Boltman's Closing Statement
With Boltman's announcement drawing a firm period, silence descended over the hall. Charlotte whipped her head around, glaring at Maness, her face etched with clear disappointment.
"Are you satisfied?"
Watching a faint smile spread across Maness's face—which had been rigidly set just moments before—Charlotte stormed past him roughly.
"You promised..."
Even as he half-teasingly brought it up, Charlotte didn't glance back, striding straight out the dormitory's front gate. Maness harbored no complaints about it. Becoming friends was just a nominal excuse anyway. Having a single debt hanging over an imperial figure? That alone was a massive gain.
Turning his gaze from Charlotte, Maness headed up the stairs toward the third floor. Just as the crowd had parted for him when he called Boltman's name, the throng now split aside naturally. From the sporadic murmurs, it seemed he'd been branded as the guy brazen enough to act rudely even toward the princess. I treated her as politely as possible, he thought. These kids are still young. Their main gossip wouldn't be the delinquent's courteous demeanor, but the fact that he'd openly clashed with the princess. That was far more sensational—and fitting for a delinquent's image.
"Hey."
A sharp voice caught Maness mid-ascent. Thanks to the staircase's elevation, his eye level matched perfectly with its owner: Iris, arms crossed, looking thoroughly pissed off.
"Got a minute to talk?"
"I'm beat."
"You little...!"
"C'mon, I said I'm tired."
As Iris's voice rose, Kyle intervened with his usual affable smile. "I don't know the full story, but Maness probably has his reasons, right?"
Maness met Kyle's eyes on that smoothly phrased question. Amid the crinkled smile, sharp insight gleamed. This guy had real talent for handling people.
"None of your business."
"Fair enough. You don't seem keen on hanging with us anyway."
Kyle gestured upward, as if to say keep moving. Maness obliged, resuming his climb, but then—
"Still, Pictri young master."
The voice, now edged sharper than before, snagged his ankle again. Maness halted, turning only his head. Kyle leaned on the railing, hands in pockets, looking up at him.
"You know ignoring a hot topic in the community takes some doing, right?"
A cryptic remark. Kyle concealed any goodwill or malice it might hold. Maness exchanged glances, then walked on. Kyle's eyes tracked him until he vanished onto the third floor.
"Why'd you stop me?!"
Iris, who'd been fuming at losing her chance to speak, vented her frustration.
"Interfering wouldn't do him any favors."
"That was a total loss! We got humiliated in front of everyone! And it wasn't even another class—it was our own first-year group."
"Humiliated? He won't care. That's just how he is. More importantly..."
Kyle gazed down at the dormitory entrance. The second princess's fury still seemed to linger there.
"He landed a hit on someone even we can't look in the eye. What could feel better than that?"
"Winning a bet against the princess? You think he chose humiliation over nothing for that?"
"'Nothing'? Nah."
Kyle flashed his warm smile again.
"Maness just flipped off every student in this place."
"...Dunno what you mean."
Leaving Iris to mull it over, Kyle headed to his room. With each step up the stairs, he pondered. Maness Pictri was no fallen delinquent.
*
Maness, now changed into casual clothes, flopped onto his bed. The day's fatigue crashed over him all at once.
"Hoo..."
Too much had happened. If he kept a diary, it'd fill pages. He wanted to pass out, but dragged his heavy body to the desk instead. He needed to sort things out, even briefly.
First, magic. The vast mana he'd faced in his Mana Well had proven substantial. The size and power of today's Mana Bullet, and above all, Professor Zentina's reaction nailed it home. Mana volume alone—untied to any element—counted as true talent. In an unstable future, this was a solid pillar of support.
Next, his illusion affinity. Since illusion magic was shunned by mages, he'd assumed it was worthless. But looking back, Professor Metaph had told Professor Zentina to abandon recruiting him solely because of his illusion talent. Zentina hadn't denied it, countering only that "his mana volume itself is the talent."
Of course, that was just inference from their talk. But one person had given certainty.
"You'd regret not going that route, you know?"
Professor Almond's advice: he'd regret not pursuing illusion magic. No professor would deliberately lead a student astray, so illusions weren't as negative a path as he'd thought.
Jotting keywords roughly in his notebook, Maness rubbed his temple. Better to get confirmation from someone than stew alone—like with Almond. For illusions, that meant the specialist: Professor Metaph.
Knock knock.
A neat knock broke his focus. He tried ignoring it, but after three repeats, he had to move.
Creeeak.
Opening the door revealed a familiar face with a stern expression: Boltman Gail. Identity confirmed, slam—Maness shut it again.
"W-Why'd you close it?!"
He considered collapsing back on the bed, but knowing Boltman's stubborn streak, Maness reopened the door.
"Make it quick if you have business."
"...Can we talk inside first?"
Like some secret society plotting grave matters, Boltman glanced around before barging in uninvited. Maness debated tossing him out bodily but sat back down. Avoiding hassle just bred more.
"So, what's up?"
"Ahem..."
Boltman cleared his throat as if steeling himself, then straightened and bowed his head slightly.
"About what happened in the hall... thank you."
"Thank you?"
"For propping up my authority with that fake act."
Maness scratched his cheek at the unexpected gratitude. Truth be told, neither owed the other. He'd just used Boltman to beat Charlotte.
"No big deal. I got something out of it too."
"You did?"
"Got to knock down Her Highness's nose."
Boltman pondered, stroking his chin. Among Snowrobe students, only this delinquent could speak of the princess that way.
"Even so, it hurts your reputation."
"Iris said the same. I don't care."
Less "don't care" and more "past the point of no return," so why not go all in? It suited him fine. Staying isolated like this meant graduating interference-free.
"Whatever. The Gail family policy is to repay aid received."
"And?"
"If you need it, I could teach you how to cast Mana Bullets as thanks."
Mentioning the one spell he could cast seemed to swell Boltman's pride; he puffed his chest.
Maness couldn't exactly say, I can cast it twice as well as you.
"Oh, did the professor say anything about my Mana Bullet?"
"Got called in during punishment duty for a lecture."
"Lecture, huh."
In the original story, Boltman's external magic learning earned mild punishment. Illegal, sure, but Snowrobe aimed to train incoming mage students. Outside, it'd be harsh, but here, picking up 1st-rank spells wasn't a big deal.
"One month helping professors with evening chores after dinner."
Snowrobe penalties weren't light, though.
"...Rough."
"Isn't that a bargain?"
Newbies would think so. But Maness, knowing professors' insides, just pitied him.
"Anyway, skip the Mana Bullet. Haven't locked in my path yet."
"True, only the talented like me walk the mage's road."
"...Got it. Now get out."
His threat-laden words prompted Boltman's habitual throat-clear on entry—his tell for hiding emotion.
"Then, thanks again."
"Yeah, yeah. Use your own feet to leave."
Unlike fleeing skeletons, Boltman exited with refined steps.
Peace restored, Maness leaned back in his chair.
...Things are tangling up more than planned.
*
"Huff... huff..."
Warm sunlight heralded spring's approach, but the wind still carried a chill, defiant. A single dress shirt outside meant middling cold.
"I can keep going! You there—exhale in bursts like I said!"
Yet Class 1 students were drenched in sweat from morning. As expected: morning was "Physical Fitness is National Power" with Professor Barton.
"With minds like that, forget wielding a sword! A swordsman's foundation is unbreakable stamina and iron will! What was that?"
"Unbreakable... stamina... and... iron... will!"
"How long since enrollment, and your voices are already cracking? Two extra laps!"
Curses erupted here and there. Barton, swordsmanship instructor, grinned like he enjoyed it.
This feels familiar. Bad memory incoming— Maness barely suppressed it. Some memories deserved forgetting.
- Aren't those two nuts?
- Conien's gotta be on lap twenty.
Stamina verified in the mountains, Maness kept pace while eyeing the leaders: Kyle de Pantia and Conien Mactatum. They wouldn't yield easily to upperclassmen. Conien especially would dominate.
Maness itched to test his limits against those track stars—even carrying Iris up the mountain hadn't pushed it. Tempting to break formation, but with eyes already on them, no need to draw more. Test during free time post-class.
"You, male student."
"Yes?"
Plans had a way of crumbling.
"Your breathing's too steady. Why so slow?"
"To keep formation..."
"I said it: if you've got energy left, run full tilt like those two!"
Barton's shout from the side yanked all eyes over. Doubts about Maness filled the stares, same as before.
"What're you waiting for? Go!"
Grabbed by the arm, shoved forward, Maness bolted. Experience said defying this type never ended well.
Kicking off, cold air slapped his face amid one nagging question: Why had the original Maness—superior in body and mana—chosen the delinquent act?
The only answer was the biting wind.