Second Place from the Back

The moon was hidden behind clouds on this dark night. Emilia sat on the balcony of the mansion, letting out a low groan.

She had just taken out her communication artifact to send her regular report to headquarters, but she was struggling to decide what exactly to write.

What the hell happened…?

Iris von dem Flechette. The person who had visited at dusk, just as the sun was setting, was none other than the Saint of Flechette herself.

A genius once called the prodigy of healing magic at the tender age of four. By eight she had already invented her own original recovery spell and used it to perform miracles.

It had all started a year ago when an epidemic swept through a remote village. With an unknown transmission vector and a ninety-percent fatality rate, the imperial family ultimately decided to seal the village off completely. Every road leading in was blocked. Nothing and no one could enter or leave. In effect, they had chosen to let more than five hundred residents die.

At the time, everyone believed it was the only option. Five hundred lives seemed a small price to pay to prevent the disease from ravaging the entire empire.

Until Iris appeared.

She had demanded permission to enter, declaring she would cure the epidemic. The imperial family refused, of course, but Iris persisted, requesting entry again and again without ever giving up. In the end, they granted her access on one condition: she would not be allowed to leave until the disease was completely eradicated.

Iris walked into a village where ten people were dying every single day. A living hell where unburied corpses rotted in the streets and a constant stench hung in the air.

The moment she stepped inside, she began casting recovery magic. Not wide-area spells. She met every single resident face to face and poured her magic into them one by one.

At one point her mana ran dry and she nearly succumbed to the disease herself. Yet even after brushing against death, Iris succeeded in curing every last villager.

In recognition of her feat, the Holy See appointed her a saint. She was the first person in history to become a saint while still alive.

And that Iris knows the top student…?

It seemed this extraordinary figure was acquainted with Schluss Heinkel. Moreover, from the way Iris spoke and carried herself, the two appeared to be quite close.

That can’t be right.

It made no sense. The intelligence bureau possessed complete files on both Iris and Schluss. Yet nowhere in those records was there even a single point of possible contact between them.

Iris might have hidden information, but a commoner like Schluss had no such luxury. Barring some form of telepathy possible only between the two of them, they should have met for the first time at the Imperial Academy.

Emilia slowly turned Iris’s words over in her mind. Together for a very long time… What could that possibly mean?

Wait… no way…?

Emilia’s pupils trembled.

Our future? What you want is what I want? Taken together, it sounded exactly like—

Are those two… dating?

It seemed as if the pair had already promised each other love and a shared future.

Emilia’s mind ground to a halt.

That was simply impossible. Why would a once-in-a-generation genius, the daughter of a powerful noble house and bearer of the saint’s title, choose to date a commoner whose only accomplishment was entering the Imperial Academy at the top of his class?

Even as she shook her head, insisting it couldn’t be, she remembered something someone once told her.

Those had been the words of Eric, the intelligence bureau director who had married after a single day of courtship. When she considered his case, the relationship between Iris and Schluss no longer seemed entirely absurd.

Still, what exactly had Iris seen in Schluss? He was moderately handsome, had a decent build, was polite and considerate, but possessed no other redeeming qualities.

Come to think of it, what puzzled her even more than Iris’s intimacy was Schluss’s own attitude. Throughout their conversation he had seemed uncomfortable, answering only in curt monosyllables.

Even though the saint herself had personally offered to help him, he hadn’t looked particularly pleased… The situation was clearly not simple.

Perhaps Schluss held some weakness over Iris. Or the reverse. Or possibly both.

How on earth am I supposed to report this?

Emilia agonized inside an utterly incomprehensible situation. She had no idea how to interpret their relationship. A misstep would mean feeding the intelligence bureau false information.

Yet trying to report exactly what she had witnessed today was difficult; the word limit was too restrictive.

Let’s shelve it for now.

Rather than risk sending confusing misinformation, she would observe the situation a little longer. She could always visit the base during her next free time and explain everything in person.

Emilia put the communication artifact away, thinking exactly that.

He really has guts.

Still, where did he find the nerve to speak so casually and rudely to a saint?

Wait… casual speech…?

Emilia’s eyes widened.

Now that she thought about it, Schluss had used informal speech with Iris. Yet he had never once spoken that way to her, even though she was his servant and a commoner.

Huh…?

Emilia’s mind spun into chaos.

No matter how many times he used Inquiry, the text remained exactly the same.

A permanent stat buff. Ten points at that. An absurdly powerful effect.

The problem was that he couldn’t choose which stat would be raised. If it went into his mana sensitivity, already sitting at 75, it would be an absolute disaster.

Yet this item could be exchanged for a single shop coin.

That meant he could buy ten more in the future, right?

“Huh?”

It had definitely been one coin earlier. Now the price had jumped to two.

Did the price rise with every purchase? Assuming it increased by one coin each time, he could buy three more with the coins he currently possessed.

If he drank them all, his stats would rise by a staggering forty points.

Just as he was about to buy on impulse, his eyes caught another line in the shop window.

There was also the option to strengthen the shop itself.

The only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠items currently available were the Forbidden Potion, the recovery potion, and Gawain’s sword. He wanted to see what else might appear, but the enhancement cost ten coins.

“This is a tough call.”

Should he use his remaining ten coins to enhance the shop, or should he stock up on Forbidden Potions and recovery potions instead?

After long deliberation, his decision was—

“Let’s save them for now.”

He would hoard the coins. There was no telling when he might desperately need a recovery potion after spending everything on an upgrade. The potions he bought now might turn out to be useless later. So it was wiser to stockpile, purchase a Forbidden Potion only when he urgently needed a stat boost, buy recovery potions when healing was required, and enhance the shop only after the coins had piled up with nothing left to spend them on.

“Hoo…”

Staring at the little bottle on the floor made him sigh with tension.

He had already bought this one. There was no choice but to drink it. Waiting wouldn’t make the selection any less random.

He carefully twisted off the cap so as not to break the bottle, then lifted it with both hands.

There was no particular smell.

“Please, just not mana sensitivity…!”

If possible, he hoped for an increase in magic power or strength. Then he would be able to defeat most small fry without needing to use Selection and Concentration.

Praying to whoever might be listening, he brought the bottle to his lips.

“Ugh…”

It tasted fucking awful. Good grief. It wasn’t even a clean bitterness like herbal medicine; it was simply revolting. The more he drank, the more something seemed to rise from the pit of his stomach.

Fearing the effect wouldn’t trigger if he didn’t finish it, he forced himself to drain the entire bottle.

“Guhhhhh…”

His entire face was twisted in disgust. Even after swallowing the last drop, his stomach churned so violently he thought he might ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠die.

“Oh.”

The empty bottle grew blurry and then vanished completely. It seemed it disappeared on its own once used.

Wiping his mouth, he opened his status window.

Stamina unchanged. Strength unchanged. Agility unchanged… What?

He scanned the window again carefully. Only one stat had changed.

Computation.

It had so little presence that he had almost forgotten it existed. If raised high enough, computation was indeed a cheat ability capable of completely neutralizing every formula an opponent deployed.

But at this half-baked level, real-time formula destruction was still impossible. That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠didn’t mean the increase was entirely meaningless, however. Computation also influenced the speed of formula deployment.

At eighteen points, he could now cast formulas at roughly twice the speed of an ordinary person. One second of casting time had been cut to half a second.

It wasn’t a dramatic difference, but in a battle where every instant counted, it would prove quite useful.

“Second place from the back, huh.”

It was still lame. Unless every single potion from now on raised computation, that is.

No way. That couldn’t possibly happen.

Feeling as though he had stepped in something unpleasant, Schluss left the training room.

“A newspaper?”

One had been placed at the front gate. It was only three in the morning; did they deliver papers at this hour?

He picked it up and stepped inside the mansion. Turning on only the living-room lamp, he opened the paper.

This was about the time news should be arriving.

As expected.

The Day of Magic was almost here.

It was a holiday commemorating the day magic—the grace of the gods—had been bestowed upon the continent. In truth, the day itself held little importance. It was a commemorative date I had fabricated simply to create an event.

In the original story, the Day of Magic festival did not play a major role. It was merely a place the protagonist and Iris visited for a date.

The reason I was paying attention to it now was simple.

Because that idiot protagonist had failed to enter the Imperial Academy in this world.

A general of the imperial army was scheduled to attend the event. The Trude Kingdom’s intelligence bureau had planned to assassinate the general during the festival, but they had deliberately allowed the plan to proceed because they feared the protagonist’s range of movement would become too restricted once he infiltrated the academy.

But in this world where the protagonist had failed the entrance exam, that concern no longer existed. That murder machine of a protagonist would storm the venue without hesitation and kill the general.

That cannot be allowed.

I had to stop it. I had to prevent the relationship between the empire and the kingdom from deteriorating any further. Above all, I had to stop the war from resuming.

If the two nations fought and exhausted each other, it would be a direct path to the bad ending.

I must stop Hurtlocker by any means necessary.

Finally, I would get to see our protagonist’s face in person.

The true villain, a murderous bastard unworthy of even being called the protagonist.

Daddy’s coming to meet you, you son of a bitch.