Bullfight

Sunday, the day of the duel between Greig and Blow. The school was nothing like a weekend—it seethed with people.

In the middle of it all, the members of the Caipol student council had not a breath to spare, selling tickets and keeping the crowd in line.

"The reserved seats sold out as of yesterday!"

"What? Already?"

"Yes. If you're coming in, you'll have to sit separately."

"Ah... then I'll take one of those."

Julbert, who had been directing the External Affairs division and his own department since morning, was taking his ease in the student council's private seats, from which the whole of the arena lay open below.

As he dropped sugar into his teacup, his aide James came up and bent at the waist.

"Young master. The gate receipts so far."

"Nearly a thousand seats gone already? Everyone must be working themselves raw."

"Yes. It looks as though every seat will fill without trouble."

"See that the money is watched to the last coin. If the head of finance gets hold of a discrepancy, it becomes tiresome."

James, who knew exactly who that was, answered with a grave face.

"Yes. I'll see to it."

"And Professor Arhudin, the referee—have you had him standing by?"

"Yes. He's making one last check of the arena now. Ah, there he is."

"So he is. Our Professor Arhudin... I imagine it feels just like teaching Magic Offense and Defense, weekend or not."

Where James pointed, Arhudin was surveying the arena through half-lidded eyes.

"Did you grease the right palms?"

"Yes. The arrangement is settled."

"Good. James, why don't you rest a moment yourself?"

"Thank you, young master."

James took the seat behind him, and had only just lifted his teacup when Julbert, wearing the faintest smile, spoke.

"James. Do you know a place called Cypress?"

"The southern city above Parso, isn't it? I know it as a land of fierce sun."

"Correct. Among the things they hold there is something called a bullfight."

"If you mean the contest where they flourish flags and face a bull, I know of it. I've never seen one myself, but I remember that when I went to the opera with you, one of the characters was a matador."

"By any chance, is the opera you just mentioned The Little Lady of the Habanera, the one we saw on my ninth birthday?"

"Yes."

"Your memory is excellent."

James raised his cup and let his gaze travel down over the arena. Julbert went on.

"Tell me. Do you know what happens to the bull in a bullfight?"

"That, I don't really know."

"It dies."

"Truly?"

Julbert nodded at the widened eyes.

"More precisely, one drives it toward its death."

"I see."

"Most people think they're simply playing with the bull."

"Have you seen one?"

"I went once, long ago, with my father."

"What was it like?"

"The bull, goaded into fury, thrashed and charged, and the matadors' movements were elegance itself. There was a pleasure in watching that contrast."

"I can hardly picture it."

Silence drifted between them for a moment. Then James, struck by a sudden curiosity, asked.

"Then what becomes of the bull?"

"You mean after the fight is over?"

"Yes."

The words fell cold as dripping ice, and for a little while neither of them spoke.

"I'd like to see one myself, if I ever have the chance."

"There won't be any need."

He had only just answered when the murmur of the crowd at the entrance swelled. At the same moment a young lady with orange hair stepped inside, dressed in a uniform black as a crow.

James and Julbert recognized her at once, and had no choice but to rise.

Rachel Campbell—Greig Campbell's older sister, and the sitting student council president of the Imperial Capital Knight Academy—had arrived.

Orange hair, the color of House Campbell, and skin the shade of bronze. Tall, with the thick thighs of a knight-academy cadet, she was reckoned the finest sword among every knight cadet in the Empire. Anyone who had seen her swing a blade even once agreed, to a voice, that the epithet fastened to her—the Representative of this Generation—was no empty boast.

There was not a student at Caipol Magic School who did not know her, and under that proud, cutting gaze people lost their nerve and could hardly lift their heads.

"...You summoned even Rachel Campbell?"

Yulia Edfolk, only just arrived, put the question to Julbert as if she could not believe her ears.

"Would that Rachel Campbell come because I called?"

"Then?"

"She stopped by on account of her brother Greig, they say. She was passing through and wished to observe."

"Where is her seat? I'd rather it not be anywhere near me."

"I'm afraid it's beside mine."

Yulia's face tightened.

Edfolk, Mertios, Campbell—whichever house one named, they were families whose names rang through the center of the Empire. Rivals who knew one another all too well, they were anything but friendly.

"You've made up your mind to ruin my mood, haven't you?"

"Would it do to seat another school's student council president just anywhere?"

"You do have a way with words."

"It's a pleasant day. Let's not mix any more of them."

"For me, the day has just turned unpleasant."

A short while later Rachel approached with her escort knights. The first to address her was, of course, Julbert.

"It has been a truly long time, Rachel Campbell."

"Oh, Julbert. Is it the years? You've grown some composure. Back then you couldn't even get a proper word out to me."

Rachel looked him over at her leisure. He smiled, all good nature, and indicated Yulia seated behind him.

"That sense of humor of yours is still very much alive, I see."

"I'm someone with no need of humor."

"Haha. Humor is the sort of thing one can't hide even when one tries, wouldn't you say? Yulia is here as well."

"Yulia? It's been a while."

Her gaze shifted to Yulia. Their eyes met, and Yulia offered a silent bow.

"Have you been well?"

"Thanks to your concern, I have."

"I would be concerned. After what I did to you."

At those words, Yulia's hand trembled.

"...Your joke goes too far."

"It isn't a joke. Well, call it one if you like. May I ask you something?"

"Please."

"Are you still the best this school has?"

"......"

"If you are, I'm afraid the Serdia Academia will be far too dull. If the champions' bout ends in a single exchange like last time, where's the fun in that?"

The Serdia Academia—the grand exchange in which every academy in the Empire gathered to shine. At the last Academia, Yulia had lost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to her in a single clash.

The humiliating memory flashed past. Yulia swallowed her anger and fought to steady her breath.

"Who knows. It may not be me."

"Aha, is that so? Now that's welcome news."

Rachel's eyes moved to Rebecca, seated behind Yulia.

"Was that remark about Rebecca, daughter of the Northern Grand Duke, standing there behind you?"

"Who knows."

"Or else..."

Her gaze swept the stands and stopped dead on a single point.

"Aha. So you meant that one. Is that the girl our Greig's been coveting?"

Every eye snapped that way at once.

A purple bob, glimpsed now and then between the folds of a white robe. Its owner, Hervena Westriver, turned.

Meeting her eyes, Rachel broke into a great booming laugh, then went on with that sharp gaze still fixed in place.

"Ahh. A child who truly makes one want to draw a sword. I understand Greig's obsession."

Hervena, visibly displeased, turned her head forward again at once. Rachel looked them all over and added, easy as anything.

"Anyway. Good to see you all."

Taking the arena as the center, Section A lay on the right, and there Hervena sat in her robe beside Megan.

In truth, neither the student council nor Rachel registered in her eyes. She was worried only about the duel to come.

Megan, seated at her side, asked carefully.

"Not watching with that red-haired young lady today, I take it?"

"Skadi?"

"Yeah."

"We decided to watch this one separately."

"...Well, that's fine by me."

While Megan read the sour set of Hervena's face, unpleasant talk drifted from the seats behind them.

"How do you think it'll go?"

"Greig'll finish it in one shot. Did you see his spirit? That's no joke."

"Even in Magic Offense and Defense he barely does a thing. The spirit practically spoon-feeds him."

"Why the hell is that bastard so lucky?"

"Heard he dumped a few hundred gold on the temple."

"...Seriously, that's the reason?"

"What, you think he trained hard, or did anything at all? His notes are basically dead last. Honestly, I don't get Blow."

"Why?"

"He's picking a fight he obviously loses."

"Wasn't that always his character, though?"

"True enough."

Laughter broke out with it. Hervena pressed her hat down harder. Her face was grim.

Meanwhile, in Section C along the left side of the arena, Jane sat with Linne and Rowbedi, tension written plain across her face.

"Y-you seem w-worried."

"No. He'll be fine."

"R-right? Haha."

She said so, but Linne was trembling too. Jane smiled and gave her a nod.

While they sat there, the master of ceremonies—Julbert—appeared above the arena. Cheers poured out for a moment for the man who had arranged the spectacle. He summoned a magic circle before his mouth: the voice-amplifying spell so often used at events.

"Good day. I am Julbert Mertios, Head of Student Welfare."

He then explained, in a roundabout fashion, why the student council was hosting the duel. Of course, hardly a student was actually listening.

Through it, Yulia spoke to Rebecca beside her, low as a whisper.

"Rebecca. If it gets too severe, we intervene."

Rebecca gave a firm nod and turned her eyes to the arena.

While Julbert was still offering this explanation and that, Blow waited with Skadi in the right-hand corner of the arena.

"Follow the plan and there'll be no problem. You remember?"

"Smash him at the opening, then do it the way we planned."

"I asked again in case you were nervous, but you've got it."

She answered with a smile, and checked once more the scroll wound around his right arm. Grateful to her for helping without a single complaint, Blow spoke carefully.

"Thanks."

"Haha! If you're grateful, spot me a free meal. Drinks too, if you're feeling generous!"

"Sure. Come drink as much as you want."

Skadi looked up, patted his shoulder, and said,

"Brat, you're not mouthing off this time. Nervous?"

"Dunno. Let's have a drink when it's over."

"Figured you'd say that. I set aside some Ropert Special."

"That stuff's been tasting off lately. They must've changed the recipe."

"That mouth of yours is the problem, Blow Deblique!!"

At her lively, carefree voice, a smile spread at last across Blow's stiff mouth. Skadi let out a thin sigh.

"Blow."

"What?"

"Don't get hurt too badly. And when we drink, you have to tell me. Why you're doing this..."

He remembered Hervena asking him something much the same, and shrugged as if it were nothing.

"The duel? I'm just doing it. Why else."

"Right. I suppose I said something unnecessary. Don't get hurt."

"I won't."

By then the introduction of Greig had ended, and it was Blow's turn.

"Fourth year of the magic school! And he especially asked me to emphasize this—soon to open a new restaurant and potion shop in the Dusk Block! Blow Deblique!!"

The moment the introduction landed, Blow glanced at Skadi and walked out.

In his head, a question he had asked himself hundreds of times rang once more.

...Right. Why did I come this far? It started because of Jane, and then it reached Hervena?

There didn't seem to be any clear reason he could put his finger on. One thing, though, was certain: even when he'd had the chance to run, he hadn't. And the reason was simply that he hadn't wanted to.

The arena was packed. Blow ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠waved at them with easy confidence.

"Blow Deblique! Don't tell me you've plastered a scroll onto your right hand?"

"Yeah. Well? Look all right?"

Greig had asked as if he couldn't believe it, and Blow held out his right hand. A murmur swelled through the stands. Sleeve rolled, scroll wrapped around his arm like a bandage—the sight was ridiculous.

Greig burst out laughing and shook his head.

"You've really become pathetic, Blow Deblique! I've never seen anyone slap a scroll on like that."

"That's because you slept through your second year."

"What!?"

From the front rows, scorn broke loose.

"Did Blow just school him on class...?"

"Greig, that guy, seriously... ugh..."

The moment the words reached him, Greig's face flushed red and pale by turns. Blow added a few more, wearing a look of pure pity.

"You learn it in second year. In an emergency, you can do it this way too. Huh? It even comes up in history."

"Y-you... bastard!"

"Kid, stop sleeping through class and pay attention."

The stands became a sea of laughter. Even Julbert, up on the stage, let a laugh slip.

"Hahaha! Blow, you haven't changed a bit."

"You flatter me, Young Master Julbert."

Julbert withdrew his gaze and began explaining the rules to everyone.

The moment the word brutal left his mouth, the stands cheered.

That clause had been delivered by Greig's maid after the duel was set, and Blow had simply told her to do as she liked. The Gladiatorial Rule was the one he had favored most in the duels of his scoundrel days. Its virtue was that it was simple and intuitive—the most violent of rules, and everything permitted, so it hardly mattered whom you faced or which school they came from. Broadly useful. For that reason its referees tended to judge by the loosest standard they could, rather than straining to prevent injury.

There was every chance it would be the same today.

A bleak air settled, and Greig's voice reached him again.

"How about surrendering now? It'd hurt less, wouldn't it?"

"If I were going to do that, would I be standing here?"

"I'm only saying it because I pity you."

"Since when have you worried about me like that, Greig Campbell?"

"Hmph. Did you say hello to Hervena?"

"What does Hervena have to do with this duel?"

"The situation being what it is."

They were still locked in that war of nerves when Julbert stepped between them.

"Once it is noon, we begin at once. No further delay."

With that he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠started down. Blow watched his back and snorted.

"You look positively radiant, Young Master Julbert."

"Thanks to your concern, I'll come by later and let you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠treat me to a potato."

"From a senior I'll be taking a tip, so bring plenty of gold."

"I'll do that."

Julbert returned to his seat on those words.

A short while later Referee Arhudin stood between them, checked the time, and shouted so that all could hear.

"Now then, let's see how you come out—"

Greig never finished the sentence.

Blow drove a burst of flame straight into his face.