Yes, It's the Baking Club - 3
Most of the Empire’s nobility have attended the Academy and taken part in club activities, so the Club Expo is less an Academy event than an imperial one. Under the polite fiction of “club seniors,” already-graduated nobles mingle with those still enrolled. That is what the Club Expo has always been.
And now that same Club Expo has stepped beyond a domestic occasion and become an international one.
“Yes, that’s right. I only received word myself yesterday.”
“I… see.”
The day after the minister told me guests would be coming from other countries, I went straight to the headmaster and got that flat reply. Ah. So the headmaster only heard yesterday as well.
If the news has already reached the ears of the Academy’s highest authority, it is no longer a mere possibility—it is confirmed. What the minister said to me might have remained idle gossip; once it reached the headmaster, the Ministry of Education had officially declared, “Guests are coming.”
I could hardly believe it. What was there to see at a student fair that people would cross borders for it? Did everyone have time to burn? Some of us would love a day off and never get one.
They would have come even without the Expo.
Of course the real goal was a visit to the Academy itself; both the headmaster and I—and Villar, who happened to be passing—knew that perfectly well. They had been hunting for any excuse to set foot on campus. The Expo opens the Academy even to outsiders? They would have cartwheeled through the gates without a second thought.
The minister had mentioned only Ernesto Academy growing excited, but mages from every corner of the continent would come running. High-ranking mages could teleport without effort; national borders meant nothing to them.
“I’m a little worried the guests may swarm us. I hope Your Excellency isn’t shouldering an unnecessary burden.”
Imagining a flood of self-styled “late-blooming students” who had failed the entrance exams, I spoke carefully. No matter how I looked at it, the uproar had started because of the Demon Duke, and the Demon Duke was at the Academy because of me.
Anyone with a human conscience would have apologized to the headmaster. I had cheerfully handed him extra work he never needed to do.
“It’s quite all right. Isn’t the purpose of the Expo to enjoy oneself? The more guests, the merrier.”
Yet the headmaster answered with a serene smile. Strange. Judging by his expression and tone, it was neither sarcasm nor some enlightened resignation.
He really is fine with this?
Why? From his point of view, ordinary business had just been upgraded to high-priority headache. If it were me, I would want to murder whoever had tangled my work routine.
One could generously credit the headmaster’s years of experience and patience, but a civil servant’s suffering does not fade with age. If anything, being old and still overloaded is worse. He was probably weighing death by overwork against being abandoned on a mountain.
As if sensing my doubts, the headmaster’s smile only deepened.
“Ernesto Academy expressed a wish to study the Imperial Academy’s educational system. They said they would come not as guests but as students, and that they hoped for our guidance.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
The moment I heard that, I understood why the headmaster looked so calm—or, on closer inspection, quietly delighted.
He won.
In the long pride contest between the two academies, the headmaster had finally claimed victory, and that was why he was so serene.
The Imperial Academy was the foremost educational institution of the continent’s strongest empire, teaching every discipline; Ernesto Academy was the premier magic academy of a magical powerhouse. By tradition both posts were held by renowned archmages, so the two schools had always waged a quiet war of prestige.
In overall systems the Imperial Academy already won, yet because the headmasters were mages before they were educators, the rivalry had been fought solely on magical ground. And since the magic of the Uven Alliance was nothing the Empire could dismiss, the contest had continued with the ferocity of an inter-academy war.
Then the Demon Duke made the Imperial Academy her base of operations and the board flipped. When a 120-year-old Einstein raises one hand for your side, the game is over.
“Congratulations. Even Uven cannot defeat the Empire in the end. I’m glad to see Your Excellency’s efforts bear fruit.”
“Haha, how could it have been my strength alone? It was possible only because of the foundation the Academy has built over the years.”
In any case, after this crushing victory in the long rivalry, the smile refused to leave the headmaster’s face.
And fair enough. A chancellor who ends an inter-academy war in his school’s favor goes down in institutional history.
“In truth it was only natural. The Empire is home to one who has reached the pinnacle of magic. How could any other nation compare?”
I simply nodded at the proud declaration. It was the first time I had seen the headmaster display such strong emotion, but considering most mages were not entirely sane, this counted as a healthy expression of feeling.
“And when I was young and visited Uven—”
…I choose to believe it is still healthy.
I never imagined the price of one misplaced sneeze would be this high.
“Um, Erich… can I go back in now—”
“No.”
At the firm refusal my half-opened mouth closed again. I felt as though I had been outside a long while, yet by Erich’s standards it was still far too soon.
This really isn’t necessary.
It was embarrassing. After being dragged to the infirmary for a single sneeze, Erich now refused to let me set foot in the clubroom, as if entering would kill me. More precisely, the moment baking was about to begin he vacated the room with me, claiming that if I sneezed again while inside it would be a problem.
“It was just the flour. Once I get used to it I’ll be fine. Doing this will only keep me from adapting.”
Of course I refused at first. Even if I had joined the club mainly to be near Erich, I was still a proper member of the Baking Club. A member who never touched the baking and left the room the second it started? Even with my limited social experience I knew that looked odd.
“What if flour simply doesn’t agree with you? What if it wasn’t the tickle but your body rejecting it?”
Erich only shook his head, unyielding. The idea was ridiculous. If I had any real intolerance I would have noticed long ago—how many cookies and loaves had I already eaten?
“Flour before baking and flour after baking might be different. Until we know the results, stay outside with me.”
Still, hearing the worry thick in his voice, I could not refuse him to the end.
Fine. He was doing this because he was worried about me, nothing else. Yielding quietly was the kindest thing I could do for him. And maybe he was right; maybe flour really did not suit me. I had already undergone a thorough exam at the infirmary, so a few more days of waiting would settle it.
And we’re alone, too.
Honestly, the embarrassment was mixed with a quiet joy. Being in the same space as Erich was nice, but walking alone with him like this was better. Our own time that no one could interrupt.
Thankfully Karl-oppa, Luise, and the other members had understood. Whether they truly believed I looked like someone who could fall critically ill from flour, or whether they simply wanted to eject Erich and his overprotectiveness, I could not tell.
“Shall we sit for a moment?”
“Ah—yes.”
Apparently he took my question about going back inside as a sign of tiredness, because Erich guided me toward a nearby bench.
I was not tired at all. We had only been strolling the paths near the building; if that exhausted me I would never have entered the Academy. But if Erich chose to misunderstand, I was perfectly willing to act exhausted.
…A shoulder should be fine, right?
So borrowing a shoulder for a little while would be all right, wouldn’t it? He would never push away someone who was truly tired. In my heart I wanted to use his lap, but we were outdoors rather than in a carriage, so that would be too embarrassing.
All right. A shoulder would do for now. Simply sitting together in the spring breeze was already romantic enough.
“Hm? Were you nearby?”
While I was happily daydreaming, a voice arrived to interrupt that happiness.
I turned toward the sound and saw His Highness Ryutis approaching, bouncing a ball against the ground. And not only him—His Highness Ainter, His Highness Later, and even Lord Tanian were all there.
Strange. I was certain they had been locked in fierce debate over cookie shapes versus candy shapes. They had been so absorbed I thought the discussion would last several more days; I had been almost afraid to approach.
“What? Why are you out here?”
Erich also tilted his head at the sudden appearance of the other members. Until moments ago he himself had been part of that debate, so he must have felt its heat even more keenly than I had, which only deepened his puzzlement.
“Using my head for too long got boring. The body needs exercise as much as the mind if you want to stay healthy.”
The logic was a little odd, but if a prince said so, then so it was.
The members who had been locked in a thoroughly unproductive debate eventually declared they needed to clear their heads and streamed outside en masse.
Took them long enough.
I was not particularly surprised. These were the same people who had once turned the Baking Club’s initials into “foot-volleyball.” Spring in this world was not a season of fine dust or yellow sand; it was perfectly fine weather for going outside to play.
My only real worry was that the court they favored happened to be near where Sera was. Showing a live foot-volleyball match to a girl already receiving a steady stream of incorrect common sense might not be ideal.
After watching the window for quite a while I finally turned away. Erich was stuck to her side, so it would be fine. He would correct any strange misunderstandings before they took root.
“Is this how you do it?”
“That’s right! Wow, you’re picking it up so fast!”
“Hehe. It’s because I have such a good teacher.”
With the members gone in a pack, only Luise and the Demon Duke remained in the clubroom. Listening to their conversation stirred the usual complicated feelings.
While every official member was deserting, the Demon Duke—who was not even a formal member—had become a resident spirit of the clubroom… and this year she was working harder than most of the actual members… and she was the hero who had ended the inter-academy rivalry yet showed no interest in the glory…
…Should I just hand her the advisor position?
Honestly, she had probably baked more loaves than I had by now. She already suited the role of Baking Club advisor better than I did.
They say a late-learned hobby is a terrifying thing. She was not the Demon Duke anymore—she was the Baking Duke.