Twenty Malcolms
'Wow.'
Simon peeked out from the student waiting room into the arena and couldn't help but gasp. He'd known there was a large-scale external observation event scheduled for today, but he'd never imagined the crowd would be this massive.
Every seat was filled, from the lowest rows of the stands all the way up to the very top. Students in Kizen uniforms occupied the lower sections, while beyond the partition sat the outside visitors.
"Just so you know."
Dick, who had wandered into the waiting room for the afternoon match, spoke around the gum he was methodically chewing.
"Every single one of those people came here to watch your duel."
"Huh?"
"The hottest ticket at Arena 2, bar none, is the duel between Special Admission No. 1 and No. 10. I checked the earlier bracket — you two are the only names on it worth talking about. Everyone's here to lay eyes on the mysterious No. 1 for themselves."
Simon gave a bitter laugh.
"Hey, come on. Why are you trying to make me nervous all of a sudden?"
"You're the type who performs best when you're nervous. And I said it so you'd face reality head-on."
Dick held up a V with his fingers and waved it back and forth in front of his own eyes.
"This is a match with nowhere left to retreat. If you lose in front of a crowd this size, word will spread across the entire continent that this year's Special Admission No. 1 is nothing special! People might end up undervaluing you forever!"
Simon crossed his arms with a thoughtful 'hmm.'
"Come to think of it, that doesn't sound so bad."
"Simon!"
"Haha! Kidding. Anyway—"
Simon grinned mischievously and thumped Dick on the forearm.
"Spit it out. You placed a bet on this too, didn't you?"
At that, Dick's face froze. Then he averted his eyes and laughed awkwardly — an open book.
"Honest answer. Who'd you bet on?"
"Ah — obviously on you! The whole thrill of gambling is betting on the underdo— wait, no! It's because I believe in my friend, absolutely and unconditionally!"
Simon chuckled.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure you don't lose your money."
"Heh, that's what I like to hear! I'm counting on you, Simon!"
Dick then glanced over his shoulder.
"By the way, who's been lurking back there? Come out."
There was someone behind them — Simon had actually noticed the presence a while ago too.
After a moment of hesitation and shuffling, a girl finally eased into view.
"Cami!"
It was Camibarez. She was clutching the wall, timidly poking just her head around the corner.
Remembering that her match had been in the afternoon, Simon asked in surprise.
"Why are you at the arena already? Coming early just makes you nervous."
"S-Simon!"
Squeezing her eyes shut, she scampered right up in front of him.
"G-Good luck!!"
"...Huh?"
"No matter who your opponent is, you're going to win! You've worked harder than anyone— of everyone I've ever known, you...!"
Her voice trembled as she repeated 'than anyone,' 'than anyone,' until finally it dropped to a near-whisper.
"Y-you've worked harder than anyone!"
Having squeezed out those words, she seemed to completely run out of courage. She crouched down and hid her face behind her palms.
It probably wasn't the line she'd originally rehearsed — Simon suspected 'because you've worked so hard' had been meant to lead somewhere else — but somehow all the stress he'd been carrying over the Duel Evaluation melted away like it had never existed.
He knelt on one knee and spoke gently.
"Cami."
He called her name quietly, then waited. After a moment, Camibarez parted her fingers just slightly and peeked out at him, face glowing red.
"Thank you! That really gave me strength. I'm going to win this duel, no matter what."
"...Yes, Simon!"
The air in the room had taken on a feel of do not disturb.
Snickering to himself, Dick tiptoed quietly out of the waiting room.
"Hm?"
Outside, Meilin was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
She had been staring at the wall with an unreadable, complicated expression, and only belatedly noticed Dick. Her face went red and her mouth flapped open and shut in silent, exaggerated shapes.
Why are you coming OUT of there, you idiot?!
"Hm?"
You have the situational awareness of a ROCK, I swear!
Dick smirked and answered in a lowered voice.
"I had situational awareness. That's why I stepped out."
"Ugh, whatever."
With that, Meilin turned coolly on her heel and started walking away.
"Meilin."
"What."
Dick pointed at the waiting room where Simon was.
"You're really just going to leave without saying a word to him?"
She froze mid-step.
Her eyes flicked back toward the waiting room — then, with the air of someone giving up on the whole affair, she let out a long sigh.
"That's what I mean about you being disgustingly oblivious."
And with those words, Meilin walked off down the corridor.
Dick laced his fingers behind his head and watched her go.
— Class A, Simon Polentia. Class M, Malcolm Randolph. Please proceed to the arena. —
The time flew by in an instant.
The moment Simon stepped out of the waiting room into the arena, a roaring wave of cheers crashed down on him.
"Let's go, No. 1!"
"My money's on you!"
Malcolm, emerging from the opposite waiting room, was pulling on his protective suit as he readied himself for the match.
Their eyes met. Malcolm smirked; Simon gave no reaction at all.
Then the arena cleanup and intermission drew to a close. Spectators returned from the restrooms, and crowds from the other arenas came streaming in to watch the clash of Special Admission students.
Dick and Camibarez had claimed a corner of the stands, and Meilin — fresh off her own victory — soon joined them. Naturally, her result had been a win. In high spirits, she high-fived the two of them and plopped down into her seat.
"So, how's Simon looking?"
"Looks good, for now."
Dick answered with his arms crossed.
"The whole thing hinges on how far he's gotten with controlling the Overlord."
Shortly after, at the referee's signal, Simon and Malcolm stepped forward to the head of the arena.
"Contestants, shake hands."
The two approached and clasped hands.
Squeeze.
Malcolm clamped down on the handshake. Simon's face stayed utterly blank.
"You got humiliated at the manor once, and you're still pulling this."
"I never forget anyone who made a fool out of me."
Malcolm went on with a smirk.
"And I'm not the only one who feels that way, you know. Plenty of people think you made a laughingstock of them, too."
Simon's gaze drifted to the artifact hanging around Malcolm's neck, stamped with the crest of the Dresden royal family.
"Figures."
This time it was Malcolm's expression that hardened. Simon began squeezing back. Malcolm gritted his teeth and crushed down with all his strength in return.
"Good luck out there."
Simon said with a smile.
"Let's make this the worst day of your life, in front of a full house."
Malcolm smiled too.
The two released their hands at the same moment and turned their backs on each other.
"Both contestants! Are you ready?"
At the referee's question, they both nodded and lowered into their stances.
"Then, we will now begin the Duel Evaluation between Class A's Simon Polentia and Class M's Malcolm Randolph!"
OOOOOOOOOOOOH!
The cheers erupting from every direction startled Simon.
Once again, the sheer scale of the crowd left him speechless.
The lower tier held not just his Group 7 teammates but classmates from Class A, Hector's faction, second-years — even Benya and the whole Mutant Club had gathered in one place. Above them sat nobles in lavish dress and scouts furiously scribbling away with their quills.
This is... a big deal.
Simon wiped the sweat gathering in his palms with a wry smile. For the first time in a Duel Evaluation, his nerves were starting to fray.
The referee, glancing back and forth between Simon and Malcolm, brought down the arm he'd raised overhead.
"Begin!"
The shout snapped his mind into focus.
Simon ran his core at full throttle, drawing jet-black up through his entire body, while Malcolm thrust the silver staff in his grip high into the air.
THUD!
He slammed it down into the ground like a stake. A massive jet-black magic circle bloomed outward from the staff.
"You have no idea how long I've waited for this stage, Simon Polentia."
Crack-crack-crack!
The magic circle on the floor began unfolding at a terrifying pace. Watching its deployment speed, Simon understood at once.
This wasn't something he'd just learned at Kizen, and it wasn't something he'd practiced once or twice.
This was a true signature art — drilled tens of thousands of times, until he could cast it with his eyes closed.
Everyone in the arena widened their eyes, watching Special Admission No. 10's dark magic unfold.
<Doppelgänger>
From the great magic circle on the floor, figures identical to Malcolm slid smoothly into existence, one after another.
There was no telling real from fake. The clothes, the hair, even the gait were exactly the same. In the blink of an eye, more than twenty Malcolms blanketed the arena.
"A Doppelgänger user!"
"So the rumors were true."
Murmurs rippled out from every direction.
Amid the excited crowd, Meilin wore a look of complete bewilderment.
"What on earth is that?"
"That's Malcolm's signature art — the Doppelgänger."
Dick explained from the seat beside her.
"That one dark magic alone got him special admission into Kizen, let him take over Class M, and keeps him at the top of every graded assessment."
Put simply, the Doppelgänger was a dark magic that spawned endless duplicates of its caster — but Malcolm had pushed it far beyond that level.
Through his copies, he could see, hear, and even smell. They fought well, and their fidelity was so high that telling the original apart was nearly impossible.
Consider that an ordinary Kizen first-year could control three or four skeletons at best — a dark magic that conjured summon after summon in limitless numbers, regardless of count, was the absolute pinnacle of the art.
Sure enough, once every student's baseline rose in the second and third years, its performance might grow a bit questionable. But in the first year, overwhelming numbers trumped everything.
That was exactly why Malcolm, despite being Special Admission No. 10, was rated as holding the combat advantage even over the special admission students ranked above him.
"To beat Malcolm, you'd need wide-area dark magic that can sweep away the original and the copies at once, or detection magic that can pinpoint the original. Short of that, you'd need a cancellation-type curse that can neutralize the Doppelgänger spell itself."
At Dick's words, Camibarez's face filled with worry.
"But Simon doesn't have any of those!"
"That's why the second-years' betting odds came out 8-to-2. A Doppelgänger is either easy to beat, or impossible to beat — nothing in between."
The number of Malcolm's duplicates kept climbing. Simon raised his core to one hundred percent, sharpened his focus to a razor's edge — and then began calmly walking straight toward Malcolm.
"Have you lost your mind?"
Malcolm sneered.
"Walking right in without a single area spell?"
Simon shrugged.
"What about it?"
"You arrogant little—!"
Malcolm sent all twenty-odd doppelgängers charging at once. Only then did Simon come to a halt in place.
He planted his left foot against the ground. A virtual magic circle spread out from beneath it, and he poured jet-black into it, rendering it real. In that span, Malcolm's doppelgängers had ringed him in a perfect circle.
"What's he doing, No. 1?!"
"He's surrounded! They're coming in from all sides!"
The twenty doppelgängers hurled themselves at Simon in unison — and Simon, who had been drawing in his focus with eyes closed, snapped them wide open.
'Open Gate!'
Vwomm! Vwomm! Vwomm! Vwomm!
Subspace rifts tore open all around Simon. The instant the doppelgängers closed to within an inch of him—
SHRRRRRRRRRRRIIIP!
SHRRRIIIP!
Legs of metal and bone burst out of the subspace — the blades of the Overlord. They carved through the surrounding doppelgängers and swept upward in a encircling dome, as if shielding Simon at their center.
Every single doppelgänger that had lunged in was shredded without exception, scattering into the air like coal dust and vanishing.
"Whoa! Wh-what IS that?!"
"That's insane!"
The crowd erupted. Even Malcolm, his opponent, stood frozen with his jaw hanging open.
That's supposed to be dark magic?
Then, from among the blades sheltering Simon, one shot out — straight toward Malcolm's original body.
"Gah!"
Malcolm shrieked and stumbled backward.
Dodging in such a panic cost him his balance, and he landed hard on his rear. The blade kept going, lashing out long and whip-like to destroy several more doppelgängers, then yanked the staff embedded in the floor clean out and hurled it skyward.
BOOOOOOOOM!
Malcolm's staff lodged itself straight into the arena ceiling. With a silken hiss, the blades retracted back into Simon's subspace.
There stood Simon, emerging from behind the forest of blades, smiling without a care in the world.
"So what if I don't have an area spell?"
WHOOOOOOOAAA—!
The crowd roared from every direction, a storm of frenzied cheers.