Not Over Yet (4)
"...And this is why they say you have to live a long time to see everything."
Franc (20, male) muttered with a hollow laugh as he surveyed the scene before him.
And no wonder — the potion workshop, deserted for decades, was about to burst at the seams with people.
It would hardly be an exaggeration to say that every idle mage currently lounging around the tower had gathered here, and the reason they'd gathered was a spectacle in itself.
"I heard we get a meat dish if we work here. Is that true?"
"Would the elder really have lied to us?"
"Word is it's not even chicken. It's pork."
"Slurp... Unbelievable."
It had already been a full year since the tower cafeteria's menu had been locked into beans and canned soup.
Faced with the promise of a meat dish, these mages had become the kind of people who wouldn't balk at even the filthiest of jobs.
"Still, I'm a little worried."
As Franc murmured this while stroking his chin, Oscar glanced over at him.
"Worried about what?"
"I'm sure you had your reasons for picking them, but... I don't think we have enough time."
"Not enough time? What do you mean?"
"Think about it. Just teaching them Dual Casting, one by one, would take the better part of several days."
"Hm?"
Oscar responded with a look that asked what kind of nonsense he was spouting.
"Are you an idiot? We don't even have enough time to make the cure. When exactly would we fit in teaching all of that?"
"...But don't we need Dual Casting to make the cure?"
"Says who, exactly?"
Even in the White Tower of his past life, if you went by the numbers, far more mages couldn't use Dual Casting than could.
And yet not once had potion production ever fallen behind schedule.
"You really are a hopeless mage, you know that? This need to solve everything by yourself. That's the classic chronic ailment of mages everywhere."
The single greatest reason humanity drove out countless predators and became the dominant species of the continent was precisely the opposite of that.
The power to pull together in the face of hardship and adversity.
That was the most terrifying thing about human beings.
"Pair them up two to a team, and there's no need to use Dual Casting at all."
"...Huh? Oh. Right. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Like I said — mage syndrome."
Oscar shrugged, then strode straight up onto the platform and called out.
"Alright, seniors! Eyes over here, please!"
A few mages turned their gaze toward him, but most were still too busy chatting amongst themselves.
From the back, Franc asked in a hushed voice.
"Should I go grab a magic megaphone or something?"
"No need. Mages never listen when you talk nicely anyway."
With a resigned shake of his head, Oscar gave his fingers a light snap.
In that same instant, the spell that manifested was Sound Binding.
The noisy, indiscriminate chatter spilling from the mouths of dozens of mages merged into a single, powerful wave of white noise.
-Ziiiiiiiiing!
"Gah!"
"Wh-what the—?!"
At the eardrum-shattering roar, everyone winced and clapped their hands over their ears.
Their gazes naturally turned toward the source of the sound — the platform.
"...Finally, some peace and quiet."
Wearing a look of deep satisfaction, Oscar took a moment to appreciate the mages' constipated faces before speaking.
"Everyone, your attention please. The reason you seniors have gathered here today is to manufacture the cure for the Cadena flu."
"...The cure for the Cadena flu?"
"What is he even talking about?"
"So this is why we were told to come to the potion workshop?"
Since none of them had been given any advance information, they simply stared blankly at one another.
"It's not a difficult task. You'll just have to follow along with whatever I teach you."
"Hmm... well?"
"I'm not sure mediocrities like us can manage to keep up with a genius like you, though?"
What is going on here?
Every response that came back was twisted and hostile.
Caught slightly off guard, Oscar stole a glance behind him and whispered.
"Hey, Franc. Do these people hate me or something?"
"Yep. There's probably almost no one in this tower who likes you."
"......."
Confronted with this rather shocking truth, Oscar asked with a puzzled expression.
"Why?"
"Because you're an insufferably arrogant jerk who blows through the tower's budget like it's nothing, does zero research, and spends every single day guzzling booze like some kind of hippo. And rumor has it the cafeteria menu being stuck on beans and canned soup is entirely your fault too."
"......."
Put that way, being hated made a certain amount of sense.
Just then, a sudden question occurred to Oscar, and he looked at Franc.
"Then why don't you hate me?"
"I like canned soup. That cheap, greasy flavor is kind of fun."
"......."
Right. This guy isn't normal either, come to think of it.
With another hollow laugh, Oscar looked out over the thirty-eight mages glaring at him with undisguised distaste.
'If the old Tower Master had said even a few words to them in advance, this situation would never have happened... but then again.'
Seen through the eyes of a former Tower Master, he had almost certainly engineered this situation deliberately.
He would have wanted to confirm whether or not Oscar possessed genuine social grace and the capacity to embrace others.
That was essential information for anyone overseeing a troupe of eccentric geniuses.
'Honestly, I probably would have done the same thing.'
Having settled his thoughts, Oscar spoke up.
"Franc succeeded at this very work, so there's no need to be so intimidated."
"...I'm Lena White, a 5th-level mage. Would you mind if I asked a few questions?"
A woman in her late twenties with rather frosty eyes raised her hand.
Oscar nodded.
"By all means."
"As I understand it, our White Tower lost the manufacturing formulas for every potion it knew twenty years ago. So where, exactly, did the formula for the Cadena flu cure suddenly come from?"
"I reconstructed it."
At those words, the mages broke into a low murmur.
"...Huh. So the hippo hasn't just been sitting around collecting his budget after all?"
"Are you kidding? Getting paid that much, he should have been producing results like this ages ago."
"Hmph. All that genius posturing, and for the first time he's actually earning his keep."
Amid the mixed reactions, Lena, who had held her silence, asked once more.
"Has the cure's effectiveness been verified?"
"Its efficacy was proven on actual patients in the Vince Territory, which the Cadena flu has already swept through. The Grand Bishop of the El Terra Order confirmed it personally and signed an exclusive contract with us, and the Imperial Palace has granted us a patent."
The murmuring grew louder still.
"If the Order is famous for being strict with its vetting, and they signed an exclusive contract... it must be the real deal."
"Honestly, once the Imperial Palace recognized the patent, there was no reason to doubt its effectiveness in the first place."
Just as the mages' hostility was beginning to soften in the wake of the good news—
Lena threw out an unexpected question.
"Then you're saying that cure is worth more than a mountain of gold. So what, exactly, are you trusting in us that you're willing to share its formula?"
"......."
The whispering died away, and a strange tension began to spread through the hall.
She was right — with the Cadena flu outbreak raging, that cure was a treasure beyond all price.
Anyone who managed to leak its formula to the outside world would stand to make an enormous fortune.
As a tangle of emotions turned toward him in every gaze, Oscar calmly read the documents laid out on the platform.
"Let's see... thirty-five 4th-level mages, and only three 5th-level mages. Ages range from twenty-two to twenty-six."
Drawing his eyes from the papers, Oscar swept his gaze over them once and slowly shook his head.
"Frankly speaking, I don't understand why you seniors are still in the White Tower at all."
"......."
"......."
Silence.
The hall fell so still that if anyone had swallowed, even the sound of it would have echoed nakedly through the room.
But that lasted only a moment before the mages who could no longer swallow their pride began to vent their fury.
"...So what you're saying is that we're shamelessly leeching off the White Tower?"
"I heard people say he'd changed after nearly dying, but not a single thing about him is different."
"Not one word of the old sayings is wrong. A leopard really doesn't change its spots."
The mages, scorned and insulted, poured out every grievance and complaint they had.
Even Lena's eyes, which had asked question after question, turned ice cold.
"...It seems I've wasted my time. Understand this, and understand it well. Of everyone gathered here today, there is not a single person who deserves to hear that kind of talk from you."
The moment she judged working alongside him to be hopeless and turned away without a hint of regret—
"I know."
A low voice rang through the workshop and caught her by the ankle.
Lena turned back slowly, eyes narrowing.
"...What did you say?"
"I said I know. I know exactly how much everyone gathered here loves the White Tower. I know exactly what each of you gave up for it."
Tap, tap.
Oscar tapped the documents with his finger as he continued.
"You all thought you'd hidden it well, but the White Tower isn't nearly as incompetent as that."
Leaving behind the flood of questioning stares, he read off several of the notable entries from the volunteer applications.
"5th-level mage Lena White, age 25. The Red Tower and various corporations, recognizing her exceptional talent and leadership, attempted to recruit her a combined total of seven times. She refused every offer."
"5th-level mage Harok Dryen, age 26. The Imperial Palace, impressed by his mastery of magic close-combat martial arts, offered him the post of Imperial Palace Mage. He refused."
"5th-level mage Deckard Line, age 26. The Imperial Academy offered him an instructor's chair four separate times. All four offers were declined."
"4th-level mage Sepia Rose, age 23. The Yellow Tower, coveting her creative alchemy, secretly arranged a meeting and offered her a position. She refused."
...
As Oscar's words continued to pour out, the hall fell deathly quiet.
Startled out of their wits, the mages exchanged glances with one another, trading silent looks of 'You too?' for a long moment.
Then Oscar set down the papers and went on.
"As I said before — I don't understand why you seniors are still in the White Tower. If I had received offers this good... well. I honestly can't say I would have been able to refuse."
The reason was simple.
Because the White Tower was finished.
Because in this place, even if you searched with your eyes wide open, you'd be hard-pressed to find anything called a future.
"And yet none of you left."
And the reason for that was one.
Because they loved the White Tower.
Because they wanted to revive this fallen tower with their own hands.
"......."
Suppressing the strange heat welling up in her chest, Lena bit down hard on her lip.
"...You're saying the elders knew about all of those meetings?"
"They knew. But they had no choice but to pretend they didn't."
Because acting like they knew would have put a weight on everyone's shoulders.
Because while they hoped their people wouldn't leave, they couldn't bring themselves to chain down children who could climb higher and farther in a better place.
And so they had known — and forced themselves to look the other way.
Oscar addressed the mages standing with lips pressed tight, his tone matter-of-fact.
"The White Tower is going through the coldest winter in its history. And in the middle of it, you all could have worked somewhere better, under better conditions — and yet you chose to stay here in this cold."
He asked in return.
"If I can't trust the people who did that, then who on earth could I possibly trust?"
With that loaded question as his parting shot, Oscar stepped down from the platform, pulling on his goggles as he went.
"Franc, get ready. Looks like the two of us will have to handle it ourselves."
"Huh? Oh, right."
Franc climbed down after him and was just getting into the practiced rhythm of prepping the materials when—
"...Tell me. What do I start with?"
Lena had approached them quietly and picked up a pair of goggles with practiced ease.
From that moment on, the mages who had been drifting toward the exit gathered around them one by one.
"Ahem. You — you could've just said all that from the start."
"I got angry because I thought some greenhorn brat was ripping into us with that sharp tongue of his, that's all."
"No time for chatter. Didn't he say we've only got one week on the schedule?"
"Hey, you in the back! What are you standing around gawking for?! Get over here and prep your station!"
"Hey, kid. Am I putting these goggles on right or not?"
Grumbling all the while, they donned their goggles and pulled on their gloves.
Watching them, Franc let out a hollow laugh.
"Ha, haha. Is this a dream? The great Oscar actually winning people over with nothing but his tongue?"
"...If it's a dream like this, it's not a bad one to have."
Oscar took in the workshop, now buzzing with life, and smiled faintly.
It was the first time since waking up in this body that the tower had felt truly alive.
'Even if someone leaked the recipe, the patent would keep them from profiting — no need to say that out loud, though.'
He spoke up, wanting to keep the good mood rolling.
"Oh, and one thing I should mention up front — the meat that gets served with every meal isn't actually pork, it's..."
"Damn it. It's chicken after all."
"...It's not rat meat, is it?"
He looked around once at the mages suspended in suspense, then shrugged.
"It's beef."
"OOOOOH!"
"MEAT! MEAT! BEEF!"
Whether it was the meat, or simply the fact that the White Tower's mages had united as one heart and one mind for the first time in ages, who could say.
The cure production figures, which had looked so hopelessly behind schedule, went on to smash through 140% of their target in just one week.