The Culprit: One Day Before the Bracket Announcement
The true culprit was a day before the bracket announcement for Ian Ashy.
The first-year faculty meeting at the academy was, by all rights, a place that proceeded with such rigid principles and decorum that it bordered on boring. At least, until today.
"That makes no sense."
The Tactical Faculty professor slammed his hands on the table and spoke first.
"Putting Cadet Ian Ashy in a sparring match against His Highness the Crown Prince? Does that even make sense?"
The air in the meeting room instantly grew turbulent.
The agenda was simple: deciding the matchups for the upcoming practical training exercise. And the most sensitive issue among them was, naturally, the Crown Prince's opponent.
Thanks to one person's utterly absurd proposal, the meeting's atmosphere was on the verge of explosion. With the Tactical Faculty professor taking the lead, complaints from the professors began erupting one after another.
"Quite right. The original plan of the Crown Prince versus the Saintess was the most natural."
"It has plenty of symbolism, too."
"A duel between His Highness and an Art Faculty cadet? Utterly ridiculous."
"And Ian Ashy, of all people... Honestly, isn't he just some unremarkable student?"
"It's an insult to His Majesty's authority."
"Who even suggested this in the first place?"
As the professors vented their frustrations, they all turned to glare at one corner of the room.
The source of all this chaos rested his chin on his hand and replied indifferently.
"Because it'd be fun."
An answer that didn't even pretend to persuade. The sheer audacity left the room in stunned silence.
"Ah. I see you don't get it. Let me be more precise, then."
Snow-white hair. Blue eyes. An expression that treated people as less than human.
The Tower Master spoke as if granting some grand favor.
"Let me correct myself."
He tapped the table with his finger.
"Because it's intriguing. The matchup between the Crown Prince and Ian Ashy. Make it happen."
Crack.
Veins bulged visibly on the professors' foreheads.
No matter how much unconditional favor the Tower Master enjoyed from the Emperor, these professors were no pushovers when it came to pride. Their outrage boiled over.
"But the reasoning is far too flimsy."
"What makes Ian Ashy worthy of facing His Highness—"
"Changing the entire exercise structure for one nobody student is excessive."
As the protests continued, the Tower Master's gaze turned icy.
"Who decided he's a nobody?"
"W-well, Ian Ashy is an Art Faculty student, isn't he?!"
"Ah. So the Art Faculty is a beggar department, and anyone who enters is worthless?"
"That's not—! If he had talent elsewhere, he'd have chosen a different faculty!"
"Then what about Dean Lucy Blossom?"
A single short sentence. But it silenced the room once more.
The Tower Master added flatly, his face expressionless.
"Your prejudices make me sick. Sometimes, you lot seem even more lacking in moral fiber than I am."
"......."
The professors fell completely silent. Because he was right.
The Tower Master glanced around before wrapping up.
"I proposed it. So do it. The perps won't even understand anyway."
"......"
"No objections, then. I'm busy, so sort out the rest yourselves."
With that, he actually stood and left. His cloak fluttered once, and the meeting room door clicked shut.
The remaining professors sat in stunned quiet for a moment.
Only after enough time had passed to ensure he'd gotten far—
"Th-that, that rude bastard!"
"A greenhorn who hasn't even fully matured!"
They'd been bottling up resentment toward the Tower Master's high-and-mighty attitude for ages.
"Everyone! How long are we going to let that Tower Master push us around?!"
Someone shouted in fury, and agreement erupted immediately.
"Exactly!"
"No matter how much favor he has with His Majesty, this is the academy!"
"Hear, hear!"
"Letting the academy bend to one man's whims is disloyalty to His Majesty!"
"Hear, hear! Hear, hear!"
"Back to the original plan. Crown Prince versus Saintess—"
"Let's gooo!"
The professors, swept up in excitement. Then, a soft yet firm voice cut through.
"I—"
Just that, and silence fell instantly.
The voice came from the door. At the end of everyone's gazes stood the Duchess Valentii.
Her eyes subtly downcast. Posture impeccable. She exuded the dignity of a noble lady while also carrying the chill aura of a lofty scholar.
She slowly surveyed the professors before speaking.
"I want to see the matchup between Ian Ashy and the Crown Prince."
The room froze over again.
The Political Science professor asked, flustered.
"Duchess. Why on earth would you want such a matchup...?"
The Duchess Valentii didn't rush her response.
"It's a matchup worth observing."
Observing. Same opinion as the Tower Master, just worded differently.
"That cadet has some intriguing ideas. I need to confirm if what's in his head comes out of his mouth, or if he maintains the same line of thinking even in extreme situations."
"B-but the training exercise—and against His Highness, no less—for such confirmation—"
Disloyal. The professor's mouth snapped shut before he could say it.
The Valentii ducal family, the Emperor's right hand. No one could utter "disloyal" in their presence.
"Ah. And it's precisely because his opponent is the Crown Prince that it holds meaning."
The Duchess Valentii stated calmly.
"Anything less wouldn't be a proper match for his level. True skill emerges in crises, after all."
In short, using the Crown Prince as a launchpad to gauge Ian Ashy's abilities.
The room stirred, but she nodded lightly, offering no further explanation.
"Then I'll be off. I'm busy as well."
Another heavyweight left without fully justifying herself. As the door closed, the faculty plunged into full panic.
"What the hell?"
"Why is everyone fixated on Ian Ashy—"
"What did that student even do?"
After much commotion, all eyes turned to one person.
Professor Hampton of the Art Faculty. The middle-aged man with perpetually smiling slit eyes.
"Professor Hampton."
Someone asked desperately.
"Just what kind of cadet is Ian Ashy? Not just the Tower Master, but even the Duchess...?"
Under the focused stares, Professor Hampton scratched his head.
"Well, now."
"You're the professor of his faculty! Tell us what you know!"
Hampton, still scratching his head, slightly opened his eyes and spoke.
"I don't know much about anything else."
A tone that hinted at something. With his eyes opening—
Gulp.
Everyone unconsciously swallowed.
"I just hope that during this training exercise, young Ian Ashy's fingers come out unscathed."
"......Pardon?"
"They're quite valuable fingers, after all."
The room went quiet.
Some gaped, others openly grimaced.
What the hell are these people talking about?
That thought likely floated above the heads of most professors there simultaneously.
The Tower Master stood before the magitech elevator. The runes above the metal door flickered faintly on and off—meaning it was descending.
"Slow."
He waited silently, arms crossed.
And shortly after.
Click-clack, click-clack.
Heeled footsteps echoed down the hall. The Tower Master's brow furrowed openly.
He knew that sound all too well.
"Making such a face upon seeing a lady is poor manners, Tower Master."
The Tower Master swallowed a small sigh first.
This was one of the voices he despised most.
"Duchess Valentii."
"And here I thought you'd call me by name by now. These days, I'm feeling the need for remedial etiquette training aimed at you, Tower Master."
How long are you going to act like my teacher?
The Tower Master tolerated the Duchess Valentii only because she had a masterful way of being infuriating.
Suppressing his irritation, he spoke coldly.
"What is it? You're not one to walk out midway through a faculty meeting."
"Ah."
The Duchess blinked slowly.
"You seemed quite interested in Cadet Ian Ashy."
"......"
"Did you discover some mana talent in him?"
Seeing the Tower Master clamp his mouth shut, the Duchess smiled faintly.
"Your silence tells me there's definitely something."
A woman monstrous at handling people. The Tower Master's eyes sharpened coldly.
"As you know, Duchess."
"Yes."
"I don't like people touching what's mine."
Even under the threat, the Duchess Valentii didn't blink. She merely lifted the corner of her mouth ever so slightly.
"And yet, after I've told you so many times, you still haven't learned."
"Learned what."
"That to claim ownership, you need the grounds to back it up."
The Tower Master fell silent. The Duchess didn't miss the reaction.
"You haven't taken him as your disciple yet."
"Not something for you to worry about."
"No."
The Duchess didn't yield an inch.
"It's my concern too."
"...What does that mean?"
"Because I want to take Cadet Ian Ashy as my disciple."
The Tower Master's expression soured openly.
"Hah."
"Surprised?"
"You're not a mage."
"He doesn't necessarily need to learn magic."
The Duchess Valentii's voice remained composed to the end.
"Refining thoughts, building them into theory, constructing frameworks that work in the real world—those are pursuits as noble as magic."
The elevator arrived just then. The Tower Master boarded, sneering at her.
"Hilarious."
Hopefully that pisses her off enough not to follow.
Of course, the Duchess followed naturally, as if such barbs were routine, and spoke.
"To be frank, I covet what's inside that cadet's head."
The Tower Master chuckled lowly.
"You were the one who taught me that coveting doesn't mean you get to have it."
"Of course. That's why there must be an equivalent price."
The Duchess Valentii replied evenly.
"So I'm here to propose a truce."
"...A truce?"
"You want him as your disciple too, don't you, Tower Master?"
"......."
"Let's watch for now. Until his match with the Crown Prince. Then we can see how fiercely we need to fight over him."
With that, the Duchess Valentii pressed the close button.
"It seems you and I are the only ones who've recognized that child's true worth."
The Tower Master barely suppressed a nod. Agreeing with her felt like losing.
At that moment—
Ding—
The elevator doors, just about to close, burst open.
"Pardon the intrusion... Oh, my."
The Tower Master and Duchess Valentii watched the slowly opening doors, unconsciously swallowing dryly.
"You're all gathered here?"
There stood Professor Hampton, his slit eyes curved into thin crescents with a smile.