How to Take the Upper Hand (1)
Where Luka had dragged me off to was one of the places I remembered all too well.
Professor Luka's office.
Books and papers strewn about in total chaos, giving the whole room a frantic, harried impression — it was exactly as I remembered it, without a single difference.
Luka gave an awkward little smile at the way my eyes wandered around the room, then dragged a chair over from somewhere, sat down in it himself, and invited me to take the seat behind the office desk.
"I couldn't possibly seat a young lady in a chair like that."
Then why not finish cleaning up first and then call me in?
There's a perfectly good sofa right over there — you should've sat the documents on it and put me in the good chair.
And another thing. If you're going to drag me all the way here, shouldn't you at least offer me some tea?
I'm actually curious, you know. You're famous for making terrible tea — so bad that even Joy can't keep a straight face. Just how catastrophic is it, exactly?
I stared at him in silence, packing every one of those grievances into my gaze, but he only blinked at me blankly, as if wondering why I wouldn't just sit down.
Even the sloppy details are identical to the game.
Confirming things like that put me at ease.
Even if he's a raving lunatic, being just like the game is better. As long as I can predict how he thinks and acts, I can prepare for the danger.
Look at the First Prince. I honestly have no idea what goes through his head or why he does anything he does.
He's clearly changed in all sorts of ways, but I can't tell which direction it's all heading! And the truly infuriating part is that whichever direction it is, he probably isn't going to like me.
Standing there watching Luka didn't seem like it would change anything, so I sat down in the desk chair — and only then did he finally open his mouth.
"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, my lady, but I am rather fond of talented people. Back when I was still clumsy at being a teacher, I was so often accused of playing favorites that it became something of a reputation."
I know all about it.
Luka believes himself to be a jeweler — one who cuts and polishes the gemstones we call genius.
Long, long before the game even began.
The moment he beheld a jewel shining brilliantly before his eyes.
And the moment he realized he would never shine like that jewel himself.
Luka resolved to become the polisher instead.
If he could not be a gem, then he would create a gem that shone more brilliantly than anything else in existence.
'What most people don't realize is that a jewel's worth is decided before it is ever cut. A beautiful rough stone makes a beautiful jewel; an ugly one makes an ugly jewel.'
Those were the words you'd hear if you played through the quests tied to Luka's route.
That was his creed.
And so Luka loved the talented. Because he believed that leaving behind a jewel worthy of history required raw genius to do it with.
"And you, my lady, possess a talent that shines more brightly than any person I have ever beheld."
So says Luka.
I will polish the rough stone that is you.
I will make you into a jewel that outshines anyone alive.
I will carve your name into the history not just of your house, not just of the kingdom — but of the entire continent.
"I will help you. So that your talent may reach its completion."
I sat back in the leather chair and studied Luka's face.
I wasn't Karia — I couldn't read a person's thoughts and feelings just from watching them.
But I knew exactly what Luka was thinking.
How? Because I remembered the very lines of dialogue flowing into my ears right now.
I knew under exactly what circumstances this man delivered these words.
At this moment, Luka was yearning for me.
He believed in my talent, truly believed I could outshine anyone alive, and believed I might be the one to grant his heart's desire.
The relationship between the two of us mirrored the seats we occupied.
My seated height was far smaller than his, and yet I was looking down on him — and he was looking up at me.
The instant I was certain of that, I felt it: this situation was flowing exactly the way I wanted it to.
Back when this was a game, it ended with nothing more than Luka persistently begging.
There was no option to make a counter-offer to Luka, or anything of the sort.
But not anymore.
This was reality.
And in reality, impossible things don't exist.
'You're wrong, Professor Luka.'
"You pervert of a professor. I know you're thrilled out of your mind to have a cute girl like me walk into your musty, stinky little office, but you still have to think things through."
I leaned back against the chair and rested my chin on my hand.
'You will not be helping me.'
"You? Help me? A dense little leftover like you? Puhahat. There's a limit to not knowing your place."
"...I beg your pardon?"
'I will be the one permitting the help.'
"Let me put it in terms even a dumb pervert can understand. You're not helping me. I'm the one deciding whether to let you help me."
Bring me something useful, and I will permit you to teach me.
It was an arrogant, imperious thing to say — but Luka, hearing it, did not get angry. He simply stared at me, dazed.
He'd forgotten he even needed to keep his trustworthy-teacher face on. With wild, unhinged eyes, his body pitched forward, he glared straight into my face.
The sheer madness of it overwhelmed me for a heartbeat — but the Mesugaki skill did not permit me the luxury of being flustered.
The emotion showing on my face was not fear. It was mockery.
And Luka, seeing that mockery, laughed along with me. Not his usual, ever-present friendly smile, but a thick, unhinged grin, madness dripping from every corner of it.
"I see. So that's how it is. I understand perfectly, Lady Aln."
With that, Luka dragged a hand down his face.
When his palm fell away and his face reappeared, it was perfectly, utterly calm — as if the madness of a moment ago had been nothing but a mirage.
"The professors will be heading to their lecture halls shortly. Return to your class for now, and come back after lessons end."
Here was my plan.
If Luka believed that a person named Lucy Aln was the jewel that would grant his heart's desire, he would never, ever let go of her.
He would try to seize her by whatever means necessary — because he was a man desperate to see his wish fulfilled.
So I would exploit that emotion. I would stand in the position of the one holding all the power and choose which ordeals to receive. I would find the safest, most efficient way to grow stronger.
And through him, I would spit in the eye of that petty-ass Chief God who kept trying to sabotage me.
So far, this plan of mine seemed to be coming along rather nicely.
Professor Luka's deranged eyes, his unhinged laughter — they were all the proof I needed. If things kept going like this, I'd get exactly what I wanted.
I was thinking all this while spearing a slice of steak with my fork when someone slammed their palm down on my table.
Who the hell is this uncivilized cretin?
Do not ruin my peaceful, happy mealtime.
"Lucy Aln."
I raised my head, annoyance plain on my face, and found Arthur standing there with one eyebrow lowered.
If you were going to come find me, come find me a little faster. Why on earth are you making a scene interrupting someone's meal? I was actually looking forward to this — it's been ages since I had Academy cafeteria food.
'Yes, Your Highness?'
"What is it, Pitiful Prince? Standing up so straight and showing off that itty-bitty height of yours? Shall I compliment you on how adorable you are?"
Arthur, his short stature for a man thus called out, flushed scarlet and opened his mouth to shout — but what came out was a sigh instead. Then, without so much as asking permission, he sat down across from me.
"I heard Professor Luka approached you."
'Yes. That's right.'
"And how exactly would you know that, Your Highness? Planning to follow me around and become my stalker, you gloomy loner prince?"
"...I happened to overhear."
It's already spread as gossip?
Wow. That's Lucy for you. Famous for all the wrong reasons means rumors travel fast, I guess.
"In any case, congratulations. They say that nearly everyone that man reaches out to goes on to greatness."
Naturally. Because if you don't succeed, you die.
Luka was an RPG player who ranted about average regression. High odds or low, his philosophy was press the enhancement button first and ask questions later.
If he believed a thing had the potential to become that item, he'd expect the enhancement to succeed.
And if it failed? Then it was never going to make the cut in the first place.
Luka would grumble about his bad luck and go off searching for a different piece of gear.
That was exactly why I'd considered refusing his offer — why I couldn't let him seize the initiative.
Because the thought of myself as the equipment sitting inside the enhancement machine gave me the chills.
"Enough with the pleasantries. The reason I interrupted your meal is that I have something to ask of you."
Arthur squared his shoulders, produced a sheet of paper from inside his coat, and held it out to me.
"Did you not tell me to ask you which classes I ought to take once the second term began?"
Ahh, that's what this was about — he wants me to pick his classes for him.
This was urgent, actually. I shoved my plate aside, took the paper from Arthur's outstretched hand, and started racking my brain.
Let's see. Arthur's a magic swordsman, so he needs this one. And this one. And this one too.
"...Hm?"
Why is there a limit on how many hours you can take in a single term? At this rate I'll have to sacrifice a few of them!
Ugh. Fine, prioritize swordsmanship first. Training your body alongside the blade raises your stamina — that's the efficient route.
"...Lucy Aln?"
Cut this one and this one. And this...
Haah. I have to cut this? Seriously?
This one is absolutely essential, though? But if I don't cut it, I can't fit under the limit.
What do I do? What can I do?
Oh! Right. Maybe I should ask whether he can override the limit with royal authority?
He's miles from the succession, sure, but he's still a prince. Push down on him with status and who knows, it might just work.
When I raised my head to ask, I was met with the sight of Arthur looking utterly appalled.
"Do you wish for me to drop dead of overwork in the middle of a lecture?"
Oh, come on. Way to exaggerate.
Nobody dies from a little bit of this.
What I learned training with the Aln family knights is that people in fantasy worlds are ridiculously sturdy.
Ugh, fine, fine! It's about the mood, isn't it! I'll cut one more.
There. Happy now? This should be acceptable, right?
"...In the name of helping me, you attempt my assassination. What on earth did I ever do to deserve this? Speak. I beg of you."
I told you, you won't even die.
No.
I'm not changing a thing.
Go away.
"I shall curse you from the very depths of hell, Lucy Aluuuuun!"
You chose this help, buddy.
Endure it by hook or by crook, Arthur!
Having finished my first day of the second term and my course registration, I made my way to Professor Luka's office as promised.
'Professor Luka?'
"Mr. Pervert Professor?"
But Luka wasn't there.
There was only the door flung wide open — practically begging someone to come steal his things — and an office that stood utterly empty.
At that sight, a strange wave of déjà vu washed over me, and a memory from the past surfaced.
One of the quests tucked away in Luka's route. And the quest I had been waiting for.
I hadn't expected him to make his move this quickly.
Excellent. So Professor Luka really is rating me that highly.
‹ Girl. You must not go in. There is something... wrong, in that room. ›
'I know, Grandpa.'
What was waiting inside that room. What Professor Luka intended to do using it. I knew every last bit of it.
Because I am Soul Academy's most rotten-water veteran.
Ahh, Professor Luka. Thank you so much for being exactly, perfectly identical to the game!
If even you had turned out to have some hidden variable, I'd have had a genuine headache on my hands!
I ignored Grandpa's protest and stepped forward into the room — and the instant I crossed the threshold, the door swung shut behind me of its own accord, and a magic circle lit up beneath my feet.
This one I knew well. That petty little excuse for an evil god had used it on me so many times when he wanted to mess with me.
The Teleportation Circle.
Well then.
Time to show Professor Luka just how much value this rotten-water veteran is worth.