The Wyvern Saddle
"Just let go of it! If you don't, I swear you'll regret it!"
The bullies wrestled the struggling Aidan to the ground. Several of the larger boys pinning down one small-framed kid through sheer brute force was an ugly, barbarous spectacle.
But for Jared, who had been waiting for this day all along, there was no moment sweeter than this. He had prepared every last detail for the pleasure of snapping that upturned nose of Aidan's. It was more electric than he'd imagined, more satisfying than he'd hoped.
Idiot. Why did you have to get on my nerves?
If he thought this would be the end of it, he was sorely mistaken. This was only the beginning.
You'll crawl at my feet and beg. That's a promise.
With a cruel smile playing at his lips, Jared jerked his chin, and at last the shrouded object revealed itself.
"What is that?"
"It's a saddle."
"All that fuss over nothing, and it was just a saddle?"
The thing turned out to be a riding saddle, the kind used for horseback. It was made of black leather tinged with a reddish hue, and it looked quite old, faded in patches here and there.
"Hold on."
Jared, who had been sneering along with the others, suddenly knitted his brow and bent down for a closer look.
"Isn't this wyvern leather?"
"Huh? Wyvern?"
A single remark sent ripples through the crowd. The boys' eyes went round as saucers as they crowded toward the saddle.
"No way! It really is wyvern leather!"
"Seriously? How can you tell?"
"Look at this pattern here. That's the shape of a wyvern's back plates. I've seen one before — it's a perfect match!"
"I've seen it too. I think he's right!"
"But isn't wyvern leather insanely expensive? How does that pauper have something like this?"
Now was the time for the seeds of doubt they had sown to take deeper root.
Well, well!
Jared whistled inwardly and stoked the fire once more.
"So this is why you stole it, then? To use for the riding exam next week."
In riding, a saddle was an essential piece of equipment. Light, high-quality leather not only spared the horse the burden of excess weight but offered superior grip to keep the rider from slipping into the mount.
Wyvern leather was, without exaggeration, the finest hide there was — more than enough to satisfy both conditions.
"At least your eyes work properly — you can recognize wyvern leather, after all. But are your ears rotten? I told you, I brought it from home!"
"Liar! How could this possibly belong to your family? Something this expensive — as if it's fitting for the likes of you!"
"It wouldn't even rank among the expensive things at our house! Stop talking and get your filthy hands off my saddle!"
"If you insist. Whatever you say."
For once, he seemed oddly agreeable, complying without a fight. But his compliance lasted only a moment — he flung the saddle to the ground and stomped on it with all his might.
"You — you —!"
The words wouldn't come. That was the instant the thread of patience he'd been clinging to snapped clean in two. Rage surged up from somewhere deep, soaking him to the marrow of his bones.
"I'll kill you."
Muttering it almost to himself, Aidan went berserk. Where the strength came from, no one could say — he shook off the boys holding him down and lunged straight for Jared. In the scramble, his hat came loose and Ingrid fluttered up in a panic.
"That little brat — stop him!"
Jared dodged, and his lackeys swarmed in to fill the gap. They threw punches at Aidan in unison. Quick as a darting squirrel, he evaded the first few blows, but as noted before, no one could overcome sheer numbers. There were simply too many of them.
"Aidan!"
Wanting to help wasn't the same as being able to. The boys had formed a wall to keep Bayul and Eli from getting anywhere close. The furious Eli grappled with them, but it was hopeless.
"Are you going to move, or what?"
Wounds large and small bloomed across Aidan's body one after another.
"Everyone, please stop! Someone's going to get seriously hurt!"
Bayul stamped his feet in frustration. Aidan was fighting alone, and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't even know what he should do. Should he run and fetch a professor right this second, or call down a deluge to break up the chaos? His head felt ready to split open.
"…That's it! That's the answer!"
Why had it taken him so long to think of it?
Chiding himself, Bayul hurriedly called for Innocent.
Innocent, where are you? Please, come quickly!
Whether she had sensed the urgency in him or not, Innocent arrived in an instant.
—Bayul, did you call me?
Startled by the commotion, she looked around with widened eyes.
I need your help.
Bayul met her gaze and poured his desperation into the thought.
—Oh, that's easy.
His wish became action at once. Innocent beamed, then swept in a wide circle high above the very heart of the brawl.
Swooosh!
A cloudburst? No — this was a waterfall. A colossal cascade, cold as ice, crashed down on the boys without mercy.
"Aargh!"
"Wh-what the —!"
Screams scattered under the sudden deluge, and in the blink of an eye the whole area was awash. Everyone was left looking like drowned rats, and a few, badly rattled, collapsed to the ground gasping for breath. Some were trembling outright.
—What do you think, Bayul?
Innocent gazed down proudly at the scene she had created.
—Do you like it?
I do. Thank you, Innocent.
—Hee hee, it was nothing. Want me to pour another one on, to knock some sense into them?
No, that's fine. This is more than enough.
—But I can do more! Really, I can!
Next time. I'll ask you again next time.
Wary that Innocent might actually unleash a second deluge, Bayul hurried to refuse. She seemed a little disappointed, but she soon nodded and accepted it.
Well. She does have a habit of overdoing everything.
Watching her retreating figure, Bayul let out a breath of relief.
Now, how am I supposed to clean this mess up?
He had achieved his goal of stopping the fight, but the aftermath was the problem. How on earth was anyone supposed to explain a waterfall that had materialized out of a perfectly clear sky?
Among the ten-plus boys, Bayul was the only one who hadn't been drenched. Everyone was too dazed to notice yet, but someone was bound to find it strange eventually.
Should I just pretend I don't know anything?
No one would suspect Bayul of doing it. There was no evidence anywhere that he had.
"What in the world is this pandemonium!"
Just as Bayul was racking his brain for an answer, a stern voice rang out and an unfamiliar figure appeared.
"P-Professor!"
Right on cue. The man rounded on Bayul without preamble and raised his voice.
"What is the meaning of this disgraceful behavior on sacred academy grounds! Tormenting your fellow students with those petty little tricks of yours! Quinn — is that how they raise children in the merfolk kingdom you come from!"
Quinn…?
Bayul turned at the strangeness of it and nearly jumped out of his skin. At some point, Quinn had appeared right behind him. And that wasn't all — a crowd of students had gathered to watch the spectacle.
"That's Professor McKellen from the Administration Faculty. He teaches business management — you probably don't know him since he's not our year's advisor. Fair warning: if you get on his bad side, he'll make your life miserable."
"Schubik!"
Bayul started again at the whisper that suddenly cut in beside him.
"Shh! Quiet. We're in a really bad position right now. Of all people, you had to get caught by Professor McKellen."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
As if to say, see for yourself, Schubik pointed ahead.
"Class is about to start, and look what he's done to the students! If any of them catch a cold, Quinn, will you take responsibility for it!"
"Cough, cough!"
The timing was flawless. The moment Professor McKellen's tirade ended, Jared erupted into coughing.
"Oh dear, Jared. Are you all right?"
The warmth in his voice was so complete it was hard to believe it was the same man. Affection dripped from his every glance and gesture.
"I'm fine, Professor. My friends, though… cough, cough!"
It was such an amateur performance that anyone could see the coughs were fake. Even the onlooking students were clicking their tongues — but Professor McKellen either failed to notice or pretended not to, his face full of concern.
"Thinking of others before yourself even in your own distress — what admirable character. You two there! Run and fetch some towels and blankets. Hurry!"
Though his reluctance was plain as day, no student could defy a professor's order. The two boys scurried off.
"Thank you."
Professor McKellen answered Jared's bow with a smile, then turned away — and every trace of warmth vanished from his face.
"Quinn Bertex, first year, Administration Faculty! For causing a disturbance first thing in the morning and turning the road to class into chaos, you deserve nothing less than suspension. But considering this is a first offense, I shall assign you ten penalty points instead! Any objection?"
Ha!
Bayul was so dumbfounded he nearly laughed out loud. It was absurd enough to hear the word suspension over something like this — but how could a professor, of all people, take one side so high-handedly without weighing a single circumstance of the incident?
Quinn had done nothing wrong. The one who had poured the water was Bayul, not Quinn. He had simply been mistaken for the culprit because he was merfolk. Because his people had the power to command water.
Only now did Bayul truly understand what Schubik had meant. Professor McKellen's attitude toward Quinn was almost a mirror of Jared's — the contemptuous words and manner toward the merfolk, and on top of that, open favoritism toward Jared. The situation was bad.
I have to step in.
The moment Bayul opened his mouth to speak, Quinn was one step ahead of him.
"I do object."
Quinn strode steadily toward Professor McKellen.
"Do you see that?"
He pointed at Aidan's saddle, lying trampled and ruined on the ground.
"What is that? A saddle?"
"Correct. It belongs to Aidan. They took it from him by force and left it in that state. That is why the fight broke out."
"…Is that so?"
"My intervention was a necessary choice. It was the only way I could stop the violence being inflicted on Aidan."
Quinn put deliberate weight on the words violence. The penalties for acts of violence on academy grounds were steep — expulsion was not an uncommon outcome.
When the flustered Professor McKellen faltered and failed to respond, Jared cut in.
"We had our reasons too, Professor!"
"Very well, Jared. Speak."
"It's that saddle, Professor. Aidan bought it with money he got from stealing our belongings and selling them!"
"What nonsense is this now? Stolen goods?"
"Yes, Professor!"
As Jared gave his summary of events, Professor McKellen's already-narrowed eyes narrowed to slits.
"Aidan?"
"I did not steal anything."
He was worn out from protesting, but Aidan stood straight and asserted his innocence.
"The saddle is a family heirloom, passed down through generations."
"Aidan, this is your only chance. Keep up these lies and you will suffer for it."
"I swear it's true! By heaven itself, I have never stolen anything in my life!"
Aidan had never once coveted what belonged to another. He had never needed to — and he knew full well that he never must. Being tangled up in an accusation like this was insulting in itself.
"Wyvern leather is beyond even a professor's means to purchase on a whim. How is it that such a thing exists in your household?"