Central Hall of the On-Duty Dormitory
The central hall of the on-duty dormitory housed a scale model replicating the dorm's interior. If the door marked with a student's name—say, Room N—was open, it meant they weren't inside. But if the flag above the door was raised, it signaled they were somewhere within the dormitory.
Confirming that every flag for every Room N was up, I settled calmly into a lobby chair.
Students could roam freely until 10 p.m. After that, unless the on-duty professor issued special permission, the apparition of rule compliance—a monster from the first layer of the Netherworld—would appear, endlessly shrieking at them to return.
The on-duty professor's duties boiled down to two things: issuing outing permits in their own name for any student with a legitimate reason, and herding everyone back to their rooms before 10 p.m. That was it. Afterward, barring emergencies, they just slept in the duty office like a guard dog, passing the time.
'No matter how I look at it, the efficiency is abysmal...'
At least the Netherworld's apparition alerted us to outsiders, which was a small mercy. Otherwise, I'd have had to stay up all night.
Click. Click.
"..."
Professor Illena—or more precisely, Imperial Princess Elizabeth—sat beside me, necklace removed. She crossed her legs seductively, her gaze piercingly sharp as she stared at me.
But she had no idea I'd seen through her identity, so... I simply ignored her.
Turning my eyes to the papers pinned with thumbtacks, I began outlining key points for the second week's lecture.
In black magic studies, there was no particular reason for introducing the overarching term magido in the second-week topic. Regardless of black magic or elemental magido, every mage in this world shared a fundamental ability: recognizing a spell's composition formula and nullifying it.
Recognizing a spell's composition formula was only possible if the mage perfectly understood a specific concept. That concept needed a hierarchy of difficulty—rank, in simple terms—and had to be quantifiable in terms of the mana volume the mage expended.
Naturally, this led the world's mages to choose mathematics as their go-to concept. Plenty of concepts had ranks, but few could map to mana volume, making math—relatively accessible—the obvious pick.
The original work's setting offered no deeper explanation. Probably because the author didn't want to delve into math and just handed the protagonist Aura Knight talent instead.
From Lee Seojin's modern perspective, though, there was another viable concept for perceiving composition formulas, even without math. Any sci-fi fan would recognize it: dimensional geometry.
A point connects to a line. Lines form a plane. Planes build a solid. Solids cluster into a hypercube.
This neatly explained progression from zero dimensions to n dimensions.
Beyond the fourth dimension's analogy—the super realm, past Terminus rank—it might be better to stick with traditional formulaic quantification. No one, no matter how adept at spatial perception, could accurately visualize or draw a fifth-dimensional shape sectioned by a tesseract.
Even I couldn't mentally sketch a shape with a regular octahedron as its cross-section.
So the mages of this world weren't wrong to obsess over math for formulaic recognition. But in a world where even reaching Euclid rank was rare... this dimensional approach would be far more efficient.
I planned to publish a paper on it, not just lecture it.
Mages were a secretive bunch, loath to share knowledge. Take Professor Uriel from elemental magido—she'd need prior approval from whoever taught her or traded the knowledge before using it at the academy.
Yet on composition formula concepts alone, they were surprisingly collaborative and open.
For certain watchlist figures, my trash reputation might complicate things. But for others, I was just Brutein's reclusive second son. Building prestige couldn't hurt.
Screech.
"..."
As I nearly finished my outline, the wheelchair's sound passing through the lobby made me look up.
Lizzy Paul Liana Claudia. Her.
Thud!
"Nngh...!"
"What hap—"
"I'll handle it."
I sat the rising Imperial Princess Elizabeth back down and stood, heading toward the dormitory's main entrance.
Her distinctive red twin tails, tied low, disheveled as she turned her head, looking up at me.
"Lizzy Paul Liana Claudia, did you not read the rules? After 7 p.m., you can't leave without the on-duty professor's outing permit."
"..."
Silence lingered.
"No answer?"
"I-I'm not feeling well... I was just g-going to the infirmary for a check-up."
"I see. A cold? Your voice sounds hoarse."
"..."
"Return to your room anyway."
"B-But my body...!"
"I'll summon the doctor and have them escort you."
Her body flinched at my words.
"W-What did you s-say...?"
"I'll summon the doctor personally. With the temperature swings lately, going out dressed like that would only worsen your condition in the chill."
"..."
"Go back quietly and lie down."
Further talk was pointless. So judged, I left the dormitory.
* * * *
Screech.
"What the hell..."
Back in her room, Lizzy had a corpse servant lift her onto the bed, then muttered in bewilderment.
That incongruously kind gesture—it wasn't gratitude that rose, but nauseating revulsion.
Did he think she could show consideration for the sick after he'd shattered her other ankle like that?
Inability to walk went beyond daily inconvenience; it forced her to sit or lie constantly. Over time, her body grew frail. Healthy at twelve, she'd suffered endless minor ailments since.
Ferzen von Schweig Brutein—that man was the root of all her evil.
Knock knock.
A faint knock, then the door burst open. An infirmary doctor in a crisp white gown entered.
"P-Please, come in..."
Of course, Ferzen trailed behind.
"I'll examine you now, if you'll excuse me."
"Y-Yes..."
Nodding, Lizzy surrendered to the doctor's hands.
"Your throat's quite inflamed, and there's tonsil swelling."
No wonder swallowing stung...
"Please roll up your sleeve."
"..."
She knew exactly what that meant.
The doctor, having reviewed her records and noting no prior reactions to the drug, gently probed her vein before injecting antibiotics as softly as possible.
"Ngh..."
Ironically, those who'd never had shots felt less pain than veterans like her. The body remembered, tensing preemptively, reliving the agony.
But Lizzy tried not to show it. She refused to groan in pain before Ferzen.
"All done."
The doctor withdrew the needle slowly, pressed alcohol-soaked cotton to the site, and wrapped it snugly with a small bandage.
"If it hasn't improved in three days, call or visit again. I'll take my leave."
As the drug coursed through her veins to her throat, easing the pain, Lizzy's complexion brightened. Yet a hazy drowsiness urged her to sleep it off.
Ferzen, standing silently by the door, met her eyes once before turning away—knowing solitude with her would trigger her trauma.
"Are you... afraid?"
"..."
Surprisingly, Lizzy halted him first.
"What do you mean?"
"The Alfred family... will soon ally with us..."
"Lizzy Paul Liana Claudia."
"..."
"No need for concern. I'm not intimidated by that."
He turned, his signature red eyes fixing on her.
"Nor do I intend to deny what I did to you, right here."
What he'd done—framing it as an event, not an atrocity, was Ferzen's petty rebellion.
"I know the Claudia family's enmity toward me. But Lizzy Paul Liana Claudia—remember this."
"..."
"If you try to bite my throat and fail, you'll face the consequences stoically."
To Ferzen, the most threatening mana trait wasn't Aura Knights or fellow black mages—no, Aura Knights and elemental mages couldn't hijack his controlled corpses.
But another black mage, superior in talent and skill... yes, under that premise.
Lizzy was his greatest threat.
"Rest well."
"..."
With that, Ferzen left.
Lying in bed, Lizzy let out a sneer.
"Well played..."
His unshakable dignity, even harboring malice. Recalling his infuriating poise, she pulled up the covers.
As Ferzen said, if Claudia's fangs failed to tear him, she'd endure the backlash meekly.
One who sought harm must be prepared for the same.
"Hmph..."
But if it came to that... even one night would suffice.
Seducing him by any means, mounting him on the bed, biting that place to leave no heirs, then cleanly ending it.
What he did with her corpse afterward—defiling it or puppeteering it for humiliation—didn't matter.
By then, she'd be in the Netherworld.
"..."
Sleep overtook her. Lizzy closed her eyes peacefully.