Theory Class Is So Boring
Theory class is so boring.
Boring.
That was, regrettably, my first impression of Magic Theory at St. Celestia Academy.
Back when I'd only ever imagined it from outside the game, I'd wondered what on earth they might teach—genuinely curious about the content. The reality, however, was nothing more than the same dull slog as any high school lecture.
No wonder you sometimes get students dozing off and triggering a training failure. Makes perfect sense.
Then again, maybe that was inevitable given the nature of a theory course. How mana is generated, how magic is cast, how to write formulaic arrays… nothing but dry theory, delivered in a way practically designed to put you to sleep.
I already know all this… I wish I could just skip it…
If it had been a practical lesson, at least it wouldn't have been this dull. With that thought, I propped my chin on my hand and doodled absently on the writing tools laid out before me. Idle scribbling, set against the drone of a sleep-inducing professor and the warm wash of sunlight.
Hehe. This is kind of fun in its own way.
Doing this made me feel like a high schooler again, and that wasn't a bad feeling at all. Wait—considering this body's age, I actually was a high schooler.
"…For example, to manifest fire magic, you need the image of something burning. The same goes for water magic. Visualizing falling droplets is the common approach. In this way, magic is a field inextricably linked to the imagination."
I let the boring lecture go in one ear and out the other, scratching at the page with a quill and drawing whatever drifted through my mind. What I pictured was the freezing magic Sylvia had written out—the formula I'd glimpsed over her shoulder a few days ago while we were building the refrigerator.
"Then by what principle does a magic formula activate? Manifestation uses a mage's mental image to realize that image—but a sheet of paper has no mental image of its own, does it? Does anyone know?"
"Yes. A formula works by writing a magic circuit externally and implementing it that way."
"An excellent explanation, Miss Liness. That is correct. In truth, it is an imitation of the principle of manifestation. An image is necessary to ensure the smooth operation of the mana circuits within the body."
I was fairly sure a formula meant drawing a circle and putting a picture inside it… though I still didn't understand why it had to be a circle. Because the shape was more stable, maybe?
Sketching from memory as best I could, I suddenly found myself with something that looked rather convincing—a pair of moons circling around a central ring, like a decalcomania print. Not bad at all for something drawn purely from recollection.
Hmm… but why moons? If it's about cold, snowflakes would work just as well.
I had no idea why, but the performance was unmistakable. When I carefully fed a trickle of mana into it just to test, the formula truly began to glow with a blue light and pour out cold air.
Thump.
"…Surely no one saw that."
I clapped my hand over it on reflex, hiding it from every eye. The formula had only activated for an instant. Even the chill scattered across my notebook never left the cover of my hand; unless someone had been paying an unusual amount of attention, they wouldn't have noticed.
Cold sweat prickling, I stole glances around me—but then,
Ding—ding—ding—ding—
the distant peal of the bell sounded, and the professor set down his chalk.
"That concludes the theory lesson. We'll meet again during practicals this afternoon."
Luckily, the bell had rung at just the right moment. No one had caught me.
Oh? Is it already that late?
More importantly—it was lunchtime. I packed up my writing tools in a flash and headed for the agreed-upon place.
The rooftop of the new school building, where no one ever came.
Ordinarily it would have been little more than a storage dump for broken and abandoned equipment—but secluded places like that were also natural dens of mischief. Waiting there for customers was none other than me.
Like a broker delivering illicit goods, I stood in the shade for a while—until, all of a sudden, that one appeared.
"Whoa, toast today? Looks delicious!"
Roxanna.
The monumental first customer of the Young Lady's Cafeteria lunchbox service dug through the basket, pulled out a ham-and-cheese toast, and began turning it this way and that for inspection.
"Mm, eating outdoors like this isn't half bad either."
The one who followed her was Adrian El Ignas. The thought of someone who was, by all accounts, the Crown Prince consuming this smuggled, forbidden toast stirred a strange little thrill of wickedness.
He is the Crown Prince… right?
From what I'd recently learned, the two of them were a far more complicated duo than I'd first assumed. Beyond the fact that Roxanna's station was nothing so simple as a mere bodyguard, I didn't know the details—only that they were hiding something from everyone else. Still, I couldn't fully piece their circumstances together.
Not that it was any of my business. Whoever they were, so long as they paid and I occasionally got lucky enough for a stat boost, that was enough for me. Getting deeply involved with customers wasn't good manners to begin with.
So all I had to do was remain a thorough bystander. Comforted by that thought, I quickly put on my business smile and devoted myself to the job at hand.
"I do hope today's lunchbox is to your liking as well."
"Mmm~ it's so good!"
Munch, munch.
She must have been starving; Roxanna demolished half the toast in a single bite. The way her cheeks puffed out as she ate was as cute as a hamster—though it was also, somehow, a little lacking in dignity.
Then again, when a person of imperial blood ate like that, any further commentary on the flavor was unnecessary.
Honestly, she has zero restraint when it comes to food.
What I'd prepared this time was toast filled with ham, cheese, and egg. Butter-toasted bread with a crisp bite, fried ham and melted cheese packed inside—that alone made for a wonderfully salty, savory treat. To keep it from turning dry, I'd also tucked in some lettuce for moisture. That was today's menu. Of course the combination couldn't possibly taste bad; no wonder she was reacting like that.
"Here—at least wipe your mouth while you eat."
I dabbed the bread crumbs from Roxanna's cheek with a handkerchief and handed a toast to Adrian as well.
"My thanks."
"Then I shall take my leave."
I'd delivered toast to both of them; with that, today's duty was done. Lingering any longer would only steal their time together, so a bystander like me was better off stepping aside.
Or so I thought, as I made to withdraw—
"Huh. You're just leaving?"
Adrian's questioning voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Yes. I thought the two of you would be more comfortable dining quietly on your own."
"If we made you uncomfortable eating with us, I apologize—but if comfort is the measure, I'd rather you stayed. There are things I'd like to ask you about, among other reasons."
What.
I barely had enough lunch period as it was to run my business, and here he was lounging around making idle conversation.
"If you put it that way, I suppose I have little choice…"
I was still searching for a polite refusal when Roxanna, having polished off her entire toast, cut in.
"Carmilla, you eat with us too. Lunch is supposed to be for chatting like this."
Is that so?
It was a rather different sensibility from the school lunches of my own high school days, so I tilted my head. For me, lunch period had existed solely so I could clear my tray faster than anyone else and spend whatever time remained out on the field playing soccer. It was a golden rest period where not a single second could be wasted.
The girls, though, had always seemed different. They ate slowly and chattered all day long—maybe conversation itself was the point for them.
Now that I've become a girl, am I supposed to join in on that sort of thing…?
Mm. No. That was a joke, even coming from me.
"Well… if I must."
I sat down in a suitable spot and took a bite of my own toast. Strictly speaking, of course, it was only for the sake of thorough customer management.
"So, what shall we talk about?"
Looking at Roxanna, who for some reason seemed quite excited, I tossed out the first topic that came to mind.
"Well… I am rather curious how your first class went."
"Oh, that! I thought it was fun."
"Mm, I found it fairly interesting as well."
These people were clearly unhinged.
Magic theory was fun? It had just made me sleepy.
"The part where he said swordsmanship class didn't need any theory and marched everyone straight outside was pretty memorable."
"And then going right into sparring—you could really tell he was a former mercenary."
Ah. Come to think of it, since the classes were divided by place of origin, the lessons must differ as well. At St. Celestia Academy, for the sake of early adjustment, students were grouped into three broad categories by origin—Empire, Kingdom, and Merchant Association. Three classes that mirrored the continent's political landscape in miniature.
By that measure, I was a royal wedged in among imperial subjects.
"I attended Magic Theory, and it was dreadfully dull."
"So the lessons really do differ by class."
"Heh, you should've seen the swordsmanship class today. The new teacher is supposed to be incredibly skilled."
A new teacher.
Ordinarily I would have had no reason to care about an instructor from another class… but somehow, the words brushed against something deep inside me. A resonance like something I'd heard before—or something I missed. That strange pull left me no choice but to ask.
"This new teacher you mention… who might that be?"
"Now that you say it, I think he's the homeroom teacher for Libra. What was his name again?"
"I'm fairly sure it was… Glen Asher?"
Glen Asher.
Only after hearing the name did I understand the reason for that inexplicable pull. It was a name I had seen for far, far too long.
'You won't believe it. Apparently our homeroom teacher got hurt.'
'What? Is that true?'
'Yeah, so they switched teachers… some commoner mercenary, and supposedly he's ridiculously good with a sword.'
I'd had a vague sense of it already from the update Roen had given me yesterday. The legend of the Asher Mercenary Group, who left nothing but ashes in their wake.
Glen Asher had come to this school.
"Even a commoner can become a teacher… this academy really is a meritocracy."
Which was another way of saying—
the protagonist of Chronicles of Rodoros was at this academy right now.