Put Out the Candle
Simon slowly replayed his battle with Hong Peng in his mind.
She had sealed her strength when fighting him, so in terms of raw power and speed they had been evenly matched—or if anything, Simon, having manifested his Internal Jet Black Eruption, had held the upper hand.
And yet he had lost.
The gap in experience and technical refinement couldn't be ignored, but more than that, Hong Peng had read every one of Simon's techniques before he even threw them, while hers were of a kind Simon had never seen in his life. He hadn't been able to lay a finger on her.
None of the techniques she'd just used looked particularly harder than Chwita, Cheonhyung, or Chakgeom. He had simply lost because he didn't know them.
"A lack of novelty."
Simon reached that conclusion as he looked at Hong Peng.
"The problem is that I don't have any techniques of my own that create variables in a fight."
Hong Peng smiled brightly and nodded.
"Correct!"
At a glance, it seemed like a contradiction. After all, Hong Peng was currently teaching the students the standard combat techniques—Chwita, Cheonhyung, and Chakgeom.
But those three techniques were fundamentals. It was easier to think of them as the bare minimum qualification needed to fight the TAs at all.
To actually beat the TAs, you needed a technique of your own that they had never seen.
"The techniques I teach, the TAs have obviously learned too. They know the counters, the applications, all of it. If you want to catch them off guard, you need to approach from a completely new angle."
The final performance evaluation for Magic Combat wasn't simply a sparring match against a TA.
It was the acquisition of one's own personal Matu technique.
Whether or not it actually worked on the TAs, simply possessing a technique they didn't know would send your odds of winning soaring.
"That's tough."
Simon grasped Hong Peng's hidden meaning, but he scratched his head anyway. New Matu techniques weren't something you could just whip up on demand.
"Then shall we move on to a bit of special training?"
What she pulled from her coat was a candlestick with no wick holder at the top—a plain 'candle stand.' When she lit it with jet-black, a vivid blue flame flickered to life atop the candle.
"Simon, until this week's major classes end—"
She set the candle down on a nearby boulder.
"—put out this flame without touching it with your body."
Extinguish the candle without touching it. At a glance it looked easy, but this was Hong Peng, so he assumed she'd rigged it with some mechanism or other.
"And now a question! What's the biggest difference between dark magic and Matu techniques?"
Simon answered immediately.
"The presence or absence of a magic circle."
"Correct! You must not use a magic circle to put out the flame. Jet-black through pure Matu alone—that's all you get. Now, give it your best!"
Hong Peng swept her hair back and strode off toward the training grounds.
"Thank you for the guidance, Professor!"
Simon bowed to her, then stood before the candle.
[Kheheheh!]
The moment Hong Peng disappeared, Pier's laughter rang out in his head.
Startled, Simon stammered a reply.
"P-Pier! How long have you been watching?"
[Since you started fighting that woman. But more importantly—]
Pier's clone's eye sockets turned toward the candle.
[So they still do this classic training these days!]
"What do you mean?"
[When Richard attended Kizen, they ran this exact exercise in his Magic Combat class!]
At those words, a spark of interest lit Simon's eyes.
"How long did it take my father?"
[Two days.]
"Then I'll—"
Simon snapped into a fighting stance with a sharp exhale.
"—finish it in one!"
He hurled his drawn-back fist forward in a straight punch.
Whoosh!
Simon's fist stopped dead just in front of the flame. The wind it kicked up made the candle sway and wobble before settling back to normal.
"Oh, that's easier than I expected."
[Kheheh!]
Simon withdrew his fist, then drew jet-black up into his arm, formed Chwita, and struck again.
WHUMP!
Same result. The candle wobbled, and that was the end of it.
Carried along by momentum, he tried Cheonhyung as well—no difference.
"Then how about this—!"
Simon raised Chakgeom in his hand and slashed it horizontally. The flame shook harder than ever before, but it soon held its original shape again.
[KHAHAHAHAHA!]
Pier was roaring with laughter at something.
[You're doing exactly what your father did!]
"…Shut up!"
Simon shot back, face burning.
Once he cooled down and thought about it rationally, the whole point of this candle exercise was to train him in developing a new technique of his own. Reusing techniques he'd already learned was never going to put the flame out.
Stupid. I was so focused on putting out the fire that I forgot the point.
Simon tried everything he could think of.
He threw punches at the candle in every variation he could imagine, kicked at it, tried all manner of antics. He sprinted in before throwing his fist, spun in circles to artificially extend his motion into an oversized wind-up haymaker—but the candle would wobble for a moment and, infuriatingly, always return to its original form.
Before he knew it, sweat was pouring down Simon's forehead like rain.
"…The best result so far was this."
Simon placed a wooden board in front of the candle, took out a potion from his Toxicology class, and glued it firmly against the boulder. When he unleashed Cheonhyung in that state, the candle wobbled violently.
From that, one fact became clear.
This candle couldn't be extinguished by wind pressure. It had to be put out with jet-black itself.
"Hmm."
Simon peeled the board off and dropped it to the ground, then stood face to face with the candle once more.
Cheonhyung—
Simon spread his palm before the flame, his expression grave.
—as if detonating it in a single straight line!
Fwoom!
Jet-black erupted from his palm and battered the flame. Better than before.
"…But this isn't Matu. It's just spraying out condensed jet-black."
A proper striking form had to be in there. Simon recalled Hong Peng's stance from their fight.
"Was it like this?"
Right hand pressed to his hip, left hand held relaxed in front of his face. From that stance, he naturally rotated his hips and drove the right arm he'd cocked back with full force.
Strike!
FWOOOOM!
The jet-black that shot from Simon's palm slammed into the candle. The flame wobbled more precariously than it ever had, all but guttering out—and then, just before dying completely, it flickered back to life.
"So close!"
[Kheheh!]
He was getting hooked on it now.
Simon started moving again, throwing out ideas one after another.
"Partial Internal Jet Black Eruption."
Simon drew jet-black up through his right arm to its absolute limit and thrust out his palm. Once again the flame teetered on the edge of extinction, but survived by a hair's breadth.
He thought it was now at a level he could actually use in real combat. Even as he panted for breath, Simon smiled in satisfaction.
"But the jet-black still scatters and sprays. It needs to be more precise."
Simon focused jet-black into his middle finger, then stood before the candle in a finger-flicking stance. Feeling the jet-black ready to launch, he snapped his palm forward.
CRAK!
The effect was undeniable. The flame seemed to vanish entirely—then barely, barely caught and rose again.
"One finger isn't enough!"
He pressed his middle and ring fingers together in a flicking stance and braced his right hand with his left.
"One more time!"
CRACK!
With a heavy, solid sound, the candle's flame went out. Simon watched with bated breath—and this time, it did not come back.
"Got it!!"
Simon clenched his fist and shouted.
[Kheheheh!]
Pier's clone, watching the whole thing closer than anyone, had brightening eyes as well.
This boy really might surpass you, Richard.
With about twenty minutes left before class ended, Simon returned to the training grounds.
Hong Peng and the TAs were all completely occupied running students through the training course.
I'll rest for a bit.
Simon sat down in the shade of a tree, leaning his back against the trunk—and that was when it happened.
"Hey."
Someone had spoken to him. The face looked familiar since they were in the same Class A, but they'd never actually met.
"I'm Philip Elande."
A boy with curly brown hair. Simon realized this was the aspiring Magic Combat student who'd gone through the course right before him earlier.
"Yeah? What's up?"
"Nothing, really."
Philip watched a few more students collapse onto the wooden dummy's arms, then looked back at Simon.
"I was just wondering why a Summoning major is so good at Matu."
What was he getting at?
As Simon puzzled over it, Philip shrugged his shoulders.
"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of switching to this major, would you?"
"Not as of now."
Philip paused for a moment and watched the next student make her way through the course. It was Jamie's turn as class representative, so a crowd of students had gathered to watch.
"I got absolutely wrecked by a TA earlier."
"Mm?"
"And I'm sitting there thinking—how does a Matu major lose to someone majoring in a different subject? Honestly, this isn't the first time I've ended up like this."
"…"
There were barbs in those words. A blaming undertone oozed out of them.
"Sorry you got chewed out, but what exactly are you trying to say to me?"
"Nothing, nothing. Let's keep this friendly."
Philip ran a hand through his hair and continued.
"Exams like the BMAT are one thing, but during classes like this, you could show a little awareness."
"Awareness of what?"
"Let's be blunt here—we're the ones getting wrecked because of you."
Simon was dumbfounded. He'd never imagined that in Kizen, a bastion of meritocracy, doing well would earn him resentment.
"I—"
"What's all this, then?"
Both of them whipped their heads around in shock.
A boy was walking toward them, a black robe draped over his Kizen uniform. Familiar grey hair, and scars around his eyes.
"Kajan!"
Simon blinked in surprise. Philip's face twisted into a scowl.
"…Who're you? You're not Class A, are you?"
Philip stopped mid-sentence.
Kajan was staring at him in total silence.
He wasn't doing anything at all. And yet Philip's expression began draining white, as though a hand were slowly crushing his throat.
"Whatever."
Kajan turned his head back to Simon.
"I've got something to talk about. Simon."
"Ah, sure."
After Simon and Kajan left, Philip—who'd been left standing there alone—finally gasped for breath.
Wh-what the hell? Is that guy even human? What was that presence…
"Hey, Philip."
This time a voice came from behind him. Philip turned around to find a girl wiggling her fingers at him.
"Hector wants a quick word with you?"
"!"
Hector, now? Why on earth would Hector—?
He had no idea why, but there was no choice to make. Philip followed the girl, his face uneasy.
"And so I was like—!"
"HAHAHA!"
"All of this is a waste of time."
Hector was at the back, chatting idly with his clique about this and that. Philip approached him with a nervous look.
"D-did you call for me? Hector?"
Hector didn't answer. Everyone in the clique seemed too busy chattering to pay him any mind.
Just as Philip was shuffling his feet, Hector rose from his seat, a mountain of a man unfolding to his full height.
"Hey."
Philip flinched and answered on reflex.
"Yes! I mean—no! Uh, yeah!"
"I heard an interesting story just now."
Hector's eyes lifted, and he stepped up close to Philip.
"Watch our backs during class and play nice? Was that meant for my ears?"
"N-no! Not you! I was talking to Simon—!"
The clique members, who had been snickering playfully, now had menace creeping into their expressions.
"Oh my. That's insane."
"Doesn't he know Hector passed the training course too?"
Hector shrugged off his gym clothes. A chiseled, densely muscled physique—the crystallization of relentless effort—was revealed underneath.
"Bite down on this."
His massive arm rose.
"It's a street fight, so feel free to fight back."
"W-wait, Hect—!"
CRUNCH!
With an obscenely raw sound, a tooth flew from Philip's mouth, flashing in the sunlight. He swayed and crumpled to the ground.
"Matu."
CRACK!
"Major, my ass."
WHAP!
"You just sit there and take it?"
THUD! WHAP! SMACK!
Hector's shoe drove into Philip's fallen face, again and again. The sound of blood bursting free was audible.
A few of the students nearby casually turned their heads away. And a few others were quietly using dark magic to smother the sounds and commotion so no one would notice.
"Now."
Hector lowered his leg and spoke darkly.
"You feel like fighting back yet?"
Philip's blood-soaked eyes flashed with ferocity. He screamed and sprang up, throwing his fist forward.
At the very instant Philip's fist was about to reach Hector's face—
CRACK!
Faster than the punch could land, Hector's hand seized Philip by the head and slammed him into the ground.
Even with Matu alone, Hector was overwhelmingly stronger.
"Ha. Seriously."
"He'll notice, Hector."
The clique snickered as Hector lightly dusted off his hands. Philip, drenched in blood, lay unconscious with his mouth hanging wide open.
"Clean him up so it doesn't show."
"Yeees, of course~"
A Toxicology major from the clique popped the cap off a potion and poured it generously over Philip's bloodied face.
"By the way. You've gotten seriously strong lately, you know that?"
A boy sitting on a boulder spoke up with a grin.
"At this rate, you could even take on Simon—"
"Not yet."
Hector clenched his boulder-like fist.
"I still haven't worked hard enough."
Meanwhile, Simon and Kajan had made their way to a quiet spot well away from the training grounds.
"Why all of a sudden? What's this about, Kajan?"
"Open it."
Kajan handed over a paper envelope.
"New information on Professor Walter."