The Shadow Attribute
The training field was lined with new students standing at attention in their uniforms. Even though it was early spring and still cold, sweat trickled down our skin and our mouths felt bone-dry. Every eye was locked on the cadet standing before the podium. He recited the oath in a loud, clear voice, then lowered his arm. The rest of us new students, myself included, lowered our arms at the exact same moment. It was a flawlessly synchronized movement that proved just how much those four days of hell had drilled into us.
The new student representative executed a crisp about-face and shouted, “Salute!”
Once the principal on the podium returned the gesture, every prepared step of the ceremony concluded without a single mistake. The faces of the seniors who had been watching from inside the school building began to vanish one by one.
The principal was an ordinary-looking, friendly grandfather with white hair. The only thing that stood out was his bodybuilder physique; his uniform was stretched so tight it looked ready to rip apart. Rumors claimed he had a personal gym tucked away inside his office. After returning the salute, he stepped back and took his seat in the chair prepared behind the podium. Only then did the new student representative let out a visible sigh of relief and retreat.
The teacher overseeing the event stepped onto the podium and declared the entrance ceremony over.
Boisterous cheers mixed with restrained applause rang across the training field. It was the moment that marked the end of the beginning.
The new student who had taken the representative role in my place was a serious hard worker. He had to teach the gathered freshmen the procedures over and over, and I—who at least knew the drills—couldn’t meet up easily because I was stuck in the girls’ dormitory. He looked exhausted from running around while everyone else rested. I ended up helping a little once the actual ceremony preparations began, but after that he handled everything smoothly on his own.
I clapped for him, acknowledging the hardship he’d endured these past few days. When our eyes met, I gave him a small smile. Good job, man.
Since the position had nearly fallen to me, I’d felt guilty about pushing it onto him. I was relieved everything had gone off without a hitch. Nothing particularly surprising had happened after I refused the role. I wasn’t sure if he had actually gone to the principal, but it seemed the matter had been handled cleanly and I hadn’t been marked in any way. Still, for some reason the dorm supervisor had felt like she was avoiding me ever since that day.
Once the entrance ceremony ended, I walked over to the corner where the new maintenance-specialty students had gathered. They had been spared most of the complicated parts of the event and only participated in the final oath, which made them look like they were on easy street. Naturally, the rest of the freshmen weren’t exactly giving them friendly looks.
But without maintenance personnel, Aindiums wouldn’t function. There was nothing to lose by getting close to them early. The Aindium series traditionally gave the biggest spotlight to the pilot heroines, but a maintenance heroine appeared in nearly every installment. In this particular work, there was a mechanic heroine named Kirié who was Neria’s senior.
There were plenty of episodes where the team’s mechanic would modify an Aindium or develop a useful weapon that completely flipped the battle. In other words, they weren’t people to resent just because they had skipped the more physically demanding parts of the ceremony. Besides, these students would be suffering plenty once their specialty classes began, so there was no reason to feel jealous.
“Luna!”
Neria, who had spotted me from afar, waved both hands and came running over. It was hard to reconcile this affectionate girl with the same one who used to be painfully shy. Over the past few days Neria had grown remarkably close to me, and there was a good reason for it.
On the day I turned down the representative position, I returned to our room to find Neria diligently drawing something. She was so absorbed she didn’t even notice me enter. I quietly crept up behind her and peeked. What I saw were several Aindiums rendered with incredible skill. One of them was a machine I recognized from the original work.
“Oh. Lancaster?”
“Eek? L-Luna, it’s you. Whew. You know about the Lancaster too, Luna?”
“Of course I do.”
It was the protagonist’s machine from the fourth Aindium series title, Warrior of the North Wind. In the Second Genar War—when the Empire and Republic clashed again after twenty years—the twelve-meter Aind-class machine piloted by a barbarian warrior from the Empire’s northern colonies became a symbol of terror for Republic pilots. The story itself had been average, but the Lancaster was quite popular. I even owned a plastic model of it. Its abnormally large arms made it instantly recognizable compared to other Ainds.
“It played a huge role in the Second Genar War, right?”
“Oh… it did?”
“You drew it without even looking it up and you didn’t know that?”
“Um… it wasn’t written in the museum.”
Ah. So that’s where she’d seen it. Probably an Empire museum. The Lancaster’s pilot had enjoyed a good later life, so it seemed he had donated the machine after the war ended.
After that conversation, Neria’s shell cracked open. People who dive deeply into a subject tend to talk endlessly about their passion, and Neria was no exception. When I casually shared some of the knowledge I’d gained from the original series with her—an Aindium maniac—she reacted with a mixture of disbelief and amazement. She meticulously verified every offhand comment I made, studying hard at the school library and with Kirié. A few days later she thanked me profusely, saying many of her lingering questions had finally been answered.
Thanks to my thorough knowledge of the Aindium series, I had completely torn down the wall around Neria’s heart.
In general, the number of female mechanics was overwhelmingly smaller than male ones, and someone possessing Neria’s level of cuteness was even rarer. Combined, she was already showing signs of becoming the undisputed idol and goddess of the first-year maintenance class. How Neria herself felt about that remained to be seen.
I had worried whether she would adapt well, but it seemed her classmates were treating her kindly. That was a relief.
On the evening of the entrance ceremony, class assignments were announced. Neria used her small frame to slip through the crowd of cadets, located her name on the posted list, then carefully scanned the other names in her class. She returned with a visibly relieved expression.
“Luna. We’re in the same class.”
“That’s great.”
Even though I had been designated a pilot and Neria was a mechanic, our specialties were different, we would still attend morning classes together. It was reassuring to know I wouldn’t be alone in a school I was attending again after so many years.
The day after the entrance ceremony, the academy curriculum thankfully did not commit the sin of starting real classes immediately. After the homeroom teacher’s introductions, textbook distribution, seating arrangements, and other miscellaneous tasks, the explanation of specialty courses finally began.
Following the homeroom teacher’s instructions, we waited for about thirty minutes. Four faculty members entered the classroom, led by a middle-aged man wearing an eyepatch over one eye.
There were eight freshman classes total. With roughly twenty students per class, each grade had about one hundred and fifty cadets. Of those, approximately eighty were Aindium pilots—more than half. Since this was an officers’ academy specializing in Aindiums rather than a regular military institution, the ratio made sense. Half the cadets were pilots, eighty percent of the remainder were operators, and the rest were mechanics.
“Any cadets who don’t know their own specialty?”
No one raised a hand at the one-eyed teacher’s question.
“Looks like this class is clean. The one next door had two who claimed they didn’t know.”
Awkward chuckles rippled through the students. Apparently some people had been less than honest.
“As you all know, the requirement for becoming a pilot is magic resonance. Simply put, a good mage has a high chance of becoming a good pilot. You all underwent physical examinations before enrolling, correct?”
“Yes.”
The one-eyed teacher slowly scanned our faces.
“You all appear qualified, but we’ll still conduct a detailed magic resonance test just to be sure. This time you’ll learn your personal unique attribute.”
The class began to buzz with excitement. They were finally about to experience something they had only heard about in lectures.
A unique attribute was, simply put, the type of magic that resonated best with an individual. It didn’t stop at simply revealing “this is my element”—it heavily influenced which Aindium suited you and what combat style you should pursue.
The original Aindium series treated the concept as quite important. Because it had been added starting from the second installment, however, the first protagonist’s attribute remained unknown. It was an eternal piece of bait: exactly what attribute did Black Wolf, the pilot of Aind Alpha, possess? I personally believed it was fire, and that single opinion had once turned the fan forums into a battlefield of heated debate for days.
The one-eyed teacher gave a few more explanations, checked his watch, and left the classroom.
“After lunch, follow your homeroom teacher to the auditorium.”
“Yes, sir.”
I was excited too. Since Ruwina’s attribute had never been revealed in the original work, I was especially curious.
After lunch, the new students gathered in the auditorium to take the magic test. Cheers, gasps, and even what sounded like screams echoed from every corner. Crying because you got earth? Come on, it’s a reliable, solid attribute even if it doesn’t look flashy. I hadn’t seen an earth-attribute protagonist yet, though.
The unique attributes varied widely, but from the results I overheard, the overwhelming majority fell into the four major elements: fire, water, wind, and earth. As expected, light-attribute pilots from the space colonies—like the protagonist of the second work—were rare.
“Next. Luna Adelt.”
After a long wait, my turn finally came. I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and settled into the large spherical device. It felt similar to the cockpit of the Aind-class Aindium I had piloted before arriving here.
>> Please fasten your safety belt and place your hand on the crystal orb in front of you.
Following the speaker’s instructions, I buckled the belt and placed my hand on the crystal orb. The previously dormant orb began to glow brightly. I had never seen an attribute test in the original work, so it felt novel.
I had heard that the attribute would be revealed immediately here, but whether or not to tell others was up to personal choice. Yet even after some time passed, no instruction came to announce my attribute or to step down.
Roughly five minutes seemed to pass.
>> Luna Adelt, cadet. Please exit the device for now.
The faculty member’s voice carried an undertone of murmuring noise. Worried that something might be wrong with Ruwina’s body, I stepped out—only to find the area outside in complete uproar.
“Luna Adelt, cadet. This way.”
The moment I emerged, two faculty members guided me to a makeshift staff room set up in one corner of the auditorium. Inside, two other cadets were waiting with frightened expressions. For some reason, both of them looked relieved when I appeared.
“This cadet seems to be the last one.”
“Just to be safe, let’s wait until the end.”
Ruwina was in Class 8, the last first-year class, and not many pilot candidates remained. Once every cadet’s test had concluded, a faculty member wearing a white coat appeared before us.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Anna, the school nurse.”
“Luna Adelt.”
When I gave my name, the other two hesitantly introduced themselves as well. Nurse Anna looked down at the chart in her hands and explained why we had been called separately.
“Your unique attributes are a little special, so you’ve been placed under separate management.”
“Um… does that mean we can’t pilot Aindiums or something?”
The girl who introduced herself as Yui asked nervously. Nurse Anna shook her head.
“No, no. If anything, you’ll be piloting slightly more specialized, custom Aindiums.”
The other two looked confused, but I was genuinely shocked.
“You mean… personal machines?”
“That’s right.”
Only then did the other two react with surprise as well. Personal machines referred to customized Aindiums that had their own names, like Line’s Ardent or Rendel’s White Fang. Not just anyone received one.
“In case you didn’t know, personal machines are normally only given to the top five students by semester grades. By the end of the second semester of third year, usually around ten people receive them. The exceptions are those with unique magic attributes like yourselves. One or two appear each year, but this year there are quite a few.”
The cadets couldn’t hide their delighted expressions. Yui timidly raised her hand.
“Could we learn what our attributes are?”
“I was just about to tell you. Yui, you have light. Clef, you have ice.”
The nurse’s pen finally pointed at me.
“Luna, you have darkness.”
…Excuse me?
For some reason, I had just learned that Ruwina possessed a unique attribute that seemed perfectly suited for a villain.