The Unintended Confession
It started by chance. At first, it was just a penalty.
A trivial one, at that: "The loser has to go touch the academy's school gate."
But they say men never truly grow up, no matter how old they get. The simple penalty began to escalate in scale.
"Loser pays for lunch?"
"Whoever's late this time has to scrub the dust off the sparring grounds tomorrow."
"The one with the lowest grades has to give a gift to the professor!"
As the stakes grew higher, we started to develop a taste for these punishments. The conversation shifted from the game itself to who could come up with the most creative penalty. Eventually, someone spoke up as if to put an end to all the debate.
"This is the real final one."
The person who had been hit with the last penalty insisted with a stubborn glint in his eyes.
"Rock-paper-scissors. The loser carries out the penalty."
It was incredibly simple, and for us, who had become more focused on the punishments than the game itself, it was the cleanest choice imaginable. Everyone, exhausted by the endless betting, agreed.
"So, what's the penalty?"
The organizer of this final bet spoke with confidence, as if he had already decided.
"You have to confess to Eline."
Silence.
"...?"
"Hey, come on, that's a bit..."
"This guy is crossing the line, isn't he?"
Normally, it would have been a penalty we’d accept with a laugh, but the general consensus wasn't very positive; it felt like he had crossed a line.
"Hey, if it's a penalty, we should keep it among ourselves. Is it right to drag someone else into this?"
"Yeah, what did Eline ever do to deserve this?"
As the mood shifted to rejection for the first time, the organizer's face grew visibly flustered.
'Pick something else, pick something else.'
'How about 50 laps around the academy parade ground instead?'
The atmosphere was already starting to sway toward changing the topic, but perhaps it was his pride. Maybe he thought that if he retracted a penalty that had never been canceled before—especially one he proposed—he’d be a laughingstock for the rest of his life. He dug his heels in.
"Are you chicken?"
"..."
"..."
A very simple, yet definitive word.
At that one phrase, the rest of the guys started glancing at each other.
"Chicken? Of course you'd be scared. Confessing to that Eline is terrifying, right?"
The organizer seized the opening and began to provoke us.
"Hey, the odds are one in five. It’s not like it’ll be me."
A truly simple sentiment: It won't be me.
It was a valid point.
They wanted the dopamine, and the logic that it wouldn't be them was perfectly rational.
"Hmm... come to think of it, I haven't lost recently."
"Rock-paper-scissors? I'm not backing out. If you're scared, just leave."
"Wow, are you sure you won't regret this? I only said that to look out for you guys."
It was a childish ego battle between academy students who were only grown in size, settled far too easily.
"Hey, still, let's just keep it between us..."
Before anyone could stop it,
"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"
The organizer shouted, as if he didn't want to hear another word.
A resounding shout echoed, and five hands gathered in the center.
As if someone had scripted it,
Four rocks and one pair of scissors caught my eye.
In terms of probability, it was a situation with less than a 2 percent chance.
"This is it!!!!!"
"Yeahhhhh!!!!!"
The four students who weren't chosen hugged each other in joy, and—
"...Ah."
The only person who had thrown scissors could only stare at his fingers in disbelief.
And that person was me.
Third year at the academy.
It was a time when we were fully grown, and everyone’s path was more or less set. The promising ones were already receiving offers from various places, preparing to secure their positions or move on to greater things, while those who knew their limits were just counting down the days until graduation.
If I had to categorize myself, I was the latter.
To put it nicely, I had no rough edges; to put it bluntly, I was a colorless, odorless person. I was the kind of person who would become one of the "many seniors" mentioned at every academy entrance ceremony in the distant future.
That was me, Lutes.
I was a third-year in the Support Magic department, but I had no particular talent, and it was a field where it was hard to stand out or make a significant impact.
So, I had expected a perfectly uneventful academy life, but—
"The bet is the problem."
Walking down the hallway, I looked at my two fingers with resentment.
Why did the shape of a pair of scissors have to catch my eye at that moment? It would have been so much easier and better to just spread all my fingers, so why did I have to extend just two?
"Don't look so miserable, Lutes. You should have thrown better."
"Yeah, if you had thrown paper instead, you would have beaten all of us."
The voices of my two friends, offering comfort that wasn't really comfort, didn't even register.
"Thanks, yeah."
I shouldn't have gotten swept up in a bet like this.
Now that we were in our third year, we had started making petty bets because we needed a hit of dopamine, and we had started thinking up penalties. But the fervor grew excessive, spiraling out of control, and we decided to end the penalties with this final bet.
And the glorious winner of the penalty was me.
What's more, it was the simplest, yet most brutal penalty of them all.
Confessing to Eline.
"Why did it have to be Eline?"
I looked at Ross, the organizer of the penalty, and he just shrugged.
"Because you're definitely going to get rejected."
"You son of a..."
"Whoa, watch your language. You'll get demerits for using bad words in the academy."
Ross chuckled slyly and flicked his finger. It was always an annoying head of hair, but today, I felt an urge to rip out that blonde hair draped over his round glasses.
"Who knows? Maybe she'll accept?"
At the hopeful suggestion Ross tossed out, Edgar, who was standing next to him, laughed heartily.
"That would be a problem in its own right."
At that, Ross burst into laughter.
"There's absolutely no way that'll happen. Don't worry."
Regardless, it wasn't their story, so it was easy for them to talk about it casually. As the person involved, I was in a terrible mood.
"I thought it was a bad idea from the start. We should have kept it among ourselves, so why drag someone else into this?"
Morally speaking, our actions weren't exactly commendable. After all, we were dragging a third party into our mess in the name of a bet.
Ross apologized calmly.
"I think that was wrong. I'm sorry."
This guy.
"If you know that, then cancel—"
"That's not happening."
I figured as much.
The meaningless argument ended when we reached the end of the long academy hallway. Since the three of us were in different departments, we parted ways at the top of the marble stairs with a wave.
"Good luck."
"I'm bringing a lie detector in three days, so get it done before then."
The two men threw mischievous warnings at me until the very end. I just nodded in response, having no intention of saying anything else. After all, my mind was a complete mess.
'Eline...'
Eline. I knew her, of course I knew her.
A classmate I'd seen for two years. Actually, that sentence was far too insufficient to describe her, but if I had to express the relationship between her and me, that was about right.
We never had any reason to interact, after all.
And now, I had to confess to a woman whose face I only barely knew.
"Wow, a confession."
The first confession of my life... wait, no, I did it once a long time ago.
Of course, I knew it was wrong to confess to someone without any real feelings, but I could feel Ross's wickedness in the fact that he had specifically picked Eline out of all the people in the academy.
Plus, I only had three days. The time limit was incredibly tight, which was harsh, but come to think of it, a shorter time might be better. If it dragged on, I'd only hesitate more.
'I should just do it cleanly and get it over with.'
Luckily, it was Friday. The only day I had a liberal arts class that overlapped with her, the Alpha Class student.
'God has set the stage for me.'
Thinking that, I walked down the hall for a few minutes, and finally, the classroom for the liberal arts course came into view.
When I opened the door, students were already gathered in small groups in the large lecture hall. Since it was a third-year liberal arts class, they were faces I had seen until I was sick of them, and even if I wasn't close with them, I exchanged light nods or greetings.
And when I turned my head to look at the familiar corner seat by the window,
'As expected, she's there.'
She was there.
Perhaps because it was a sunny spot by the window, her silver hair was shining, and her blue eyes were moving minutely as if she were quietly reading a book.
Eline Payless.
Even though we were in our third year, there was a space around her that remained empty, as if by unspoken agreement, because no one dared to approach her.
But Eline herself didn't seem to care, just silently reading her book.
From afar, she looked like a painting, but up close, it was nothing short of a tragedy.
Even though it was clearly spring, the temperature around her felt strangely low, as if the classroom itself were colder near her.
"Hmm..."
I was conflicted.
If I sat there now, all eyes would likely be on me. I didn't want that.
Because it was embarrassing.
'Why is that guy suddenly going up to Eline?'
I didn't want to be the subject of that kind of attention.
'It's better to talk to her after class.'
Thinking that, I turned my head away.
"Hello, everyone. It's already the second week, isn't it?"
Fortunately, my wandering thoughts vanished quickly as the professor entered, and I was able to focus entirely on the lecture.
Or so I wanted to think, but—
'I can't focus at all.'
Unfortunately, my mind was doing no such thing. It was like the old saying: the more you try not to think of an elephant, the more you do.
Strangely, I kept worrying about how I should talk to her.
Why did I keep worrying? I should just get it over with.
That was the only thought in my head.
'I like you. Let's date.'
Just say that, and it's over.
Given Eline's personality, she would probably look at me like I was an idiot and ignore me, but either way, I would have confessed, and the penalty would be finished.
But for some reason, my legs kept shaking, and my fingers kept tapping against the desk.
'Hmm.'
Maybe I have a condition. The "shaking-from-confession-anxiety" disease, or something.
Come to think of it, I had confessed once before in the past. I had been cleanly rejected then, too.
'Was it really clean?'
Thinking about how I had been cleanly rejected twice left a bitter taste in my mouth. Should I try to make the lines sound as good as possible?
'Hello, Eline. I've liked you since the moment I first saw you. I wanted to confess before graduation, but like a fool, I didn't have the courage back then...'
No, that's not it.
I couldn't even think of a decent line. As I struggled, the professor's lecture passed by indifferently.
I had always wished for classes to end quickly, but today was a day I wished for supplementary lecture after supplementary lecture. Because if not now, I wouldn't have the time. But I also wished that time wouldn't come at all.
"Alright."
The professor scanned the room and gave his usual kind smile.
"You've all worked hard today. Tomorrow is the weekend, right? Get some good rest, and I'll see you next week!"
I should have been running out of this liberal arts lecture happily and joyfully, but not today.
'The time has finally come.'
I inhaled and exhaled. My muscles and nerves seemed to know what their master was about to do, and they began to warm up in earnest.
'Don't do it, Master, please!'
It sounded like a warning signal, but what could I do? The sound of students excitedly rushing out sounded as loud as the thundering of hooves.
I recalled the breathing technique Professor Ruila always insisted on for maintaining composure right before practical magic classes.
Once.
Twice.
Hoo.
'I'm calming down.'
Thank you, Professor Ruila.
When I turned my head, I made eye contact with Eline.
The breathing technique is completely useless, Professor.
But since we had already made eye contact, the die was cast. Of course, she quickly turned her eyes away to pack her things, but I pushed my chair back and walked toward her.
One step, two steps, I climbed up slowly.
Knowing full well there was no exit behind her, Eline naturally stopped her movements and turned her head to look at me again.
"..."
"..."
We made eye contact.
With just a desk and a table between us.
I’ve felt it before, but she was pretty.
Her appearance... was pretty, but that was too cheap an evaluation. It was more that the atmosphere around her was beautiful.
Seeing her up close, her moving eyes, her minutely twitching cheeks, and her fluttering hair added even more life to her presence.
And I realized one more thing.
How was I supposed to start the conversation?
As the silence stretched, the look in her eyes as she watched me began to change. For the worse.
"...Why?"
A clear, yet disinterested, dry voice reached me.
"Do you have something to say?"
"...Uh, that is..."
...*Uh, that is.*
Is this guy an idiot?
No, now is not the time to fight with myself. I breathe deeply again. Slowly and calmly.
"Hey, Eline..."
"Look."
My words were cut off. To be precise, she had cut them off sharply. I heard the sound of a chair being pulled, and I looked at her again. Her face had almost no change in expression, but I could read her eyes.
An annoyed look.
"Can I go if it's not something important? I'm busy."
She said that, packing her books as if she had nothing more to say, and prepared to leave.
...
Yeah, I can't possibly carry out this penalty. What was the penalty if I couldn't do it? Was it doing whatever they wanted for a year?
I'd rather just do that; this is too hard.
'For a year... whatever they want...'
Eline glanced at me one last time as she turned her head away indifferently, then looked away and started walking. The sound of her footsteps echoed in my ears.
"I like you, Eline."
I shouted it.
"I hesitated a lot, but I wanted to tell you."
The words had popped out subconsciously.
"Please go out with me."
The second confession of my life.
It was a confession made to the back of someone who was walking away.