Chapter 187: Baking Competition (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 187: Baking Competition (1)
Even if Boradori had acknowledged Delmoa’s talent, their opponent was the Helmet of the Demon King.
This was a picky bastard that even a descendant of dragons and a High Elf had acknowledged—and a certain mage I won't bother naming couldn't even get through to. Would it really accept Delmoa, who had nothing but raw talent and zero foundation?
—Ooooooooooh!
“...?”
—Hyaaaaaaaaagh!
“...?”
—Kkiyooooooooot!
“...???”
This guy’s reaction was weird.
Usually, it was mostly just “Kraaaaaagh!”, but this time, it seemed like he’d truly lost his mind.
“I think it’s broken.”
“I think he just... peaked.”
“Peaked where exactly...?”
I looked at Boradori with an incredulous expression at the unexpectedly crude choice of words. Having grown accustomed to it unlike before, she was floating naturally in the air.
“You comfortable?”
“It was hard at first. But now that I’m used to it, it’s not so bad.”
Come to think of it, this guy...
I always called him a one-trick pony with his sorcery, but he was at the top of the Magic Department.
It was just that he couldn't keep up with the power inflation of a RoFan world with simple magic alone; outside of a RoFan setting, he’d be a top-tier asset.
Of course, unfortunately for him, the number of candidates increased, and he was dropped from the list of potential Leon Tower Masters.
“It’s only because it’s a helmet. If it were a person, he’d have a totally blissed-out face right now.”
“I’m asking you, where exactly did he ‘go’...?”
Still, for a former candidate for the Leon Tower Master to use such vulgar language. I felt like I knew exactly which web novel platform he frequented.
—Krooooooooot!
And just as Boradori predicted—the Helmet of the Demon King, having completely "peaked," erupted in light.
—Now, this... this is a mage.
In a voice that had completely melted, he granted Delmoa the "Mage Certification" that even I hadn't received.
Honestly, I felt a bit...
No, I felt very wronged.
I actually have Fire Magic and Ice Magic slotted in my skill bar.
Yet these guys treated me like a non-mage while coddling Delmoa, whose skill slots were completely empty, calling her "our genius mage."
“This is discrimination.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It is discrimination.”
—We are simply discriminating between a mage and a non-mage. Is there a problem?
“She can’t even use magic, so why is she recognized as a mage?”
“Saying that out loud is...”
—A lack of mage sensitivity.
One was floating upside down in the air, and the other was perched on a brat’s head, yet they were perfectly in sync.
—This child’s talent is beyond the word 'genius.' If given at least five years... I guarantee she could become the most outstanding mage among everyone here.
Becoming the most outstanding mage currently at the Academy was no easy feat.
Not only the Head Professor of the Magic Department but also the Academy Director were individuals who could be counted among the top ten, if not the top five, on the continent.
Furthermore, there were those with guaranteed futures and unique magic, like the Magic Spammer and the Fire Spammer.
Even coming from the Helmet of the Demon King, it sounded like a bluff.
“Does that include Altear?”
—Of course. That includes everyone within this place called the Academy.
The Helmet of the Demon King knew of the being beneath the Academy—the former hero of the Empire, Altear.
He even claimed to have fought Altear every time his cooldown was up, so he likely knew his true strength, which I hadn't even seen. Altear’s ability to easily suppress not only me but even the Heresy Inquisitors of the Holy Kingdom was on a level incomparable to McGregor, the Head Professor, or even the Director.
And yet, she could reach that level in just five years!
“But you graduate from the Academy in four years.”
—...W-With enough effort, one year is possible!
“But if she transfers in, she starts as a sophomore, so she has less than three years left.”
—No, I mean, even so, that’s a bit...
Hmm, I guess that really is physically impossible.
I placed Delmoa, who was crunching on Pepero sticks I’d swiped from the club room, on my lap and stroked her head.
“Is it good?”
“Mm.”
“Want more?”
“Mm.”
The crunching sound sped up.
It seemed she had been pacing herself after seeing how many were left, but her eating speed increased the moment I offered more.
“I can give you stuff like this every day.”
“Really?”
“In exchange, you just have to sign right here...”
It was the moment I pulled a contract out of my subspace pouch along with some desserts I’d bought as "club performance results."
“Hey, hey!”
—Kraagh! You crazy bastard! What are you planning to do with the kid?!
Boradori and the Helmet immediately threw a fit.
“Quiet.”
At that, a grumpy-looking Delmoa took off the helmet, and I immediately snatched it and equipped it in my helmet slot.
—Kraaaaagh! My eyes!
“Where does a helmet have eyes?”
—The eye of the mind exists! I was looking at beautiful Mother Nature just a moment ago! To think you’d shove me into a cesspool!
A cesspool? That’s harsh.
—Kraaaaagh! Stop! Stop it! Stop with that nonsense about combining fire and ice magic to make water magic!
I shut the helmet up like that.
“If you keep acting up, I’ll tell you to maintain your current state without using mana.”
“How am I supposed to do this without mana...?”
“Figure it out.”
“......”
I silenced Boradori, who couldn't perform her mid-air headstand without mana since she hadn't awakened her superpowers yet.
“You just need to sign here.”
“I don't have one of those.”
“A thumbprint works too.”
“What’s that?”
“Here. Press your finger down hard. Then press it here, and delicious things will come out every day.”
“......”
Delmoa’s expressionless gaze turned toward me.
...Come to think of it, I think she mentioned her family was well-off when she was little.
And her appearance was just due to malnutrition; her actual age was similar to ours.
...Was I trying to rip her off too much?
Just as I was thinking about negotiating a salary first... and maybe embezzling some of Boradori’s budget if funds were tight...
“......”
Delmoa seemed to deliberate for a moment, then silently pressed her thumb onto the contract.
And then.
“Give me more.”
As if demanding her reward, she told me to offer up the snacks.
“Sure.”
Without hesitation, I offered the snacks as a tribute to the future number one candidate for the Leon Tower Master.
And so, the duo of Boradori and the Helmet of the Demon King—luxurious, yet seemingly very flawed—was formed as Delmoa’s magic mentors.
“We have a problem.”
Uncle Aeryun spoke with a serious expression, looking at the club members.
Everyone in the club couldn't help but tense up. To hear the word "problem" from the mouth of a man who treated four or five Dark Mages like passing thugs...
Even without this, minor incidents were popping up during the Founding Festival, like a notice from a legendary Great Thief or declarations of independence from ethnic minorities I didn't even remember.
And the incident mentioned by Manager Park from Ilias hadn't even been fully resolved yet, and now a "problem"?
As everyone’s attention focused on him, Uncle Aeryun opened his mouth with a face full of agony.
“...Regarding the Founding Festival events.”
“......”
“We have to participate in the Baking Competition!”
“......”
“......”
“......”
Question marks floated above everyone’s heads at Uncle Aeryun’s declaration.
“Ah. So that’s it.”
Just as everyone fell into a short—no, rather long—stun, Taylor was the first to snap out of it and spoke with an enlightened expression.
“The codename for the operation is 'Baking Competition'!”
“No, it’s not.”
And he was the first to swing and miss. At least he was fast.
“Ah.”
The next one to realize was the Fire Spammer.
Her eyes sparkled like a mage who had found the truth as she offered her opinion.
“There’s going to be a huge incident at the Baking Competition!”
“...No, there isn't.”
“......”
Of course, the Fire Spammer also missed the mark. Just as more question marks were appearing over the first-year juniors' heads...
“No way.”
I realized the terrifying truth and couldn't help but be horrified.
No, surely. Really?
“Do we really have to enter the Baking Competition as a club activity?”
“Idiot. Would the Academy be crazy enough to do that?”
The Fire Spammer replied curtly to my question.
She was right.
In truth, as people from other nations, we had no reason to work this hard for the Academy.
We were receiving appropriate—honestly, quite generous—compensation in the process.
But more than that, our activities were about building up favors to receive cooperation from the Empire in case something happened to our respective national interests.
In other words, one way or another, the Empire was steadily accumulating debt.
And the one most responsible for that debt was the Academy, where the majority of the incidents occurred.
So, unless they were insane, the Fire Spammer was saying the Academy wouldn't blackmail our club—a bunch of people who only knew how to eat desserts—into entering a baking competition.
However.
“Is the Academy ever normal?”
“...!”
This damn Academy was never a sane place to begin with.
Therefore, one should never judge this place based on things like sanity or probability.
“Yes, that’s right.”
To the shocked members, Uncle Aeryun dropped the official confirmation.
“That cra—... beautiful lady of a Director! She said that even the Imperial Princes and Kings are entering competitions to save their clubs! She asked how she’s supposed to officially defend a bunch of people who do nothing but stuff their faces with desserts!”
He almost called her a crazy bitch but seemed to have caught himself and said "beautiful lady" instead.
Everyone could tell what Uncle Aeryun was really thinking.
“Wait, isn't that what our club activity was supposed to be?”
“Are they really telling us to make the desserts ourselves?”
“This doesn't make any sense.”
Of course, that didn't mean the complaints vanished.
A baking competition, out of nowhere.
“Ah, about that.”
Uncle Aeryun scratched the back of his head with an awkward expression.
“When I submitted the club application, it looked a bit empty, so I just wrote down that we would experience desserts and make them ourselves...”
“......”
“......”
“......”
This man was the culprit.
“Alright, that’s one person confirmed.”
“Hey! I don't know how to bake!”
Since we only needed three sacrifices—I mean, participants...
“The rest are Imperial matters, so let’s settle this with the Empire’s long-standing tradition.”
“Hey, what does a guy from Leon know about the Empire’s long-standing tradition?”
Taylor, a pure-blooded Imperial, looked incredulous at my words, but this was like the Goguryeo Subakdo.
No, a dead witness still wandering the basement of the Imperial Academy library could prove it.
“Rock-Paper-Scissors.”
It was a tradition that even the few Great Emperors in the Empire’s history had staked their lives and futures on.
Rock-Paper-Scissors.
Scissors beats Paper.
Paper beats Rock.
And Rock beats Scissors.
A game with very simple rules and clear evidence that prevents fights... a simple yet deep psychological battle.
However, since it ultimately involved moving the body, it was a game where knights inevitably had an advantage.
Dynamic visual acuity, the ability to instantaneously control the body to curl a finger that was about to straighten, or to flick out a curled finger in a split second—these provided an overwhelming advantage.
This was proven by the fact that Altear, known as a Great Mage, was stuck in the Academy’s basement.
That’s why I was too careless.
My mistake was forgetting that the opponent Altear had faced in his final showdown was the Great Emperor Luke, who was a Sword Master.
“Is the preparation going well?”
At the words of Uncle Aeryun, who was wearing a baker’s hat next to me, I replied reluctantly as I set down the flour.
“Everything’s fine over here.”
That’s right. I had lost miserably at Rock-Paper-Scissors.
The reason was simple.
“Flame Oven. Are you ready?”
“Uh... who are you calling a Flame Oven?!”
This damn Fire Spammer—no, the Oven next to me—had momentarily used magic.
She had made me see an illusion.
Of course, she had been so focused on it that she messed up her own move and got eliminated too, which just goes to show the average level of these Magic Spammers.
But that wasn't the real problem.
“......”
Not too far away.
In a place visible even to an ordinary person, let alone someone trained like me.
—The 24th Continental Flower Arranging World Championship.
A flag of the Demonic Realm was fluttering grandiosly in the wind.