Lady Aidrin is Quite Popular (2)

"Is that 'Lady' Aidrin of the Telrn family?"

"Indeed it is, Sir Drin," Sillon replied.

Drin trailed off once more. "...'Sir'?"

As if that title, following hard on the heels of 'Lady,' grated on her nerves just as much. The faint crease between Drin's brows deepened, becoming quite distinct. Showing a rare flash of emotion on her face, Drin turned her gaze toward Aidrin.

"...!"

It wasn't that Drin's gaze held any overt hostility. Yet, Aidrin felt a sudden pressure—no, a sheer weight of presence—not unlike the murderous aura Kasha had directed at her moments ago.

"By the way, Sir Drin, what is your number—ah, you are Number 1."

At Sillon's words, Drin's eyes drifted to his chest. "And you are Number 17."

Confirming Drin's number, Sillon clenched his fist in theatrical agony, letting out a sharp gasp. "How utterly tragic...! I was so desperately hoping to be in the same group as you, Sir Drin...!"

Upon seeing Sillon's number, a fleeting shadow of disappointment seemed to cross Drin's face. But at his dramatic display, a faint, wry smile touched her lips. Just as she was about to speak, looking somewhat pleased—

"Isn't that right, Lady Aidrin?"

"Huh? Me?"

"Lady Aidrin...?"

Her expression instantly reverting to its usual blank slate, Drin followed Sillon's gaze and stared at Aidrin.

"Yes! Our dear Lady Aidrin was just saying how much she wished to be grouped with you, Sir Drin!"

"...Oh? I see. So 'our' 'Lady' Aidrin wanted so desperately to be in my group."

"Precisely!"

"And what about you?"

"I felt exactly the same, of course!"

"...Is that so?"

"Yes! I truly hoped our Lady Aidrin's wish would come true—what a shame. But please, Lady Aidrin, do not be too disheartened. As I have said time and again, the two of us are more than capable of achieving excellent results in this exam!"

A sense of déjà vu washed over Aidrin. Sensing an ominous familiarity in the flow of the conversation, she instinctively looked at Drin.

"..."

Drin's face was as expressionless as ever. And yet, that blankness felt entirely different. If her usual stoicism felt cold merely as a trick of the mind, this time, the chill was undeniably real. Aidrin felt a sudden shiver, as if an icy gale were howling directly between her and Sillon.

"You two seem... exceptionally close, 'Lady' Aidrin?" Drin said, a thin smile gracing her lips.

"Haha! You have an excellent eye, Sir Drin."

"Is that what it is?"

"Indeed! Just as you said, Lady Aidrin and I share an irreplaceable bond. At least, that is how I see it! After all, Lady Aidrin was the very first person to reach out and help me when I found myself all alone at the Academy!"

"Oh, is that so? So the one who reached out to you 'first' with a 'helping hand' was none other than 'Lady' Aidrin."

"Yes! I consider her the first precious connection I have forged since arriving here!"

"'The first precious connection.' How wonderful."

It was bizarre. On paper, there was absolutely nothing wrong with this conversation. If anything, it sounded heartwarming. Yet, with every exchange, Aidrin felt the icy wind whipping between her and Sillon grow increasingly violent.

Then, Drin locked eyes with Aidrin. Offering a flawlessly pure, spotless smile, she gave a calm, polite nod.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, 'Lady' Aidrin. I shall take my leave."

Aidrin wanted nothing more than to return the greeting with a smile filled with all the reverence and joy of finally exchanging formal pleasantries with the idol she so deeply admired. But her entire body was frozen solid by that invisible, biting wind. She could do nothing but watch in silence as Drin's retreating figure grew distant.

The moment Drin vanished and the icy gale subsided, freeing her from her paralysis, Aidrin muttered blankly,

"I am so incredibly screwed."

She still had no idea what had just transpired regarding Kasha and Drin, or how the situation had devolved into this. But one thing was crystal clear: she had officially landed on the bad side of both Kasha Hanahan and Drin Libringer.

"Hahaha! Screwed? What nonsense, Lady Aidrin. Anyone listening would think those two are the only people left in the world. There are plenty of other candidates who can join our group. And most importantly, we have each other, don't we? Hahahaha!"

And it was, without a shadow of a doubt, because she had associated with Sillon. Aidrin wondered if she was starting to suffer from clinical paranoia. Sillon's smirking face looked no different than usual, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that he was thoroughly enjoying her misery. There was absolutely no reason for him to be, and yet...

"I'm doomed... I've officially lost my mind..."

"Now, now! Chin up, let's stay positive! Shall we go search ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for the final, perfect piece of our puzzle—our masterpiece? Who knows? Maybe some hidden gem of a teammate is waiting just for us."

Her soul practically departing her body, a dazed Aidrin allowed herself to be dragged along by Sillon.

"You seem deeply troubled, Lady Aidrin. Are you still dwelling on what happened with those two ladies earlier?"

Seeing Aidrin's dark expression, Sillon gently inquired about her condition.

"No, it's not because of that."

Offending Kasha Hanahan and Drin Libringer was undoubtedly a grave issue. But it was a risk she had already braced herself for the moment she resolved to help this foolish man. No, the actual problem weighing on her mind right now was something else entirely.

"The third exam."

"Hmm?"

"Whatever happens, we have to do better than those two bastards. No matter what the exam actually is...!"

Adela and Melchen. They had publicly humiliated her, and she had been powerless to do anything about it. The delayed wave of mortification finally caught up to her, throwing her thoughts into utter chaos. To free herself from this shame—and, better yet, to shove it right back down their throats—she had to overturn their current standing. She had to surpass them in the final, third exam.

"But..."

And therein lay the rub.

"The problem is, as utterly classless as those lowlifes are, their actual skills are highly likely to be superior to ours."

"Why do you think so?"

"What do you mean, why? Their scores in the second exam were vastly superior to ours."

Bothered by the rumor that Adela had broken the three-minute barrier, Aidrin had looked into it. The rumors were true. Adela was indeed one of the select few participants who had shattered that wall, clocking in at 2 minutes and 48 seconds. It was a performance leagues ahead of Aidrin's own 3 minutes and 20 seconds. Melchen was no different. He had secured 4th place in the second exam with a time of 3 minutes and 23 seconds—clearly outperforming Sillon, who had placed 6th with 3 minutes and 40 seconds.

"Surely exam scores aren't an absolute measure of one's true strength?"

"No, they aren't. But they are an objective indicator. Barring some miraculous anomaly, those two are highly likely to score higher than us in the third exam as well."

"So, in other words, the two of us won't cut it, and we have to pin our hopes on our final teammate."

"Ugh, it's frustrating, but yes. At least that's better than losing to those bastards."

For that very reason, Aidrin had been scouring the waiting room for renowned, proven talents among the participants, praying that their final teammate would be one of them.

"Not even Reynard...!"

"Does this mean we've drawn a complete blank?"

But Aidrin's hopes were utterly crushed. Not a single one of those top-tier prospects turned out to be their final teammate. To make matters even more despairing, the most famous genius among all the participants had actually joined forces with Adela and Melchen—those absolute scoundrels.

"Ah. We're screw—"

"—It is far too early to jump to conclusions, Lady Aidrin. Let us face this exam with confidence. Who knows? Perhaps I will awaken some hidden power and put on a spectacular ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠performance."

Sillon smiled meaningfully. At that smile, Aidrin's face contorted.

"Our last hope is your stupid 'romanticism'? No... this can't be happening...! Number 17!!! Is anyone here Number 17?!"

Tap, tap.

As Aidrin practically shrieked in despair, someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind. Aidrin spun around. Standing there was a young woman who was a full head shorter than Aidrin—who was already a head shorter than Sillon.

She looked up at Aidrin with dull, doll-like eyes. A black mask covered the lower half of her face. Instead of speaking through it, she simply pointed a slender, delicate finger at her own chest.

The number 17 was pinned there. It was the final ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠teammate they had been searching for so desperately.

Aidrin stared at her new teammate, her mind frantically running the calculations. Do I know her face? No. Does she look strong? No. Still, one could never be sure. Clinging to a tiny sliver of hope, Aidrin spoke up.

"I am Aidrin. Aidrin of the Telrn family. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Miz. Miz of the Bowler family," she mumbled through her mask.

"Bowler?"

It was a name she had never heard before.

"Ah."

But then, the realization struck her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as to why the name felt both foreign and strangely familiar.

The Bowler family. Once a notorious clan of assassins who passed down the forbidden Assassination Arts, they had been branded as public enemies of the continent. However, during the historical sealing of the Great Demonic Realm, they had made monumental contributions. In exchange for completely renouncing their secret assassination techniques, their past sins were pardoned, and they transitioned into a family of swordsmen. Consequently, they were a family utterly despised and looked down upon by every legitimate swordsmanship lineage.

The Bowler family, of all people. Her final teammate was a member of a disgraced house that practiced a rootless, imitation swordsmanship derived from cheap assassination tricks.

"Ha... haha..."

A hollow laugh escaped Aidrin's lips, as if her very soul were leaking out.

"I... I don't even care anymore..."

Aidrin completely gave up.

Meanwhile, Sillon—

"Oh...!"

His face lit up as if a brilliant idea had just struck him, and he stared intently at Miz Bowler.

"?"

Miz Bowler tilted her head, looking up at him. What are you looking at? her expressionless face seemed to ask.

Suddenly, Sillon grabbed both of her hands in a tight grip. Miz Bowler tilted her head once more. What is wrong with this guy? her vacant eyes seemed to say.

To her, Sillon spoke with utmost sincerity. "Master—"

"?"

"—may I call you that?"

"?"

"I have a deep interest in your family's swordsmanship."

"?"

Miz Bowler blinked slowly, then replied, "Sure."

"Really?!"

"No. Obviously a lie. I hate it."