Too Late for a Welcome
In the game, the guard corps had never played a major role.
They were classic extras—firing signal flares to announce that a rift had opened, or showing up late to gasp in astonishment. Reality had proven no different. Just as Milo had said, the guards at the academy were basically glorified errand-runners.
When a demon knight slipped past inspection and a professor was the one to deal with it, the whole affair could be summed up as "the guards did their guarding"—and catching the intruder after the fact somehow counted as a job well done.
No one had imagined a rookie guard would be the one to bag a demon knight.
And so the spotlight had naturally swung to Leon, leaving the rest of us conveniently forgotten.
That was when Volkan fixed his gaze quietly on me.
Volkan's appearance was genuinely fearsome. Even I, who had rolled across front lines, flinched at the sight of him. With a man like that looming over you in silence, the effect was rather intimidating.
Is he about to swing at me?
From Volkan's perspective, I was a rookie who had blurted out some crack about his parents being barbarians, stolen his preferred spot, and—worse—let a demon knight stroll right through inspection without so much as a second look. By this point, even a saint would have seen red.
I looked up at Volkan with a flicker of expectation.
He did not throw a punch.
No—he bowed his head to me instead.
"The fault is mine for failing to catch him during a double inspection. I nearly put you in danger. I am truly sorry."
...He's apologizing? Here?
I squinted up at that dark, gleaming bald head.
"As your senior, I did worse than fail to teach you the ropes—I got in your way. My apologies, sincerely. I will bear full responsibility for all of it."
"No, the mistake was mine."
"Even one who has contracted with demons is a knight still, and a demon knight is a knight nonetheless. Filtering them out by magic alone is bound to be difficult. It was not your fault. You did more than well enough. Frankly, I was even a touch envious. Haha."
Volkan clapped a hand on my shoulder and laughed heartily.
I could not quite bring myself to laugh along.
"Ah, and the question you asked earlier. You were right. My parents were indeed barbarians. Not just any barbarians, mind—my father was a chieftain."
"Is that so?"
"...You are not surprised at all, are you?"
"Well. You certainly look the part."
I gave Volkan a slow once-over. The dark skin, the gleaming scalp—anyone could tell his parents were barbarians at a glance. Milo made a horrified face at my bluntness, but Volkan himself simply laughed it off, easy as anything.
"Most people are taken aback when they hear it. It does not trouble you?"
"Why would it? There are plenty of imperials who are worse than any barbarian."
Volkan's eyes went wide. Then he threw back his head, laughed with his whole chest, and extended a hand.
"Welcome to Unit 42."
"Isn't that welcome a bit overdue?"
Clicking my tongue, I clasped his hand anyway.
"There's a saying, you know. The best time is precisely when you think it's too late."
"Late is just late."
"Haha! And quick-witted with humor besides!"
Volkan boomed with laughter.
"I'll handle the rest of the cleanup, so you head home early, will you not?"
Good man, this one.
Which was exactly the problem.
This is going to take a while.
I grumbled inwardly, none too pleased.
The game I'd been transmigrated into was appallingly unfriendly to its players. How unfriendly? It didn't even have an inventory—feature so basic that every other game considered it mandatory.
Well, there was something inventory-adjacent: subspace magic. The catch was that it could only be wielded once you'd mastered magic at the grand scale. In other words, you had to become an archmage before you so much as gained something resembling an inventory.
And even then, subspace wasn't quite a true inventory. Maintaining one drained mana and concentration continuously—some archmages simply refused to bother with them at all. The Chairwoman, of course, was the exact opposite of that breed.
Subspace was such high-tier magic that it was practically called the badge of an archmage.
And yet—
A subspace quokka. Unbelievable.
I let out a low groan as I watched Gguga beam at me, front paws folded together in polite little bundles.
The subspace was large enough to swallow an entire carriage, and it didn't even drain his mana. Any other mage who laid eyes on Gguga would go positively feral. Slight exaggeration aside, it might well spark a full-scale war with the Magic Tower Association.
"Milo. The fact that Gguga has subspace abilities is a secret."
"Understood."
Milo nodded with utter seriousness. A moment later, he spoke up carefully.
"...What's a subspace?"
Only then did I remember who I was talking to.
"The fact that Gguga can eat a lot is a secret, then."
"Yes, understood."
Milo nodded again without missing a beat.
"Right, then. Let's verify a few things."
I spent a while feeding Gguga new items and having him spit them back out, over and over. By the end of it, I'd confirmed several of his capabilities.
One: Gguga's subspace was roughly the size of a carriage. Two: Gguga could adjust his own size. Three: Gguga ate mana stones.
The first was the crucial one. I even tested a bed several times larger than his mouth—his cheeks stretched to an unsettling degree before gulping the whole thing down in one swallow.
He could resize himself, too. Normally about twenty centimeters, he could shrink small enough to slip neatly into the pocket of a guard-issue shirt.
Truly a creature blessed with both convenience and utility—but as useful as he was, the upkeep cost a fortune.
He eats through mana stones fast.
Mana stones were expensive. Why else would mages turn into gold-crazed merchants at the mere mention of them?
Fortunately, money was no problem for me.
Lucky rewards, huh.
I murmured the thought to myself as I stroked Gguga's fur. I'd gotten him from a reward box that appeared once my Luck stat crossed a certain threshold. Push Luck higher, and another reward of similar caliber was likely to follow.
And raising Luck was simple enough.
Just clear more quests.
The game wasn't exactly generous with quests. It only dished them out for crises severe enough to trigger a game over if left unsolved—demon knight invasions, rift openings, that sort of thing.
Not that it mattered much.
This damned game was crawling with crises. Quests would come rolling in without end.
But there was something more urgent on my plate right now.
Orientation should be starting soon.
It was time to open a course of lectures.
Thanks to the night shift, I'd been excused from the morning rotation. After a short rest, I hauled myself out of bed. Milo called after me with bleary, desperate eyes.
"Where are you going?"
"The Main Building."
"The Main Building? Why would you go there?"
In answer to Milo's question, I wiggled my fingers.
"To open a lecture."
"...You do remember you're a security guard, right?"
"Can't a guard open a lecture?"
"Normally, no...?"
Milo muttered dumbly.
"Go back to sleep. I'm going alone."
"I'm coming with. Who knows what kind of trouble you'll stir up this time—"
Milo scrambled to his feet, and there was something oddly thrilled glinting in his eyes.
This guy wasn't right in the head either.
Elysium Academy boasted countless buildings, but the heart of it all was the Main Building. The lecture halls, the professors' offices, the research labs, the Student Affairs Department—every major institution called it home.
In the game, too, the Main Building had been the primary stage.
The important spaces—the professor offices and research labs—occupied the upper floors, off-limits to anyone without a professor's permission. Getting up there required groundwork like grinding professor affection, and a tedious amount of it. Early on, the upper floors were simply untouchable.
Of course, I had no need for any of that now.
Because I'm one of the guards.
The ones watching over the Main Building were elite guards themselves. They had no reason whatsoever to stop a fellow guard.
I strolled into the Main Building without a hitch.
Legendary-tier gear, this.
I marveled at the guard uniform all over again. To the eye, it was a trash-tier blue shirt no one would wear if it were handed out for free—yet it outperformed most legendary items.
Inside, the Main Building was as magnificent as promised. It had the air of a grand ballroom. Faint strains of instrumental music drifted through the air—the very same background music that played whenever you entered the Main Building in the game.
Seeing it in the flesh sure stirs the memories.
Not fond ones, mind you.
Students chattered past without sparing me a glance, treating the guards as little more than background NPCs.
Which, fair enough—I'd never once paid attention to a guard when I was playing either.
Most of their conversations were nutritionally empty, but a few snippets caught my ear.
"Did you hear Professor Leon took down eight demon knights?"
"I heard it was ten!"
"Seriously? Either way, I guess it's true he's an unofficial Imperial Sword."
"I heard he's the Magic Tower Association's final weapon?"
"No, no—he's the Holy Nation's sacred blade!"
Leon's name echoed from every direction, all of it lurid, all of it escalating. The rumors Andy had spread had apparently fused with the demon knight story, and now everyone talked about nothing else. My ears were ringing.
Good.
At this rate, every last one of them would be signing up for Leon's course.
I passed the central staircase and headed for a square door at the back—a magitech elevator. The Main Building kept its lower and upper floors strictly divided by magitech lifts, and a grim-looking guard stood watch in front of it.
In the game, this was the checkpoint where the guard would block your path with a flat "You shall not pass." Now, wearing the uniform, the same guard summoned the elevator for me with a respectful nod.
I bowed my head once more in silent tribute to that trash-tier shirt.
"Milo, you wait here. If a blond man comes running out trying to flee, grab him."
"A blond man? Who?"
"Professor Leon."
"Leon? The—that one. But why would a professor run?"
"I suppose something must have happened."
"...What exactly are you planning to do up there? I mean, it's classified, I get that—but you can't cause a scene in the Main Building. That truly cannot be smoothed over."
Milo pressed urgently. Instead of answering, I pressed the door-close button.
"You really can't cause a scene in there!"
Milo's desperate shout chased me through the narrowing gap. The doors sealed shut, and the magitech elevator hummed to life with that peculiar resonant whine only magitech produced.
Moments later, the doors slid open with a cheerful ding.
The grey corridor unique to the Main Building's upper floors greeted me.
The Main Building's two halves couldn't have felt more different. Where the lower floors were loud and warm, the upper floors were hushed and cool—a subtle pressure in the air, as though one misstep here would not be forgiven.
Professors' offices lined both sides of the corridor, each door bearing its occupant's name. Quite a few of them were familiar.
This one has to die. That one too. Ah—and this one here as well.
I walked on, reading the names plaque by plaque.
Ah, damn it. He'll be fine... right?
Milo chewed anxiously at his lip, eyes glued to the magitech elevator.
Grave's parting order gnawed at him.
Catch the professor if he runs.
Since when did professors run? And from the Main Building, the very heart of the academy, no less?
The real problem was that Grave had gone up to the upper floors personally.
Come on—even Grave wouldn't actually beat a professor. Surely.
...No, he'd do it. Practically bouncing with joy while he did it.
The floor seemed to tilt beneath Milo's feet.