Question Sheets Are Not a List of Weaknesses
The next morning.
Martin appeared looking like a dead man.
No.
Let me correct that.
Dead men do not carry that many documents around.
“Professor…….”
Martin stood at the door.
His face was pale, the circles under his eyes black, and in his hands was a stack of papers, another stack tucked into his chest, and still more papers clamped under his elbows.
How did he even manage to knock in that posture…….
I lifted my head from the desk.
“Martin.”
“Yes…….”
“Are you all right?”
Martin fell silent for a moment, then answered with perfect courtesy.
“No…….”
Honest, at least…….
He was a good assistant.
I rose from my chair.
“Sit down for now.”
“If I sit, I don’t think I’ll be able to get up again.”
“Then remain standing.”
“Even standing, I feel I might collapse.”
“Then…….”
I considered it for a moment.
Philosophy is of little help in moments like this…….
Arguing ontology in front of an exhausted assistant would only earn me a fist to the face.
“Here. Drink some water.”
“Thank you.”
Martin set the documents down beside the desk.
Thud.
That made a louder sound than I expected…….
Anyone listening would think they were bricks, not papers…….
I looked at the pile.
“What is all of this?”
“Administrative matters that accumulated after yesterday’s class.”
Martin recited them one by one with dead eyes.
“Updated list of auditors.”
The first document.
“Brief record of post-class emotional responses..”
The second.
“Classification table of students eligible for counseling...”
The third.
“Reply form for the Administration Bureau’s observation comments....”
The fourth.
“Draft response to the opinion letter from the Theology Faculty’s ethics professor.....”
The fifth.
“Review table of concerns raised by the Swordsmanship Faculty’s student-guidance professor......”
The sixth.
“Investigation into the possibility of expanding classroom capacity from the Academic Affairs Bureau.......”
The seventh.
“And……….”
Martin lifted the final sheet.
His hand trembled, just a little.
“Additional question sheets voluntarily submitted by the students…….”
I blinked.
“Additional question sheets?”
“Yes….”
“How many?”
Martin stared into empty space for a moment.
“Forty-two as of last night….”
“…….”
“Seventeen more arrived this morning….”
“…….”
“And there were three more outside the door…….”
I fell quietly silent.
It was a good thing.
Students asking questions, students voluntarily submitting question sheets in a philosophy class.
In my previous life, I might have wept.
But looking at Martin’s face now, my conscience pricked me before any tears could.
“Ahem. I’m sorry.”
I said it, and Martin looked at me.
It was probably another unexpected remark.
“Professor.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been apologizing often these days.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It is good, but…….”
Martin hesitated a moment.
“It makes me uneasy….”
“Why?”
“The old you was faster at dodging responsibility than at apologizing.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes.”
Martin looked at me, then added in a very small voice.
“And the students have been a bit strange lately too.”
“The students?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
Martin glanced around.
There was no one in the room but the two of us.
Even so, he opened his mouth as carefully as someone speaking a forbidden word.
“They seem to be getting philosophized.”
I stopped.
“……Philosophized?”
“It means philosophy is seeping into them.”
Martin spoke with utter seriousness.
“It’s a word only I use so far.”
“I-is that so.”
“Yes. It’s not an official term.”
I imagined the nightmare future in which it became official and the Administration Bureau produced a form for it.
[Student Philosophization Level Observation Record Form]
No.
That had to be stopped!
Martin began sorting the papers again.
“I said it like a joke, but the situation is fairly serious.”
“Because the students are asking too many questions?”
“The increase in questions itself is good.”
He pointed at the pile of documents.
“The problem is that the only person who has to process them is me.”
He was right.
The class had grown.
The auditors had multiplied.
The Administration Bureau had begun its surveillance.
And the students were submitting question sheets.
And the only assistant handling all of it was Martin.
If this continues, Martin will die not of philosophy but of administration…….
I nodded.
“We’ll need to recruit an additional assistant.”
Martin’s eyes lit up, just a little.
“R-really?”
“Yes.”
“Truly, for real??”
“Yes.”
“You won’t put it off because it’s a hassle, Professor???”
“…I won’t put it off.”
Martin closed his eyes for a moment.
He looked as if he were praying.
No—he might actually have been praying.
“Then I’ll post the notice at once.”
“What are the conditions?”
Martin pulled out a sheet of paper at terrifying speed, as if he had already prepared it.
“One assistant for Introduction to Philosophy. Main duties: managing the auditor list, first-pass classification of question sheets, assisting with post-class student-response records, assisting with documents submitted to the Administration Bureau, and assisting with assignment organization.”
“Th-that’s a lot.”
“I actually cut it down.”
“…I see.”
“Eligibility: second-year or higher, excellent writing ability, capable of confidentiality, and will not flee upon seeing the professor’s face.”
“Remove the last condition.”
“It’s important.”
“Remove it.”
“Then I’ll change it to ‘capable of in-person work.’”
“Good.”
He was a good assistant.
The only problem was that he was too honest.
I looked at the stack of question sheets.
“We’re recruiting a student assistant, then?”
“Yes. Budget-wise, a full staff member is impossible.”
“How much budget is there?”
Martin flipped through a document.
Rustle.
“The Philosophy Department’s additional support-staff budget allows up to eight silver a month.”
“That’s little.”
“It’s the Philosophy Department, after all.”
“That remark hurts….”
But it was true.
Even in another world, philosophy doesn’t make money…….
“Do you think there will be applicants?”
I asked.
Martin was silent for a moment.
That silence was already an answer.
“…None, then.”
“If it were the old Introduction to Philosophy, there would have been none.”
“And now?”
“It may be a little different.”
Martin organized the papers.
“Your classes have become something of a rumor lately, Professor.”
“A good rumor?”
“Mixed.”
“In what way?”
“A class that wakes you up when you listen.”
Good.
“A class that leaves you feeling strange afterward.”
Not bad.
“A class where writing the assignment makes you question your own life.”
A little dangerous….
“A class where Professor Werner’s face is still frightening, but you somehow end up listening anyway.”
“…….”
So the face still can’t be left out of it….
Martin delivered one last remark.
“And among some of the students, there’s talk that if you take this class, the professor sees straight through you.”
“That’s a misunderstanding.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t see through them. I only ask.”
Martin looked at me for a moment.
“From the students’ perspective, it may feel much the same.”
That was possible.
A good question sometimes cut deeper than a blade.
I checked the notice.
[Recruiting Assistant for Introduction to Philosophy]
Even the title alone looks boring…….
But this academy was full of strange students.
Perhaps there would be applicants after all.
Even for a notice that looked uninteresting even to a philosophy professor.
The notice was posted before lunch that day.
Martin put up one copy each at the administrative building, the library, the entrance to the main lecture hall, and the student council bulletin board.
I stood in front of the student council board.
The reason was simple.
To make sure Martin didn’t collapse.
Martin… already stumbled twice this morning…….
Once on the stairs.
Once in front of the Administration Bureau reception desk.
The second time, an Administration Bureau clerk had been genuinely concerned.
Martin had grown even paler under that concern.
Being worried over by an Administration Bureau clerk was apparently a humiliation for a fellow administrator.
Students came and went in front of the board.
“They’re recruiting an assistant for Introduction to Philosophy?”
“That’s Professor Werner’s class, right?”
“I heard it’s been popular lately.”
“Popular isn’t quite the word…… more like something’s off about it.”
“Someone supposedly cried while writing the assignment.”
“For real?”
“No, they didn’t cry—just that their eyes went dead.”
I pretended not to hear.
Dead eyes were a common occurrence in philosophy classes.
In the graduate seminar rooms of my previous life, it happened every week…….
Students looking at the notice spotted me and flinched.
Some immediately bowed their heads.
Some hurried past as if fleeing.
A few, oddly enough, gave me a small nod when they saw me.
It was different from before.
Even so, my face remained a disadvantage.
At least now there was the tiniest change: not every judgment ended with that face alone.
Perhaps.
Then a female student stopped in front of the board.
……That student.
Silver hair.
Silver hair that looked almost like silk when the light caught it, falling to around her waist, and blood-red eyes visible beyond her lids, cool and still as they regarded the board.
Not the flame-like red of Leonora’s.
A deeper, quieter, thinner red.
And her eyes were narrowed.
She always kept them half-closed as if smiling, a gentle curve at the corners of her mouth, a soft, polite smile that looked kind to everyone.
But something was strange.
There was no warmth in that smile.
It was like a finely crafted porcelain doll imitating a human expression.
“…….”
In truth, I knew her.
Violetta Ehrenhardt.
Young lady of the Ehrenhardt Ducal house.
Seventeen years old.
Second-year at the academy.
In Imperial Academia: Chronicles of the Kingdom, she was not a main heroine.
But she appeared as a highly memorable supporting character in the villainess-young-lady events, and most players disliked her.
The reason was simple.
In the early game she always smiled, was kind, and never particularly hostile.
Her grades were middling, her combat ability unremarkable.
So players assumed Violetta was not a particularly important figure.
Then, in the mid-game political route, it suddenly became clear.
She already held most of the key figures’ weaknesses in her hand, had strung thin threads between the student council and the noble factions, sold information to those who needed information, and lent relationships to those who needed relationships.
On the game-strategy boards, players called her this:
Smiling Ledger.
I muttered to myself.
There she is.
An academy story without a villainess young lady would feel incomplete.
But Violetta was not the common jealousy-type villainess.
She never showed jealousy.
Never showed anger.
Never showed selfishness.
She always smiled.
Always gentle.
Always observing people one step behind.
To her, the academy was not a stage.
It was a market.
An information network.
And an exchange.
Violetta was slowly reading the notice, and a girl beside her spoke up.
“Lady Violetta, are you interested?”
Violetta smiled softly.
“Well. Introduction to Philosophy—it looks a little difficult.”
Her voice was sweet, the kind that lowered a listener’s guard.
“But there have been so many rumors lately.”
“I heard it’s a scary class.”
“Rather than scary, I heard it makes you think too much.”
Violetta tilted her head slightly.
“Thinking more is a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Ahaha, that’s true~”
“As expected, Lady Violetta always puts things so prettily.”
“I’d hate it—it would give me a headache.”
Violetta kept her smile.
“Still, sometimes the things that give you a headache help a person grow a little.”
Perfect.
Too perfect.
She spoke prettily.
She neither lowered the other person nor elevated herself, and left everyone with a friendly impression.
And at the same time, she revealed nothing.
I recalled Violetta’s game settings.
The Ehrenhardt Ducal house.
Once a prestigious ducal family that had dominated the western empire.
But now it stood on the brink of collapse.
Debt.
Declining estate income.
Departing vassals.
Political isolation.
And a plan for salvation through betrothal.
Violetta was scheduled to be bound to another noble house through a contracted marriage.
Yet in one of the original routes, a truth came to light.
That future husband had not died of illness.
He had been poisoned.
The culprit was Violetta.
But no one could suspect her.
The poison had built up slowly, the symptoms resembled an existing chronic condition, and the servants’ testimonies had been designed to reinforce one another.
She wept.
At the funeral she wept more sorrowfully than anyone.
Everyone pitied the poor young lady who had lost her fiancé.
And in the meantime, the Ehrenhardt Ducal house escaped the fatal debts and political subordination that marriage would have forced upon it.
A frightening woman.
But she was not a simple villain.
What mattered to her was one thing.
The family.
The name of Ehrenhardt.
The house that was crumbling.
A castle already half-ruined.
Scattering vassals.
The debts her father left behind and the honor her mother had tried to preserve.
Violetta did not move for herself.
No.
More precisely, she did not distinguish between herself and the family.
To her, she was an extension of the Ehrenhardt Ducal house.
Her smile was not personal emotion but a diplomatic tool of the family, and her grades, her friends, her rumors, even love—all of it was assets for the house.
She always ranked around seventieth out of a hundred.
Neither low nor high.
Not ignored, yet not checked against.
Why?
Because academy grades are not the most important thing to her…….
The reason she came to the academy was not learning.
Connections.
Information.
Weaknesses.
Debts.
And future trading partners.
If she became first, she would become a rival.
If she became last, she would be ignored.
Seventieth was an excellent position.
Friendly.
Approachable.
Yet respectable enough not to be excluded from social circles.
Perfectly calculated ordinariness.
I looked at her.
Violetta finished reading the notice to the end, then slowly turned her head, and our eyes met.
No.
More precisely, she turned her head as if she had already known my gaze was there, and she smiled gently.
“Professor Werner.”
She greeted me first.
“Good afternoon.”
“Miss Ehrenhardt.”
I nodded.
The surrounding students looked at me with startled faces, and Violetta raised her eyebrows ever so slightly.
She had probably not expected me to know her name.
But the smile returned at once.
“I’m honored that you remember my name.”
“I make a habit of checking the enrollment lists.”
It was not a lie.
I had checked the lists obsessively.
Because the future calamities were on them.
Violetta pointed with a fingertip at the lower part of the notice.
“I see you’re recruiting a new assistant.”
“Yes.”
“I heard Introduction to Philosophy has been busy lately.”
“Rumors travel fast.”
“In the academy, rumors are faster than the wind.”
She spoke gently.
“Only, unlike the wind, sometimes someone decides the direction of a rumor.”
I paused for a moment.
A good line…….
No.
A dangerous line.
This child saw rumors not as a natural phenomenon but as a tool.
I asked.
“And are you the one who decides that direction, Miss Ehrenhardt?”
The surrounding students sucked in their breath.
The question was quite direct.
But Violetta was not flustered in the least.
Instead she smiled even more softly.
“I only wish I had that kind of ability.”
It sounded humble.
But it was not a denial.
Good.
Actually, not good… this child is difficult too….
Violetta looked at the notice as she spoke.
“The work looks like a great deal.”
“It is.”
Martin, standing beside us with a face that had almost lost its soul, nodded.
Violetta looked at him.
“Assistant Martin, you don’t look well.”
Martin smiled awkwardly.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s usually what people who aren’t fine say.”
“…….”
Martin could not refute it.
Violetta smiled as she spoke.
“Administrative support, classifying question sheets, managing lists, confidentiality.”
She read the notice again.
“It sounds interesting.”
I looked at her.
“Interesting?”
“Yes.”
Violetta’s red eyes narrowed.
“It means you get to read people’s questions first, doesn’t it?”
Of course.
I nodded inwardly.
It makes sense that Violetta would take an interest.
The question sheets were not simple assignments.
They revealed what students feared, what they hid, and which rules bound them.
Information.
For Violetta, very sweet information.
I spoke as gently as I could manage.
“Which is why confidentiality is important.”
“Of course.”
Violetta placed one hand over her heart.
“I’m not the type to speak carelessly of other people’s secrets.”
That much was true.
She did not speak carelessly of other people’s secrets.
The problem is… she does speak of them when necessary…….
I looked at her.
“Are you thinking of applying?”
“I’m considering it a little.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to learn.”
A lie.
At least it was not the whole truth.
But I did not press immediately.
This student was different from Elise.
Elise came in head-on with a blade drawn.
Violetta, by contrast, smiled as she poured tea, and you could never tell until the end whether there was poison on the rim of the cup.
The method of dealing with her was different.
“What do you want to learn?”
I asked.
Violetta kept her smile.
“Where a person stops in front of a question.”
Ah. Damn.
I prepared myself for the sound of Martin coughing.
But Martin did not cough.
He was probably too tired for the reaction to arrive on time.
I suppressed the urge for the corner of my mouth to lift.
A good answer.
Too good an answer.
This child did not see philosophy as pure thought.
She saw it as a tool for reading people.
Dangerous….
But for that very reason she could be competent as an assistant.
I said,
“That is a dangerous kind of learning.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“If you know where a person stops, you also learn where to press to make them collapse.”
Violetta’s smile deepened, just a little.
“Professor, you really do say terrifying things in such a gentle way.”
“With this face of mine, it probably doesn’t sound gentle.”
A few of the surrounding students stifled laughter again.
Violetta covered her mouth with her hand.
“No. I think it’s fine.”
Her words were soft.
But I did not believe them.
The more someone claimed to be fine, the more they were calculating.
I pointed at the notice.
“Applications are accepted until sunset today.”
“Yes.”
“There will also be an interview.”
“What will you be looking at in the interview?”
“Ability.”
“That’s only natural.”
“And attitude.”
Violetta tilted her head.
“Attitude?”
“Whether you can see a question sheet not as information, but as a part of the student.”
Violetta’s smile stopped for a very brief moment.
Truly brief.
The surrounding students would not have noticed.
But I saw it.
“A part of the student…….”
She echoed the words.
“Yes.”
I said,
“A question sheet is not a list of weaknesses.”
Violetta looked at me.
“It is a fragment the student still believed they could put into words.”
Silence.
Martin looked at me.
Violetta looked at me as well.
The red irises within her narrowed eyes opened, just a little.
For a very brief moment.
The inside of them was not smiling.
Good.
I had touched her once.
Violetta Ehrenhardt collected information.
She collected people’s weaknesses and turned relationships into assets.
But if she lost the sense that information was part of a person, she would see people only as entries in a ledger.
And at the end of that path lay poison.
I said,
“If you apply, you will have to bear that in mind.”
Violetta was silent for a moment, then smiled again.
A perfect smile.
“It’s difficult.”
“Philosophy is difficult by nature.”
“But I think it will be interesting.”
“That is a dangerous sign.”
“Did you learn that from the professor?”
“Because I experience it often.”
Violetta laughed softly.
Then she checked the application location written at the bottom of the notice.
“Until sunset, then.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll think about it and come find you.”
She bowed politely.
“Have a good afternoon, Professor Werner.”
And she turned away naturally.
Her silver hair swayed gently, and the girls around her followed.
“Lady Violetta, are you really going to apply?”
“Well.”
Violetta smiled as she spoke.
“If you stay near interesting people, interesting things happen.”
The words faded into the distance.
I watched her back, and Martin spoke carefully beside me.
“Professor.”
“What is it.”
“That student just now…….”
“Violetta Ehrenhardt.”
“Yes. Do you know her?”
I thought for a moment.
Should I say that I did.
How meticulously she had moved people in the game.
How quietly she had removed the future husband bound to her by contracted marriage.
How perfect an expression she had worn afterward so that no one would suspect.
I knew.
But the present her was still a student.
I could not even be certain whether she had poisoned anyone yet or not, and even if the game’s causality was strong, this world was breathing in front of me.
So I must not decide yet. Not yet.
I said,
“A student who requires caution.”
Martin’s face hardened.
“Is she dangerous?”
“Probably.”
“Then if she applies, will you reject her?”
“…….”
I did not answer.
Violetta was dangerous.
Certainly dangerous, but if I pushed her away simply because she was dangerous, she would move in even darker places.
There was a place to stop in the lecture hall.
And in the assistant’s seat as well, perhaps a place to stop could be made.
I said,
“I’ll decide after the interview.”
“Professor.”
“What is it.”
Martin looked at me with a pale face.
“I want more assistants.”
“I know.”
“But bringing a dangerous student in as an assistant is a little…….”
“I know that too.”
“Then why are you hesitating?”
I looked at the notice.
“Because the more dangerous the student, the more they need to be made to see their own danger before anyone else does.”
Martin said nothing.
After a moment he let out a very small sigh.
“Please don’t write that down for the Administration Bureau exactly as you said it.”
“Why not?”
“It sounds like you intend to hire a dangerous student as an assistant.”
“That would be troublesome.”
“Extremely troublesome.”
But we still needed an assistant.
I nodded.
“I’ll rephrase it.”
“How?”
“By assigning a responsible support role to a student of high potential capacity, we strengthen self-awareness and ethical judgment.”
Martin looked at me for a moment, then spoke slowly.
“Professor.”
“What is it.”
“You’re adapting to the Administration Bureau far too quickly.”
“For the sake of survival.”
Martin nodded.
“That’s true….”
We left the bulletin board.
But I looked once more in the direction Violetta had disappeared.
Silver hair.
Red eyes.
Narrowed lids.
A perfect smile.
Seventieth-place grades.
A collapsing ducal house.
A young lady who had come to the academy for information and connections.
And a woman who would use poison in the future.
Good.
No.
I must not say it was good.
This was not a good question but a dangerous person.
But a philosopher cannot avoid dangerous questions.
And, most likely, the same was true of dangerous students.
Around the time the sun began to sink.
There was another knock at the door of the Philosophy Department research room.
Knock, knock.
Martin was already face-down on the desk.
He was alive.
Probably.
I looked toward the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
Silver hair appeared first.
Violetta Ehrenhardt stood in the doorway, holding an application form in both hands.
“Professor Werner.”
A soft voice.
A gentle smile.
“I’ve brought my application for the assistant position.”
I looked at Martin.
Martin, still face-down, lifted his head only a little.
That face was saying:
Please.
Hire someone.
And please.
Someone who isn’t dangerous.
It was a difficult request.
I said to Violetta,
“Come in, Miss Ehrenhardt.”
She entered quietly.
Click.
Even her footsteps were neat.
Standing before the desk, she held out the application, and I took it.
Name.
Year.
Affiliation.
Grades.
Recommender.
Special skills.
Clean…….
In the grades column, as expected, it was written:
Seventieth out of one hundred overall.
A truly perfect position.
I set the application down and asked,
“Miss Ehrenhardt.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Why seventieth?”
Martin’s eyes opened.
Violetta’s smile remained the same.
“Because I am lacking, I suppose.”
“No.”
I said,
“You are not the kind of student who is seventieth because she is lacking.”
The room grew quiet.
Violetta was smiling.
But the temperature of that smile dropped, just a little.
“That’s too generous an assessment.”
“Is it.”
I tapped the application with a fingertip.
“Seventieth place is a comfortable seat.”
Violetta said nothing.
“Neither high nor low.”
I spoke slowly.
“Respectable enough not to be ignored, ordinary enough not to be checked against.”
Martin’s gaze turned toward Violetta.
“First place makes enemies, and last place closes doors.”
I looked at her.
“Seventieth is good for mixing among people.”
Silence.
Violetta was still smiling.
But her eyes opened a little more, and the red irises showed.
“You’re an interesting person, Professor.”
“I hear that often.”
“Is that usually a compliment?”
“It depends on the situation.”
Violetta laughed softly.
“I simply worked according to my ability.”
“That may be so.”
I nodded.
“So from now on I will confirm it.”
“Confirm what?”
“Whether you are someone who will do the assistant’s work according to her ability.”
I took one sheet from the pile of question sheets.
I covered the name.
It was a question a student had submitted.
I handed it to Violetta.
“Read it.”
Violetta took the paper.
And she read it slowly.
If my reason for hating someone is justified,
is the desire to make that person unhappy also justified?
Violetta’s smile did not waver.
Good.
I asked,
“How would you classify this question sheet?”
Violetta did not answer at once.
She looked at the paper again.
Then she said,
“Impulse for revenge.”
“And?”
“Desire for justification.”
“And?”
“A wound.”
She paused a moment.
“And…….”
I waited.
Violetta touched the edge of the paper with a fingertip.
“A signal that it has not yet been carried out.”
Even better.
This time I nearly smiled for real.
Martin coughed while still face-down.
“Ahem.”
Thank you, Martin….
I pressed the corner of my mouth down.
“Why do you think so?”
Violetta looked down at the paper.
“People who have already carried it out usually don’t ask.”
Her voice was soft.
“They justify what they have done; they don’t check the heart that exists before doing it.”
The room fell quiet.
Sharp.
As expected, this child understood people.
The problem was that she understood them too well.
“Then, as an assistant, what should you do after reading this question sheet?”
Violetta looked at me.
“I would submit it to you, Professor.”
“Why?”
“Because the risk level is high.”
“Would you check the student’s name?”
Violetta fell silent for a moment.
A truly brief silence.
But it was there.
“It would depend on the assistant’s authority.”
“Wrong.”
Violetta’s smile stopped.
I said,
“Even if you have the authority, you do not look first.”
Martin looked at me.
I continued.
“You check the name when it is necessary.”
Violetta quietly regarded me.
“When is ‘necessary’?”
“When there is a concrete possibility that the student will harm themselves or others.”
I said,
“You do not look out of curiosity.”
A beat.
“You do not look because it seems useful.”
Violetta’s red eyes grew a little deeper.
“A student’s question sheet is not a list of weaknesses.”
I repeated the words I had spoken earlier in front of the bulletin board.
“It is a fragment they put forward, thinking they might be able to ask for help.”
Silence filled the room.
Violetta looked at me, and though her smile had returned, it was a little different from a moment before.
“I see.”
She said.
“I’ll have to be careful.”
“Yes.”
I folded the application.
“Last question.”
“Yes.”
“Miss Ehrenhardt.”
I looked straight at her.
“What do you see this assistant position as?”
Violetta smiled.
“An opportunity to learn.”
“That’s an answer.”
I said,
“The real reason.”
Martin held his breath.
Violetta’s smile was still perfect, but the air in the room had changed.
She looked at me for a moment, then spoke very gently.
“You ask students for answers that are far too difficult, Professor.”
“Because it’s a philosophy class.”
“Then should I answer philosophically as well?”
“If possible.”
Violetta narrowed her eyes.
“I have to keep my family alive.”
It was the first time.
The first time she had spoken the word “family” herself.
“If in that process there is something I need to learn, I will learn it.”
She was calm.
“If there is someone I need to meet, I will meet them.”
“If there is information I need to obtain, I will obtain it.”
Martin’s expression hardened, but Violetta was still smiling.
“So this position looks like an opportunity to me.”
“Honest.”
“Because you asked for the real reason, Professor.”
I looked at her.
Good.
This was not brazenness.
It was calculated honesty.
She had judged that this was better than a clumsy lie.
That judgment was correct.
I asked,
“In that process, will you use the students’ questions?”
Violetta was silent for a moment.
“If I say I won’t, would you believe me?”
“No.”
She laughed softly.
“Then I won’t say it.”
“Good.”
I nodded.
“That’s a better answer.”
Martin looked at me.
His eyes said, Professor, is this really a situation where you should be saying “good”?
I said to Violetta,
“There are conditions.”
“Please tell me.”
“While working as an assistant, you will not use students’ questions for personal dealings.”
“Yes.”
“Even if you learn someone’s weakness, you will not connect it to your family’s interests.”
“Yes.”
“If you violate this, you will be dismissed at once.”
“Yes.”
“And.”
I paused a moment.
“At that time, I will deal with you again as a student.”
Violetta’s smile faded, just a little.
“As a student?”
“Yes.”
I said,
“It will not end with dismissing you from the assistant position.”
The room was quiet.
“I will address in class why you came to see people’s weaknesses as assets.”
Violetta looked at me.
For the first time, her laughter stopped completely.
Only then did she look a little like a student.
Not a perfect young lady, but a young girl standing with a collapsing house on her back.
For a very brief moment.
Truly brief.
“That’s frightening.”
Violetta said, and I nodded.
“Philosophy is frightening by nature.”
“And yet you’ll still hire an assistant?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
“It’s not decided yet.”
I organized the application.
“I still have to see the other applicants.”
Violetta blinked.
Then she smiled again.
“Ah.”
“What is it?”
“I think I assumed it would simply happen.”
Martin drew a small breath.
Violetta bowed her head gently.
“That was rude of me.”
“No.”
I said,
“It’s a good realization.”
She raised her head and looked at me.
“‘I will naturally get what I want.’”
I said,
“That, too, is a kind of rule.”
Silence.
Violetta’s red eyes wavered.
I placed the application on the desk.
“I’ll inform you of the result tomorrow.”
“Yes, Professor.”
Violetta bowed politely.
Then she walked toward the door.
At the doorway she stopped.
“Professor.”
“Go on.”
Without turning around, she said,
“You said a student’s question sheet is not a list of weaknesses.”
“I did.”
“Then what is a student to you, Professor?”
A good question.
Too good a question.
Martin coughed at once.
“Ahem!”
I pressed the corner of my mouth down.
Thank you….
Truly, thank you, Martin….
I answered.
“An unfinished sentence.”
Violetta stood still for a moment.
Then she laughed softly.
“Is that so.”
She opened the door.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The door closed.
Silence remained in the room, and for a long while Martin said nothing.
Then, still face-down, he spoke.
“Professor.”
“What is it.”
“She is a dangerous student, isn’t she.”
“Yes.”
“Will you hire her?”
I looked at Violetta’s application.
Silver hair.
Red narrowed eyes.
A perfect smile.
Seventieth-place grades.
And a child who could use poison if it meant saving her family.
I said,
“Probably.”
Martin quietly drove his forehead into the desk.
Thud.
“Martin.”
“Yes…….”
“Are you all right?”
“No…….”
As expected, an honest assistant.
I looked out the window.
The sun had almost set.
The academy’s windows were stained red, and students were scattering to their dormitories and lecture halls, while the Introduction to Philosophy class continued to grow.
Questions drew students in, and the students brought still more questions.
It was no longer only the future calamities.
The Smiling Ledger.
Young lady of a collapsing ducal house.
A child who saw people’s hearts as information.
That child, too, had stood at the door of my lecture hall.
I tapped the application with a fingertip.
There were still far too many good questions left.
And good questions generally came from dangerous people.
Philosophy made no money.
Philosophy increased administrative work.
And now it was even drawing in dangerous assistant candidates.
But what could I do.
I was a philosopher.
A human afflicted with the disease of being unable to flee from dangerous questions.
And this authenticity-obsessed game seemed to have no intention of curing my disease.
“……….”
“I just want to do philosophy…….”
“Pardon?”
“It’s nothing.”
But at least, for today, we had not collapsed yet, so I would call that fortunate.