The Plight of the Ignored Boy

A man spoke in a quiet voice.

"Guildmaster. The recovery agents we sent last time still haven't returned."

The Guildmaster of the Akir Guild idly stroked his ring as he answered, almost casually.

"And the pills?"

"The ones they were carrying are gone as well. All of them."

In an instant, a vast surge of mana gathered in the Guildmaster's hand and closed around the man's throat like a vise. The man choked out a strangled cry of pain until the Guildmaster finally released him, at which point he scrambled to speak.

"I—I'll find them. There is a way."

Draco, Guildmaster of Akir, cocked his head and asked,

"How? And when?"

"Th—there was a man who bought a large quantity of the pills not long ago. From the look of him he was a half-rate who couldn't even use magic. The recovery agents went missing after they set out to collect from him. I'm certain there's a connection, so I've already sent people. As for time… just one week…"

"Ghk—!"

Draco seized the man's throat again. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The man's face went bloodless with agony before he crumpled to the floor.

Draco said,

"Three days. I'll give you exactly three days to find the traitors and kill them. Recover the pills they ran off with as well."

"Unders…tood."

Then Draco turned, already walking away, and asked over his shoulder,

"What was the name of that sword-swinging nobody who bought the large batch this time?"

"Cael… From what I heard, it was Cael."

"Cael, is it. Never heard of him, so he must be some fool ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with no ties to the guild. There's no way he took our agents down, but if he happens to still be alive, squeeze him for information. Those two recovery agents would never have run off with the bulk load that half-rate Cael purchased without recovering it first."

"Understood."

Even while walking, McDeras had no choice but to keep one eye on the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forum. Plimia simply would not stop messaging him.

I had no idea how to answer any of that, so I simply didn't. Another message from Plimia arrived almost at once.

I cut the conversation off before it could spiral on forever. Plimia's dependency had eased, but it clearly hadn't healed completely. Still—being apart for a while would probably help. Holding onto that vague hope, I looked around.

Using the information written in the diary, I had arrived at Tristan Academy.

The location matches, at least.

Even so, the grounds around the academy were deserted—not a soul in sight.

What am I supposed to do now? Just walk in?

I had thrown together a passable look with the academy uniform and shoes from Cael's room, but I had no idea where the classrooms were or how the lessons even worked. If this had been before enrollment it might have been different, but the semester was already well underway. Finding my own way was going to be a problem.

He could have written things down a little more carefully.

For a moment I felt an irrational flash of irritation at Cael. Not that it helped. I simply pushed through the main gate without a plan.

— Vreeeeee…

Some kind of detection-sensor magic flared out of nowhere and began scanning my identity. A moment later it chimed a clear, approving note and vanished.

Almost smashed that by accident.

The authentication spell had jumped me with no warning, and I had very nearly dismantled it on instinct. It was clearly a carefully crafted piece of magic; destroying it would have been nothing but trouble. I told myself to be more careful and walked deeper into the academy grounds.

Where am I even going?

I stared blankly up at the massive buildings. Judging by the sheer scale, Tristan Academy ranked among the more prestigious institutions in the region. Compared to the academies around it, this place was overwhelmingly large—and it even had an automated recognition system.

If I just stand here long enough, someone will show up eventually.

Surely Cael hadn't been completely friendless. If anyone who recognized him appeared, I planned to fall in beside them and head to class as if nothing were wrong. Before long the break bell rang, and students flooded the corridors.

So the emptiness earlier was just because class was in session.

I cast looks toward the people passing by, but every one of them treated me like I was invisible. A few did meet my eyes—only to openly twist their faces in disgust. At first I didn't understand. Then I caught snatches of their whispered conversations, and the reason became immediately clear.

"That's the Cael kid, right? Why the hell did someone who isn't even a mage get into Tristan Academy?"

"No idea. He's the only one here who can't even handle mana. Nobody knows what standard they used to let him in, so most people just figure he parachuted in on some connection."

"What are you talking about? Parachute, my ass. That bastard gets the shit beaten out of him by his own classmates every chance they get. If he had a backer, he'd have called them by now."

"Okay, yeah, that tracks. So then why did they even accept him? Some inferior sword-swinger who can't cast a single spell."

"And why's he only showing his face now after disappearing for days? If he'd just stayed gone, this academy would finally be a proper place for mages only. You know our reputation's been tanking because of him, right? So fucking annoying."

Ah…

It was starting to make sense. Cael had taken pride in his swordsmanship, yet he had never been able to let go of his longing for magic.

Those pills he had swallowed by the hundreds, by the thousands, believing they would let him learn magic—pills that had been pure poison. One of the reasons he had forced them down must have been stares exactly like these.

The words around him denied Cael's very existence.

McDeras roughly gauged the mana of the students running their mouths.

Crude isn't even the word. Filthy.

Their mana reserves were so meager that calling them inferior felt almost too generous. The color of it wasn't even clean. That was the level of a brand-new trainee who had just walked into the Magic Tower.

Ignore them.

They hadn't actually threatened me, and the fact that they were whispering suggested they didn't intend to insult me to my face. If it escalated I would crush them, but I didn't even know where my classroom was yet. Picking a fight on impulse would have been stupid.

Instead of fighting, I walked straight up to the ones gossiping about me and called out to them. If anyone here knew something useful, it would be them.

"Do any of you know where my class is?"

"…?"

The young men stared at me in open confusion.

"Are you talking to us right now?"

"Well, if not you, who else is standing here?"

"…?"

The five of them exchanged looks of pure disbelief before one of them answered.

"What's with the way you're talking? Some kind of bit you're doing?"

Apparently Cael's speech hadn't been as stiff as mine. Not much I could do about that. The only version of him I had ever seen was on the community forum; I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had no idea how he actually talked in real life, and no way to imitate it.

To keep from drawing more suspicion than necessary, I rolled out the excuse I had prepared in advance.

"I was in a minor accident and lost my memory. I remember which academy I attend, but I can't recall which class."

With that, I rolled up my sleeve and tugged down the collar of my shirt to show them the massive scar there. For the record, the scar had already been on Cael's body. I had no idea how he got it, but it made for a convenient alibi, so I used it.

"Ah… yeah, that would do it."

"No kidding… the way they beat him that last day, it'd be weirder if he walked away fine."

Beaten?

So they knew the origin of the scar. I neither reacted nor asked.

That had been written in Cael's diary. It was almost certainly the work of someone in his class. I would find out who soon enough.

"Anyway—do you know my class?"

"Try Class B."

"Thanks."

Two of the young men snickered. I ignored them.

As I started to leave, another one caught my arm. The guy with his hair shaved short like a monk's—he had been standing off to the side with his arms crossed, not joining in the gossip about Cael.

"Cael. They're messing with you. Your class isn't B—it's E. But don't go to class. Just leave early. Nothing good will come of showing up."

The others immediately scolded him.

"Hey, what the hell? Don't drag us into weird shit. Keep your mouth shut."

Despite their protests, the young man kept his eyes on me, waiting for an answer.

"I have no idea what you're so worried about."

"There are people in Class E who used to bully you. And the last time you came to the academy, they beat you badly. That's probably why you lost your memory. So don't go. It won't do you any good."

"Thanks, Baldy."

"…?"

I deliberately threw the rude word at him. I couldn't read his true intent. Was he dressing up a suggestion to drop out in kinder words, or was he genuinely worried that I was being bullied? The easiest way to tell was his reaction. If he actually cared, a jab like that wouldn't make him angry. If he just wanted me gone, he would explode.

"Baldy, is it… I have a scalp condition. I have no choice but to keep my hair this short."

Even faced with my rudeness, he answered with measured calm.

I smiled at him. I had thought he was looking for a fight, but it seemed he had actually been worried—or more precisely, worried about Cael.

I still didn't understand why he hung around those low-quality classmates, but his advice had left an impression. Looking at him, I asked,

"What's your name?"

"Jeren."

"I'll remember it."

I started to walk away, only for Jeren to speak up again.

"I told you the truth. So why are you still going? I'll say it one more time—I wasn't lying."

"Because there's no reason to avoid them."

Jeren thought over my words for a moment, then muttered,

"…So you've steeled yourself, then. Sorry for the useless meddling."

With that he stepped back, crossed his arms again, and added one more pointed reminder in my direction.

"In case there's any misunderstanding—I have a scalp condition. I have no choice but to shave my head."

I left laughing. For some reason, I found myself wanting to get along with him.

Is this even the right place?

Having been told Cael was in Class E, I had been combing through the academy interior—but the place was so enormous that finding anything was nearly impossible. Classes A through E weren't clustered neatly together; they were scattered all over. On a first visit, finding one on the first try would have been the strange outcome.

In the end I decided to poke my head into each classroom one by one. After checking a few, I realized just how poorly Cael was regarded. Maybe it was because he was the only swordsman in a magic academy, but no one seemed remotely glad he existed.

After wandering from classroom to classroom, I finally found Class E.

I felt several of the young men looking my way and ignored them, then set about finding my seat. There were plenty of empty ones, so I simply grabbed the nearest girl and asked.

"Where's my seat?"

"Uh…?"

"My seat."

"Y-you can sit over there."

"Thanks."

Without another word I sat down. The girl stared at me blankly; I ignored her. We weren't going to be friends anyway.

But then a voice I couldn't ignore drifted over.

"Huh? Levia. Isn't that Cael? Did he bother you again? That's why I keep telling you to shut him out completely. This is what happens when you keep helping him."

"How am I supposed to just ignore him…? He's a classmate… You shouldn't talk like that either… It's true that he makes me uncomfortable, but… I just want everyone to get along if we can."

"Ugh… It's because you're so soft that Cael doesn't know his place and keeps liking you."

I looked at the girls talking.

So that's her.

The girl I had just asked for directions—the one trying man had been in love with, and the one who used the username WeepingWillow on the community. I confirmed Levia's face for myself.

I was studying her openly when she turned her head and our eyes met. She flinched and looked away at once. The way her expression stiffened told me that trying man's confessions had been far from welcome.

Uncomfortable, is she.

I understood. When someone you don't like keeps confessing, it stops being affection and becomes an attack. I decided then and there to stay as far from that girl as possible, and started rummaging through the desk drawers on the off chance Cael had left something behind.

A thick, revolting liquid stuck to my hand.

"Hey, fuck yeah! I told you it'd work! Said the second that bastard Cael walked in, the first thing he'd do is dig through his desk!"

One of the young men crowed at the top of his lungs. I looked down at the sticky mess on my fingers.

Milk—long since spoiled, crawling with mold.

I spoke quietly to the one bouncing around in celebration.

"Was this your doing?"

The young man glanced left and right, then answered in a tone of pure disbelief.

"You talking to me right now?"

"If not you, then who?"

"Would you look at this fucker's attitude. What's with the way you're talking? What kind of bit is this, you retard?"

"You're the one who started this. Why are you getting angry at me?"

"Started something? Fuck, why are you so pissed? We were just messing around as friends, okay? Right? No?"

"For a joke, it's disgusting."

At that he bristled, puffing out his chest. He was trying to look intimidating. It only made him look pathetic. I kept silent, waiting to see how far he would push it—so he stepped in close, started tapping the top of my head, and spat words at me.

"You lose your mind? This bastard got the shit kicked out of him that day and now something's actually broken, huh? Or what—did my little joke hurt your fucking feelings that bad? Friends can mess with each other, can't they? Right? A little joke is fine, right? Answer me. Why'd you go mute all of a sudden?"

He closed the last of the distance, shoved his face into mine, and kept goading.

"What, nothing to say now? Scared once I'm right in front of you? Want me to make you cry and trash-talk your already-dead mom and dad again? Huh? Say something, you fucking bastard. We were just joking around for a laugh, so why the hell are you making that face, huh?"

I needed to hold back. My reputation was already trash; detonating an incident the moment I arrived would only make things worse. I was a rational man. Not long ago I had been a commander who kept his head even on a battlefield, hadn't I?

Unfortunately, the way he kept rubbing up against me was so foul that my hand moved on its own.

With a wet shlick, the finger still coated in mold-rotten milk drove deep into the young man's mouth. I yanked it free at once and flicked the residue off.

He gagged, eyes watering, and started spitting frantically. They must have mixed something extra into the milk just to make the stench worse.

"Fuck… Today I'm going to kill you and just take the expulsion."

Looking at the young man seething in front of me, I answered briefly.

"Strange. Why are you so angry? We were just messing around as friends."