If You Can't Handle It, You're Weak!
If you can't handle it, you're weak!
Kyle John Nassen. Until just a few days ago, that was how the Academy students reacted whenever they heard the name.
The John Nassen storm. The John Nassen natural disaster. A monster who would hang you upside down if your sleeve so much as brushed his. From the listener's perspective it was all a bit unfair, but from the students' point of view it made perfect sense. What kind of person shattered a flying sword with their bare hands, or casually split a desk in half while trying to greet someone? It was far beyond anything mere effort could achieve. An ordinary person couldn't even dream of it.
Rumors about the existence known as "John Nassen" already circulated openly. The people of the North, whom the Empire had grown so sick of fighting that it simply avoided battle with them altogether. And then there was the relatively recent incident, only a few years old, more than enough to deepen the fear: a beauty who claimed to be from John Nassen had swung her fist once and reduced a building to rubble. Hard to believe, yet it had actually happened—stories like that.
Put it all together and it was only natural that people were reluctant to approach him at all. Even those who harbored hostility toward John Nassen never seriously intended to do anything about it. All they ever did was needle him carefully while watching for his reaction.
"Is there any student willing to go meet Kyle John Nassen?"
If someone had said that before, everyone would have wrinkled their noses and shaken their heads. Yes. Until a few days ago—until "that incident" happened.
"I'll go."
A female student from the school newspaper club raised her hand high. The hero who had saved the Academy from vicious intruders. The powerhouse who had accomplished in mere minutes what even Knights could not. The top Academy student of the semester, one who had left both the Empire and the Church indebted to him. Add to that the way he quietly focused on nothing but training, and the talk that he was surprisingly gentle and kind for a John Nassen, and his image had completely transformed. From a monster no one wanted to run into, into a curious guest from the North about whom people had a great many questions. Small wonder she looked eager rather than afraid.
"Do well. If we actually get to meet him and hear his story, we'll be the first."
He was already the hottest topic of conversation these days. Imperial newspapers were racing one another to run articles about Kyle. Yet not a single one of those articles had featured an interview. For one thing, reporters could not freely enter the Academy. And even if they received permission and came in, Kyle simply refused to meet them.
"Ah, I have to work out!"
When the reporters stubbornly chased him all the way to his training ground, Kyle finally fled to the library. Everywhere else might be fair game, but the library was absolute silence. The librarian's authority was considerable, and with so many noble heirs and heiresses demanding quiet, any disturbance was strictly forbidden. In the end the reporters never managed to corner Kyle after he escaped into the stacks. After that, every last one of them was banned from Academy grounds for causing excessive disruption and interfering with studies. Most of them now waited in the outer city, hoping Kyle would eventually appear.
"He's got to come outside the Academy at least once, right?!"
"We'll get that interview then for sure!"
The reporters had no idea that Kyle, barring something exceptional, spent all his time working out inside the Academy. Or that if he needed anything, he simply put Ian and Leto to work. In any case, the most talked-about person around had never given a single interview. That was when the Academy's own school newspaper decided to aim for the first one. And the second-year tasked with that first interview, Dorothy, set out to find Kyle.
They said he's always in the indoor training hall when he doesn't have lectures.
But when she arrived at the indoor training hall, only a handful of students were inside. Kyle, who was supposedly always there, was strangely nowhere to be seen today. Was he still hiding from the reporters in the library? Then again, the ban on those reporters had already been in place for two days. There was no way he hadn't heard the news.
Where on earth did he go?
This was the interview even those relentless reporters had failed to snag. If the Academy school paper managed it first, it would be a monumental achievement. So Dorothy searched every place Kyle might reasonably be.
Found him!
At last, far in the distance, Dorothy spotted Kyle.
Remember. Absolutely do not put pressure on him. Getting the interview is secondary. First emphasize that you're both Academy students, create a sense of shared identity, and put him at ease.
They said rapport with the subject greatly affected the quality of an interview. Fortunately they were upperclassman and underclassman as well as fellow students, so that part shouldn't be difficult. Dorothy neither charged at him with a "Waaah!" nor abruptly whipped out pen and notepad. She simply strolled over as if she were any ordinary student passing by, carefully not drawing attention, moving at a leisurely pace—until the moment she drew near.
"KRAAAAAH!!"
The sudden roar made Dorothy freeze mid-thought of What's going on?, bewilderment flooding her face. Right beside the stationary Kyle, a male student was hanging from his arm.
Wh-what? What is this situation? What even?
It wasn't the kind of playful roughhousing male students usually engaged in. He was hanging on with genuine, full-body effort, screaming as he did so.
"Tsk."
Kyle, watching the desperately clinging male student, gave his arm a light flick. The boy went whoosh into the air and then slammed into the ground. He hit so hard that Dorothy couldn't help letting out an involuntary "Ugh."
"Next."
"Huk."
Next? Next what? Dorothy turned her head. Beside the sprawled student stood another male student.
Uh… wait. That first-year… isn't he the one who was always next to the Litorio duchess?
The name didn't come immediately, but he was definitely of Litorio. Heirs and young ladies of high houses usually enrolled with someone who served as a secretary. The young man she was looking at was one of those. His name was… ah, right. Leto. Definitely Leto.
Why is he here alone without the duchess… huh?
What happened next forced Dorothy to doubt her own eyes.
Thwack!
"Gyaak!"
Kyle casually swung a fist at the young man. The one who took the blow rolled across the ground like a ball.
V-violence?!
Any form of violence between students was forbidden within the Academy. Depending on the circumstances one might receive leniency, but this did not look like a case that would. No matter how she looked at it, Kyle casually punching Leto did not seem normal.
Wh-what is this?
What? What, what, what? What on earth was going on?! One guy hanging off Kyle, another guy getting hit by him. Why were they doing this? Was something happening? Why…
Dorothy blinked hard, then hastily spun around and fled the scene. When the club members asked if she had met Kyle, she decided she would just say she hadn't found him.
Today, once again, Ian failed to bring the arm down.
And today, once again, Leto ended up screaming "Gyaak!"
It had only been a few days, but their growth seemed a bit slow.
My time is precious too. What am I even doing?
Sitting alone in a café, shoveling ice cream into his mouth, Kyle shook his head. Lately his to-do list had suddenly ballooned. First he had to supervise Tisha's workouts, and he also had to check whether the Saintess was doing hers properly. On top of that, Elga kept summoning him for tea whenever she found a free moment, and he had been accepting those invitations. That alone easily ate up three hours at minimum. And in the middle of all that, still more things kept cropping up.
Reporters desperate for any scrap—how he had repelled the intruders, what he had felt at the time. Professors who had "seen him in a new light" and wanted to praise him. Sycophants who thought there might be something to gain by getting close. And the rare genuine Academy students who simply wanted to become friends.
I brought this on myself, so I can't really complain.
Kyle clicked his tongue and polished off the entire bowl of ice cream. Still, flooding himself with sugar like this made the irritation melt away. It was something he could never have imagined back in John Nassen; there was no denying that a little delinquency felt good.
Alright. Tongue happy. What came next? Burn what you ate.
Leaving the café, Kyle headed straight for the indoor training hall—his personal gym, as he called it.
Lately I keep thinking I've been slacking too much on my workouts.
If any Academy students had overheard that, they would have said, "What kind of nonsense is that?" A guy who never missed one or two hours of training every single day, suddenly talking like this? Of course, any John Nassen would have said, "Aigoo! How can you possibly have so little time to train!"
"Kyle-nim!"
Walking felt too slow, so he was lightly sprinting full-out toward the gym when a rough voice called from behind. Kyle glanced back slightly.
"…Nell?"
"Hah… hah! Y-yes! It's me! J-just a second! Please wait a moment!!"
At this rate she might collapse again and end up barely breathing. The moment Kyle stopped in place, Nell finally managed to catch her breath. Of course, unlike the completely unfazed Kyle, she spent a long while bent over and gasping.
"I-I brought it."
"Pardon?"
"Wh-what you asked for! What you required of me! Hah… hah! I-I gathered it all!"
"Wait a moment. By 'gathered it all,' you don't mean…"
"The price for teaching me! Just as you said! I brought it!!"
As she spoke, Nell held out a pouch in front of Kyle. Even at a glance it looked heavy, packed with a considerable amount of gold coins. Running must have already been hard enough, yet she had been carrying this the whole way. Matching the amount was one thing, but enduring the weight was far more important. Coins were heavy—how had she even thought of running while holding this?
…In terms of effort and willpower, that's a clear pass.
She was already far better than Male Specimen Number One and Number Two.
"Pass."
"Pardon?"
"I said you pass."
And so the John Nassen Passing Necklace settled around Nell's neck.