The Next Head of the Ivory Tower
"Next head of the Ivory Tower."
Simon's pupils trembled.
Before he even realized it, the strength drained from his arms, and Serne—still clinging to his back—slid down to the floor like a child coming down a slide.
Did you just say you'd give me the Ivory Tower?
Simon turned to look at her, his face a picture of bewilderment. She was beaming, radiant as a spring morning.
"You heard me right, didn't you~?"
Simon ran his palm over his face a few times. Shocking didn't begin to cover it, regardless of whether he cared about the Ivory Tower or not.
The way one methodically slides dropped books back into place on a shelf, he calmly sorted through the tangle in his head until his composure returned.
"That's impossible."
Simon declared.
"Even if you are the Tower's official successor, you have no authority to hand the position of Tower Head over to a total stranger."
"Then how about looking at it this way?"
She swept out one long, white finger.
"Marriage. To the Ivory Tower's successor."
"...?"
"It's a little embarrassing to admit, but the Ivory Tower is an old institution, and with that history comes a stuffy, deeply patriarchal structure. In all those centuries, it's had exactly two female heads. According to Tower law, 'Tower Head' is technically a term meaning the most talented male mage in the Tower. So—"
She gave a small ahem, then went on with a flush creeping into her cheeks, unusually flustered for her.
"Once the marriage is concluded, I would revise my own position as Tower Consort and step one pace back. And then the one I serve—the head of the Ivory Tower—would naturally be you."
"..."
Simon let out a hollow laugh.
"You've thought it through, I'll give you that. But if that happened, the Tower Head would be a figurehead with no real power—the pretty face of the institution. The actual authority would still sit with the Tower Consort, who walked the orthodox succession. Wouldn't it?"
"Wow—"
Her voice went distinctly frosty.
"That was an incredibly romantic confession just now, and this is how you respond to it?"
"Huh?"
"Hmph. Fine then."
She pulled a sulky face and whipped her head away.
...???
From Simon's standpoint, it was baffling.
He'd been presented with a recruitment proposal, so all he'd done was poke holes in whether it was plausible and practical—and now the person who'd made the offer was the one getting offended first?
Whew. Doing things you've never done before is hard.
Inside, Serne's irritation was piling up in sharp little stacks.
Was this really the length a person had to go to, just to win someone's heart?
If she'd simply slipped a few feathers into his collar, he'd have fawned over her like a puppy and devotedly licked her boots by now.
More than anything—if she spelled it out this far, wasn't he supposed to understand that the real point of the proposal wasn't the Ivory Tower, but her? And there he went, oblivious, rambling about honorary titles and distributions of power.
What better deal could there be than having her?
Why did this one person alone demand so much painstaking effort?
Ugh, the more I think about it, the angrier I get.
She was in the middle of swallowing her annoyance, letting a dozen spiraling trains of thought pass her by, when Simon strode right up to her.
And then, without a word, he reached out and planted his hands on both her shoulders.
Still not over her pique, she glared up at him as if to say, what exactly do you think you're doing?
"Stretching. The TA over there is giving us the eye."
"...Oh."
Serne stole a glance at what the other students were doing, then placed both hands on Simon's shoulders.
The two of them stumbled apart, stuck their hips out, and bent their backs to a perfect ninety degrees.
"Breathe in deep!"
At the command, they pressed down on each other's shoulders and held the pose. The stiffness that had settled through their backs and shoulders melted away in a rush. They repeated the stretch several times, over and over.
"Next pose!"
This one was done seated.
They sat facing each other, legs spread as wide as they'd go until the soles of their feet touched, then one partner took the other's hands and pulled them gently forward.
Ah. I'm doomed.
Serne looked down at her uniform.
She hated the physically punishing Magic Combat classes, so she habitually skipped them, wiped the memories of TAs with her feathers, or faked her way through with halfhearted motions. Which meant she'd shown up in her uniform out of sheer habit—and now she was in a bit of an awkward position.
"Hold on."
Simon pulled off the thin outer jacket he wore over his training clothes, stepped close, and tied it around her waist himself.
"There. That should do it, right? If it's still uncomfortable, though..."
"Thank you. Let's give it a try."
The two of them sat facing one another, legs spread until their soles touched, and clasped each other's hands.
"I'll pull first."
Her body was suddenly yanked toward Simon.
"Wah! My back! My back hurts!"
"That's how this stretch works."
"Ah, wait—! Ugh!"
Grimacing, she glared at him with reproachful eyes, and Simon laughed out loud.
Hmmm.
That was when Serne's gaze slid sideways.
Over there, Meilin—mid-stretch with a girl from Class C—was glaring daggers in their direction.
It felt like the irritation she'd been nursing just moments ago was melting away, soft and sweet. Her mood improved dramatically.
Stretching side by side with Simon, Serne chatted away about this and that, making sure Meilin got a good, long look.
Simon's tension seemed to have loosened too; he was more expressive than he looked.
"Erzsébet's ability is awfully useful. Have you ever used it for anything... strange? Like shapeshifting her into a classmate?"
The moment Simon's face went red at that, Serne burst into genuine laughter.
"Oh, so there was something."
"There wasn't—! I mean—! That was Erzsébet acting on her own!"
Between savoring Meilin's glare, this stretch time itself wasn't half bad.
Before her, humans were no different from dolls.
They laughed when she willed it and wept when she willed it.
The answer was always yes.
Her partners always wore exactly the emotions she wanted, in exactly the measure she wanted, and gave exactly the reactions she wanted.
It was comfortable, that way.
And yet.
'Wouldn't you say it's not so bad, once in a while, to have a toy you can't quite control?'
He was a fresh flavor to play with.
Throw out any topic, any question, and the reactions that came back were wildly different every time.
Best of all, he was unpredictable.
Like now—she'd brought up marriage and gotten a lecture about powerless figureheads in return.
At times Simon hid his feelings; at times he laughed; at times he came back swinging.
"You're one to talk, though. You're sincere when it comes to Meilin, aren't you?"
"Well, duh. Of course I am."
That was what made him fun.
Refreshing.
Not bad at all.
She found herself with time to think, once more, about this thing she'd never felt before—a relationship between equals.
"That's enough warm-up, y'all! Everybody stop right there!"
Hong Peng's shout rang out. Serne belatedly climbed out of her pink-tinged haze.
It seriously feels like I've been possessed by some kind of spirit.
The two of them rose slowly from their spots.
Meilin was glaring at them as if firing twin beams of light from her eyes, but Serne brushed it off with an airy little laugh.
"Now then! The technique we're learnin' today is an advanced application of Internal Jet-Black Operation."
Internal Jet-Black Operation didn't demand anything especially extraordinary.
It was the technique of activating one's core and circulating jet-black evenly through the entire body, raising every physical function up a level. Put simply, it turned the whole body into a core.
At first, you had to consciously perceive and guide each current of energy—but by exploiting jet-black's tendency to remember, enough repetition meant the state maintained itself the moment you activated your core.
All the Magic Combat classes so far had been a curriculum designed to ingrain Internal Jet-Black Operation into their bodies naturally.
The running, too, had started out slow in the early semester; lately the pace had climbed so high that falling behind on jet-black circulation meant losing the tempo entirely. Riding the hippo mounts, likewise, only became possible once you'd mastered Internal Jet-Black Operation well enough to keep your balance.
And now—this was the stage beyond that.
"Internal Jet-Black Eruption!"
Jet-black began to pour off Hong Peng's body like steam. The students burst into gasps of admiration.
"It ain't that hard! You're just gonna take the circulation you've been doin' all along and speed it up threefold!"
The students' expressions went distant.
That's not 'not that hard' at all?
"Course, if all you do is crank it to three times, your organs and innards are gonna rupture and you'll drop dead on the spot."
"...What?"
"So you've gotta vent the jet-black out of your body! Like this."
She gestured at the jet-black streaming off her own form. This time it wasn't steam—it fell drop by drop, like beads of sweat.
For beginners, expelling it as a liquid alongside sweat was easier than releasing it as vapor.
"While this state holds, it becomes possible to beat opponents several times bigger and stronger than yourselves using Magic Combat alone! Since you're all beginners, we'll set the limit at three minutes!"
Tripling the flow rate of jet-black naturally strains the body from within. So you released it through the skin like sweat, while the core kept pumping out more—sustaining that empowered state for the full three minutes.
It was a technique of the trump-card variety: used to overturn a desperate situation in a single stroke, or to hammer the final nail into a victory.
"Alright! Let's try it right now!"
The TAs organized the students into position. This was why they'd been paired up: while one partner stood with their back turned, preparing Internal Jet-Black Eruption, the other activated an Expulsion magic circle behind them.
Properly speaking, the technique wasn't complete until you could handle the expulsion yourself—but at this early stage, they would simply begin by pushing their internal circulation harder.
"Mind if I go first?"
"Go right ahead. Whatever suits you."
Simon turned his back. He drew a deep breath and activated his core.
The flow he had repeated hundreds of times over, battling one enemy after another. Jet-black was circulating through him.
This, right here, is perfect. Perfectly balanced.
Tearing it up to three times this level frightened him, a little—if he botched it, he might shake loose the finely tuned Internal Jet-Black Operation he had going. But still.
I have no intention of settling here.
Simon steeled himself. First, he tried doubling the core's jet-black output.
"Ngh!"
A groan forced its way past his lips before he could stop it.
He hadn't even tripled the core's load—just doubled it—and his entire body was already rebelling.
"I'll vent it for you~"
He felt Serne's palm press against his back.
A moment later, the jet-black poured out through the expulsion point. Gasping, Simon gathered himself again—and this time, he immediately pushed the core to triple output.
"Gahk—!"
He couldn't even hold out five seconds before collapsing face-first onto the ground. The other students weren't faring much better—most of them were sprawled out or slumped where they stood.
"Hmm~"
Serne folded her arms.
"I'd say it'll be rough until you've properly tamed the jet-black. Looks like brute-force repetition is the only way."
Simon nodded and pushed himself upright.
"Want to try it too?"
"No thanks. This kind of technique—I'd never use it even if I learned it. More importantly..."
She glanced briefly toward Meilin, then turned back with a bright look.
"Want to give it another go? This time, my way."
"Your way?"
"Yep!"
She took a step back. Then, holding her hands down and clutching the hem of her skirt with an air of demure shyness, she began bouncing up and down in place.
"...?!"
Feathers began raining down from her white skin, one after another. In seconds, a thick pile had built up around her feet.
"You're not planning to use your ability on me, are you?"
"Fufu."
She waved the question off with a laugh, picked a single feather off the ground, and began pressing it against her own body—on, then off, on, then off.
"This one? Or maybe this one?"
Each time she murmured, the shading of jet-black within the feather shifted by subtle degrees.
"Ah—here it is."
She gestured at the air, the colors of the fallen feathers changed to match, and the feathers fluttered up and adhered to Serne's body.
Having attached some twenty feathers, she snapped her fingers. The remaining feathers on the ground rearranged themselves into the shape of a magic circle.
"Hold on. What exactly are you—"
"Quiet, please."
She pressed one feather against Simon's body. The instant he flinched and moved to react—
...Huh?
His mind went tranquil. The tension vanished, and his muscles slackened. A wind came sweeping gently through, and he could clearly hear the sound of trees and grass swaying.
"It's a calming agent. Kizen's professor is watching us with both eyes wide open—do I really look stupid enough to try anything funny right now?"
"..."
It was a fair point.
As Simon hesitated, she set a hand on her hip.
"I won't do anything bad, so turn around like before."
After a moment's deliberation, Simon turned his back to her, his face set hard.
"There!"
Suddenly she pressed herself flush against his back from behind, arms wrapping around him like a hug. Simon—who had just been soothed into calm by her tranquilizer—snapped taut as a bowstring, his face going crimson.
"Serne!"
"Eyes forward."
At her words, Simon looked around.
Wait.
Time moved slowly, and everything else around him had fallen out of sight. It resembled that mental image Bahil had once used.
"In this state, you can do it, can't you?"
Her voice sounded like a song.
"Try it. I'll help you."