Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 86
Chapter Title: Butterfly Effect for the Author (6)
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Jeon Yun-seong. Freshman representative, son of a traitor, and America's pride.
The moment the sudden duel challenge from the boy hailed as the strongest of their generation—nay, this entire incoming class—came to an end, every eye in the training grounds turned to Cheon Yeomyeong.
It was only natural, in a way.
Ever since the day Cheon Yeomyeong had laid out Wesley in the dorm room skirmish, the same question had lingered in everyone's minds.
Who was stronger—Jeon Yun-seong or Cheon Yeomyeong?
It was a simple question, perhaps even trivial, but at the same time, it was the most superhuman question of all.
Unlike mages or priests, for superhumans, strength was proof of their martial prowess and validation of their convictions.
The question of who was stronger carried within it a fundamental inquiry into whose beliefs ran deeper, whose were more steadfast.
...Of course, that was all just theory.
Most of the students gathered in the training grounds watched Yeomyeong and Jeon Yun-seong with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
Jeon Yun-seong pressed his lips tight, as if suppressing some deep tension, his body trembling faintly.
And Yeomyeong, named as his opponent...
He furrowed his brow to hide his bewilderment.
'What the hell is this all about?'
The stares pouring in, the attention from his classmates—it didn't faze him.
But jumping straight into a fight out of nowhere? Why?
If he had to guess, there were reasons aplenty.
A poor first impression. Childish rivalry. Overt feelings toward So-mi-ri...
But none of that explained the embarrassment Jeon Yun-seong was desperately trying to conceal.
'...Does the reason even matter?'
He was someone Yeomyeong would have to take down eventually anyway, to draw the eyes of the Koreans.
He just hadn't expected it to be today.
Yeomyeong stared at Jeon Yun-seong for a moment before stepping forward.
He slowly drew up his mana, and just as the students parted eagerly in anticipation of the fight—
Someone grabbed the hem of his uniform. It was Seti, who had been blending in with the crowd moments before.
She had sidled up beside him and now whispered into his ear in a quiet voice.
"Don't fight... no, I mean, don't fight."
"...Why?"
Yeomyeong asked, puzzled. Hadn't it been her who said he needed to take down Jeon Yun-seong someday?
"...Who kills a scapegoat in the middle of the street?"
"Seti, come on, calling someone a scapegoat..."
"Ignore the metaphor! Taking down Jeon Yun-seong is supposed to be the climax of the plan. Not in a training ground full of just students—do it in an arena packed with cameras."
With that, Seti released her grip on his uniform.
As the students watched the two with curious glances, Seti casually raised her hand.
"Teacher. May I share my thoughts?"
Margan, who had been observing the situation, nodded as if to say he was curious to hear her out.
"I believe Jeon Yun-seong's proposed duel violates school rules and serves no purpose for this remedial class."
No sooner had Seti finished speaking than a smile lit up Margan's face.
In equal measure, disappointment clouded the students' expressions. Some even jeered outright.
-Boo!
-Who asked you to butt in?
-Don't get in the way of a man's showdown!
Since the jeers weren't truly malicious, Seti brushed them off lightly.
Yeomyeong, however, couldn't.
Hearing the jeers directed at Seti, he channeled mana into his heel...
Thud!
A light True Strike slammed into the training ground floor. A brief tremor rippled out, kicking up a puff of dust.
Regardless of the startled gazes now fixed on him, Yeomyeong crossed his arms and scowled.
Whatever. Deal with it.
As Yeomyeong intended, the jeers cut off—but in their place came strange looks directed at the pair.
A brief silence fell.
Seti stifled a laugh with a small cough before continuing toward Margan.
"...Teacher. That said, I don't think Jeon Yun-seong's point is entirely without merit. Instead of just reviewing basics in this remedial class, why not take it in a different direction?"
"A different direction?"
"How about a martial arts demonstration? Have you and some students perform first, then have everyone discuss and point out areas for improvement."
The words "martial arts demonstration" had barely left her mouth when complaints erupted from the students.
-Hey! That's something middle schoolers do!
Of course, Margan's opinion differed. He stroked his beard and nodded.
"Hong Seti, that's a fine idea. I'll adopt your suggestion."
This time, genuine jeers rang out, but Margan ignored them completely. Even being generous, a demonstration beat a duel any day.
"Come now, everyone take your seats. We'll do the demonstrations by number..."
Margan clapped his hands, and the grumbling students began to sit one by one.
Among them was Jeon Yun-seong, his face flushed red.
Embarrassed at having his duel proposal shot down? No, not quite.
Yeomyeong read the relief hidden in his expression.
'He didn't actually want to fight after all? Or...'
His question didn't linger long. Seti, now seated beside him, spoke up.
"Yeomyeong, you can still steal martial arts just by watching once, right?"
"...Steal? I just watch and learn."
"Oh, sure. Of course you do."
Seti brushed off Yeomyeong's quip and spoke in a serious tone.
"Steal every martial art the others show. Most will just be basics they've drilled, but some might have decent techniques worth learning."
"...So that's why you suggested the demonstration?"
"Good idea, huh?"
Seti looked at him expectantly, as if fishing for praise.
Unthinkingly, Yeomyeong raised his hand to pat her head—then felt the other students' stares and lowered it stealthily.
"It's a good plan, but... I don't know how much I can pick up."
"Doesn't matter if you can't steal any. Use it as a chance to broaden your horizons."
As the two whispered secretly, Margan finished preparing for the demonstrations.
Which meant he'd dragged a large platform, like a simple stage, to the center of the training grounds.
-Students called, step forward.
As Margan began calling names from atop the platform, Yeomyeong remembered something and called to Seti.
"Seti."
"Yeah? What?"
"I told you not to use formal speech. Honestly, you look more like the little sister..."
Yeomyeong winced as Seti's finger jabbed his side.
***
"Green Scripture, Chapter 11, Verse 1... He who obtains fruit shall discard it for the next. He who obtains a tree..."
"Loving life is akin to harvesting fruit..."
"Circulation and growth—these are the fundamentals of Lord Isagi-nok's teachings..."
In the classroom, the reverent voice of the priest serving the Green God echoed.
The Saintess half-listened to his words, her eyes fixed on the clock.
Not because the basic scripture interpretations were stale to her by now—no, class was almost over, and martial arts training was next.
After an eternity of fidgeting in anticipation...
Class finally ended.
"...That's all for today. Good work, everyone."
The moment the priest offered his closing remarks, the Saintess shot up from her seat.
Before the other priest aspirants could approach her, she bolted from the classroom, heading out of the main building toward the outdoor training grounds.
Students she passed in the halls recognized her and greeted her, but she replied only with a nod.
It might seem rude at a glance, but for the Saintess, it was as considerate as she got.
Her mind was entirely consumed with thoughts of someone else.
'Seti...'
With every step, memories of that rooftop scene replayed: Seti and Yeomyeong.
She hadn't caught their hushed words, but their expressions and gestures said it all.
An expression she'd never seen on Seti before, the way she'd fidgeted in embarrassment.
'What are they to each other?'
'When and where did they meet?'
'How long have they known each other?'
'Longer than she's known me?'
'Why did they pretend not to know each other?'
'Were they teasing me?'
Questions she'd endlessly mulled over these past few days—ones she'd never dared ask.
Today, she would.
Swallowing her resolve—which she'd failed to keep last time—the Saintess emerged onto the training grounds.
But the now-empty grounds held only a solitary platform.
Biting her lip, she considered using precognition. If she could just find where they'd gone...
'...No.'
She shook her head, cutting off the thought.
Lately, it had yielded good results, making her forget—but precognition wasn't something to overuse.
Observed futures could twist unpredictably.
In the end, she set off on foot, searching likely spots for Seti.
The commissary, main building library, gardens, lounge...
After wandering for a while, her gaze drifted to the main building rooftop.
...Maybe?
The deliberation was brief; the action swift.
Channeling mana, she bounded up the stairs to the rooftop.
But unlike her hopes, it was empty.
Not quite a relief, but not fruitless either. From up here, she had a full view of the main building's surroundings.
Standing at the railing, she peered down—then lifted her eyepatch slightly and infused her eyes with mana.
It wasn't a divine blessing or spell she invoked.
It was a martial art. A Soviet technique from the Cold War era, passed down by her mother—the only one she'd taught the girl who once sobbed at her reflection, hating her own eyes.
In the next instant, her vision expanded far beyond what ordinary mana reinforcement could achieve.
The collars of running students, beads of sweat, a single flying leaf, the glint in a squirrel's eye on a bench.
Scanning the area thoroughly, she quickly spotted Yeomyeong and Seti.
'...The darkest place is under the candlestick!'
Unlike her misconception, they weren't hiding.
Right behind the main building, on a bench along the path to the trash area, they sat chatting idly.
'Break time left... 15 minutes. Plenty.'
The Saintess immediately headed down from the rooftop. Or tried to.
But her enhanced vision caught someone secretly watching Yeomyeong and Seti.
'...What the hell are those?'
And it wasn't just one pair of eyes.
The first watcher: Aunt Aiba, some distance from the bench, pretending to clean while stealing glances.
And the other...
'Who's that?'
A boy hidden in the trees, zooming in on them with his phone.
His uniform marked him as a first-year classmate, but his face was unfamiliar. Unusual eye color too—not from Earth. Who...?
Whoever, whatever—who cared? Spying on her friends like some voyeur was the issue.
'How dare they...'
Biting her lip, the Saintess reverted her vision to normal and descended the stairs.
The questions that had filled her head were long gone.
"Saintess? Where are you rushing off to...?"
A student spotted her on the stairs and tried to greet her.
In that instant, the Saintess vanished into thin air.
As the startled student blinked, furious footsteps echoed down the stairs.
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