Inter-Year Rivalry Prep: "Success... Right?"
Veronica stared blankly at the spells floating in the sky. About ten of them, all maintaining their original forms despite a slight wobble. They were stable enough to deploy right now without issue. No drops in output, and the spell formulas were intact from their initial casting.
...Why the hell is this working?
Fine, the mana circuit expansion and sensory sharing from before made some sense. But she'd thought this "training" was just an excuse for skinship, yet it actually worked?
"……"
"You look full of questions."
Spotting her daze, Aren chuckled and patted her head.
"Now do you get that I don't say empty words?"
"...I didn't exactly distrust you."
"Sure didn't stop you from thinking it was just me satisfying my lust, though."
Veronica had rationalized it that way—Of course it'll work, he's so sure—and let his hands roam. But now that it had worked, she should be thrilled... yet she felt oddly deflated.
"...You were satisfying your lust, admit it."
"Fair enough. But hey, results are what matter. Good is good, right?"
"……"
True... but she couldn't shake the awkwardness.
Closing her eyes, she introspected her condition.
Lower body too sensitive... no, that's not it.
Of course it was sensitive after all that groping. She was checking something else.
.........Magic.
Those ten spells still hanging in the air. While his touches melted her mind, how had she kept them up?
...My body really remembers.
He was right. Just ten minutes of "train...ing," but her body had memorized it.
...What if the sessions were longer? More spells, higher intensity...?
Imagining the outcome, she reached one conclusion.
...With Aren's help, it'll yield the same perfect results.
Her body would truly remember in the purest sense. Benefits: spells unshakeable in any crisis, and casting speed revolutionized because her body knew the formulas.
Veronica's multi-casting specialty already made her fast. Faster than that...?
"……"
"So, what do you think?"
"...Think about what."
"Training with me."
Aren smirked, reading her mind, his voice laced with amusement. He brushed her hair aside, stroking her earlobe—hypersensitive now.
"Feels like you could achieve anything, right?"
To that, she replied:
"......Yes."
Pride stung, but her newfound trust in him won out. She nodded.
And what that meant was:
"Then you'll grant my wish... looking forward to it?"
"...Shut up."
"Hey, a promise is a promise."
"I said shut up."
"Didn't peg you for petty, Veronica."
"……"
"Might just steal a kiss then?"
She flinched at "kiss."
......
"......Idiot."
Her bowed head burned crimson.
Knock knock knock.
"……"
A man looked up at the knock. His reflection in the teacup below: light purple hair, green eyes.
—Your Grace. A letter from the Academy.
The butler's report from beyond the door. Duke Adel Adler murmured softly:
"Enter."
The butler opened the door, stood before the duke, and presented a single letter. Fine paper stamped with the Academy's seal.
Academy Inter-Year Competition
Observer Invitation
Taking it, Duke Adel Adler scanned it slowly.
"The Academy invites you to observe this year's Inter-Year Competition as well, but shall I decline as usual?"
The phrasing might imply last year too. But:
"No. I'll attend this time."
The butler’s eyes bulged—no one expected "attend" from the duke.
Last year, there had been an invite too, when heir Rudolph—Veronica's brother—was a first-year. Yet with an heir, he skipped; now, for the openly scorned lady of the house?
...This could stir rumors.
To the butler, it hinted at succession shifts. Politics thrived on tiny gestures, a sensitive beast.
What was the duke's true intent? The butler pondered.
But only briefly. He bowed.
"...Understood."
He was just a butler; decisions were the duke's. His doubts were pointless—questioning one's lord violated a servant's virtue.
"I'll inform the Academy of your attendance."
"Do."
The duke nodded toward the door.
"You're dismissed."
"Yes."
Alone now, Duke Adel Adler downed his tea in one gulp, rose, and approached the window.
"……"
Whim. A slight whim.
"...Visiting the kids now and then isn't bad."
Rudolph. Veronica. His children.
Rudolph entered the Academy as expected for noble heirs. Veronica... he'd paid no mind, but she'd fled there overnight. He'd planned a suitable marriage to ship her off.
"...Tch."
Water under the bridge. In the Academy, let her drop out or graduate on her own.
......
"...Still, it'll get me out for once, thanks to the kids."
His eyes, supposedly on his children, were utterly cold.
About two weeks passed with Aren and Veronica spending time in very secret training. With the Inter-Year Competition looming, each department selected reps, summoning all first-year magic students.
Naturally, the Magic Department first-year alliance reps included—
"Hm. As expected, so predictable."
The Crown Prince's gaze swept the Magic reps.
"Top student, Lady Adler, that rat Ferris. Just those three."
Not just them, of course. He didn't know the others' names: Lydia (surprisingly), one commoner, two noble mages. Six total.
...Why's he glaring at me like that?
Aren felt the Crown Prince's stare burn. Like he had words to spit.
Hm.
Adelia, probably? To Aren, the Crown Prince screamed romance-fantasy male lead—rivaling other guys for one girl.
If he saw Aren as a rival, like feared...?
"...Ugh, that'd be a hassle."
He hated that crap.
"......?"
"Aren?"
Veronica and Lydia eyed his muttering curiously.
Meanwhile, the Crown Prince clenched his fist, sensing Aren's scowl.
Regardless of their rivalry, first-year alliance intros continued.
"Swordsmanship as predicted."
"Indeed."
The glaring Crown Prince, and Jethua/Darsen—who seemed set to turn WWE into UFC with killing blows. Jethua, next Northern Duke, looked blankly puzzled.
No thoughts, head empty?
Even that looked elite to others—kill point.
Anyway, excluding the three romance leads, three more prospects from Swordsmanship. Plus Spirit, Martial, Archery, Knight Departments...
"...Veronica."
"What."
"What's the difference between Knight and Swordsmanship?"
"...Hm."
Veronica faltered, then murmured uncertainly:
"...Maybe Knights don't use swords?"
"Like spearmanship?"
"...Yeah. Probably."
Even she wasn't sure. No stark difference.
One department screamed identity, though—
"Umhahahahaha!!"
Martial Arts. Muscled build, shining... bald head.
"...Barbarian?"
"That's discriminatory, Aren."
What the hell.