The President's Coat
"Special Admission No. 1, Sasha Andrasil! Please make your way to the podium!"
The hall fell deathly quiet. All thousand freshmen—and even the guests seated up above—were reeling at the name Sasha.
"Sasha? Who's that? Do you know her?"
"Never heard the name before."
"Wasn't the Mercenary King supposed to be No. 1?"
Ignoring the murmurs rippling through her classmates, Sasha walked toward the podium.
She was almost unrecognizable. Her eyes shone with a sharp, quick-witted light, her once-frail frame had filled out and grown taller, and her short-cropped brown hair brimmed with life. Dressed in the Kizen uniform, she bore no trace whatsoever of the scruffy orphan girl from the Neutral Zone.
It was as if an ugly duckling had become a swan.
Even Simon watched her pass by with a look of astonishment.
Swish—
The two of them crossed paths. Simon turned to look back, and so did Sasha. He caught sight of her waving.
"See you in a bit, Simon Oppa."
"Yeah."
Simon smiled.
"Congratulations, Special Admission No. 1."
She answered with a nod and a grin.
Soon Sasha climbed the steps and took her place at the podium. Arthur, already standing there, glanced at her, and as she moved to stand beside him she muttered flatly:
"What are you staring at?"
"Oh—nothing. I was just wondering if you knew the Student Council President too."
"That's none of your business."
The curt reply came back like a slap. Arthur decided she was in a foul mood today and turned his head away.
Shortly after, a henchman finished the instructions and laid a sheet of paper bearing the oath before the two of them.
"Follow my pace."
"No way. You follow my signal."
Bickering to the last, the two of them raised their open palms and, without bothering to decide who went first, shouted:
"We swear!"
"We swear!"
At the same moment their oaths rang out, the other freshmen echoed them, palms spread wide.
Something about this feels strange.
Simon, who had ascended to the podium for his own inauguration as Student Council President, watched the scene with a look of quiet satisfaction.
Those two are Special Admission No. 1 and No. 2.
Midway through her steady recitation, Sasha's eyes drifted toward Simon. She gave him a light wink—then began racing ahead of the script all on her own. The sudden shift in tempo threw Arthur into a panic, and he stumbled over his lines again and again while laughter broke out among the freshmen.
"Agent Simon!"
In the middle of the freshman oath, the master of ceremonies, Seywir, slipped quietly over to Simon's side.
"Oh, it's been a while, Seywir."
The two of them shook hands warmly.
"The way people's paths cross is truly remarkable."
Seywir said, glancing at Sasha.
"An orphan from the Neutral Zone grows up to become Special Admission No. 1 at Kizen; a disgraced bottom-rung agent like me finds himself hosting a ceremony at Kizen; and Agent Simon stands here as Student Council President."
"Yes."
Simon spoke with a voice carrying a dozen different emotions.
"It really is something, isn't it."
Just then, the freshmen's oath came to an end. Seywir stepped forward to draw applause from the crowd, while Sasha and Arthur—clearly on bad terms already—exchanged glares as they descended from the podium.
At that moment, the curtain behind the stage was drawn back, and a broadcast henchman beckoned.
"Mr. President! This way, please!"
"Right, coming."
Stepping through the curtain into the backstage of the Grand Auditorium, Simon blinked in surprise. Henchmen were sprinting in every direction, frantically preparing for the next stage of the ceremony.
Right beside him, a potbellied middle-aged man was dabbing sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief; the moment Seywir called his name, he scurried out onto the stage, followed by the sound of student applause.
"Your turn is right after the next one, Mr. President."
The henchman flipped through his documents briskly as he spoke in rapid-fire fashion.
"You know how it goes, right? You set the skull staff down in front of the Acting Headmistress and kneel on one knee, then she drapes the President's Coat over your shoulders—that's the ending. Simple, isn't it? Kind of like the necromancer's oath. Then comes your speech. Just talk about how it feels to be president, quickly and smoothly."
Simon's face went blank.
"Staff? What staff?"
"Oh, it's coming now."
Two henchmen were trudging over, groaning under the weight of an enormous ceremonial staff topped with a skull. One look said it was heavy.
"Ah! And you have to hold it in one hand."
"……"
Simon tried lifting the ceremonial staff in a single motion and gave up. When he channeled jet-black into both arms and tried again, he barely managed to raise it. A bitter smile crept across his lips.
If I want to hold this with one hand, I'll have to use Internal Jet Black Eruption.
A henchman checked the situation beyond the curtain, then turned to Simon.
"Mr. President! Start getting ready!"
"Yes. By the way, who's serving as Acting Headmistress……?"
"That would be Vice Principal Jane. The Headmistress is supposed to attend in person, but as you know, she's an incredibly busy woman."
Just then, the man's rambling voice was cut off, and Seywir's closing remarks rang out from the stage. Applause rose from all around the hall.
"Now it's your turn, Mr. President!"
The third-floor VIP seats of the Kizen Main Auditorium.
There, the most venerable elders and dignitaries of the Dark Alliance sat in ornate chairs, observing the entrance ceremony.
"This year's entrance ceremony is a bore."
"I hear the master of ceremonies is a necromancer who was expelled from the community, Special Admission No. 1 is a commoner, and No. 2 is a mercenary."
"The mercenary I can understand, but Sasha Andrasil? Never heard of her."
"They say she's an unpedigreed nobody from the Neutral Zone. Nephtys must be getting old."
"Last year's freshmen were simply too exceptional, that's all."
Dick, leaning back in his seat on the third floor and listening to the VIPs grumble, grinned.
Yes, yes. Just keep whining away, as expected.
Once that tedious man's speech ended, it would be Simon's inauguration—and the speech was nearly finished now.
Now! This is the moment!
Snap!
Dick snapped his fingers. At the signal, with a rolling rumble, a wheeled cart came to a stop in front of the VIPs.
"Wh-what's this?"
The startled elders turned around.
Click!
The Student Council's direct henchmen reverently cracked open the whisky and poured it in a smooth stream into fine glasses. Then they draped tablecloths over the armrests of the elders' chairs, dampened them with water, and set down the whisky glasses.
"Prepared for you by our students, with respect."
Ohhh—
The faces of the grumbling elders brightened as if by magic.
"Our students did this?"
"Yes, sir."
The elders, who had been craving a drink anyway, wasted no time wetting their throats with whisky. Pleasant laughter began drifting from every corner of the seating.
"Delicious! Mmm!"
"Is this Blody? Twenty-year vintage, by the taste."
"Clever students, putting this together."
"Everyone, look here! They've laid a tablecloth over the armrest—this is the Old Chair!"
"Young folk who know the Old Chair? They've been raised with proper manners!"
Watching the VIPs' mood turn cheerful in an instant, a smile spread across Dick's lips.
Of course, men of power had been pampered like this until they were sick of it. But they were human too. Unexpected courtesy at an unexpected moment stirs the heart.
And then—
Here it comes!
—The new Student Council President of Kizen this year, second-year student Simon Polentia! Please come forward!
The news that a second-year—and not Ezell—had become Student Council President had never been made public. In other words, this was precisely the moment when the words second-year Student Council President should have sent the hall into confusion.
WHOOOOOAAA!
A tidal wave of cheers erupted from the freshmen.
"What's gotten into them?!"
The source of this cheering: the Langestin freshmen Simon had brought with him.
And not just any of them—the very boys and girls who had witnessed Simon's heroics with their own eyes.
Simon! Simon!
With Arthur at the lead, the freshmen chanted Simon's name over and over, and the rest of the first-years were quickly swept up in the festive atmosphere, clapping and laughing along.
"So the president's a second-year, is he?"
"Hehe! What does it matter if he's a second-year? The juniors adore him that much!"
"New wine belongs in new wineskins, I always say."
The VIPs, fresh off their first glass and in high spirits, didn't look unkindly on Simon's entrance.
But up on the second floor, the expressions of several third-years were hardening.
"Popular with the freshmen, isn't he."
"……This makes things complicated."
The first-year class numbered a thousand—the largest in all of Kizen. If Simon enjoyed the freshmen's wholehearted support, the third-years could no longer afford to move against him carelessly.
Thud. Thud.
Then Simon emerged from behind the podium, his physical abilities boosted by Internal Jet Black Eruption, lifting the massive staff with a single hand.
Seywir, sensing his moment, whipped up the crowd with relish.
"Please, everyone—a great round of applause for our new Student Council President!"
Savoring the flood of cheers, Seywir turned his head.
"And now, the Acting Headmistress! Please come forward—hurk!"
It was not Jane.
Scampering out onto the stage, quick little steps carrying her forward, was a tiny girl with silver hair.
The Witch of Death. The ruler of Kizen.
"Nephtys has come in person!"
"Good heavens!"
Not only the elders above but even the freshmen on the ground floor began to murmur.
"She's huge!"
"No, she's tiny?"
"Sh-she's terrifying!"
"She's beautiful! Look at those eyes!"
"She has three eyes!"
Cognition Enhancement Magic. Everyone who looked at her saw Nephtys exactly as they had imagined the Witch of Death—projecting onto her the very image they expected and feared.
Although—
Isn't her outfit way too big for her?
To those who knew her true appearance—Simon included—she looked like nothing more than a small girl.
"Well, this is a surprise."
"Nephtys herself came."
Everyone was stunned. It had been well over a decade since the Headmistress had personally appeared at a Student Council inauguration instead of leaving it to the Vice Principal.
Nephtys scampered over and came to a stop in front of Simon. Simon greeted her in a low voice.
"I didn't expect you to come yourself."
"I owe you at least this much!"
Nephtys crossed her arms and laughed, Hah!
"We have our contract, after all."
"……Right."
Nephtys had promised Simon that she would help rehabilitate the image of the 7th Legion—the Legion of Betrayal—so that it could operate normally again in the future. Beyond simply endorsing a second-year as Student Council President, this was all part of her long game of grooming a future Legion Commander.
Soon, following Seywir's guidance, Simon set the heavy staff down on the floor and lowered himself to one knee.
"Ta-dah!"
Nephtys flicked her hand through the air as if shaking out laundry, and with a golden shimmer, a long coat appeared in her grasp.
It was the famous President's Coat, in a league entirely apart from the plain uniform jacket that ordinary students wore over their clothes. Nephtys toddled close and settled that symbol of authority onto Simon's shoulders.
Amid the crowd's fervent cheers, Simon rose to his feet. He bowed his head first to Nephtys, then greeted the third floor, then the second, and finally the freshmen on the ground floor as well.
Seywir handed Simon a sound-amplifying crystal orb.
"I am Simon Polentia, your Student Council President."
Simon began.
"I have been granted an honor far beyond what I deserve. Now that I have taken up this duty, I will not cast the responsibility aside lightly—if not for my own sake, then for the sake of everyone who helped me get here."
Simon's gaze drifted briefly to the second floor before returning.
"Our student council exists to represent the students and to defend their rights. We will not be buried in one side's opinions or ideology; we will always make wise and reasonable choices. We will talk, we will deliberate, and we will act quickly. We will show you through action. Please keep watching over us."
To a roar of applause, Simon handed back the crystal orb and descended from the podium.
Meilin and Camibarez, seated in the front row, were on their feet clapping, and behind them the freshmen—Sasha, Arthur, Molly, and the rest—were cheering as well.
And in the VIP seats, the elders, their moods thoroughly improved, were nodding along.
"A bright young man. Polite, and well-spoken too."
"Nothing wrong with a second-year holding the post. Not a thing!"
Having caught wind of this chatter, Dick smiled and poured himself the last of the whisky. Then he stepped forward to watch the spotlight pour down on Simon.
"That's it. Keep shining up there in the spotlight, Simon."
He raised his glass.
"The dirty work is mine to carry."
Then he tilted the glass at a slight angle in a mock 'cheers' and took a sip.
Pfft.
At the laughter behind him, Dick flinched and spun around. Mojo, leader of the Student Council's direct henchmen, was struggling to hold back a grin.
"So even you, Mr. Treasurer, are just a helpless eighteen-year-old after all."
Dick's face went red, and he cleared his throat with a hem-hem.
"K-keep it a secret from the kids, will you?"