The Word That Echoed Through the Bamboo Grove
The best way to make my talent bloom. The direction I need to take to harness this special Jet-Black.
Simon turned Bahil's parting question over in his mind as he gazed out across the field of blue flowers that had enveloped him.
"Professor."
"Yes?"
"Is there anything in the curse I just cast that you could give me feedback on?"
"Oh ho."
Bahil smiled.
"Not getting drunk on your own results and coldly taking stock of yourself — that's an excellent mindset. Very well. If I had to name one thing, I'd say your curse could stand to carry a little more emotion."
"Ah, like when I'm issuing commands to undead?"
In that instant — was it Simon's imagination, or had Bahil's expression turned to ice?
Wondering if he'd seen it wrong, Simon blinked, and there was Bahil again, smiling gently as before.
"Yes, something like that. Emotion is a critically important element across all of dark magic, after all."
Bahil withdrew the hand he'd rested on Simon's shoulder.
"Please, do not forget what I told you earlier."
With a soft snap of fingers, the noisy chatter of the surrounding students came flooding back into clarity. Bahil gave Simon's head a light pat and turned his steps elsewhere.
"Professor Bahil!"
Dick's hand shot up. Bahil stopped and asked what the matter was.
"C-could you assist me too? Getting the flower to bloom isn't exactly easy...."
"Waiting on luck and expecting to be spoon-fed is the mindset of lowly amateurs. Keep attempting it. Repeatedly."
"Ah... yes, sir."
Dick lowered his hand in embarrassment, and Meilin beside him let out a snort of laughter.
Simon, still wrapped in the afterglow of the moment, hardened his resolve and brought his two hands together, facing each other.
Alright. This time, all on my own—!
And so, before the bell rang to end class, Simon mastered the Transfer Curse completely.
The next period was Professor Hong Peng's Magic Combat class. Once again, they clung to a hippo's back and lumbered off to who-knew-where. The location Hong Peng had chosen today was a clearing in a bamboo grove, where a cool breeze swept through.
As always, they loosened up with hard running, and then Hong Peng taught the students fundamental martial techniques — straight punches, kicks, and the like. Everyone spread out at generous intervals, throwing Jet-Black-coated fists and extending kicks. The TAs circulated among them, correcting stances and offering tips on how to properly channel the Jet-Black.
And then—
"Here!"
Smack! Smack!
"Put more power jtrength into it here!"
Simon, holding the same stance as everyone else, had gone scarlet to the ears. Hong Peng was briskly slapping his thigh with her palm.
"Arm pojure goes here! When you extend the kick, the opposite arm becomes your axis! Core tight! Tighten that core!"
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
It was pure torture for Simon. A professor physically correcting a student's form was perfectly normal — but for a hot-blooded adolescent boy, having a beauty like Hong Peng pressed up close against him was not something he could keep off his face.
"Jimon! Are you going to keep forgetting to put power in your toes?"
"Sorry!"
Afraid of another smack, Simon hurriedly corrected his stance. Only then, apparently satisfied, did Hong Peng cross her arms and nod.
"Good. Now prepare the rotation."
Simon's leg moved. His left foot stepped forward.
"Channel the Jet-Black."
The Jet-Black converged on the center of his hips as his body began to turn. His heel lifted naturally off the ground, waist and torso twisting into the ideal line — and then his coiled right leg unfurled and extended.
Vuuuuuum!
His leg sliced through empty air. The Jet-Black streaming off his foot left a long, black brushstroke behind it, like paint across a canvas.
It was, quite literally, a picture-perfect kick.
"Wonderful!"
Hong Peng clapped her hands and beamed. Simon, sweat pouring down his face, bowed in greeting.
"You nailed the rotation, but four basics of your form fell apart. Bad eyeline, your waist power wasn't properly engaged, and your heel needs to turn further. Also, the timing of your Jet-Black release on impact is far too early."
"...I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."
"Mm! Still, Jimon, you're doing plenty well. Keep pracjicing!"
Hong Peng thumped his shoulder and moved off to coach the other students.
A short break was called.
"Mmmnngh."
Dick, sprawled out on the grass, cracked his eyes open into a sly squint.
"Hey, Kami."
"Hm? What is it, Dick?"
"Same with the Curse class — don't you think the professors have been playing favorites with Simon lately?"
Camibarez, sitting quietly beside him, covered her mouth and giggled.
"I don't think that quite counts as favoritism."
"Mmmmh — well, something's definitely off."
"Good grief, you sad little man."
With an audible click of her tongue, Meilin strode over in her gym clothes. Her sky-blue hair, always worn loose and elegant, was today yanked back in a tight ponytail.
"And you call yourself a Kizen student? Instead of pathetically sulking over other people, try actually working to catch a professor's eye yourself."
Dick snorted.
"Who's sulking? I merely raised a question. Besides, you're hardly one to talk, are you, Miss Meilin, who openly undid a curse during Magic Combat and marched right up the hill?"
Meilin's face flared red.
"Argh! Would you stop milking that already!"
"No can do~ I intend to boil it down to the very marrow~ Besides, did you get so much as a single word in with Professor Hong Peng this class? Hundred percent she's marked you."
"Maybe you should worry about getting marked by my foot first."
When Meilin lifted her leg in threat, Dick cackled and went rolling head over heels across the grass to escape.
"Honestly."
Meilin let out a long sigh, then whipped her head around to look at Simon.
"Hey."
"What?"
"Teach me a little."
Simon made a face that clearly said, what on earth are you on about now? Meilin flushed and cleared her throat with a pointed ahem.
"You're good at Magic Combat. Since Professor Hong Peng isn't coming around, I meant could you at least check my form."
Oh, that's what she meant.
When Simon just smiled without answering, the flustered Meilin hastily added, "F-for the practical assessment, you know I'm facing the Cyclops, right? If you help me out, my movements will get better, and then our whole group's assessment score—"
"You didn't need to explain all that. I'd have taught you anyway, so don't worry."
Simon stood with a kind smile and planted himself in front of her.
"Show me your stance."
Meilin, out of things to say, cleared her throat once more and then murmured a "thank you" so quiet that no one could possibly have heard it. She soon dropped into a wobbly kicking stance, and Simon crouched down, sweeping his gaze up and down her body.
"It's a mess."
"I-I know that!"
Meilin yelped.
Simon extended a finger.
"First of all, you're way too stiff. Your lack of confidence shows the second anyone looks at your form. Loosen up a little, and try taking the stance again as naturally as you can."
She nodded and settled into a relaxed standing position. The rigidity eased, if only slightly.
"Put your left foot a little further back, and make loose fists with both hands, then bring them forward... no, wait, that's the right foot. The foot opposite the hand you eat with — that's your left."
"I-I know that, you dummy! I just got mixed up because I'm nervous!"
Even as she snapped back at him rapid-fire, she hurriedly swapped her stance.
"Gather the Jet-Black into your waist and hold it there. Yeah, that's it. Now put weight on the ball of your foot and rotate."
"Like this?"
"No, no. I don't mean spin around like a top — you twist with your hip power, like you're wrenching it around. And as you rotate, the Jet-Black goes along the back of your thigh—"
"Here?"
When she pressed her hand to her leg, Simon shook his head.
"A little higher."
"Here?"
"No, you went too far up. A bit lower."
"This is right, isn't it?"
"That's just your knee."
"Ugh, damn it! It's not like I'm bare-legged, I'm wearing gym clothes! Just touch it already!"
She exploded — and the shout that burst out of her in the heat of the moment was far, far louder than intended.
Touch it— touch it— touch it—
Meilin's voice rolled up over the ridgeline and rang out across the grove like an echo.
"......"
"......"
Antennas shot up all around the clearing. The love-obsessed girls began to murmur among themselves, and even Camibarez was spotted quietly covering her mouth.
Meilin's face burned crimson as she flailed her arms wildly.
"No, no! That's not it! I meant my stance! Fix my stance!"
But the truth no longer mattered.
Watching the rumor spread through the female students at lightning speed, Meilin wore the blank expression of someone watching a disaster unfold. Then she spun desperately toward Simon.
"W-what do we do? Say something, anything!"
"No idea. Anyway, you told me to touch, so I'm touching."
Simon strode right up and placed his hand precisely on the fabric of Meilin's gym clothes.
"Pool the Jet-Black right here."
Then he gripped her ankle.
"And as you rotate your body, you carry it over to this side."
You absolute maniac!
Is this really the time for that?!
Her face had gone red to its absolute limit, her lips trembling — and then Simon murmured, just loud enough for her alone.
"Just do what I tell you."
"Wh-what?"
"Flailing around in a panic only makes it worse. You have to show them the misunderstanding directly. That's the only way it clears up."
Simon rose with a perfectly unbothered expression, took hold of her arm and shoulder, and corrected her stance. Meilin, dazed, nodded along and adjusted her form. The students who had come scurrying over on the strength of the rumor watched the whole scene.
"Oh, he really was just fixing her stance."
"Meilin's a strange one, isn't she."
"Simon's so sweet~"
At last, her stance corrected, Meilin pivoted and drove her leg up toward the sky. Her tensed leg floated up — and then she lost her balance and landed flat on her rear in the grass.
Ahahaha! Rollicking laughter erupted from the onlookers. Simon chuckled too, hands on his hips.
"Long road ahead, but that was good."
"...Ah. Yeah."
Just then, the girls who'd been watching nearby came up and spoke to Simon — could he teach them the kick too, they asked. Simon smiled warmly and corrected their stances one by one.
...What is this guy, seriously?
Meilin bit her lip ever so slightly.
Time slipped by, and the Magic Combat class came to an end. For the students collapsed and drained of every last ounce of strength, Kizen had once again prepared a teleportation circle.
"Meilin! Heard the news!"
Dick sauntered over, snickering with one hand cradling the back of his head. Meilin, who'd been chatting with Camibarez, shot him a glare that could cut glass.
"Hey. Don't. I mean it."
"Oh, I'm not talking about you, I'm talking about my dear friend. If the words 'touch it' and 'stance' got exchanged between a boy and a girl, what exactly would one conclude—"
"I said DON'T!!"
Meilin yanked her bag out of subspace and began beating Dick with it.
Dick, attempting to flee, went down face-first into the grass with a shriek, while Simon and Camibarez laughed out loud.
"Aagh! Aagh! Quit standing there and pull her off me!"
"Let's go, Kami."
"Yes!"
The two of them turned their backs on Dick's plight and hurried off to line up for the teleportation circle.
"By the way, Kami — do you remember what the next class is?"
"Oh! I remember. Summoning."
At those words, a smile crept across Simon's lips.
Finally!