The Father's Judgment
Step— step—
A dark basement. Dust swirled thick enough to choke on, and the air was heavy with the stench of mold. And yet someone was walking through it.
No — to be precise, being dragged.
A blond boy, still young in the face, perhaps in his mid-teens. Two burly men in suits gripped his arms on either side as they walked.
Before long, the boy reached the deepest recess of the basement. Only then did the men release his arms and step back.
Fsss—
A flame bloomed in the darkness. There came the sound of a long drag on a cigar, and then a thick plume of smoke rolled out.
"So you've come, Malcolm."
The basement lights flickered on, revealing the surroundings. The middle-aged man seated on the sofa was someone the boy knew all too well.
Head of the 'Randolph Gang' — one of the three great syndicates of the Dark Alliance — and the boy's own father.
Margel Randolph.
"......Father."
And the boy's name was Malcolm Randolph.
Formerly Special Admission No. 10 of Kizen.
"You're cold, Malcolm. It's a rare vacation, and yet you slink off without even showing your father's face."
Malcolm held his silence for a moment before lifting his head.
"You called me for something, Father. What is it?"
Margel took another long draw on his cigar.
"It seems I count as a parent after all — something like this came flying in from Kizen."
Malcolm flinched. What Margel held in his hand, waving it lazily as he spoke, was Malcolm's first-year report card.
"Let's see."
Margel's eyes narrowed to slits.
"You entered as Special Admission No. 10. And by the end of your first year......"
The corner of Margel's mouth twisted.
"Rank 128."
"......"
He had fallen from tenth to one hundred twenty-eighth.
Malcolm's fists trembled as his face hardened, and he shouted.
"That's because—!"
"I know."
Margel cut him off in a voice like ice.
"Your specialty, the Doppelgänger, is a dark art that creates duplicates to multiply your numbers. Fine early in the semester — but by the second half of the year, it inevitably loses its edge, because your rivals keep learning and growing stronger."
Margel was right. From the middle of the second semester onward, every Kizen student had at least one wide-area attack in their arsenal, and they'd all learned scouting dark magic and curses for hunting out the true body among a crowd of doppelgängers.
Against Malcolm, all you need to learn is one Painted Curse.
Rumors like that had spread everywhere, and the winning strategies were freely shared. That was why Malcolm of the Doppelgängers — the opponent nobody had wanted to face in the Duel Evaluation during the first semester — had become a laughingstock by the second.
"Th-that wasn't the only reason!"
Sweat beaded on Malcolm's forehead. He had to argue his way out of this somehow.
"The Liquid Bombs I used as my main weapon—!"
"I heard they were banned."
Margel said it as if he'd been waiting for exactly that.
The gang's proprietary 'Liquid Bomb' — a compound detonated by infusing it with Jet-Black. Paired with the Doppelgänger, it had been devastating.
But Kizen's review board had ruled it in violation of numerous Duel Evaluation regulations, and its use was prohibited.
"And whose fault was that, exactly?"
As Margel leaned his head back and posed the question, Malcolm realized his mistake.
Damn it.
He should never have brought that up as an excuse, even if it cost him a beating.
"Do you remember? Your Duel Evaluation against Special Admission No. 1, Simon Polentia."
Of course he remembered. He couldn't have forgotten if he tried.
"In that duel, watched by countless high-ranking officials including royalty, you scattered Liquid Bombs everywhere."
The Randolph Gang had carried out innumerable acts of terror with those very Liquid Bombs. They had reaped astronomical profits as a byproduct and toppled rival organizations left and right.
It was an extremely sensitive piece of contraband — and Malcolm, desperate to beat Simon no matter what, had used it in a duel staged before the very eyes of kingdom officials.
In the end, every unsolved bombing case the gang had been denying was dragged into a full reinvestigation.
The results were catastrophic and irreversible. Four kingdoms raced to seize the organization's businesses, and on top of massive damages, the penalties rained down without end. Even rival gangs who'd suffered from the Liquid Bombs piled on with attacks of their own.
"If you have something to say, say it. Your damned school games nearly brought the organization down."
"......"
"And it's not as though your school results were good, were they? That Simon Polentia you fought held onto rank 1. No family backing, no outside support — purely on his own strength."
Margel rested his chin on his hand.
"......That's the kind of son I wanted. His father must be dancing for joy somewhere."
Urgh!
Malcolm, wracked with misery, could say nothing at all.
Margel spoke coldly.
"It's over now. Don't go back to Roc Island."
"......!"
He was being kicked out of Kizen. Malcolm jerked his head up in panic.
"Father! I—"
Crack!
The words never left his mouth. A jet-black figure flashed out of nowhere and drove its fist up into his jaw.
Bam!
Thud!
More of the figures appeared from either side. Pain drove into his abdomen, his flank, his thighs. He couldn't breathe.
Bloody and kneeling in an instant, Malcolm felt two hands — both bearing Margel's face — seize the back of his head and slam it down into the floor.
Smash!
With a sickening crunch, the bridge of his nose gave way.
"Still haven't come to your senses?"
The real Margel remained exactly where he'd been all along, seated on the sofa. The subordinates watching from behind swallowed dryly.
So those are Lord Margel's doppelgängers......!
The doppelgängers gripped Malcolm's head and forced his face upward. Blood poured freely from his crushed nose, then streamed down from his forehead as well.
And Malcolm saw it — Margel, enthroned in darkness, his eyes blazing.
He hadn't become the boss of one of the three great syndicates for nothing. Margel was always cruel, always merciless. Even to his own son.
"Your school games are finished. Do you understand me?"
Before that absolute terror, Malcolm had no choice but to nod.
Presently, Margel's doppelgängers flung him to the floor and scattered into nothing.
"Here's your new assignment."
Flutter.
Several photographs dropped in front of the fallen Malcolm.
"Bring me what's in these pictures."
The photos showed the skeletal remains of some monster, its teeth filled with high-purity gold. It looked enormously valuable.
"It's kept at the Deimos Museum on the Parona Peninsula. While you're at it, grab anything else expensive that catches your eye."
Malcolm pushed himself upright and studied the photographs.
"......Am I getting no other support?"
"You're going alone, Malcolm."
"Smuggling that thing out single-handedly is impossible."
"Then we'll cause a commotion."
At Margel's gesture, four burly men grunted and heaved something into the room, dropping it to the floor with a heavy THUD!
A metal object about knee-high. At its center, a crimson core glowed.
"Since the Liquid Bombs are off the table now, we developed something new."
"......A replacement for the Liquid Bomb?"
Margel nodded.
"They say higher-grade monsters emit a special wave to command their lesser kin of the same species. And the lesser ones obey that wave absolutely."
"Don't tell me......"
"That's right. This is a device built to reference the wave emitted by a 'Naga Queen' — it calls Nagas to gather."
Margel smirked.
"When it activates, swarms of Nagas will come flooding onto the Parona Peninsula. In the chaos, Malcolm, you slip into the exhibition hall."
"Father!!"
Malcolm shot to his feet.
"The Parona Peninsula is in the middle of its festival right now! If you summon monsters there, the damage will be—"
"Do you still think you're a Kizen student, my son?"
Malcolm flinched and shut his mouth.
"Please."
Margel laced his fingers together, fixing Malcolm with a frost-cold stare.
"Don't disappoint me a second time."
The moment Simon's group emerged from the port on the Parona Peninsula, they headed straight off to change clothes.
And thanks to Meilin's enthusiastic lobbying, they decided that since they'd come all the way to Parona, they might as well rent and wear the region's traditional dress.
"Seriously, what is this?"
Dick said, staring down at his riotously colorful outfit.
The silk garment, plastered with Moonflower patterns of the Parona Peninsula, fell to just below the knee, and under it he had to wear separate white trousers. And finally, a straw hat on his head to complete the look.
Dick looked thoroughly displeased.
"......Flower patterns on men's clothes? And this thing's not even a skirt, so why is it so frilly?"
"I think mine's not bad, actually."
Simon was in traditional dress too. Holding the brim of his hat down over one eye, he was striking poses in front of the mirror.
"This is 100% a rip-off! Nine hundred silver for three days of renting clothes like these? With that money I could eat twenty hearty bowls of meat noodles!"
"We're back~"
Meilin and Camibarez arrived.
Dick, mid-grumble with Simon, turned his head.
Whoa......!
A periwinkle-blue silk dress that flowed down beautifully, white trousers peeking through the side slits, and a straw hat smaller and more adorable than the men's version.
Meilin clasped her hands together and struck a lively pose, one leg lifted.
"Well? How do I look? Does it suit me?"
Camibarez was giggling with both hands pressed to her chest.
"I-I'm kind of nervous for some reason."
Simon's face flushed crimson, and he couldn't take his eyes off the two of them. He simply nodded, as if spellbound.
"They really do suit you. Both of you."
"No way, this is ridiculous."
Dick couldn't bring himself to say they looked bad, so he took it out on his own clothes instead.
"The girls' outfits are that pretty, and ours look like THIS? This is discrimination!"
"If you're that jealous, feel free to wear the women's outfit yourself, blockhead."
Meilin covered her mouth, snickering.
"And look at your best friend over there. It suits him just fine, doesn't it?"
Sure enough, the shop clerks couldn't take their eyes off Simon. Dick shook his head.
"He's exempt from the discussion. That guy gets compliments even walking around in a plain white shirt."
"......That's not a compliment, though."
And so the four of them stepped out into the streets, dressed in the traditional garb of the Parona Peninsula.
"Whoaaa!"
The streets were packed. Half the crowd, it seemed, were tourists in traditional dress just like Simon's group.
"It's so pretty!"
The Moonflower festival was already in full swing. Blossoms swayed in the breeze in riotous abundance, and countless food stalls wafted delicious smells through the air, tempting the tourists.
"Dick, where's our lodging?"
"About thirty minutes out by carriage from here? We need to do some shopping first, anyway."
"Let's buy some grilled snacks at the market here to take with us."
Simon and Dick hashed out the schedule ahead, while—
"Cami! Over here! So many Moonflowers bloomed over here!"
"Ooh, that spot's pretty too!"
Meilin and Camibarez were busy enjoying the festival to its fullest.
"Simon! Simon! Look over here!"
Simon, who'd been browsing the evening stalls, turned at Meilin's voice.
She had tucked herself into a patch of blue-violet Moonflowers, poking just her head out and smiling shyly.
"Guess where I am?"
"......!"
Simon, with zero immunity to games like this, went bright red.
"Ah! Lady Meilin!"
Dick marched right over, knelt before the flowerbed where Meilin stood, and lifted a nearby rock with a great wail.
"Lady Meilin! Where has your body gone, leaving only your head behind......!"
He was promptly sent flying by Meilin's flying kick. Simon burst out laughing.
"Simon~ Simon~"
This time it was Camibarez, pointing her fingertip at a stall.
"Do you want to try those skewers over there?"
"Sure. My treat."
"Ah, no! I should—"
Simon flashed her a grin.
"Let me buy. I've got some money coming in over the vacation."
The ten thousand gold he'd received from Israfil for the Holy Federation mission.
And so, even as Simon enjoyed the festival in the company of his squadmates for the first time in ages, savoring the happy hours, a small worry lingered at the back of his mind.
How am I going to bring up the student council thing?
He intended to make the offer to them tonight. Trailing after the others, he was chewing over the problem alone when—
Thud!
In the crowded street, he collided with someone.
"Eep! I-I'm so sorry!"
The passerby who'd run into him bowed hurriedly and reached out a hand. When Simon came to his senses, he found himself flat on the ground.
"Are you hurt anywhere? I'm truly, truly sorry!"
Simon's eyes widened.
What was that just now?
He hadn't had his Jet-Black activated, but even so, Simon's physical resilience was on another level from an ordinary person's. Even lost in thought, he hadn't expected to go down that easily.
Simon lifted his head to look at the passerby.
A red-haired boy, young and clean-cut, with a high, clear forehead and a thick, shaggy mane of lion-like hair.
Doesn't seem like he did it on purpose. Honestly looks like a genuine accident.
Simon took the boy's hand and got up.
"Once again, I'm really sorry!"
The boy apologized over and over.
"Don't worry about it. I was daydreaming and not watching where I was going either."
The red-haired boy apologized several times more, then vanished into the crowd. Even through the robe wrapped around him, Simon had glimpsed something long and cloth-wrapped strapped to his back.
"Simon! Simon! Where'd you go?"
"Ah, sorry. I'll be right there."
"Uuugh! That hurts~"
The red-haired young man, having slipped out of the crowd, rubbed his shoulder with watering eyes.
Something happen?
A woman's voice drifted from the communication crystal he'd set on a fence.
"I was just walking along and bumped into someone, and my magic went off. The other person fell down, and all I got was this much pain......"
He scratched his head.
"Normally I'd be the one sprawled flat on the ground, right? Ahaha!"
Didn't I tell you to stop being so clumsy? Mercenary King.
The boy called the Mercenary King replied with an embarrassed look.
"Ugh! That title still feels like a bit much for me."
Then get used to it~ How's the situation?
"Still quiet."
As if none of the clumsiness had ever happened, the boy scanned the streets with a serious expression.
"But are you sure? About the intel saying the Randolph Gang is going to attack."
Can't promise certainty. But hey, we get paid whether there's an attack or not. Here's hoping nothing happens.
"Mm."
The boy ran his fingers along the hilt of the sword on his back. Then, as if something had just occurred to him, he spoke up.
"Oh! Right! That reminds me — I bought an amazing souvenir at that Parona market!"
A souvenir?
The boy rummaged through his pockets and held something up.
"This! It's a magic artifact that makes coins you dropped on the street easier to spot if you carry it! For the low, low price of ten gold!"
......
A silence fell over the communication crystal for a moment.
AAARGH! You believed that? You couldn't earn ten gold in a lifetime of picking up dropped coins!
The boy's mouth fell open.
"Th-then I got scammed?"
YOU DUNCE!!