The Recruited Squad and the White-Haired Boy in a Dream
Nothing had gone amiss.
For the squads with the highest scores, that is.
“Squad 8, Squad 10, and Squad 11.”
“Yes!”
The squads holding Fitzgerald, Simon, and Asseraz respectively had taken the top marks. The members whose A+ was now confirmed whooped with joy, throwing their arms around each other and slapping high-fives.
“Nice! Nice!”
“This A+ is a huge deal!”
As Squad 8 basked in their triumph, only Asseraz turned his back with a sour expression.
“Asseraz! Where are you going?”
“……”
Simon, mid-high-five with Loraine, watched Asseraz's retreating figure.
He looked like a man who couldn't swallow his frustration.
He's oddly fixated on me. I can't remember doing anything to wrong him.
Fwoooosh!
But there was one more person fixated on him.
Having finished one tier down at an 'A', Hector was glaring at Simon with eyes blazing murderously.
……Haha.
Simon quickly gathered his squad members and made himself scarce.
After class came, as always, the waiting work of the Student Council.
With the Dark Festival — which had cost them countless sleepless nights — finally over, routine duties were back in swing, which left them with a little breathing room.
Today's tasks were the usual easy fare: managing the academic calendar and posting the relevant notices on the bulletin boards.
GLOBAL GRAND TOXICOLOGY COMPETITION
Hosted by: Pentamonium
Simon pressed the paper onto the bulletin board in the corridor and stepped back with a satisfied look on his face.
Not a bad arrangement, if I say so myself?
At the thought, a laugh escaped him before he could help it. It felt like only yesterday he'd been battling Ever Kire and the false goddess — and here he was, pouring his whole heart into notice placement.
“There we go.”
Mayrin, who had come along, was on tiptoe, paper pressed against the board, grunting as she tried to pin it in place. Her stream-of-a-brook sky-blue hair swayed from side to side.
Simon quietly sidled over and held the paper steady for her.
“Ah, thanks.”
Mayrin gave him a small smile and finished the job.
“Does this one go next to it?”
“Yeah, yeah. Although…….”
Mayrin's eyes narrowed.
“You idiot! Why did you put the competition notice in the middle?”
“Isn't that where the important stuff goes?”
“Then there's no room for anything else! And blank space on both sides kills visibility! Take it down, now!”
Mayrin was the type to take even trivial design details dead seriously.
She made him peel off every single notice he'd put up and rearrange them all from scratch, then stepped back and crossed her arms, looking proud of herself.
“There. Now it's good.”
“……Huh.”
For all that she seemed to be fussing over nothing, the results of her revision genuinely did look impeccably clean, so he had no argument to offer.
All that remained was to call Mojo and the direct minions and have them replicate the same layout on the other buildings' boards.
That was the end of today's outside work, too.
Simon and Mayrin walked back toward the Student Council room, chatting idly as they went.
“Hey, Simon?”
“Mm?”
Mayrin thrust her index finger up like a sword.
“You know the 7th Legion Commander, the big story at school lately? I think I know who it is!”
!
Simon's mouth went bone dry, but he managed a careless laugh.
“And who would that be?”
“Pion, obviously!”
she cried, her eyes sparkling. Simon did his best to ignore the chill crawling down his spine and answered like it was a joke.
“Aw, come on. Pion again?”
“No, I'm serious! I'm certain!”
She clapped her palms together with a snap.
“Hearing Lady Nephthys's speech settled it for me! She said, without a doubt, that the 7th Legion Commander was involved in the Saintess incident, right? Back in first year, I saw it with my own two eyes.”
Her voice dropped low.
“The sight of Pion, up in the sky, battling the Saintess!”
Simon shrugged.
“But if we don't even know who Pion is, doesn't that make it kind of pointless?”
“Pointless? It's not pointless at all!”
Mayrin snapped.
“That necromancer in the skull helmet who saved my life turned out to be the Commander of the 7th Legion! No wonder — that explains exactly why he was so strong!”
“……”
Simon swallowed and took a moment to choose his words, then spoke quietly.
“Aren't you scared, though?”
“What of?”
“He's the Commander of the Legion of Betrayal.”
Mayrin smiled brightly.
“So? He's the man who saved my life and our school.”
“……”
“Honestly, I think the Alliance citizens are being way too stiff-necked about it! It's not like he's the same person as the commander who betrayed everyone back then, right? So what's the problem?”
Simon smiled quietly.
Somehow—
“I suppose you could see it that way.”
—he found comfort in her words.
Their conversation drifted from topic to topic, and before they knew it, they'd arrived at the Student Council room. Mayrin flung the door open and called out.
“We're here!”
Camibarez, busy sorting through stacks of paperwork, looked up and beamed at the two of them.
“Welcome back! Simon! Mayrin!”
Across from her sat Dick, books piled haphazardly around him, scribbling calculations into a blank notebook. He seemed too busy to give a proper greeting — a single “Yo!” and a raised arm in their direction before his head went back down to work.
They still looked buried in paperwork.
“But seriously.”
Mayrin's gaze swung around.
“Why do you keep hanging around here?”
There on the guest sofa sat a boy, calmly sipping black tea as if he owned the place.
Long bangs swept dramatically to one side covered one of his eyes, and he wore an armband on his sleeve.
“The tea here's pretty good.”
It was Malcolm Randolph.
“Stop squatting here like you pay rent!”
Since the Dark Festival, one thing had changed within the Student Council.
In light of the outstanding operational performance demonstrated by the Discipline Prefects during the recent Dark Festival trial period, the Faculty Council hereby resolves to elevate the Discipline Prefects to the status of an official organization.
The Student Council hadn't lifted a finger — it was the school itself that had looked favorably on the Discipline Prefects and promoted them to an official body. From now on, they would even receive a monthly stipend.
Of course, their authority would be far weaker than it had been during the Festival.
They could wear the armband and discipline students only after the regular schedule ended.
Their duties, it seemed, amounted to patrolling the campus at night alongside the minions, watching for school violence or misconduct, and sweeping the Forbidden Forest and Rochest in search of rule-breakers.
“You know all this was my grand design, right?”
Dick said smugly, grinning. In truth, Dick had intended to keep the Discipline Prefects alive even after the Dark Festival ended, in order to shore up the Student Council's power.
“……Haaah. How did it come to this.”
Mayrin pressed a hand to her forehead. She did not look remotely pleased about Malcolm's joining them.
“Hey. If the kids are working, the least you could do is pretend to help.”
“I am helping.”
Malcolm jerked his chin backward.
And it was true — although Malcolm sat motionless on the sofa, his doppelgangers were bustling all over the Student Council room.
One wiped the windows with a cloth, another watered the potted plants, a third sorted the paperwork into piles needing signatures and piles not, and a fourth was filling out the activity log.
Watching the main body sip tea while four tasks were done simultaneously, Simon let out a faint laugh.
“That's genuinely impressive.”
“All part of my training.”
At Malcolm's wave, the doppelgangers, having finished every task, vanished with a series of pops.
There was no denying it — the guy was undeniably competent when it came to work.
“We've already got one Dick to worry about, and now we're adding another troublemaker to the pile. Just don't cause any trouble. None.”
Mayrin grumbled all that to herself as she sat down in her chair and pulled out her documents.
“Well, since we'll be working together, let's make it count.”
Simon said.
“Looking forward to it, Malcolm!”
Camibarez fluttered her bat wings and smiled brightly.
“Got anything to say as Head Prefect? Some grand ambition, maybe?”
Dick butted in.
“Ambition, huh.”
Malcolm set down his teacup and spoke.
“I'm the Head Prefect now, and since we're an official organization, I'd better step my game up. I'll drag at least one of the Top 10 down a peg.”
Malcolm jammed his hands into his pockets with a crooked grin.
“That'll satisfy you, right? President.”
Simon grinned back.
“I'll be waiting.”
“Hey, Malcolm. What about Top 7 over there?”
Dick snickered and pointed at Mayrin.
Ranked 7th overall, she gave a contemptuous little snort.
“Knock yourself out, if you can.”
As Vice President, Mayrin was a proven force in her own right. Malcolm turned his head.
“Eh. My matchup against Ivory Tower necromancers is just bad.”
“Ooo~ giving me respect? Look at you, learning some social skills.”
Dick sidled over snickering and stuck out his fist. Malcolm bumped it. Maybe because the two of them were bound by mutual self-interest, they made a surprisingly good pair.
“Why do you keep making me the butt of every joke?!”
Mayrin shrieked, and the rest of the room burst out laughing.
“Simon! Is this the right way to swing it?”
Inside the Mutant Club basement.
Arthur, the Mercenary King, was swinging the Snake Belly Sword — a blade made from the bones of a giant monster — right beside Simon.
WHAM! WHAM!
Arthur swung the hilt with perfect rhythm, but the blade at the far end merely flopped around in a limp, sorry-looking ripple.
“Swinging hard isn't everything.”
Simon, who had been supervising Arthur's training, shook his head. He drew Overlord's tentacle out of subspace and demonstrated personally.
“Like this.”
Shaaaaaaak!
Overlord's joints moved with uncanny, almost living precision, and the strike carried its force unbroken from body to tip, slicing through the air.
“Your Snake Belly Sword is, first and foremost, a summoned creature, isn't it? Don't think of it as swinging a sword — think of it as moving an undead by will.”
“Mm!”
“Keep the hand holding the hilt still, and move only the Snake Belly Sword.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
Whether he was actually controlling it by will or not, the tip of the sword swished up and down.
“Good. Now raise the hand holding the sword, keeping that.”
Arthur's hand rose.
“Bring it down — and move the Snake Belly Sword at the same time!”
WHUMP!
Arthur's sword came down, the force traveled along the joints, and at last the tip of the Snake Belly Sword descended in a powerful, fierce arc.
“Oh! Oooooh! I did it! I did it! Did you see that, Simon?!”
Arthur leapt around, whooping with joy. Simon smiled with pride and gave his head a gentle pat.
“Don't forget how that felt. Repeat it about thirty times, then come on up.”
“Yes, sir!”
WHACK!
WHAAACK!
Arthur threw himself into swinging the Snake Belly Sword while Simon climbed the basement stairs up to the clubroom.
Three 1st-year juniors assembling skeletons greeted him as he arrived.
Simon blinked.
“We do seem a bit shorthanded today.”
“Must be because Sasha and Molly are out!”
Sasha had returned to Pentamonium for treatment after the Ever Kire incident. The Saintess's Essence had entered her body, and a necromancer's constitution was not built for that — the shock must have been considerable.
As for Molly, the recent 7th Legion Commander affair had put the Dresden Kingdom on alert. As far as anyone knew, she had returned briefly to the royal palace in her capacity as royalty.
Knock knock—
Just then, a knock sounded at the clubroom door. The 1st-years seated up front called out, “Come in~”
Creeeak—
The moment the door opened, the 1st-years' eyes went round.
“Sasha's here!”
“Sasha!”
Sasha, her face looking a little healthier than before, smiled and traded greetings with her classmates, then came over to Simon.
“How are you feeling? You okay?”
Simon asked, worried.
“Mm. They said there was some kind of backlash, but I feel fine. The doctor told me not to push myself for a while.”
“That's a relief.”
Simon breathed a huge sigh. Thank goodness they'd managed to extract the Essence of Harvest so quickly.
“But, Simon.”
“What is it?”
“By any chance.”
Sasha looked straight up into Simon's face.
“Was your hair white?”
The 1st-years tilted their heads, puzzled by the question, which had come out of nowhere.
But inside, Simon was breaking out in a cold sweat.
D-did she remember something?
While Simon fidgeted inwardly, Sasha's face was flushing red as she thought of the white-haired boy from her dreams.
The man who had saved her back when she was made the false Saintess in the Neutral Zone.
It was the same this time. She didn't remember it clearly, but she'd dreamed that the white-haired boy had saved her once again. Far too vivid to be a mere dream.
Sasha was certain.
This time, too, it was Simon who had saved her.
“I honestly have no idea what you're talking about.”
Seeing Simon dripping with sweat, Sasha gave a sly smile and then flung her arms around him in a fierce hug.
“?!”
The watching classmates exploded.
“Hey, no fair! Only you get to hug him?!”
“What do you mean, 'if it hurts'?! Share or nothing!”
Sasha stuck her tongue out playfully at her classmates. Simon, flustered, managed to pry her off of him.
“Ahem.”
Just then, a cough sounded from the back of the room.
Fitzgerald sat in the president's seat, reading a newspaper.
He'd been so quiet that Simon hadn't even realized he was there. Simon gestured at Sasha to greet the president as well, and only then did she walk over to Fitzgerald and bow.
“President, I'm back on duty.”
“Ah — good to see you safe.”
Fitzgerald said, adjusting his glasses with an air of studied dignity. Sasha spun on her heel and returned to her classmates, and Simon walked over to Fitzgerald's side.
“What are you reading?”
Without a word, Fitzgerald turned the paper around and showed him the front page.
Simon found himself flinching yet again.