Freshman Johan 17: Confronting the Murderer
A week had passed since Axelro was found dead. In that time, one freshman from each of Tempest, Ibis, and Oracle had turned up as a corpse. Right on script from the original story.
The academy was on high alert. Still, classes went on as usual—just shortened. The place was impressive like that.
Naturally, the academy guards' attention zeroed in on Drake. With one death per dorm so far, the odds pointed to a Drake student as the next target.
'Of course, that's just a bluff.'
The next victim was an Oracle student. And in this incident, Johan—the original protagonist—catches the culprit, Bianca. I'd do the same.
'Bianca. There's a slut by that name back in Solari World. Same deal here.'
After class, I headed back to the dorm. The small log cabin without a roommate was plenty spacious for one. I really liked it. Made me almost grateful to Bianca for a second.
I waited inside until sunset. The target only moved after dark anyway. To catch her red-handed, I had to time it for the moment of the crime.
Once I'd killed enough time, I slipped out. The sun was fully down, leaving everything pitch black. Curfew was in effect—pulled earlier thanks to the murders.
Getting caught by a dorm supervisor meant a 10-point penalty. But that wasn't the priority. I moved slowly through the shadows, a plain iron sword at my waist.
In the original, Johan tracks the victims and uncovers their common trait: birthdays. The guards hadn't figured it out yet, but all the sacrifices shared the same one. Kazan demanded offerings born on June 6th this time.
The next one was a guy named LeCart. I'd already scouted his cabin. I staked it out from the front.
About an hour in, a shadow appeared in the dark. No need to check—it was Bianca, the killer. I swung at her without hesitation.
"!?"
It was a surprise attack in the gloom, but as a secret society member, she deflected it with one hand. Bianca was a third-year, martial arts club taekwondo expert, same Oracle dorm as me.
Her palm met the blade like a steel shield—heavy feedback jolted through my grip. I yanked the sword back fast. Let a fist-fighter grab your weapon, and you're in a nasty close-quarters brawl. Can't give her that advantage.
A beauty with shoulder-length black hair in a side ponytail and thick-rimmed glasses glared at me, frowning. She wore skin-tight training clothes—probably for max mobility.
She looked like your typical quiet straight-A student. Commoner background. Everyone's impression of her matched that perfectly. Only fellow Black Star Cult members and me knew she was one of them.
Darkness shrouded us, but mana users like us saw through it like daylight. We both channeled mana into our eyes.
"What brings you out this late, senpai?"
Her eyebrow twitched hard when I spoke first.
"What the hell are you doing?"
She dropped into a fighting stance. I followed up instantly, lunging with a diagonal slash aimed to cleave her waist from right to left.
She blocked solidly. Textbook taekwondo—zero wasted motion. Her hands tracked my blade with sparrow-like speed, mana coating both palms.
Clang!
My attacks didn't stop at one. I unleashed a barrage. The wildly flickering steel seemed chaotic at first glance, but it consistently targeted vitals.
'Mana Sword.'
The mana-infused blade cut sharper than any normal iron. A graze meant serious injury. Like a living serpent, it traced fluid arcs left-to-right, right-to-left, elegantly sealing her escape in a graceful assault.
Ting! Ting! Ting!
But Bianca held her ground. She enhanced her body with mana to counter my Mana Sword.
Left hand parries the overhead chop. She ducks to slip past a low probe. Common sense said a swordsman crushes a fist-fighter, but add mana mastery, and that goes out the window.
It came down to mana efficiency and exploiting split-second openings.
Thud!
Bianca stomped hard, seizing a hair-thin gap in my relentless pressure for a counter. Her body launched forward like a cannonball, fist clenched and blazing with mana—promising to throw my attacks right back.
My turn to evade. You can't always dictate in a fight.
Her projectile-like charge halted inches from me. She dragged her foot to brake, tilting her torso to hook the punch's path. If I'd only prepped for a straight attack, no dodging that.
'Predictable.'
I had battle senses honed by countless real fights. No matter how many she'd killed as a devil-worshipper, she couldn't match my experience.
Her wild haymaker was in my calculations. The original didn't detail this much, but I didn't need it for this fight.
'All that training's paying off.'
Her needle-sharp counter nailed my vertically raised blade, trajectory blocked. Frustration flashed on her face as she recoiled—'Tch!' She really hated missing that.
My turn again. Bianca was no slouch. Even in this brief clash, her skill outpaced her peers. And we weren't even going full mana, wary of guards.
That prowess let her "hunt" perfectly so far. Sure, ambushes helped, but the Black Star Cult trusted her with sacrifices for a reason.
The original Johan barely beats her through hellish luck. No thanks—I'd skip the suffering.
Ting! Ting!
Her blocks were slowing, loosening. Not mana fatigue from this short scrap. Growing patrol sounds from the guards were hesitating her.
Getting spotted wrecked her plan. Done playing defense, she kicked off backward, flipping mid-air to land and glare.
"I asked what the hell this is."
Too risky to keep fighting? She tried talking it out.
"The victims' common link is birthdays. All June 6th. Guard reports suspect sacrifices for an evil god revival ritual."
"......"
"Stake out another June 6th kid, and you'd catch the killer. LeCart's birthday's June 6th. What do you think?"
"Funny coincidence. I figured the same."
Bianca faked surprise badly. Play along?
"Oh, really!? Damn, you should've said sooner. I thought you were the killer."
"You swung first, out of nowhere."
"Duh. Pop out at night like that, anyone's gonna think killer."
I lowered my sword. She sighed, relaxing. A fragile truce—built on lies.
"You tell the guards what you found?"
"Nah, not yet. Not sure enough. Told a friend my hunch, though."
Pure bluff—no friend.
"I see... Anyway, spot-on. Birthdays are the link. How'd you catch that?"
"Luck. Got curious, dug around."
I approached. Still alert.
She didn't strike—probing how much I knew.
"Anything else?"
"Nah, info's thin."
"Right. You mentioned telling that friend. Who?"
I shook my head at her probe.
"Secret."
She was mulling murder. But no dice—she was mine tonight.
"Secret? Sharing could nab the killer."
"Hm. Tell me your panty color tonight, maybe."
I grinned slyly. Her face iced over. She tsked.
"Looks can deceive—you're trash."
"Hear that a lot."
Dilemma flickered across her face. From her view, I had to die. Expose her, and it's over.
LeCart dies, I'm certain she's the killer. No skipping the sacrifice—Kazan demands it. To hide, she must kill me.
But my bluff forced hesitation. Killing me risked exposure, and any leak on sacrifice criteria screwed Black Star Cult plans.
Guards hadn't cracked it. Original said Kazan wanted six total. Letting me go wrecked everything.
"Ahem... You... really tell if I show panties?"
Bianca had a naive streak. Minor character—early cameo, then gone.
Why waste a hottie like that? Novel logic.
"Sure. Think I'd lie?"
"Hmph... Fine. For trust..."
Her eyes hardened—resolved. Big cause, small shame. Smart.
She swallowed, slowly sliding down her training pants. I pumped mana into my eyes for a clear view.
Black underwear fitting a devil cult—under the pants. Plain as hell, though. Middle-schooler level. Blue-white stripes? Elementary kid stuff.
"Oh ho. Modest, huh? Mommy buy those?"
"N-no! I did!"
Her cute denial was adorable. Real cultist?