The Worst Possible Draw
Bayul still remembered the look Professor Serarika had given him at yesterday's breakfast gathering. It hadn't quite been hostility, but it was nothing like the face she wore now.
Why did she look at me like that?
Coming face to face with Professor Serarika again, Bayul found himself plunged into doubt once more.
"Well, now that we've all exchanged our greetings, it's time for the drawing, don't you think?"
Professor Serarika called the participants forward one by one in front of a large box. The drawing order began with the fourth-years, but the slips inside, each marked with a bracket number, had been tossed in and shuffled without any rhyme or reason.
The chess matches were to proceed as a tournament. The field was split into two groups, and losers were eliminated while winners kept facing each other and climbing ever upward.
"Bayul von Randert."
His turn had come at last. When Bayul stepped forward at Professor Serarika's call, all eyes converged on him once more. Everyone was watching to see what number he would draw.
"Hello, Bayul. This is the first time we've spoken one-on-one like this, isn't it?"
"…Yes. Hello, Professor Serarika."
"You wouldn't know it, but I've been terribly curious about you."
Her eyes crinkled into a warm smile — so different from yesterday that it was almost jarring. It was a genuinely beautiful smile, befitting her title of goddess, and yet for some reason Bayul felt a shiver crawl down his spine. Strange as it was, the woman frightened him.
"I'd heard you were quite ordinary, you see, but this feels a little extreme, even so."
"…Pardon?"
"How on earth can someone like you manage it, I wonder…"
Someone like me?
"Your friends are waiting for you. Go on, draw your slip."
Done bewailing him with her strange remarks, she pointed at the box as if scolding a dawdling child. Bayul, still dazed, thrust his hand inside and plucked out a slip at random.
"Shall we see what you've drawn?"
Before the still-stunned Bayul, Professor Serarika unfolded the slip of paper.
"Oho, Group Two, Number One? Now, wasn't it Number Two that someone drew just a moment ago?"
Just as she said, the Number Two slot on the bracket written on the blackboard already bore a name.
Rygan de Chenois.
Who's that?
The name was utterly unfamiliar — clearly not a student from his own year, then.
"Gahk! Rygan sunbae against Bayul?"
"What a bombshell for the very first round!"
"Who's going to win? Surely a first-year like Bayul can't beat him, right?"
The moment Bayul's name was written beside Rygan's, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Baffled by the incomprehensible reaction, Bayul tilted his head and made his way back to his seat — where Lubinsky came over to explain.
"Rygan de Chenois. He's last year's champion."
"…!"
"A fourth-year in the Administration Faculty, too."
When Bayul's eyes widened in shock, Lubinsky delivered the final blow with a look of sympathy.
It wasn't merely exhausting. He hadn't dared dream of winning the tournament, true — but being knocked out in the very first round was not what Bayul wanted either.
"For what it's worth, he won the year before last as well."
Lubinsky's words hammered the nail deeper into Bayul's anxiety. Two years ago would have made Rygan a second-year — meaning he had beaten out third- and fourth-years to claim the title even back then. He had to be a genuinely formidable player.
Could I actually beat someone like that?
He had played chess countless times, but never against such a wide variety of opponents. Bayul's sparring partners had been mostly his father and Bail — and, a few days ago, Death. If he strained to count another, there was Jared.
"Rygan sunbae is looking at you from over there."
Lubinsky whispered into his ear and flicked a glance to one side. Following the boy's gaze, Bayul found himself meeting eyes with the man presumed to be Rygan sunbae.
True to a senior student, he already carried an unmistakably adult bearing. For a man, his features were rather delicate, framed by a pair of silver-rimmed glasses. Having never interacted with him, Bayul couldn't guess what his temperament was like, but his face carried a kind, gentle impression.
Hello.
The man mouthed the greeting and waved at Bayul. Mimicking him outright seemed like poor manners toward a sunbae, so Bayul offered a small bow of his head instead.
Uh — what do I do?
Darkness swallowed Bayul's mind whole. Crown Prince Lindemann had promised to come cheer him on in person, and now he looked set to be eliminated in the first round. There was no face to be saved.
Losing to a stronger opponent was only natural — but dropping out in round one was, no matter how he looked at it, a dispiriting result. Thank goodness, truly, that he hadn't invited his father.
"Bayul, hang in there."
Lubinsky patted his shoulder in consolation, but it didn't help much. If there was one stroke of luck in all this, it was that Bayul's disappointment over the abysmal draw had made him forget Professor Serarika's words entirely.
"So this is the Water Garden?"
"Yes, Your Highness. It's a favorite retreat of the Academy students."
"A lake this vast, inside an Academy? The students are lucky indeed."
Not even Vergara, the imperial capital, had a lake like this. And even if it had, by now most of the water would have dried up to bare mud — hardly worthy of the name. He had felt it from the moment he arrived in Carrington: this city was a truly blessed place.
"It's high time it rained in the capital, though. Your worry must be weighing heavily on you, Your Highness."
"As if the capital were the only problem. There's hardly a corner of the Empire left untouched. It's a mercy that this place at least is still whole."
"Places like Carrington will keep growing in number, one by one. Have just a little patience."
"You sound like you're holding a card up your sleeve."
Aidan's unshakable tone made Crown Prince Lindemann, who had been strolling through the garden, turn and ask.
"Of course. I put my faith in the god of hope."
Because Bayul the Spirit User is going to restore this world's nature to what it once was. Don't be too shocked when that day comes.
Aidan's recklessly confident bearing drew a soft laugh out of the Crown Prince.
"The god of hope, is it? If such a god truly exists, I'd like to try believing in him myself."
"Does Your Highness not believe in the gods?"
"Well. That's a hard question to answer."
The Polska Empire was a nation that worshipped tens of thousands of different gods. There were three temples within the imperial palace alone, and visiting them regularly to offer prayers was one of the Crown Prince's more solemn duties.
And yet he had never once received an answer from any god. The Empire had grown mighty, but its people suffered under ceaseless natural disasters.
As the Empire's Crown Prince, as its future ruler — what was he to do? He still hadn't found the answer.
"Then how about a wager with me this time?"
"A wager? You don't mean on whether Bayul wins the tournament or not?"
Aidan's sudden proposal stopped the Crown Prince mid-stride.
"Aigoo, why would we bet on that? It's a foregone conclusion — that boy's going to win."
"You're that certain of his skill? I never got that impression from the way Bayul talks about himself."
"Here's the thing about Bayul. Anything he likes or takes an interest in, he's at the top tier or better. The problem is he's the only one who doesn't know it. He never really had anyone around to compare himself to, you see."
On his very first day at the Academy, the boy had delivered not only a self-introduction in Ga Kingdom's language — which he was supposedly bad at — but even a fluent explanation about his mother. In the chess match against Jared, he'd knocked back one harsh liquor after another and still held his ground to win.
"Whatever opponent he meets, he'll come through. Just watch. It'll happen exactly as I say."
"Hah, that loyalty of yours — trusting your friend like that — it's admirable enough to envy. So what's this wager you want with me, then?"
"When will it rain in the capital? Soon, or not for a while?"
"Don't tell me… you want to bet on the weather in the capital?"
"Yes sir! Autumn's too early, winter's a bit cold. What about spring rain? It should be about ready by then. It's the season when fresh sprouts come up green — isn't that perfect timing?"
"Hey, hey, Aidan."
Don't push it too far, got it?
The look Eli shot him from the side was anything but friendly, but Aidan didn't notice a thing. By this time next year, he was certain, Bayul would have grown into a magnificent Spirit User.
"Now you've really made me curious. There's something to this, isn't there? Don't tell me you've got a friend somewhere who'll make it rain just because you asked."
"Ahaha! Even if I had a friend like that, I could never breathe a word of it. He'd get hauled off to the palace and worked to the bone forever — not a chance I'm talking."
Aidan's exaggerated tone and gestures sent Crown Prince Lindemann into roaring laughter.
"I didn't know you had a gift for telling jokes with a straight face. So you're more than just a good rider."
"I may not look it, but I'm the top student of my faculty. If I've brought Your Highness some enjoyment, I'd say today's protocol was a great success — I'm delighted."
"The tournament begins shortly. Shall we head over?"
While the Crown Prince and Aidan chattered on, Logan, who had been watching nothing but the clock, finally spoke up.
"Of course. Aidan — about that wager you were proposing, we'll discuss it later."
"This way, please."
At Logan's guidance, the Crown Prince and his party hurried off toward the outdoor arena set up beside the Water Garden.
"Oh? The Chairman is here as well."
"That's right. That man… no, I mean — why would the Chairman come here of all places?"
"He must have come to cheer Bayul on."
As if it were no big deal at all, Crown Prince Lindemann walked over and greeted him warmly.
"Oh, Crown Prince Lindemann! You've come to watch as well?"
Rayegar rose to his feet at the sight of the Crown Prince, greeting him with a genial smile. Naturally, the party took their seats beside him.
"Well, this is a sorry state of affairs, though. You've come to cheer Bayul on, and his draw could hardly be worse."
"Worse? What do you mean?"
"Well, as it happens, he's drawn last year's champion. A fellow who's held the title since his second year, I'm told. Whether Bayul can make it past the first round — that's the real question."
"Excuse us a moment — we'll be right back."
This was not news they could sit still and swallow. Aidan and Eli, and then Logan and Quinn as well, all rushed to the bracket posted near the arena to confirm the pairings with their own eyes.
"It's real."
"Rygan de Chenois versus Bayul von Randert. A clash for the ages, huh."
"Why in the world did they write 'seeking his third consecutive championship' right next to it?"
It was probably one of those attention-grabbing gimmicks, but to his friends it read like a slap in the face.
"Players aren't here yet? I don't see them."
"When they show up, let's cheer our hearts out for Bayul. So he doesn't lose his nerve."
His first opponent was simply too formidable. They knew Bayul's nature far too well, and it was easy to picture exactly what state he'd be in by now. That was what made it sting all the more — but what mattered most was that Bayul pull through it himself and focus on the game. And they believed, fully, that he was more than capable of doing just that.
Before long, the participants began arriving one by one and taking their seats according to their bracket numbers. Bayul was among them, and his deflated slump was visible even from where his friends sat.
And then —
"Young Master Bayul! You can do it! I believe with all my heart that you're going to win!"
It was Rita. Leaping up from the stands, she waved a blue banner bearing the black shield of House Randert, its star and moon emblazoned upon it, and bellowed her support at the top of her lungs.
Invisible to everyone else, Innocent and Tempesta hovered above her head, joining their voices to hers and cheering right along.
Not just the participants but the spectators could be felt glancing back and forth between Bayul and Rita.
Bayul's head sank low. Why is it always me who ends up mortified? He wanted to flee somewhere — anywhere.
"Who is that girl?"
When the Crown Prince asked, his friends hesitated — and Hayes, standing at attention behind them, answered in their place.
"Her name is Rita, Your Highness. She has attended Young Master Bayul since his days in Hamilton."
"So she's a maid, then?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Hah, fascinating. Since yesterday it's been nothing but stories about Bayul's servants. Remarkable, truly."
"Young Master Bayul has regarded her as an elder sister since he was a small child. I imagine she simply wished to lift his spirits before the match."
"My own sister wouldn't do that for me, I'm afraid — and now I find myself envying Bayul all over again."
Screeee—!
The moment the Crown Prince finished his idle joke, the curtain finally rose on the chess tournament. Each chess table had its own dedicated timekeeper, and a few roving officials could be seen circling the arena grounds, managing the venue to preserve the players' concentration.
"Bayul, fighting!"
"Go get 'em!"
His friends shouted, hoping to lend him even a shred of courage — though whether he heard any of it was doubtful. Bayul had already poured every ounce of his focus onto the chessboard before his eyes.