Master Negotiator Xiel (1)
Immediately after Match 2 concluded, Berhal summoned the professors together.
People were naturally inclined to favor their own, of course. Yet no amount of personal bias could alter the hard data that had been recorded throughout the match.
"I ask that everyone submit a rigorous and impartial evaluation, professors."
While the professors could not see one another's scores, Berhal had full view of precisely what score each professor had awarded to every grade.
And the resulting tally was—
"This is absurd! The first-years in second place?!"
The one protesting most vehemently was Professor Marchen. In truth, it was not merely the first-years taking second that had upset her.
"And how on earth does it make sense that my third-years came in dead last?!"
The final standings were unequivocal:
Fifth place: the third-years.
Fourth place: the second-years.
Third place: the fourth-years.
Second place: the first-years.
First place: the fifth-years.
Under normal circumstances, the rankings descended in neat chronological order, from the fifth-years at the top to the first-years at the bottom. This year, however, the hierarchy had been thrown into absolute disarray. Even so, Marchen was the sole dissenting voice.
"What do the rest of you think?" Berhal asked.
"I have no objections."
The first hand to shoot up belonged to Elcanto. Marchen glared at him with murder in her eyes.
"Professor Elcanto…!"
Elcanto made a pointed effort to avoid her gaze. He could hardly complain if she called him a traitor, but had things gone the way Marchen wanted, his second-years would be sitting in that humiliating fifth-place spot instead of her third-years. Ah, whatever, to hell with it, he thought. Having stared death in the face once already, he had no reason to cower before a scowl like hers.
"Professor Idel, do you honestly believe this makes any sense?!" Marchen snapped, rounding on the professor in charge of the fourth-years. "Your students took second in Match 1! And they knocked out so many opponents in Match 2—"
"Professor Marchen, I'm disappointed as well, but what can we do? The data speaks for itself."
Though the fourth-years had fought valiantly and eliminated many from the second and third-year ranks, their total survival time fell short of the first-years. They might have won Match 1, but—
"In Match 2, we simply didn't score as many points as the first-years did."
The gap they had established in the first match had not been wide enough to withstand the second. In truth, Idel was just as frustrated. His anger, however, was not directed at the first-years. He was merely furious with his own students for failing to conduct themselves like fourth-years.
"It is what it is," Idel conceded.
Only one person remained.
"Professor Isabella?"
At Berhal's inquiry, Isabella offered an easy, languid smile.
"The first-years were exceptionally impressive this time around. Those children… I almost find myself coveting them."
With her class safely in first place, she had no reason to complain. In the end, not a single soul took Marchen's side.
"Then we shall finalize the rankings as they stand."
"Department Head, surely you can't—"
"Professor Marchen, can you not simply steel your resolve and prepare more thoroughly for next year?"
Marchen had no remaining justification to press the matter. The third-years simply had not produced the results to warrant it. Her arguments had been driven purely by wounded pride from the start—a fit of stubborn denial, and little else.
Defeated, Marchen collapsed limply into her chair.
"And this outcome was reached even without Instructor Xiel participating in the judging," Berhal added, driving in the final nail.
Because Xiel held the status of a general elective lecturer, academy regulations barred him from taking part in the scoring. That technicality, however, only sent Marchen's pride tumbling further into the abyss.
"Then these results are official."
It was through this very deliberation that the first-years came to ascend the second-place podium at the awards ceremony shortly thereafter.
"We're… second place?"
"Is this real? Is this actually happening?!"
"No way! For real?! Waaaaah!"
There was only one minor grievance.
"Bwahaha! I am the leader!"
Nobody was particularly thrilled that Quantus, still hopelessly drunk on his self-appointed title, was the one stepping up to receive the medal on their behalf.
"Oh, let him have it. He pulled his weight."
"His whole body is practically a lethal weapon anyway."
"Did you see that tackle? I honestly didn't think he'd take down a fourth-year!"
Even his harshest critics had to acknowledge his performance. And when one considered that the fifth-years invariably swept first place every single year…
"Doesn't this basically make us first place?"
"Right?! Basically first! The fifth-years winning is just a constant of the universe!"
It was a shameless piece of mental gymnastics, yet nobody disagreed, for the sentiment rang true enough. And their joy did not end there.
"We will now proceed with the awarding of supplementary prizes!"
Supplementary prizes!
First place: 1,000,000 cel.
Second place: 500,000 cel.
Third place: 300,000 cel.
Fourth and fifth place: 100,000 cel each.
Cold, hard prize money allocated according to rank.
"Five hundred thousand cel is incredible! Even split among us, that's fifty thousand cel each!"
"Unbelievable! Fifty thousand cel covers an entire semester's tuition!"
"I can finally pay my dormitory fees!"
The first-years cheered wildly. But the announcer had not finished.
"Please note that through generous donations from the noble house heads in attendance, the prize pool for this Exchange Event has been temporarily increased. First, the winning fifth-years will receive a grand prize of 2,000,000 cel!"
Two million cel!
A staggering twofold increase!
"Good heavens, two million cel?!"
"Those fifth-years hit the jackpot!"
"Incredible…"
Murmurs rippled through the spectators. Two million cel was a fortune. The original one million was already immense, but double that amount? To wealthy grand lords, it might have been pocket change, but to minor noble houses, it equaled an entire year's household revenue.
"Then that means the first-years…"
The announcer proceeded to the second-place award.
"For second place, the first-years will receive a supplementary prize of 1,000,000 cel!"
"Yeeeeeha!"
"Whooooooa!"
The first-years erupted in sheer bedlam. One hundred thousand cel per person! Barring heirs to great territories, it was an amount of money virtually no student would ever touch with their own hands.
"My tuition is covered!"
"They said it's a scholarship, right? Can we spend it on food inside the academy?"
"I'm buying jellies all day long!"
"Hmph! I shall invest in building more muscle!"
The podium overflowed with unbridled joy. And watching them from afar, Xiel…
I'm jealous.
He felt a wave of profound, agonizing envy. His monthly salary was a mere 2,500 cel. Multiplied by four, that was 10,000 cel. Multiplied by ten again, that was 100,000 cel. Put simply, each student had just earned forty times his monthly wage.
Perhaps I should have infiltrated as a student.
Just then, Berhal approached his side.
"Instructor Xiel, you've worked hard. Truly, this is a magnificent and splendid achievement."
"Ah. Thank you."
"To be frank, when I assigned the class to you, I didn't hold very high expectations. I never dreamed you would produce results like these." Berhal paused, then brought up the manual. "Regarding the training guide you submitted earlier, I intend to place it on the agenda at the upcoming faculty meeting and have it adopted as an official curriculum text."
"For the first-years, then."
"No. As a textbook for all grades."
The manual Xiel had penned was both devastatingly efficient and undeniably sound. Adopting it across the entire school would require navigating considerable administrative red tape, but Berhal deemed it well worth the trouble.
"Which brings me to my point… Alongside the textbook adoption, an incentive bonus will be awarded for your performance in this Exchange Event."
An incentive!
Xiel had read that word in the academy regulations.
Thump!
For some reason, his heart gave an unfamiliar, strange flutter.
"Money, then."
"Well… yes, in essence."
"You mean you will give me more money."
"Th-that is correct."
Xiel felt a quiet surge of joy.
So this is what they call 'corporate life.'
He had heard of such things: fair compensation in return for performance. That was said to be the very driving force that sustained a working professional.
So this is how one earns an incentive.
Another crucial economic principle was successfully etched into Xiel's mind.
"How much is it?" he asked, characteristically blunt.
"Ahem. That has yet to be finalized in committee. Rest assured, however, that I will see to it you are handsomely compensated. Your achievement certainly merits it."
"Understood."
Once he received that incentive…
I will be able to eat more chicken skewers and jellies.
Xiel's mind was populated exclusively by snacks.
"Furthermore…"
Berhal seemed to have something else on his mind. For a fleeting instant, Xiel caught the unmistakable shadow of hesitation flitting across the department head's features.
"There is someone who wishes to meet with you, Instructor Xiel."
"Who is it?"
"……"
After a moment of agonizing deliberation, Berhal parted his lips.
"His Imperial Highness, Prince Dietrich Baldrain."
An Imperial Prince.
He must be flustered. No, will he be thrilled? Berhal thought.
There was a very deliberate reason Berhal had brought up the incentive first: he wanted to preempt the Prince's move. To be perfectly honest, Berhal lacked confidence. If an Imperial Prince came personally to scout an instructor, who in their right mind would refuse?
From what Berhal had gathered, House Steelheart was practically a ruined name. The family's ancestral estate had passed into other hands long ago, and their manor lay abandoned—an eyesore overgrown with weeds. It was the typical story of a fallen noble house, exceptional only in just how absolute its downfall had been.
For a man from such circumstances, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.
It's a chance to turn his entire life around, Berhal reasoned. Naturally, he assumed Xiel would be overjoyed.
The outcome of the Exchange Event sent shockwaves through the capital.
The first-years taking second place!
The fifth-years' victory was barely even discussed. Their triumph was so entirely expected that people scarcely bothered to mention it; the first-years' ascent to second, by contrast, ignited an absolute firestorm.
"Their talent is extraordinary! House Kundel never disappoints, does it?"
"And what about the Rihardt girl? Did you see that Swift Sword Style? I dismissed her because she was only a first-year, but my eyes couldn't even track her blade!"
"Who on earth was that hulking boy? His tackle hit with the force of a carriage drawn by ten warhorses!"
"Did you see that Yurio fellow? I don't know where he crawled out from, but his raw talent rivaled the other two!"
"This year's first-years are nothing short of a golden generation!"
Thanks to the prominent house heads attending in full force, public interest had already been simmering before the event began. With the first-years' astonishing second-place finish, that curiosity exploded into a roar that echoed through every district of the capital.
Gossips in high society, talent scouts from the various knight orders, students of every grade, and their parents—everyone was talking about it.
"Is this not the first time three scions from the same house have competed in the Exchange Event at once, my lord? To claim first and second place side by side, no less!"
"That final display of bare-handed brawling between brothers was profoundly moving!"
Surrounded by praise, Amos Kundel stood tall.
"Ahem! She is my daughter, after all! Did I not tell you?"
"Congratulations, my lord! A magnificent triumph! The future of House Rihardt has never shone brighter!"
"Mmhmm. Good, very good."
Darren Rihardt's shoulders were puffed with equal pride.
Damn it all, though. I never imagined that boy would steal all the spotlight at the very end, Darren grumbled inwardly.
Of all things, his precious daughter had been eliminated early, leaving Delev as the last one standing! To make matters worse, that brat had traded bare-knuckle blows with his elder brother, cleanly siphoning away every ounce of public attention.
Amos, you bastard… but this time, I strike first.
"My lord, Instructor Xiel Steelheart has just arrived to see you."
"Ah, excellent. Show him in."
At last: his meeting with Xiel. On the surface, it was merely a routine parent-teacher consultation. In reality, it was a scout recruitment pitch.
I'll test his capabilities, then ask him to serve as an instructor. That would be ideal. Given his crisp, no-nonsense temperament, a secretarial post wouldn't be a bad fit either, Darren calculated.
That was how deeply Xiel had impressed him: the first-years' staggering performance, Celia's ceaseless praise in her letters, and above all else…
Because that bastard Amos clearly had his eye on him!
Indeed. Darren might have ceded anything else to another man, but he refused to let Amos Kundel have him.
"Greetings, Lord Rihardt."
Right on cue, Xiel stepped into the room. Darren plastered an exceedingly gentle, genial smile across his face.
"Ah, Instructor Xiel! Welcome, welcome. I hope I haven't imposed upon your busy schedule."
"I was in the middle of preparing for class."
"Ah…"
Difficult right from the opening move. Yet what could Darren do? Xiel was the one holding the hilt of the sword.
"Haha! Then I must make sure we finish promptly so you may return. Please, have a seat. I'll have some tea brought in."
Moments later, a pair of porcelain cups brimming with intensely fragrant tea was set between them.
"This tea is brewed from the leaves of the Choleda plant, renowned throughout the West."
"I see."
A brick wall from the very start. Darren had hoped to curry favor with an exceptionally rare brew, but Xiel's reaction was thoroughly lukewarm.
A fist-sized tin of that tea costs over one hundred thousand cel, you uncultured…!
Had he tasted it before? Was this caliber of tea simply beneath his notice?
"Ahem, cough! My daughter speaks of you with the utmost admiration, you know. Her letters are filled to the brim with praise."
"Is that so?"
"Indeed. That was why I resolved to greet you in person while visiting for the festival. It brings me immense joy to finally share a table with you like this."
"We already met in front of the dagger-throwing booth at the festival—"
"Ahem! Cough, cough! Someone, bring more hot water for the tea, will you? It's gone completely cold!"
Steam was still visibly curling off the cup.
"Ouch! That's hot!"
"M-my lord, you ordered me to pour hot water…"
"I didn't tell you to bring it at a rolling boil!"
After that brief, chaotic farce played out, Darren decided subtlety was a waste of breath and cut straight to the chase.
"Instructor Xiel, I have a proposition for you."
"What is it?"
"Come to my house. I will guarantee a monthly salary of twenty-five thousand cel. Performance incentives will be provided separately, alongside full room, board, and an array of generous benefits. This is a personal recruitment offer from me, the head of House Rihardt."
Darren's gaze turned solemn and earnest.
"Witnessing what you accomplished with those first-years, combined with my daughter's glowing praise, has convinced me that you are an indispensable talent my family must secure. I wish to hire you as a chief drillmaster—not only for our knight order, but to instruct the aspiring young boys and girls who flock to our banner."
Darren concluded his speech with a confident smirk.
"What do you say?"
He was fully prepared to nudge the salary higher if pressed. And he had a supplementary perk held in reserve as well.
The Reus estate happens to be vacant. I can grant him residency there.
A leased territory. It was a condition that bastard Amos could never dream of matching.
"You will find no offer more generous than this anywhere in the empire."
At last, Xiel parted his lips.
"Lord Amos Kundel came to see me this morning."
What?
A cold bead of sweat traced a path down Darren's spine. When the hell did that sly dog sneak in…?
"Wh-and what was your answer?" Darren asked hurriedly.
"I refused."
"Ha! Hahaha! Splendid!"
Darren's triumph, however, was violently short-lived.
"His Imperial Highness, Prince Dietrich Baldrain, also extended an offer."
"Wh-who?!"
"The Imperial Prince. Dietrich Baldrain."
"…!"
Then the reason he refused Amos was…
"He… he made you a monumental offer…?"
"I refused him as well."
"…Pardon?"
He had rejected both of them?
Gulp.
Darren swallowed dryly, his mind racing at frantic speed.
Which means… he is telling me to negotiate!
There could be only one reason to deliberately disclose that he had turned down two titans of the realm!
He's telling me my terms aren't nearly enough to satisfy him!
The corners of Darren's mouth curled upward into a knowing grin.
"My, Instructor Xiel. It seems I misjudged the situation from the start."
If this was the sort of bidding war he was in—against an Imperial Prince, no less!
"Double my original terms. What say you to that?"
Xiel's answer came without a heartbeat of delay.
"I am not interested."
"……"
Not a shred of hesitation. A flat, instant rejection.
Darren stared at him, awe washing over his chest.
This man… is a master negotiator.
"If you will excuse me, I must take my leave. I have a class to prepare for."
"Ah…"
Caught completely off guard, Darren could only watch blankly as Xiel turned and walked out the door.
Click.
The latch fell into place.
"Ha…"
Darren let out a breathless laugh of pure admiration.
"What a formidable fellow. Truly."
Casually dropping rival offers to anchor his worth, weaponizing his opponent's desperation, and walking away without looking back the moment the counter-offer failed to meet his standards—he was clearly determined to squeeze every last concession from the table.
"Very well. I'll prepare an offer that will blow his mind."
The Prince was one thing. But whatever that bastard Amos had offered, Darren swore he would bid higher. Losing to Amos Kundel was an indignity he would never endure.
At that very same hour.
"Hah, a refusal, you say…?"
Amos Kundel sat in his chamber, having met the exact same rejection.
"…He refused?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
And Prince Dietrich stood in his pavilion, having been denied an audience altogether.
All three men—
Did that scoundrel Darren outbid me?
My proposal lacked concrete terms.
—found themselves arriving at the exact same conclusion.
Layer upon layer, the misunderstandings continued to pile high.