The Academy's Savior

"Tim! Are you joking with me right now? I didn't pour a fortune into hiring you just to hear that kind of crap!"

Clara shouted. Her rage-laced voice made the surrounding space shudder; her ability was answering her emotions.

The man called Tim couldn't stand up to that pressure and stumbled back a step.

"C-Clara, please calm down and listen to me."

Clara pressed a hand to her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forehead.

"…Fine. I'm calm. I'll hear you out slowly. But let's be perfectly clear first. You took a three-million-dollar advance from me as my broker. A month ago you boasted that you'd make Hamson Hemingford give up on me."

Tim pulled a white handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiped his hands—though he never touched the sweat on his face. It seemed to be some kind of habit.

"Yes, yes. I remember. Three million advance, twenty million fee… I haven't forgotten. It was only a month ago."

"And now you're saying you can't do it? Are you kidding me?"

"I'm not saying I can't. And I didn't fail, either. Call it half a success… though I know that won't sit well with you. Of course I'm not claiming I have zero fault. I'll take only five million for the fee."

"…You're a lot different from the man I met a month ago. Back then you were brimming with confidence."

"There are plenty of powerful people in America who hate the Hemingford family. Sometimes they band together to keep the Hemingfords in check. Even the Hemingfords can't completely control the United States. I moved those people and put together a plan that would force Hamson Hemingford to abandon you, Clara."

"Right. It was a pretty good plan. I liked it too. And now you're telling me it won't work? If that isn't a joke, what is it?"

"…I judged that Hamson Hemingford would give you up. No family needs to take massive losses over one woman. I sat down at the negotiating table with him. Up to that point everything went smoothly."

Tim let out a long breath. The handkerchief in his hand crumpled.

"But the Hamson Hemingford I met face-to-face was far more insane than I ever imagined. He had zero intention of letting you go. He even accepted the damage to the family and turned around and bought off the people I had recruited. The ones he couldn't buy… disappeared."

"……."

Clara's eyes narrowed. Disappeared. They only called it that because no bodies had been found.

"The one silver lining is that the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠U.S. government and the Hero Association stepped in and sanctioned the Hemingford family. Without that, Hamson would have gone even further."

"…Sanctions. How serious are they? Do they even matter?"

"They do. The businesses the Hemingfords own are expected to take at least two hundred million dollars in damage. Even for them, two hundred million isn't small change."

"I get that your plan failed. What I still don't understand is why I have to go back to America and meet the Hemingfords."

"Hamson Hemingford gave me a firm answer. He wants to talk with you calmly, build the relationship step by step. He says he regrets what happened in the past and wants to meet you in person to apologize."

"Ha… haha."

Clara laughed—a short, incredulous snort. The corners of her mouth curved, but her blue eyes burned with fury.

"Tim. You believe that bastard?"

"…Hamson Hemingford took enormous losses."

"To the Hemingford family that's pocket change. And what I want isn't a conversation with that son of a bitch. I don't even want to hear his voice, let alone look him in the face. He wants to apologize and carefully rebuild a relationship? Stop spouting garbage. Does that sound like him? What I want is for that bastard to lose every last scrap of interest in me!"

Clara's voice rose; Tim carefully smoothed out the crumpled handkerchief and wiped his hands again.

"…Don't you understand why Hamson Hemingford is so obsessed with you? It's because you keep resisting him, Clara. If you had simply submitted… he would have forgotten you soon enough. And you would have lived in luxury no one could envy."

"……Tim. Are you seriously saying that in front of me? I wasn't born to be that bastard's plaything."

"Yes, yes. Of course not."

Tim's expression went strangely detached, as if he had given up on something.

Clara felt a prickle of unease and took a small step back.

"Tim. The contract is over. You breached it first, so there's no fee. Don't ever show your face in front of me again."

"……Fifty million dollars."

"……?"

"That's what Hamson Hemingford promised me. Just for bringing you to America."

"You piece of trash…!"

"Yes. I'm trash. But the money's too good—what can I do? Oh, and of course I'm not risk-free either. If I fail… I'll die. I'd love to give you half the fee just to get you on a plane, but you wouldn't sell yourself for a mere twenty-five million, would you?"

His unnatural calm set off every alarm in Clara's head. She frowned and pulled the stick hanging at her waist. Up close it wasn't a stick at all—it was a flute.

I narrowed my eyes and timed it.

That Tim bastard. He clearly prepared something. I'll step in the moment Clara's in real danger.

I swept the area with the Heavenly Eye, hunting for ambushers… and found no one. Still, I kept my eyes locked on Tim.

"So I decided to spend that twenty-five million on snatching you. Luckily Japan has a group that was more than happy to take ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my request."

"…You hired villains?"

"Yes. Sharp as ever."

Clara brought the flute straight to her lips—but Tim's handkerchief lit up first. He flung it to the floor. The light that hit the ground formed a pentagram, then detonated.

KUUUUUNG!

In place of the vanished light stood eight people, every one of them wearing a Japanese sword. The standout was the man at the center. Wearing nothing but a dark-blue yukata, he scratched his goatee and looked Clara over.

"This woman?"

Tim nodded at once.

"Yes. Clara Peired. Student at Korea's Maruhan Academy and a famous singer. Yayo-san, as I told you beforehand—no serious injuries."

"Mm, I know. Shame I won't get to have any fun… but I took the money, so I'll do the job. Kids, surround her."

"Yayo-sama, we'll restrain her."

"A girl like this doesn't even need Yayo-sama to step in."

"Didn't I say she mustn't be hurt? I'm going myself. You lot just keep her from running."

Yayo drew his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Japanese sword and stepped forward.

My eyes went wide.

Yayo.

Same Madojeong executive as Hattori. Never expected him to show up here. Perfect—I had questions for him.

Clara didn't hesitate. She blew the flute. A clear, crystalline tone rode the wind. It was the kind of sound that rattled a listener's mind—yet no one here was affected. Absolute Mind kept me untouched, but the others…

Clara took her lips from the flute and glared at Yayo.

"Why are you fine?"

"I heard your power uses sound. So of course I prepared."

Yayo answered casually.

Looking at that samurai getup you might think he really was one, but it was fake. Yayo was a mage, not a swordsman. Right now some spell of his was nullifying Clara's ability.

"Stop making this difficult and give up already. We'll treat you decently."

"……."

Clara's face hardened; she set the flute to her lips again.

"What a nuisance."

Yayo raised his sword and closed in on Clara.

Now!

I unsummoned my cloak and sprinted straight at Yayo. The sudden presence snapped every gaze toward me. Their startled faces sent a thrill through me—especially the look in Clara's eyes.

Makina, summon Stormbreaker!

Stormbreaker appeared as a giant spear, shattered, and became my armor. Makina answered my will, spirit-form sinking into the plates. The armor shifted in an instant—color bleeding to crimson, the helm twisting into a demonic visage. The plates hugged my body like a futuristic combat suit. Performance-wise, that wasn't far off.

Jet engines.

The back plates opened and flames roared from the jet engines. Thrust spiked. I clenched my fist and charged Yayo—no, I flew at him.

KWA-AAAANG!

My fist smashed into Yayo's barrier. He frowned.

"You… I've seen you somewhere. Got it. Korean villain. Name was Red Light, wasn't it? What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that. Why is a Madojeong executive here? Planning another raid on Arashi Academy?"

"You can see for yourself. Our target isn't Arashi Academy—it's that woman. Get out of the way and I'll pretend I never saw you."

"Heh. You already saw my face. Know why I showed it to you?"

"So you mean to kill me—kill all of us. You'll be the one who dies."

KIIIIIIING!

Before I could shatter his barrier, the Japanese sword in his hand howled. Tiny magic circles densely covered the blade.

I already know without you telling me. Jumping up.

I dodged the slash Yayo swung and shot into the sky. The bastard was terrible with a sword—looked like he'd never studied swordsmanship at all. The fact that he still insisted on using one was almost funny.

TING! TING!

Something flew and bounced off my armor. Shuriken. The ones surrounding Clara had thrown daggers and throwing knives at me.

These bugs! Throwing that trash at me?! Yujin! Let me hit them back! I refuse to just sit here and take it!

Fine. Permission granted.

A massive surge of mana poured into the armor.

A moment later small ports opened all over the plates and gun muzzles snapped out.

Dozens of crimson laser streams lanced out at every enemy except Clara. Only Yayo blocked them with his barrier. The broker Tim died on the spot.

…Hey. What are you doing killing all of them?

What do you mean? We always kill them all.

I had questions for them.

There's still one left over there!

I clicked my tongue and clenched my fist hard.

CLACK! A blade sprang from the gauntlet.