The School's Top Student from the Slums (2)
Roin's eyes widened at his words. What did he just say? Not the top student?
As Roin's expression turned puzzled, Principal Dumbledore's face shifted to one of clear embarrassment.
"This boy, Leclerc! What nonsense is this all of a sudden!? Not the top student?!"
The principal scolded him, but Leclerc repeated his claim with unwavering resolve.
"I said I'm not the top student because I'm not. Why are you asking why I'm not?"
"You brat! You're not some palace maid in a drama—what's with that attitude!"
Principal Dumbledore wiped sweat from his brow, barely holding back as he reprimanded Leclerc. He turned to Roin with an apologetic, troubled look.
"I apologize for showing such an unsightly display before Her Majesty. The truth is, there was a slight issue with the final exam grading..."
"An issue?"
Roin tilted her head. The situation didn't feel unpleasant. If anything, seeing the usually loyal, benevolent, and impeccably honest Principal Dumbledore so flustered was refreshingly novel.
Meanwhile, Leclerc, standing behind them, shouted with a face full of righteous indignation.
"Principal! We can't lie to Her Majesty! Originally, I'm not the top student!"
"You fool! Have you forgotten Her Majesty's presence!? There are rules! Coming all the way here and..."
"In any case, I won't lie! I'm not the top student!"
The principal and cadet Leclerc began bickering sharply. In the midst of it, Roin asked, utterly baffled.
"Wait, what on earth is going on? A problem with the grading process?"
She'd seen people insist on being number one before, but never someone insisting they weren't number one. What could this be about?
"Well... it's that..."
Principal Dumbledore scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"It's complicated to explain..."
"Then just explain it simply."
"...Ah! Of course, that's an option."
The principal clapped once and opened his mouth.
"The truth is, there's another fourth-year top student."
"...Two top students?"
"More precisely, it's a tie."
"Then where are they?"
"That's..."
Principal Dumbledore's face fell into gloom.
"That kid turned in a blank test sheet for the final exam."
"What!?"
Roin's eyes went wide in genuine shock. The principal continued.
"As Your Majesty knows, the fourth-year final doesn't weigh heavily on the transcript, so it doesn't affect the overall grades much. But Leclerc and that student have been neck-and-neck for top spot all four years, always tying with perfect scores... So this one result settled it for good."
Perfect scores on every test for four straight years? That was true genius territory. But why would such a flawless student slip up at the very end?
Roin's curiosity piqued about the circumstances.
"Why would that cadet turn in a blank sheet on the final?"
"Well... it's... um..."
Principal Dumbledore hesitated, as if unsure whether he should say.
Then, from behind, Leclerc fidgeted like he had something to add. Roin turned to him.
"Cadet Leclerc?"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
"Do you think you're not the top student yourself?"
Leclerc answered without a hint of doubt.
"Yes! Exactly!"
"Why?"
"I messed up on this final! My GPA dropped to 4.4. But that one? They'd have aced it for sure! Probably a perfect 4.5 average, graduating with straight perfects across the board!"
But that was just a "what if." Tests didn't have hypotheticals—only results mattered. Life was like that, wasn't it? Still, Roin didn't want to judge solely by the score on a paper.
So she asked, "But they turned in a blank sheet, right? Was there some other reason?"
Leclerc boomed back, "That one's the most knightly cadet in this school! In my opinion, the reason is...!"
Roin could only widen her eyes again at his words. Really? That kind of reason?*
* * *
A blonde beauty with golden eyes let out a sigh.
"Hoo..."
Cadet Georges St. Pierre. With her short hair, she looked at first glance like a pretty boy. She was the one who'd gotten caught up in the train robbery with Hotse before.
Now, she sat on the steps of the school outskirts' incinerator, head bowed. Crumple— A sheet of paper crumpled in her fist. It was the final exam answer sheet she'd almost turned in.
Georges hesitated several times, holding the wrinkled final exam before the incinerator flames. But in the end, she let it go.
Whoosh! The paper caught fire. It blackened from the corner, curling up as it burned.
"There. That's that."
Georges sighed with a complicated expression. Bits of charred paper fluttered hotly toward her eyes, flushed red by the firelight.
Right then— Thwack! Someone hooked the burning paper with a stick. Stomp! Stomp! He stomped out the flames with his boot and picked it up.
It was Cadet Leclerc. He read the paper in his hand in a low voice.
"'The Merits and Flaws of Knightly Theory: Implications and Improvements'..."
"What are you doing?!"
Georges lunged to snatch it, but Leclerc had already backed away. Having read her answer sheet through, he looked up.
"If you'd turned this in as is, it'd have been an A+."
"...What's it to you!?"
"Why'd you blank it?"
"I asked what's it to you."
Georges's eyes turned icy. She drew her rapier from her waist—uncharacteristically aggressive.
"Give me back my answer sheet. Or it's a duel."
Leclerc smirked coldly, glaring back with equal chill.
"Bring it. If I win, you confess why you blanked the final."
"Third time asking. This is irregular—no next time. I'm forfeiting my grades. What's it to you?"
"It hurts my pride."
"...What?"
As Georges blurted the fourth question in surprise, Leclerc spoke in a voice like cracking ice.
"Being rivals for four years with some penniless nobody. And now the rumor that you threw it to let me win."
"...Hah, that's your reason?"
Georges sighed wearily. Flash! Her rapier gleamed like lightning. At the same instant, Leclerc's longsword traced a smooth arc.
Clang— The outcome was instantaneous. Georges's rapier pierced the flat of Leclerc's longsword, lightly touching his left chest. A terrifying feat—stabbing straight through one blade with another.
An unbelievable skill gap for same-school, same-year cadets. Leclerc felt chills race down his spine at the overwhelming result. He'd always thought their matches were razor-close. Was the gap this wide?
"With aura, you'd be dead. That's as much mercy as a 'young master' like you gets."
Leclerc bit his lip at Georges's sharp words. Live-steel duels were strictly forbidden on campus. They carried live blades but weren't allowed to draw them for good reason. Knowing that, Georges swiftly sheathed her rapier.
She notified him in a flat, emotionless tone. "Put down my answer sheet and get lost."
"..."
Leclerc stood frozen. Instead, he bellowed at her.
"You! You blanked it because you didn't want to host Her Majesty at your house, right!?"
"...!"
Ripples crossed Georges's stoic face. Her small, pale hand trembled for a split second. Leclerc pressed on.
"Throwing away top spot just to avoid hosting Her Majesty! How can you call yourself a knight after that?! Aren't you ashamed!?"
Georges fell silent for a moment. Then, maintaining her icy expression, she spat one more line.
"...Barking well, aren't you? Leave the sheet and scram."
"Don't you know how glorious top student is!? How immense the honor of hosting such a noble guest at home! Are you that stupid!?"
Leclerc waved the half-burned sheet like a flag, yelling defiantly. Then—
Georges closed in fast. Thud! Her slender arm seized the collar of the head-taller Leclerc and yanked him down. Their noses nearly touched.
"...!"
Leclerc swallowed hard, holding his breath. A growl rumbled from Georges up close.
"Listen well."
"..."
"Unlike your cushy mansion, I live in a dingy basement studio."
"..."
"No money for eating out, so I stuff myself at school lunch before heading home."
"..."
"No heat—drum barrel in the middle of the room, burning scrap wood. Bedding? Newspapers on the walls and floor—that's it."
"..."
"You think you could host Her Majesty... yeah, that noble guest of yours... in a filthy dump like that?"
Georges's eyes bored into Leclerc. What swirled in them? Rage? Sorrow? Self-loathing? Something inexpressible churned in violent eddies within her gaze.
Thud! She shoved him back hard. Somehow, she'd snatched the half-burnt sheet. Rip! Rip! She tore it to shreds and tossed it into the flames.
She glared at Leclerc.
"Top spot's yours."
"..."
"Serve Her Majesty well. Like you said, nobler than anyone in the world—and hosting her is the greatest honor."
Georges turned coldly and vanished in a huff.
"..."
Only Leclerc remained by the incinerator. Staring at Georges's retreating figure, now a black speck in the distance, he muttered softly.
"Idiot... I just wanted you to..."
He trailed off, thumping his chest in frustration. He clawed at his scalp till it bled. What should he have said? What would have been right?
Like always over four years, Leclerc felt nothing but frustration today.
* * *
"Damn bastard!"
Georges stormed out to the training field. The icy composure from before was gone.
Thud— She spat curses and kicked the base of the horizontal bar. No matter how she thought about it, it pissed her off. The bar bent like taffy under her mana-charged kick.
Leclerc. Thinking of that face made steam practically rise from her head.
"Arrrgh! You goddamn spoiled brat!"
She slashed the dirt wildly with her rapier. A few fresh first-years spotted her and slunk away. She'd forced calm earlier, but rage boiled her brain now. Already heartbroken over not hosting Her Majesty, some slimy punk had tossed a Molotov.
Tears stung her eyes from the grief and fury. If anyone saw her tears—the infamous lone wolf Georges—they'd be stunned. The whole grade, no, the whole school.
"Just you wait—I'll make it big and get my revenge!"
Grinding her teeth, she let one tear fall. Then, a clear, bright voice came from behind.
"Knights don't seek personal revenge. Isn't that in the Knight's Oath?"
"Gah!?"
Georges whipped around. How could she forget? Her sun, her lord, her reason for being.
Queen Roin stood there!
"I greet Your Majesty!"
Georges bowed deeply with a booming voice. Roin, wearing a bemused smile, tapped her arm.
"First time seeing you since the train robbery, right?"
"Gah!? You remember—such an honor!"
Georges floundered, flustered. She hadn't even known Roin was the queen back then.
Meanwhile, Roin gave her a warm smile.
"Let's go."
"...Pardon?"
"I said let's go."
Georges whipped her head side to side. Nothing there—just some students staring from afar.
"If I may... where to, Your Majesty?"
Roin pulled something from behind. Thwack! A sheet of paper fluttered in her hand.
Georges's eyes nearly popped out. It was her scorched, taped-together final exam. Gaps everywhere, but still legible.
"N-No way...?"
Georges stared in disbelief. At the top, Principal Dumbledore's signature in bold red ink: A+.
To the dazed Georges, Roin said brightly,
"To the home of the grade's top cadet, Georges St. Pierre."