Chapter 9 - The Crazy Psycho Resident

Meanwhile, there was a being still holed up in the detention room, awaiting disposal. It was the swordsman who had inflicted a grievous wound on the grand duchess: Zigrinde Ainheart.

"……."

In truth, even someone like her, who seemed devoid of thought at a glance, could make quite rational judgments once her excitement faded and reason returned….

She didn't feel particularly wronged about being locked up here for smashing the grand duchess.

But separate from any sense of injustice, she couldn't help thinking it was a bit much.

"This sucks."

This so-called detention room was more like a jail cell. Mice squeaked under the floor mats, spiderwebs hung thick in every corner—who knew how long it'd been since anyone cleaned?—and the only faces she saw were the security guards who tossed in slop like dog food at mealtimes.

It was practically a holding cell.

For a countess like Zigrinde, who couldn't care less either way, she figured she'd just let the school do whatever.

But in truth, there was another reason she could remain so detached.

Right now, trivial thoughts like being trapped in this filthy place were overshadowed by something far—far—far more important.

"Nameless Sword Emperor…."

Joseph. The famous man who slew the Demon King.

"The more I think about it, the less sense he makes. What the hell?"

Zigrinde's every ounce of attention was fixed solely on the man who'd been appointed as her new professor.

Of course, she'd never once in her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠life had her head filled with thoughts of another person.

Which was only natural.

With a personality like hers—one that charged even at the grand duchess, a relative of the imperial family—who would bother deeply contemplating others?

So yesterday, upon arriving in this detention cell, she'd let her swirling thoughts drift away since her head felt cluttered.

But even after waking this morning, it persisted. This was no ordinary matter.

And ironically, being stuck in this damn jail gave her ample time to think about Joseph.

Even Zigrinde, who hated deep contemplation in all things, found herself surrendering to the flow of thoughts in this stifling silence.

In that sense, the first image that rose clearly in her mind was unmistakable.

The secret art of the Ainheart family: Flash Circle….

He'd blocked it, hadn't he?

"Uh-heh, it's killer. How'd he do it? I cast it without incantation on purpose."

Just thinking about it made her heart pound wildly.

Like a child mimicking the first dance they'd ever seen, Zigrinde eagerly tried to recreate Joseph's movements from memory.

And in doing so, she didn't even realize she'd unconsciously started using honorifics toward Joseph.

Tap, drip—

Like this, and like this…. So when the hand ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠comes over here, then back like this….

"—Damn it, I still don't get it! Haha!"

The principle of Flash Circle was magic that folded the earth to forcibly close the distance.

To block that with pure physical movement—what kind of secrets and power did he have to conceal to make it possible…?

And he did it without even drawing his sword, just with the scabbard.

Her palm still tingled from the impact.

Shiver—

As expected. He's on another level.

He'd actually killed the Demon King, which was absurd to begin with.

But she was called the modern sword saint, too.

So she figured there was value in clashing once.

…No chance.

What confirmed her confidence as mere arrogance was seeing him up close.

"That dreadful yin energy. A spiritual pressure that could make your mind vanish."

What she'd sensed from Joseph then was a killing intent she'd never felt before in her life.

And rising behind him like a barrier: a foul miasma.

Just unleashing that aura properly would knock out anyone without mental resistance.

It was enough to make even her—who'd never once retreated—step back.

So how could a human carry such an aura and still live normally among people?

How could he blend in with something like that?

Honestly, it was less human spiritual pressure and more like an out-of-spec curse from some entity.

——No way.

A curse from slaying the Demon King?

"Ah."

And then it hit her.

"Retirement…. That's why!"

Yeah. No way he could live properly carrying something like that!

That had always bugged her since childhood.

Instead of the frothy Laval, it was the shadow hero who slew the Demon King—the great Nameless Sword Emperor Joseph….

Right after everything ended, he vanished from history faster than anyone.

When others would bask in the glory and honors due, securing a place in the empire.

To abandon it all and retire to the countryside? Utterly implausible.

Far more logical: to bear the curse from slaying the Demon King alone, he secluded himself in the countryside to keep it in check.

The moment she internalized that thought, Zigrinde muttered in pure admiration.

"Cool."

…This Joseph guy.

Just like the image she'd heard from her nursemaid as a child, thought about, and felt.

Of course, the truth—whether hiding a curse or not—was simply that he'd finished his duties and wanted a slow life.

But Zigrinde had no way of knowing that.

So for her, who'd concluded he was somewhat respectable, Joseph's parting words returned to tickle her heart.

"…Heh. A guy that cool said he'd take responsibility for me first."

She'd heard he'd been evicted from his rental scam and had to leave the countryside.

And through coincidences piling up, he'd ended up as their class professor.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Not bad. No, I like it."

As expected, a hero's magnanimity is something else.

Despite her crime of nearly ruining the grand duchess.

He'd said he'd somehow prevent her expulsion.

Honestly, even Zigrinde had been terrified of the consequences after swinging her sword in rage.

Having found something to lean on, she thought she'd take a bit of this hero's goodwill.

So….

"Can't disappoint him; it'd hurt my pride. Maybe I should play it straight for once."

Until her teacher came looking, she quietly pulled out paper and began writing an apology letter to the grand duchess.

She could smash these detention walls and leave if she wanted.

But that would be rude to the first person who'd treated her like a human.

Even Zigrinde thought that much.

"Ah, that's no good. It'll get rejected…."

Well, for a pure musclehead like her, writing letters wasn't exactly familiar territory.

* * *

"Right here. From what I know, it's the last room on the third floor."

Once I took the reins and declared I'd round up our runaway foals, the happiest was Sion.

Look at her now. Heading to grab our Orlan countess, and she's volunteering as guide with glee.

Of course, unlike what I'd said, I couldn't bring Tiel along.

She's a crossdressing girl, but that's my secret.

A male student entering the girls' dorm is the ultimate taboo.

Couldn't bring her, unfortunately.

Sadly, when I went to the dorm supervisor's office for the master key to Alun Orlan's room, that hag's shrill voice still rang in my ears.

'Remember this, Professor! Even if you don't know, absolutely no Tiel! Tiel's a boy, so no matter what, he can't go!'

Ugh. That ugly old witch. Never wanna see her again.

But after hearing that, what could I do?

So Sion and I ended up at Alun's door, just the two of us.

"How delightful."

"What's so delightful?"

"The Orlan countess. She never leaves her dorm, so this is the first time I've seen her face. A chance to drag out that fugitive—and with professorly authority, no less. Heh heh…."

Anyway, the reason she enjoyed this was simple.

Our niece here apparently hadn't been thrilled with the Mist Flower Class spinning into total chaos.

But with me assigned as professor, she rationally judged I could straighten these kids out.

But honestly, her excitement went beyond that.

"…By the way, Miss Sion."

"Yes, Uncle—."

"Last time, after I dropped you off from the carriage, you promised to help me recover my stolen deposit, remember?"

"Ah, of course."

"You mentioned someone nearby who knew the Orlan count well…."

At that moment, our eyes met.

"That person's the one we're here to catch, right?"

I nailed it, and she smiled.

Golden answer.

"As expected, Uncle sees right through. How do you pull out such insight—?"

"You're thrilled just like back then."

Sion opened her fan to cover her mouth.

"Can't deny it."

Flutter—

"But anyone who harms Uncle is an enemy of Lagrange. How could one not get excited heading to destroy an enemy?"

"D-Destroy? It's not that serious. This is just about dragging her out for skipping class."

"No? You're too soft, Uncle. I don't know why she stayed at the academy instead of fleeing with her father. But now, she bears the responsibility, doesn't she?"

Well, normally you'd think that.

If I didn't know the original story, I'd be fuming like Sion and busting the door down.

No—probably kick it off its hinges and smash the frame.

But every time I wanted to, a weird dissonance stirred inside me.

Alun Orlan.

…The original protagonist's one and only best ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠friend. A true noble among nobles, poster child for noblesse oblige.

From what I remembered, her mental fortitude was unbreakable.

Yet holing up in her dorm like this? Something had to be wrong.

Plus, her being in the problem-child Mist Flower Class? She was supposed to be in the protagonist's class originally.

So before grilling her about my deposit….

As a professor who'd taken up the chalk, I'd ask what was going on.

Why aren't you coming to class? Everything okay?

With that, I said,

"I'll take it from here. Miss Sion, just stay by my side."

"Uncle's perfect revenge. This Sion Lagrange will witness it."

Knock knock—

I knocked, and there was a presence behind the door. She was alive, at least.

But no sign of it opening.

"Alun Orlan? I know you're in there. Come out for a sec."

"Uncle, smash it! End her!"

Knock knock—!!

"…Orlan countess. This is your homeroom professor. I got the master key from the supervisor. If you don't come out, I'll open it."

"This is thrilling. What pathetic justice awaits…. Ah, good thing she's a girl. Poor Tiel."

Bang bang—!!

"Last warning!"

And right as I issued my final warning, the door creaked open like a snail crawling.

Creeeak—

"I… opened it…. Professor…."

"───?!"

"Eek—?"

But the moment we saw her, Sion—who'd been munching imaginary popcorn—and I both gaped in shock.

Tall as the tallest women, slender lines, long straight purple hair—it matched the Alun I knew.

But now.

Her body was covered in horrific burns, mapped like a world atlas—ones not even properly treated, festering cruelly!

"Alun…!"

I blurted her name unconsciously, and she stared up blankly.

Our eyes met, and Alun's face turned ashen.

"───You're not the professor."

"No. I am your homeroom professor."

"No. Y-You're Sir Joseph, aren't you? I-I know everything…."

"…Yeah. But like I said, I'm still your professor?"

And right then.

I swear I heard a sound from somewhere.

Alun's mentality shattering to pieces.

Thud—

Taking me in, she knelt without a scream, muttering like a madwoman.

"Sorry, forgive me, sorry, forgive me, sorry, forgive me…………."

"Ah, Alun?!"

"Couldn't stop him. Couldn't stop Father…. I-I tried to stop him for you, Sir Joseph…. Failed. All my fault. Sorry. I regret it. If I'd been a better person, I'd have stopped Father. M-Me. Kill me, please…………."

Sion, what's wrong with her? She's lost it. I'm scared.

——I thought, when

"…Hic."

Sion had slipped behind me, clutching my sleeve.

This seemed like a variable even she hadn't anticipated.