PE Class from Hell (2)
I hadn't been publicly humiliated or singled out for special treatment, but the atmosphere was already ruined beyond repair.
Instructor Georg had shouted the whispering kids into silence as they kept sneaking glances my way, but he couldn't do anything about the feelings simmering underneath. The sparse hostility and blatant curiosity lurking behind the general awkwardness were almost enough to send me into a full-blown panic.
My stomach was already churning, and the thought of having to exercise on top of that made my head swim. I genuinely might throw up.
Regardless of what I was feeling, the instructor pressed on with the lesson.
"…There was a brief disruption, but I have a question for you all. Does anyone here know how to perform mana breathing? If so, raise your hand."
A few of the boys and girls who were already carrying weapons raised their hands, but you could still count them on two hands. Aside from one conspicuously small girl among them, nothing particularly stood out.
Fewer than I expected. In most novels, every dog and cat on the street can do it. I'd even seen works where bandit chiefs used some clumsy version of it, so this was a surprise.
"Then, can anyone here handle offensive magic?"
Where the previous count had at least been respectable, this time far fewer hands went up. Three or so? The way he specifically said offensive magic also bothered me a little. Did that mean healing and defensive magic didn't even count?
Of course, I didn't raise my hand either. There was no way I could put something inside my body that made me sick just by being near it, much less command it.
About half the students hadn't raised their hands at all. So half the kids here were basically ordinary people.
"Those of you who raised your hands need not take this class. If you can handle either one, you have no need for my instruction."
That sudden bombshell set the quiet gym buzzing again—until his next words settled it back down.
"My class is for the students who did not raise their hands. Those without outstanding power. Those who cannot cast a spell in retaliation when an enemy stands before them. This is education for the weak."
Some of the students who had raised their hands walked straight out of the gym the moment they heard they were free to leave, but about half of them stayed put.
"Not leaving? Then you may remain and listen. But keep in mind—it may bore you. Now, once more, I will ask you all: why do you think I teach physical education?"
Everyone seemed to have plenty they wanted to say, but the atmosphere crushed the words before they could leave anyone's mouth. Separately from that, the instructor had drawn enough attention to himself that the stares aimed at me had noticeably thinned out.
Thanks to that, I could breathe a little. True loners of the highest order start dying of suffocation the moment even one person looks at them, so I sent the instructor a silent prayer of thanks.
Harsh training from my father had gotten me to the point where stares alone no longer set me off—but honestly, if anyone had actually spoken to me earlier, I was confident I would have collapsed on the spot.
Still, is there supposed to be some special reason for teaching PE? Isn't it just a class they throw in as an excuse to let kids mess around or stay healthy, then convert entirely into free study period by second semester?
I didn't know whether that held true in a fantasy world, but in my world, PE was exactly that. A little light warm-up, then most of the class would stampede off to play soccer or basketball, while the rejects clustered under the shade and gossiped about anime and games.
I'd been alone even there. No pathetic excuses—I was just scared of fitting in with either group. Once, a teacher had forced me into the soccer crowd, and after watching me spectacularly ruin everything, even he stopped insisting.
The reject circle was no better. Someone who'd only ever read novels couldn't possibly join in. Whatever interest I'd forced myself to cultivate in anime and webtoons just to fit in never lasted a week.
For an impurity that belonged to no group, PE period was just time to sit in the sun and read a novel. Did a subject like that even need a purpose?
"To teach you how to survive. Therefore, I ask those of you who did not raise your hands: if a band of thieves came charging in right this moment, what would you do?"
"I would stand and fight."
A sturdy-looking boy answered. Georg looked at him like a fish that had just taken the bait. The student flinched for a second, but he didn't seem particularly cowed.
"Then do you possess the strength to fight them?"
The boy only pressed his lips shut in frustration, showing no sign of answering.
"Courage without strength is recklessness. People go on about chivalry and the like, telling you never to run and always stand your ground—but what exactly is a weakling going to protect?"
Apparently not fond of being called weak again and again, the student snapped back with a hint of anger.
"But that's—!"
"You want to call it cowardice? Cadet, state your name."
"…Daniel."
As if he'd never been intimidated once in his life, the boy glared at the instructor. Georg snorted as though the whole display amused him, then pulled a black cube with a handle from somewhere—a strange object whose handle was far larger than the cube itself.
I had no idea what it was for, but I could guess where he'd pulled it from.
An inventory. But don't convenient abilities like that usually go to the protagonist? Judging by the startled voices around me murmuring about spatial storage and the like, I was probably right.
"In that case, Cadet Daniel. Lift this. Do so, and I will acknowledge you as a man of strength."
Something a muscle-bound giant had pulled out of a suspicious pocket dimension was never going to be ordinary, but Daniel stepped up in front of Georg as though he'd steeled himself for it.
Had the talk of chivalry gotten under his skin? In a fantasy world, he might well be some noble dreaming of knighthood. He stood before Georg with grim resolve, while Georg looked down at him like the whole thing was a joke.
"Lift it properly."
The moment Daniel took the cube, he slammed it straight into the floor. He hadn't meant to—his face said as much. A guy who'd strutted out putting on every ounce of swagger he had wouldn't just plant the thing into the ground on purpose.
It was safer to assume the thing was ridiculously heavy.
"Are you even applying force, Daniel? Is that the full measure of your resolve?"
Wow. He really doesn't hold back.
"I—I'm not done!"
His face flushed crimson as he abandoned all dignity and grace, straining to lift a cube no bigger than his palm. It was almost painful to watch.
After wrestling with it for a long while, his strength finally gave out and he let go of the handle. He looked ready to collapse. Georg gazed down at the boy kneeling on the floor with no particular emotion in his eyes.
This was a hundred percent a setup—handing kids something no ordinary student could lift and telling them to pick it up. He was a genuine piece of work. Between the word choice and the methods, this place felt less like an academy and more like the military.
Please don't let it share the part where falling behind means you're finished.
"Next student."
The kids who had been watching Daniel with a mix of smug satisfaction and pity all snapped their eyes to the instructor at that single phrase.
No one was stupid enough to ask him to repeat himself. But even if they didn't ask, there was no helping the resentment and despair that settled into their stares.
"What are you waiting for? You there—the young lady. Step forward."
The gazes that followed some nameless girl trudging forward like a prisoner being led to the scaffold held only two emotions: pity that she would have to try lifting that thing, and resignation that they would have no choice but to do the same.
She made a bizarre noise as she poured every scrap of strength she had into it, but the cube didn't so much as twitch. No one laughed at how undignified she looked twisting this way and that. They all knew they would be next.
Naturally, not a single ordinary student could lift it. Everyone roared their battle cries and strained to make it budge, but the cube sat there utterly unmoved, as if their efforts weren't even worth acknowledging.
For some reason, even when my turn should have come, the instructor never called my name. Instead he started summoning the kids who had raised their hands but stayed behind.
Every remaining student knew mana breathing. The mages had left the moment they heard they were free to go, so I couldn't say for them—but I doubted any of them could have lifted that devil's cube either.
Mana breathers, though, should be different. In other novels, the technique let even small-framed people trade blows with muscleheads like Georg.
My expectations proved at least partly right: the first student called up managed to lift the cube off the floor. He held it for about five seconds before he couldn't take any more and let go.
The cube buried itself in the floor with a heavy thud, and complaints erupted from the ordinary kids. Whether he was used to it or simply found them beneath his notice, Georg paid them no mind at all.
"May I give it a try?"
Watching the first contender struggle seemed to spark his competitive streak. A golden-tanned boy raised his hand with a smile full of fighting spirit. I was calling him Golden Tan, but he was really just blond with tanned skin—I had no idea whether he was actually a delinquent.
So people who look like that actually exist. I was still marvelling when the instructor called him forward, accepting the challenge.
No idea who he is, but he's probably one of those rivals who act like villains while actually being good guys. That's the whole trend for Golden Tan characters these days.
His confidence wasn't baseless. Golden Tan lifted the cube higher than anyone before him—all the way above his knees—and held it for a long stretch.
When he decided he'd had enough, he simply threw it down. Having raised it higher, the impact this time kicked up a cloud of dust from the floor.
Looking thoroughly satisfied, Golden Tan returned to his place, and the remaining students all managed at least to get the cube off the ground—everyone except the conspicuously small girl who went last.
What's with this feeling that she's weaker than the ordinary kids even though she can use mana breathing? Watching someone who looked like a complete little kid try and fail from every angle, then trudge back with a miserable face, was genuinely hard to see.
In the end, of all the mana breathers, she alone failed to lift it. Several people immediately crowded around the girl, who looked about to cry, offering comfort.
Even looking like that, she's popular enough to have friends who console her. I felt a twinge of defeat.
Anyway. Instructor Georg fixed me with a steady gaze and mouthed the words without sound.
You're last.