Possessed Mid-Serialization (4)
An unforeseen variable.
Who would have cared about the Chairman, a man who barely even appeared in the original story? But come to think of it, he was the supreme authority over this entire academy, so whipping up a sudden event like this would have been no trouble at all for him.
Hmm.
Even so, I sincerely prayed that the Chairman who had unleashed this nuisance would live out his hundred years in full possession of every illness he'd ever earned. It was the prayer of a devout priest of Elohim, so it would probably come true.
At any rate, if this incident cost me the chance to become Lutz's homeroom professor, that would be a fairly serious problem.
And with good reason — every major event would unfold around Lutz, the protagonist of the original story. Besides, if I had to sort out the people I'd eventually need to kill by my own hand anyway, it made sense to prioritize the useless thugs and troublemakers orbiting him first.
Not to mention it would help keep my peaceful academy life intact.
What's more, Sacred Arts wasn't a mandatory subject, so if I didn't become his homeroom teacher, Lutz and I might barely cross paths at all.
Well… it would probably be fine. Since there was nothing else I could do, all that remained was to pray. I could only hope Lutz and the others performed roughly on par in the duels.
Life was always a prayer meta. Long live Elohim.
"So that's what he was saying in the Chairman's office earlier. He announced they'd be adding duels to the entrance ceremony, starting with this year's incoming class."
"Ah… I see."
"Pfft. Looks like you didn't catch that part properly either."
No — I'd been wondering what on earth he could possibly have so much to say about before a mere matriculation ceremony. I'd assumed it was just some old man's idle rambling, so failing to realize from the very start that he'd be slapping my cheek raw like this — that was my mistake.
But honestly, wasn't there an unwritten rule that you simply didn't listen to the Chairman's address or the Headmaster's speech? Even for professors… one should be permitted to tune out the Chairman, of all people.
"I had a few things on my mind earlier, that's all."
"I watched you nodding along with a smile the whole time."
"…."
No, what is wrong with this person?
Who was she, that she seemed to know everything — as if she'd been watching me and me alone in the Chairman's office? From what I remembered, Elia wasn't the type to take that kind of interest in anyone.
Granted, we were both professors, but I was a priest of the Order teaching Sacred Arts, while Elia was a high noble of the Empire and a swordswoman. In a word, we had no point of contact whatsoever.
Of course, since the original story's protagonist was Lutz, a student, there had been the structural flaw that nothing was ever told from the faculty's perspective — but even so, the two of them had never once shared a scene, and there was no setting anywhere claiming Elia had harbored feelings for Niger….
"I'm sorry, but I simply refuse to live my life staring at an ugly face. I'll find my own betrothed, thank you — so please, Father, stop choosing fiancés on a whim."
Ah.
Right, now I remembered. Elia was the single greatest devotee of good looks in the entire story. That was what she had spat at her own father, Count Claudius, standing before the fiancé he'd gone to such pains to arrange for her.
Admittedly, that fiancé had been rather homely — but there was no denying that Elia was favorably disposed toward handsome men.
And I, Niger Caritas, was — even judging by a man's standards — the owner of remarkably fine features. It wouldn't have been strange at all for Elia to take some interest in me.
That the two of them never developed into lovers, however, was probably because Niger was an Elohim-quoting fanatic who happened to also be a serial killer. Setting aside the murderer part, no one could bring themselves to fall for a zealot.
And now that personality had been fused with a serializing web novelist — a walking embodiment of madness itself. Even I found my lower regions shriveling at the thought.
"Professor Niger? Are you feeling unwell today, by any chance?"
"I merely… seem to have a great deal on my mind today. Elohim watches over us, so there is no need for concern."
"Hmm. You really are strange today…."
"I assure you I'm quite well. Now, do turn your attention to the freshmen. Haven't the duels already begun?"
While all those stray thoughts and my conversation with Elia carried on, the freshmen's duels had already gotten underway.
Ah, he really is gorgeous.
Niger Caritas — a priest of the Elohim Order whom I'd met three years ago when he took up the post of Sacred Arts professor at the academy.
Today, as always, I claimed the seat beside him and snuck glances at him every chance I got. How could a human being be so handsome that three years of looking hadn't dulled it one bit?
Granted, the fact that he was a fanatic who attached the words "by the grace of Elohim" to every sentence he spoke was a considerable problem — but with a face that truly looked like it had received Elohim's personal grace, there was no arguing it.
Such a waste. If only he weren't a religious man, I'd have hauled him off to the Count's estate by now. But because he happened to be a priest faithful to the point of madness, I'd folded that thought away long ago.
As far as I'd heard, priests rarely married at all. There was no doctrine forbidding it, mind you — they simply all said the same thing: that Elohim's love alone was more than enough for them.
I'd never asked Professor Niger about any of that, of course… but after three years of watching what came out of his mouth, even a passing stray dog could have figured it out.
"It is all thanks to the grace of Elohim."
"Elohim watches over me, so all is well."
"Is it not possible only because Elohim tends to my every step?"
"Elohim—"
"The grace of Elohim—"
Every time he opened his mouth, it was Elohim this and Elohim that — if anything, the man was only getting worse, never better.
Ahh… this cursed world. Why grant a face like that to a man of the cloth?
Hm, though today did feel somehow different from usual.
Instead of that heavy air Professor Niger always carried, there was something gentle and bright about him today — a man usually sharp as a blade had gone oddly soft-headed. He'd never been entirely without a smile, but the atmosphere he gave off had unmistakably changed.
Wait. Could he be… committing apostasy?
Even to myself that sounded like a mad thought — and yet, hadn't the man's whole aura shifted over the break? Hmm, with a face like that, I'd forgive him even heresy. If a man that beautiful turned apostate, you could hardly blame the man — you'd have to call the religion itself the problem.
Hmm….
For a man with that face to die alone would be a loss to the entire world. I truly hoped he'd apostatize.
With such thoughts in my head, I tried striking up conversation with Professor Niger several times, but he only shook his head with a smile and gave the same reply.
"I assure you I'm quite well. Now, do turn your attention to the freshmen. Haven't the duels already begun?"
And just as he said, the freshmen were deep into their bouts. Hmm, the children's level wasn't bad. A few outstanding freshmen stood out, but none of them were students I particularly coveted.
The second- and third-years were already excellent in their own right, and anyone bound for greatness had trained under their family's tutelage long before setting foot in the academy. Talented sprouts were famous from the start.
Exactly like that student over there, overwhelming her opponent.
Bellatrix Feltner — the ducal daughter of House Feltner, famous even before her matriculation. Blessed with innate mana, rumors abounded that she already fought at the level of a first-class magician. Why someone like that had come to the academy at all, I couldn't fathom.
And the student being utterly helpless against Bellatrix was… a boy. No telling which family he belonged to. Judging by the unfamiliar face, a commoner — and of all people, against Bellatrix, getting pounded like dust rising on a rainy day.
"Professor Niger, do you see those two students over there?"
"…."
"Professor Niger?"
"…."
Twice I called and twice no answer came, so I turned to look — and found an expression entirely unlike the man who always kept his composure. He was staring, unblinking, at the two students I'd been watching. The boy, most of all.
What — what is this?
Does he know that boy?
No, come on…. You're the future Sword Saint, damn it. Stop getting your ass handed to you and land even one counterattack.
Despite the fervent cheering I hurled in my heart, Lutz kept getting beaten black and blue by Bellatrix's magic like a rabid dog on its belly.
Ah, seriously, this is going to give me cancer.
The truth is, the moment they announced entrance duels, that exact scene was the one I'd worried about. Lutz was a growth-type protagonist. The orphan cliché, entering the academy with mid-to-low entrance scores, then growing like a madman over time until he rose all the way to the seat of Sword Saint and saved the world — that kind of protagonist.
In other words, right now he was incompetence incarnate. Having never been properly taught, having learned everything alone, he had no real technique and no real knowledge — a lower-class commoner who got sneered at as a matter of course. That was Lutz as he stood.
An orphan teaching his way into a prestigious academy through self-study alone was a setting error from the ground up — but what could I do? The author himself had canonized him as a growth-type genius.
And I'll say it again: even now, I honestly don't understand why I wrote him that way. It wasn't just him — it went for every other character too. I just wrote whatever felt good at the time.
At any rate, for that reason, if all anyone saw of him in these duels was the beating he was taking, his mid-tier entrance ranking would plunge straight to the bottom — and that meant the odds of my becoming his homeroom professor would sink with it.
Come on, Lutz. Pull it together.
Yes, you're still incompetent — but if all you do is take blows from your future heroine like that, you're going to die alone forever. That Bellatrix pounding you into the dust right now is your destined leading lady, so please, throw a counterattack. Any counterattack.
I sent that encouragement flying with all my heart — and what came back was nothing but pitiful groans and the cheerful crack of impact.
"Professor Nig—. Those two studen—."
Just once. Really, just once — please swing that sword. You're the future Sword Saint; surely you can manage a single swing.
"Professor Niger…?"
Ah, swing the damn thing. If you were just going to eat magic with a sword in your hand, you should have brought two shields instead and insisted you were a shield-bearer.
Nothing. No response at all.
Looking at that sorry state of his, one thing was certain: Lutz was headed to a different class. Useless bastard. Fine then — you go right ahead and live long and ailing alongside the Chairman too. I'll say it once more: this is the prayer of a devout priest, so Elohim Himself will come down to deliver your punishment.
"…Professor Niger! What is the matter with you!"
"Yes…? Has something happened?"
I turned my head at the sound of my name and answered. The hands gripping my shoulders and shaking me were fierce enough to rattle my senses wide awake.
"No — I've been calling you this whole time, and you just keep staring at that student with that grim look and never answer! Is something wrong? Do you know that boy?"
"Ah… no, Professor Elia. The duels were so engaging that I became absorbed, and my expression must have stiffened."
The protagonist is in that pitiful a state, so yes, I am grave, Professor Elia. It feels as though my serial-killer plan document is about to be torn to shreds — because of that squirming worm down there getting pounded within an inch of his life.
"No matter how I look at it, that's not the face of a man simply absorbed. Is it because that boy is losing so badly?"
"It is not… that. He is simply being overwhelmed to the point of pity, so perhaps I empathized a little too deeply. Elohim has always taught us to labor on behalf of the weak, after all."
"Then just secretly help him. I'll pretend I saw nothing."
"I beg your… pardon?"
"Slap a decent enhancement buff on him, and surely he'll manage at least one counterattack?"
"I beg… your pardon?"
No — Professor. What on earth are you saying right now.