Talent Evaluation (1)
— Tweet tweet tweet, the birds announcing morning.
"Mmm..."
Lying spread-eagled on the bed, I stared blankly up at the ceiling. A pristine ceiling that didn't look like it would leak even in the rain. This was the dormitory at the Imperial Academy.
"Ah... right, I got enrolled."
Memories from yesterday came flooding back fresh and vivid. I saw the Saintess and the crown prince, locked eyes with the villainess, and even ran into what had to be the transmigrator who's clearly the protagonist of this novel-possession story.
'...Life.'
Just how many ruin flags had I racked up? Yesterday was a terribly unlucky day.
In my despair, getting assigned a dormitory and holing up in my room had been a smart call. No more flags left to trigger, after all.
"Thanks to that, I even started on my next work."
The theme and material were perfectly locked in: childhood friend. Now I just needed to flesh out the material and outline the storyline.
The problem? My rotten brain only conjures up NTR when I think "childhood friend."
At least Ian Ashy has a childhood friend he can observe up close: Lena Youngston. But she just sees him as luggage or a little brother she has to look after.
'Feels more like a bro than a childhood friend.'
Her face turning beet red and bolting when I asked her to try on a maid outfit last time was unexpected, though. Probably just embarrassment. No useful reference material there, which is why I pulled an all-nighter agonizing over a childhood friend storyline.
"Yawwwn."
I wanna sleep more. So sleepy.
— Tweet tweet tweet — some sparrow or pipit or whatever outside the window was diligently stacking up tardy flags, but...
"........."
I lay spread-eagled on the dorm bed, staring at the ceiling, then yanked the blanket over my head.
Screw it, I'm already late—might as well sleep in. As long as I don't get expelled, right?
— Tweet tweet tweet tweet!
— Tweeeet tweet tweet tweet!
"Argh, shut up!"
I get it, tardy flag activated! I'll own it and sleep more!
I was about to fling open the window and politely yell at the birds when—
Bam!
The door burst open without ceremony, and a familiar voice pierced the dorm room.
"Ian Ashy. It's the middle of the day—what are you doing still in bed?"
With the door flung wide open, a familiar brown bob cut entered my field of vision. Lena Youngston.
I quickly shut my eyes and held my breath, playing dead.
"Playing dead won't work. When you're faking sleep, your toes don't move—but when you're really out, your right foot twitches first. Bad habit."
...How the hell does she know that?
I mumbled from under the blanket pulled up to my head.
"No etiquette class on knocking today?"
"I knocked. Three times. No sound like a corpse in here, so I came in."
"Even corpses have a right to rest."
"You're not a corpse—you're a tardy student."
— Whoosh!
The curtains flew open in one go. Sunlight from the window poured mercilessly onto the bed. I instinctively flipped a pillow over my face.
"Aaaah! My retinas!"
"Quit exaggerating. Eyes get stronger the more you use 'em."
Clack clack.
Lena wandered around my room with infuriating naturalness. I squinted up at her. Her brown bob gleamed lightly in the morning sun, and her green eyes were sharp and clear, like she'd already knocked out a full day's work.
'On the surface, she's the picture-perfect dream girl childhood friend.'
But her voice held zero affection.
"Get up."
"Five more minutes."
"No."
"Why not."
"Department selection today."
I tried flopping back down, but something flew at my face—I reflexively snatched it out of the air.
Thud. My toiletries pouch.
"You're violent."
"That was mercy. Was gonna dump water on you but held back."
At this point, her standards for "mercy" are seriously off.
I sat up on the bed and looked up at her. Hmm. Tsundere type, maybe? The kind who actually likes you but can't express it, so she shows it through actions. Nah, Lena's sociable and great at expressing herself, so probably not. She just has zero interest in me, for real.
Still, I felt like teasing her a bit. Material. I need childhood friend ero-manga material.
"Bursting into a guy's dorm first thing in the morning, yanking open curtains, grabbing papers, tossing toiletries. Anyone'd think we're super close."
"Don't get the wrong idea."
No hesitation whatsoever in her reply. Lena pulled a bun from a paper bag and shoved it into my hand.
"You're the type that causes accidents if left alone."
"Objectifying me much?"
"Nah. Overestimating you."
Even as she said it, she expertly straightened my shirt collar. No sense of distance, but no tension either. Her face showed no awareness that she was dealing with the opposite sex—just too familiar, too routine. More daily chore than heartbeat-skipping moment.
I stared at her quietly, and she looked up at me blankly.
"Why're you staring?"
"Nah. Just... too good at it."
"Obviously. How many years have I been cleaning up after you? Estelle was my only hope, but... sucks there's no servants at the academy."
Lena kept talking as she picked up my cravat, looped it around my neck with practiced ease, tied the knot, and gave it a confirming pat.
"There. Now you look human."
"You got a talent for picking the most hurtful words."
"No time to get hurt—eat this."
I took a bite of the bun. Buttery aroma.
'...My favorite.'
Lena glanced sideways to confirm I was eating, then spoke.
"Good call coming back to the academy."
"Regretting it."
"Behave. If you cause trouble, everyone around gets tired. Mostly Estelle and Chloe, but sometimes me too. Especially when you said you were dropping out—pure hell."
"Sorry about that."
Not my fault—Ian Ashy did it—but whatever.
"So cooperate."
Lena continued matter-of-factly, like she was saying 'Rain today—grab an umbrella.'
"And don't get the wrong idea. You're my childhood friend, not a romantic interest."
"Damn, no confession yet and you shut it down. 1-0 rejection or what?"
Lena smirked and kept going.
"You're saying misleading stuff today, so preventive measures, young master."
"Preventive? What am I, a virus? That hurts."
"It's fine. You've got great recovery. Go wash your face."
Too logical—stings more.
I shuffled toward the bathroom, muttering.
"Maybe the cruelest thing in this world isn't the tyrant—it's a childhood friend's fact bombs."
"Quit babbling and be back in five."
"Ten."
"Four."
"Why'd it shrink?"
"Sass."
Lena. Scary childhood friend.
In the end, seven minutes later, I was half-dragged down the dorm hallway.
"Department aptitude test's in the central annex, first floor. Basic eval first, then submit preferred department. Got it?"
"Roughly."
"Not roughly—properly."
"Yeah, yeah."
I yawned, looking around. The academy halls were buzzing even this early. Students with swords at their hips. Noble kids with staves. Nerds hugging thick textbooks. Everyone seemed so dutiful about their lives.
I don't wanna be dutiful. Should I just bail?
Lena read my face like a book.
"You still thinking of running?"
"Thoughts are free."
"Actions aren't."
She shoved a single sheet into my hand. Aptitude test result form.
"Write Art Department for preferred."
"Why you deciding?"
"I know your aptitudes best."
Lena started folding fingers one by one.
"Swordsmanship Department. Nope."
"Why?"
"You'd cut your own hand before the opponent."
"Prejudice."
"You scraped it up good slicing cheese with the bread knife."
That scar on my hand?
"Accident."
"Hence, nope."
Another finger down. "Magic Department. Nope."
"Magic's a stretch anyway."
This world's got rare mages. Mana affinity in one in a hundred? Why the Mage Tower Master goes kidnap-crazy on students.
"Even if you had affinity, no. You with no focus blowing up a dorm wing in mana practice? Too vivid."
"What do you take me for?"
"Creative disaster."
"Creative insult."
Another fold. "Administrative Department. Nope."
"Fair."
"Three pages in and you'd jump out the window."
"You know me too well. Creepy."
"Had to. Years of collateral damage."
Third finger. "Academic Department. Nope."
"Kinda unfair. I think and ponder plenty."
"Your all-nighters are usually pointless. Like trying to get me in a maid outfit."
"...Can't argue."
"Right? Last one: least harm to others, and your best shot."
She tapped my form.
"Art. What the aimless do anyway. Perfect for you."
"Hey. Apologize to every artist in the world."
"Pfft. At least you're fun, Ian."
Lena smirked and waved.
"Don't flake on the aptitude test. I'm off to class."
"What, not curious which department your childhood friend picks?"
This is... a childhood friend?
"My watching won't change it. Bye-bye."
She spun and walked off. Zero romance, zero eros—just a total stranger girl.
Watching her go sparked an idea.
"A girl totally indifferent to guys accidentally sees her childhood friend's huge dick and slowly falls... Not bad."
The central annex was packed with students lining up for department sorting.
The Imperial Academy's department assignment had two main steps:
1. Sequential aptitude tests for each department.
2. Apply to desired department based on results.
Popular ones like Swordsmanship or Magic require good aptitude scores to even apply.
First thing inside: department booths.
[Swordsmanship Department]
[Magic Department]
[Administrative Department]
[Academic Department]
[Art Department]
Each booth had a wildly different vibe.
"That score won't cut it for Swordsmanship. Train harder."
"A mana-less commoner wants to learn magic? Fine, here's a simple spell: wake up."
Swordsmanship and Magic booths were flashy, staffed by haughty types. Big shots, basically.
My target, Art Department...
"Y-yes, Art... Anyone interested in art...?"
A pink-haired girl was sniffling through her promo pitch, but flies were buzzing more than applicants.
"Oh. Dean's handling it personally."
"Most semesters they don't recruit a single student. Poor thing."
"Feel bad? Go enroll."
"Wanna ruin my life?"
Overhearing passersby clued me in.
The dean—looking way too young for the job—overheard too, her voice shrinking, tears welling up. She's gonna cry.
— Bonk!
[Art Department]
The paper sign I'd made snapped off and smacked her on the head.
"Eek! It huuuurts..."
...Yeah, definitely pitiful. At least the tears give her an excuse now.
At the same time, doubts crept in: Is Art Department really right for me?
That's when—
— "Woooaaah!"
— "As expected of Leonhardt!"
Cheers erupted. I turned to see the crown prince's sword shattering the professor's blade.