The Midterm Wager
With Noah's help, I successfully wrote down the address and sent the letter. As we left the post office and strolled through the academy grounds, we chatted about this and that.
"Ian. What kind of summon do you have?"
"Anna? Hmm, a half-angel summon."
"What? Ahaha, that's not what I meant. How many stars is it?"
"3-star."
"—3-star!? Isn't that amazing?!"
She reacted with exaggerated enthusiasm, hyping up my summon. If I didn't know this world was a game and my age hadn't advanced so much from the possession, I'd have grinned like an idiot, clueless and thrilled. But I'd grown too old to get that excited over something like this.
"Yeah, pretty impressive, I guess."
So I played along halfway, matching her energy just enough to respond. Noticing my nose tilt up a bit, she amped up her reactions even more.
"Must be nice. You..."
"What?"
"Pulling a 3-star summon—that's some insane luck, right?"
"Luck, huh..."
I glanced at Noah. This girl, born with the protagonist's fate, would soon handle 4-star and even 5-star summons as time passed. Compared to that, her envy over a mere 3-star felt a little awkward. Especially since some players, no matter how much they whale, could only dream of a pickup 5-star—while she got it just for being the protagonist.
'Well, it's a one-time use thing, though...'
Now that this world was real, who knew how that would play out. I sat on a nearby bench with her and kept talking.
"Hmm, so... you discovered your talent in some rural territory and came up here?"
"Yeah!"
"How'd you even find out?"
"Uh... how did it go again...?"
The protagonist's backstory, even unrevealed in the game, piqued my interest—but disappointingly, Noah couldn't remember her own past.
"Maybe... um... some guy in a derby hat came and told me..."
"A guy in a derby hat?"
"Yeah. He gave me a letter of recommendation, saying I had talent and would definitely pass. And I did get into the academy and become a summoner... Who was that guy, anyway?"
"MacGuffin."
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
In cases like this, it was usually some meaningless MacGuffin with no real significance. After all, the protagonist herself mattered, not whoever sent her here. Whoever it was had enough pull for a recommendation letter, but even digging through academy records wouldn't reveal them. The devs probably hadn't even decided on a name.
Having finished her own story, Noah now seemed genuinely curious about mine.
"—Um, Ian."
"Yeah?"
"How'd you end up here?"
"...Me?"
Her question plunged me into silence. What should I say? When I dropped into this world, I'd already enrolled in the academy, and I had no idea how that happened. But I did know the basics. Most nobles were summoners, and talent was hereditary, so their kids naturally qualified too.
"Just... like everyone else."
"Like everyone else?"
"Yeah. Born a noble, enrolling in the academy isn't a right—it's an obligation."
"Obligation...? So all the kids are forced to enroll?"
"Forced? Nah, not really."
"Why? If everyone's required to join... wouldn't some hate it?"
"It's an honorable profession."
Summoners were heroes. At least on the surface. Your rank and posting depended on your summon's star rating, but every summoner was a hero without exception. An exalted job everyone revered. No one resented it. Hell, it was the easiest path to nobility. There were nobles who weren't summoners, but no summoners who weren't nobles.
"Come to think of it, Noah... you'll be getting a title soon too."
"Huh?"
"All summoners get titles."
"Oh, that—they said it's on graduation day."
"Why?"
"Dunno... Maybe if they give it early and I pull a higher summon later, it'd be a hassle?"
"Could be."
But in this world without TV or the internet, conversation topics dwindled fast. No wonder medieval nobles obsessed over gossip and chewed on rumors for a lifetime.
"...Nice weather."
"Yeah."
The classic filler line for when you had nothing to say. Noah pondered for a while, struggling to find a new topic, then finally spoke up.
"Oh yeah, midterms are coming up soon."
"Huh?"
"You didn't know? In two weeks."
"Midterms...?"
I had no clue. Racking my brain, I realized I hadn't attended Oliver's classes lately. And with no friends to relay the homeroom teacher's announcements, that tracked. Even recalling the game story, who memorized every minor plot? At best, I'd skimmed a couple two-hour YouTube summaries. I was a gameplay master, not a lore expert.
'Kinda rings a bell, but...'
If I couldn't remember it, it probably wasn't important. Monster types, matchups, weaknesses—those I knew inside out. But this? Not so much.
Sensing my blank look, Noah lit up like she'd found her groove and launched into an explanation.
"Yeah! It's a test to see how well students have gotten used to handling their summons..."
"Oh, the World Martial Arts Tournament?"
"Uh, yeah?"
Her words jogged my memory. It was a side story where you fought other NPCs with your summons.
'What was the reward again?'
If it stuck in my head, it must've been mandatory... but the details escaped me. No need to rack my brain, though—the walking encyclopedia was right here.
"First place gets a prize, right?"
"Why give a prize just for topping the exam...?"
"Oh."
Right. Students studied to learn, not for rewards. No gold stars for first place back on Earth, and no dragon balls falling from the sky here either.
That said, while prizes didn't fall from the sky, luck apparently flew up from the ground.
"Ian Clark!"
"...What?"
With official permission to skip class legally, I'd been lounging in the grassy garden, basking in the freedom. Back in reality, I couldn't even step out without a mask—this was paradise. Then someone ruined my me-time.
Lifting my head slightly, I spotted blindingly red hair.
"Something up? Heirloom arrive already?"
"N-not yet, but... I came to talk to you today!"
"Oh? Confession time?"
"W-what?! Confession? As if I'd ever...! Ahem, anyway. Ian Clark, let's have a showdown!"
"Showdown?"
A bet, huh? I sat up to hear her out. She crossed her arms under her chest, emphasizing her assets in a way that blurred the line between seduction and conversation.
But I dragged my eyes away and asked, "What kind?"
"This midterm—who gets first place! And if you lose, you forfeit that heirloom you were promised!"
"Why would I?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, why should I agree to that?"
A real bet needed mutual stakes. One-sided terms were scams or pranks. Stella, at a loss for a comeback, started whining.
"Hmph, scared to run away?"
"Yeah, born a coward—can't take that bet. Have fun. Come back when the heirloom arrives?"
"W-wait!"
As I lay back down, she hopped the garden bed and planted herself beside me, blocking my sun. I scowled up at her.
"What now?"
"...What'll make you take the bet?"
"Bring another heirloom?"
"...Can't. Truth is, even this one's iffy."
"Gonna welch?"
"Not that, but... anyway, what'll make you bet against me!?"
Forcing it like this, she must be desperate. Makes sense—the heirlooms in this world were eggs of unborn 3- and 4-star summons. Wagering one without her dad's okay? In real terms, it was like a chaebol heiress betting a whole company against a small-business heir.
'I'd just play dumb and walk away.'
The Iritz family's power could silence everyone who'd overheard on the spot. Easier that way. But pride was a pesky thing—she couldn't bring herself to do it. Too pure, too honest with herself. Seeing that, I agreed to the bet.
"Fine."
"R-really? Then..."
"But two conditions."
"...What? I really can't offer anything beyond what I can do this time."
"One... yeah, if I ask a favor later, you grant it."
"...How do you know what you'll ask?"
"Refuse if you want. But the right stays yours."
"Fine. The other?"
"If I win this bet, you can't refuse whatever I ask."
"...What?"
In other words, winning turned my favor into a wish. I could've asked for one upfront and one on victory, but that might scare her off. This was safest. She could refuse forever if she won—I'd have no complaints. But if I took first...
"...Fine. If I win, that wish right vanishes anyway, right? Easy."
Stella smirked, accepting. Yeah, she was overconfident. She had a 4-star. A 3-star was great, but no match. 'That's what she's thinking.'
Not wrong info. Summons didn't grow here—that was common sense.
But that common sense? It was about to shatter.