The Flag Falls in Three Moves

Simon put on the glasses and looked around.

The valley had turned a deep indigo. The fields glowed blue, and the distant fortress walls shimmered violet.

In other words, wearing these glasses revealed the locations of cards, color-coded by type.

'An absolute must-have for completing the mission of collecting seven cards, each a different color.'

It was an excellent start. Simon set off at once in search of the next card.

Vwooooong!

Simon opened his eyes.

He had just spotted an orange card lying on the ground and stepped into a new game when—

'......Where am I this time?'

A quick look around revealed that he was standing atop a massive cylindrical pillar. Below yawned a dizzying drop, and clouds drifting beneath his feet suggested a considerable altitude.

Beyond Simon's field of view, more of these pillars stretched into the distance. Taking in the whole space, a single pillar stood at the far left and far right of the field, and between those two, pillars arranged in three rows and four columns held their distance from one another. The gaps were wide enough to cross easily with a burst of Jet-Black.

'What am I supposed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to do here...... Ah.'

It had to be the Black Team versus White Team he'd heard about.

At the center of the pillar Simon stood on, a black flag was planted. And over there at the far end, a white flag fluttered in the wind.

'A flag capture for the 3-versus-3 match.'

Simon lifted the flag to test its weight. It was heavier than he'd expected, forcing him to hold it with both hands.

'Another one on our team is coming!'

Who would it be? Simon waited in anticipation.

Last game he'd run into the class president Jamie and had a great time playing together, so he hoped this time, too, would bring a kind and capable partner.

Pot!

A magic circle spread open beside Simon, and a male student rose from within it. He had black hair streaked with yellow and rested a long staff of unclear purpose on his shoulder.

Simon knew that face. The student who'd just arrived took one look at Simon and went rigid with shock.

"Y-you bastard!"

"......Haah."

Simon let out a small sigh. This was the last person he wanted to get tangled up with.

Special Admission No. 10 and a member of the Randolph Gang—a necromancer who wielded Doppelgänger, the dark magic that spawned countless clones of himself.

Malcolm Randolph of Class M. They'd fought once before, back in the first semester's Duel Evaluation.

Though at the time, Simon had overwhelmed him across the board. Malcolm, too, grasped the situation and screwed his face into a scowl.

"Ugh, damn it—of all people, on the same team as you......!"

Just then, a third member joined the Black Team. Simon and Malcolm stopped talking and turned to stare at the transport circle.

Before long, a white-haired boy in a white cap emerged from the magic circle.

Bronze-skinned, stripped down to nothing but his pants.

The very guy Simon had fought just recently.

'Raheim Northfold.'

Special Admission No. 8 and the current Lord of Snowfield Castle. And the man who'd been thoroughly chewed out by Meilin.

"You—YOU!"

The moment Raheim spotted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Simon, his mouth gaped wide as he jabbed a finger at him.

"Zimon Bolendith!!"

"......It's Simon Polentia."

Simon corrected him with a look of profound displeasure.

The worst possible team composition. Of all the people he could have been paired with, it had to be these guys.

"Excellent! Zimon Bolentona! This time, for Meilin's sake, we shall finally face each other in proper comba—!"

"No, seriously, how is this team even allowed to exist?"

An irritated voice burst out from beside them. Malcolm was pressing a hand to his forehead, shaking his head from side to side.

"The last thing I want is to drag a couple of idiots along and carry them."

Raheim's head swiveled around.

"What did you say, knave?"

"......!"

Malcolm's face twisted with indignation.

"D-don't you know who I am? I'm Malcolm Randolph, Special Admission No. 10!"

"Who is that?"

Simon simply decided to ignore them both.

As it happened, the White Team had also filled its ranks, and a new screen unfolded, publicly displaying the names of every student competing in this game.

Setting personality aside, honestly, just looking at the name value alone, it was impressive.

It was practically a war of the Special Admissions.

And among them, Jule Vincere was the Special Admission No. 5 student. He was rumored to be monstrously strong.

"Interesting."

Malcolm crossed his arms.

"So No. 1, No. 8, and No. 10 on one team. And No. 5 and No. 7 on the other."

Hearing this, Raheim let out a sneer.

"Who asked for the opinion of a total nobody? Does No. 10 even count as a Special Admission?"

"You've been pissing me off since a minute ago. Go die, seriously."

The two pressed their foreheads together and growled at each other while Simon, who had backed away several steps to avoid getting dragged in, watched them with an expression of pure exasperation.

On paper, his team had the edge in name value, but there wasn't the faintest sign of teamwork forming here.

'Maybe I should just take out everyone and do this solo.'

Even as Simon entertained such thoughts, the game rules began to play.

A rule so simple it could hardly be simpler. Malcolm spoke up again.

"In matches like this, the usual play is one person defends while two go on the attack. Me and the No. 1 guy will head out, so you hold the fort, Lord of Snowfield."

Raheim gave a contemptuous laugh.

"Cut the nonsense and you two defend. I'll go take it myself."

The two of them started bickering all over again. Grabbing each other by the collar, hurling curses point-blank into each other's faces— utter chaos.

Meanwhile, the White Team seemed to have already finished assigning roles and organizing their tactics.

Elisa could be seen launching three Ghost Ships into the air.

"This is getting annoying—"

At that moment, Simon opened his mouth.

"Both of you, shut up already."

"......!"

At those few words, Malcolm and Raheim turned to look at Simon, momentarily cowed. Then their expressions hardened further.

"D-don't you dare give me orders!"

"Zimon Bolentona! Those words show no respect toward the Lord of Snowfi—!"

If they were people worth reasoning with, Simon would have spoken gently, but these two didn't deserve the courtesy.

Simon opened a subspace.

"Because right now—"

Shhhrrrrrrrrk!

On the right, where Malcolm stood, six subspaces tore open and the tentacles of the Overlord surged out.

"—I'll take you both on."

From the subspace on the left, where Raheim stood, the head of the Deimos thrust out, jaws gaping wide.

And these two shared one more thing in common: each had been utterly trounced by Simon in the debut match of the Overlord and the Deimos, respectively.

Gulp.

Silence fell over the area, punctuated by the sound of swallowing. Perhaps the old wounds had surfaced, because Malcolm and Raheim were rolling their eyes around nervously.

"W-wait, just a moment! Such extreme judgment isn't good for anyone!"

Malcolm, his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bluster deflated, forced a smile.

"Th-that's right! We're rivals competing over Meilin! A temporary alliance here would be in everyone's best interest!"

Raheim, too, was sweating in rivulets.

As was so often the case, once boys had crossed fists even once, some unspoken pecking order inevitably formed between them.

Simon recalled his summoned creatures and spoke.

"We're doing this my way."

Meanwhile, on the White Team, Elisa was looking down at her enemies from atop a Ghost Ship.

'They may have the higher name value, but this is manageable.'

She didn't need to see it to know they'd be fighting among themselves in no time. Elisa gazed at her dependable allies with a satisfied expression.

The White Team had settled on Elisa and Jule taking the offense while Enki handled defense.

And though Enki wasn't a Special Admission student, he was a top-ranked student treated as the ace of Class E. She didn't feel her side was lacking in the slightest.

Elisa raised her communication crystal and spoke.

"Jule. Keep going."

Elisa's Ghost Ship packed powerful firepower, but its sheer bulk made it somewhat slow to maneuver. She wanted to probe the enemy's response using Jule first.

Jule was bounding from pillar to pillar, leaping across the gaps—

'......Snow?'

Suddenly, the surrounding clouds shifted, and snow began to fall. Before long, a blizzard swept in, obscuring all vision.

Half the opposing field was blinded by the brutal cold, unable to see an inch ahead.

Elisa lifted her communication crystal.

"Jule, don't panic. Given the snowfall, that's Raheim's Gold Snow magic. Hold your position."

Their intent to block her vision was obvious. Whatever trick they had up their sleeves, she wouldn't fall for it easily.

'Hm?'

Just then, one edge of the snowy fog began to darken.

From the far end of the right pillar, someone was cutting through the mist.

'Simon Polentia!'

Emerging wreathed in murky Jet-Black, Simon held a bow formed entirely of dark mana in his hand.

'Wait—that technique!'

The signature dark magic of Kizen's Special Admission No. 1 was, of course, something Elisa had already analyzed. Raise a Blood Golem, use its power to form the Royal Guard, and finally squeeze that power out to fire it in the form of an arrow—a three-stage transformation technique.

'But he's skipping the intermediate stages entirely and jumping straight to the bow?'

She could see Simon raising the bow upright and drawing up his Jet-Black. The distance was too far—even if Jule dove in now, he couldn't stop it.

The arrow of dark flame gleamed, then shot forth trailing a comet-like tail of crimson light.

Certain he was aiming for the Ghost Ship, Elisa had been preparing to leap from her vessel when her eyes went wide.

The Blood Arrow wasn't flying toward her—it was streaking toward the flag in her team's own formation.

'Th-that range reaches all the way there?!'

KA-BOOOOOOOOM!

Incredible as it seemed, it reached. Simon's Blood Arrow slammed down beside the White Team's flag, erupting in a colossal explosion.

Elisa grabbed her wind-whipped hair and looked down from the Ghost Ship.

'But what's the point of that?'

Had he misunderstood the rules? The winner wasn't the team that destroyed the flag—it was the team that held the flag.

Before long, the smoke of the explosion cleared, revealing a massive crater gouged into the ground. The flag itself had been blown airborne by the blast and now lay on the ground.

It seems the flag had enough weight to it that it hadn't flown very far.

Crack!

Then, buried inside the crater, a single staff could be seen pushing itself upright.

Elisa, watching closely, felt her stomach drop.

'No way—Malcolm's weapon, riding on the arrow he just fired!'

A magic circle spread out beneath Malcolm's staff, and from within it, a Doppelgänger identical to Malcolm sprang forth.

"Enki! Stop it!"

Enki, in charge of defense, hastily fired off dark magic, but the distance was too great and the timing too sudden. The Doppelgänger lightly evaded the attack and slipped away—finally seizing the flag in both hands.

'But it's useless!'

Elisa smiled.

'It only counts if the original, not a clone, holds it in hand! Attempting such a blunder without even understanding the rules......!'

However.

Whoosh!

The Doppelgänger hurled the flag it had just grabbed straight over the cliff.

'What?!'

It was a sequence of actions impossible to comprehend. She never imagined they'd throw away the flag they'd worked so hard to snatch, straight into the abyss. Elisa moved her Ghost Ship to try to protect the falling flag.

But even then—

"Hahahaha!"

The Black Team had a necromancer capable of flight, too.

Raheim was sprinting, water droplets spinning up around both arms and both legs. Elisa's face drained pale.

'Argh! We lost without even getting to lift a finger!!'

While Raheim's snowstorm, Simon's Blood Arrow, and Malcolm's Doppelgänger pulled the enemy's gazes one after another and drained the opposing team's focus, Raheim had already descended below the cliff's edge.

"The flag—"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Elisa fired cannonballs from her Ghost Ship, but Raheim dodged them effortlessly in midair and finally caught the flag as it fell.

"—is claimed by this body!"

And then he waved the flag around wildly, beside himself with delight.

Peeeeeep!

"Aaaaargh! Unbelievable!!"

It ended just like that!

Elisa took out her frustration by furiously hammering the railing of the Ghost Ship, her face twisted with resentment.

'There's no way those idiots came up with a strategy like that on their own.'

Her gaze shifted toward Simon, still holding the bow of Jet-Black.

"......Simon Polentia."

Simon scattered the Jet-Black bow into the empty air, then lifted his head to look up at Elisa.

With one last bright smile, Simon's body teleported away and vanished.