Should We Handle Him, Boss?

The students were not the only ones taking a break.

There appears to be quite a lot of delicious food.

Xiel was doing the same.

Booths of every shape and size filled the expansive grounds of the Sword School. It was on an entirely different scale from the beginning of the semester, when only a few food stalls and club promotional stands dotted the area. The campus was packed with crowds, bursting with games, and positively overflowing with food.

Xiel's eyes sparkled. He was likely completely unaware of the expression on his own face. The focus of that uncharacteristically bright gaze was none other than...

"Welcome! You don't look like a student... Are you an instructor?"

"I am Xiel Steelheart, an elective instructor at the Sword School."

"I see! Instructor Xiel, what can I get for you?"

"I require an explanation."

"Aha! Yes, of course. These are called jellies! They're the trendiest snack among students right now. They were a huge hit in the capital for a while, and since ingredient prices dropped recently, the price has come way down too!"

Squishy, chewy jellies.

"They're made with real fruit juice, so they're wonderfully sweet and tart. Why don't you try a sample first?"

Xiel accepted the sample jelly and popped it into his mouth. ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠His face instantly contorted.

"Oh dear! I gave you the one with lemon juice!"

This was sourness. Yet as the subsequent rush of sweetness mingled with it, the flavors struck a harmonious balance.

"Magnificent."

The world was vast. The period of brainwashing had been long, and the foods left untasted were many—especially snacks like this.

"How much is it?"

"The pack of ten you just tried is fifty cel!"

Xiel's hand froze.

A chicken skewer cost one cel. Yet this was five cel for a single piece? Something the size of a fingernail?

It is excessively expensive.

His remaining salary amounted to a mere three hundred cel. Eating just ten pieces would wipe out a sixth of it. Regrettable though it was, he would have to settle for the sample...

"Hm? Instructor Xiel?"

A voice called out from beside him. He turned to find a bear—no, a human standing there, cheeks bulging as he munched on jellies.

"Mmm. Gulp. Did you come out to browse the booths?"

"Professor Elcanto Paredes. Ah, yes. Training has concluded."

"Looking to buy something?"

"Ah, yes. However, with so little of my salary remaining, I merely partook in a sample."

"Oh, my!"

Elcanto's eyes glittered with a strange light, much like Xiel's when he had first laid eyes on the jellies.

An opportunity!

Wearing a genial, magnanimous expression, Elcanto pointed toward the stall.

"I know all too well what an elective instructor's salary looks like. Allow me to treat you today!"

Xiel had not yet learned the social art of polite refusal.

"Thank you."

He immediately began picking out jellies.

"Aside from this one, what else is good?"

"Try this one, sir!"

"Mmm. Good."

"It's packed with strawberry juice. As you may know, it's a fruit that only grows in the North!"

The sweet jellies utterly enchanted Xiel's blank slate of a palate. He had devoured ten pieces as samples alone, and...

Surely... how many could he possibly choose?

Xiel betrayed Elcanto's expectations with flying colors.

"That comes to two hundred pieces in total—one thousand cel!"

Elcanto began to hiccup.

Even he had hesitated and bought only twenty! Ten times that amount?!

"Hic."

Yet his dignity was on the line; he could hardly back out now. In the end, trembling hands handed over the one thousand cel. With just a little more coin, he could have savored a splendid dinner at Lancaster's Star...

"Thank you! Please come again!"

Why did the vendor's beaming grin have to look so utterly detestable?

"Thank you, Professor."

"Uh, hm. Yes, of course, Instructor Xiel. Haha. Think nothing of it."

A severe hemorrhage of coin.

An investment in the future. Endure it!

Building up goodwill with Instructor Xiel one step at a time was bound to pay off eventually.

Right, think of it as the price of a promotion.

Thanks to Dakeus being ousted, ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Elcanto had been put in charge of the second years. Elcanto was well aware that Xiel had played a significant role in making that happen.

"Delicious."

Munch, munch.

Though it was somewhat disheartening that Xiel didn't even offer him one.

"This yellow, lemon-flavored jelly appears to be the most delicious."

I know. That's the tastiest and the most expensive one.

"Ahem. May I have one as we—"

"Five cel."

"I just bought them for—"

"It was a joke."

A joke learned from a book. It seemed to have landed rather effectively.

"Mmm. Delicious."

Only then did Elcanto's mood ease a fraction.

"Ahem, yes. By the way, how did the training go?"

"There were no issues."

"Is that so? Do you think the first years will perform well?"

"They will defeat up to the third years."

An absurd prediction. No, it wasn't even a prediction. It was pure, unwavering conviction.

"Up to the third years?"

Which meant they would beat the second years under his own supervision.

"I take it the fourth years might prove too difficult...?"

"I have not seen the fourth years train."

He didn't know simply because he hadn't seen them?

Then if he had seen them, would he have claimed they'd beat the fourth years too?

"I-is that so? Haha. Right. Confidence is important. The will to win! Isn't that what matters most?"

Elcanto forced a chuckle and patted Xiel's shoulder, though his internal thoughts were the exact opposite.

Who can first years beat? Their only goal should be taking part.

Had he set an unreasonable goal simply because all the house heads were in attendance?

He needs to have his pride taken down a peg.

Well, the outcome wouldn't change regardless. In past Exchange Events, the first years had always finished dead last. The gap in experience was simply too vast.

"They will win."

"..."

They said dreams were better when they were grand. Elcanto chose not to argue any further.

"Ahem. Well, I'll go browse some other booths... You go on ahead, Instructor Xiel."

"Understood. Until then."

Elcanto watched Xiel's retreating back with a sour grimace. No matter how much he turned it over in his mind, he could not fathom a reality where first years defeated upperclassmen.

Well, nothing will change.

By the way, with all the house heads supposed to have arrived in droves, were they truly holed up in their hotels?

Then again, there are security concerns... High and mighty nobles wouldn't just stroll out into public.

Elcanto disliked high-ranking nobles, particularly house heads. It was certainly not because he had been passed over by his elder brother and failed to become head himself! Absolutely, positively not!

"Hmph."

Being a house head wasn't the only worthwhile path in life. If he kept working diligently like this, advancing from second-year to third-year, then fourth-year supervisor...

Perhaps I might even become department head.

The bear-like, heavy steps of Elcanto seemed unusually buoyant today.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

The Sword School campus was packed with crowds.

The throng was so dense that a moment's distraction was enough to lose sight of the person right beside you. It was a festival ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠teeming not only with members of the academy, but with citizens from across the capital as well. Mingled among them was someone who definitely did not belong in an ordinary crowd.

"Hmm. So this is what the atmosphere is like."

"Um, My Lord. With this many people, keeping guard is..."

"Hey. Didn't I tell you not to use that title?"

Darren Rihardt.

Head of House Rihardt and father of Celia Rihardt.

He had stepped out to see his daughter, and seeing the bustling crowd, he had decided to go 'undercover.'

That bastard Amos wouldn't have come out.

Amos Kundel.

His eternal rival, the head of House Kundel, and the most irritating bastard on earth. The man loathed moving around, so he was surely holed up in his hotel.

"Um, My Lo—"

"Hey."

"Then... Older Brother..."

"Where on earth did you learn a title like that?"

"I read in a novel that you have to speak casually when undercover to avoid suspicion..."

"...Just pick something appropriate."

The escort knights scrambled to keep up with Darren, who walked with brisk strides and boundless curiosity.

"Oho, what is this?"

"Welcome, sir! These are jellies!"

"Jellies? Hmm. Ah, right. I had some about three years ago. Who had them served at my table back then?"

"Oh my, if you had them three years ago, you must be of very high standing!"

Jellies had only become popular recently. Prior to that, the manufacturing process was so tricky that only the extraordinarily wealthy could afford them. In any case, for someone attempting to go undercover, he was practically advertising his status to the world.

"Mm. Delicious. I'll take a few."

"Hehe, fifty cel for a pack of ten—"

"From here to here. All of them."

"Excuse me?"

A short while later, the escort knights let out collective sighs, each clutching a heavy sack.

"Um, My Lo—no, Older Brother."

"Is that the only title you've got?"

"Then... Boss...?"

"That's better. Has a nice ring to it."

"Then, Boss, who is going to eat all of this?"

"My little girl. She loves things like this."

"..."

"Give her some, and you boys can eat the rest."

More heavy sighs followed.

"Boss, adding all this up, it's well over ten thousand cel..."

"Shh. Keep it a secret from my wife. You understand?"

Even the Head of House Rihardt could not defy his wife. Darren was a devoted husband—self-proclaimed, at least.

"Hmm. Is there anything else fun?"

The gift for his daughter was secured. He had plenty of time, so wandering around to take in the sights seemed pleasant enough...

"Oho."

Just then, a particular stall caught his eye: a target-throwing booth.

"Step right up, step right up! Opportunities like this don't come every day! Hit just one moving target and win ten cel! Three throws in total! Entry fee is a mere five cel! Hit just one out of three, and oh my, you've doubled your money!"

The Sword Love Research Society.

It was run by Draco—the very student who had operated a dagger-throwing booth back at the start of the semester.

I will never get cleaned out this time.

That day, Draco had been forced to shut down his booth in utter desolation, completely cleaned out of every coin he had. By a single person!

Xiel Steelheart! An elective instructor for the first years, wasn't he?

That was why he had set up a vastly more difficult game this time around: hitting moving targets. Naturally, moving targets were far harder to hit than stationary ones. On top of that, there was a trick involved—a devious enchantment designed to deflect the blade the instant it struck. What was more, Draco could deactivate the trick whenever he wished.

Come on, anyone!

"Five cel a round?"

"Oh, welcome, welcome!"

A parent? Or a citizen of the capital? The man looked somewhat older.

"Yes, yes! Just hit one, and you receive ten cel!"

"Is that so? Guess I should earn some pocket money for my daughter."

Clink, clink.

From a visibly massive coin pouch, five cel emerged and landed in Draco's palm.

"Well then, let's give it a try."

The projectiles provided were not standard daggers, but smaller throwing knives. They were far harder to throw accurately than a dagger—unless one happened to be an assassin.

Go right ahead and try.

Swish!

Miss.

Swish!

Another miss.

Swiiish!

A third consecutive miss.

"Now this is getting my blood pumping."

Thud!

Darren untied the pouch entirely and placed it down on the counter. Yet five cel by five cel, the pouch gradually shrank.

"Why on earth won't it hit?!"

Then, once ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in a while:

Clink!

"A hit!"

Draco skillfully placated Darren while steadily fattening his own purse.

Hehehe. Talk about a windfall.

Of course, had he known the man's true identity, he never would have dared. In Draco's eyes, he was merely a well-off middle-aged man. However, Darren's patience was running thin far faster than expected.

"Isn't this a sca—"

"Are you the student who operated the dagger-throwing booth before?"

It was at that exact moment.

A man stepped into the booth. His mere presence dramatically altered the atmosphere of the space.

Handsome.

Even Darren was mildly startled. It was rare for one man to be struck by another's appearance.

Amidst this, Draco's face turned completely white.

"Th-th-that time..."

"It has been a while. How much is it this time?"

"Th-that is..."

"Five cel, as written."

Xiel picked up several throwing knives resting on the counter.

Stay calm.

Draco took a deep breath. He was thoroughly prepared this time. If he wanted to, he could ensure no one ever hit a single target.

"May I throw?"

"A-ah, yes! By all means!"

Confidence surged through him, daring the man to try as much as he liked.

However.

Clink!

His confidence shattered on the very first throw.

H-how?!

The enchantment was supposed to deflect it!

"Ten cel. Mark it down."

Clink!

Clack!

Crisp, ringing strikes echoed throughout the booth. Xiel struck the target on every single attempt. In an instant, the day's profits evaporated.

The entry fee was five cel. But a single hit yielded ten cel. In other words, with every throw, five cel was vanishing into thin air.

N-no!

Dozens of throws passed in a heartbeat. Just from what could be immediately tallied, it was two hundred and fifty cel!

I have to stop him!

Meanwhile.

"Oho."

Darren watched the handsome young man with his arms crossed.

"Just how are you hitting them?"

"It is not difficult. You simply throw to match the timing when it crosses the center."

"...?"

Xiel answered immediately. However, it was spoken flatly, completely devoid of honorifics.

Darren raised a hand to restrain his escort knights, who had tensed behind him, and asked again:

"Is that actually possible?"

"It would be easier if it were not enchanted."

"...Enchanted?"

"It is imbued with magic. Unless one is accustomed to it, hitting it is difficult."

Darren's brow furrowed. His gaze shifted back toward Draco.

"I thought something felt off earlier."

Draco, who had been wracking his brain for an excuse to halt the game, froze on the spot.