The Colors of the Request Board

All of the first-years had returned to Kizen.

Everyone expected the aftermath to drag on, but once classes actually began, the brutal days on Kera Island faded like a dream, and the daily routine swallowed them back up faster than anyone had anticipated.

The Cyclops performance assessment, the Duel Evaluations, the island survival test — every single one of Kizen's curricula shared the same trait: they inflamed the students' hunger for growth and fanned the flames of motivation.

Trials stirred all manner of emotions in the students. Envy and jealousy toward those more talented than themselves. Tension born from watching the very underdogs they'd looked down on grow at a shocking pace. Whatever else could be said, the classroom atmosphere after a performance assessment was always a lively one.

Simon, of course, was no less spurred on than anyone else.

"Get ready."

It was evening, the sun sinking low on the horizon. Professor Aaron ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of Summoning was supervising Simon's Restoration training.

This had become the routine on every day the Summoning curriculum covered Restoration. Simon had already mastered the standard techniques, leaving nothing more for him to learn from the regular lectures — so each time, Aaron carved out spare moments to give him special lessons tailored to his level.

"Ready, Professor!"

"Begin."

At Aaron's signal, intensity flooded Simon's eyes. The body of the skeleton standing beside him came apart, its bones flying toward Simon's arm.

Tschazazazak!

Simon's right arm vanished beneath a sheath of bone. The long humerus and femur locked into place like pillars, and the smaller bones slotted themselves snugly between them. Then Jet-Black seeped out between ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bone and bone, binding them together and forming the joints.

And this was—

'Bone Armour, focused on the arm alone!'

Bone Armour was a defensive Restoration technique that built armor out of a skeleton's bones to protect the body. Simon had nicknamed this arm-only variant his 'Gauntlet Mode.'

Three consecutive successes now. Speed and stability were finally coming together.

Delighted, Simon flexed his fist open and shut, then swung the arm up and down like a man lifting a dumbbell, feeling out its weight. It felt denser than his bare hand, but the strength was unmistakably there.

'A genius, truly, is a genius.'

Arms crossed as he watched, Aaron wore his usual impassive expression — but the back of his neck was soaked with sweat.

Restoration was, strictly speaking, a regular second-year technique. Yet Simon had already created his own original technique, Bone Nail, built off the Bone Spear, honing it to the point where he could deploy it in real combat.

And now he'd gone and completed an application of Bone Armour — one of the most notoriously difficult Restoration techniques of all.

His rate of absorption more than earned the word genius.

"Professor!"

Simon spun toward Aaron and called out.

"Could I test its striking power too?"

"...By all means."

Heart pounding, Simon walked up to a nearby tree.

He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, drew his gauntleted arm back, and slammed it into the trunk with a forceful cry.

THWANG!

With a deep, solid impact, leaves came raining down all around.

'Whoa! And that's the power of a bare hand without even coating it in Jet-Black?'

As Simon stared at his right arm in open admiration, Aaron began his explanation.

"As you just felt, Bone Armour means more than defense. It can convert a skeleton's innate strength and Jet-Black into physical power. Think of it as a reinforced exoskeleton suit — that's the easiest way to grasp it."

Simon's eyes gleamed as he nodded.

"Depending on how you assemble it, and on which skeleton you use, Bone Armour can produce wildly different effects. The necromancers of Kizen who favor it all have their own distinct styles, after all. Of course, no one can teach you that kind of individuality. You have to research a Bone Armour that suits you, on your own."

"Yes, sir! I understand exactly what you mean!"

Aaron folded his arms.

"Then, for the finale — let's see you prepare a full-body Bone Armour."

"Yes, sir!"

Aaron knew full well, of course. Training a first-year on this was sheer lunacy.

But Simon tried anyway.

A full-body Bone Armour consumed at least two skeletons. The pair came apart into bones that scattered across the ground, then flew up and clamped onto Simon's body one after another. His chest, his arms, and down to his legs — the bones settled snugly into place.

However.

Prrrrt-t-t-tk!

While his attention was fixed on his arms, the armor over his chest collapsed in a heap.

The balance between body parts could break in a single instant. Once a joint gave way, there was no recovering it.

Simon let out a disappointed groan.

"Well done."

The result was failure, yet Aaron offered rare praise.

"Bone Armouring a single arm and Bone Armouring your whole body are difficulties of an entirely different order. There's no need to feel impatient."

"Thank you, Professor!"

And so another private lesson drew to a close.

'Ahh, this is the life.'

Simon was thoroughly satisfied. As he dismissed his skeletons, he caught himself wishing Summoning class had more Restoration days on the schedule.

Aaron settled onto a nearby bench and clamped a cigar between his teeth.

After exhaling a long plume of smoke, he spoke.

"Next week is a new mission period."

"Yes, it is."

Simon had been aching for this mission more than anything.

Money was the biggest reason. Buying the Golem had drained his coffers dry, and borrowing a coin here and a coin there from Dick had reached its limit.

A mission that let him officially earn his own tuition was a godsend as far as Simon was concerned.

More than that, it was a stage where he could use his Legion freely without Kizen looking over his shoulder — and with a bit of luck, he might even lay hands on a new Ancient Undead.

"Do you happen to have a mission in mind?"

"No, sir. I was planning to decide once the list comes out."

Aaron blew out a long stream of smoke.

"Let me give you a tip. If there's nothing on the list that suits you, one option is simply to wait and do nothing."

"...Sorry?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. You still don't understand the kind of influence a Special Admission No. 1 carries."

Aaron twirled the cigar between his fingers as he continued.

"Try putting your position to a little more use."

It was a cryptic, quiz-like tip. Simon wanted to press for details, but Aaron was already tapping the ash off his cigar into a trash bin and rising from the bench.

"Let's head back."

"Ah — yes, sir!"

The next day, after classes ended, just as Aaron had said, the request boards were installed in the dormitory.

Students murmured among themselves as they pored over the request sheets. Four boards stood in view, each marked with a different color.

"Last time we lapped up honey right here on Roc Island, so it's about time we headed out, right?"

"Anyone wanna team up for a Neutral Zone survey mission?"

Tuning out the noisy chatter of the other students with one ear, Simon and Pier carefully examined the four boards.

[Nothing!]

Pier declared.

[No matter how I look, I see no incident that the big shots could have had a hand in. Tch! I keep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠telling you — a continent this peaceful is a problem in itself!]

'Hmm.'

Simon nodded placidly.

Last mission had simply been a stroke of outrageous luck. Cases where a mission lined up perfectly with the traces of an Ancient Undead were genuinely rare.

[There's one with at least a whiff of possibility.]

Pier's gaze drifted toward the black request sheets.

[Countless tooth marks, and corpses devoured while still alive. One could suspect the work of that fellow Prince, who leads the zombies... but this much isn't certain. And the risk of going to see for ourselves is far too great.]

'Right. I heard getting professor approval for a black request is nearly impossible.'

This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time Simon focused on the high-paying requests. Buying the Golem had driven the lesson home — for a necromancer, capital was everything.

'Ugh.'

But none of the high-paying requests caught his fancy. Maybe earning over 500 gold last time had raised his standards, but every single one left him wanting.

'Maybe I should try Professor Aaron's tip.'

From Simon's position, caution was unavoidable. With no telling when the next mission period would arrive, he needed a mission that could earn him money reliably.

"Simon! Picked one yet?"

Once again, Dick was holding a white request sheet.

"Not yet. Wait — you're going white again? If you keep taking only the easy missions, won't it catch up to you later?"

"Tomorrow's sun rises for tomorrow!"

Dick clamped the request sheet between his teeth and shrugged his uniform jacket off over his shoulder.

"Kizen's the kind of place where one little slip can get you expelled any day of the week. Gotta spend each day frugally, my friend!"

"And 'frugal' means missions inside Roc Island..."

"Heh heh heh, I've got it all figured out. Anyway, hurry up — let's go get late-night snacks! Snacks!"

The next day.

Simon decided not to register for any mission and to wait instead.

Camibarez had resolved to challenge a blue mission this time, while Meilin claimed the exhaustion from Kera Island still hadn't worn off, and decided to knock out a quick white mission and rest up in the dormitory.

Khoff! Khoff! KHOFF!

And today's first class was Toxicology.

"Kellock! Kellock! My apologies. I'm counting on you again today!"

"Of course, Professor. Please go rest."

Professor Lang Strauss of Toxicology only grew sicker by the day. He would cough up blood mid-lecture, and more and more often his head TA Francesca took over the class in his stead.

Recently the blood-coughing had grown even more frequent, to the point where Francesca handled the theory lectures too. There were even days now when Lang didn't appear in class at all.

The students worried about Lang's health with genuine sincerity — while secretly waiting for nothing more than Francesca to step up to the lectern.

Lang's class was a war against drowsiness, but Francesca's lectures brimmed with expertise and dynamism rivaling any of the regular professors. Plenty of students were already saying that Lang ought to retire and Francesca should succeed him.

"I feel a bit bad saying this, but in Kizen's ruthlessly meritocratic culture, I think Professor Lang has lost his competitive edge."

Meilin, like most students, was firmly in the pro-Francesca camp.

"We students get forced into cutthroat competition, but the professors get to coast on their old reputations? That's a bit much, no?"

"That's the thing — it's not as simple as it sounds."

Dick was a realist, through and through.

"When a Kizen professorship turns over, that professor and all the TAs under them have to pack up and leave the school. Other professors and TAs fill the vacancy. It's like an entire regime changing hands, you know?"

Simon nodded understandingly, and Dick kept going.

"Nobody's saying Professor Francesca isn't capable. I want to keep taking her classes too. But if Professor Lang steps down, she has to leave with him."

"Ugh, it's so complicated."

Meilin muttered, resting her chin on her hand. Then Camibarez posed a question.

"Couldn't Miss Francesca become a Kizen professor herself?"

"Jumping straight to professor? Realistically, that's a stretch."

Dick waved his finger back and forth.

"A TA holds a rather special status somewhere between Kizen's educators and its henchmen. Strictly speaking, they're closer to classroom assistants than full educators."

Meilin frowned.

"'Assistants'? Watch your mouth."

"That's just how they're perceived. Of course, with a professor's recommendation and a recognized TA track record, it's possible to climb to higher positions — but for a TA to go straight to professor... that would basically take a move on Nephthys's level to pull off."

Tap.

Footsteps sounded from directly in front of them, and Dick and the rest of Group 7 froze and shut their mouths all at once.

The fifteen-minute break was over, and Francesca was walking into the lecture hall.

...

And she was glaring — dead straight — at Simon and his friends.