42. John the Armstrong
42. John the Armstrong
"Calm down."
"..."
"The operation's over. Get some rest."
"Huff..."
Only after I heard Leon trying to hold me back did my seizure stop.
Normally he would've smacked me upside the head for causing trouble again, but having noticed my condition wasn't great, he chose to calm me down instead of scolding me.
"You good now?"
"Yeah. Thanks to you."
"Thanks to you, the theater's in chaos."
Well, that made sense.
An actor revealing himself at the exit the moment the film ended—
it was the kind of situation where audiences and staff alike must've thought it was some surprise event.
Of course there'd been no notice or coordination beforehand, but in a medieval world where romance took priority over law, that part wasn't much of a problem.
Naturally, while I was catching my breath in the theater's lounge, outside was going berserk.
So I had to deal with that first.
"Might as well open an impromptu fan signing or something."
"You sure you're okay?"
"Why all of a sudden?"
"I'm asking if you're in good enough shape."
"I'm perfectly fine."
Those weren't empty words.
Fortunately, my PTSD stemmed from experiences in my previous life, so even if it flared up in brief episodes, it didn't tend to last long.
I kept telling myself it was only acting, but the images still wouldn't leave my head.
"First let's talk to the theater owner and set up a table."
Suddenly I'd ended up holding a release-commemoration fan meeting, but what did it matter?
Putting in a hard day's work myself was far better than watching people collapse.
As it happened, back in the club room was a supporting actor no less important than the stars of this film.
Peter, who doubled as Taylor, sommelier, and chef.
If I called him over too, people would love it.
And so we opened a fan meeting that had never been announced.
*
The students and professors who visited the theater during the fan meeting were truly varied.
Among them were professors and students who came to get an autograph despite having IV drips stuck in their arms.
I wondered if it was really worth going that far, but I didn't make an issue of it.
Weren't they people who liked me that much—I couldn't exactly treat them like lunatics.
I just couldn't bring myself to voice my worry for them, though.
'John was worried about me!'
They'd collapse all over again.
I’d been so stunned that I couldn’t even thank them.
'John told me thank you!'
Since every word I said got that kind of reaction, I tried testing it by saying nothing at all once—
'Ah! If John gives me no reaction at all, what more is there to live for!'
Once I finally came to my senses, I hurried after them.
Good grief.
It was like dealing with lucky Xun Yu types.
Since they seemed ready to collapse no matter what I did, the signing proceeded with paramedics stationed nearby.
The interesting thing was that people crowded around Peter just as much as they did around me.
He greeted the viewers in his sommelier persona, which seemed the most likely to attract a cult following among his tailor, sommelier, and chef roles.
"Peter! What kind of weapon would suit me?"
"Haha. I am the sommelier, so I cannot recommend a weapon. Instead, I could recommend a 'custom wine.'"
"Ah, my apologies. Well then, about the wine—do you have something heavy with a strong finish?"
"If that's the case, I recommend a greatsword."
"Thank you!"
Listening to him, it sounded like fan service from an actor with a decade of experience.
Seeing that made me suddenly curious, so when I had a spare moment I asked him if he'd worked as an actor in his previous life—
"I was a YouTuber. A nobody barely anyone watched, though."
He said that, but the viewer numbers that came out of his mouth were by no means at the level of a nobody.
I don’t know much about streaming, but even I knew a channel with a stable three-digit viewer count wasn’t normally considered obscure.
"Hey. You said your previous job had nothing to do with entertainment."
"It's embarrassing to hand someone you've only known a short while a business card that says 'YouTuber'... And there was never a good time to bring it up afterward."
"Aha."
So he'd had secrets just like me.
Since I'd also hidden a significant portion of my past life when we first met, I decided to let it slide.
In any case, Peter's reactions—no, his fan service—were on point.
Maybe not as much as me, but I had the feeling his fanbase was solid too.
"Wait? Don't tell me you performed as Taylor and the chef as well?"
"Yes, they were all me."
Seeing that he didn’t forget to promote himself whenever the chance arose, I had to admit he’d become a full-fledged actor.
'Hold on. Wasn't he a Sage and Prophet?'
Peter was steadily turning into an all-purpose Dobby, but I decided to let it go.
When the Joker and Two-Face live next door, you're bound to end up at least a Scarecrow yourself—so this was well within the margin of acceptability.
While all that was going on, the person I'd been waiting for finally showed herself.
"It's been a while, John."
"It has."
Skadi had emerged from among the students.
This time, I wasn't startled.
From the moment she'd placed a mark of vengeance on me, I'd figured she'd show up sooner or later.
"I don't need an autograph. How about a rematch sometime?"
"I'll consider it if I have the time."
Unfortunately, that time was unlikely to ever come.
She smiled a combative smile and was about to leave just like that.
But there was someone who stopped her in her tracks—
"John, what are you doing here?"
Tila, the greatest villainess and tragic heroine of the John Armstrong series.
No—should I call her Diane here?
"A fan signing without me? That hurts, John."
Aha, so calling her Tila would be fine.
A true actor could role-play even outside the set.
I pulled out a chair and smoothly offered her the seat next to me.
"Sit."
Despite my utterly brusque attitude, Tila sat down beside me as though she was used to it.
And then she, too, got ready to sign in earnest.
When I asked what had brought her to the academy,
"I transferred."
God damn.
Now my upperclassmen included Skadi and Diane on permanent rotation.
In any case, having smoothly claimed the seat beside me, Tila wore the bewitching smile of a vixen and looked at Skadi, who hadn't yet left.
And then she went and pulled a sudden stunt.
"What are you doing."
"This is what we used to recreate on operations, remember?"
"I have a wife now."
When she tried to lean on my shoulder, I brusquely shrugged her off.
But as if that had been her intention all along, she beamed at Skadi.
Skadi took in Tila's smile without a hint of concern and turned around.
"Childish. Don't worry. I regard that man as nothing more than a worthy rival."
"Of course. You'd do well to keep it that way."
Somehow there was an edge buried in Tila's words.
Skadi smirked at the sight and left.
I watched this woman for a moment wondering what she was up to, then resumed signing.
"Wow, should I call that eunuch behavior or alpha male behavior?"
Peter, who never hesitated to say anything to me, was a bonus.
*
The fan signing concluded successfully, and after seeing Diane off, I immediately contacted someone.
"Yes, Guild Master. How has the project come along?"
"Preparations are nearly complete. We can start as early as tomorrow."
"Starting tomorrow itself might come off as a spoiler, so let's begin the day after tomorrow."
"Understood."
"Then I'm counting on you."
It wasn't that I was greedy for money, but my instincts weren't so dead that I couldn't appreciate romance.
Before the film's release, I had prepared an event with the trading companies that appeared in the movie.
Specifically, it involved placing Taylor and the sommelier at a tailor shop and a restaurant respectively. (The chef was too on-the-nose, so I didn't do it.)
This event, carried out in collaboration with several workshops, was a VIP service that guided you to a secret room if you recited lines from the film.
The catch was the gold coins that appeared in the film, which were handed out along with movie tickets.
Naturally, anyone with even a shred of instinct would take these model gold coins given with their ticket and head to the tailor shop and restaurant.
The event could be enjoyed at tailor shops and restaurants located in each capital and major city, and naturally, preparations had been made on Hetairo Island as well.
The event would start in two days.
I'd heard the trading companies were already sweating bullets turning away people who'd shown up early.
Now then, what fruit would this romance I'd prepared bear?
I was already so excited I could hardly stand it.
*
A week later.
In a back alley behind a hospital whose staff were overwhelmed by the recent surge in fainting incidents, a group of people had gathered.
"Oh... Oooooh!!!"
The gathering, forming a circle and clad in patient gowns, almost looked like a cultist meeting to passersby.
And strictly speaking, that misunderstanding wasn't entirely wrong.
Because a ritual really was taking place in the center of the circle they had formed.
"Ooooh... This is truly..."
This was the result of a mixture of coincidence and mania.
Among the group of patients, there just so happened to be an information analysis professor, a graduate student specializing in space-time magic, and an archaeology teaching assistant.
By coincidence they were gathered in the same hospital room, and by coincidence they discovered traces of John's mana.
In the neighboring room were Knight Faculty students who could do the legwork for them, while a psychometry specialist was hospitalized upstairs.
And finally, the location where John had made contact with the Counterintelligence Department happened to be the back alley close to the hospital.
As though hunting for a carefully hidden Easter egg, they eventually succeeded in restoring John’s directive.
"A relic...! This is a holy relic...!"
They reverently held up the paper fragment restored through space-time magic.
Above the paper floated a holographic psychometric image created by tracing residual mana.
- We............ goi...... to........... rev...... the silv........
- The........ light of grat...... shall......... eme......
Though there was heavy interference, it was unmistakably John in the act of receiving a directive.
At the sight—as cinematic as a film—the patient group was letting out howls that transcended human language.
- I did it! Fuck! I restored it!
- That's John for you! His fan service never misses!
- Kieeek!
- Grrrr bark bark!
The one thing they were mistaken about, however, was that this directive was not some prop or Easter egg made for a film, but actual military classified information.
Even if the operation in question had already been quietly concluded, military secrets were still military secrets.
Had Charles, who took part in the operation, been present, he would have quietly restrained them, but unfortunately, the man in question was holed up at home, replaying the scenes he appeared in for the umpteenth time.
In the end, with no one to stop them, they spread their joy to the entire world like a runaway locomotive.
<Special Report! John Armstrong’s directive-receiving process confirmed to have taken place at the academy!>
Reading a newspaper with video vividly attached like a tablet, the Dean let out a sigh.
Before his eyes were
He dropped to his knees as if prostrating himself on a hot griddle.
William, who had rushed to the academy upon receiving an urgent imperial decree,
and the head of Counterintelligence, whose hair seemed to thin by the day.
"Son, what is this."
Allen racked his brains desperately.
The Dean almost felt like he could hear the sound of Allen's eyeballs rattling.
The line he eventually squeezed out was one that even made the Dean flinch.
"What do you mean, what is it? It's action. Doesn't it get your adrenaline pumping, Father?"
"...Counterintelligence sent a warning this time telling you to exercise restraint."
Allen silently looked at his maternal uncle.
The veins bulging on his uncle's forehead.
The atmosphere suggested that if he didn't start speaking more properly, the man was prepared to make Allen's hairline match his own.
"Didn't I tell you to restrain yourself last time."
"Eeek! Oppose censorship! I pursue cultural freedom!"
Crack.
A vein rose on the uncle's hand as his forehead flushed slightly red.
Pressing his agitated brother-in-law down with one hand, William continued.
"... The number of agents injured while covering for you is fifteen this month alone."
"Ah. My apologies for that."
But tactless Allen's mouth still had to say what it had to say.
"But honestly, Uncle, it was pretty badass, right?"
Three Hook Extremes slammed into Allen in succession.