White's Shadow
They arrived at the second arena.
It was identical to the first one from its overall design down to the seating capacity, so the spectators were able to simply file over and settle into their same spots as if nothing had changed.
Simon once again made his way to the contestant waiting bench, while the transfer students took their places in the back of the stands as before, chattering away busily.
And Meilin was preparing for her match up front.
"......"
Having finished her stretching, she closed her eyes and was cycling the Jet-Black through her body. A haze of black smoke drifted up from her form.
Her focus is solid.
No matter how many people surrounded her or how loud they were, nothing seemed to disturb her in the slightest. Before long, she slowly opened her eyes and spread her palms, and jet-sheened ice crackled to life around her, blooming into snowflowers.
It was ice sculpting of such astonishing refinement that the transfer students watching up close couldn't hold back their gasps of awe. Simon nodded in satisfaction.
She's in top form.
He'd worried because it came so soon after the Mission Assessment, but it had been a pointless concern. When she clenched her fist, the snowflowers in the air crumbled away with it.
"Kizen's Vice President looks pretty decent too."
"She's direct-line Ivory Tower, you know."
"Seriously?"
At the words 'Ivory Tower', Meilin turned her head with a sharp little motion. The transfer students were all averting their gazes and exchanging awkward glances.
Simon quietly smiled and approached her.
"Kizen's victory is already sealed, you know. You could take it easy."
She gave a scornful snort.
"I'm not the one who needs to take it easy. When it's Kizen, it has to be a total victory."
"Everyone~"
Both their heads turned. Camibarez was bounding into the contestant waiting area.
"Kami!"
Meilin called out with a bright smile. Simon followed suit.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes, I'm all better now!"
Thankfully, Alizarin, her opponent, had apparently opened his eyes while being carried off on the stretcher. Nothing had been seriously injured, and the medical staff said he was well enough to attend class as soon as tomorrow.
Camibarez had apologized to Alizarin, bandages and all, but—
"No, it was me who spoke so carelessly about the Ursula blood being bloated and whatnot. I'm truly sorry for that."
Alizarin had bowed his head deeply in return.
"That power of yours... it must be truly hard to bear."
That last remark of his, Camibarez chose not to share with Simon and Meilin.
She didn't want to worry them.
If even half of this blood is an inescapable destiny, then I'll forge it into strength of my own making. So Camibarez resolved.
Just then, the announcement rang out.
📢 Would the students of the final match please enter the arena.
Meilin let out a great hoo-ah of a breath, then thrust her arms up with fiery enthusiasm.
"I'll go sweep 'em aside and be right back!"
Simon nodded with a smile, and Camibarez hugged her tight to cheer her on. Before long, Meilin strode out with a confident gait.
"Go get 'em, Vice President!"
"Show us what you've got!"
The transfer students' cheers followed her out. Meilin gave them a light, grateful glance and walked on, her sky-blue hair streaming behind her.
And so Meilin departed.
"......"
"......"
An awkward silence descended between Simon and Camibarez, the only two left on the waiting bench.
Oh.
Sweat trickled down Simon's face as he stared rigidly ahead.
...I want to crawl into a mouse hole and die.
The moment Camibarez had been overwhelmed by the blood and turned into someone else entirely, he'd been so shocked and flustered that the only thought in his head had been to protect her, whatever it took.
But as time passed and he cooled his head, he belatedly realized exactly what he had done to her.
"P-please let go of me...!"
"Not until you come back to your senses! Close the seal and calm the Ursula blood!"
THUD!
Simon drove his forehead into the arena fence. The arena guard in front of him flinched in surprise.
I w-want to die.
Thinking about it now, he had no idea what had possessed him to do something like that. Simon, having personally updated his own hall of shame, shuddered from head to toe. He lifted his bruised forehead and glanced sideways to find Camibarez, her cheeks flushed just as red, looking at him.
Shhk—
The instant their eyes met, she whipped her head away and fixed her gaze on her own feet. Simon felt his heart drop like a stone.
H-how am I supposed to apologize?
School life would begin in earnest tomorrow. He'd be running into her constantly in the Student Council Room too, and things couldn't stay this awkward between them forever.
If there was ever a right moment to apologize, it was now, immediately after the offense.
"K-Kami. Um, hey."
Simon said.
She answered with an ant's-whisper of a voice — "Yes." Then, gathering her courage, she lifted her eyes to meet his—
'...!'
—and within one second her gaze snapped back to its default position, pooling at her toes. Her face burned, and her fingertips prickled with pins and needles.
The only one allowed to do with you as they please... is you yourself.
The blood kept rushing to her face. Even just catching Simon's scent beside her made the scene from that moment panorama across her mind, tickling at her throat.
No matter how mortifying, how embarrassing it all was — how could she possibly call the man who had charged into the arena to save her a fool, or any of those things?
She had turned around right away and thanked him, but of course that alone hadn't been enough. She owed him an apology too.
Both their heads turned at the same time.
"About earlier—!"
"The truth is...!"
And then, in perfect unison, the two of them broke off eye contact and looked away, unable to hold each other's gaze a second longer.
"...Meilin's match is starting."
"Y-yes, yes it is. Ahaha."
The guard standing in front of the contestants' bench let out a long, heavy sigh.
These kids. Salting the wound in stereo, they are. Just lovely.
"Meilin of Kizen. White of Moiran. To the front."
The two students of the final match were called out to the head of the arena.
In that instant—
BOOOOOOOOOOO!
A vicious wall of jeers erupted, enough to startle even Simon. It was the complete opposite of the courtesy the Moiran students and spectators had shown all day.
Camibarez whirled around in alarm, scanning their surroundings.
"Wh-why only at Meilin...!"
"That's not jeering at Meilin."
Simon looked back over his shoulder with a grave expression.
"Get lost, White!"
"What face did you crawl up to the Transfer Evaluation Match with?!"
"Coward! Go home!"
"Fraud!"
BOOOOOO!
The target of the jeers wasn't Meilin at all — it was 'White', a Moiran student himself.
None of it made any sense.
What's going on with him?
The boy had been on Simon's radar from the very start, and with the crowd reacting like this, his curiosity could no longer be contained.
Simon quietly edged along the contestants' bench toward the stands and leaned his body toward them.
"Hey, guys."
Simon called out casually, leaning into the stands. The Moiran students who'd been showering down boos jumped and turned to stare at him.
"K-Kizen's Student Council President!"
"Your match earlier was awesome!"
On the collars of their uniforms, he could see badges bearing the number '2' — the badge that marked second-years at Moiran.
Simon glanced around at the nearby adults once, then asked quietly.
"That kid, White. He's a Moiran student too, so why does everyone hate him?"
As if they'd been waiting for someone to ask, the Moiran students clamored over one another to spill everything they knew about White.
According to them, White had transferred in out of nowhere at the tail end of first year — right before finals.
No identity. No known place of origin.
Some said he was from a fallen noble house; others, a royal family's hidden son. Nothing but rumors, thick as fog.
At first, the Moiran students hadn't paid White much mind and had treated him kindly.
But the trail he blazed from the moment he arrived was nothing short of radical. Not only did he score perfect marks on every exam he touched, he formally challenged Moiran's Top 10 to duels and crushed them one after another with overwhelming gaps in skill, like breaking down dojo doors.
He brought the school's second-ranked student to his knees in a single match, and in the end he felled even the top-ranked transfer candidate — the valedictorian hopeful — making himself, beyond all argument, the strongest first-year in the school.
For context: for students of the Three Great Necromancer Schools, the second semester of first year — when Kizen transfers are decided — is when competition burns hottest and nerves fray rawest. During this window, even upperclassmen walked on eggshells around the first-years.
Then a star-class talent had burst onto the scene like a comet, and the mood within the school turned restless and sour.
The administration started punching calculators, and despite the absolute rule that 'transfer candidates must complete at least one full semester,' they carved out an exception just to slot White onto the transfer list.
To be fair, sending White to Kizen may well have been the obvious choice for a board of directors whose mandate was to maximize the school's honor and profit.
But from the students' standpoint, it was a transgression they could never, ever tolerate. The first-years of that time rose up in revolt — and the upperclassmen rose up with them.
In the end, even the third-years, the very summit of Moiran, stepped into the affair.
Moiran's third-year Student Council President proposed a duel to White. White staked his transfer admission; the President staked her seat.
And in that match—
"White won."
At the Moiran student's words, Simon's jaw dropped wide open.
"...That's a thing that can happen? A first-year transfer beat a third-year Student Council President?"
"Yeah, hard to believe, but it's the truth."
He smiled bitterly.
"The President stepped down from her seat, and two days later — still reeling from the shock — she submitted her withdrawal papers to the Headmaster."
"......"
"And there was only one month left until her graduation."
The rumors about White snowballed from there.
That his seventeen-year-old profile was a lie and he was actually a licensed professional adult necromancer. That he used forbidden black magic. That he was a mole for Epnel.
Moiran's Headmaster himself acknowledged the students' suspicions were legitimate, and every verification process imaginable was thrown at White — but in the end, the conclusion was that nothing about him was amiss.
One way or another, in a necromancer school, ability came first and foremost.
White succeeded in claiming one of the Kizen transfer seats. And even now, as second-years, the resentment still festered in the students' hearts.
Hmm.
Simon's head turned. He could see Meilin shaking hands with White.
I'm... kind of worried.
Kizen's victory was sealed either way, and since White was dangerous, part of him wanted to stop the match. But this was a school tradition carried on for centuries, and pulling her now would be an insult to Meilin, who had sworn to win.
Here, all he could do was trust her.
"Both students. Are you ready?"
At the referee's question, Meilin and White nodded at the same time.
"Then we will now begin the match between White of Moiran and Meilin Villenne of Kizen!"
The coaching professors withdrew, and after one final check of both contestants, the referee's arm came down.
"Begin!"
Shouts poured in from every corner of the stands.
"Go, Kizen!"
"Somebody PLEASE knock that punk down a peg!"
A deeply ironic situation — Moiran students cheering for the rival school.
Meilin immediately unfurled her magic circle and readied her offensive. White frost could already be seen spilling out of it.
Thankfully, Meilin's condition today is at its absolute peak.
Once the match began, Simon hurried back around to Camibarez's side. She looked at him.
"Simon, what were you talking about with the Moiran students?"
"Ah, a little about Meilin's opponent. I'll tell you the details later."
White drew no magic circle at all. He simply stood in place, utterly motionless — as if to say, go ahead, throw everything you have at me. Nothing more.
How will Meilin play this one out?
As Simon watched, pondering that question, she finally spread her first magic circle wide.
⟨ Frozen ⟩
White frost spread out in every direction, and the water flowing through the canals around them froze over solid.
A prudent gleam rippled through Meilin's eyes.
Both of the opponents I've faced so far fought with water-based techniques. With this, I've neutralized that annoying home-field advantage.
Then she raised her outstretched palm high.
KRRRK-KRRK-KRAK!
KRRK-KRAK!
The ice that had frozen across the canals surged up into the air. This wasn't merely about blocking an opponent's water-related dark magic — far from it.
From now on, I'm going to put it to far better use!
The ice all around her began gathering toward her, orbiting her as its center.
Defense was unnecessary.
It was the preparation for a relentless, total assault.