To the Academy (2)

Getting in, in itself, hadn't been much of a surprise.

Think about everything I'd shown off at the entrance exam!

I'd utterly dominated the sparring match, and even the dungeon clear had produced remarkable results despite the little incident halfway through. So even if I'd fumbled the written tests, I was confident I could still get in through special admission.

But the freshman representative speech?

Why on earth were they handing that to me?!

The representative speech goes to the incoming student with the best results — that's how it works, doesn't it?

My scores were that good?

As if!

Oh sure, my practical exam results were stellar, but there's no way my written scores came anywhere close!

You're telling me I beat the Third Prince — the guy stamped with an official "genius" setting — when I'd basically thrown away every subject except Dungeon Studies?

Give me a break!

Fine. Let's be generous here. Let's say Grandpa's answers, from barely two months of studying, were somehow all correct.

But nobody helped me with Magic Studies at all!

Dice God my ass — I just hurled the pencil and bubbled in whatever it pointed at!

I straight-up forfeited an entire subject!

So how, HOW, did I end up with the freshman representative speech? Huh?!

Something had to be wrong. It had to be some clerical error that got me picked by mistake. That was the only explanation.

I read through the acceptance letter in flat denial of the reality in front of me, desperately hoping to find something — anything — amiss.

But reality was merciless.

As if determined to prove it had made no mistake whatsoever, Soul Academy began ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shoving facts in my face one by one.

"Did I not tell thee? A noble must never once falter in her command of vocabulary."

"Hmm. So thou didst slip up somewhere after all, despite believing thou hadst answered every one."

"Ohh. So all those bizarre answers thou scrawled down were correct after all? No wonder thou wast so full of thyself."

"...Is something not amiss here? Surely thou never solved a single magic studies problem, so how in the world did a score of 68 come about?"

"These surprise me not at all. Thou didst prove thyself there, in truth."

Having read the letter to the very end, I folded it, tucked it back into its envelope — and hurled the whole thing at the floor.

It never hit the ground.

That useless loser of a knight snatched it out of the air with frankly alarming reflexes.

"My lady! Why on earth would you throw this away! You must show it to the Count at once!"

"Loser. Zip it."

"Yes, ma'am."

My head was already spinning so badly I felt like I might lose my mind — why was he making a fuss?

Had he awakened some perverted desire to be trampled under the feet of the person he served? Huh?

When I shot him a scowl, Karl hastily ducked his head.

"What on earth is the matter with thee?"

'What's the matter? You're calling THAT a question?!'

The man practically responsible for this whole disaster was asking why I was upset?!

Grandpa. If you weren't so pointlessly smart, none of this would have happened!

Why did you go study when nobody asked you to and rack up scores this high!

Did you just want to show off how sharp your mind still is?!

"Is it not a glorious honor, to speak on behalf of all thy peers?"

'Glory?! Grandfather, did you forget what Blessing I have?!'

"Ah."

Grandpa. Did you think I was throwing this fit because I hate standing in front of people?!

Look, it's true I was a shut-in in my past life, so I'm not exactly fond of being the center of attention.

But if I have to do something, I can do it!

It'd be a chance to salvage my wrecked reputation, wouldn't it? Free upside — why would I refuse?

If it weren't for the Mesugaki skill, I'd have taken it as the honor Grandpa described, no question!

But I HAVE the Mesugaki skill, don't I?!

'Grandfather, think about it. Me, standing in front of a room packed with nobles, yelling "loser this" and "scrub that"!'

It wasn't hard to picture myself reading a speech while all those powerful people stared at me and only me.

'Greetings, you losers, all dumber than me. I'm Lucy Aln. Just how much of a scrub did you have to be for me to be standing up here? Well, I suppose anyone who applies to Loser Academy is a scrub by definition, no?'

Horrifying.

Of course, the Mesugaki skill at least forces formal speech when the occasion calls for it, so it would be somewhat toned down from that.

But nothing changed the fact that words like loser, scrub, moron, and moronic waste of space would be tumbling out of my mouth nonstop for the entire duration of the speech.

And what would happen to my reputation then?

The Soul Academy professors would write me off as a lunatic, the royal family and the nobility alike would conclude every rumor about me was true, and even the commoners would cross the street to avoid me.

You're telling me my academy life would be even more nightmarish than anything I'd imagined before coming here!

No.

This future, above all, had to be stopped.

By any means necessary, I had to prevent this catastrophe from coming to pass.

Wiping a hand down my face, I lifted my head to find Karl watching me with worried eyes.

'Karl...'

"Hey, loser. You graduated from Soul Academy, didn't you?"

"Yes, my lady."

'Can the freshman representative speech be declined?'

"Can I turn down this pointless speech?"

"Er... I'm not sure, my lady."

'I'm sorry?'

"I beg your pardon?"

"There's no precedent. The freshman representative speech at Soul Academy is a glorious honor, proof that one stands above countless Blessing-bearers. Not a single person in the academy's history has ever refused it."

'So...'

"So it's not actually a rule or anything, huh?"

"It is not."

'Really? Then...'

"Great. Then I'll just become the first in Loser Academy's history. Easy."

People would think I was insane, sure — but that beat being branded a raving madwoman in front of every powerful figure on the continent by a mile.

Decision made, I snatched the letter right out of Karl's hand and marched toward the mansion.

I had a letter to write — one declaring, in no uncertain terms, that I would absolutely not be serving as freshman representative.

I had no idea what answer they'd send back, but I was refusing this no matter what.

If they didn't want to find out just how deep a transmigrator's bag of tricks went, they'd better accept my refusal gracefully.

"So you're saying the one who ranked first wants to hand the duty off to a substitute?"

Having heard, via communication magic, the request to represent the incoming class at this year's entrance ceremony, Third Prince Arthur Soladin delivered his displeasure without a trace of filtering.

It was a request so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠insolent it circled back around to being funny.

He was already half-dead from irritation that someone had outperformed him and stolen first place — and now that someone wanted to magnanimously pass the freshman representative seat his way.

As if he had no interest in such an honor at all.

Did they take him for a fool? Had he not sprinted his entire life toward seizing exactly that glory?

Arthur knew, rationally, that it couldn't be true. His heart told a very different story.

His temper simply kept climbing, degree by degree.

Tapping irritably at his desk, he only realized how hard he'd been grinding his teeth between them when the taste of blood flooded his mouth.

Damn it all.

It was true that he had long coveted the freshman representative seat.

But the scene he'd dreamed of was himself standing there as representative, having claimed first place with the highest score in the history of Soul Academy.

Not having it handed to him like some tossed-off courtesy.

Hah. Whoever it was that gave up the freshman representative seat, how utterly shameless of them.

They meant to make him the hapless fool cleaning up after the very first person in Soul Academy's history to refuse the position.

"I'm afraid I must decline."

"As you wish."

When Arthur flatly declared his refusal, the voice on the other end of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠communication magic pressed him no further.

"One moment."

Just before the connection severed, Arthur called the other party back.

"Let me ask you one thing."

"Please, speak."

"Might I hear the name of the one who was meant to be freshman representative? It will hardly stay secret for long, will it?"

Since the scores of the top twenty entrants to Soul Academy would be published alongside the entrance ceremony itself, there was no reason to hide it.

The voice hesitated for a moment, then answered.

"It is Lady Lucy of House Aln."

"Lucy? The Lady of House Aln — the one I'm thinking of?"

"Your imagination is likely correct, Your Highness."

Lucy Aln.

Arthur had never once attended high society, so he'd never laid eyes on the girl himself.

But the rumors — the rumors he knew by heart.

After all, bad word travels faster and farther than good ever does.

The girl more often called the Disgrace of House Aln or the Degenerate Lady than by her own name — and she'd almost been the academy's freshman representative?

Good heavens.

"Don't tell me this is compensation for the incident during the entrance exam?"

"Prince Arthur. Our academy has always, and will always, guarantee perfect fairness in examination results."

At those words, Arthur realized just how grave an insult he'd offered.

He had essentially asked whether they were bribing him with the representative seat to paper over their own blunder.

"My apologies. My emotions appear to have gotten the better of me for a moment."

"Not at all. If you acknowledge the academy's fairness, Your Highness, that is quite enough for us."

"Good. My thanks. I'll end this here."

"Yes. May you have a peaceful day, Your Highness."

You should know —

the peaceful day you speak of just flew straight out the window with that call.

After the connection cut, Arthur leaned back against his chair and stared up at the pristine white ceiling.

"Lucy Aln."

Rumors truly weren't worth the breath it took to spread them.

Disgrace of House Aln hardly suited the person who'd posted the finest score in the history of Soul Academy's unforgiving examinations.

Glory of House Aln, perhaps.

"Lucy."

Ahh, well. Glory or disgrace, what did it matter?

Whoever she was.

Whatever her temperament.

Whatever nonsense she got up to.

None of it had anything to do with Arthur Soladin.

Only two things concerned him.

That Lucy Aln was the one who had stolen the glory that should have been his.

And that she was the fool who'd dared insult him under the guise of consideration.

That was all.

"I do look forward to the day I see that face of yours."

He had no idea what manner of person she might be — but he would repay this insult in full.

Without fail.

Ever since I'd kicked the freshman representative seat to the curb, my heart had been nothing but at ease.

There'd been plenty of grumbling in the process, but once I brought up the incident from the entrance exam, they let it slide.

A genuine stroke of luck.

In a worst-case scenario I'd been prepared to no-show the ceremony entirely, so having it resolve this easily felt almost criminal.

From then on I simply waited for the day of the Soul Academy entrance ceremony while throwing myself into training as usual.

Running at dawn, sparring at midday, practicing holy magic in the evening — the same quiet rhythm, day after day.

It was peaceful enough that I caught myself wondering if I could just live like this forever. But that peace came to an end today.

The time had come to leave the territory behind and head to the academy.