White's Letter of Resignation
-Whether White stays or goes, Simon, it's your call.
-Alright, then let's do it this way.
The Mutant Club members' plan was simple. Now that a Kizen student had formally applied for membership, no club could reject them without a clear, documented reason. So the gist of it was: accept the application, but structure the entrance exams in a way that put White at a disadvantage.
First, Fitzgerald's written exam had been perfect for failing White — except it had failed every other first-year too, which was the problem.
Second, Toto's interview had been built on the assumption that White, who relied on his ability, wouldn't possess a proper "special summon" — but as it turned out, White could create one with his power.
And finally, it was time for the third exam: Simon's practical test.
"Everyone ready?"
Simon spoke, club flag in hand.
"Yes, Senior!"
The first-years lined up at the starting line answered at the top of their lungs. Beside them, White stood staring blankly into the empty air.
"The final exam is the Summon Race! Any dark magic or abilities are forbidden except for skills related to your summons! Show of hands — who here can perform Jet-Black Stride?"
Jet-Black Stride was a technique taught at the very beginning of the first-year Battle Arts curriculum.
Most of the first-years raised their hands, though a few admitted they hadn't quite gotten the hang of it yet.
"To keep things fair, Jet-Black Stride is banned too. You either run on your own two feet, or you use a summon. Those are your only options."
"Yes, sir!"
"Good. On your marks—"
Every first-year wore a grave expression as they crouched low or finished their running stances. Arthur, for his part, stretched both legs out flat and took a position that looked less like a sprinter's crouch and more like lying down on the ground.
Flap—!
Simon swung the flag down with a crack.
"Go!"
Tat!
Dash!
All of the first-years shot forward with ferocious momentum.
And then...
"......"
White, still standing at the starting line, was gazing up at the sky with the same vacant eyes.
Just as expected.
Fitzgerald pushed up his glasses. They had deliberately chosen a park on the Kizen campus — one of the few places teeming with birds — and White was completely absorbed in watching them flit about.
On top of that, White's ability-summon was a magic-circle-fixed type, utterly unsuited for running.
I'd prefer it if he just failed here and now.
"Huaaaaah!"
Oblivious to all of it, the first-years were locked in heated competition. Sasha opened a subspace.
"Come out, Vinefoos!"
A summon wreathed in vines burst forth. The moment Sasha leapt onto its back, Vinefoos scurried forward on its tendrils like legs, accelerating rapidly.
It was already leaving the two-legged first-years far, far behind.
"First place is mine...!"
"Not a chance!"
Dududududu!
At the sudden thunder of hooves, Sasha's head whipped around.
There was Molly, riding atop that famously expensive skeletal horse — and like her other undead, it was coated head to toe in Blue-Gold.
"You and your disgusting piles of money."
"You take that back righ—!"
Halting mid-sentence, Molly swept her hair back as if to say she wouldn't be baited any longer.
"Insult my wealth all you like, but riches are every bit as vital to a necromancer as anything else. I intend to win, even if I have to throw everything I own at it."
Shrrrrk!
Just then, one of Vinefoos's vines shot out, coiling toward Molly's body. She recoiled in alarm.
"Kyaaah! What do you think you're doing?!"
"Simon Oppa said it himself, didn't he? Skills related to your summons are fair game for racing. But—"
Sasha curled her lips into a smirk and stretched out her arm.
"Nobody said anything about not interfering with your opponents."
Vines lashed out one after another, and Molly twisted and ducked wildly atop her skeletal horse to dodge them.
"Th-this is so unfair!"
"And a first-year owning a skeletal horse isn't?"
"If that's how cheap you want to play it, then fine."
Molly opened her subspace as well.
"I'll attack with my summons too—!"
"HahahahahaHAHAHAHA!"
Both girls' heads turned.
Dirt exploded in clouds around a pair of pounding feet as a red-haired boy came barreling past them out of nowhere.
?!
Their jaws dropped.
Without using Jet-Black Stride, on pure physical strength alone, he was overtaking a skeletal horse.
...Is my eyesight broken or something?
She genuinely wondered if that thing was even the same species as them.
Even superhumans should know when to stop being superhuman.
"Number two!"
Sasha shouted as he stole her lead.
"This is the Summoning Club's exam! What do you think you're doing? It's not Battle Arts class right now!"
"Hm?"
Arthur glanced back over his shoulder.
"What's wrong with just running?"
Sasha shot Molly a desperate look. Molly stammered for a moment — uh, um — before managing,
"Y-you didn't technically break the rules, but it's still... it's unsportsmanlike! A manners violation!"
"That's right! At the very least, you should have to ride a summon!"
Under the combined verbal assault of the two girls, Arthur scratched his head. Then he grinned and raised one arm sideways.
"Fine, then!"
Vwoom!
A subspace opened, and out popped the very same Snake Belly Sword he had shown them at the interview. Arthur gripped it in both hands and swung it hard.
"Hup! Stretch, dammaaatch—!"
In an instant, the sword's segmented joints unfolded and shot outward in a long, gleaming line. He sank the blade into a tree far ahead in a single stroke, then kicked off the ground, both feet leaving the earth behind.
Shaaaak!
His body hurled forward at a staggering speed.
Molly, watching, gaped in open horror.
"What — what kind of necromancer even are— oh?"
And there was Sasha, flying past right in front of Molly's eyes with a resonant whooom. As it turned out, she had secretly wound a vine of Vinefoos around Arthur's waist.
"Hi there! Princess Trust-Fund!"
"You—!!"
Her face burning scarlet, Molly seized the reins.
"If I catch you, you're dead!"
While the trio of first-year aces raced far ahead, White remained at the starting line, still fixated on the flock of birds overhead.
"Ah."
Just then, the birds fluttered away into the distance.
Once they disappeared behind a building and out of sight, White finally faced forward and readied himself to run. Fitzgerald, who had been observing from afar, pushed up his glasses.
So he's going to run now? Far too late.
White opened a subspace.
-Gurgle!
A summon he had never shown at the interview.
It looked for all the world like a living, breathing biological well. At its center, a spring of jet-black rippled and flowed, while tentacles of indeterminate origin swayed within.
White placed his hand on the summon's body.
He's draining the summon's jet-black. So he's going to use his ability.
Sssssss.
The darkness was drawn upward, and the spring dwindled steadily.
He has a summon that stores jet-black... so why, at the interview, did he go out of his way to borrow it from Simon?
Arms crossed, Fitzgerald's expression grew grim.
He's suspicious, no doubt about it. This man must fail here.
At last, with the absorption complete, White drew a magic circle on the ground in his white jet-black — jet-black conjured from his ability. Then he pulled an empty suit of armor from his subspace and dropped it onto the circle.
Grrrmbbble!
The armor's hollow interior filled with white jet-black and began to take form. Exactly the process they had witnessed at the interview — the ability-soldier rose to its feet.
A summon that can exist only within a magic circle. We already confirmed it's a fixed-circle type. What is he planning to do with that?
White hopped lightly onto the ability-soldier's shoulders. The soldier spread its arms wide and took a throwing stance.
You can't be serious—!
Fitzgerald's face twisted into an expression of pure disbelief, his glasses sliding askew down his nose.
FWAAAAAANG—!
The ability-forged soldier hurled White's body into the sky like a cannon shell.
The swirling gale knocked Fitzgerald off his feet, and the surrounding trees thrashed violently.
White's figure vanished from view in the blink of an eye.
"Gahk! Hah!"
Meanwhile, the first-year trio was closing in on the finish line. Sasha and Arthur, running neck and neck at the front, were both gasping for breath.
"Nnnnngh! Damn it! Let! Go!"
Arthur sprinted in a daze, clawing at the vine wrapped around his waist, but it wouldn't budge.
This gorilla of a boy!
Sasha clicked her tongue.
The vine connecting her to Arthur had woven together several entire trees, anchoring her in place — or so she'd planned. Instead, Arthur was simply dragging the trees along behind him as he ran. The boy's stamina defied all reason.
"I'm — I'm almost caught up!"
While Arthur and Sasha bickered, Princess Molly on her skeletal horse was closing in as well. All three sets of eyes turned simultaneously toward Simon, waiting at the finish line.
First place is mine!
Arthur drove the Snake Belly Sword into the ground at the finish line, and Sasha looped Vinefoos's vine around a tree just beyond it.
The instant both boy and girl pushed off the ground to leap across—
VROOOOOM!
"!!"
A colossal gust of wind erupted from nowhere, and a white-haired boy came flying in from the sky.
KRAKOOOOOM!
The ground at the finish line shattered, earth and rock surging into the air. Sasha and Arthur plowed through the churning cloud of dust, and finally, to the pounding of hooves, Molly crossed as well.
Click.
So this is how it ends up.
Simon checked the time on his timer and looked up.
"Second place, Sasha. Third, Arthur. Fourth, Molly. And first place... goes to White."
Grrrrrrrumble—!
A massive crater gaped at the finish line, and there, standing perfectly upright at its bottom, was the white-haired boy, brushing the dust from his head.
"Great work, everyone! Congratulations!"
At the finish line, Benya clapped and cheered. The three first-year aces lay sprawled on the ground, heaving for breath.
Benya handed out the water bottles and towels she'd been carrying in her arms.
Before long, the other first-years trickled in as well.
With White and the three special-admission students placed, the fifth, sixth, and seventh finishers crossing the line finalized the Mutant Club's regular roster.
The members had already been decided, but the first-years who arrived late still gave it everything they had right to the end.
"Simon."
Fitzgerald, who had waited at the starting line, walked over.
"Ah, good work out there, Fitzgerald."
"......"
Fitzgerald studied Simon's face for a long, quiet moment, then pressed his glasses up his nose.
"You knew it would turn out this way, didn't you."
Simon flinched, then let out a faint laugh.
"Caught me?"
"The Summon Race. I expected you to pick something that would fail White a little more conclusively — the fact that you chose a test this balanced struck me as odd."
Simon hesitated, as if rationing his words, then finally spoke.
"White is someone even the Kizen higher-ups are watching closely. And I know he's approaching me with an agenda of his own."
Then he met Fitzgerald's eyes.
"I don't think this is a problem that goes away by avoiding it. As White has drawn closer to me, I intend to keep an equally close watch on him."
"That's far too dangerous."
Simon laughed, as if the warning hardly needed saying.
"Since I came to Kizen... has there ever been a time when things weren't dangerous?"
"......"
Fitzgerald thought it over in silence, then let out a resigned laugh of his own.
"Fair point."
Seven regular members had been chosen. The successful applicants crowded into the club room, chattering noisily as they traded ideas about the plans ahead.
Those who had failed swallowed their disappointment, bowed to the seniors, and filed out of the club room.
Fortunately, the Mutant Club had held its entrance exams earlier than most, so those students still had a chance to try out for other clubs.
"......"
And White, his acceptance now official, mingled with no one. He slipped out of the club room alone.
Then he went strolling leisurely down the street by himself.
Sob. Sob.
Sudden crying stopped him in his tracks.
Behind the Mutant Club building.
A first-year girl was shedding tears in fat, ugly drops, while two other girls stood beside her trying to console her.
"...I'm sorry. Sniff! I wanted to do club activities with you guys too. Sniff!"
"It's okay. Don't cry, hic."
"We're the ones who should be sorry. We passed and left you behind."
Pat, pat—
Her friends rubbed the sobbing girl's back.
"Ruri. If it means that much to you, we'll quit too and—"
"Sniff! If you do that, I'll really be mad!"
The girl called Ruri yelled even as she wept. When the crying only got worse, the other two had to promise, over and over, that they would never, ever quit before Ruri finally stopped.
"I wanted in so badly."
She said, her voice thick and stuffed up.
"At first I applied because the Student Council President was so cool, but the other seniors are all wonderful too, and the club just looked like so much fun... I guess my skills just weren't enough. It can't be helped."
Tears welled in her eyes again as she berated herself, and her friend pulled her into a fierce hug.
"Still a crybaby, through and through."
I — I want to die.
After crying her eyes out and parting with her friends, Ruri was crawling back toward the Mutant Club room.
Because she'd left her uniform jacket behind.
She had to wear it first thing tomorrow, and she'd stowed it in some out-of-the-way corner where her friends were unlikely to spot it — so she had to go herself.
Grab the jacket and get out fast, before things get awkward.
The moment she stood before the club room door, rowdy laughter spilled out from inside.
Everyone looked so happy.
She steeled herself against the sour feeling creeping up on her again, knocked softly, and stepped inside.
"Um, sorry to bother you! I left my jacket here, so I'll just grab it and go—"
"Oh, perfect timing."
Simon rose from his seat. Every eye in the club room turned to her.
"You're Ruri Bidor — the eighth to apply, right?"
"Ah, yes!"
"Well, a spot just opened up rather suddenly."
Simon continued with a sheepish smile.
"If you're willing... would you like to join the club again?"
"WhaAAAAAT?!"
"Great to have you, Ruri!"
"Welcome!"
Before she could even answer, her friends came sprinting over and dragged her inside. Sasha and the other first-years clapped and cheered for her.
While that corner of the room hummed with warmth and celebration, the two second-years sat on the sofa wearing profoundly troubled expressions.
"...I hereby give up on trying to understand White."
Fitzgerald declared, shaking his head. Beside him, Toto wore a look of absolute incomprehension.
"Same here. He went to all the trouble of passing the exams — why on earth would he quit?"
"Maybe he already achieved his original purpose."
"You mean absorbing Simon's jet-black at the interview? But that jet-black flowed right back into Simon afterward."
While Fitzgerald and Toto debated White's motives with great fervor, Simon gazed at the paper lying on the table, his heart a tangle of conflicting feelings.
LETTER OF RESIGNATION — White
Simon heaved a long sigh and lifted his head.
"Wrestling with it isn't going to produce an answer. Let's leave this problem for later."
Having said that to his classmates, he turned around.
"First-years — I was thinking we'd throw a quick welcome party. Anyone want to head out to Roches—"
YEEEEEAAAAAH—!
A deafening roar of cheers erupted, loud enough to burst eardrums. The first-years squealed with delight, leaping up and already shrugging into their uniform jackets.
I have no idea what all the fuss is about, but...
Simon straightened his tie, picked up White's letter of resignation, and tucked it away inside his coat.
I will find out what your purpose is. Count on it.
Simon contacted Erzebet.