The Path of the All-Master
Elion Academy ran on a six-year program. Its academic system was something of a hybrid between high school and university — first-years enrolled at seventeen, the same age as a high school freshman.
The first three years were designated the mandatory curriculum, a stretch every student had to complete in order to graduate. Required classes ran from eight in the morning until noon. After lunch came the electives.
From the fourth year through the sixth, the program shifted to an elective curriculum. Every class became optional, and a student could apply for graduation at any time. In practice, it was no different from becoming a university student.
The whole setup was originally just flavor text to manufacture rival factions.
The academy used a criterion-referenced system — all you needed were the credits required for advancement and graduation. That meant students had to complete at least a minimum number of electives.
Around him, students muttered in indecision.
"Hey, what are you taking?"
"Gotta lock in the popular ones first. I'm going for swordsmanship, so Introduction to Protego Sword Art…"
Naturally, there were popular courses and unpopular ones. The popular courses — Introduction to Protego Sword Art, Fundamentals of Aerial Magic, the Holy Arts of Saint Johannes — were, as a rule, classes that taught techniques associated with the hero's party of a hundred years ago.
Elion Academy was founded to unearth the next hero, after all.
The students' worries rolled on.
"And if you don't get in? Did you even buy a seat?"
"As if. You need connections and money for that. If I wash out, I'll just take an unpopular one. Practical Mercenary Arts is my backup…"
Popularity meant competition, and the competition was fierce. Fierce enough that the setting had been written specifically to accommodate it. Behind closed doors, a practice of seat-trading flourished — nobles securing spots for their children through backroom deals with the professors in charge.
The original protagonist had applied for the popular courses too, failed to get in, and ended up in the unpopular ones instead.
The unpopular courses are the real prize.
Practical Mercenary Arts, Magitech Principles, Classical Exorcism Theory — those overlooked electives were the ones that would power up the original protagonist's party. Which meant they were mandatory. Crossing paths with the original cast was a concern, but they never paid extras any attention. He'd be fine.
The problem staring him in the face, then, was direction.
So what do I actually take?
The martial path, the magical path, the divine path. One of the three. Learning all of them would be brutal on both his time and his stamina. One wrong move and he wouldn't be able to answer the Doom Scenarios when they came.
He was still turning it over when a status window bloomed in front of his eyes.
The Path of the All-Master (F)
Enroll in every elective course. A boundless future unfolds before you.
🎁 Success: Special Title acquired, Editing Points acquired
⚠ Failure: Learning ability slightly decreased
It was the first sub-objective he had ever seen. It was also, blatantly, suspicious.
That's a trap. Obviously.
Under ordinary circumstances, the smart move was to ignore it. But the failure penalty gnawed at him.
A permanent hit to my ability, though… that's harder to shrug off.
A sigh escaped him of its own accord, aimed at a status window packed to the seams with malice. That didn't mean he could actually sign up for every class. There was a reason people talked about choosing your battles.
I am not letting this thing jerk me around any further…!
Roxwell took one look at the finished application and his face twisted.
"Mandrake. Has your brain gone completely to hell?"
"Is there a problem?"
"What kind of idiot signs up for every single elective?!"
In the end, X had listed the unpopular courses as his first choices and everything else as backups — every last one of them. Roxwell's face flushed red, then purple, as he stared at the application packed to bursting. There was nothing to be done about it.
Even if I have to drop courses later, I need to dodge that failure penalty first.
Roxwell, of course, had no way of knowing any of that. He swallowed a curse that had climbed all the way to his throat, forced himself calm, and chose his next words with care.
"You learned any martial arts?"
"No."
"Can you sense mana?"
"I cannot."
"Holy arts?"
"Not at all."
"So this is you picking a fight with me."
The pressure unfurled again — a killing intent honed sharp as a blade, driving straight at him. And yet it didn't carry the same weight as before. The reason came to him a beat late.
It's the Foie Gras title.
X blinked mildly in the middle of that killing intent, and Roxwell exhaled as if he'd had enough. X seized the opening and delivered the line he'd prepared.
"I may have entered through the recommendation track, but I have no intention of wasting this opportunity. As a student, is it so wrong to be greedy for a chance to learn?"
"…I didn't say that. I'm just floored that you're trying to pull something you can't possibly follow through on."
"I'll take full responsibility, no matter what happens."
The words poured out smooth as oil. Years of workplace survival tactics stacked on top of the Swindler title made for a terrifying combination. Whatever the outcome, all he needed right now was to slip the system's noose. He had to get over this wall, one way or another.
Roxwell glared at him with narrowed eyes, then let out another sigh.
"Do whatever the hell you want. You'll be advancing, that's for damn sure."
"Thank you!"
He'd been worried the man would refuse. Thankfully, he hadn't. The popular courses had been listed on the assumption he'd wash out of them anyway. No matter what, he would take the unpopular ones.
If anything, I need to fail the popular ones. Get mixed up in those and I'll get dragged into the scenario.
Even if he missed every popular course, he could still take the unpopular ones. He'd have plenty of time and space to develop his abilities. That was the better outcome.
Assuming I actually fail the popular ones, that is.
The moment Roxwell accepted the application, the status window appeared.
Sub-Objective [The Path of the All-Master (F)] complete!
Driven mad by academics, you enrolled in every course. A future of being crushed under endless assignments — and working yourself to death — now approaches.
…Huh?
The phrase working yourself to death was hard to ignore. He'd assumed the title was just a reward for filling out every elective. Looking at the result, something about it sat wrong in his gut.
…It'll work out somehow.
Nothing of particular note happened on the day of the opening ceremony. After the students submitted their elective applications, the usual round of course introductions followed. Professors filed in one subject at a time to give a brief overview.
The required courses are just… ordinary.
The mandatory classes were closer to the foundational subjects a regular high schooler would take — same classroom, same classmates, and they didn't even award credits. Nothing worth paying attention to. The only surprise was that Physical Conditioning was Roxwell's class.
That's it for today, then.
There were no electives on opening day, so they were dismissed at lunch. He had a mountain of information to sort through and was making for the exit at speed when a voice cut across his path.
"You there. Mandrake! Halt this instant."
He'd been quietly heading for the dorms. A short girl planted herself in front of him.
"Mandrake! You shall be granted the privilege of receiving me — a young lady of noble birth! Come here at once!"
A textbook blonde with blue eyes. Everything about her was small except for the length of her hair, and yet her pride reached the heavens — there was nothing ordinary about the look in her eyes. She was the girl who'd talked back to Roxwell during morning assembly. The young lady of a count's house: Lola Lou Lemercier.
"…Me?"
"Is there someone else? Are you questioning me right now?"
His head was already starting to hurt.
I was trying so hard not to get involved with anyone.
That said, he couldn't exactly ignore the daughter of a count. He walked over without a fuss.
She really is tiny.
Was she even a hundred and fifty centimeters? The difference in their heights had to be a good thirty. The physical disparity meant he was looking down at her without even trying, and Lola narrowed her eyes, bristling at the angle.
"What do you think you're doing? A commoner has no right to look down on me!"
"I can hardly help being tall. More to the point, what did you need me for…?"
"For a commoner, I'll give you credit for having the guts to stand up to that violent professor. Henceforth, I shall bestow upon you the honor of serving this body — the young lady of a count's house. You may consider it a privilege."
"…"
A headache. So that's what this was about. A sigh rose in his throat; he swallowed it with effort.
Does she not have any friends?
She was the daughter of a count, for heaven's sake. Surely she didn't… And then it hit him. Why was a noble of a count's standing in Class F to begin with? He had the sudden, sinking certainty that he had just stepped on a massive landmine.
The answer was already decided.
"I apologize for declining your gracious offer, my lady. I must devote myself to my studies, and I'm in no position to serve anyone."
"…Wh-what? This commoner just—!"
"If you'll excuse me, I'm rather busy."
He fled on the spot. A stream of curses chased him from behind. He ignored them. Get involved with anyone — even by accident — and the scenario could twist off course. This was an academy story. Students were the last people he should get tangled up with.
From now on, I need to be careful not to intervene.
He'd rejected her that firmly. Their paths wouldn't cross again.
The next day, the elective results came out — and with them, the truth behind that ominous phrase about working himself to death.
This is what it meant?! If you're going to warn me, warn me properly!
Roxwell handed X a course schedule and started explaining. The schedule was packed. Not a single gap in sight.
"I saw that passion of yours for learning. I went out of my way to ask every professor to make sure they put you in their class. Luckily, they all listened."
"H-how did you…"
"Go ahead and work yourself to death."
So that's what 'a future of overwork' meant!
X tried a defense that was doomed from the start.
"I've actually been thinking it over more carefully since yesterday…"
"Don't tell me you're trying to drop electives. The professors made room for you. Remember that another student who should have been in those seats isn't."
"If we think about this realistically…"
"And don't forget — if you receive an F for class conduct in more than eighty percent of your electives over the course of a week, the academy can expel you at its discretion."
Twenty-five elective sessions a week. Meaning twenty classes with an F for conduct, and he was gone. Only now did X understand what Roxwell was thinking. The man hadn't given up on getting him to leave. He'd just switched methods — from forcing a withdrawal to getting him expelled.
Why is he so obsessed with throwing me out?!
The injustice of it was still burning when the status window, with impeccable timing, chose to appear.
Avoid Expulsion (C)
Avoid expulsion for one week. This place is your only safe zone.
🎁 Success:15,000 Editing Points
☠ Failure: System Deletion
You've got to be kidding me!
The failure penalty was monstrous. The option of coasting through class and half-doing the assignments had just evaporated. Miss a single session with anything less than total commitment and his conduct grade would be an F. Expulsion would follow on the spot.
Student placement is based on academic rank. Me, dead last, getting into the popular courses — isn't that a collapse of Probability? Why doesn't THAT trigger a penalty?!
His silent screaming drew no response from the status window. It sat there, serene, as if all of this were perfectly natural.
This is the last thing I need. The popular courses are crawling with scenario villains. The only future I can see from here is getting marked and killed!
The conclusion was inescapable.
I'm screwed! There's no recovering from this!
Late that night, Roxwell answered his Mana Phone in his private quarters, his face twisting into a scowl. A sigh rose at the thought that he might have done something stupid. He bit it back and offered what excuse he could.
"Roxwell. You've done something unauthorized. Explain yourself."
"There's nothing that'll cause a problem. This shouldn't have interfered with the plan."
"Protests are pouring in from some of the executives. Why did you force that infamous problem child into the classes? Most of the complaints are that an executive's child lost a seat. Some of our contracts are at risk. How do you intend to clean this up?"
"Cleanup isn't my job. Why the hell are we even dealing with those noble bastards in the first place? Have you forgotten why this organization was founded? When did we turn into a pack of dogs licking noble ass?"
"Roxwell. Know your place."
"Tch."
He had nothing to say to that. He turned over the thought of leaving the organization, then discarded it. Pulling a stunt like that would only make things worse. He kept his silence instead.
A sigh came through the Mana Phone, and the voice on the other end continued.
"I'm aware of your grievances. But it's all for the greater cause."
"I've lost count of how many 'sacrificial lambs' we've disposed of for that greater cause. Do you even intend to see it through? Or have you just gone soft, rotting in the comfort you've got now?"
"The plan is proceeding. We're nearing the final stage. I understand the frustration — you can't see it from where you stand. But you cannot expect the same understanding from the executives. You know what kind of people they are."
"Right. And they still haven't told us how those sacrificial lambs were disposed of."
The words between them stopped. Both of them knew it was a subject neither wanted to pry open. Roxwell was the one who broke the silence.
"Those sacrificial lambs. Have you found out what happened to the children?"
"We're looking into it carefully, but it's classified. It isn't easy. Most of them were children no one would miss, which makes tracking them that much harder."
"We have to find them. What I did can't have been for nothing."
"Even if we do, what could we possibly do about it? You'd best prepare yourself for the worst."
"…If that's how it is, I'll make them pay the price."
Roxwell's quiet fury filled the line, and both of them fell silent. The caller was the one who spoke first, his voice a fraction softer.
"So. Why did you do it?"
It wasn't an accusation. Just genuine curiosity. Roxwell settled the tangle in his chest and answered.
"…A whim."
"A whim? You?"
"What, you got a problem with that?"
"No. I just never expected that word to come out of your mouth."
Irritation twisted in him, but he didn't let it show. That would only please the man on the other end. He held his silence, and the caller clicked his tongue, sounding faintly disappointed, before he went on.
"That infamous problem child. We can't verify his background in any detail. Most likely just another war orphan. Nothing that differs significantly from the report you sent."
"Did the orphanage records match too?"
"The detailed records were never documented, so verification is difficult. How he obtained a letter of recommendation is unknown. It shouldn't be a serious problem."
In other words, there was no way to check the kid's story. Roxwell let out a thin sigh. The caller heard it, and a note of suspicion entered his voice.
"Do you feel a kinship with that student?"
"No."
"Fair enough. The empire's finest academy has never admitted a student like that. He'd be a variable, if anything, but…"
"…You planning to deal with him?"
"It'd be a waste of resources. The decision will come from above."
Inwardly, he was relieved. The fact that he was relieved soured his mood, but he forced himself to ignore it. This year was turning out to be an unusually irritating one.
"I'll report to the executives that he's a student with potential for recruitment. He's a war orphan, so the story will hold. I'd prefer not to be contacted about something like this again."
"I'd appreciate that."
He hung up. The contents of the call sat in his mind, unwanted. He had never allowed himself to feel anything toward a student. Feelings only made things harder — for him. But this time, whether he wanted them or not, the feelings had arrived on their own, attached to one particular brat.
X.
That ugly face made him want to retch. That ridiculous name alone was enough to set his teeth on edge. He knew exactly what to call this feeling.
It was malice.
Getting raked over the coals over something this pointless, all because of that kid — unforgivable.
I'm getting you expelled. That's a promise.
Somewhere X couldn't see, a quiet, stubborn malice began to bloom.