The Printing Press Isn't a Training Tool!

"The printing press isn't a training tool!"

Boom! The explosion rocked the entire auditorium. Well, more like it felt that way. The shockwave didn't actually reach the stands.

A transparent dome barrier enveloped the arena like a hemisphere, trapping all of Lena's unleashed energy inside.

And right after...

Plip plip.

Droplets started falling from somewhere, even though there was no ceiling. Must've been residue from water-affinity magic. The droplets caught the lights and sparkled in unison.

And then...

"...Whoa."

Like someone's awed whisper, a faint rainbow bloomed over the arena.

Damn. Killer presentation.

For a second, I wondered if I'd fallen into a game or transmigrated into the wrong genre.

'Of course, compared to Lena's real rampage, this is just a drop in the bucket.'

Watching this made me even more hyped for the real deal. Time to pop some popcorn.

Anyway, one question popped up at this point. Why the hell were there no casualties in this brutal mock battle disguised as training?

Crown Prince, Saintess, Princess, power-packed transmigrator, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and now a suddenly awakened childhood friend. At this rate, it wasn't cadet evaluations—it was an attempted murder contest.

Even amid that flashy magic burst, Adam Johnson—no, Vinícius Adam—was just peacefully sprawled out.

And the reason? Up in the stands.

The topmost spectator seats. The Tower Master, looking utterly bored, casually raised a finger.

"Did you see that? The Tower Master actually used his finger?"

"That's not the first time, is it?"

No grand incantation, no staff, not even a proper stance. Just one flick of the finger.

The billowing smoke blanketing the arena parted like the Red Sea and vanished. Flying debris halted midair and dropped back into place. The raging mana surge got sucked away like through a straw, falling silent.

And that guy? He just lazily half-lidded his eyes again and peered down.

I muttered without thinking.

'Is this isekai's safety net really up to snuff?'

Using the Tower Master as a safety device? Fair enough, but...

Something told me the safety level depended on his mood. Like riding a rollercoaster where the safety bar might unlock on a whim.

Of course, the romance-fantasy natives all seemed oblivious to danger, chattering away.

Hmm. Yeah, that had me wondering too. Why was Lena suddenly so strong? She hadn't even rampaged yet.

For reference, this wasn't even a blip on the rampage scale. When Lena really goes off, the whole academy shakes.

Anyway, why the power-up? Had she been training magic lately? Even then, the only mana source worth a damn was the printing press...

"...Wait."

A chill ran down my spine, and I frantically shook my head.

Nah. That thought was pure self-indulgent paranoia. Lena leveling up from sucking mana out of the printing press? Ridiculous.

"Haha..."

Look at me, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cracking jokes like a pro.

Meanwhile, the medical team rushed into the arena. Adam at the blast's epicenter was out cold, and Lena knelt there panting.

She looked rough—fingers trembling, face pale.

"Lena! You okay?"

I leaned forward instinctively.

Thankfully, one medic raised a hand toward the stands, palm open, drawing a circle. No major injuries?

Then another voice rang out.

A bittersweet result, but Lena didn't look too bummed. As they carted her off on a stretcher, she glanced my way before closing her eyes.

Somehow, it felt like she was bragging, 'Did I do good?'

I silently gave her a thumbs-up.

She smirked and shut her eyes. Guess visiting hours were over.

While I checked on Lena, the next match was already gearing up.

The stands erupted. Dazzling golden blonde hair gleamed, her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slightly uplifted chin radiating imperial pride. Peak princess vibes.

Her opponent was—

Oh? Art Department senior. The chocolate-skinned demon. Second-year too, huh.

This match was flashy too.

Rumble rumble boom! The ground flipped.

Cracks spiderwebbed the arena floor, stone pillars erupting and lunging at her opponent from all sides like siege weapons.

"..."

The Art senior bolted in panic. Even the Princess looked surprised, like 'Wait, was I always this strong?'

Took about five seconds for the win call. Amid the cadets' cheers, the Princess looked up at the stands, scanning around.

Our eyes met.

She flashed a brilliant smile—like I'd been a huge help.

"N-nope."

I didn't help at all! She couldn't seriously think the printing press was a secret training tool, right?

Thumbs up—from the beaming Princess.

'This is driving me nuts.'

Scattering debris froze midair. The Tower Master crooked a finger, gathering it up with a grimace.

'Insufficient.'

Mediocre talents. Borderline worth calling "talent" at all.

But they were sprouts worth watching here—suddenly bursting through soil like they'd been hidden days ago.

Lena Youngston. Princess Aefried.

Both showed markedly sharper mana signatures today.

Still insufficient. One more step—no, thousands— and they might earn the title of mage.

"......"

The Tower Master's cold eyes shifted to the next bout.

Saintess Arina Saint. And Kano Ameri.

Chin propped, he eyed Kano.

"Hm."

Odd girl. Low presence, sloppy breathing, soft stance.

But flashes of sharp reaction speed in her eyes. Hiding something. Not mana, though.

The Saintess, meanwhile...

"Tch."

The Tower Master clicked his tongue. Even after the start call, she stood there macing blankly.

Face screaming, Can I really hit her? Is this okay as a cleric?

His brow furrowed. Did the Papal Court not train talents like her properly? Like picking up a gem, sticking it in a case, and never polishing it.

'Should I snag her anyway?'

He pondered, then shook ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his head. She wielded divine power, not magic. At least by mainstream four-element standards.

He bit his inner cheek. Some fringe schools incorporated holy power into magic systems. Twilight School, for one.

They split the world into light and dark. By that logic, the Saintess could be a mage—her power "light magic."

'But no.'

The world was too colorful for binary splits. Plus, that school had a glaring flaw: antisocial claim that light-dark clash could shatter the world.

'Unproven delusion.'

So he just watched the Saintess.

Her pale face clenched the mace. "H-hey... Hyaah!"

The Tower Master's hand flashed.

Boom!—The barrier deployed and shattered instantly.

Her mace carried impossible speed and mass in that split-second swing. Without the shield, Kano Ameri would've been paste.

"...Tch."

This was why she needed training. No control over her holy power.

He sighed softly.

That said, Kano...

"She reacted."

Kano Ameri crumpled, fainted in place. A normal human wouldn't have reacted to that instantaneous strike.

Fainting meant she did react.

"Hiding power too, huh."

The Tower Master's blue eyes flicked to the stands somewhere.

Ian Ashy. Just like that kid.

I stood for my next match. Descending the stairs, my eyes stayed glued to the arena.

Saintess vs. Kano.

"Oho."

Kano was nailing the "power-hider" act. Arms held awkwardly, feet shuffling sloppily on purpose. Shoulders hunched, glasses slipping like they'd fall any second.

Anyone'd buy her as a total normie cadet. Talent.

But then.

"Huh?"

The Saintess's mace whooshed by.

Kano flopped backward.

...No way she fainted from that love tap.

Was the Saintess's casual flick that deadly?

"Overkill much."

Shaking my head, I reached the waiting tent.

Gulp.

Hand on the flap, I swallowed hard.

Makes sense— the novel's male lead was inside.

After turning his girl into doujinshi fodder and selling it, facing him felt super awkward.

'Skip the tent and head straight to the arena?'

Yeah, I'd look like a lunatic. Solid plan, though.

That's when.

"Not coming in? What're you doing?"

A deep baritone rumbled from behind.

I turned. Radiant golden hair, crimson eyes glowing like a madman's.

Leonhardt Bell.

My first official face-off with the Crown Prince.