Midterm Evaluation (3): Lena Besty

Lena Besty. She was a member of the Silence Followers, the group that worshiped Nemesis, the worst black mage to ever plunge the continent into terror. Among them, she had been tasked with infiltrating the academy alongside her comrades to gather information on the hero's bloodline. For their master's resurrection, they absolutely needed the blood of that vile hero who had beheaded him.

Tsk, that idiot bitch. Thanks to her, I'm stuck running around like this.

Lena's lips twisted as she scanned the exam hall with her coldly impassive eyes. Originally, there had been another comrade infiltrating the academy with her. But was it because of their overwhelming loyalty to their master? Acting on information that hadn't even been confirmed yet, they'd tried to abduct a guy named Theo—suspected to be the hero's successor—during the roommate assignment test and failed spectacularly. Now, excluding their leader waiting outside, she was the only one left scrambling on foot.

Still, guess I can manage on my own.

Lena smirked inwardly as she glanced at the black-haired guy standing beside her. As a member of the Followers, she'd memorized the practical exam contents, so her tampering with the group assignments had paid off. She wouldn't have needed to step up like this if surveillance had remained her only duty. But circumstances had changed.

The Holy King had made his move, and the saintess was in play. She now had reason to watch him more closely.

Stay as low-profile as possible. Just get through the exam safely.

Sticking too close to her surveillance target wasn't ideal. Finish quick, report back—that was the priority. Things had gone according to plan up to this point, so there was no major cause for worry.

With that in mind, she'd strutted in boldly.

It should have been fine. So what the hell is this?

Lena stared blankly at the lion's head before her and the stone tablet inscribed with those words resting atop it. Not because she didn't know what it was. Anyone who wasn't a complete illiterate would recognize this as the so-called Mouth of Truth. You stuck your hand in its mouth, answered the question, and if you lied, it chomped down and severed your arm—a vicious contraption.

"What is this thing?"

"Oh, uh, I think it's the Mouth of Truth."

Unfortunately, that book-dodging idiot was right there beside her. But for Lena, that wasn't the issue. The problem was why the hell is this here?

Was there ever a test like this?

The Hero's Gate offered random trials by design, but they followed certain patterns. Like picking one from ten categories and presenting the challenge. And she had every single trial in the Hero's Gate memorized—where it appeared, the process, how to solve it.

So what was this completely unfamiliar test?

"Mouth of Truth?"

"Yeah. You put your hand in and answer the question it gives you. If you lie or try to pull out, the mouth snaps shut and cuts off your arm."

"What, that's easy. Just be honest, right?"

"Yep. Kinda anticlimactic, huh."

Speak for yourselves!

Lena inwardly snapped at their cheerful banter. For ordinary students like them, it was no big deal. Even if it asked something embarrassing, they could just shrug it off and tell the truth. For the saintess, lying would probably be harder anyway.

But for Lena, who wasn't even a normal student, the difficulty spiked exponentially. And here they were, blabbering without a clue. Utterly pathetic.

"Th-then I'll go first."

"Ooh, as expected of the saintess!"

Ignoring them, Yubelia boldly stepped forward and thrust her hand into the lion's mouth without a second thought.

"Oh, does it change the question based on who puts their hand in? Neat."

"Y-yeah. Kinda surprised me."

We're screwed!

Unlike the two chattering like tourists at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a roadside attraction, Lena barely suppressed the urge to clutch her head, writhing internally. Even a generic question like "When was the last time you drew a map in bed?" would give her hope. It must read the person's essence and tailor the question accordingly. The one who'd just gone through it and the guy watching acted like it was just cool, but for Lena, it was a nightmare.

"No. Absolutely not."

Rumble...!

As Yubelia firmly denied it, the half-closed lion's maw creaked open wide. Truth confirmed.

"Phew, passed."

"Alright, my turn next."

Yubelia stepped back, subtly relieved despite her confident answer, hand on her chest. Aren then thrust his hand in boldly.

"...Hoo."

Aren let out a low whistle at the question, narrowing Lena's eyes. For an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ordinary person, it'd be a bland "Are you content with your life?" But if he was the hero's heir, it'd hit different. He'd probably noticed that too—hence the admiration. Lena guessed as much.

"Yeah. Life ain't perfect all the time... but right now? Satisfied enough."

Rumble...!

Aren snorted nonchalantly, and the lion's jaws parted again.

"Alright, Lena. Your turn. Let's wrap this up and move on."

"Uh, yeah..."

He turned casually, patted her shoulder, and walked past. Left alone before the lion's head, Lena froze like a broken doll.

What do I do? Do I really have to?

Refuse, and she'd draw suspicion from the two who'd already passed. Ask to forfeit? Why would they agree?

But what question might it ask? Still...

The earlier scenes gnawed at her. This Mouth of Truth seemed to probe a person's life and strike at the core. What if it asked, "Are you a member of the Silence Followers?"

I don't even want to imagine it.

As cold sweat beaded and she hesitated—

"Hey, dude. What's a girl like you so scared of? Worried it'll ask about your crush? I'll keep it secret, so just shove it in."

"W-wait...!"

This oblivious hero's heir grabbed her wrist roughly and jammed her hand into the lion's mouth. Easy in, not so easy out—the mechanism clamped down tight around her arm.

"...Fuck."

"Huh, what'd you say?"

She prided herself on composure in front of others, but even she couldn't hold back the curse now. At least it didn't reach their ears clearly.

"Nothin'. Never mind."

"Cool?"

Forcing a calm smile, she steadied herself. But her heart pounded like it would burst.

Please, just a normal question. Please.

She recalled the new professor in B-Class getting bombarded with awkward student questions. She'd take those any day: first love, crushes, marriage, salary. Mostly romance stuff, but for her—who'd never even had a bittersweet first love—they'd be easy.

And perhaps her plea reached the heavens.

"Ooh, romance question for real?"

"D-don't worry, Miss Besty. Your secret's safe with me...!"

Similar vein, depending on interpretation. But context changed everything for the listener. Especially Lena now.

How do I even answer this?

She had no romantic interests. That made it trickier. Not someone she'd recently fancied or fallen for. No—"most intensely filling your mind."

She gritted her teeth. It was already decided.

"Aw, embarrassed? I said I'd keep it secret."

"Y-yeah, Miss Besty. Liking someone isn't shameful!"

"...Kkh!"

This wasn't some drunken truth-or-dare. Seeing those two ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seal-clapping idiots cheering "Spill it! Spill it!" nearly made her explode.

Finally, she spoke.

"It's... Aren, next to me."

"...Huh? Me?"

"Y-yes?!"

The two gaped in shock.

Rumble...!

The jaws parted before they could react.

"......"

"......"

"......"

Silence hung between the three. No one dared speak first. The hero's heir scratching his cheek awkwardly after stepping back. The saintess blushing furiously, glancing between them.

The awkward air stabbed like needles. Lena learned today that shame could kill.

But her mind raced coolly.

"Ah... um."

Aren scratched his head sheepishly at her. Her sharp senses caught it: unease and discomfort blooming in him already.

Being seen as a romantic interest by her surveillant was bad. Add the saintess's misunderstanding, and it got messier.

"Don't get the wrong idea."

A capable agent like her already had a plan. To resolve it all.

His awkwardness. The saintess's misconception.

"It's not like that. I don't like you or anything. Just..."

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the words out. Self-loathing surged at uttering such drivel, but—

This is for the greater cause...!

Duty as a Follower. That's what she'd tell herself.

"The other day, I happened to watch some knight class students training. You were drenched in sweat, running laps on the field. Seeing that body... I just masturbated to it."

"......"

"So yeah, you're the one most vividly stuck in my head lately. Nothing more."

She drew the line sharply but couldn't lift her head. Aren's eyes widened as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he stared, then—

"Ah-! You mean that time?!"

He burst into hearty laughter.

"Hahaha! Makes sense, dude! Hell, I respect the honesty!"

Thump thump. He clapped her shoulder, his touch brimming with cheer and camaraderie.

"Exactly, Miss Besty. Perfectly natural at our age. Proof of robust health."

Like a school nurse consoling a bedwetter, Yubelia clasped her hands with a benevolent smile. Dazzlingly pure.

"...Thanks."

As Aren's hand jostled her, Lena vowed amid the sense of irreplaceable loss.

This humiliation—she'd never forget it.