Craving Pleasure Without Responsibility
Everyone wants pleasure without responsibility when their military dog tag chimes—maybe a paycheck without the work. Of course, there are exceptions. They're a tiny minority compared to the overall population, but there are definitely people who love responsibility so much they'd mix it with rice and eat it up. But that's a different breed of masochist from me. At least, I'm not like that.
Most citizens of 21st-century South Korea dream of being rich layabouts, after all. And you're wondering if a guy like that went into the arts and athletics? Well... you know that stuff they teach in middle and high school morality or social studies class. How jobs aren't just for making a living but tools for self-realization and all that. But if you're going to realize your self anyway, isn't it better to do it comfortably? Sure, you can endure hardship for your dreams, but honestly, achieving your goals without the suffering is way better.
Anyway, what I'm getting at is... getting slammed with surprise duties out of nowhere isn't exactly welcome. Weekend shifts are fine, though. I don't mind that much. My lifestyle's been irregular with no guaranteed days off since my days in the Combat Band. Plus, holing up in my room would just lead to dopamine deficiency and madness anyway. In a world where indoor leisure means reading, praying, training, or masturbation, it's better to do something than rot away rolling around in bed.
From that angle, the assignment itself isn't bad. Looking at the outcome alone, it means traveling across the Empire every two weeks—on someone else's dime. Not something everyone would cheer for, but from my position, it's tolerable. So what's the problem? Obviously, it's politically huge. No matter how I spin it, succeeding means they'll pat me on the back, recognize my merit, and bump up my status...
They probably won't promote me outright, but invisible social recognition beyond a formal rank is even riskier. Proof? Despite my constant demands for sublieutenant treatment, no one's listening. Intentionally botch something important to disappoint them and earn contempt? ...Eh. I'd love to, but there's a limit. It's hard to feel it when Riley's like the neighborhood idiot big sis—er, big bro—yelling "Hell yeah! I demolished the cafeteria grub today!"—but in Groomha County, she's basically on par with our crown princess.
My mission is one puzzle piece in solving an international diplomatic headache involving her. To fail, it'd have to be a slap-and-kick level flop; I don't want to risk my head rolling. Sure, I've worked hard so far, so a little slip-up won't get me executed right away... but you never know. This world's more barbaric than I imagined in some ways.
So, to sum up: it's a mission that's not too hard to complete but whose outcome I won't love either way.
Sigh. No choice. But I couldn't refuse. Even setting aside the crown princess's authority, it'd be disobeying orders. Her official military rank is marshal, after all. No desire to face a court-martial just because "fewer candidates to whip me" or whatever. Best to quietly obey.
"...Sub lieutenant Konstantia?"
"...Ah, yes."
"Is something wrong?"
"No. Just thinking for a moment."
Lost in thought, I snapped back at the voice beside me. Had I zoned out enough to weird everyone out? I hurriedly refocused and turned. Bright orange hair filled my view right next to me—the professor leading this class.
"We're about to start the practical, so prepare to play. Colonel Bultgen said you could replicate her performance exactly. Can I leave the whole piece to you?"
"I can handle any piece needed for training. CEOI is..."
"Training Piece No. 2, please."
"Understood. Training Piece No. 2, confirmed."
I nodded. Professor Alparia So-ryeong smiled faintly, satisfied.
"Let's freeze it right away, then. Foxfire chant for the collision okay?"
"Ah, for that... I'll handle the freeze from here."
'Battlefield Magic' lives up to its name, teaching a mage's role in near-real combat. And in battlefields where dense aura and mana clash, 'freezing'—creating silent zones—is everyday stuff. For realistic training, we need a similar setup. Even without that, total silence beats distractions when focusing on instrument sounds.
I raised my gloved hands and gathered aura into them. The soft leather instantly hardened like metal. Gear issued with my instruments when I joined the 2nd Combat Band—gloves from some sea monster's hide. Infuse aura or mana, and their physical properties change. Clap, and they ring with clear metallic chimes. Made for keeping rhythm with claps if your instrument breaks in battle.
Of course, not playing now. Just unintentionally hardened from the aura.
...Thinking about it getting hard against my will feels kinda lewd.
With that thought, I clapped hard. A bell-like ring—clang!—filled the training ground. All other sounds sank away. Silence so profound, you'd swear you heard tinnitus without that bell.
"By yourself...?"
A slightly muffled voice came from beside me—maybe her mana wasn't fully charged.
"Mm... I have a lot of aura."
"R-right, of course. Uh... please start playing."
"Yes, ma'am."
I nodded again and extended my hands forward. A marimba-like instrument sat ahead. Narrower keys, but my ears translated it as 'marimba.' I picked up the mallets—one per hand? No, two per hand, four total, V-shaped grip. That's part of what makes it marimba-esque.
Gazing down, a light breath... then I hammered the marimba wildly. Each aura-infused mallet strike rang high and clear. But no harmony—pure noise. On Earth, it'd sound like a kid or drunk bashing it randomly.
Nothing wrong, though. This is 'normal' military music here. Why nations train bands with diverse instruments? Chanting needs rhythm, but one big drum suffices for basics.
"Drum to keep chant tempo!" Simple idea anyone gets. Derivative: Disrupt the music, disrupt the mages? Mages aren't dumb—protections against beheading the band. But sound itself can't be fully shielded.
Common counters: massive noise to drown it, or off-beat fakes to confuse. Arms race evolves: Enter the sieve chant. Filters sound outside preset frequencies.
Doesn't solve everything. One instrument? Counter with the same. Solution: Mix fakes with tons of instruments. Play [AKLESSNEDIROAPQLCDDT] and [FVLWBSDFCPOEPPDTRXYZ] on two... sieve lets only A, B, C through. Soldiers hear [A×××××××××××A×××C×××] and [××××B×××C×××××××××××]. Together: [A×××B×××C×××A×××C×××]—even rhythm.
Simplified; reality's more complex. Unfiltered original? Grindcore beyond death metal. Change frequencies periodically—no guarantees. That's CEOI: Conducting Encryption Of Imperial army.
Training, so no encryption? One more perk:
"Grise, grye bose. Leo neomeo sangoljjage, byeolbit moyeo heureuneun geu goljjagine..."
"Ganjeolhi baraamnida. Geu sseuajineun bitmul goigo tto goin gose, eonjenga dasi mulgyeolchyeo heureugil."
Chants need rhythm—magic's law, the demonic path. But not all same tempo. Different spells need different beats; filter per main spell, band plays polyrhythms. Pre-sieve era grouped same-tempo mages. Game-changer with mana conduction speakers.
Now, mixed mages mean multi-tracks... match students' filters. Pre-agreed training pieces—no complex codes. That's 'Training Piece'.
I kept pounding, eyeing students. Pairs sparring—duels knights face often, rare for grunts. Flapping short clothes, sweat-slick moves—eye candy all around.
Some stood out. All comic-book beauties, but some hit harder, taste-wise. Top: 2nd Princess.
Ankle-length long skirt, hiked to under bust—looks endless. Cinched waist bonus. That side slit? Bold slash from hips down. Panties—or strings—peek constantly. Plump hips/thighs trail mom's but ample.
...I get it rationally. Here, hips signal female power—family inheritance, heirs. Wide hips? Flaunt 'em. Like buff guys in tight shirts back home. Some call it gross—same deal.
Panties showing? Hipster style. Absolute territory garter stockings? Military origin. Vulgar? Maybe, but no blushing cover-up. Do that, hear "If you're such a girl, grow a dick."
Knowledge vs. experience—different beasts. I flinch every time. Unique worry here—no one else gets it, can't even consult.
"Huh? Lady Groomha?"
"Yeah! Nice to meet ya! Uh... I know you, right?"
"2nd Princess Tina Beal Angras."
"Oh yeah! That's it. Senior Tina!"
"What brings you here? This was the last class using the field, right?"
"Need a signature, so hunting Teacher Konstantia! Heard she's in 3rd-year class here... not seeing her. Gone already?"
"Sub lieutenant's probably in the bathroom."
"Teacher said that?"
"Nah, but she always hits the john after. Bathroom on a schedule— so her."
"Totally! Thanks, heading there! Appreciate it!"
"Sure. Catch you next time."