Where Do I Get the Meal Ticket?

"The world's greatest mage. The first hero to slay the Maou, owner of the six masterpieces—Olivia is coming back."

When Sylvia said that, honestly, it went in one ear and out the other. She'd always been a kid who adored and followed me closely. She'd go on endlessly about anything related to me. So I just figured she'd exaggerated a bit. As you do.

It was only natural. The last time I'd sold a wand directly to someone was three hundred years ago. To humans, three hundred years is an insanely long time. A generation is usually about thirty years, so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that's ten generations. More than ten full generational turnovers since the end of the Maou War. Plus, my role in that war had been kept under strict secrecy. I'd told the owners of the five wands myself and watched them erase the records before vanishing.

"So... logically speaking, shouldn't everyone have forgotten about me by now?"

I opened the door, and letters came pouring out like an avalanche. For someone who'd thought of herself as a forgotten has-been wand crafter, it was a sight I couldn't wrap my head around. I slammed the door shut in case anyone saw, but a few sheets fluttered free.

"What the hell is all this...?"

I snatched one with my small hand, and a golden seal immediately caught my eye. Even I, who'd lived as a total shut-in for three hundred years, recognized that famous crest. The Eastern Union Kingdom's food production powerhouse. House Vermonth.

I carefully broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

The thirty-plus lines boiled down to three points:

1. We're a good family that does all sorts of virtuous activities.

2. So sell us a wand.

3. We'll pay any price. We'll even be your patron.

The arrogance oozed from the page—they clearly thought money solved everything. The problem? House Vermonth controlled the food industry, so they really could throw around as much cash as they wanted. In this backward medieval world, food was like modern oil.

"What a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠headache..."

But even more ridiculous? This was one of the humble ones.

"It's not for sale just because you offer money."

Some were outright purchase offers.

"What the hell is this guy's deal...?"

Others tossed unwanted noble titles like scraps to demand a wand. I must've debated burning the whole pile about three thousand times when—

"These ones seem at least halfway normal."

I managed to sort out the relatively sane letters. The Empire's golden lion seal. The Holy Kingdom's cross seal. The Eastern Union Kingdom's black eagle seal.

I started with the Empire's.

Askleon's letter was simple: The Empire's an evil empire mired in colonial wars. Stop it by giving me the wand and restoring peace. Pretty words, but ultimately just a pretext to build his power base.

The Holy Kingdom jumped straight to the Maou threat, demanding the Olive Wand for their Saintess. But... not appealing. She was just a kid starting at the academy, and handing her the wand would give the Holy Kingdom even more legitimacy amid Empire-Eastern Union tensions. Chaos waiting to happen.

No way to the Eastern Union either. Their invitation to defect screamed "use you as our power play pawn." Disgusted, I chucked it into the fireplace.

"Haa..."

I slumped onto the sofa.

"Feels like I've stumbled right into the eye of the storm..."

Honestly, I hadn't expected this level of frenzy. I'd planned to let the wand pick from incoming freshmen like old times. Should've at least skimmed Sylvia's newspapers. Never imagined every major player on the continent sending letters.

"What a pain."

If the Olive Wand picked one of them, fine—even welcome. But it wouldn't join a massive faction. That's the issue. They'd drunk deep from the kimchi soup, but the wand has no heart to serve rice cakes. And against continental powers? Even I couldn't handle the backlash.

Maybe that's why.

"...Gotta contact Sylvia."

Instead, gather everyone who wants it. Let it choose publicly—less shock if no one gets picked. Asymmetric weapons are like that: Can't be mine alone, but if no one has it, no problem. Proclaim openly: This wand isn't yours.

"So, use the academy as the testing ground?"

"Ahaha, just this once, Sylvia."

In the principal's office atop the academy's tallest spire, I shamelessly asked Sylvia amid her paperwork piles. No choice—I wasn't ready to reveal myself. Unveiling as the wand crafter in this mess? Idiotic.

"Haa, fine. For you, sis."

Blessedly, she agreed, handing me a schedule.

"One week from now, lunch hour in the academy auditorium. Bring the Olive Wand by then."

"Got it."

"But."

She pulled a uniform from her closet.

"You enroll too, sis. Fake name or not, you need to be on the roster to enter."

At the time, I thought that solved everything. No clue what would unfold in the auditorium.

"...Crowded as hell."

One week later, morning. In uniform for the first time in ages, I scanned the grounds. Far off, the Second Prince's entourage. Flanked by ornate imperial knights, he strode toward the auditorium. Beside them, the Holy Kingdom's Saintess group—platinum blonde girl guarded by battle priests in vestments. Priests and knights exchanged fierce glares.

"Mind games already underway."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

I glanced skyward. An Eastern Union aerial cruiser descended, weapons stripped for imperial airspace, its massive hull settling beside the academy. I slipped into the auditorium before the crowds thickened.

The hall formed an inverted cone around a central glass case holding the wand. Saintess and prince claimed the front row, clearing the three nearest rows. No student dared approach the future powers' flanks.

Not my problem, though. A millennium in, stares meant nothing. I sat front row calmly, drawing all eyes—including theirs.

"Who might you be?"

"Just a re-enrolled student. Honored to meet you, Saintess!"

I flashed a grin; her gentle face flickered with surprise. Seizing the moment:

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just... didn't expect anyone to come this far up."

"We're all students here, right? Empty seat's fair game?"

"O-Of course. In principle..."

She swallowed the rest. I got it: In principle, but who actually does it? The prince's mild features had a faint "is she nuts?" stiffness.

Whatever. I leaned back.

"Carry on. I'm just here for the wand."

The prince looked away pointedly. His "peace-loving crown prince" shtick kept him from snapping at a commoner publicly, so ignore it was.

Prime view for their showdown.

"As you know, Saintess, our Empire's trapped in colonial wars. Treating people like livestock, enslaving them—unacceptable."

"Agreed. The Empire's wars symbolize brutal imperialism."

"That's why I need the wand. To drag this nation from endless conquest, to build the happy world of scripture, we need power to change it."

Citing holy texts to claim the wand—clever. Saintess couldn't refute without backlash. Her smile twitched.

"I agree with the prince who loves his people. Endless wars only burden all nations' citizens."

She couldn't dismantle his logic.

"But doesn't the continent face a more urgent threat than colonial wars?"

She shifted frames—to the Maou.

"As you know, our Holy Kingdom has prepared three hundred years for the Maou's return. The Olive Wand, counter to the Fallen Apple Wand, fits our spirit perfectly, no?"

Smiles hid daggers in their eyes.

A newcomer broke it.

"If neither gets picked, mind if I take it?"

Ian Vermonth, Eastern Union minor duke. Brown-haired merchant vibe over student, he wedged between them.

"Holy Kingdom's got priests galore. Empire's strong enough to invade abroad. So this masterpiece? Ours, yeah?"

Blunt for merchant smarm. Mood froze. Prince and Saintess dropped polite smiles.

"How many times have I said mind your manners in public, Ian Vermonth?"

Next, a brown-haired girl like him—175cm, towering. She mashed his head down, bowing deeply.

"Ow, sis!"

"I apologize for Ian's rudeness. I'm Cecilia Vermonth, Eastern Union envoy."

She dragged him to the opposite side politely.

Then the finale: A thud as a giant boy claimed two seats. Viking-esque, he thrust a hand at the prince.

"Guardian of the North, Gunter Nordenburk."

Nordenburk was Empire, but Askleon's face soured. They'd become an autonomous military force beyond central control—another wand-hunter.

"I won't deny your peace talk. But don't forget it's because we Nordenburks guard the north."

"...What are you getting at?"

Gunter smirked.

"Maou's forces must breach our Absolute Defense Line. Empire wages colonial wars carefree because we watch the rear. Eastern cowards dare hegemony talk thanks to us. Our sacrifice buys your peace—so the peace wand's ours, right?"

Ian's smugness cracked.

Frankly... eavesdropping was fun. Knowing the wand wouldn't pick any of them.

Obviously. In their hands, no more peace.

So...

"Huh?"

The anomaly hit then. The wand floated from the case, spinning lazily. All eyes locked. Like a compass, it slowed toward one spot.

"...!"

Toward Saintess Clara. Disappointment rippled; her lips curved faintly. Everyone assumed her.

"...No."

But I knew it wouldn't. Clara wasn't the one.

Starlight flashed; the case vanished magically. Wand drifted toward her slowly. Clara beamed.

"Thank you for choosing m—"

It passed her without stopping, gliding behind. Up the inverted cone, to the farthest seat.

It settled in the hands of a ragged girl just entering.

"..."

Dead silence blanketed the hall. Hundreds of students fixed on the black-haired girl.

"Uh, I, um... heard lunch if the wand picks an owner, so I came."

She scanned awkwardly, then shrugged.

"Where do I get the meal ticket?"

For the girl chosen by the Olive Wand, a profoundly humble question.