The Schoolgirl's Request (2)

Carl's mouth dropped an utterly unexpected story on me, and my mind went blank for a moment. Calm down. Was I the only one I'd gone around talking to yesterday? For all I know, Carl could've brought back a garbage quest. Don't get ahead of yourself. Raise your hopes, and the betrayal only stings worse.

Carl. This favor you're talking about...

"Loser. This favor of yours wouldn't happen to be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fetching something from an abandoned house in the back alley?"

"Yes, that's correct."

Then...

"And you got the key too?"

"I see you already knew about it—then this really must have been Armadi's revelation."

Carl nodded to himself, then drew a rusted iron key from inside his coat and held it out to me. The moment my fingers closed around it, a message window popped up before my eyes.

Don't get ahead of yourself, my butt! Carl! You did great! I thought you were nothing but a pathetic excuse for a knight who only stalked me around, but you were actually a loyal knight who was always thinking of me! I was so overjoyed that for a split second I wanted to leap in and hug him—but the Mesugaki Skill wouldn't allow it.

Instead, it marched my body forward until I was standing right in front of Carl, then haughtily stretched my hand up into the air. I had no idea what this gesture was supposed to mean. Carl clearly did. The instant he saw me move, he dropped to one knee—bringing his head to precisely the height of my outstretched palm. No. Hold on. Huh?

No matter what I thought, the Mesugaki Skill moved my body as it pleased. My hand patted Carl on the head, and the corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly.

...

Hey. You do realize you're being treated like a dog right now? Carl, are you okay being treated as a loyal hound instead of a loyal knight? The thought came unbidden, but something about that grinning face made it feel like I'd be kicking a puppy, so I kept it to myself.

Thank you, Carl.

"Not bad, for a loser."

"No, my lady. I only did what any knight ought to do."

Petting the head of a full-grown adult man was doing terrible things to my sanity, but I forced myself to ignore it. Think of something else. Anything else. Yes—the quest. That should do nicely.

Going strictly by its reward, The Schoolgirl's Request—one of the first quests available in Soul Academy—looked like a complete nothing-burger. But the true value of this quest was never the schoolgirl's reward. It was the fact that it let you enter the abandoned house in the back alley at all. Because hidden inside that building was the entrance to a secret dungeon!

Originally you were supposed to hit level 10, grind out your proficiency work, and only then set foot inside—but as of right now, all that prep work was already done?! Perfect. Tonight. I'm going in tonight.

Thinking about the quest, though, raised a fresh question. Everything else made sense—but how on earth did Carl get this from her? This is a quest you can't receive unless you talk to the schoolgirl first, isn't it? There's no way Carl, a man interested in nothing but his sword and training, walked up and chatted with her.

Carl...

"Loser. How exactly did you get this request?"

"Ah, that."

The moment I asked, Carl lit up and answered. Apparently, on his way to see me yesterday, he'd overheard the schoolgirl talking about me. So he'd pretended to ask for directions and offered to help if she was ever in trouble.

"And the very next day, she came to find me and told me her troubles."

Listening to Carl's story, I could feel the wealth gap opening up like a chasm. When I talked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to people, they guarded themselves like fortresses. When Carl talks to them, they come running with their personal problems the next day? That's just unfair. Sure, my Mesugaki Skill makes my vocabulary a little aggressive. And yes, my reputation is catastrophically worse. But it's not like either Carl or I knew her beforehand. What possible difference is there between the two of us that she trusts him on sight? Is it looks? Is this a looks problem? I mean, Carl is undeniably handsome. He's the only human alive capable of making children smile instead of burst into tears just by saying hello.

But were his looks really so overwhelming that they could demolish her guard completely?! His face isn't some hypnosis app, for crying out loud! It's not fair. Some people get side-eyed just for speaking, and others get a favorability boost for the same thing.

"My lady. It seems people will be arriving shortly."

With that, Carl gently slipped free of my hand and straightened back up.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid I can't acknowledge you where others can see. It would do no good for word to spread that I serve House Aln."

Suit yourself.

"Do whatever you want. Loser."

"Thank you for your understanding."

The moment he rose and left to prepare for class, students began filing into the room. They took one look at my face, showed flickers of discomfort, and drifted to seats far, far away from mine. I'd just received a quest I'd believed unreachable in this lifetime, so logically I should be celebrating—so why did my chest feel so hollow?

Thankfully, the feeling didn't last long. Because the atmosphere-destroyer, the one who couldn't care less about my expression or my tone of voice, made her entrance.

"You hear about this too?"

The second Frey spotted me after walking into the classroom, she came sprinting over with a beaming grin. Why she was suddenly so interested was painfully obvious. She was expecting another sparring match with me. Professor Anton's Combat Studies class was all about building skill through duels, after all.

Annoying—but in a way, this worked out for the better. Better to spar with her now than to peel her off me later when she'd latch on demanding a match after school, no?

I was half-heartedly responding to Frey's ceaseless chatter beside me when I noticed a young man walking my way. I'd definitely seen that face somewhere before. The name wouldn't come to me, though—nothing beyond what the Mesugaki Skill had called him. Small-Fry Young Master.

Well. Did it matter? The skill was going to call him small-fry regardless, so whatever I called him in my head changed nothing.

"Good day to you, Lady Aln."

Hello there, Small-Fry.

"Hey, Small-Fry. You're looking alive."

"All thanks to you."

The moment the small-fry greeted me, stares rained down from every direction. Mostly curiosity, with a sprinkle of genuine worry. Was it really that unusual for someone to talk to me? Fitting the pieces together, I remembered I could count today's conversations on one hand, and grudgingly conceded that yes, it was indeed unusual.

"I've come to offer my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thanks. In the aftermath I barely had the presence of mind, so I could only send a letter—but I decided it was only right to say this to your face."

With that, the small-fry bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the floor.

"Thank you. If not for Lady Aln, I would be dead."

I knew exactly what drove him to say it, but from where I stood it was nothing but awkward. That whole mess only happened because of me in the first place.

Please, don't dwell on it.

"You were just waiting for the right moment to sneak in a shy little hello? How very small-fry of you. Don't worry about it. I didn't exert myself on your account or anything."

"Ahaha. Still, the fact remains that I kept my life thanks to you."

"Hey. Are you insane?!"

The moment Jacob Leeds returned to his seat, his best friend Harry Sober gaped at him and shouted.

"What?"

"What?! Why would you talk to Lady Al—! Lady Aln?!"

Harry was mid-tirade, chewing his friend out, when he caught Lucy Aln glancing over from the little corner of the room she'd carved out for herself— and hastily dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Because she's the one who saved my life, obviously."

That hellscape was still burned vividly into Jacob's memory. If Lucy Aln hadn't been in that dungeon, Jacob wouldn't be standing here right now.

"Still, her reputation is awful. Who knows what might happen to you."

Jacob let out a hollow laugh as Harry whispered, brow furrowed. True—Lucy Aln's name carried a terrible reputation. Anyone from a noble family who'd set so much as a toe into high society had heard the legends of her infamy, and of course Jacob was no exception.

But Jacob didn't believe a word of it. There was so much gossip swirling around her that not all of it could be false, sure—but he suspected most of it was simple misunderstanding. Someone who'd throw herself into danger for a stranger's sake could hardly be that rotten a person.

"Most of it's misunderstanding."

After all, hadn't the rumor that Lady Aln couldn't study just been blown to pieces when she took first place in the Academy entrance exam? There had to be plenty more of those malicious rumors waiting to collapse the same way, Jacob figured.

"Either way, stay away from her. Word is she's already caught the Third Prince's eye."

"The Third Prince?"

"That's the one."

Harry's theatrics dripped with genuine worry—god forbid you got chummy with her and ended up catching the Prince's eye yourself. Lady Aln. It's been barely a day. What on earth have you done this time?

Just as Jacob leaned in to press Harry for more details about the rumor, the Combat Studies professor made his entrance. He arrived with footsteps loud enough to be a deliberate announcement, scanned the room in silence, and smiled.

"Welcome, everyone. I am Anton, your professor of Combat Studies—here to teach you how to fight."

"As you may know, the purpose of this class is to build experience through duels between students. Specifically..."

Despite Professor Anton stepping forward and delivering a lengthy explanation, the students' reactions remained lukewarm at best. Observing this, he cleared his throat and changed tactics.

"Hmm. Having trouble following? It might be better to simply show you. Would anyone care to step forward and give us a demonstration duel?"

The words had barely left his mouth when a hand shot up among the students. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Frey Kent. The daughter of the Kent family, which had produced master swordsmen for generations—and the owner of a talent widely hailed as the most likely to become the next Sword Saint.

"I'll duel Lucy Aln."

"Pathetic swordswoman."

"We agreed, remember?"

"Fight me and you'll find out just how pathetic my swordsmanship really is. Still up for it?"

"Scared already?"

"You've got to be kidding me. Do I look weak enough to lose to that flimsy sword of yours?"

Not a single soul dared to butt in on the Frey–Lucy staredown. Nobody knew what fate might befall anyone reckless enough to insert themselves between those two.

When Frey and Lucy stepped forward and squared off, Professor Anton beamed with delight.

"The two finest fighters from this year's entrance exam, volunteering together. What a pleasant surprise."

Watching the pair take their stances at opposite ends of the floor, Harry leaned over to Jacob.

"Which one's gonna win?"

"Lady Aln."

"Did they brainwash you or something? There's no way Lady Kent loses a duel! They call her the greatest talent in the entire history of House Kent!"

By any conventional measure, Harry was right. This was Frey Kent, who had crushed every tournament in the kingdom with overwhelming displays of power. No matter how stellar Lady Aln's entrance exam scores were, there was no way she could beat Frey Kent.

But Jacob saw it differently.

"I know all that. Lady Aln still wins. Wanna bet?"

"A bet? Call. I'll put up one gold."

"That's a month's worth of food money."

"Scared?"

"No."

Jacob remembered the sight of Lucy Aln overwhelming that witch-shaped monstrosity inside the dungeon. Someone with that kind of skill, losing to another person? He simply could not picture it.

"You're on."