Isaac's Sword

It's fascinating how one person's presence can completely shift the atmosphere in a room. As soon as Zigrinde walked in, the warm, cozy vibe of the office from moments ago vanished entirely. Spring rain pattered against the window outside. But of course, Sion's feelings toward the troublemaking Zigrinde weren't the gentle kind of spring.

"...You've arrived."

"Gah, a guest already. I thought it'd just be me."

"As if, Zigrinde. Professor Joseph is the instructor for all of Mist Flower Class, after all."

"Professor. Do I have to be here with her? It's making me uncomfortable."

"Hmph, how rude."

Sion, where had that warm aura she'd been giving off toward me gone? She immediately ushered in a blast of icy winter wind, cornering Zigrinde.

Can't be helped...

But I knew all too well. Their dynamic was pretty complicated. Still, I didn't want to stir things up by pointing it out myself, so I took a thoroughly neutral stance.

"You two are classmates, aren't you? If you don't get along, it makes this professor sad."

Let's just get along a little. It felt like we were finally back to basics, but if they started throwing down again and caused trouble... this professor might have to feign outrage for the sake of my performance review?

"Hmph..."

At that, our lovely Sion gracefully yielded just enough, hiding her mouth behind her fan to quietly express her refusal.

"Eugh, of course I'd hate that. You get that, right Professor?"

Zigrinde scratched her abundant curly hair vigorously, saying it without a hint of hesitation.

"From the Einheart perspective, how annoying is Lagrange?"

"Ah."

"Duke Raval Lagrange snagged the hero title back in the day—that was bad enough. Then this machete-wielding professor slays the Demon King like it's nothing and comes back the only one promoted to duke. How do you think my family feels about that?"

Hey, kid.

"Well, we're not like the other capital nobles pushing Lagrange-is-useless theories. Honestly? Jealousy. But setting aside my family's grudges, she's still a Lagrange lady at heart. On a genetic level, it just rubs us the wrong way."

I get it. I know. But damn, your vocabulary's surprisingly refined? No, more than that—this bitch.

"Miss Zigrinde... Don't you think students should hide their true feelings a little?"

"Why put on airs? The duchess is still a duchess, so she'll figure out the power dynamics anyway. You know that too, Professor."

At that, Sion couldn't hold back her signature temper. She unleashed the extreme disgust face she'd shown me when we reunited at the ducal mansion, trying to pin Zigrinde down.

"Countess. The feeling's mutual, isn't it?"

"What?"

"To throw it back since you're being so crude: even if we were equals once, now your clearly inferior house is chasing our tails while you throw tantrums alone—that's what's truly pathetic."

Pfft—.

"Getting mad over something like this?"

Heh heh—.

"If this looks like anger, you need more rhetoric studies. I'm just pitying Einheart right now."

"...Wow, fuck. This is so goddamn annoying. Sometimes she's worse than Irina, you know? That's why I hate her, Professor."

"I hate her too."

"See? This is the true nature of the lady Professor's known since she was little."

"—Well said. The Einheart countess that Professor keeps trying to look after is exactly this kind of person. She can't tell what's appropriate and barrels in like a wild horse. No, a stray dog?"

Having heard it all, I said nothing, just leaning back in my chair with my chin propped on one hand.

"Wrap it up already. I don't want to waste energy on this crap."

At that, the two ladies read my mood instantly and shut their mouths in unison.

"...Sorry, Professor."

"Ah, no. That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't my intention... Tch, how embarrassing."

In the end, they turned into siblings tattling to Dad. But if they were asking me to take sides, neither would get what they wanted. As a professor now, I'm not on anyone's team. I just stick to my educational philosophy.

Anyway, fine. I cleared the phlegm-scarred rasp in my throat—burned raw from cigarettes—with a one-shot of coffee.

Ahem.

"Thanks to your little brawl, things dragged on, but anyway—the reason I called you both today is to unite your individual goals into one."

"...Goals?"

Sion, who knew from prior talks, stayed silent as expected. But Zigrinde, hearing it fresh, looked at me curiously.

"—We didn't talk about it, but you remember, right? The promise when I got you out of the Detention Center, Miss Zigrinde."

At those words, Zigrinde's eyes widened like avocado pits, and she shot up from her chair for a moment.

"—Disciple!!"

She's thrilled. Disciple stock straight to the moon, huh? Something like that?

"Jeez, Professor!"

"Yes."

"I thought you'd forgotten since you didn't mention it. I was planning to come find you soon anyway—perfect timing. Heh..."

"Of course I remember. Whose teacher am I?"

"Hehehe—great! So I'm Professor's first disciple. An inviolable, eternal territory. Got it?"

"........."

"What? Why the silent treatment?"

Well. I'm minding Sion's feelings. Look at her—that petite, cute little thing glaring like a squirrel next to you, eyes shooting beams like "You think I'll let that go, you mangy alley cat looking like a silver mackerel?" Can't you see?

Who the first disciple is doesn't matter much to me. But between these two with their tangled dynamics, it's a big deal.

So I didn't say more, just quietly pulling a document from the desk next to where Uroboros' Legacy had been and spreading it open.

Flutter.

"What is this...?"

"...What's this, Professor?"

Of course, even Sion hadn't seen it, so they asked almost in sync.

"It's a membership application."

"Membership?"

"One body, many seekers. I racked my brain last night for a way... and found a perfectly school-like, orthodox solution."

"...A club?"

"Yes, exactly. This is the membership and founding application for the new club I'm creating."

At that, they squirmed in place, annoyed like they'd dug a well only for someone else to drink first. But words change things.

"Of course, respecting your desire not to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leave me alone. Not just anyone can join."

"Exactly. It wouldn't be fair. I blocked that bloodthirsty grand duchess for you—"

"Quite right. Can't have competitors popping up willy-nilly."

"Two conditions for entry."

I held up two fingers, explaining to them.

"One. An resolve and desire to grow stronger beyond the ordinary."

"......"

"Two. You have to really catch my eye."

Hearing that far, the two—heading in different directions—couldn't hide their joy, grinning widely.

"Not that it matters much, but you both meet all conditions, so you get priority."

"Yesss!"

"...I'm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠delighted."

...Didn't expect them to be this happy. Watching their faces swing from heaven to hell with my words was kinda funny.

But with conditions like that... it might end up an unofficial group where only those desperate to join—and whom I like—get in.

Honestly? So what? In swordsmanship, I just want to train who I want. Complaints from other students about inequality? I'd be the sad one if I had to spread myself thin.

Of course, those above don't understand hearts. Maybe His Imperial Majesty, who last said "let's meet again," will scrutinize this and use it as a dagger later.

But I'd prepared a safeguard against that.

"Anyway, if you want to join my new club, Isaac's Sword, please sign here. I'll submit it before clocking out today, so you'll be founding members."

"Isaac's Sword... Huh, that name rings a bell."

"Yes. Taken from His Majesty's name. Out of respect."

Respect. Respect... If Duke Raval sees that, he'll snort, "Haha, lost your mind, eh?" I don't actually respect the emperor much either, so it doesn't sit great. But no objections.

Because the meaning inside? Only I know it in this world.

'I respect you, Teacher Netro.'

A hundred bows of gratitude. If it's to the man who awakens respect through brutally faithful basic training, it's not so bad, right? Names match by coincidence. And not just names—the attitude too.

Our club might teach new techniques if I'm in the mood. But basics? Inner strength building? Non-negotiable. It'll be a hellish ordeal factory.

Unaware of my true intent, they just nodded at the name and reached for pens to sign.

"Professor, this Lagrange duchess trusts you. ...You'll pass any hero selection, so you'll guide me well somehow."

"No regrets."

"No doubts. I'll follow the proper path."

But Zigrinde, seeing that, crescent-eyed her eyes and blocked her hand.

Chin.

"...What's this?"

"Don't sneak that in. I already called dibs on first disciple."

"......Tch, sharp as ever. But who cares about that? Don't you know my bond with Professor?"

"Bonds be damned. The promise is set."

Argh. Fuck.

"—Stop fighting. Third time already. If order matters that much, write simultaneously and settle superiority later!"

"Ah, well said, Professor. This Sion Lagrange will crush that gorilla's nose for sure."

"Go, gorilla? Annoying. Who're you calling that, you plain face who can't dress up anyway..."

Even bickering, they had no choice. They squabbled a bit, counted to three themselves, and signed together.

"Done."

"All set, Professor."

Would've been nice from the start. Sigh.

...But this resolves their demands, right?

So I sent them off and wrapped up the rest of my work. Polishing them properly won't be easy. But now that it's come to this, let's give it a shot.

After that, heading out to the hallway for a stroll. For some reason, I craved a smoke more than usual today. My nicotine-fried brain was harder to wrangle than a toddler's.

Normally I'd only do it in my office, not on campus. But lunch was over, no classes for me—prime idle time. So I ninja-hinted myself internally and hustled—maybe my fastest pace all week—toward the secluded professor-only smoking spot I'd eyed before, down a dim corner corridor.

But.

"......?!"

In this ghost-town quiet area, voices. One Lulua's. The other, some unfamiliar middle-aged guy's.

Hearing that, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠terrified of getting caught mid-smoke-quest, I instinctively froze.

Peeking around the corner—yep, there they were, whispering so no one else could hear.

"──."

"───...."

Staff uniforms, guy looks tidy. Doesn't seem like he's up to no good with Lulua. She hands him something; her hand trembles faintly.

What the—another grade bribe? And who's this guy? Never seen him.

Then my senses screamed. I'm no idiot, even if I act like a punk.

I nailed it instantly.

—Galgamau. High-rank.

Intervene? In that split second, I debated a thousand times.

But then—the high-rank creep grabbed Lulua's shoulder. Light, non-threatening. But her body stiffened like stone.

"...Ha."

I couldn't stop myself from stepping out from the corner.