Midterms (9)
Students at the Academy didn't have much of a sense of solidarity with one another.
They might hold some vague notion of being classmates who had enrolled in the same year, but that was where it ended. Since they didn't sit in a single classroom listening to the same lectures day after day, but instead moved between halls chasing whatever courses caught their interest, a shared identity as a grade simply never had room to form. You looked out for the people you were close to; everyone else faded into comfortable indifference.
Because of that, even when someone skipped a class, it was only the professor who cared. The students barely noticed.
And yet, right before the nine o'clock History midterm was set to begin, the students filing into that very classroom were all acutely aware of one empty seat.
Lady Lucy Alrn, the single most conspicuous presence among the current first-years of Soul Academy, had yet to make an appearance.
It was a strange thing. She had never once missed a class. Granted, once she arrived she spent more time staring at her desk than at the blackboard, but she had attended, faithfully, every single time. So why would she suddenly be absent on exam day?
Laura Alrn had always lived at the center of the rumor mill — mostly for worse reasons than good ones — so it was only natural that questions began to ripple through the room.
Why isn't she here?
Maybe she's not confident she'll do well this time?
She probably tried to cheat, got blocked, and ran away.
Or she's sick and hoping to get out of it?
Come to think of it, the dorm supervisor was hunting all over for her yesterday.
She wasn't in the dorm last night?
What is she plotting this time?
Amid the murmuring, the door swung open and the History Professor stepped into the classroom. A man of bleached-white hair and deep-wrinkled skin, he leaned on his cane, shuffled in slowly, and cast his gaze over the assembled students.
"It seems someone is missing?"
The person he referred to was, of course, the very one being discussed among the students at that moment.
It wasn't that he knew why Lucy Alrn was absent because he was some devoted teacher who memorized every student's face. It was simply that the image of the audacious count's daughter who called him "Geezer Professor" had burned itself into his memory. How often does a revered historian of his stature get told, to his face, that he's a doddering old relic whose dentures suit him perfectly?
"I don't know what circumstances you may have, but an exam is an exam. Even if she arrives late, there's nothing to be done about that—"
Just as the History Professor was mid-sentence about proper procedure, the rear door burst open and a figure strode into the room.
A suit of armor scarred as though its wearer had come straight from a battlefield. A shield slung across her back larger than the torso of a grown man. Hair tangled wildly, as if she'd sprinted the entire way.
Lady Lucy Alrn.
The girl who had been the center of this classroom's gossip not a moment before swept her hair back with a rough exhale and walked inside.
"Lady Alrn? What in the world are you wearing?"
The History Professor started, bewildered by her battle-worn appearance, but Lucy Alrn showed not the slightest bit of intimidation.
"What? Something wrong, Geezer Professor?"
"Why have you come to sit an examination in full armor?"
"There's no rule against wearing armor, is there? Oh, or is your dementia acting up and making you go back and forth on things? Because if not, I don't really see a problem here."
The History Professor bit down hard on his lip.
There was plenty he wanted to say. Rules or no rules, surely there was such a thing as courtesy and common sense. What kind of person walks into an examination hall dressed for combat and stands there menacing the other students? Given the chance, he could have listed grievances without end.
But the History Professor said nothing. Experience had taught him that adding even one word would earn him ten words of venom in return.
Age had only sharpened his sensitivities, and the last thing the old professor wanted was to deepen his wounds by trading barbs with a shameless student.
"Take a seat. We'll begin shortly."
'Um, excuse me...'
"Hey, extra. Got any spare writing tools? I'll do you the honor of using your pathetic little pen, so hand it over."
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
Having secured a pen through the generous cooperation of the student seated in front of me, I shrugged off my gauntlets, set them aside, and stretched with a long groan.
Haaah. I seriously thought I was going to be late to the actual exam.
Our pathetic Chief God gave me a quest to take first place in the Academy midterms, and I nearly threw it away. If it were some ordinary reward, fine, but this one hands out the Inventory. No way I could let that slip.
The Inventory function has a million and one uses. Like right now — if I'd had it, I could've stripped off this armor and changed into my uniform before walking in!
Then I wouldn't have to listen to all this whispering — 'What has she been up to?' 'Did she blow something up?' 'I'm scared.' 'She should've just stayed home!'
Haah. People gossiping about me is old news. Whatever. Ignore it.
More importantly, time to open the Log Function and lay out the exam material in advance.
Smiling at the thought of perfectly legal cheating, I opened the log window — and froze solid at the wall of text that was absolutely nothing like what I'd expected.
Loser♡
Scrub♡
Trash♡
Retard♡
Old hag♡
The log window was stuffed to bursting with the battle from Adri's mansion last night — and every single conversation that had broken out in the middle of it.
Uh?
Uhhhhhh?!
Praying I was wrong, I frantically scrolled to the top of the log and saw the words 'Like some scrub of a knight♡' staring back at me. I banged my forehead against the desk.
No way.
No, this doesn't make sense. The log window overflowed just because the fight ran from last evening straight through the night?!
Where did all the history textbook content I'd memorized go?!
You useless garbage log window!
Give back the study notes I so desperately recorded!
You were a useless, pointless feature in the game, and now you're going to stay a useless piece of trash in reality too?! Are you going to leave me a loser at life?!
This is exactly when you're supposed to be useful, you garbage function!
<What's the matter, lass? Why the fuss?>
'...Grandpa. Please, save me!'
Grandpamon! Save me!
At this rate I won't be taking a history exam — I'll be gambling with the test paper itself!
Don't get me wrong, I'd still scrape by with some kind of score, but whether I could actually take first place in the Academy midterms? No guarantees!
So help me! Grandpamon!
<Had you applied yourself to your studies all along, this would never have happened.>
'But—'
<But nothing. I told you I would not be helping you. This is your own karma. Accept it gracefully.>
Nooo! Grandpamon!
Don't be so cruel to me!
I was wrong, okay?!
I'll never do it again! Please!
I begged with everything I had, but my stingy old Grandpamon was unmoved.
Is he still holding a grudge about getting shoved face-first into a toilet?! It's been days since then — is a legendary Holy Knight really going to keep whining about that?!
Damn it. Fine, then.
At this point, I'm leaving the history exam to the Dice God.
Removing one more of Agra's curses should have raised my luck stat since the last test, so I should score above average, at least.
I'll settle for whatever I get on history and make up for it by acing the other exams.
Resolved, I was assigning numbers to each face of the pen in my head when Grandpa's voice slipped in quietly.
<Promise me one thing, and I shall lend you my aid.>
'...Which is?'
<When this exam is over, you will study properly. From the fundamentals.>
Eeeeeeh! Grandpa-mon!
You're dangling the thing I hate most in the world as the price for my exam scores?!
Genuinely evil!
Does no mercy exist in this world?!
Nope, it doesn't!
Our pathetic Chief God struts around calling himself a god — how could I ever expect heavenly compassion?!
<Well? What say you?>
'...Fine.'
I hemmed and hawed for a moment, but the answer came quickly. I'd already been thinking it wouldn't hurt to have the basics down anyway. And I needed something to do during my late-night mana-building training sessions.
It would definitely be boring and joyless, but I supposed I had to try it at least once.
<You promise, then?>
'Don't worry, I'll keep it.'
I might resist at first, but I don't go back on my word once it's given. And with Unbreakable Will, once I actually start studying, I can just... keep going. Probably.
<Good. Then first, question one. The Soladin Kingdom's...>
Jackal watched from his corner seat as the girl dozed off, her head bobbing drowsily.
Eyes rimmed with fatigue. A slack face with her mouth hanging half-open. A tiny girl without a shred of tension in her. Eyes closed, saying nothing, she looked beautiful enough to pass for a doll on a display shelf.
Lady Lucy Alrn.
At least as long as her mouth stays shut, she's tolerable. The moment it opens, a disaster unfolds.
Despite the considerable time that had passed since the previous incident, Jackal still disliked Lucy Alrn. Something about the way she acted on pure impulse, drunk on her own genius talent, grated on some corner of his heart. He simply couldn't bring himself to like her.
But from here on, she won't get to puff herself up however she pleases.
Word had it that she'd barely paid attention in a single class all semester. And apparently no one had ever seen her study on her own, either. No matter how gifted Lucy Alrn might be, she couldn't possibly pull decent grades without so much as opening a book.
That one is about to pay the price for her own negligence. I wonder what face she'll make when she falls behind the very people she looked down on. Keh. When that day comes, how magnanimously should I laugh at her?
"Next! Lady Lucy of House Alrn, and Lady Frey of House Kent!"
After the previous pair finished their bout, Anton, the Combat Studies instructor, called the next examinees. Despite the sheer volume of Anton's voice, Lucy Alrn didn't stir from her sleep.
Lazy as always, I suppose — though did she stay up all night studying or something?
Just as Jackal was sneering at her negligence, Frey Kent walked over to Lucy Alrn and pressed a finger firmly into her cheek.
The surrounding students gasped at the audacity of laying hands on the notoriously foul-tempered Lucy Alrn — but Frey Kent couldn't have cared less.
"Wake up."
When Frey Kent jabbed her cheek a second time, Lucy Alrn's eyes snapped open.
The instant she woke, she threw herself at Frey Kent, slammed her into the ground, mounted her, and raised a fist.
A perfect ambush, denying her opponent even a moment to resist.
Despite the impact of hitting the floor, Frey Kent didn't so much as furrow her brow, speaking in her usual flat voice.
"The match hasn't started yet."
Only then did Lucy Alrn come back to her senses, blinking rapidly as she climbed off. There was no apology.
"God, she's got a rotten temper."
"I get being mad about being woken up, but wasn't that going too far?"
The students who'd witnessed it muttered amongst themselves, but Jackal wasn't listening to any of it.
That wasn't simple venting anger. It was closer to a reflex. An unconscious reaction. What on earth kind of training do the Alrn knights go through to produce a response like that? Astonishing. No wonder they became the finest knightly house on the continent.
As Lucy Alrn climbed off, Frey Kent rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her clothes, and spoke.
"Lucy."
"What. You loser swordsman."
"I get first strike, right?"
"Do whatever you want."
She seemed far more delighted at claiming first strike than bothered by the fact that she'd just been tackled to the ground.