I've Found My Manpower - 3
The principal's back looked especially pitiful today. It had been a long while since I'd felt this kind of sympathy for him—not since the inter-class tournament.
"The Academy is open to all who seek to learn. Differences of birth shall not become differences of opportunity, and differences of nationality shall not become differences of outcome."
At least the pathetic air hadn't eaten into his brain. The principal's words were perfectly sound. The Academy does not slight commoner students, nor does it hand out garbage grades simply because someone is a foreigner—what a splendid thing to say.
And yet, for all that every word was right and good, why did listening to it leave a person feeling so forlorn? Anyone watching would take it as a plea: We're peaceful and fair like this, so please don't cause any trouble.
Is it a plea?
Honestly, it kind of was.
At any rate, once the principal finished his opening-day speech—one that had thoroughly worked the audience's pity—the vice-principal took his place, and after him the head teachers of each faculty delivered their own addresses in turn.
Same lineup as last year.
Seeing the familiar roster still standing firm amid the chaos of the Academy settled something in my chest. Not that a head teacher would be replaced unless something truly extraordinary happened.
On paper, the head teacher of each Academy faculty has no fixed term and can change at any time according to ability. In practice, the same four have held the posts for over a decade and show no sign of budging.
Swordsmanship, Magic, Priesthood, and Scholarship. The highest authorities of the four faculties that make up the Academy are figures renowned not only throughout the Empire but across the continent. You don't put just anyone in charge of teaching imperial royalty and high nobility. Of course you bring in giants of their fields—and of course they hold the seat like defending champions.
Becoming a faculty head teacher is therefore treated as a great honor, and even students from high houses tend to show them respect. New students seeing a head teacher for the first time are said to look at them with eyes full of admiration—
or so I'd heard.
...A little too obvious.
Even with a head teacher standing right in front of them, the students were restless. Anyone could tell their gazes weren't fixed on the head teacher but on whoever stood behind them.
Being so blatantly ignored might have offended the head teacher, but even he seemed to understand the snub and looked desperate to finish speaking quickly—as if he himself wanted off the stage so he could look at the person in back.
Fair enough.
The students' stares, and the Magic Faculty head teacher's sidelong glances, were aimed at me. More precisely, at the person standing beside me.
I followed those eyes with a glance of my own and found a woman standing quietly with her eyes closed. Floor-length white hair, and ears so long they seemed to pierce the sky—both left a striking impression.
"—Next, we will hear from Her Grace the Demon Duke, dispatched instructor from the Magic Tower."
At those words, the Demon Duke's eyes drifted open.
A giant of the field as head teacher? A defending champion who'd held the post for over a decade? Who cared? A living legend who was practically the field itself had appeared. The Magic Faculty head teacher had dropped to one knee the instant the Demon Duke teleported in. Watching a man of advanced years do that had been more embarrassing for me than for him.
"Speak comfortably. Whatever you say, they'll love it."
"Heh heh. Yes. Thank you for the advice."
I offered what encouragement and cheer I could as the Demon Duke moved toward the podium, and she answered with a soft smile.
I was a little worried, to be honest. The Demon Duke was a shut-in who lived only in the Magic Tower; she had no experience giving speeches before a crowd. What if she said something so abstruse that the students fell into mass confusion—or finished before the welcoming applause even died?
Of course, given her renown, they would probably cheer even if she cursed them out.
As expected, her speech ended amid fervent cheers. The reaction was roughly that of pirate hopefuls who'd just been told One Piece existed.
"During class, you may ask me anything. I shall teach you everything I know; mastering it depends on your own effort."
The trap, of course, was that this declaration truly rivaled One Piece itself.
No mage in their right mind could stay calm when the Demon Duke had just announced she would teach everything she knew. The greatest mage on the continent offering to teach you all of it—and your skill still doesn't improve? That means your talent is rock-bottom, so you should abandon the path of magic.
And so, amid the cheers and applause of mage students already going berserk, and of non-mages simply drunk on her reputation, the joint opening and entrance ceremony came to an end.
"Come along, dear."
The Demon Duke slipped to my side and took my hand, and a question rose in me. I could head straight for the club room like this—but didn't she have class? Surely she wasn't becoming a professor with free periods from day one?
"What about your class?"
"Mine is fourth period, so it's fine."
Fair enough. It would be strange for a single dispatched instructor to cover every lecture anyway.
If her renown had been merely middling, they might have wrung every drop of value out of her. But who could work the Demon Duke like a draft horse when she stood even above the principal?
"I want to see the club room. I want to look at the place with my own eyes."
"Understood."
Her eyes sparkled, and a small laugh escaped me. The club room was just a clean, well-appointed space—but to her it must have been the dream place she'd only ever heard of.
More specifically, it was utopia because it was where I spent more than half of every day.
It had been a long time. My heart hadn't pounded like this since Luise rejected me.
A rather miserable comparison, but I mean it.
The Demon Duke.
The opening ceremony was already over and we had left the great hall, yet she still stood vivid before my eyes. Her voice seemed to linger at my ear.
I could never have imagined it. Until winter break, until I returned to my homeland—who would have dared predict something like this?
The Demon Duke as instructor.
My hands had begun to tremble without my noticing. I fought desperately to preserve a prince's composure, but even a prince's dignity could not overcome a mage's instinct.
Last year I had been content simply to learn from an ordinary Magic Tower lecturer. Imperial magic rather than Uven's—and Magic Tower magic, no less, said to be systematically and perfectly organized. Being taught by a Magic Tower mage was already an asset for my future. It had, in fact, yielded real results.
But this was the Demon Duke. The pinnacle of every mage on the continent, the living symbol of this era's magic, had come to teach.
A chance that will never come again.
Yes. Truly a chance that will never come again. A fortune I would not enjoy even if I were reborn—greater, for a mage, than being born of royal blood. To a mage the Demon Duke is a king, and more than a king. In absolute reverence she can be compared to a god.
"During class, you may ask me anything. I shall teach you everything I know; mastering it depends on your own effort."
The moment her words returned to me, my heart—which had calmed only a little—went into another fit. The grace of being able to ask the Demon Duke anything during class, and the realization that I stood in a position superior to the other students'.
Of course I had no intention of flaunting my royal blood for special treatment. An imperial duke is the equal of a kingdom's prince; how could I dare cling to the Demon Duke by brandishing royalty? What I could claim was that her prospective partner was the advisor of the Baking Club, and that her only disciple was Luise of the same club.
Having no connection at all and having even a faint one is the difference between heaven and earth. And being acquainted with her prospective partner and sole disciple is no mere faint connection.
I can't rely on that alone.
Still, I could not make unreasonable requests on the strength of acquaintance alone. The advisor as prospective partner? I already owed the advisor a great deal from the first semester last year. Luise? She would probably help if I asked—but she would try harder than necessary out of guilt for rejecting me. That would only leave me feeling worse.
I need something to offer in return…
Set aside Luise, who was likely to overdo it, and only the advisor remained—and I had no idea what to offer him in exchange for a request. Trade is only possible with someone who lacks something.
Complicated. What cards did I hold? What card could I present to ask the advisor for chances to see the Demon Duke outside of class hours?
"—Ha."
At the very least, I needed to be able to give the advisor what he wanted if I was to get what I—
"Your Highness Later."
Ah.
I came to myself late. Not to hear someone calling me from right beside me—however deep in thought I'd been, it was shameful.
"At the Academy, call me senior."
"Ah—yes. Senior Later."
I pulled my wits together at once and turned toward the voice. A very familiar face looked back at me.
Rachel Sorta, a first-year from Uven Alliance nobility. She had first decided to enter the Academy because of her connection to me, then fallen into a frenzy of excitement when she later heard of the Demon Duke's dispatch.
"What is it?"
Recognizing her face only made me more embarrassed. I'd looked vacant in front of someone close.
Fortunately she didn't seem to mind much. Rachel spoke as if nothing were amiss.
"Senior, you said you were in the Baking Club, didn't you?"
"I did."
There was nothing to hide, so I answered evenly—and a faint madness lit in Rachel's eyes.
"When is the club application period?"
At that I grasped her intent at once. The rumor that the Demon Duke's prospective partner was the club advisor had already spread as far as it could. Wanting to join the Baking Club under those circumstances meant she, like me, meant to lean on an acquaintance's influence.
As expected, mages' initiative is terrifying. Everyone was already spinning their minds on how to profit—
…Mages' initiative.
My thoughts veered in another direction. Countless mage students. The hunger to get closer to the Demon Duke by any means. A Baking Club everyone knew about. An advisor who would inevitably be buried under a deluge of applications.
There it was. I had a card I could present to the advisor.
I just have to control them for him.
Rein in the mage students who would treat the advisor as a stepping-stone and rush him. Block the club applications. Then the advisor could avoid the nuisance and keep his peace.
And in return, I would casually make my request. Given his nature, he wouldn't coldly ignore me.
This is doable.
Thanks to Rachel, I had forged a good card.
Rachel herself was among those who would have to be controlled, of course—but if I learned properly from the Demon Duke, I would teach her in turn, so I hoped she wouldn't resent me for it.