Countdown to the Apostle's Birth
The Final Performance Evaluation: A Demonstration of Dark Magic Related to the Heart.
Simon had been confident about this performance evaluation too. What 'dark magic related to the heart' could possibly top a Lich's Life Vessel?
It was true that it belonged to the Summoning school, but the Life Vessel's magic circle incorporated a hefty amount of Hemomancy formulas as well, so there was more than enough there to earn a grade.
Of course, this all rested on the assumption that Professor Walter would grade Simon fairly.
"Ahem, ahem! A first-year who's already built a Life Vessel—impressive. A+."
Walter, who had returned to the campus after his medical leave, handed Simon an A+ without hesitation.
"Thank you, Professor."
Simon gave a polite bow, then looked up at Walter. He looked even more gaunt and worn than before.
'Professor Silaje was the same way. Why do all the Hemomancy professors seem to be in such poor health?'
It was probably the inherent risk of a discipline that drew directly on blood and life force, Simon reasoned.
With that, Simon returned to his seat, and the next student's turn came around.
"Scott Snyder here! I've prepared an original Pulsator, all my own!"
"I look forward to it. Go ahead."
Most of Kizen's first-years had received the Hematopoiesis Injection.
The goal of strengthening their blood magic was a big part of it, but the reason they'd been backed into the shots either way was this very performance evaluation—the Demonstration of Dark Magic Related to the Heart. Both Walter and the back-row Hemomancy professors had adopted it for their assessments.
Simon's creation of a Lich was an exceptional case, one of precious few. Among heart-related dark magics—ones that required less risk, less expense, and less preparation time—the most manageable option for students was to receive the Hematopoiesis Injection and demonstrate a Pulsator.
And so the Pulsator was emerging as the new trend.
Regarding the injection and hematopoietic cells, Walter had explained it like this:
The technique related to exactly this was called the Pulsator. Only those who had received the Hematopoiesis Injection could use it.
With a pulse, a student could dramatically increase their blood production, alter the properties of their blood, or imbue even a Blood Bullet with all manner of different characteristics.
Students who had initially hesitated over the injection rushed to get it the moment they realized they'd be falling behind those who had already rolled up their sleeves.
Sure, Simon had submitted everything he'd investigated about the Hematopoiesis Injection to the school newspaper to warn the students—but it had only registered as mere suspicion.
Prestigious Pentamonium had officially declared that the injection posed no harm to the human body. At that point, not getting the shot was effectively a losing proposition.
Second- and third-years had even begun lining up to visit Walter themselves.
'Ugh.'
Watching students amplify their blood magic with Pulsators, Simon's worries only deepened.
'Is Professor Walter really innocent? Was everything just my paranoid delusion?'
Admittedly, when handwriting analysis had proven that 'Professor Walter of Kizen' and 'Judah of the Blood Heaven Sect' were different people, every one of Simon's premises and hypotheses had shattered to pieces.
There was nothing strange about Walter's acquaintances calling him 'Judah.' Judah was a common name—and it could be a nickname or an old name, for that matter.
Even the words 'Judah' engraved on the fountain pen he carried everywhere seemed, once Simon cooled his head and thought it over, not all that damning.
"Simon."
Just then, the Hemomancy teaching assistant quietly sidled up beside him.
"Professor Walter said that if you're ever thinking of getting the Hematopoiesis Injection, you should let him know anytime."
"……"
Walter had been paying Simon a great deal of attention.
He had even offered to make him a Direct Disciple, and above all, he was deeply interested in Simon's SM-1—in other words, 'Cloud.' He wanted to carry on his master Silaje's research, after all.
But still.
"I'm terribly sorry."
Simon bowed his head with courtesy.
"I have no plans to, for now."
The assistant's expression stiffened slightly, but he soon turned and was gone.
When the performance evaluation period ended, finals week finally arrived.
Since this was the only written exam of the Integrated Second Semester, the students studied like their lives depended on it—because, in a sense, they did.
Even Kizen amended its rules to permit around-the-clock activity within campus grounds. The library in particular stayed open twenty-four hours, and crowds of students had holed up inside it, burning through the nights.
"Uuuurghhh……"
Every morning, the students shuffled to the lecture halls with zombie-like gaits, moaning zombie-like groans.
"Kizen is definitely a zombie faaaactory," Rick slurred, swaying with exhaustion.
But class was class. First period in the morning was Jet-Black Mechanics with Professor Eric Aura.
With the professors hard at work writing exam questions, there was a strong chance the material being taught right now would appear on the test. The students sat through the lecture with bloodshot eyes strained wide open.
Meilin pinched her own thighs to stay awake, and as an extreme measure, even clipped a laundry peg onto her arm. Camibarez, self-conscious about the other students watching, sucked down blood pouches she was normally too shy to touch in public.
Pow! Pow!
Midway through class, nosebleeds broke out all over the room, casualties mounting by the minute. Yet each of them, nonchalant, jammed a tissue against their nose—tissues they'd set out in advance—and never let their quills stop moving.
Everyone was desperate.
No—determined.
Realistically, only about half of them would advance to their second year at Kizen, and the rest would have to go home. Having come this far, not a single one of them wanted to give up.
"Now, that will be all for today's lesson."
Eric set down the chalk.
"Great work everyo—"
His eyes went wide as saucers.
The students, who should have been stampeding out the door to lunch, were sitting rooted in their seats, staring holes through him with glazed, feverish eyes.
Eric let out a small, belated 'ah,' then smiled faintly.
"Right. Shall I point out a few things that will be on the exam?"
"THANK YOU!!!"
They all looked like people possessed by study itself.
Only after transcribing every last throwaway joke that fell from Eric's lips did the students finally feel satisfied and file out of the lecture hall.
"Woo-hoo! So, what's for lunch today?" Rick asked, stretching his arms to the sky.
"Pass. I'm going to the library."
Meilin, dark circles deep as bruises, peeled a banana and jammed it in her mouth.
She had slipped into a clockwork 'study-monster' mode: a pair of enormous horn-rimmed glasses, bangs swept straight back and pinned down with a headband, the remaining hair gathered into a tight tie behind her head.
"Even eating wastes time."
"……Wow! Meilin, turning down food? Is the world ending tomorrow or something?"
Rick needled her as always, but Meilin didn't react. His pride stung at being ignored, and he tried again.
"Yeesh, look at all that grease in your hair. So glossy~ Wash it, will you? Seriously."
"Washing wastes time too."
Meilin replied icily and strode ahead. Looking at her properly now, beneath the uniform skirt she was wearing plain pajama pants.
Rick shook his head slowly.
"……Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. Did the ghost of a kid who died studying possess her or what?"
Camibarez, hurrying along at Simon's side, gave an awkward smile.
"She was second in the whole school on the midterms, you know. She says this time she's going to take first for sure."
"Pfft, yeah right."
Meilin swept past her group members, wrong-answer notebook already spread open, as if even the walk to the library were too precious to waste. Mid-stride she wobbled once, apparently dizzy.
From where he watched, it looked anything but safe.
"Meilin."
Simon, unable to stand by and watch, quickened his pace to catch up with her. She answered without lifting her eyes from the notebook.
"What? We're all eating together, aren't we?"
Simon rested a hand lightly on her shoulder.
"Remember the Cyclops performance assessment? Our first group project back in the first semester?"
"……"
"You were on the active team then, remember? You decided out of nowhere to shore up your weak point—mana projection—pushed yourself too hard, threw out your leg, and turned the whole thing into a disaster."
She whipped her head around, her face blazing scarlet.
"Wh-why are you bringing that up out of nowhere? That's ancient history!"
"It's exactly the same right now."
Simon went on in the calm tone of someone offering advice.
"Rush too hard and something's guaranteed to break. You need to manage your condition, eat a proper meal to restore your vitality, feed your brain some nutrients. Right?"
With that, Simon crossed his arms lightly and feigned a sudden thought.
"Oh! And I hear the cafeteria's serving chicken steak today."
Drip.
At the corner of Meilin's mouth—surviving until now on fruit alone—drool escaped despite her best efforts. Face flushing red, she quickly swiped at her lips with her sleeve and snapped:
"F-fine. If you're going to put it that way, I guess I have no choice."
"Hey, hold on just a second, ma'am!"
Rick, hurrying up from behind with Camibarez, cried out in wounded indignation.
"Why does everything I say get torn apart, but Simon says one thing and you fold? His mouth's a mouth, but mine's a garbage chute, is that it? Huh?"
"Garbage chute."
Meilin cut him off with surgical precision and glared.
"The world's ending, huh? And my greasy hair, and whatever else? All you did was make fun of me!"
"Okay, okay, enough."
Simon pushed the two of them by their backs before the bickering could reignite, herding them toward the cafeteria. Camibarez followed behind, beaming happily.
One week later.
"FREEDOOOOM!"
The final exams were over.
The instant Professor Jane declared the end of the last test and swept up all the answer sheets, Rick climbed onto his desk and flapped his exam paper around like a scarf before hurling it into the air.
The other students erupted in whoops of joy as well. Whatever their grades held, at long last they had their laughter and their smiles back.
"Rick Hayward."
Rick, who by now was tearing his exam paper to strips with skill rivaling Thesis Shredder Vintra himself, turned his head to find Jane beckoning him with a finger, her face thunderous.
"Come with me to my office."
"Ah, Professor, please—!"
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
As raucous laughter rolled across the room, Meilin removed her glasses as though breaking a seal and laid the headband down on her desk. She shook her head, and her sky-blue hair rippled like a scene from a fashion spread.
"Mmmh! I finally feel alive again!"
She stretched with a satisfied smile. The two boys who had been creeping over to compare their answers against hers flushed faintly pink.
"Hm?"
Mid-stretch, she spotted the two of them and narrowed her eyes.
"Oh, what is it? Why are you looking at me like that? Wanna die?"
"N-nothing at all!"
The pair fled as if their lives depended on it. Having banished the boys with a single glare, Meilin gave an indignant sniff and packed up her things.
"Great work, everyone!"
"You too, Cami."
Simon and Camibarez exchanged greetings and rose from their seats.
"You all remember, right? Finals are over, but we don't get to rest."
Meilin said it coolly as she slid her exam paper into her bag.
"The greatest hurdle of all is still waiting for us."
"That's true."
"Yes!"
Just as she said—one final trial remained before Kizen's first-years.
Simon crossed his arms, his expression turning grave.
"The promotion exam to second year. What will it throw at us this time?"
Crackle.
Click.
Crackle-crackle—
"—Are the preparations complete?"
"Yes."
"Good work. Then I shall see you at the main stage."
Clack.
The connection severed, and a long breath rose and fell in the darkness.
"Everyone, ready yourselves. The promised hour has arrived."
At those words—
a thousand humans in worn, threadbare robes rose from their places as one.
"The birth of the Apostle is at hand."