Shall We Go Eat? (2)

So this is what it feels like to be in high spirits.

Excitement!

Anticipation!

Ziel stroked the thick pouch resting at his hip. A large chicken skewer costs one sel, which means I can eat twenty-five hundred of them.

He vividly remembered that enormous chicken skewer he had bought from the street cart—a masterpiece easily three times the size of an ordinary one. And now, he had the funds to purchase twenty-five hundred of them!

Yet...

"Still, I would like to try other things as well."

People often said the world was vast and brimming with delicacies. Ziel's world, however, remained exceedingly narrow. Naturally, the variety of dishes he had ever tasted was tragically small.

"Hmm."

Ziel turned his gaze away from the path leading toward the student cafeteria ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the faculty dining hall. Rising gracefully in the near distance was an elegant, soaring spire.

"I have heard the food there is exceptional."

It was an establishment he had overheard students whispering about with reverence on numerous occasions: Lancaster's Star. Named after one of the founding luminaries of Edelbein Academy, it stood as the pinnacle of dining on campus.

Without a second thought, Ziel set off toward the spire, his heart thumping with mounting enthusiasm with every step.

"Hmm."

Suddenly, he brought his feet to a halt. Someone familiar was strolling toward him from down the cobblestone path. As the figure drew nearer, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mop of silky blond hair came into view.

"Uh, Instructor?"

"Student Deleve Kundel."

Ziel stared blankly at Deleve for a quiet second before asking, "Are you on your way back from training?"

"H-how did you know?"

"You carry the scent of dust. Your pulse is also slightly elevated."

Deleve's face twisted into an expression of sheer bewilderment. "You can see that?"

"I can. Furthermore, you smell of seasoned wood."

Deleve had indeed just wrapped up hours of intense drills with a wooden practice sword. Did he seriously pick up the faint scent of wood clinging to my hands from that distance? What kind of monster is this guy, really?

To a former assassin, such sensory awareness was trivial. To Ziel, who had reigned as the legendary Phantom, it was as effortless as breathing.

"Did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you train with such intensity because there are no lectures scheduled today?"

"Well, yes... the selection matches aren't that far off, after all."

"It seems they hold great significance for you, Student Deleve Kundel."

"I have to surpass my brothers."

The moment the words slipped past his lips, Deleve recoiled internally in shock. Why on earth did I just tell him that?

"You are referring to third-year Aken Kundel and fifth-year Agres Kundel."

"Yes. My older brothers."

"Why do you wish to surpass them?"

"...Pardon?"

Deleve had never once been asked such a question in his life. Why surpass them? Well... wasn't that the most natural ambition in the world for any son born into a grand martial house?

"Just... because I want to."

"Is there no underlying reason?"

"My reason is... I just want to become strong. If I surpass my brothers, Father will acknowledge me too."

"Then is your ultimate goal to become the family head?"

"...Rather than that..." Deleve hesitated, letting out a small, embarrassed sigh. "No. I just want to get stronger, that's all."

He harbored another reason, but he could never bring himself to voice it. It was simply far too humiliating to admit aloud.

My brothers don't play with me anymore.

Throughout their childhood, his older brothers had always indulged him and played along. Yet the moment they entered Edelbein Academy, everything had changed. Claiming their skill levels were worlds apart, they refused to spar with him even once. That sting of rejection was the true spark that made Deleve burn to surpass them.

"Is that so? I understand, Student Deleve Kundel."

Deleve still could not wrap his head around why an instructor he had randomly bumped into was probing into such personal matters, but he brushed it aside. "By the way, where are you headed, Instructor? You shouldn't have any classes today either."

"I am going to eat."

"Ah."

Right on cue...

Gurgle.

A loud, indisputable rumble erupted from Deleve's stomach—the inevitable byproduct of grueling physical exertion. Deleve froze, mortified, while Ziel watched him with an unblinking gaze.

"Are you hungry?"

"Uh... yes... I am."

"Then let us go eat."

"Pardon?"

Ziel recalled a passage from a book he had recently browsed, titled Beloved Teacher, Hated Teacher.

Sharing a meal, Ziel reasoned, fit the bill perfectly.

"Huh?"

Celia caught sight of Ziel in the distance and broke into a bright smile, preparing to offer a cheerful greeting. But her head tilted quizzically the moment she noticed the figure walking beside him.

"Deleve?"

Before she could call out, the pair turned and vanished into the entrance of a building: Lancaster's Star. An upscale establishment that ordinary students had virtually no reason to enter.

"Why on earth are the instructor and Deleve together...?"

There was nothing inherently shocking about an instructor sharing a meal with a student, but the location changed the entire context.

"Even I haven't eaten there yet..."

That restaurant was reserved for the uppermost crust of Edelbein Academy's student body. Even if one expanded the scope to include the faculty, the patron list barely grew, for the simple reason that the prices were staggering. As a direct descendant of the ducal House of Rihardt, Celia could certainly dine there if she wished, but doing so would instantly incinerate her entire monthly allowance.

"Wait, is Deleve the one paying?"

Arriving at what seemed like the only logical deduction, Celia smirked faintly. "Ah, trying to butter up the instructor, are we?"

Yet a cold doubt immediately seized her mind. Why would an heir of the great House of Kundel go out of his way to curry favor with a mere elective lecturer at such an exorbitant venue?

"...Could this be an order from his family?"

Her thoughts tangled into a knot. Come to think of it, Instructor Ziel had always been an anomaly. He held no professorship, serving merely as a temporary lecturer, yet he never showed the slightest hesitation before highborn lineages, treating every noble heir with absolute equality. In their very first class, he had even swept Deleve to the floor dozens of times without batting an eye!

There is something going on here. Definitely.

Even tenured professors treated the scions of the Five Great Families with immense tact and caution. While professors did not grovel, their demeanor inevitably shifted depending on a student's bloodline. Yet in Ziel, not an ounce of sycophancy or deference could ever be detected.

"Steelheart... House Steelheart..."

It was a name she had never heard when he first introduced himself, and she remained entirely in the dark even now. Rumors had certainly drifted among the students: Was it an ancient fallen house from some remote corner of the empire? Or perhaps an entirely new house recently granted an imperial title?

"...Could some monumental power be backing him from the shadows?"

Without colossal backing, no mere lecturer could ever afford to act so utterly indifferent to aristocratic hierarchy.

"Which means..."

Was House Kundel attempting to establish ties with him before anyone else caught wind? The political shadow wars among the capital's ducal houses were notoriously cutthroat. Celia was still too young to grasp their full complexity, and that very lack of knowledge made her imagination race even wilder.

One truth, however, stood undisputed: an instructor and a student dining at such an outrageously expensive establishment had to have a profound motive!

"House Kundel is moving fast."

This was no time to dawdle. Celia spun on her heel and dashed toward the dormitory. She needed to write a detailed report to her family at once.

The meal was magnificent—at least from Deleve's perspective.

To think the instructor would bring me to a place like this...

As a scion of Kundel, one of the empire's greatest ducal houses, Deleve had grown up dining on culinary masterpieces. Pristine ingredients, the rarest spices, and the artistry of royal-tier private chefs were his everyday standard. Yet the dishes served here at Lancaster's Star rivaled even the banquets of his home estate.

Well, that's what this place was built for.

It was conceived strictly to entertain visiting high-ranking dignitaries, exceptionally wealthy noble students, and top academy officials. When Ziel had casually ushered him inside, Deleve had been thoroughly stunned.

"It is not particularly delicious," Ziel remarked in a flat, indifferent murmur.

Does he frequent places like this all the time?

Deleve had watched Ziel with keen interest throughout the meal. The instructor's table manners were remarkably refined and effortless: the way his fingers held the silverware, the precise angle at which he laid his knife and fork, the controlled economy of motion as he carved into the roasted meats. Not once did his chewing make a sound, and every nuance of his dining etiquette screamed of rigorous, aristocratic cultivation.

He's definitely different from ordinary people. Was House Steelheart originally an illustrious noble house?

If they had been, Deleve surely would have heard the name. Just what kind of background did this man have? And to treat him at such a lavish venue...

Could it be... that the instructor harbors high expectations for me?

A sudden wave of warmth welled within Deleve's chest.

After being thoroughly humiliated during their very first session, a bitter hostility had taken root in his heart. While the unprecedented experience had sparked his curiosity, the humiliation and shock had dominated his thoughts. Yet with every passing lecture, Deleve had thrown himself into the training with fiercer determination. Then, just the other day, he had received genuine praise from the man.

This is his way of telling me to excel.

Yes, that had to be it. He was a special student! A favored pupil! Why else would an instructor pay out of his own pocket to feed him at such an astronomical price?

Out of all forty freshmen, I am the most special to him.

A fierce resolve ignited in Deleve's heart. He would train harder than ever. He would dominate the selection matches without fail, and he would carry their class to victory in the Exchange Event.

"Thank you for the meal, Instructor."

"Did you find the cuisine to your liking?"

"Yes, it was incredible." Deleve paused, curiosity getting the better of him. "Though earlier, you said it wasn't particularly delicious... Was it truly not to your taste?"

"It is not that it was bad. It is simply that I tasted something far superior not long ago."

He was referring, of course, to the street-cart chicken skewer.

To Deleve's ears, however, the implication sounded infinitely more profound. Did he visit an even more extraordinary high-end restaurant?

Every person possesses their own unique palate, and Ziel was no exception. He was simply discovering his far later in life than most. To Ziel's sensibilities, elaborate, time-consuming multi-course banquets paled in comparison to the greasy, savory punch of a freshly grilled chicken skewer bought from a humble wagon.

"If you have finished, let us stand."

"Ah, yes, Instructor."

Right then, a server glided over with an immaculate bow. "Esteemed patrons, was the dining experience to your satisfaction? Here is your bill."

Ziel froze.

His eyes wavered ever so slightly the moment they landed on the numbers inscribed upon the parchment slip.

"..."

Deleve failed to notice, but the hand Ziel reached out to take the bill trembled with the faintest, most microscopic vibration.

Shake, tremble!

My salary...

Two thousand four hundred sel.

That was the sum boldly penned across the paper. The entire monthly salary he had withdrawn from the Imperial Bank only hours ago was twenty-five hundred sel.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined a meal could cost this much. A heavy weight plummeted straight into his stomach.

Is this the sensation known as feeling thoroughly displeased?

"Instructor?"

"..."

"Um, Instructor?"

"Ah. Student Deleve Kundel."

Ziel promptly paid the sum. After all, the food had already been consumed. Even if a dark cloud hung over his soul, a debt had to be settled.

"Instructor, thank you so much for the dinner."

"Ah. Student Deleve Kundel."

"I really didn't expect you to treat me to a place like this. It's notoriously expensive, after all."

"Is that so."

In that exact instant, Ziel forged an unshakeable vow: I will never set foot in this establishment again.

"Yes. A single meal here costs only slightly less than my entire weekly allowance."

"..."

Ziel forged a second vow on the spot: Someday, I must earn a massive amount of money.

"Your allowance is exceptionally generous."

"Father increases it by a thousand sel every time we advance an academic year."

"Is that so."

Yet another unfamiliar sensation flared inside Ziel's chest. It was the bitter sting of envy.

During his decades as an assassin, he had never needed to worry about finances. Not because he was wealthy, but because he had nowhere to spend coin. The very first time he had ever spent money out of his own free will was purchasing that chicken skewer upon arriving at Edelbein. Before then, currency was merely an operational resource provided by the Organization, to be delivered to designated contacts or exchanged for mission supplies.

Money is an extraordinarily vital element of life.

An entirely unforeseen expenditure of catastrophic proportions. His heart ached fiercely. Ziel solemnly swore to never spend money recklessly again.

With only one hundred sel remaining, I must budget with ruthless austerity until next payday.

Then, another profound realization dawned upon him. If I become a full professor, my salary will surely multiply.

While an elective lecturer's wage saw minor annual adjustments upon contract renewal, the administration had explicitly informed him that the increment was modest. To achieve true financial security, an ordinary lecture post would never suffice.

I must become a professor at all costs.

His professional ambition was re-forged into tempered steel.

"Instructor, I will repay this favor next time."

"No. That is unnecessary."

"But you treated me to such a magnificent feast."

"An instructor must never accept gifts or favors from a student. To do so compromises the integrity of mentorship and breaches educational impartiality."

"My father always taught me that whenever one receives something, one is duty-bound to return it in kind."

Ziel firmly shook his head. "I cannot permit it."

"Still, sir..."

At that impasse, another golden maxim Ziel had read in the pedagogical manual flashed through his memory.

"If you truly feel compelled to give something in return, repay me through your growth, Student Deleve Kundel. That alone is more than enough."

Thump, thump!

Deleve's heart hammered furiously against his ribs.

Is this... the true nobility of a great teacher?

To spend a fortune treating a disciple to dinner, only to ask for nothing in return except his personal growth!

"Understood, Instructor! I will dedicate myself entirely!"

Observing Deleve's fierce compliance, Ziel noted that the tactic had succeeded admirably. Books are remarkably practical tools.

He resolved to borrow far more literature from the academy library in the future. Who could have guessed that theories written on paper would prove so effective in the field?

"The hour is late. You should return to your quarters."

"Yes, sir. Where are you heading, Instructor?"

"To the faculty dormitory."

"Oh, let us walk together then. It's right next to the student dorms anyway."

"Ah. That is true. Very well."

Ziel and Deleve fell into step side by side beneath the tranquil night sky, their minds wandering toward entirely different horizons.

I must devise a foolproof survival strategy to endure until the next pay cycle on one hundred sel.

I should write a letter to Father and brag about this whole evening. But would he recognize the name of House Steelheart if I mention it?

Under the gentle moonlight, the bond between mentor and disciple deepened. Deleve felt lighter and happier than he had in months.

In their initial encounter, he had tasted only bitter humiliation, disgrace, and a prickly hostility. Yet beneath that resentment had lurked an innate yearning for validation—a desperate desire to earn the recognition of the peerless combatant who had brought him so low. Just recently, he had received that praise, and tonight, he had even been treated to an extravagant private banquet.

Then...

It felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like a profound waste to let such a meaningful day end so abruptly. Was it the burst of vitality coursing through him from the rich meal, or simply the soaring high of his spirits?

"Instructor."

Deleve halted his footsteps and turned toward Ziel.

"I will head back a little later."

"Has an issue arisen?"

"I want to put in some extra training before turning in."

Ziel stared at Deleve with flat, motionless eyes.

He must be thinking how admirable and dedicated I am, right? Deleve anticipated proudly.

Click.

Ziel popped open his pocket watch, his voice ringing out with utter, unfeeling detachment: "It is past nine o'clock. The curfew hour approaches."

"..."

"Penalty points are administered starting at ten o'clock."

Of course. Deleve sighed inwardly. A man without a single shred of flexibility.

"...Yes, sir. I will head straight back."

Just as Deleve's shoulders slumped in disappointment, Ziel added calmly:

"However, the regulations are not breached if you are accompanied by an instructor."