherwise have drawn nasty jealousy—was swallowed whole and accepted by everyone, and his reputation climbed to the heavens.

Of course, Luid had been the one awarding points aimed at commoners too—but among the students, the only one who knew was Hershey.

A prank…?

Hershey, still dazed, murmured it to herself.

Miho fixed the poster with a long, unblinking stare from where she sat on Hershey's shoulder, and through Hershey's mana she quietly shared her own vision of it.

The poster, it turned out, bore a perception-dampening spell.

"Oh…?"

Hershey's eyes flew wide open.

The lettering had shifted slightly. More precisely, two layers of writing now overlapped.

When she let her focus blur just a touch, the hidden text emerged.

"…!"

Hershey was thunderstruck.

As if lecturing weren't enough, he's fooling the entire Academy…!

"Hmhm, how intriguing. Luid's Cooking Classroom, is it. Trifling work for a man who calls himself my rival."

Hershey whirled around in alarm. Damon was standing there.

"…You as well? Are you going to take Luid's class?"

This man saw through Luid's prank instantly.

"Hmph. Hardly a subject I care to study… but it can't be helped."

Damon chuckled dryly.

"I'm sitting at 49 demerit points, you see."

What on earth has he been doing…!

Hershey was once again struck speechless—in an entirely different sense this time.

Luid surveyed the packed lecture hall with total indifference as he mounted the podium.

"Hup."

The podium was terribly tall, so Luid had to stack five wooden crates to reach it.

There. Now he could be seen properly.

…Why didn't I think of this ages ago?

Luid was deeply fond of this world.

The air was clean, and most of the scenery was beautiful.

But exactly one thing had always bothered him.

The food.

Frankly, whether commoners get bullied or not isn't my problem. But I couldn't just leave the single most important thing unfixed.

What Luid wanted—desperately, absolutely—was to cure this world of its vile, habitual reflex of casting a detoxification spell before every single meal.

It was the kind of behavior that would make even a demon shake its head.

"Hello, everyone."

At his light greeting, the nobles erupted into cheers and applause.

Luid waited until the noise died down, then drawled.

"Oh, and by the way—you'll all receive a perfect score whether you attend or not."

"…!"

"Attendance is entirely up to you—"

Twinkle, twinkle.

Luid felt a familiar gaze on him and turned his head.

…Sis?

Amelia was sitting there.

And behind her sat a horde of hulking Swordsmanship Club members, packed to the brim. Even Gilbert sat among them, looking distinctly unwell.

Luid deliberately averted his eyes and pressed on.

"Which is to say, you're welcome not to attend. My class respects free will. Forcing yourself to do something you hate is stressful, isn't it? And honestly, I won't be teaching anything impressive anyway."

The students laughed it off as a very entertaining joke.

Which was only natural. He was a genius, after all.

A prodigy of magic who had held a magic seminar practically the moment he enrolled?

Yet Luid hadn't mixed in a single lie.

"I mean it. Because my class is…"

Luid said, mid-yawn,

"a cooking classroom."

"!!!"

The students inhaled so sharply they nearly toppled backward.

Cooking?

Had those words really just come out of the mouth of that Young Master of House Windsor—the one and only?

Just as commoners regarded etiquette as a 'luxury,' nobles regarded cooking as something 'lowly.'

Because cooking was maids' work. Nobles by nature considered anything 'anyone' could do beneath them.

"Since it's our first class, I'll just take a few questions and call it a day."

With a whoosh, nearly every student in the hall raised a hand.

Luid pointed at the very front.

"Yes! First-year, Magic Department—"

"Not you."

"…Pardon?"

"The student sitting over there without his hand up. What's your name?"

The boy rose in a fluster.

"R-Raykell."

"Raykell. Ten merit points."

Luid kept pointing.

Every single one of them was a student who had not raised a hand.

Then someone, gambling on a hunch, made a gesture as though slipping out of the lecture hall.

Luid applauded him with a face full of profound admiration.

"Wow, what truly admirable and exemplary conduct. Twenty merit points."

In that instant, the students understood.

What it was that Luid actually wanted!

And why it was that he was called the Lazy Young Master.