Star Instructor Oscar (1)

A training hall deep within the White Tower, built from a space that had served as an underground dungeon hundreds of years ago. Staring too long at that abyss-dark entrance, one half expected the ghost of a long-dead prisoner to come crawling out.

"...So."

Fran, his face scrunched into a full-on tragedy mask, asked,

"That's the entrance, right?"

"Yep."

"And I'm supposed to go in there?"

"Yep."

He was.

Fran, newly promoted to the 4th level, had been sentenced to no less than thirty days of closed-door cultivation.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

And right now, he was quietly wondering how on earth things had come to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this.

"Wait, isn't something off here? Normally you only do closed-door training if you request it yourself or you're being punished for screwing something up. I'm neither of those!"

"The Vice Tower Master gave the order personally. That's how much he expects from you."

"...Is that really it?"

"That's really it."

Oscar was lying through his teeth without a shred of shame. If Fran knew the request had come secretly from Oscar himself, he'd raise hell and refuse to go in at all.

"Think positive. You needed time to organize everything you realized when you hit the 4th level anyway."

"Well, yeah, but... Ugh. Fine. I'm off."

"Take care."

Oscar waved him off with great enthusiasm, and after a moment, Fran disappeared into the depths of the training hall.

By the next time they met, he would no doubt be a rather respectable 4th-level mage.

One of these days, he'll actually thank me for this.

Smiling to himself, Oscar left the underground chamber and headed straight for the Vice Tower Master's office.

"I heard you called for me."

"I did. There's something I'd like to ask of you. Did Fran get in alright?"

"He threw an absolute fit about going in."

"Haha!"

As if picturing the scene, the Vice Tower Master laughed heartily. After a good long while, he took a sip from his teacup and continued.

"Some good news came this morning. A letter arrived from the Sirius Merchant Guild—they're granting us free use of their distribution network from now on. Completely free of charge, mind you."

"...They're offering it for free?"

The distribution network of the continent's greatest guild would, without question, be the finest money could buy. Mages would pay a fortune for access without a single complaint—yet here it was, being handed over for nothing.

Of course, Oscar was hardly naive enough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to miss the calculation tucked inside that generosity.

They've done their math. Sharing a little of their network costs them nothing, after all.

But if the White Tower truly rose from the dead, as he'd promised, that network's value would become impossible to put a price on. In a word, it was an investment with zero downside from the Sirius Merchant Guild's perspective.

I can see right through their motives, but I can't say I mind.

With his full-scale entry into the potion market looming, it was as if he'd suddenly grown a dependable pair of wings.

In other words, a mutually satisfying arrangement.

"That is genuinely good news. Is the favor you wanted to ask of me related to this, by any chance?"

"Ah, no, it's not."

The Vice Tower Master shook his head, then put on his characteristic, gentle expression.

"Oscar. Have you ever considered taking on a lecture?"

"...A lecture, you say?"

Blinking at the entirely unexpected proposal, Oscar prompted the man to elaborate.

"It's not a decision I made on a whim—I've been mulling it over for a long time. To be precise, ever since I read the paper you presented while you were still at the academy, Application and Advancement of Basic Magic."

That was one of the papers the young Oscar had published in the past—the foundation upon which his later work, Reinterpretation of Basic Magic, had been built.

"But understanding something well and teaching it well are two entirely different problems, so until now I held off on suggesting it."

"Ah."

At those words, Oscar let out a small sound of realization.

So that's why...

"That's right. Lately, you've shown us that you know how to embrace others—and that you possess remarkable talent for guiding them as well."

He meant how Oscar had persuaded the tower's elders to approve the potion project, and how he'd coached Fran all the way to the 4th level.

"A mage who understands the importance of basic magic better than anyone, and who has the magnanimity and leadership to match. If someone like that were to teach a lecture on fundamental spells, I believe it would do a great deal to raise the skills of our magicians. What do you say?"

"I certainly could do it, but..."

Oscar tilted his head.

I don't understand. Shouldn't you want me focusing entirely on the potion division for the time being?

Any sensible administrator would think that way. Seizing this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to carve out a foothold in the potion market had to be the top priority.

Every Vice Tower Master I've observed so far has been anything but foolish. So proposing this out of nowhere means...

There was something behind it that he didn't know about.

That was Oscar's conclusion.

"Forgive my bluntness, but is there some particular reason the White Tower's mages need to grow stronger?"

"...Heh. Honestly, you're entirely too perceptive for your own good."

Letting out a helpless chuckle, the Vice Tower Master asked,

"Have you ever heard of the Night of the Magicians?"

"Ah, yes, I have."

The Night of the Magicians.

A day when the mages of every Magic Tower gathered in one place, established with the twin goals of sharpening their skills and fostering harmony.

The emperor who had conceived it hundreds of years ago had hoped the occasion would bind the towers closer together, but...

As if that were ever going to happen.

As far as Oscar knew, the mages had fought each other like rabid dogs, and the event was abolished after only a handful of iterations.

And yet now, out of nowhere, he brings this up...

Oscar's eyes gleamed.

"Don't tell me His Majesty the Emperor intends to revive the Night of the Magicians?"

"That's right. It hasn't been made public yet, but once the new year begins, the imperial court will announce the details."

Only then did the puzzle pieces snap into place, and the Vice Tower Master's proposal made perfect sense.

"I see. Now I understand why you'd suddenly ask me to take on a lecture."

"I pray it's just an old man's needless worry, but the Black Tower has become rather... a thorn in my side, I'm afraid."

The Black Tower.

A magic tower that had posted astonishing results in recent years, and one that eyed the seat of the Four Great Magic Towers with open covetousness.

From their perspective, we must be an eyesore.

Unlike them, the White Tower had spent over a decade posting the worst results of any tower—yet it still clung to its seat among the Four Great Towers on the strength of its past reputation alone. It had to gall them.

Even Oscar could guess that once the Night of the Magicians began, the Black Tower would pick a fight in earnest. They'd want to prove themselves superior and snatch away the title for themselves.

So that's why you want to strengthen the mages' fundamentals.

And the man chosen as the right person for the job was him.

With everything finally clear, Oscar nodded without a moment's hesitation.

"I'll do it."

The reason he accepted was simple.

He would rather die than watch the White Tower get pushed around by the likes of the Black Tower.

The next day, a notice appeared on the White Tower's bulletin board.

The mages who gathered in front of the bulletin board murmured among themselves.

"A special lecture at a time like this? Now that's something."

"'Reinterpretation of Basic Magic'... sounds like it's aimed at the 3rd-level youngsters, doesn't it?"

"Well, the tower's finances finally loosened up, so I suppose this means they're getting serious about developing the next generation after leaving them to fend for themselves all this time."

"If that's really the goal, they might've brought in some renowned outside lecturer."

The vast majority of those who entered the tower after graduating from the academy were 3rd-level mages. Since the tower's roots depended on their growth, investing in the junior ranks was hardly an eccentric move.

Naturally, the intermediate mages of the 4th level and above who read the notice lost interest within moments.

"Basic magic, huh? Afraid that's a little beneath me."

"Figures. No reason for a 4th-level mage to go relearning fundamentals."

"I'm already dying between brewing potions and running deliveries. Who has time for lectures?"

"Why is there no investment in us intermediate mages, huh?"

As they drifted away from the board, the 3rd-level mages quietly took their place.

The reactions of those desperate to break through their stagnating walls and reach the intermediate level were quite different.

"'Reinterpretation of Basic Magic'... that means it'll teach me what I can use right now, right?"

"Probably. The White Tower's fundamentals have always been shaky anyway, so this is good news."

"Whatever it is, it has to beat training alone."

And so several days passed, with the junior mages nursing their expectations.

The tower's 36th floor was commonly known as the "campus."

An entire floor, furnished from end to end like an academy.

There was a main building and an annex, a sports field, and—while it couldn't compare to the 10th floor—a rather lovely walking promenade as well.

Since the floor had no windows, its days and nights were told apart by the artificial sun, moon, and starlight that floated across the ceiling.

And today, a lecture convened in the main building's Lecture Hall 4.

A most peculiar lecture, in which a full one hundred percent of the attendees were 3rd-level mages.

"Wow, every single face here is one I know. Nobody showed up anywhere, so I figured you'd all died."

"That's mages for you. Everyone's buried in their own research or their training."

"Still, more people showed up than I expected."

"I counted—thirty-two. Every junior mage in the White Tower is here except one."

At the mention of the single exception, their thoughts naturally turned to the same person.

Oscar Crucian.

That aloof genius had not so much as graced the room with his presence.

"Why are you lumping that senior in with us? He's still 2nd level."

"Honestly, even 'senior' is too generous. Who cares whether that insufferable piece of work shows up or not?"

"Word is his personality's gotten a lot more poisonous lately, though?"

"You believe that garbage? Quit spouting nonsense and guess who the instructor is instead."

"They say the Vice Tower Master personally invited the lecturer. Think it's true?"

"Probably. The tower made a fortune off that influenza cure, after all."

Mages, by nature, rarely crossed paths, so the room buzzed with long-overdue chatter.

Nobody said it out loud, but they all shared the same frustration—the wall standing between them and the 4th level. Against that backdrop, the very existence of a special lecture was a welcome rain in a drought.

"Honestly, was I the only one who got excited when I saw today's lecture would be held in the main building?"

"Everyone here probably did. They say seminars attended by the imperial court used to be held in this hall, back in the day."

"...Then the instructor really must be somebody extraordinary, huh?"

Just as the excited mages began whispering among themselves, whipping the room into a fervor—

"Look at you all, goofing off."

The sneer drifted down from the very top row of the tiered lecture hall.

A petite, blonde boy, so small in stature one might doubt he was their age at all. He gazed down at the chattering mages with an expression of pure disdain.

"They only lent us this building because nobody uses it anymore. No need for all the fuss—"

It wasn't wrong.

Once upon a time, high-ranking mages had frequented the campus for research presentations, academic exchanges, and the like—but in the years since the White Tower's decline, visitors had all but vanished.

"...Demian. Aren't you being a little too negative? The tower actually went out of its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way to invest in us for once."

"Ha! Invest? You're the one who needs to wake up. If they were serious about us, they'd have prepared something at a proper level—'Understanding Mana Control,' 'The Design and Application of Mana Circuits'—not this 'Reinterpretation of Basic Magic' garbage. You know, like the other three Great Towers would."

"That comparison's crossing a line, don't you think?"

"Right? Anyone who didn't know better would think you belonged to some other tower."

"It's a good day. Read the room a little?"

"Hah..."

Demian shook his head, and just as he was about to deliver another one of his biting barbs (in his own estimation)—

"That's enough idle chatter."

Along with the dry, uninflected voice, silence swallowed the lecture hall whole.

And that was no mere figure of speech.

The wind tapping at the windows, the rustle of pens being readied, even the faintest scrape of chairs against the floor.

Every last sound vanished, as if it had never existed.

"...?"

"...!"

It was an experience at once wondrous and deeply unsettling—as if someone had taken a pair of scissors and, with surgical precision, cut the sense of hearing clean out of their bodies.

Within an absolute silence in which no sound whatsoever existed—

"A pleasure to meet you all."

One voice alone rang out, clear as a bell, in their ears.

"The instructor entrusted with the lecture 'Reinterpretation of Basic Magic,' beginning today."

The man who strode up to the podium with an unhurried gait swept his gaze once across the lecture hall, then finished.

"My name is Oscar Crucian."