Recruiting the Top
After finishing their meal, the Class A students returned to the lecture hall for their second Basic Dark Magic class.
"What the— the results are already out?"
Chaos erupted the moment they walked in. Posted on one wall, bold and plain for all to see, were the test results for every single Class A student.
"Whoa! They really did come out fast!"
"Move it, let me see!"
Whoosh!
Students threw their bags aside and bolted for the wall the instant they entered the room.
Not only their own scores were posted, but every other student's as well.
"Kyaaaaah! An 85 in Curse Studies!"
"Ugh, Hemomancy is dragging my whole average down."
"Should I seriously switch majors?"
"See? Didn't I tell you I'd push into the top five of Magic Combat?"
"You're the absolute worst at acting humble, you know that? You cried your eyes out about bombing Curse Studies—what's with the 80?"
The room was louder than a marketplace at festival time.
Simon dreaded checking his own results, but he wasn't foolish enough to hide from reality. He opened his eyes wide and looked.
...Figures. Absolutely figures.
He'd braced himself, but the numbers were still a wreck. The lone consolation was Summoning, where he'd held his own in the seventies—apparently all that weekend studying had paid off.
"Simon! Simon! How'd the test go?"
Rick came rushing up, out of breath.
"Seventy-six in Summoning. Everything else is a bust."
"Whoa! A seventy-six?"
Rick smacked him on the shoulder.
"Nice! Honestly, that's better than expected for someone who didn't study ahead. Way better than being mediocre across the board—it's far more useful to have one subject you're actually good at!"
"What about you?"
"Highest is a seventy-four in Jet-Black Mechanics, and the rest are all in the sixties and seventies. Comfortable. I should land right around a seventy average."
Simon blinked.
"So you're actually smart, huh."
"I just studied enough not to get cut. That's all."
Rick shrugged, but then his expression stiffened slightly.
"Speaking of which, this is a development none of us saw coming. From the very first class, every student's scores are out in the open."
Rick's plan had been to swiftly claim the most capable teammates while everyone was still ignorant of one another's abilities. But with everyone's grades laid bare for the whole world to see, the other students would now choose their teammates based on clear, visible criteria.
"E-Excuse me, everyone!"
The students, whipped into a frenzy by the posted results, were beyond control. The assistant instructor stammered helplessly.
"Please return to your seats! The professor will be here any moment—!"
"Let them be."
Click.
The lecture hall door opened, and Jane walked in.
At her arrival, the chatter cut off like a snapped thread. But the students' eyes, helplessly, kept drifting back to the posted scores.
"You have thirty minutes, starting now."
Jane set her bag down on the lectern.
"Confirm your own scores, then form teams of four. Unless circumstances demand otherwise, these teams will remain fixed for the entire semester."
Every face in Class A went rigid.
It's starting right now?
"From this point on, Basic Dark Magic will proceed as team-based instruction. You'll be given assignments that can only be solved by your teammates pooling their strength. Individual scores and team scores are calculated separately. And of course—no matter how outstanding an individual may be, if your team fails to function as a team, it will cost you points."
Whoof. She flicked her tie back into place, and the corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly.
"So you had better choose your teammates well, hadn't you?"
That single line flipped the emergency switch in every student's head.
"Thirty minutes. Anyone who hasn't formed a team by then will be thrown together into a separate team with the other leftovers. Now—begin."
Before her words had even faded, the students' voices burst out like a dam breaking.
"Jasmine! Which one's Jasmine?"
"Over here?"
"You scored high in Curse Studies! Team up with us—we're aiming for Jet-Black and Spirit!"
"I need three people for a Curse–Jet-Black–Spirit lineup! Sixty-plus only!"
"Any team willing to take a top-tier Spirit Magic student?"
The competition for teammates turned savage before anyone could blink. Simon and Rick exchanged a nod and split up to work their own angles.
Rick will handle Jamie himself—she's our first pick.
Simon set off after their second choice: Claudia.
Unfortunately, she was already deep in conversation with two other students. From the flushed look on her face as she chattered away, she'd been completely won over already.
Third pick, the Curse Studies aspirant Rosenthal, was running his own recruitment drive as team leader.
And fourth pick, the Hemomancy aspirant Catherine, was being courted by that very Rosenthal.
Teams were springing into existence one after another, faster than an eye could follow.
This won't do.
Rick, who'd gone after Jamie, was struggling too.
The students who'd scored well on this test now held a kind of power. They wanted to build teams with themselves at the center.
Worse, with every team scrambling to fill the three great disciplines—Curse, Jet-Black, and Spirit—first, the Curse Studies aspirants were vanishing fast.
This was a crisis. If they couldn't fill a Curse slot, with its hefty grade multiplier, the gap would be enormous.
Stay calm.
Simon pushed down the anxiety crawling up to the tips of his hair and coolly analyzed the situation.
It's still early—no team has all four members locked in yet.
Nobody's in a probing phase. With a time limit hanging over everyone, they're all desperate. Most will merge with anyone whose scores are similar or whose major simply differs from theirs, and sort it out later.
Mid-tier students are forming teams the fastest, while the very top of the class is sitting back and watching.
Which means what I can do, right here, is—
Finally, Simon fixed his target and moved.
Amid a swirling crowd of students trading offers and counteroffers, he walked through it all without a trace of hesitation.
A few students tried to flag him down, but he brushed them off politely—later, he promised, we'll talk.
He had eyes for exactly one person.
Found her.
At last, his target came into view.
Unlike the other students rushing about, she seemed to belong to a different world entirely.
Arms crossed, legs elegantly crossed, she sat in her seat and observed the chaos with regal composure.
The students around her kept sneaking glances in her direction, but none dared approach. And no wonder—talking her into joining with scores in the sixties and seventies was next to impossible.
Into that wedge of hesitation, Simon plunged boldly, and at last he stood before her.
"Meilyn Villenne."
Ranked first in Class A.
First in the entire academy on the written entrance exam.
And the sole student in this test to average in the nineties across every subject.
"I want you on my team."
Simon had aimed for the top from the very beginning.
The students who'd been hovering nearby began to murmur as they stared at him.
"Hey—hey, Simon!"
Rick had shouldered his way through the crowd at some point and was gaping at him, mouth opening and closing. This is insane, his face said.
The real reason Meilyn hadn't been their first pick was that Rick had flatly declared recruiting her to be impossible.
Simon raised a hand slightly, as if to say leave this to me.
"...Hilarious."
Her eyes, cold as glacial ice, swept across Simon's face.
"You think being a Special Admission makes you something special?"
A voice like a biting winter wind.
"Special Admission is just connections in the end, isn't it? I trust only what I can see with my own eyes. Clear, hard numbers."
Decisive. Defensive. A wall.
"And sorry, but someone averaging thirty, like you? Not a chance."
And finally, the cold, piercing thrust of reality, straight through the chest.
But Simon absorbed it all in silence. The negotiation for the top talent started now.
First—dangle the bait.
"Your Summoning's a little weak, isn't it. An eighty-five."
Her eyebrow twitched.
Summoning was Meilyn's only subject in the eighties—and her sore spot.
But she didn't flinch an inch. She counterattacked.
"You're really in a position to say that? No matter how bad mine is, it's still higher than yours in Summoning, remember?"
Of course he knew. Simon drew a long, deep breath.
"I promise you."
"...?"
"One month. In exactly one month, I'll surpass you in Summoning."
Amid the surrounding murmur, her pupils dilated sharply.
"Are you insane? Empty bluster like that—anyone can—!"
"And if I don't."
Simon cut her off.
"I'll withdraw from Kizen."
The bombshell declaration from Special Admission No. 1. Gasps echoed from every corner of the room.
In all of Kizen's history, a Special Admission No. 1 had walked out of the academy of his own accord exactly zero times.
Meilyn let out a scornful "ha", as if the whole thing were absurd—but the corners of her mouth were trembling faintly.
"You really are out of your mind. Withdraw that right now if you don't want to be a laughingstock!"
"I'm simply doing what I can do."
Simon's voice was utterly flat.
"..."
Meilyn bit her lip lightly.
In an instant, Simon had flipped the momentum of the conversation, and the atmosphere was shifting in a strange, delicate way.
Surpass me? How presumptuous. He doesn't even know his place.
Her gaze drifted toward Hector, standing among the students who'd gathered to watch the show.
But...
The war of nerves with Simon aside, she had calculations of her own.
Meilyn had to remain the top of Class A for the entire first semester—no matter what.
The biggest obstacle to that was Hector. His test scores had been excellent, and above all, he was the type who excelled in practice over theory. Once the upcoming Duel Evaluations and practical assessments were factored into the grades, her seat at the top of Class A might well be stolen from under her.
So I have to crush him absolutely in the team-based classes.
One thing gnawed at her, though: Hector had scored an eighty-eight in Summoning on this test. Strong, in other words.
Of the eight subjects, it was the only one where Meilyn trailed him even on paper.
That was why she'd planned to shore up her team with a Summoning ace—someone to cover her weakness in the group classes.
But Hector had moved faster than anyone and secured Pierre Berkeley, the sole Summoning ace in Class A with a score in the nineties.
The remaining Summoning aspirants were all more or less the same. Within spitting distance of her own score—no better, no worse.
Which meant...
...Simon Polentia.
He hadn't studied ahead, yet in the very first Summoning class he'd beaten Hector, plain as day. Like so many Class A students, Meilyn couldn't forget the image—his performance that day had left a searing impression.
Meilyn was caught between two choices.
Play it safe and grab one of the other Summoning aspirants stuck in the eighties.
Or carry a joker card in her hand—Simon, the one student who'd ever beaten Hector head-on.
Seen that way, Simon's declaration that he would surpass her wasn't a provocation, and it wasn't bluster.
It was an appeal—pitched precisely at the second option she was agonizing over.
As if he could see straight through her skull.
"...Hah."
At last, after long deliberation—
Having sorted her thoughts, Meilyn uncrossed her legs and rose from her seat.
"That promise. You can actually keep it, can't you?"
Simon smiled warmly and extended his hand.
"Guaranteed."
She took his hand as if it were against her will.
The moment the top of Class A—the student everyone wanted, the only one averaging in the nineties—joined Simon's team.