Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: Devil's Horn
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Devil's Horn.
It had been a while since I'd last visited the principal's office.
If we're just talking personal meetings, this was my third time.
The principal greeted me in his usual dignified attire, as always.
"Come on in. How have you been?"
"A bit busy. Thanks to you."
"Oh? And why is that?"
He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers as he asked.
His smug face was especially irritating today.
"The Instructor Corps. You invited them, didn't you, Principal? I've been too busy trying not to die to sneak peeks elsewhere."
"Haha, for someone who claims that, you seem awfully involved."
"That's all part of what I have to handle. Your pocketbook's tied up in it too."
The principal's stake in Salmon Labs was just shy of 3%.
Since it wasn't publicly traded, there were no market transactions, but based on the private offers coming in, its value was immense.
Even that mere 3% could swallow up most companies whole.
The principal couldn't possibly hold a grudge against me for handing him those shares practically for free.
"You know, cadets like you and Leonard in your second year are exceptional. To the point where the existing curriculum doesn't quite fit."
I agreed.
It wasn't just the Miracle Generation.
Our cohort's overall cadet quality was remarkably high.
With only about 1,000 recruits selected each year, it was well-known that suitable candidates were about 1.5 times above average.
"I've put a lot of thought into it. To give you all a proper educational environment, I've invested tremendous effort."
"And the result of that is the Instructor Corps?"
"Not just them. Expanding Real Time Alien Tactics into the curriculum was part of it too. Even the danger level in practical exams has been ramped up from before."
Come to think of it, our cohort had seen a ton of changes.
I hadn't noticed while going through them, but looking back one by one, the principal was right.
"What do you think is the most essential quality for a superhuman?"
He suddenly tossed the question at me.
I pondered it briefly, but this was the kind of question where the answer could shift endlessly based on the asker's intent.
I went with a straightforward response.
"Force. Raw power. The strength to face any alien and overcome any crisis."
"Right. But what if that force seems sufficient?"
"...Does it even need distinguishing? They all seem crucial."
The principal nodded slightly.
"You're right on the money. Superhumans must be strong and versatile. But that's not enough to make the superhumans we envision."
"Then what does the principal value most?"
"Teamwork. Sense of belonging. Solidarity."
He enunciated each word slowly, emphasizing them.
I mulled over his words for a moment.
While I thought, the principal continued his explanation.
"Superhumans are strong. Superhumans wielding core weapons—the pinnacle of hyper technology—are incarnations of force. They can accomplish what ten thousand soldiers couldn't alone."
A single superhuman was worth ten thousand men.
They led the charge on countless battlefields, protecting humanity, and the front lines held because of their exploits.
"But even so, the enemies we face are far too powerful."
Aliens.
Humanity's archfoes.
Around 900 new superhumans were added each year.
Owners of tremendous power, each capable of anything alone—and there were 900 of them.
Yet humanity could barely hold the front lines. Why?
Were superhumans weak?
No.
The answer lay in the aliens being even more threatening than superhumans' strength.
There were alien specimens so powerful that even superhumans died helplessly against them, and their numbers were endless.
"No matter how strong, you can't do anything alone. That's why we teach about aliens first. Then tactics, so you can at least think minimally. Of course, 'some' like you and Leonard have power so overwhelming they don't even need that—but there's still a limit."
"So you brought in the Instructor Corps to foster teamwork?"
"Yes, exactly. Though contrary to my expectations, you all grew too fast for it to work on everyone, it's still effective for the other cadets."
His original goal had included even the Miracle Generation.
But Roze had overwhelmed the vice-leader from the first lesson, and Merdina Barton and Saim were the same.
The principal readily admitted his miscalculation.
"Then shouldn't the classes stop? Casualties are piling up even now."
Irritation surged, raising my voice.
Intellectually grasping it was one thing; emotionally accepting it was another.
The thought that classmates could die anytime kept tension crawling up my throat lately.
Dying not in tests or spars, but in 'accidents.'
It was practically murder.
No matter how efficient for training, it was hard to swallow.
"Do you really think that?"
"Yes."
"If I took such measures, what would the other cadets think? Especially now, when the path to overcoming it is coming into view? We might see real results soon."
"......"
"You're smart, Lemon. You already know the answer. Once this training started, it couldn't be stopped."
He was right.
If it didn't end in a way cadets could understand, it'd only make things worse.
I leaned back in my chair.
'Harsh.'
The principal stood, poured me tea himself, and handed it over.
He poured another for himself, perched on the table's edge, and fell silent for a bit.
'If they head to the battlefield, it'll be even harsher.'
I knew.
The front lines were hell right now.
Humanity guarded peace with iron and blood as offerings.
The cadets' grudges against the Instructor Corps would evaporate like gasoline the moment they threw themselves into actual combat.
'Was I whining?'
I could somewhat understand the protagonist's feelings now.
With his ability and the horrors he'd witnessed, his pain dwarfed mine.
And here I was, shaken by this much.
Pathetic.
"My apologies..."
"No need. That's the principal's role. And Leonard's doubts are a good thing."
"...This is good?"
"Of course. No such thing as a bad worry. Keep thinking. Doubting. Questioning. But always reach a conclusion."
My head was a mess.
This wasn't why I'd come to see him.
'Tough.'
Why was I pushing so hard?
Truth be told, I always had an escape hatch.
Avoiding aliens?
Possible.
Earn decent money, snag a pretty wife, build my own paradise.
Stockpile future overflowing content and enjoy it for 100 or 200 years.
No need to grapple with endless horrific extraterrestrials or fear for my life.
But.
Closing my eyes brought it back.
The protagonist's face, asking me to protect dreams and hopes.
Friends I'd bonded with in the short time living in Leonard Monarch's body.
Acquaintances always generous with advice.
Had I grown too attached to this world already?
'Yeah. Time to decide today too.'
I opened my eyes, unsure when I'd closed them.
The principal was already back in his seat.
I understood his choices.
And this harsh training environment that had no alternative.
I couldn't fully shake the weight in my chest, but I could carry it now.
"More to say?"
"Give me permission."
"For the item import request from you, Leonard?"
"Yes."
I'd been working to bring some items into the academy.
Processed energy vessels I'd obtained before, alien byproducts I'd acquired personally, and so on.
All restricted goods I couldn't import freely, but with the principal's help, a few might slip through.
"Not all of them. They violate academy regs, so even I can't approve indiscriminately. Just one."
"Stretch to two?"
"...Fine."
He answered my sudden request without flinching.
I thought for a sec and picked the energy vessel.
"If there's any issue, let me handle it in the practical exam grounds."
"Thank you."
"And..."
"Something to say?"
"Tell Roze and Merdi to drop by. I snagged some thousand-year tradition Pirello Le She premium chocolate, but it's too good to eat alone."
The most serious face I'd seen on him today.
"That's hard to come by."
"Hahaha, right? But for ladies, it's the least I can do."
"Thing is, it's a shame. Ever heard of 'William Creena'?"
"William Creena? You don't mean that chocolate only William Creena Master Family black card holders can get—three sets a year limited?"
The principal's eyes nearly popped out.
"Yeah. Had it for lunch today. Not sure if mere Pirello Le She will tempt them. I'll pass the message anyway. See you."
"W-Wait...!"
With my finances improving lately, the quality of my 'snacks' kept rising.
'What's the point of money if not to eat well?'
I left the principal's office, ignoring his shouts.
My chest suddenly felt refreshed.
*
I'd given it thought.
No matter how fast my growth, could I really help?
Unless I reached Miracle Generation level, making a dent in the alien war would be tough.
Sure, given time, I'd catch up eventually.
My ability was versatile with endless potential.
But time wasn't on my side.
It was time for choices and focus.
Even if Roze said I had talent, I lacked confidence to match her.
Martial arts fundamentally demanded time.
So I'd shelve pure physical development.
Not quitting—just taking it slow.
What paths remained for me?
First, recall my ability's close tie to aliens.
Aliens had biology unlike humans.
No superhumans among them, no ability users.
But high danger rank specimens invariably carried [energy accumulation organs].
These organs hugely influenced core weapon development.
Humans couldn't handle energy accumulation organs.
Biologically incompatible—no transplants possible.
Too many side effects.
'But what about me?'
No other human could.
But I could.
As my ability evolved and controlled higher alien factors, I could gradually remake my body into an energy accumulation organ itself.
'Someday, I might stand on equal footing.'
Two items sat before me.
One was the treated energy vessel, loss-proofed.
This egg-sized, faintly glowing object—barely a grown man's fist—was what had been encased in that massive rock lump.
It took serious effort to process it this far.
No equipment, so I even called in family favors.
Then import issues delayed it another three months until today, finally in my hands.
'Set this aside for now.'
But the real prize was the second item.
An energy accumulation organ.
Bought at great expense from some entrepreneur who'd turned a research specimen into decor.
Simple reason for decor use.
Its owner was a notorious named alien specimen.
'Blue Devil.'
The devil's horn itself now lay before my eyes.