Last Class Standing – 1
Thanks to the Hawk Faction vanishing in truly spectacular fashion, I was able to enjoy a peaceful stretch of Academy life. Still funny no matter how many times I think about it. What on earth possessed them to plot the assassination of royalty? I've put imperial blood on a one-way ticket to the afterlife myself, sure—but that was under circumstances where it was allowed.
It was an incident destined to live forever in continental history. If this world had Darwin Awards, they'd have been a lock for the prize. For all I know, this continent might end up inventing the Hawk Award just for them. Even the name makes my chest tighten with secondhand embarrassment.
And they're both hawks, too.
My gaze drifted to Margeta, diligently working through a stack of documents. The House of Varenti uses a hawk as its emblem as well—so why the night-and-day difference? If the Iron Blood Duke ever heard about the Hawk Faction's grand catastrophe of a party, he'd fly into a rage and order them to change their name to Chicken Heads on the spot.
Or maybe the House of Varenti simply absorbed every scrap of intelligence the Hawk Faction might otherwise have possessed. In which case, the sin was Varenti's.
"Karl?"
I must have been staring too hard. Margeta, who had been bent over her work, gently lifted her head.
"Looks like there's a lot to handle today."
I could hardly ask something like, There's a flock of bird-brained hawks in the neighboring country—any thoughts? so I said something else instead.
Posing a question like that to a family that uses the hawk as its symbol would be practically a declaration of war. I had no desire to fight with Margeta over anything so ridiculous.
"It's the Inter-Class Tournament coming up. Things will stay like this for a while."
"A pity."
"Still, having you here gives me strength."
"That's a good thing."
The moment the words left our mouths, we both burst out laughing as if on cue. I'd opened my mouth like some kind of answer-bot.
Anyway—obsessing over the late Hawk Faction had made time fly. I'd been sure there were still about two weeks left, and suddenly it was right on top of us.
The Inter-Class Tournament. Grand name for what was basically the Academy's version of a sports day. The unusual part was that, unlike an ordinary sports day, swords and magic were flying all over the place.
Every class across every year locked in a free-for-all brawl. But unlike the Club Expo or the exams, the Inter-Class Tournament tended to be a fairly halfhearted affair.
It's a fixed hospitality match, after all.
The Expo had third-years in your own club. Exams pitted you against students of the same year. But the Inter-Class Tournament forced first-years to face second- and third-years.
For nobles hypersensitive to hierarchy, thrashing a senior was an awkward prospect. Once you graduated, you'd still have to smile and call them "Academy Class of Such-and-Such" or "Senior"—no point souring the relationship over a tournament.
So by custom, the winner of the Inter-Class Tournament was usually a third-year class, preferably one that included students of high station.
"This year's going to be a headache."
"Heh. The Student Council is fretting over it too."
Custom, not rule—so every so often it got broken. Namely, whenever a student of transcendent rank enrolled.
When a member of the imperial family entered the Academy, third-years found themselves begging first-years to please just take the championship trophy. A noble who beat a member of the imperial family? Congratulations, you're a traitor.
And this year was a miracle year that had admitted an imperial prince, two royal princes, and the next Saint. Worse, they weren't even concentrated in a single class—they were scattered across several.
"Which class should win, do you think?"
"A difficult question."
Watching Margeta tilt her head as she spoke, I could only shake my own.
Should Ainter's class take the win for the Empire's face? Or should we show consideration for our guests and let Ryutis's, Later's, or Tanian's class claim the trophy? And if we were going to favor a guest, which of the three?
What a nightmare.
Who in the world assigned the classes like this?
Granted, dumping all four of them into the same class would have been merciless on whichever teacher had to take charge of it.
"It might be safest to have His Highness Ainter's class win without fuss. Or let the four of their classes compete purely on merit."
"That does seem right, doesn't it?"
Margeta agreed with my suggestion. If nothing else worked, simply telling them to fight it out among themselves and crown a winner wasn't a terrible option either.
Those four might act like absolute free spirits with no regard for their own station—but at least they'd never used their rank to demand special treatment.
If anything, they might treat the Academy's sanctioned chaos as open season and go completely wild. If things looked like someone might get hurt, the elite forces of the three kingdoms standing by nearby—or I myself—could step in. It would at least be entertaining.
"Having you here really does put my mind at ease."
Looking at Margeta's bright smile, I almost reached out without thinking, then pulled my hand back.
I've picked up a strange habit.
Whenever Luise smiled, I patted her head or gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze—and I'd nearly committed the same impropriety with Margeta out of pure reflex.
Stroking someone's head without a word was treating them like a child. With Luise that was fine, because she was Luise.
But Margeta had noticed my flinch, and her eyes dropped to my hand.
"Karl. Please finish what you were about to do just now."
A precise, unabashed request.
"It was nothing—"
"Do it."
"…Yes, ma'am."
When she said it like that, what choice did I have?
I carefully stroked Margeta's hair. She closed her eyes with a look of quiet satisfaction. Well—if she liked it, that was all that mattered.
"From now on, don't hold back. Just do it right away."
"Yes. Understood."
The adorable request pulled a laugh out of me.
Still, for the sake of Margeta's dignity, I ought to restrain myself. If anyone else was around, I'd keep both hands firmly behind my back.
Just as the Student Council was swamped with the Inter-Class Tournament, I had plenty of work of my own. Drawing up the schedule was their job—but supervising the club members as they ran all over the place according to that schedule was mine.
In truth, Villar probably had more of the workload than I did, but I had my share.
"With the experience from the practical exams, there shouldn't be any problems."
"Hearing Sir Villar say so puts me at ease."
Villar's confident assurance, and my rapid nodding.
Compared to the first-semester practical exams, the situation was definitely better this time. Back then everything had been new, and all I'd done was clutch the back of my neck and sigh. This time, at least, we'd done it once before.
Besides, unlike the practical exams—where you had no choice but to duel someone—the Inter-Class Tournament theoretically let you sit out every single event and just watch from the stands.
"They'll almost certainly enter the major matches."
"I suppose so. They do love setting an example."
Of course, that was me overclocking my optimism circuits. Those people sitting out an event like this and just watching? Not a chance.
Even if they'd been living like the patient fisherman-sage ever since Luise turned them down, nature doesn't change that easily. These were the same people who'd forced their way into a foreign educational institution and then, smitten with a girl, immediately signed up for her club.
With Luise's restraining influence diminished, they were more likely to run wild than ever.
…Is this going to be all right?
Anxiety hit me out of nowhere. They'd been nerve-racking enough with a leash. Now they didn't even have one?
"The new elite personnel selected by each nation specialize in escort and healing. Quite a few of them also have a gift for training, so you need not worry."
As if reading my thoughts, Villar continued.
"That's a relief, then."
I didn't know about the rest, but having training specialists on hand was genuinely comforting. One of a drill instructor's jobs was to intervene in spars and prevent injuries.
Right. Trust them. It went fine last time, so it would go fine this time. I believed in the Academy and the three kingdoms. We were sworn brothers with our necks on the same chopping block.
Different birthdays—same shared death if things went wrong.
"Still, the ideal outcome is that nothing happens at all," Villar said, carefully floating the idea.
So you're thinking the same thing I am.
I'd figured as much. No matter how thorough the preparations, no matter how confident you felt—the natural human preference was still for there to be no neck on the line in the first place.
Nothing happening was best. The club members not entering a single match was best. Obvious, really.
"I agree completely. Quiet is best. As their advisor, I'd rather not watch the members wear themselves out."
Want me to ask them for you?
"Inspector, you have truly become a fine advisor."
I'd appreciate it.
For a subordinate, asking the royal they served which matches they planned to enter was an awkward burden.
So what else could I do? I had to be the one.
Even when you've braced for something, facing the reality still hurts.
"Ah—of course I plan to participate."
"Is that so."
The sheer confidence in Ryutis's answer filled me with despair.
Of course, he'd said. Of course our hopes were destined to be trampled underfoot.
"If not now, when else am I going to get a chance to go up against a mage from Uben?"
I almost pointed out that Armein mages and Uben mages were more or less the same thing, but held my tongue.
"Looks like I'll be seeing a whole new world this time."
"Haha! Now that sounds promising!"
Even Later, who'd been sitting quietly, had his competitive fire stoked by Ryutis's words.
Honestly, that loud red-haired bastard's mouth was the problem. No—this time the blue-haired one was a problem too.
"This year's Inter-Class Tournament should be quite fierce," Ainter said with a light smile, as if the whole business had nothing to do with him. Fair enough—he'd committed thoroughly to the scholarly path.
Tanian wasn't particularly warlike either. Erich wasn't the type to show off his skill. And Luise went without saying.
Those sword-and-magic maniacs.
It was just a pride fight between people who swung blades and people who cast spells.
I didn't get it. Getting hit killed you either way—why brawl over something like that?
"So only Ryutis and Later are entering?"
"Ah—me too."
"You go without saying."
Erich participating was fine. Fortunately, he fell into the category of students who could get hurt without causing an international incident, so whether he competed or not barely mattered.
I glanced toward Tanian. He gave a slight shake of his head.
"I am a Saint candidate, am I not?"
That said everything. A Saint did not intervene in conflicts between humans—so he would observe.
Though treating a simple sports day as a "conflict" seemed like overkill.
Whatever.
If he was volunteering to sit it out, that was fine by me.