Letters and a New Year

Simon set down his cup of warm milk and tore open one of the tall stacks of letters piled on his desk.

A lazy, half-hearted message scrawled in a horrendous chicken-scratch hand. Obviously, it was from Rick.

Simon put that one down and tore open ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the next letters in turn.

He must have been bored out of his mind.

Simon picked up his quill right away and wrote a reply. It said that he'd be spending the New Year with family, and that he'd coordinate schedules with Meilin and Camibarez later so they could all go out together before the new term started.

It'd be nice if we could meet up at least once before school begins.

From second year onward, students declared their majors.

Simon was headed into the Summoning department. Meilin would go into Jet-Black Mechanics, Camibarez into Hemomancy. As for Rick — it wasn't set in stone, but he seemed to be leaning toward Toxicology.

Once they scattered into different departments, they wouldn't be seeing each other nearly as often as they had back in Group 7 of Class A. He wanted to spend a little more time with them while he still had the chance.

Alright, next letter.

Simon picked up the envelope at the very front of the pile — a girly one, tied with a ribbon.

Little cartoon doodles were drawn all over it, so there was no question it had come from Camibarez.

Camibarez's small, adorable handwriting leapt off the page.

Shalak.

Simon flipped to the next sheet and found a landscape painting she'd done herself.

It wasn't masterfully painted by any means, but the highlights were unmistakable — the setting sun, the orange-tinted sea. Camibarez's care had gone into every corner of it.

Feeling his heart warm somehow, Simon picked up the next envelope.

This time it was Meilin's characteristic elegant, aristocratic script.

Simon rested his chin on his hand.

Seywir. Seywir.

Who was that again? The name sounded so familiar.

Oh, right. Now he remembered.

The all-talk illusionist.

Seywir had been formally disciplined by the Dark Alliance, and his career as a necromancer was completely finished.

But judging from Meilin's letter, he seemed to be enjoying a renaissance as a stage actor.

Love him or hate him for his combat ability, the man had always been a gifted talker and a natural showman.

Hoping he kept doing well for himself, Simon set the letter down.

But besides the letters from the three members of Group 7, there were still a few more left.

Who sent this one?

"Simon!"

His mother Anna's voice drifted up from the living room below.

"Come down and eat!"

"Yes, coming now!"

Chomp chomp chomp!

Chomp chomp!

By the time Simon came down to the living room, Whitey and Blacky were already gobbling away at the special meal Anna had made them.

It was a special dish made from boiled chicken, and it must have been delicious, because they kept going 'meow, meow~' while eating, and emptied their bowls in no time.

-Meow!

-Nya!

The cats glared at Simon with accusing eyes.

-Why have you never fed us anything this delicious before?

-You're terrible!

They smacked Simon's legs with their tiny little paws, then suddenly noticed some tiny bug in the house, got worked up about it, and trotted off somewhere together.

"Mom."

Anna looked at Simon with eyes full of affection.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"……This is an awful lot for lunch, don't you think?"

It was hard to call it a lunch spread at all. The table was piled high with steaming, piping-hot dishes.

Once again, the table was screaming under the weight, its legs suffering terrible abuse.

"You went through so much hardship in the Holy Federation! It's important to eat plenty and recharge your strength!"

"Th-then, I'll dig in."

And so Simon ate while opening the next letter.

It was written on cute pink stationery. Naturally he assumed it was Camibarez's taste — but it was from someone else entirely.

From the first line alone, he couldn't tell who it was.

Simon was about to read the next line when Richard happened to walk into the kitchen. His gaze drifted naturally toward the letter in Simon's hands.

"Haha!"

Then, with a knowing smirk, he ruffled Simon's hair.

"That's my boy. Getting letters from girls over the holidays."

"A-Author Dad!"

Simon flushed red.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"Who's this from? Meilin? Or Camibarez?"

"Neither of them. I honestly have no idea who sent it."

Richard gave a thoughtful 'hmm' and stroked his chin with great gravity.

"I see. It's easy to forget sometimes. But listen, Simon. Even if a lady who doesn't remember acts friendly with you, even if, on very rare occasions, you can't recall a lady's name — you must stay calm at all costs. Keep the conversation flowing naturally, and find out this lady's name and information by……"

Tang!

Richard froze stiff where he stood. A few strands of his hair floated through the air, and a fork was embedded in the wall behind him.

"Teaching our child such wonderful things, I see?"

Anna poked her head out of the kitchen, murder glinting in her eyes.

"Ahem! W-Would you look at that, dear! My skills from my active days haven't dulled a bit!"

Richard tried desperately to smooth it over with a joke.

"You, on the other hand, still haven't outgrown your bachelor habits, have you?"

Against Anna, he never stood a chance.

Watching Richard get thoroughly fleeced yet again, Simon went back to reading the letter he'd opened.

So it's Sasha!

The girl Simon had rescued in the Neutral Zone, now receiving treatment in Pentamonium.

Her enrollment as a special-admission freshman at Kizen next year was already confirmed.

Senior. Her calling him senior.

Simon felt his heart thudding hard. So the day had truly come when he'd hear himself called 'Senior' at Kizen.

When Simon turned to the last page, there was a photograph of Sasha taken with a magic camera. She was wearing a patient's gown, but she'd grown taller beyond recognition, and her face looked far more polished than before.

Seeing Sasha living proudly, having overcome the pain and trauma of her past, tugged at his heart somehow.

Alright, then.

Simon lifted the next envelope.

Who's the last letter from?

With a rustle, he opened the envelope — and found another envelope inside. He opened that one, and there was yet another envelope.

What kind of joke is—— huh?

Simon's eyes went wide.

A royal crest!

The last envelope bore the crest of the Dresden royal family.

Who on earth——?

Tension flooded through him all at once. With trembling hands, Simon unfolded the letter.

There it was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠again — senior.

A magical word that set a heart pounding from the very first line.

So it was her. The youngest princess of the Dresden Kingdom.

There was only one princess on the continent Simon was personally acquainted with, after all.

"Oh, Simon."

Richard grinned, looking thoroughly impressed.

"So while your old father wasn't looking, you've gone and charmed the princess of an entire nation? Turns out you're even more of a……"

"Richard?"

At the flash of Anna's fierce glare, Richard's mouth snapped shut at once.

Simon turned back to the letter.

Reading through the letter, it seemed Princess Molly possessed considerable talent as a necromancer as well.

Simon read straight down the page until he reached the final passage.

Simon gave a wry smile.

Common sense dictated there was no way to refuse a princess's request.

That said, he'd heard the enrollment dates for second-years and first-years differed. He decided to mention that point in his reply and promise to gladly help once the schedule was settled.

"Clever, that Dresden Kingdom."

Richard said, skimming over Simon's letter.

"They spot the power players of tomorrow and move fast. I wonder when our Baldwin Kingdom will ever get moving."

Anna, seated at the table, looked over at Richard.

"And here I thought you had some patriotism left for the kingdom."

"I've got nothing there but childhood memories."

Simon scratched his head, embarrassed.

"It-It's just a request to help with textbooks. Aren't you two reading way too much into it?"

At that, Richard burst out laughing.

Anna just lightly smacked her son's forearm, as if he were simply adorable.

Happy New Year.

Simon spent the New Year cozily with his family in his hometown of Leshill.

At one point, he used Herseba's power to summon Pier and hear a progress report; the work was apparently in its final, smooth-sailing stages. They agreed he'd receive the full results report at Pier's Ruins after the term began.

In the clean waters and fresh air of Leshill, Simon focused on resting his overworked body and core and getting his condition back in order. For several days, he did absolutely nothing but sleep all day long.

And once his condition was back on track, he resumed training with Chaos.

Chaos was, in the truest sense, Simon's original creation — a fusion of Cloud from the dark arts and Sacred Blood from the divine.

But he still had a long way to go.

It was effective at creating variables against powerful opponents, but its fatal flaw was that it was far too unstable.

Especially his summon, the Chaos Reaper — if the amount of Chaos in the magic circle dropped, it would betray its caster and try to carve up friend and foe alike.

"'Calculability' in combat is absolutely crucial, Simon."

Richard said.

"Let's say the power of your current 'Chaos Spear' ranges from 0 to 1,000. A high maximum is nice, but if a '0' ever comes up mid-battle, the risk you carry is far too great. The price for drawing a blank might just be your life."

Simon nodded along vigorously, clearly in agreement.

"So the goal of this holiday training is to turn Chaos from '0 to 1,000' into '100 to 1,000.' We're aiming for a lottery with no blanks. Even if the maximum drops, keeping a guaranteed minimum of power is far more effective from an operational standpoint."

"Understood!"

Refining Chaos magic required help on both sides — dark and divine.

So he received guidance from both Richard and Anna, though the two of them disagreed a little.

"Grab the bare minimum of safety and go all-in on power. That's the best way."

"No. For Simon's safety if nothing else, raising stability is what matters."

The two of them were having a marital spat — ahem, a discussion — over the ratio of Cloud to Sacred Blood.

"Honey. On a battlefield, cleaving the enemy's head off in a single strike is the best safety there is. Drag the fight out and leave room for error, and Simon's the one in more danger."

"Have you forgotten how many times I had to rescue you after you pushed yourself too far? It's not all-or-nothing. A well-refined, flawlessly balanced power is true strength."

……Chaos is my spell, though.

That remark lingered on the tip of his tongue, but Simon simply kept smiling and waited for the couple's standoff to end.

And the conclusion they reached:

Chaos was not a technique to be thrown around freely; in ordinary situations, relying on his usual dark and light magic was the wiser choice.

Chaos was reserved for creating variables against powerful enemies.

In exchange, they decided to raise its specs dramatically — high enough that a single use would guarantee victory.

Richard and Anna supplemented the formulas for Cloud, Sacred Blood, and Chaos alike. The spell had grown considerably heavier than when Simon had first built it, though.

Watching the single violet spear he fired as a test shatter the surrounding trees to splinters, Simon was moved.

"This is the one! I'll go with this!"

And so, while Simon was devoting himself to training his new technique at the small mountain cabin over the holidays—

"Simon, we have a guest."

Richard came to fetch him personally.

"A guest? All of a sudden? Who is it?"

"You'd better go see for yourself."

His expression was tinged with a faint tension.

Simon immediately hurried down the mountain toward the house.

But the closer he got, the stranger things became. The trees and rocks around him were floating in midair.

Shaaaaaa—

There was even a strange fish swimming through the air, as though it were gliding through the sea.

A monster?

Just as Simon was about to raise his Jet-Black, Richard placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

"Let's just go."

Soon they arrived at the house. Simon flung open the door and rushed inside — and saw, seated at the table, the back of a man built like a giant.

Munch! Munch! He was demolishing the food Anna had prepared like he hadn't eaten in a week.

"There he is, Simon."

Anna looked a little startled herself. Simon approached and spoke.

"I heard you were looking for me."

Tang!

The man set down a plate picked clean to the bone. Then he picked up the water pitcher and started chugging it greedily.

Kuh-hah.

Looking like he'd finally come back to life, he let out a great belch and slapped his belly.

Only then did he turn around.

"It's been far too long! Have you been well?"

At the sight of him, Simon's eyes went wide — and a bright grin broke across his face.

"P-President Phantasos!"

It was none other than the Student Council President of Kizen — and, like Kajan, one of Nephthys's unofficial confidants.

Phantasos Hugh Ikel.

Drrrk!

Phantasos rose from his seat. He was so tall that his head bonked against the ceiling with a thunk, but he didn't seem to care in the least.

"'President'? I've graduated from Kizen — that title no longer applies. These days I'm nothing more than a humble adventurer!"

He strode toward Simon in big steps, dust from the ceiling brushing through his hair.

"Simon Polentia!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

Simon answered at rigid attention.

"Then I'll skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point!"

What could he have come all this way to say? Simon swallowed hard. Tension rippled across the faces of Richard and Anna as they watched from the sidelines.

Phantasos broke into a deep, beaming smile and extended his hand.

"Congratulations! From this day forward, you are the Student Council President of Kizen!!"