The Report Card and the Debt of Fear
The next morning, Simon's new routine began in the wake of the Mission Assessment.
“Did everyone survive?”
“Yes, Professor!”
It was Jane's Basic Dark Magic class for the first time in a while.
Simon sat at the same table as Rick, Meilin, and Camibarez, listening to Jane's lecture. Every so often, when his eyes met Cindy Vivace or Jamie Victoria from the neighboring table—friends he'd grown closer to lately—they exchanged friendly nods. He even traded a small wave with Toto, whose bond with him had deepened through Mutant Club activities.
“We have announcements this week as well.”
Jane said. As always, the biggest events at Kizen came right after those words. Everyone waited with tightened faces to hear what she would say next.
“First of all, your midterm results are in.”
Ahhh—
Groans erupted from every corner of the room.
Rick slammed his forehead against the table, while Meilin made no effort to hide her anticipation, drumming her fingers rhythmically against the desk. Camibarez fluttered the little bat wings on her back with her trademark nervous expression.
“Your midterm scores and rankings will all be handed out. Note that the rankings reflect pure written exam scores only—practical assessments are not included.”
The TAs busied themselves, calling out students' names. Uniquely, the report cards had been placed inside sealed envelopes.
“Simon Polentia?”
“Here!”
Simon respectfully accepted the envelope from the TA.
He'd vaguely felt he'd worked hard, but he hadn't bothered to grade himself along the way. Now that the result was actually in his hands, the tension came rushing in like a flood.
Swallowing dryly, Simon opened the envelope and pulled out the stiff paper.
Total: 65.375 — Rank: 458th
Whoa!
It had come out far better than Simon had dared to expect.
On Jane's very first test, his average had been a 37. This time, it was a 65.
A jump of nearly thirty points!
To hold a stable spot in the middle ranks of Kizen—a school crawling with geniuses—on written exams alone was an achievement in its own right.
His effort had paid off. He'd proven that even without a head start of prior study, he had a real chance of winning. Simon felt like he could float right off the ground.
The moment he raised his head, his eyes locked with Meilin's, who was wearing a determined expression.
She forced a smile and asked.
“What did you get in Summoning?”
“You first.”
“Ugh, come on! I asked first!”
Meilin whined for him to hurry up. Rick at the next seat stole a glance at Simon's report card, let out a low whistle—ooh~—and smirked.
“Simon, you seriously hit the books, huh! You're gonna be no pushover, Meilin.”
“So what did you get?!”
Simon answered with a wry smile.
“An 87.”
Meilin's expression shifted through a whole complicated spectrum.
A smile, resentment, and relief all fighting for space on her face?
Now it was Simon's turn to grow impatient.
“I showed mine, so out with it.”
“Haah.”
She laid her report card down on the table like a hand of poker she was forced to reveal.
“I lose. An 85.”
“Waaah!”
Camibarez let out an ecstatic cheer and grabbed Simon's hand tight.
“Congratulations, Simon!! Now we get to stay together at Kizen!”
“Th-thanks, Cami.”
Watching Camibarez completely overcome with emotion, Meilin laughed silently.
She'd never once intended to actually kick Simon out of Kizen over a silly bet like this.
Besides, aside from her weak spot in Summoning, Meilin had scored in the 90s on every other subject. Her average had crossed 90 yet again.
But her overall ranking was a bit of a surprise.
Total: 92.00 — Rank: 2nd.
Even with an absurd score of 92, Meilin was not first in the school.
“Kizen really is a wide world.”
She let out a long sigh. Simon said consolingly,
“Still, you're second in all of Kizen. That's genuinely amazing.”
“Oh, come off it. Midterms don't mean a thing.”
She waved her hand dismissively.
“Kizen values practicals way more than written exams. Duel Evaluations, performance assessments, mission scores—stuff like that. The weighting there is huge, so once those monster students' scores pile on, I'll get shoved straight out of the top ten.”
“B-but we all made it into the 'Mansion,' didn't we? That means the Island Survival score should be promising too!”
Simon himself had plenty of room to expect a climb in the rankings.
He had always been stronger in actual combat.
The Cyclops hunt had earned Class A's top score: a perfect 100.
The written performance assessment before midterms had also gone well, thanks in large part to Meilin's exploits.
His Island Survival score, too, was expected to rank high, given that he'd made it into the Mansion.
He had flawlessly cleared both missions—Arnish and Blue Harbor.
And his Duel Evaluation record remained unbeaten to this day, placing him in the upper squad.
If all those practical scores got factored in, how far would his ranking climb by the end of the semester? Simon's heart swelled with anticipation.
“Attention.”
At Jane's single word, the students who'd been noisily comparing scores all fell silent at once.
“By now, you should all have a sense of where you stand. To those in the upper ranks—well done, but don't rest on your laurels. Keep your eyes on what's above and keep running. To those in the lower ranks—there's still room to climb back, so I expect your best effort.”
She continued, meeting the students' eyes.
“Remember, you've only passed the halfway point of the first semester.”
“Yes, Professor!”
“This week overlaps with the Mission Period, so there are no major issues to address. I want you to spend the time preparing for the Duel Evaluation as usual—patching up your weak points and maximizing your strengths.”
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly.
“Because that's the only way you'll survive the next performance assessment.”
At those pointed words, tension flickered in the students' eyes. Jane turned around.
“TA. Have the next Duel Evaluation matchups been posted?”
“Yes! They were just released, Professor.”
Jane took a single document from her. The students buzzed and craned their necks.
The Duel Evaluation—fighting one-on-one against a fellow Kizen student—was always the students' greatest source of interest and gossip.
“Your first Duel Evaluation in quite some time, coming after the midterms, Survival Island, and the Mission Assessment.”
Jane continued, waving the papers.
“Now that half of the first semester is over, this is where the real thing begins. You're no longer the bewildered freshmen who fumbled around not knowing which dark spells to use against a human opponent. Everyone has established their own style by now—and just as you've grown, your opponents have grown too.”
Simon nodded along with Jane's words.
The clumsy days were behind them. No matter who they faced, everyone was bound to carry at least one trump card up their sleeve, and the gaps in skill would have narrowed considerably.
Simon especially, being in the upper squad, had no choice but to fight the very best.
So who would it be this time?
The TAs passed out printed sheets listing the Duel Evaluation opponents. Simon accepted his own, drew a light breath, and checked the name.
It was someone he'd already crossed paths with once. Rick craned his neck to peek at Simon's sheet.
“Simon, who's your oppo—... oh.”
Rick clicked his tongue. Meilin's expression turned complicated as well.
“This one won't be easy.”
Class A — Simon Polentia
versus
Class M — Malcolm Randolph
It was the very same violent Special Admission No. 10 who'd stirred up trouble back in the 'Mansion' during Survival Island.
For the first time, Simon would be fighting a big-name student.
That night.
Inside a dust-choked abandoned building.
Screeech. Screeeeeech.
A silver cane dragged across the hard floor of the building, throwing off sparks.
“This school really never gives you a boring moment.”
A man with yellow-dyed hair was walking, dragging the cane behind him.
Though the building was derelict, curtains had been hung over the windows, and Class M students with faces wound tight as drums stood rigidly at attention. Every one of them belonged to Malcolm's faction.
Malcolm lifted the cane onto his shoulder, grunted—“Hup”—and sat down on a lumpy mound.
A pained groan welled up from beneath him.
In truth, it was no mound at all—it was a heap of Kizen students, drenched in blood, collapsed on top of one another. A few of them gagged and coughed up blood.
“Impressive you managed to get your hands on something like this. This isn't even something they teach in Toxicology.”
Malcolm pinched a potion bottle between his fingertips and swung it back and forth.
“The Memory Destruction Potion. Drink it, and the most painful memory of your recent past is wrecked beyond repair.”
He set the potion down on the floor.
“And you were planning to slip this to me? Go on. Say something. I'd love to hear it.”
Before Malcolm hung a student, slumped limp with both arms chained to an old blackboard.
Malcolm smirked.
“Haren Coke.”
“......”
Haren was covered in blood from head to toe.
Blood dripped steadily from his mouth, pooling on the floor beneath him, and teeth lay scattered all around. Even a few of his fingers were bent at grotesque angles.
Malcolm extended his cane and tapped it against his face.
“Were you so scared of my revenge that you cooked up this little scheme? Ha. Unbelievable.”
Here's how it had started.
Back on Survival Island, Haren Coke had botched Serne's orders completely and failed to win back Bahil's trust.
With no one left to protect him, the time had come to pay the price for toying with Malcolm using Serne's feathers.
So he'd plotted to strike Malcolm first, before Malcolm could get to him.
At the time, Malcolm was carrying out a ruthless purge of his own faction. The Class M students who had abandoned him the moment he was humiliated by Serne's feather were treated as traitors and crushed.
So Haren recruited those traitors—interests perfectly aligned—and bought the Memory Destruction Potion at Rochest's black market.
The plan was to lure Malcolm away while he dined with the traitors, and slip the potion into his food and drink in the meantime. But then—
Malcolm! They were trying to feed you something weird!
A traitor among the traitors had emerged on this side, too.
Everything collapsed into foam, and Malcolm—driven insane with rage—destroyed Haren's crew without mercy, without pity.
Which brought things to the present.
“You people are just so predictable.”
Malcolm snickered, shaking the potion bottle.
“Force me to drink this, wipe out my memory of the days I crawled to Haren like a dog. Not happening. No way. I have zero intention of ever forgetting that humiliation.”
Hrk! Hrk!
Haren, still chained to the blackboard and vomiting blood, stared at Malcolm with a face full of terror.
“P-please, spare me......”
“Spare this.”
CRACK!
Malcolm swung the cane in his hand and smashed Haren's face again.
“If you wanted to live—”
SMASH!
“—you should have—”
THUD!
“—left me the hell alone from the start.”
WHAM!
Streaks of blood sprayed with every blow.
Malcolm's faction members all had their heads bowed, but one of them worked up the courage to speak cautiously.
“M-Malcolm. Isn't this going a bit too far?”
“Yeah! Covering this up is going to be more than one or two problems, you know......”
Malcolm glared at them with eyes cold as drawn steel.
“Then why don't you take his place.”
At those words, the faction shut their mouths instantly.
Malcolm's family was a famous gangster organization—one of the three great gangs operating across the entire Dark Alliance.
Malcolm had inherited his father's cruelty wholesale, and he understood the emotion called fear—how to make a person drown in it—better than anyone.
“Tie them up.”
Malcolm gestured.
His faction members scrambled over, sat the traitors collapsed on the floor into chairs, and bound their hands behind their backs with rope. They gagged their mouths with cloth as well.
“Roll up their shirts.”
The traitors' clothes were pulled up to expose their stomachs. Malcolm walked over with deliberate, unhurried steps and picked up a piece of iron heating in a fire.
The gagged traitors sobbed and screamed through the cloth.
“I wanted to live like a proper student, since I came all this way to school. So why won't any of you help me?”
“Mmmph! Mmmph!”
The traitors shook their heads like mad.
“Go ahead. Run crying to the professors later and tell on me. Got it?”
Malcolm smirked as he drew closer.
“That way I can drop all pretense and get to work on your families nice and comfortable, as a civilian. Sound good?”
“Mmmph! MMMMMMMPH!”
Malcolm's mouth twisted like a demon's.
“Then help me.”
A horrific scream burst out.
“Help me live as just a student.”
The work of planting terror had begun. Malcolm looked back over his shoulder and smiled a chilling smile.
“You're the very last one, Haren Coke.”
Haren stared at him with a horrified face, tears and snot streaming down without end.