The New Guard's Initiation, Inverted
I had tried to beat the game countless times, and failed every single time.
The reason was simple.
'Because Evangeline was trash-tier.'
Evangeline was a sunfish with air for brains. The moment anything went even slightly wrong, she had a habit of popping—bak!—like a balloon.
Once, she'd been assigned as team leader for a group project, and the sheer pressure made her vanish on the spot.
She got expelled, and that was game over.
Not that I couldn't sympathize—I'd been to university myself, after all. Still, disappearing over being made team leader? Absurd as it was, it genuinely could happen again. I needed to prepare in advance.
'I should get on friendly terms with the teaching assistants, at least.'
The fate of the world hung in the balance. This was no time to be picky about means and methods.
Just then, three men in crisp assistant uniforms blocked my path.
The uniforms said teaching assistant, but the swaggering attitude was pure back alley. They were probably the assistants Nora had warned about.
"Oh, is this the initiation?"
"Ugh. Bad memories…"
Milo screwed his eyes shut and shook out his head.
One of the men stepped forward.
"I'm Belmen, teaching assistant. You Grave?"
"That's me. Let's get going."
"Just follow— wait, what?"
"I said let's go."
The moment I stepped forward eagerly, the man who'd introduced himself as Belmen made a bewildered face. He quickly hardened his expression, though, and spoke.
"Follow me."
"Got it. Move fast, we're busy."
"Wh… follow me!"
After a brief stumble, Belmen turned his back with forced vigor and strode off. The other men fanned out to flank us, boxing us in.
"How honored. Getting a proper escort and all."
I tossed out the joke, but the stiff atmosphere didn't budge.
Belmen led us underground. There were a few guards along the way, and Belmen hissed a warning at them in a low voice.
"No funny business. Not if you want to keep your guard jobs."
That was more my line than theirs, frankly.
The Main Building's basement housed an indoor training hall. Magic and black magic were loud disciplines, so the place was thoroughly soundproofed.
Perfect for an initiation.
Belmen took us to the training hall at the very end. Guards should have been stationed there by default, but not a single one was in sight—they must have been cleared away beforehand.
"Thorough preparation. Impressive."
"What? Quit yapping and get in!"
Belmen shoved me toward the door.
Inside was, as expected, a massive training hall.
Four more men were waiting there, all radiating hostile energy.
My eyes narrowed slightly as I counted.
"Is that all? Seven of you?"
"…What?"
"I said, only seven? There aren't any more?"
"What the hell are you saying! Shut up and get to the center!"
"Shame. Tsk."
I clicked my tongue and headed for the center. Milo fell in beside me with an odd look on his face.
"Looks like assistant initiation."
"So it seems."
"Idiots. They should watch who they're picking a fight with."
"Tell me about it."
When I stared at him, Milo gave a small cough and looked away.
Just then, the man who seemed to be their leader stepped forward. And his face was familiar.
"I am Hans, teaching assistant to Professor Roxveil, the Knight of Radiance."
Hans was a fairly significant figure among the assistants in the game—being the Knight of Radiance's assistant, after all.
He'd had a pretty decent image in the game. Who knew he'd stoop to such sleazy tactics?
"Good to see you again, up close like this."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing. Please, continue."
Hans looked at Belmen beside me with a dumbfounded expression. Belmen pointed a finger at his own temple and twirled it. Hans laughed out loud.
"So you're the lunatic. The one audacious enough to pull this 'assistant training' stunt despite being mere guards."
"'Mere guards'?! What's wrong with the guard corps!"
Milo roared. Hans squinted at him.
"Who's this one?"
"Milo of Unit 42!"
"Why'd you bring him along?"
"Well… he just followed us, sir?"
Belmen answered, scratching his head.
I raised my hand slightly.
"Please continue. You were at 'despite being mere guards.'"
"You insolent—!"
Hans exploded, unable to hold it in. He'd always worn that easy smile in the game, so I hadn't known—but he had quite the temper on him.
This was probably his true face.
"Becoming a teaching assistant requires, at minimum, graduating from the Academy. How dare gutter guards presume to become assistants! You'd drag down the very values of Elysium Academy, which champions the finest education!"
Right on! The other men chimed in behind Hans, making it look like some kind of protest rally.
I raised my hand again, slightly. Hans grimaced and asked.
"What now?"
"Your preamble is rather long. Get to the point."
"…What?"
"Get to the point."
"What kind of deranged— Fine. Have it your way, I'll keep it short. Give up on becoming an assistant. Then I'll let you live."
"I refuse."
"Ha. Seems you think we're joking. Someone, lock the door."
Thud! The door slammed shut with a heavy sound.
"So it was an initiation after all."
"Apparently. Tsk, idiots."
"Initiation, my ass. Who acknowledges you as an assistant? This is your funeral!"
"Oh, a funeral, is it. My condolences."
When I drew the holy sign across my chest, Milo followed with a clumsy one of his own.
Hans scoffed, dumbfounded.
"You think the guard corps will save you? No matter how loudly you call, they won't come. We cleared them out in advance."
"Well done."
"What?"
"I said well done. Very well done."
When I even applauded the compliment, the assistants laughed in sheer disbelief. Hans's face went stiff.
"Words won't do, then. Tsk."
At Hans's nod, the remaining assistants advanced, striding forward.
"Hold on."
Once more, I raised my hand slightly.
"Fine, so you finally understand the situation?"
"No, I just want to confirm one thing. So there are no guards nearby at all?"
"None. Not just the guard corps—no one can come to help you."
"Excellent. Though I'd like to point out one thing."
"…?"
"That door. You're not tying it down? What if I sprint over right now, push through, and run?"
"You there! Lock the door!"
When I outright turned and made a feint of running, Hans yelped in alarm. The assistant beside the door frantically wound a chain around it.
A little sloppy, but more than enough.
"Anything else to say?"
Hans asked, a sneer creeping back onto his lips as he recovered his composure.
"No. Let's begin."
"Begin? Begin what?"
"Senior education."
I said it, lightly gripping my guard baton. 'Oh, no—.' Milo clutched his head, complaining of a headache.
"Now, I'll count to three. Grovel before that, and I'll go easy on you. One."
"What? You're completely out of your mind. Looks like you still haven't grasped the situation— losing a single guard wouldn't cause so much as a ripple at Elysium Academy."
Hans smirked viciously, jeering.
I smiled right back and said:
"Three."
I hurled the guard baton without warning. Caught off guard, Hans failed to react.
The baton slammed into Hans's face, a yellow tooth spinning up into the air—and Milo, without any order at all, was already sprinting for the door.
I caught the baton mid-air and swung it in the same motion.
Crack! A satisfyingly crisp sound rang out as the arm of the assistant beside us bent at an unnatural angle.
Hans's eyes wavered violently.
Only now sensing that something was very wrong, he shrieked in desperation.
"G-guards!!"
I answered, adjusting my grip on the baton.
"You called?"
Hans's gaze darted between my guard uniform and my face—and despair bloomed across it.
Assistants generally had three career paths.
The first was building up their record and becoming a professor at Elysium Academy itself. But becoming a professor here demanded colossal talent, luck on top of it, so it was far from easy.
Assistants who failed to become Elysium professors usually took the second option: aiming for a professorship at another academy.
Elysium's prestige was so towering that with mere assistant experience on your résumé, landing a professorship elsewhere was practically trivial.
But if even that failed, most simply resigned. Lingering at the academy indefinitely drew far too many uncomfortable glances.
Edgar had failed to become a professor at Elysium Academy and failed to become one anywhere else, too—but he refused to resign and dug in.
His colleagues mockingly nicknamed him the "Chief Assistant." Edgar, however, took to parroting the title with his own mouth.
As time passed and even the assistants who'd used the title as an insult moved on, Edgar genuinely became the Chief Assistant.
Unofficially, of course.
Edgar the Chief Assistant was not pleased with how things were running at the academy these days.
'They say enrollment is up, but is it really acceptable to replace assistants so recklessly? What about the falling quality of the assistants, hm? Agh, tsk.'
And now, of all things, they wanted to make guards into assistants.
Putting those uneducated louts in assistant positions—
Unthinkable. Absolutely could not stand.
"And the education?"
"Hans just took some of the stronger ones to handle it, sir."
At the name Hans, Edgar's creased brow eased, if only slightly.
Hans was an Elysium Academy graduate and the Knight of Radiance's own assistant. The elite of the elite, a man who'd glide into a professorship if he simply accumulated his record.
And that Hans had moved personally—
"Whoever this fool is, he's about to get a thorough education of his own."
Edgar smiled in satisfaction.
"So, Hans, was it?"
"Woof!"
"The Chief Assistant ordered this?"
"Woof woof!! Woof woof!!"
Hans barked with tremendous fervor. It was a heartfelt, anguished bark—grief practically audible in every note.
"Can you bring the Chief Assistant here?"
"Noooooof!"
"Go ahead, speak."
"Woof! Th-the Chief Assistant is suspicious of everything, he won't move carelessly, sir!"
"How troublesome. Tsk."
When Grave clicked his tongue, all the assistants shuddered in unison.
"We're sorry!!"
Hans desperately bared his belly and barked away, woof woof.
'Is it really okay to beat assistants up like that?'
Milo worried about it in all seriousness—then suddenly realized.
'Well… they couldn't report it even if they wanted to.'
There wasn't so much as a scratch on them. How would they even report anything?
No—if anything, reporting it would never even occur to them.
How do you admit with your own mouth that you all ganged up on a newcomer and got the stuffing beaten out of you instead?
Milo, who'd experienced it firsthand, could say this with certainty:
It definitely happened, but there was no evidence, and no reporting it.
That was what was truly terrifying about Grave.
"Tsk. Report that the senior education has been thoroughly completed."
Thoroughly completed, it certainly was.
The problem was the direction it had gone—
"Woof woof woof! Woof woof!!"
"Grrrruff! Bark bark!"
"Meow!!"
Considerably off the rails, to say the least.