Applause
“Jessica, this reminds me of the entrance ceremony. Remember how we chatted so enjoyably back then?”
“……”
Whether it was excitement keeping her up all night, Jessica kept her eyes closed and lips sealed no matter what I asked.
She wasn't some kid too hyped about class assignments to sleep—it was just so damn cute.
“By the way, how's the training going? Power matters, but speed's just as crucial. How's that coming along? I lightened those massive weights on your twin tails a bit, so you must be faster now….”
To keep her from dozing off, I kept yapping away at her side until she finally cracked her eyes open with a deep sigh.
“Don't you have anything else to ask me today?”
“Ask you? Nah, not really. Why?”
“Because I want to shut that mouth of yours for even a few days, like back then.”
Shut me up?
I wanted to chat her up excitedly until the class assignments started, but why wouldn't my enthusiasm get through to her?
“Fine, then I won't talk to you all day if I can ask just one—no, two questions?”
“Two days… two questions means two days.”
“Sure, that's fine. Then tell me your ancestor's name and roughly when he was active—”
Before I could finish, Jessica grabbed my collar and cut me off.
Ignoring the stares around us, she glared daggers at me.
“You…!! If you think I'll put up with that mockery, you're dead wrong!!”
“It's not mockery—I'm dead serious….”
Still gripping my collar, Jessica read the sincerity in my eyes and slowly let go.
“……You're not really mocking me, are you?”
“I swear on Battōjutsu. I won't tease you with this.”
“…Swearing on Battōjutsu doesn't exactly inspire trust, but I'll believe you for now. Just remember—if you mock me over this, I'll never forgive you.”
How could she say that so boldly when she couldn't even beat me, let alone fight me properly?
I was tempted to poke fun at her baseless confidence, but now wasn't the time.
“Got it. So spill it quick. Name first.”
“Hmph… Our founder's name is Hammer.”
“Hammer….”
All us transmigrators dumped into this novel shared one thing in common: our names.
My name, Ian Bar Tow, as a Battōjutsu supporter—Ian was a twist on "iai" meaning iaijutsu, and Bar Tow a mangled "Battō."
Pongpong bro's name was Ray von Pier, so this has to be it….
Hammer… hammer….
Not even a dad joke, just lame wordplay. No matter how much I racked my brain, it screamed hammer. If my name had been Hammer, I'd have run away from home.
“And when was he active?”
“…Roughly 600 years ago.”
“600 years….”
Pongpong bro was about 200 years ago.
Primitive Jessica's era: roughly 600 years ago.
One each at 200 and 600 years from now—was that coincidence?
If not, why send transmigrators in 100-year intervals?
Modern human lifespan: about 100 years. In this world without advanced medicine, most lived 60, max 80.
But aura or magic masters trained to extremes could hit 200.
Just spacing us out so we don't overlap?
If so, why?
Why did the author shove us into his novel to begin with?
No, the second part—he said it himself.
"If you think it's so easy, try it yourself."
He'd said that when tossing us—me, at least—into the novel.
Assuming no lies and he told the others the same, the 100-year gaps might avoid overlapping active periods.
Limited foes to crush—more transmigrators at once means fewer chances to shine.
…So that's his game.
The author foresaw my Battōjutsu stealing all their spotlight and spaced us out.
Wise, but so petty.
If he predicted Battōjutsu's dominance, shouldn't he apologize for doubting it?
I scowled at his denial, whining only in skill screens.
“Haa….”
“Sighing again… Whatever. Worrying about you just tires me out.”
She whipped her head away, but her words betrayed how much she cared.
Lost in thought, time flew. Like the entrance ceremony, Marina Snowwhite arrived amid swirling snow.
“She looked decent at first glance, but twice is enough—it's getting old. They don't do this every hall gathering, do they?”
My mutter drew a snicker from beside me.
I turned—Jessica stared at Marina with a stone-cold face, like nothing happened.
Marina's dull speech droned on until the moment we'd awaited: class assignments.
“Those called, step forward.”
B-Class and below weren't lined up separately, but from A-Class up, they paraded newbies and underclassmen as examples.
Meant to boost pride, but watching them strut on that skill level was hilarious.
…Third-years are a bust this year.
Even before knight department kids finished, over ten S-Class third-years had paraded.
Academy assignments used relative evaluation, not absolute.
Unless a grade had multiple prodigies, S-Class usually topped at three to five.
Ten meant no standouts among third-years.
Someone asked why relative over absolute—the author said it cherry-picks top talent efficiently.
Absolute with high bars might yield zero S-Class, a disaster.
Hence, flexible relative evaluation.
Now second-years….
Third-year S-Class took time, so second-years came late.
No Sword Saint successor, sadly.
She could've shown her face and taken a Battōjutsu hit for fun….
Three….
No successor, but three other S-Class stepped up.
Eyeballing it, all beat Jessica but not overwhelmingly.
At her growth rate, she'd catch them in months.
Even relative eval can't pick just one—especially someone who barely attends.
Canon S-Class: just the successor. Talent rarely yields to effort—it's near impossible.
So, pre-assignment spars and teacher observations slotted these extras in.
Then a few more for me, too.
Assuming Peter separated work from personal grudges.
Prime candidates: Jessica or the successor's sister.
A few other talents maybe, but those two topped my list.
“Now….”
Second-years returned; first-years' turn. Marina paused, scanning us.
“Before calling first-years, we'll hear from our new S-Class supervisor, Sir Peter, on his resolve.”
Royal Knights' name ignited the crowd.
Knight students cheered wildly at meeting their idol.
Canon event—no shock. But faint hope sweat-dampened my palms.
He wouldn't skip it… right?
No killing if he did, but I'd make him regret it.
Stroking Nanga for any mishap, Peter finally mounted the podium.
“……Huh?”
Students' eyes filled with doubt.
“S-Sir Peter?”
Unrepaired, his battle-crushed armor from our fight? No one'd call that normal.
Ignoring Marina's question, Peter gripped the podium, voice trembling.
“First… before starting… I must clarify a rumor circulating the academy is baseless nonsense.”
Everyone knew the rumor—focus shifted to Peter's intent.
Marina, knowing its distortions, pressed horrified.
“N-No!! Sir Peter! Wh-What are you saying…!!”
“A-And B-Battō…!!”
Defying her, honoring our pact to the end, Peter spat blood in spirit and roared.
“Battōjutsu is the supreme sword art converting scabbard friction to kinetic energy on the draw!! Scientifically proven fact!!”
Reactions varied, but all fell silent.
All but one: me.
-CLAP CLAP CLAP!!!
In the stunned hush, I alone rose, applauding Peter with a booming grin.
“Battōhaha!! Battōhaha!!”
Gazes swung from Peter to me.
Marina's especially murderous—but what could she do?
I'd done nothing.