You Think I'll Just Take It Quietly?
"You think I'll just take it quietly? Not a chance."
"Is everyone here?"
"Seems so."
"Good. Then let's begin the meeting."
Deep inside the Academy, in a space carefully hidden from prying eyes, a handful of students had gathered for a clandestine conference.
"What of the young lady's recent movements?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. Except that she keeps meeting with our target."
"She's approaching the target? To what end, do you think?"
"Hard to say for certain. It doesn't quite look like recruitment—there's something off about the way they interact. But the meetings are far too frequent for her to be treating him as an enemy, either. We need more time to investigate."
The young man seated at the head of the table took up the thread.
"I dearly hope it isn't recruitment. If Lady Elga of all people were to take in the blood of the house that dared to injure our Young Master… the picture that paints would be extremely unpleasant."
"It would be tantamount to declaring open war over the succession, wouldn't it?"
"Exactly my point. Our Young Master still hasn't risen from his sickbed. Under the circumstances, the least we can do is prevent that kind of disaster."
He slid a stack of prepared documents across the table.
Most of them were Academy regulations and case studies of their application. A few pages, however, concerned House John Nassen—and Kyle himself.
"As you all know, force is completely useless against that madman. Which leaves us only one path."
He tapped the sheet bearing Kyle's name and a brief personal summary.
"After that horrific incident, the John Nassens were thoroughly barred from the Academy. And yet, somehow, another of their bloodline has turned up. Our inquiries confirmed that the Margrave of the North wrote him a letter of recommendation."
"A recommendation letter… then even the Minister of Education would have been powerless."
The others nodded in grim unison.
Unless the Emperor himself stepped in and revoked the letter, a mere minister had no authority to block an enrollment.
"That is how this man forced his way into the Academy. On the surface, it is thoroughly unpleasant news. Look at it from another angle, however, and it becomes an even greater opportunity."
"An opportunity?"
"The fact that he resorted to a recommendation letter—the absolute last resort—means this Kyle was desperate to enter the Academy. And if we destroy even that last resort, those savages will never set foot on Academy grounds again."
If, by any chance, even Kyle were expelled, House John Nassen would be finished for good—unless an imperial decree ordered them to send their children to the Academy once more.
"We will use that against him. We will make him suffer exactly as they made our Young Master, our Young Lord, suffer. We will give him a thoroughly miserable time."
"…Is that really safe? What if he decides he has nothing left to lose and goes berserk the way that girl did…?"
Gulp.
Gulp—!
Dry swallows echoed around the table. Faces went pale; more than one pair of hands began to tremble of their own accord.
The memory still flickered behind their eyes. It rose, sharp and vivid, in every mind.
That slender girl, and the terrible storm she had unleashed.
The monster who never raised her voice, who spoke in soft, gentle tones while she systematically demolished everything around her!
"…It'll be fine. It will be fine."
Even the young man leading them was sweating buckets. He was trying to reassure the others, but his own face held no real conviction. He, after all, had been nearby when it happened.
"Ahem! Ahem! As I said, it will be fine. Kyle John Nassen—this first-year is different. Unlike that girl, he isn't keeping everyone at arm's length; he's actively trying to mix in. He hasn't gone around challenging seniors to fights, either. He's different. And he wants something. That, precisely, can become his weakness."
Why a John Nassen had so badly wanted to come to the Academy, none of them knew. What they did know was that he had been desperate enough to burn his final card—a recommendation letter. That meant he would almost certainly grit his teeth and endure anything short of a true catastrophe.
That was exactly what these students intended to exploit.
Their future lord—the second son of the Litorio Grand Duchy and its most promising heir. To act on his behalf and earn his trust: that was their grand ambition.
"Moving on, then. These documents contain a detailed breakdown of Academy regulations. Every single one of them is the sort of offense that ends with a simple verbal warning or a caution. The important part is that they accumulate. So we take turns—steadily, constantly—chipping away at that savage."
"Mmm… You're certain it's safe? I really don't want another John Nassen storm."
"Which is why we do not cross the line. We do things that look thoroughly ridiculous to anyone watching, yet that he himself will simply shrug off and move past. That is what we exploit."
The students slowly nodded.
First and foremost: the word weak was never, ever to leave their lips. That particular lesson had been carved into their bones long ago.
The word savage, on the other hand, had drawn no reaction. Even that girl had listened to it to her face without so much as a flicker of concern. Using those precedents as a guide, they should be able to nibble away at Kyle of John Nassen as well.
"Remember this well. When our Young Master, our Young Lord, returns, the name John Nassen must make students laugh first—not tremble."
They spoke of harassing a single person with the grim resolve of conspirators plotting high treason against the Empire itself.
Slip—.
Rupin, a second-year, scanned his surroundings and carefully started walking.
The gathering itself did not violate Academy rules—but the nature of the gathering certainly did. Their Young Master was not yet Grand Duke of Litorio; he had not even been formally named heir. Forming an organization for the express purpose of elevating him to that seat was, to put it mildly, a problem.
Discovery would be disastrous. For them, yes—but especially for their Young Master.
Which was why the group assembled in secret and dispersed in secret, and why every member maintained that secrecy right up until the moment they returned to their own rooms.
"Gah—!"
The instant he rounded the corner, Rupin let out a strangled cry and bounced clean off whatever he had hit. He rolled twice across the floor before he finally managed to stop.
It felt like colliding with a boulder that had been rolling the other way. For a second he was certain his shoulder had been dislocated.
"Ah, I'm sorry. Are you all right?"
It hurt so badly tears were welling up. He wanted nothing more than to scream. Noble pride, however, forced him to clamp his jaw shut instead.
"Where exactly were you looking when you—"
"I'm truly sorry. I was coming around the corner and you just appeared out of nowhere."
He said he was sorry, but his voice did not sound particularly sorry. Sensing as much, Rupin looked up, intending to get a good look at whatever idiot was responsible.
"…Uh."
Wait a second. That face—it was identical to the portrait on the documents from earlier.
"Kyle John Nassen?"
"Oh. You know me."
The northern savage. The second son of John Nassen. The monster who had forced his way into the Academy this year. The very person they had to humiliate for their Young Master's sake.
And now that same person had just inflicted a considerable amount of pain on him personally.
Anger that had not even existed a moment ago came boiling up in a rush.
Rupin's mind began to spin at high speed. Provoke him too openly and he himself might be the first one to explode. He had to stay on the safe side of the line—somewhere Kyle could still grit his teeth and endure.
"Haaah…"
First, a heavy sigh, just so the irritation was clear.
"Junior."
You're a first-year. I'm a second-year. He slipped the hierarchy into that single word.
"You ought to be more careful. Doesn't your house teach you to look before you round a corner?"
Translation: Of course the John Nassens are savages who never teach such basic things.
It was phrased as a question, but the real message was already packed inside.
This is how they told us to do it. These savages never catch the implication when you speak indirectly—they just stand there blinking like idiots.
That was precisely why the nobility both feared and quietly looked down on the John Nassens. A house that worshipped nothing but brute strength and was hopeless at actual conversation. Lear and Lea, who had come to the Academy before him, had been left friendless for exactly those reasons.
"Haha! Of course they taught me! But by that logic, wouldn't Senior share some of the blame? Doesn't your house teach you to look before you round a corner?"
Kyle, however, was nothing like Lear or Lea.
He carried John Nassen blood, yes—but he was also the person farthest from everything the name John Nassen usually meant. He was not the type to let his fists fly faster than his mouth. That much was already clear.
"What? What did you just—"
"Oh dear. Senior, did you hit your shoulder here? Let me take a look. Come on, come on."
Kyle seized Rupin's shoulder without warning and began kneading it with firm, rhythmic pressure—for all the world as if he were giving a massage.
"Gyaaaaaaah!!"
From the recipient's point of view, of course, there had never been a more horrific torture.
"Yagh—aaack! Wh-what are you—ghhhaaak! W-wait, st—aaagh!"
Muscle and bone lit up with a crawling, electric agony. His limbs twisted; he could not even scream properly.
"Wow. These are seriously knotted up. You really ought to exercise more often, Senior. You can't let your muscles get this tight. Stay still—your junior here will work them out for you."
You call this working them out, you insane bastard?! Rupin wanted to shout. What actually left his mouth was nothing but a series of mangled, thrashing screams.
"People like that will always exist. The kind who try to trample others just to show off their own strength. A true powerhouse seeks out other powerhouses. A false one only seeks out the weak so he can crow about superiority."
"There will be those who try to use your patience to get exactly what they want."
Recalling his brother Lear's words, Kyle smacked his lips.
He had wondered if it would really be like that. And sure enough, it was.
If they had just come at him straight, he would have laughed and welcomed it—Now that's a man! Instead, the best they could manage was needling him over the one thing he could least afford to lose.
What a bunch of childish nobles… No. Wait. People fall for this kind of thing all the time, so maybe these ones are actually pretty sharp.
If a few nobles who hated John Nassen started quietly picking fights, he would almost certainly have gritted his teeth and endured it. He had only just made it into the Academy; the last thing he wanted was to be sent back to gym hell. He knew perfectly well that this chance was the first and the last.
"You don't have to force yourself to get along."
His father had said that too. Don't put up with it.
Kyle, however, had taken the idea in the opposite direction. Why endure anything when you can make sure there's nothing to endure in the first place?
Honestly, my family only knows how to charge straight ahead. That's their whole problem.
All you had to do was grab them one by one and thoroughly work them over. Because they claimed they had no interest in the weak and simply ignored them, this kind of mess kept happening.
But not him. Weak or strong—if someone provoked him, he would act first and report later.
"Hggk—gahhk!! I-I yield!! It r-really huuurts!! Mercy! Kyle! Kyle!!"
"Hahaha! Feels good, right? The massage? Feels good, doesn't it, Senior?"
"It feeels gooood—aaagh!! It feels good so stop—gyaaaaah!!"
"This is a massage, understood? If you go around saying otherwise later, I'll do both shoulders next time."
"Urrgh—aaagh!! It's a massage so just stop already—oooooh!!"
This was not assault. It was not physical intimidation either.
No—this was simply a junior giving his senior a thoughtful massage.
The only problem was that, from the recipient's perspective, it was a massage that walked him right up to death's door.