The Academy's Lunatic and the Damned Old Geezer
"So, to sum it up."
Elina roughly wiped away the spilled black tea with the luxurious handkerchief Karl handed her, staring intently at Line with disbelieving eyes.
"That stubborn old geezer Gorky ambushed you while you were hiding in the corner of the hallway, taking advantage of the moment the Regent stepped into my office to see me?"
"Saying he 'ambushed' me is open to misunderstanding, but it's true I was almost kidnapped!"
Just a few dozen minutes ago, when the Regent opened the door and entered the Chairwoman's office, Line had tried to use that distraction to sneak down to the lower floors of the main building.
However, just as she reached the foot of the stairs, a familiar throat-clearing sound behind her froze her dead in her tracks.
"Ahem, ahem! My disciple Line, where are you off to in such a hurry?"
When she slowly turned around, there stood the man.
Gone was the sloppy old man who always reeked of sweat and sent rambling letters about the rock spirit. In his place stood a formal elderly gentleman, adorned in the Empire's finest military uniform and dripping with medals—Nikolai Gorky, Chairman of the Social and Cultural System Protection People's Committee, looking down at Line with a refreshing smile.
Despite his appearance, Nikolai Gorky was a monumental figure, officially ranked 6th in the entire Empire.
Granted, the Empire's official hierarchy system was a bit—well, very—bizarre and outlandish.
1st Rank: His Imperial Majesty the Emperor (Vacant for decades)
2nd Rank: His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince (Likewise vacant)
3rd Rank: The Imperial Family (Likewise wiped out and vacant)
4th Rank: His Grace the Regent (De facto No. 1)
5th Rank: Magic Heavy Industry Planning People's Committee Chairman
6th Rank: Social and Cultural System Protection People's Committee Chairman & Military Protection People's Committee Chairman
Here, Old Man Gorky was precisely the Chairman of the Social and Cultural System Protection People's Committee, holding the 6th rank.
In other words, given the current structure of the Empire where ranks 1 through 3 were completely vacant, Old Man Gorky was practically in the Top 3 or Top 4 in terms of actual power.
To put it another way...
Line, a country bumpkin commoner, had spent the past week treating letters from one of the top three most powerful figures in the Empire as spam, fiery-tossing them straight into the incinerator while openly cursing him in her head as a 'damned rock-obsessed old geezer.'
Not only did she spam-filter all his letters, but she also told his recommended career path of popular music to screw off and unilaterally chose classical music instead.
Did Line happen to have nine spare lives lying around?
They do say ignorance breeds courage.
"I-I am so sorry, Chairman. I was so overwhelmed with academy administrative work that I couldn't get in touch with you."
"Enough. You must have suffered greatly trying to survive in this desolate pit of classical snobs. Your master has already finished issuing all the warrants—ah, no, official permits—so that you may unleash your raw, primitive talent to your heart's content in the Empire's capital square. Rejoice, Line!"
The moment she faced her master's smile, memories of that bizarre 'competition incident' from about three years ago—when she first encountered this titan—flashed through Line's mind.
That day, the lyre cradled in her arms kept slipping due to the cold sweat drenching her palms.
In truth, the lyre she held at the competition that day hadn't even belonged to her.
P-Please let me go... I just want to go back to my house in the middle of nowhere...
Home sweet home.
Line's tiny murmur was drowned out without a trace beneath the roaring cheers of tens of thousands of spectators filling the Imperial Capital's Central Grand Arena.
She couldn't bring herself to lift her head.
Renowned musicians from across the Empire, haughty virtuosos from the Imperial Music Academy, and high-ranking officials from illustrious families were all present.
Line had no idea why the name of a backwoods country bumpkin like herself was proudly listed alongside such terrifying monsters.
This was all because of 'that old geezer' who had passed through her rural village that day.
Just like any other day, she had been killing time in a corner of the village 'Cultural Center,' strumming an abandoned, cheap lyre and singing to herself. But of all days, that was the exact day Old Man Gorky, out on an Imperial cultural inspection, burst through the doors.
Young Line had kept strumming away, completely unaware that the Empire's highest official had just walked in. By the time she snapped back to reality, scary-looking men were glaring down at her with murderous eyes.
Immediately coming to her senses, she grabbed the pant legs of the committee members and the People's Police officers, rolling on the floor and begging for mercy: "I have committed a mortal sin! Please spare my life!" After groveling her way to freedom, she finally returned home.
Only for the very next morning...
When she opened her eyes, dozens of dazzlingly luxurious large carriages—the likes of which she had never seen before—were surrounding her family's humble cottage in tight layers.
Those black carriages mixed in there... those are definitely from the People's Police, right?!
Her father was kneeling on the dirt yard, pale as a ghost and trembling violently. Line tightly shut her eyes, thinking, Ah, I'm really being dragged off to the guillotine to die now.
Yet, without understanding a thing, she was whisked away to the grand Imperial Capital—not in iron chains, but inside a carriage lined with plush velvet sofas.
Before departing for the capital, the soldiers handed Line's father several terrifyingly heavy leather pouches.
Bad Dad! Selling out your own child!
However, to curse him for it... the amount of travel money and allowance her father pressed into her hands as he saw her off was far beyond imagination...
Sobbing... Money is great, but this is still terrifying...
"Next contestant, from the Empire's Southernmost Special District—Line! Step up to the platform!!"
As she stumbled into the middle of the dusty arena, blatant whispers shot toward her like arrows from the surrounding spectator stands.
"Who's that kid? Fifteen? Doesn't look like she's from the Academy either."
"Must've gotten lucky in the preliminaries. Look at her. She looks like she's about to burst into tears and wet herself."
Not a single word of that was wrong.
Because Line wanted nothing more than to throw her lyre to the ground, sob hysterically, and run straight back to her hometown's potato fields!
In truth, during the preliminaries, she had been so terrified that she couldn't even look at the stands. She had simply squeezed her eyes shut and violently plucked at the lyre strings in a desperate 'whatever happens, happens' frenzy. Yet when she opened her eyes, the judges were giving her a standing ovation, shouting, "What is this raw, unrefined, primitive beat?!" Before she knew it, she was standing right in the middle of the main tournament stage.
Only later did she realize that the old man was Nikolai Gorky, a titan ranked 6th in the Empire, but by then, the ship had already sailed.
Ultimately, on the main stage where she had to keep her eyes open, she was completely crushed by the intimidating aura of the crowd, unable to move a single finger, and suffered a spectacularly swift elimination.
Yet Old Man Gorky deemed even Line's disastrous performance a 'magnificent artistic failure' and was thoroughly satisfied. The moment she was eliminated, he grabbed her by the collar, effortlessly bypassed Imperial law, and forcibly made her his 'sole direct disciple.'
Legally speaking, isn't there something wrong with this?
I'm the one who makes the laws, though?
"Waaah! I don't wanna go to the capital! I don't care about rock spirit or whatever, I just wanna dig up potatoes in the countryside!"
Elina coaxed Line, who was slamming her head into the Chairwoman's office sofa and crying in near-hysterics, forcibly shoved a few candies from her pocket into her hands, and sent her back to the dormitory.
Slam.
Finally, a pleasant silence returned to the office, which had felt as though a hurricane had swept through it.
"Sigh, that old geezer Gorky really caused a massive disaster this time..."
Elina casually brushed back her stray hair and hummed a soft tune.
To calm her fluttering heart, she gently swirled her teacup and carefully poured freshly boiled hot water into it.
Right at that moment...
"Madam Chairwoman."
"Eek!!!"
The voice of her damned Chief Secretary sounded right beside her ear, having approached without a sound.
Normally, she would have just been mildly startled.
Unfortunately, Regent Georgi's explosive remark from earlier—"Should I reserve the Imperial Cathedral in the capital for the wedding venue?"—was still hauntingly echoing in her mind.
Though she had done nothing wrong, Elina felt an absurd pang of guilt. Her heart dropped, and she jumped out of her skin—and unfortunately, she happened to be holding a teacup.
"Ah, hot, hot, hot!!!"
Scalding hot black tea spilled directly over the chest and front skirt of the delicate dress Elina was wearing.
Since the dress was already thin, the blistering heat instantly penetrated the silk fabric, striking the delicate half-elf's bare skin directly.
"Madam Chairwoman!"
Karl's grey eyes, usually cool and composed, shook violently in a rare display of panic.
"I did not mean to startle you! You must take off your clothes immediately! If the fabric sticks to your skin, it will cause severe burns!"
"W-What?! Take them off?! Hey, you insolent knight, even so, taking off my clothes in broad daylight in the Chairwoman's office—! Ow, hot! It's really hot, Karl!"
"Pardon me!"
Unfortunately, the outfit Elina wore today—meant to maintain her dignity as Chairwoman—was a terribly complex dress overflowing with layers of lace and frills from her neck to her collarbone, with dozens of tiny buttons and corset strings tightly intertwined down her back.
If he tried to unbutton it properly one by one, Elina's fair chest skin would be cooked bright red.
"Hold still!"
"Mmph?!"
Immediately after, a destructive ripping sound—Riiiiip!—echoed through the office.
Thick frills and white buttons flew into the air.
In an instant, her outer dress was torn away entirely, leaving Elina's delicate collarbones, shoulder line, and upper chest completely exposed, clad only in a thin white camisole.
"Heeek...?!"
Before Elina could even scream in shame and embarrassment, Karl swiftly pressed a cold, water-soaked handkerchief against her reddened neck and collarbone area.
Only after the stinging heat on her skin subsided did silence finally settle between the two.
Karl was still firmly holding Elina's thin-undergarment-clad shoulder with one hand, causing their breaths to entangle at an extremely close distance.
Buttons scattered across the floor. A lace dress torn almost to shreds, slumping down.
Only then did they realize the bizarre situation they were in, and both of their faces began to flush red simultaneously.
"Y-You... you brutish knight! Tearing my expensive dress to shreds like this! And where do you think you're looking right now?! Turn your eyes away this instant!"
"...It was first aid according to knighthood protocol to prevent burns. And I have been looking at the wall from the beginning."
"Don't lie! I saw your eyes dart downward!"
Karl, his face turning bright red all the way to the tips of his ears, hastily took off his suit jacket and draped it over Elina's shoulders.
Enveloped in Karl's broad, warm jacket, his distinct scent swirled around Elina, making her heart pound even harder for no good reason. She buried her face deep into the jacket.
Meanwhile, Line, who had walked out of the main building with her soul thoroughly drained, trudged along the forest path while letting out a heavy sigh.
"Haa... life is truly bitter, so bitter..."
A forced performance at the Imperial Capital's Royal Square...
Having been hit in rapid succession by a gas attack, the extortion of her entire fortune, and now a conscription order, Line's slender shoulders drooped endlessly low.
"Let's just rest at home for now. Wash up, lie down, and clear my head."
Even if Pinecone Villa was an asylum for lunatic problem children who threw holy water and turmeric powder at each other, it was still the only nest where exhausted Line could lay her body down.
Trudge, trudge.
Reaching the familiar, old wooden mansion, Line took a deep breath as she grabbed the doorknob.
It's quiet today.
Normally, interrogation curses or waves of Rohan's dark magic should be leaking out by now.
Is everyone already asleep? Or did Arthur finally smack them both over the head and knock them out?
Click.
Line lightly turned the key and opened the front door of the old mansion.
"I'm home..."
Setting her bag down, Line trudged into the living room, only to freeze dead in her tracks.
In the middle of the dimly lit living room, bathed in the faint glow of the sunset...
There stood Rohan, the prickly dark mage from Rajput, and Teresa, the holy white mage from the Tarento Papacy—two people who normally exuded murderous intent and swore on their family names to slit each other's throats at the slightest eye contact.
And...
They were locking lips.
Mhm.
Line's amber eyes shook violently.
Huh...?
Am I under a hallucination spell right now? Or did the side effects of the gas poisoning reach my brain?
Wait a minute...?