The Black Sun Within
Simon swallowed hard. Lena, who had examined Camibarez's wounds once more, spoke in a calm, level voice.
"You got into a fight with other students, didn't you? If there's a problem, you'd better deal with it while the Student Protection Period is still in effect. Groaning about it won't solve anything."
"We didn't fight with any students."
They had, in fact, been attacked by a Priest who had betrayed Kizen itself—but that was the one thing he couldn't say out loud. It was a secret that could shake the very foundation of the organization, and if things went wrong, it might put Lena in danger as well.
"Then what happened?"
"There are... complicated circumstances. I can't tell you everything. I'm sorry."
Lena pressed a hand to her forehead, her face set hard. Beyond the curtain, Simon's silhouette was visible, head bowed.
The truth was, long experience had taught her the lesson already. No matter how a henchman got involved in students' affairs, nothing ever changed because of it.
*First, the treatment.*
She pulled an emergency kit and a range of medicines from a drawer. Wiping away the blood with gauze, she disinfected the wounds with practiced hands.
The sleeping Camibarez winced and let out a low groan. When the disinfecting was done, Lena gently smoothed on a slime-based salve that regenerated wounds so they wouldn't scar, then applied bandages.
Thankfully, there were no serious injuries. The worst wound, on her thigh, got an extra wrap of bandage. The sleeping girl's expression eased noticeably.
"Simon."
Lena drew back the curtain and stepped out.
"Take off your clothes."
"......I'm— sorry, what?"
Simon's pupils wavered. She crossed her arms, her face utterly blank.
"I have to look at your wounds too. Shirt off."
"Ah. Yes, ma'am!"
*That's the third time today I've been startled out of my wits,* Simon thought as he stripped off his uniform. Jacket and shirt came off, and he pushed his uniform trousers up over his knees.
"Disinfectant first."
Lena crouched in front of him, cotton swab soaked in antiseptic in hand.
*Ahem.*
The moment she actually laid eyes on his bare body, blood rushed helplessly to her face.
*Good grief, why does a student have a body like this?*
*Abs like that, at his age?*
*......Ah, God, that's embarrassing. Behave yourself, heart.*
But an adult had her pride. She couldn't possibly entertain improper thoughts about a boy barely old enough to shave.
Steadying herself, she disinfected his wounds with a thoroughly professional mindset. Every so often, Simon would yelp and twist away.
"Owww, that hurts!"
"Just bear it a little longer."
Lena gave his leg a firm smack as she said it. The dramatic little brat was, apparently, still a brat.
She finished cleaning the wounds, smoothed the medicine in properly, and wrapped bandages around them as well.
"The wounds might get infected, so take it easy for a while. Don't push yourself."
"Thank you so much!"
Simon bowed politely at the waist.
*A student, saluting a henchman.* Flustered, Lena took a half step back before clearing her throat with an embarrassed little cough.
"I don't know what happened today, but... nothing in this world matters more than your health. You need your body whole before you can worry about surviving at Kizen or not. You understand what I mean?"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"The girl is safe too. I'll call some trustworthy friends from the girls' dormitory and have them take her back quietly."
"Thank you, truly! I won't forget this debt."
Simon bowed once more, deeply and respectfully.
Once Simon had left the duty room, Lena let out a long sigh and sank into her chair.
*......I wonder how long that boy will last.*
She found herself thinking he was a rare thing at Kizen—a boy with genuine human warmth.
A strange, lingering feeling tickled at her.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"S-Simon! You're okay!"
The moment Simon stepped into the dorm room, Rick—who had been pacing anxiously in place—came scrambling over.
"What happened out there! Is Cami okay?"
Simon calmly walked him through the whole story.
They'd been chased by the Watchers, fled deep into the forest, and gotten lost. The part about the Priest, of course, he left out entirely. That was something he'd need to discuss with Camibarez separately, he decided.
Rick admitted he'd arrived a little late himself after shaking off the Watchers, and that Meilin—left alone in the practice hall—had been trembling with rage and frustration when he returned. Once he explained why the Watchers had appeared, though, she'd seemed to understand.
In the end, Rick had secured the ingredients safely in Rochest, so the potion could be made tomorrow.
*BANG!*
"Whoa! You scared me!"
The door burst open roughly and Kajaan Edvalt strode in.
He must have stopped by the bathhouse on the way, because a towel was draped over his damp hair.
"Oh, hey, Kajaan."
Simon greeted him with a smile.
Without a word of reply, Kajaan flung off his uniform, climbed into the second-story bunk, and pulled the blanket all the way over his head.
Exactly one minute later, snores were rumbling through the room.
"......I honestly have no idea what that guy does with his life."
Rick shrugged and headed for his own bed. Simon stared at Kajaan's sleeping form for a moment, then grabbed his blanket and went to bed too.
It had been an exhausting day.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The next morning.
Simon told Rick to go ahead to the lecture hall, then waited at the entrance of the building with his back against the wall.
Familiar Class A students streamed past, and among them came Hector and his clique. They shot Simon mildly surprised looks and muttered among themselves.
*She's late.*
As Simon glanced at the wall clock, anxiety began to seep across his face. Class was drawing near, and there was still no sign of Camibarez.
What was going on? Was she in too much pain? Or had the shock of last night kept her from coming to class at all?
Honestly, even Simon felt his hair stand on end whenever he recalled the Priest praying in the Forbidden Forest the night before. He'd even had a few nightmares.
He'd at least grown somewhat used to the sight of prayer—his mother had been a Priest—but for Camibarez, the mental shock had to have been many times worse.
*I'll go check on the girls' dormitory after class and... huh?*
Just then, a girl with a bag slung over her shoulder walked past him. The moment the very familiar face met his eyes, she broke into a bright smile.
"Ah, Simon! Good morning!"
Camibarez came jogging up in quick little steps. Far from what Simon had feared, she looked full of energy.
"......Come with me a second, Cami."
The two of them moved to a quiet empty lot behind the building.
"You must have been terrified yesterday. Are you really okay?"
She gave a small nod.
"Yes, I'm fine. It's just... it feels like I had a dream."
"A dream?"
A pleasant night walk, the first in a long while.
Picking mushrooms together with Simon, side by side.
Being chased by the Watchers, running for their lives.
Simon carrying her in his arms as he leapt across the cliff.
And finally, that moment when they faced the utterly horrifying Priest.
"It was like the dream turned into a nightmare, and then my memory just... cut off, and I woke up. I don't even know what to call that feeling. It doesn't quite feel real yet."
She ran a hand slowly down her arm as she spoke.
*So she's processing it as a dream, and that's cushioning the shock?*
Whatever the reason, she looked perfectly healthy, and that was what mattered. Simon got straight to the point.
"The Priest ran when the Watchers showed up. There's a good chance they never saw your face."
"Ah......"
"Don't tell anyone else what happened. Just act like everything's normal. I'll find out who that Priest really is."
"I want to help too—!"
She suddenly stepped close and rose up on her toes.
"I want to help you, Simon! Telling me to sit this out just because my face wasn't seen—that's too much! This is something that happened to both of us!"
Taken aback by her intensity, Simon leaned back a little.
"O-okay. Alright. When the time comes, I'll ask for your help."
"Yes!"
Right then, the bell rang to signal the start of class, and the two of them sprinted off to the lecture hall.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The first class was Bahil's Curse Studies.
Once the lesson actually began, the night in the Forbidden Forest was all but forgotten in the rush of it all. Bahil finished the theory lecture and moved straight into practice.
"I noticed quite a few of you relying on your calibration tools during the Exhaust lesson. So today, we'll be practicing with a simpler curse."
The Transfer Curse used the foundational formula of all curses—one that imprints jet-black onto a living target. The goal of this lesson was to raise that magic circle into the air without a calibration tool and cast it successfully.
Siiiiih.
Raising his concentration, Simon spread his two palms facing each other.
As if he were holding a large piece of fruit in his hands.
Now he had to flow jet-black out from both palms and draw the magic circle in the empty air.
Simon's teal-black jet-black flowed out and traced the 'circle,' the base layer of the magic circle.
*......This is brutal right from the start.*
He laboriously laid down the foundational circle, then began inscribing Rune Script at its center.
Naturally, it didn't go as smoothly as he intended. The moment he tried to add runes, the base circle resisted and wobbled, and his hands shook as badly as if he had the palsy.
Still, Simon kept pushing the runes and formulas out, however clumsily. It was supposed to come out crisp and clean, like a print from a copy machine—instead, Simon's magic circle was a mess of characters squirming every which way on their own.
*Ugh.*
He decided to try casting it as it was. On his desk sat a plant like a straight, slender pole.
It was a plant that fed on jet-black, and legend had it that a flower bud would bloom from its body if the Transfer Curse succeeded. With everything he had, Simon activated the magic circle.
*Fwoomp!*
Forget activation—the circle exploded with a pop and scattered to nothing.
Simon swallowed a sigh of frustration.
*Yeah, this isn't easy.*
He had to take down a Cyclops as soon as next week. There was no time to be flailing here. Simon gritted his teeth and spread his palms again.
"How is it? Manageable?"
Then he felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder.
He turned his head, and there was Bahil, smiling gently—when had he even walked over? Simon stiffened and answered.
"Ah, yes! I'm working hard at—"
"Your core control."
Simon's words stopped dead.
"Because your core control is unrefined, the hardness of your jet-black drops, and the magic circle you build on top of it fails to form properly as a result."
"Ah......"
His heart thudded. It was the limitation he'd been running into again and again—but hearing it merely in his own thoughts and hearing it spoken aloud from a Kizen professor's mouth were two entirely different things.
"There's nowhere to properly *learn* core control. It's too fundamental for Kizen to teach, and everyone's method of control is different."
Bahil extended one finger from the hand resting on Simon's shoulder.
"One moment, if you'll excuse me."
Then he pressed that fingertip firmly into Simon's shoulder.
*Click.*
In an instant, Simon's mind emptied out, and he heard the sound of a single water droplet falling. The chatter of the surrounding students vanished as if it had never existed, and his body drifted into a world of blank silence, severed from the classroom.
"There's a prejudice that curses can only ever do harm. As someone in the profession, I find that a shame."
Bahil said it with a wry smile.
Perhaps because all the surrounding noise had faded, his voice came through with remarkable clarity.
"Professor, this is—"
"Don't be alarmed. This is merely a modified sensory curse that amplifies your senses to their maximum. Now then—focus."
At the soft, mellow resonance of Bahil's voice, Simon felt, for some reason, at ease. The man didn't seem to be up to anything sinister.
"Breathe in deeply, and try drawing the mana in the air toward your body."
Simon drew the mana into himself as instructed. Bahil then placed his other hand on Simon's shoulder as well.
"Now, we're going to pass the mana through your core. Watch carefully what I do first."
Among the mana in his body, Simon could sense a single stream he himself couldn't control. It flowed into the core beneath his heart.
But it didn't simply pass straight through. The mana rotated along with the core, settling in as it underwent a slow, deliberate process of change.
"Your jet-black is different from most people's, Simon. A simple image of 'drawing it out' will inevitably cost you efficiency."
"Then what should—"
"Circulation."
The mana rotating within the core transformed naturally into jet-black and was released outward. It was an image that called to mind the corona of a black sun.
"Throw away the images of conversion, transformation, modulation. Think of your core as a living creature—soothe it gently, and guide it along. Wait for the jet-black to fall away outside on its own, naturally."
"Ah......!"
"Now, it's your turn, Simon."
Simon nodded and concentrated on the mana within his body.
Not conversion—circulation. The image of circulation.
He took the words he'd turned over in his head again and again and shaped them into his mana. As if responding to his will, the mana flowed into the core and began to move.
"There's no need to strain yourself controlling the core. Settle your mind, and simply observe. Let the child do as it wishes."
Just as Bahil said, the core truly moved under its own power.
Rotating the jet-black, it drew in the surrounding mana, and the jet-black gathered strength in turn. Soon the core's interior brimmed full, and it released the jet-black outward.
'Ah......!'
Finally.
Inside Simon's body, a black sun was born.
"Well done! Now, shall we bring your senses back down to fifty percent?"
The hazy field of view returned to normal. The feeling of complete separation was gone; now he could just barely hear the rowdy voices of the students beside him.
"Alright, try it again."
"Yes, sir!"
Simon repeated it over and over. His first attempt failed—the jet-black wouldn't obey the way it had when his senses and concentration were at their peak—but he found the feel of it on the second try and succeeded on the third.
"Jet-black has a tendency to remember."
Bahil tapped his own forehead as he spoke.
"It's like a person's hands and feet. Repeat the same motion hundreds, thousands of times, and eventually the jet-black will reproduce the learned flow without you even thinking about it. Remarkable, isn't it? That's why repetition and proper habit matter above all else."
It felt wonderful.
Insights were clicking into place in his head, one after another.
He'd assumed the man was nothing but cold and calculating, but Simon felt he was seeing a whole new side of Bahil.
"Then, since we're on a roll—shall we try the curse itself?"
With Bahil's voice, Simon's senses surged to their peak once more. Every stray thought fell away, leaving only his body, his jet-black, and the plant before his eyes.
"Raise your jet-black."
At Bahil's word, Simon lifted his hands, palms facing each other. Jet-black stretched out from his fingertips like paint.
"I'm supporting you, so don't worry. Complete the magic circle however you like, as much as you want."
"Ah—yes, sir!"
It was a sensation unmistakably different from working alone. The circle floating in the air held its center perfectly, unshaken, and so Simon could raise as much jet-black as he pleased, free of worry.
It was a miraculous feeling. The magic circle that had left him floundering mere minutes ago now came together in an instant, so smoothly it was almost laughable.
"Now—activate!"
All his senses came flooding back, and Simon's eyes flashed wide as he triggered the circle.
A single streak of jet-black, like a bolt of lightning, shot out in a flash and struck the plant dead center.
Fwaaash!
And then an astonishing sight unfolded.
Countless flower buds burst into bloom from the plant's stalk, as if exploding into blossom.
The flowers spread across Simon's desk in the blink of an eye and kept reaching outward. In a heartbeat, Simon found himself buried in the middle of a flowerbed.
"Whoaaa!"
"What? What is that?"
Gasps of awe erupted from students all around.
"Pro-professor! This is—!"
"This is the potential you carry."
Bahil spoke in a voice pitched just loud enough for Simon alone to hear.
"Don't misunderstand. I merely provided support so that you could produce stable output. This is a level you'll be able to reach on your own before long."
And it was true. It had been Simon's own power, plainly, that had made the flowers bloom.
"Your jet-black is special, Simon Polentia."
The fingers resting on his shoulder twitched. The blue flowers were growing even now, and had spread up to cover the space before Simon's chest.
"Think carefully on this."
Bahil's expression turned grave.
"What path would best allow your talent to blossom. And to wield this extraordinary jet-black to its fullest two hundred percent—what direction you must take."