Campus Watch

The capacity for flight is one of the most significant things differentiating

mages from ordinary folk.

The magical creature of the genus Besom, subfamily Scopae—otherwise

known as a "broom"—was discovered before recorded history, and the

practice of broomriding is far more storied than that of sword arts.

Nonmagical folk have a saying—"Even witches fall off their brooms"—

which exemplifies that.

Naturally, midflight falls do happen. And yet—because flight is

possible, it is equally natural that some will wish to compete for sheer

speed. Here you add in the extremely mage-like idea that healing spells can

take care of most injuries, and you get not just broom racing but games

involving knocking each other off brooms. The thrills and savagery quickly

captivated the hearts of mages everywhere.

What started as a game soon gained standardized rules and became a

codified sport nearly a thousand years ago. The game evolved—eight

hundred years ago, it became a team sport. "Brutal, yet beautiful" was the

motto even then, used throughout the Union.

And today, many mages spend their weekends at broomsport games, a

pint of ale in one hand.

"Fast! Fast! Fast! Fast beyond compaaaare! She's still only in her second

year! How can Nanao Hibiya fly like that? She's too good for the field!

Everyone else is eating her dust!"

Mages clad in two types of uniforms wheeled through the sky over

packed stands. Darting in from the fore, closing in from behind, pincering

from either side—and using the clubs on their backs to knock their

opponents to the ground. Each player's fall made the crowd roar. And in the

thick of it was a girl, clearly the smallest person in the air.

"Speed alone makes her a force to be reckoned with, but if you put a

club in her hands, she's truly unstoppable! How is this possible? Is every

samurai in Azia this good?! That could well spell doom for our Union!

Audience, better perform your ablutions and get ready for some hara-kiri!"

The student commentary clearly wasn't calming down any time soon.

This wasn't exactly your ordinary game. One team had a single player

completely controlling the flow of the match. Using maneuvers unheard of

in the junior league, she was flying circles around everyone else. The other

team was trying every trick in the book to fight back.

"Whoaaa! Her opponents are throwing caution to the wind and all

attacking at once! Hibiya's got eight players on her tail! Very unsporting but

entirely understandable! Can she handle it? Or will this prove too much for

her?"

This was their last-ditch effort. Players surrounding her above and

below, right and left, just pushing in from all sides. Well aware her

teammates would be hot on their heels, they thought only of taking down

the ace. Hardly the best tactic, but nothing else would make this a contest.

They could not afford to let her fly. No words exchanged, but all on the

same page—they each hit their target together—and all eight clubs caught

air. Not a single one of them even managed to scratch her.

"Ohhhhhhhh! She did it! She got out of that cluster with a move I didn't

even understand! What was that?! How did she find that gap?! That's it, I'm

done commentating! All I wanna do is watch you fly! Please, Hibiya! May

your delights never ceaaaase!"

The commentator was screaming now, but the crowd was roaring just as

loud. Ale sloshed from cups onto the row before, but everyone here was

past caring. All eyes were skyward, fixed on the girl flitting through the air

high above.

"…No matter how many times she does it, I still can't believe my eyes,"

Chela whispered. "Nanao's broomsport techniques are just that

overpowering."

They were watching from a corner of the stands. The entire crowd was

on their feet; not a soul dared to sit.

"The junior league here is for first- through third-years," Guy said,

standing next to her. "But she's got no competition left, huh? She's played

six matches but is averaging an astonishing 5.8—which means she's singlehandedly downing half the other side every time. How can they not win a

match that one-sided? No way the Wild Geese don't come in first this

season."

"…Nanao's a real balance breaker," Pete added. "She's way out of

everyone's league. Look at the opponent's cheer squad. They're past

frustrated; at this point, they've basically acquiesced."

He pointed at the stands opposite. The other three looked—and found

the cheer squad standing stock-still, not even waving their flags. No one

could accuse them of slacking off, either; in a match this one-sided, the

supporters often tapped out long before the players.

"It's such a problem that management's considering pulling her out of

the juniors," Guy said with a laugh. "Only two other players in history have

made their debut as second-years and been promoted to the senior league

that same year."

"..."

Katie was listening to all of this but watching in silence, her expression

much grimmer than the others.

How ironic, she thought. She's a blinding light, and everyone wants her

—but nothing quenches her thirst. I know that now.

"Whoaaaaaaa! …Uh—h-huh?"

Nanao had knocked a player off his broom, but just before he hit the

turf, he bobbed for a moment, then was set gently on the ground. The

catcher nearby called out, eyes never leaving the sky.

"If anything hurts, stay put. The medic team is on their way."

It was Oliver Horn, white wand in hand, ready to act at a moment's

notice. He was but one of the catchers monitoring the watch above, but his

skills had caught the attention of the commentator.

"Whoa, nice catch by Oliver Horn! Hibiya's very own minder! With a

player who flies like she does, you need a solid-gold catcher down below!

Delicate magic control that gives every plummeter a feather-soft landing—

they love him! He may be going for this season's catcher MVP! Wooo! You

can catch me any tiiiime, Oliver!"

Wincing at this excessive praise, Oliver stuck to his role. There was

never a second's respite. He knew full well she could down another player

at any moment.

"This commentator gets it!" Chela said, delighted. "Oliver is absolutely

deserving of that praise!"

"Agreed," Pete replied softly.

Guy looked from their friend in the sky to their friend on the ground. "I

mean, Nanao herself has yet to fall…"

"Yes, but even if she doesn't require his services, having her own

catcher there makes all the difference. She knows he'll catch her if she falls

—and that trust enables her to fly without fear. A solid chunk of Nanao's

performance is because she has Oliver with her. I have no doubt about

that."

Chela sure sounded convincing—but even as she spoke, the blare of

horns signaled the end of the match. Not because the clock ran out—but

because Nanao's team had knocked out all their opponents. As the victors

formed a circle in the air, Guy turned to the others.

"That's a wrap. Should we go congratulate 'em? …Katie, you're being

awful quiet. You okay there?"

"…Mm, I'm fine. Just…got something on my mind. C'mon, let's go

celebrate!"

Katie was all smiles again as she headed out. There was no use in her

acting all gloom and doom. If she wanted to guide her friend toward

brighter pastures, she had to be a light.

"Great work, Nanao! You were simply fabulous, as always!"

Nanao was in her team's room, getting showered with praise from all

directions. An older female teammate had her arms around her, and the

others were coming over, one after another.

"Seriously, you were awesome! I saw you escape that eight-man net!

They couldn't believe their eyes!"

"Damn, though, leave some for us! I didn't drop anyone today!"

Mingled with the praise was some mild grumbling.

As Oliver watched from the corner, another older player clapped him on

the shoulder.

"You did good work, too, Oliver. Chin up. That commentator doesn't

rave about second-years often."

"…Sure, but I think at least half of that was lip service."

He'd done his job as catcher, but that was hardly comparable to the

spectacle Nanao had put on. Her broomriding talent was leagues above his

own skills—and each new match drove that fact home.

"Is Nanao Hibiya here?"

The team room door opened, and an older girl came in. Eyes like

daggers, she moved like a panther. As the team's collective gaze turned

toward her, she found the Azian girl among them.

"I figure you've heard the rumors, but this is your formal notice," the

newcomer said curtly. "Next match, you're moving up to the senior leagues.

Rejoice."

A stir ran through the room—which soon gave way to cheers.

"Whoaaa, there it is!"

"I knew it'd happen before the season ended, but I didn't think it'd be

this fast!"

"Awww, this was our last match flying together!"

"Hey, don't cry! You've just gotta get yourself to the senior leagues,

too!"

Some were happy for her, others sad to be left behind—but the more

worked up they got, the more the interloper got annoyed.

"…Shut it," she snarled. "You realize a younger rookie just ditched your

asses, right? And you're happy? Gnats."

Her comment was scathing enough it cast a pall over the room. The boy

next to Oliver—a more senior broomsport player—stepped in.

"Harsh as ever, Ashbury… But I can't agree with you there. A teammate

moving up should be celebrated."

"What, you think this is your doing? Don't make me laugh."

His attempt at deescalating just seemed to provoke Ashbury further.

"This match was all her, as was every result the Wild Geese have posted

this season," she snapped, glaring around the room. "Did this match have

one second of 'teamwork' anywhere? I didn't see any. That's what happens

when a swallow shares the skies with gnats."

This beyond brutal evaluation shut everyone up. They were well aware

the bulk of the day's victory had been down to Nanao. Ashbury flicked her

eyes away from them, turning to Oliver.

"If anyone else deserves credit, it's your catcher there. You did far better

work than any of these gnats."

"…Thanks."

Hardly seemed like the time to delight in a compliment, so Oliver stuck

to the bare minimum acknowledgment. And Ashbury's eyes were already

back on Nanao.

"Either way, fun time's over. Come to the sky where you belong, Nanao

Hibiya. So I can knock you out of it."

"Gladly. 'Twould be a privilege." Nanao didn't bat an eye at the threat—

nor was she done speaking. Looking her challenger right in the eyes, she

added, "But the word gnat applies to no one here. We have shared a sky,

and they are my fellows. I demand an immediate retraction."

"…Hmmm? What a tedious hill to die on."

Ashbury dismissed her request out of hand. She stared at Nanao a few

moments longer, as if taking measure of her, then spoke once more.

"Might as well ask while I'm here. This is critical, so think good and

hard about your answer: What's a broom to you?"

An awfully abstract question. Nanao looked baffled.

"My partner, naturally. We share a desire for greater and greater speed,

and it will carry me to far-off skies. Is that not the case for you?"

She answered from the heart and then flipped the question, unable to

conceive of any other stance. Ashbury's position was equally firm.

"Not at all. Couldn't be more different," she replied. "A broom is my

body. A part of me. It flies as I want it to and has no will of its own."

She jabbed a finger over her shoulder at the broom on her back. Then

she leaned in close, glaring into Nanao's eyes at point-blank range.

"Glad I asked. You're an eyesore, kid. And I'm gonna knock you outta

the sky."

Her voice was a low growl that carried this declaration of war into

death-threat territory. Then she spun on her heel and strode out of the room.

Not one of the players she'd insulted attempted to stop her. To junior league

players, she was just far too intense to engage with.

No one dared speak until they were absolutely sure she was long gone.

"…You sure are a magnet for trouble, Nanao," the oldest boy on the

team said.

"That is one word for it, yes. She certainly seemed to have a severe

disposition," Nanao replied, seemingly more intrigued than anything else.

An older girl came up behind and put her hands on Nanao's shoulders.

"That was Diana Ashbury, one of Kimberly's best broomriders. If she's

got it in for you, that's bad news, Nanao."

Nanao aside, everyone in the room was on that page. Extraordinary

talents drew extraordinary discontent. Oliver was once again forced to

confront just how Nanao's very being affected the world around her—and

as he did, there was a knock at the door.

"Excuse us! We're friends with Nanao and Oliver. Can we come in?"

Both recognized Guy's voice.

"Your friends are here to celebrate," the girl behind Nanao said with a

smile. "Go have fun, you two."

"Verily! Come, Oliver!"

"Mm."

They headed for the door, basking in the adulations of their friends, as if

washing away the turbulence of moments prior.

It wasn't just broomsports, either. Advancing a year had dramatically raised

Nanao's profile on campus. Her first year had been a whirlwind—the troll

subjugation, garuda defeat, impressive showings in the first-year's battle

royal, and finally her involvement in the Ophelia Salvadori incident. Her

feats spoke for themselves.

"Is this the place?"

"…Yep."

Nanao and Oliver were outside a meeting room on the fourth floor. This

was the student council office, but the sign on the door read CAMPUS WATCH

HEADQUARTERS. An imposing name, but very Kimberly.

"Excuse us," Oliver said, knocking. "Second-years, Oliver Horn and

Nanao Hibiya. Answering your summons."

"Come in," a male voice responded.

They stepped through the door. Long tables were arranged in a square at

the center, and three upperclassmen sat around it, with Godfrey in the

middle.

"Welcome to the Kimberly Campus Watch," he said. "Sorry to spring

this on you. No need to look so tense. Have a seat."

The student body president waved them to the chairs opposite. Once

they were seated, Godfrey straightened up, speaking formally.

"First, allow me to express my gratitude for your assistance with

Ophelia and Carlos. It's thanks to your sterling efforts that no one caught up

in that died."

"…No, if you hadn't arrived when you did, we all would have," Oliver

said, eyes on his hands. This was his honest opinion.

But this made the dark-skinned upperclassman frown—judging from the

colors of her uniform, she was a sixth-year.

"And that's why you don't go places you can't handle," she snapped.

"Godfrey only cares about results, but I don't let people off that easy."

Oliver had no arguments there. He simply nodded, knowing this was

true. But the third upperclassman broke out laughing—a fifth-year male, on

the small side. "…You're the last one to talk."

"You wanna say that again, Tim?"

"Nah, I'm good."

She fixed him with a glare, but Tim pointedly avoided meeting her eye.

"Then keep quiet, mad poisoner," she spat. "It's your fault we can all

identify most poisons by the odor alone."

"And what a debt you owe me! Oh, such praise! I'm blushing."

He believed chutzpah was the best response to spite, and sparks were

obviously flying. Stuck between them, Godfrey sighed—clearly, he'd long

since given up mediating.

"Don't butt heads when we've got company," he said. "Sorry about my

cohorts. They bicker a lot, but they're closer than they seem."

"That was the impression I received," Nanao replied with a smile.

Both Watch members broke off their staring contest, and Godfrey

introduced them properly. The sixth-year girl was Lesedi Ingwe, and the

fifth-year boy Tim Linton. Both were veteran Watch members and had

fought by Godfrey's side since their first days at Kimberly. They'd actually

met Oliver and Nanao before, after the Ophelia fracas, on the way back up

from the labyrinth's third layer.

"Now, to business," Godfrey began. "I'm sure you've guessed why I

called you here."

He leaned forward, looking at each visitor's eyes in turn.

"Mr. Horn, Ms. Hibiya—would you join the Campus Watch?"

Hearing this came as no surprise to Oliver. Godfrey had already done his

duty and given them an empty reprimand for entering the labyrinth during

an active alert. Recruitment was the only other reason they'd be summoned

here.

"I'm sure that incident made it clear we're constantly short-staffed. We

have a good number of members, but they pale in comparison to the

problems that arise on campus. Currently, we have no choice but to accept

the fact that we simply can't handle everything."

He was not one to sugarcoat the Watch's shortcomings. Oliver had

known he was the plain-spoken type, and this candor only reinforced that.

"But don't despair. It's a long ways from implementation, but we have a

clear plan to address this concern. We plan to regulate the labyrinth. Limit

entry to third-years and above and increase watchful eyes to reduce student

clashes. If we can get that implemented on the first two layers—well, it's an

estimate, but we believe it would eliminate roughly two-thirds of labyrinth

incidents."

The specifics he was giving helped Oliver figure out just how the

current Kimberly Student Council operated. And the reason they didn't call

themselves by that name—they were fundamentally not in the school's

pocket. Their plan was a direct challenge to the status quo.

"I'm a mage myself. I'm aware that the pursuit of sorcery lies beyond

the boundaries of morality, and if the residents of the depths choose to kill

one another, I will not interfere. But I will not stand idly by when their

conflicts involve inexperienced underclassmen. I've held firm to that

position for some time.

"And there's no shortage of students who think the same. As proof, the

number of underclassmen in the annual death tolls has remained

consistently low. Upperclassmen are doing what they can to prevent their

juniors' deaths. In other words, my intent to regulate the labyrinth is merely

elevating an existing concept to a formal structure."

Oliver nodded at this. In the short time since he'd matriculated, labyrinth

problems had been both violent and bloody. His own involvement had been

alternately bad luck and intentional meddling—but facing that many

dangers in the first year was clearly unacceptable. His group had come far

too close to sustaining permanent losses.

"Given that you two risked your lives to save a friend, I hoped you

might sympathize. That's one reason I'm inviting you to join—but not the

only one. More practically speaking, we need people who fight. You know

better than most how much skill it takes to face someone consumed by the

spell. You've gotta be better than anyone around. And there aren't many

who qualify—yet you two are already showing promise."

Godfrey paused, watching their faces closely.

"I appreciate the praise," Oliver said. "But honestly, I think it's

undeserved. The only reason we survived long enough for you to get there

was because Ms. Miligan was with us. We'd never have managed it on our

own."

"Miligan said the same—that she'd never have survived it on her own."

Oliver blinked. He hadn't seen that one coming. Vera Miligan's

assistance had been invaluable, and he had not felt they returned the favor.

"Naturally, I wouldn't put you on our front lines just yet. But in your

first year, you fought off countless chimeras, made it to the third layer, and

returned alive with your friends from the Grand Aria. I don't for a second

believe that was a coincidence. In light of your potential for further growth,

I don't think I'm overestimating you at all."

"..."

Between the evaluations of the president and Miligan, the

upperclassman who'd escorted them through the labyrinth, further

demurring would come across as rude. Oliver quit arguing and listened.

Nanao had yet to respond.

"And of course, I have no intention of demanding one-sided labor.

Given the nature of our Watch, we can't expect any support or funding from

the school itself, but there is plenty else we can offer you," Godfrey went

on. "For instance, the results of research conducted by Watch-affiliated

students. Not all of it, but we are sharing portions of it among ourselves.

There are other student groups with similar practices but few on the scale of

the Campus Watch. The more contributors you have, the bigger the boons."

Oliver certainly found that idea appealing. Given his goals, he wanted

every advantage he could get. Any techniques he could glean from the

experienced fighters on the Watch would prove invaluable in helping him

close the gap between his skills and the six targets he had left.

And having disclosed this benefit, Godfrey folded his arms thoughtfully.

"If I am to dangle further carrots… Ms. Hibiya, I've heard you enjoy

dueling, especially making use of sword arts."

"Indeed, I do."

"I've some experience in that field myself. It might sound like a boast,

but it's safe to say I'm among the best students at the school. Does this

serve as proof?"

Godfrey rose to his feet, pulled his athame, and held it at midheight. One

glance at his form and a crackle ran down Oliver's spine—perhaps more of

a shudder. Nanao gave a slight quiver, too.

"…Beyond all doubt," she replied.

"Good. Truth be told, I'm interested in facing you, myself."

He grinned as he put his blade away. Then he sat back down and turned

his gaze to Oliver.

"Same offer goes to you, Mr. Horn. Delicacy and deft are two words that

come nowhere near my magic; my friends regularly say I've got a cannon

for a wand. Were we to fight shoulder to shoulder, lord only knows how

much I'd be relying on your polar-opposite approach."

This did not seem like empty promises to aid in his recruitment efforts.

Oliver decided Godfrey was merely clear on his strengths and weaknesses.

Great mages often were.

But at this stage, Godfrey paused and let out a long sigh, frowning at his

hands.

"Last, and this is purely personal… I've lost a precious friend, and I'm

at rock bottom. I suspect…every member of the Watch is."

It was like a light went out within. The bearing he'd maintained slipped

away. Even his voice died to a whisper. He looked visibly smaller, and the

silent friends on either side followed suit.

"We need your help," Godfrey urged. "That's…what this is really

about."

Oliver's heart rocked with emotion. He could feel how low these three

were. What they'd lost…was irreplaceable.

And Godfrey wasn't concealing that weakness—wasn't hiding behind

pride or maintaining dignity. He was clearly suffering so much that even

two kids, green behind the ears, seemed like salvation.

Nothing he could have said would get to Oliver more. He could feel the

urge rising to agree on the spot. It felt right to do so. If he had to find a

reason—well, he already owed Godfrey several times over. And not just

him—the late Carlos Whitrow, too.

"…I'm afraid I can't."

Reason: That, and that alone, allowed him to refuse. Oliver, too, had

good reason not to yield.

"…Right. Can I ask why?" Godfrey inquired, not a shred of resentment

in his voice.

Oliver picked his words carefully. "I'm absolutely sympathetic to your

goals. At the moment, I have no arguments with your plan to regulate the

labyrinth. In that sense, you could say I support your principles. Yet, at the

same time, could I join you in imposing them? Right now, no. I'm a mage

myself. I have too many other fish to fry."

Behind his words lay a thought: An orderly campus, the safety of the

underclassmen…all of Godfrey's goals are defensive. Mine are offensive—I

have six remaining targets to take down. These two goals could easily

conflict. I can sympathize with his motivations, but I can't follow that same

path.

Godfrey couldn't know any of that—but he could tell this was Oliver

being as honest as possible. A smile crossed his lips, and he nodded.

"Very well," he said. "It's a shame, but it was not meant to be. Thank

you for your time."

"No, thank you. I hate to take your compliments and run. I may not be

able to join the Watch, but should you need it, I'd be happy to help where I

can," Oliver replied. "I'd better go. Nanao…the choice is yours."

He rose to his feet. There was nothing left to say—and trying to say

more would only feel dishonest. He opened the door, bowed once, and

departed, leaving silence in his wake.

"Then I, too, must take my leave," the Azian girl said, rising to her feet.

"You won't join us, either, Ms. Hibiya?" Godfrey asked, his smile

growing forlorn. "My sword's not enough?"

"Nay, it was more than sufficient. But surpassing that—my place is at

Oliver's side."

She smiled brightly, holding no cards to her chest. Godfrey almost

laughed aloud. Who could complain in the face of such earnestness?

Nanao, too, bowed her way out. When the door closed, Godfrey's

shoulders slumped, like his strings had snapped.

"…Shot down twice! That was brutal."

"No surprise. Most people aren't as dumb as you," said Lesedi. "Though

the samurai may be dumb in a completely different way…"

She mulled over the pair's responses. They'd both refused…and in the

humblest of ways. Both were clearly conscious of the Watch's position and

made an effort to match their candor. It was rare she met anyone that

admirable at Kimberly. Yet…

"Not the boy, though. Now he—he had the face of a mage."

"Hold, Oliver!"

Wrestling with lingering emotions, Oliver heard a cheery voice behind.

He turned to find himself face-to-face with a brilliant smile.

"Done already, Nanao? …You refused, I take it?"

"That I did. 'Twas a tempting offer, indeed, but my place is at your

side."

"...!"

Nanao spoke like that truth was evident, and it left him gasping for air.

She took two steps closer, looking him right in the eye.

"…Not to return the favor…," she began.

"...?"

"…but might I borrow your hand?"

She looked so intent. Hesitantly, he held out his hand, and she took it in

both of hers, holding it tight to her chest. Her eyes closed, as if in prayer.

"Forgive what I harbor, though I know not if these feelings be true."

"…What?"

Words he could not hope to comprehend only rattled him further. But

her smile returned, blowing the clouds away, and she led him onward down

the corridor.

"Pay no mind," she said. "We must make haste to our next class!"

Their next subject was alchemy. As they waited for class to begin, every

student wondered the same thing.

"Who'll it be this time?" said Guy.

"Since the first teacher vanished, it's been a rotating lineup of subs,"

Katie added.

"It doesn't matter who, as long as it isn't my father…," Chela said,

sighing.

While Theodore had been standing in, his outlandish behavior had

caused his daughter no end of headaches. Oliver glanced at Chela's profile

and hoped—for her sake—they'd picked an actual replacement.

"Hokay, hokay…made it here somehow."

A thin man carrying a box heaping with teaching materials came in the

door. All eyes snapped to him. He let the box thump down on the podium

and wiped his brow.

"Whew… Uh, ahem." Noticing his robe was rumpled, he tried

smoothing it with one hand, smiled awkwardly, and then introduced

himself. "Hi there. I'm your new alchemy instructor, Ted Williams. Lord

knows if I can really take over from Darius, but let's give it the old college

try."

Chela's hand shot up. "If I might ask, sir—are you an official

replacement? We've had a number of substitutes, you see."

"Mm? Oh, right you are. Starting today, this class is entirely mine." His

face clouded over. "U-unless you object?"

"Not at all! We're glad to have you, Instructor Williams!" Chela's smile

was as sunny as his wasn't.

Oliver stifled a smirk, but Ted looked incredibly relieved.

"That's a blessing," he replied. "Uh, so…shall we begin? Page eight,

please."

In lieu of further greetings, the new instructor rolled right into his

lesson. He briefly checked to what progress they'd made, then decided to

get a handle on their skill levels. He had everyone put their cauldron on the

fire, and as the students began brewing the potions, he paced the room,

taking everything in.

"Oh, slight misunderstanding there. By 'full moon wort' they don't

mean the plant called fullmoon wort. Look at the herbs on the page before

and you'll see the one with round yellow leaves. Gosh, that explanation

certainly is confusing. I'll send the publisher a note later.

"Wash your knife each time! I know it's a pain, but if the ingredients

mix together while you're chopping them, it'll mess up the final brew. Just

between us, as a student, I did some research on the effectiveness of this

process, figuring it wouldn't make much difference—but it was a fifty

percent increase in the effectiveness of the resulting potion! I had to eat my

words.

"You're very careful with your cauldron. I used to always forget to clean

mine, and then it'd get rusty, and I'd waste hours scouring it. I knew I just

had to rub oil on it when the brew was done, but I'd get lazy…and all that

scouring made the cauldron sides thinner and thinner. One day, I put it on a

strong flame, and the bottom broke, and of course it was hair tonic, so

everyone around me sprouted a beard like some sort of mountain man! I

apologized after, of course, but at the time we all fell over laughing!"

Ted wasn't just pointing out errors but also praising things done

correctly and mixing in anecdotes to keep the mood light. Alchemy class

had never been so peaceful—and it was over before they knew it. When the

bell rang, Ted stopped pacing and returned to the podium, smiling at his

pupils.

"That's all for today. I'm relieved to see such dedicated students. Make

sure to review the ten pages I mentioned—it's not that many, so you should

easily manage it after dinner. See you next time!"

And with homework assigned, he left the room. The students watched

him go in disbelief.

"…Am I dreaming? Was that…a normal class?"

"…Same here. He was like the teachers in nonmagical schools…"

Katie and Pete had said it all. No being overwhelmed by the force of the

teacher's personality, no lesson plans designed to result in grievous injury at

the slightest misstep—none of them could remember any classes like that.

Guy scratched the back of his head, unsure if he was daydreaming.

"Guess we actually got a good one? But hey, nice to see they don't only

hire assholes. Right, Oliver?"

"…Yeah. Granted, it is only the first day," Oliver replied cautiously,

putting his tools away. A first impression was hardly enough to make him

let his guard down. This was Kimberly. If a teacher appeared to lack any

claws or fangs, that only meant they were hiding them. "I'm gonna ask a

question—just a little thing that's bugging me. You guys go on ahead."

The better the impression someone made, the more nervous Oliver got.

Figuring it was best to get a read on the man right away, he quickly left the

room, trying to catch up with Ted. And as he reached the bend in the hall,

he heard voices coming from around the corner.

"How'd your first day go, Ted?"

"Stressed the whole time, Luther. Certain I'd disappoint my students."

"Please, I'm sure that wasn't the case. Hold that head high! Darius

himself recommended you."

One voice was Ted's, and Oliver knew the second voice as well—the

sword arts master, Luther Garland. Oliver stopped in his tracks, keeping

himself hidden, and listened closely.

"That was the biggest shock," said Ted. "I never imagined Darius would

appoint me his successor. He never once mentioned it."

"Really? When I was a student here, he often mentioned your skills. 'He

might seem orthodox, but he has a real knack. The potions he brews always

work better.'"

"First I've heard of it! He never did anything but ridicule me. He'd say

my ideas lacked inspiration, that any fool can stand there and stir a cauldron

—and so on and so forth…"

Ted sounded like he was wilting on the spot.

"I didn't fare much better," Garland said, his laugh rather hollow. "He

outclassed me on all but my greatest talents. Which only motivated me to

hone my sword art skills that much further… And I took it for granted that's

how our relationship would always be."

Garland was typically gallant, but all trace of that had left his voice.

There was a long and gloomy silence, and then Ted whispered, "…You

really think he's not coming back?"

"The headmistress seems certain. She called off the search some time

ago."

"Oof…I just can't believe he'd go down easy. I mean…Darius was no

slouch. He could even handle active-duty Gnostic Hunters…"

"I agree," Garland said, as if it ate him. "And that's exactly why I have

to know what happened."

Then he broke off. "…So who's that eavesdropping on us?"

" ?!"

Oliver's heart skipped a beat. How—at this distance?!

His mind spun furiously: Calm down. Don't panic. You just came to ask

Instructor Ted about class and were waiting for them to wrap things up.

That's all the explanation you need.

But would that work? What if they asked why he'd hidden so carefully?

Should he say he'd been curious about Darius's disappearance, admit he'd

been eavesdropping, and apologize? Minimize the lie?

Could he pull that off? With Garland, a man concerned about the fate of

his missing friend? He'd slain Darius Grenville with his own hand. Could

he maintain his innocence here? Or would he make a fatal error?

"...!"

He couldn't be certain. And the lack of certainty forced his hand.

Oliver scanned the ground at his feet. In the corner, he spotted a ball

mouse—not an unusual sight, here. Better than nothing, he thought,

whipping out his white wand and sending a wave of mana toward it. When

the ball mouse turned toward him, he jerked his wand sideways—using the

creature's mana sense to guide it. The ball mouse scurried around the

corner.

As it did, Oliver ran off in the other direction—careful to remain in full

stealth mode. His eyes lit on the nearest classroom door, but he ignored it,

slipping into the second classroom—where class had just ended and there

were still plenty of lingering students. Like hiding a tree in a forest, he

concealed himself amid the throngs of chattering students…

Back down the hall, the two teachers were glaring at the ball mouse.

After a long silence, Ted's lips eased into a smile. "Ha-ha. Amazing,

Luther," he said. "You can even feel a ball mouse watching you?"

"…That was no animal."

"Then a student pulling a prank? We did that all the time. Practicing our

stealth techniques on teachers."

Ted joked about their own risky school-age antics, which finally eased

Garland's tension.

"…True," he admitted. "Probably not worth worrying about."

He turned around and walked off down the hall with Ted, all the while

telling himself he was getting a bit too high strung.

Oliver emerged into the hall again, tagging along with a group of other

students. He kept moving for a solid five minutes, until he was sure there

was no one else around. Only then did he let himself relax.

"…Hah…hah…!"

He slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. He'd been so tense

every last nerve in his body was screaming. It had been a brutal reminder

that spying on Kimberly teachers could come back to bite you.

"Quite the long face you've got there."

"?!"

A voice came from right next to him. There wasn't a moment to spare.

Oliver drew his athame and swung it to his right.

He sliced only empty air. When he looked to the tip of his blade, he saw

it was two inches away from a familiar small girl's face.

After several long seconds, he sighed. "…You again, Ms. Carste? What

use is there in startling me?"

"My apologies. I sneak out of habit now."

Teresa Carste didn't bat an eye, so he sheathed his blade. The emotional

whiplash between stress and relief had sapped him of the energy to get mad

at her.

"Spare me the excuses. What do you want?"

"Must I want something? The idea was that I follow you around like a

puppy."

When she just kept teasing, this time he did muster a glare. She lowered

her eyes, chagrined, and tried again.

"Jokes aside, a word to the wise. I do not recommend approaching

Luther Garland like that. He is head and shoulders above the other staff. He

has even detected me when I was hiding in optimal conditions—if that

conveys how dangerous he is."

"…Yeah. Painfully so."

This only drove home how reckless he'd been. Given their operations

here, he'd been well trained in the art of stealth. That experience had led

him to assume he was a safe distance away and should be able to eavesdrop

without detection. And this was the result. Should didn't apply to the

exceptional. That was precisely why he had Teresa as a covert specialist.

And while he was being harsh on himself, stopping to talk like this

could also attract unwanted attention. He shot Teresa a look, and they

started moving down the hall together. She was silent for a moment.

"I assumed it was irrelevant, so I left it unsaid," she began, "but I

spotted Luther Garland in the labyrinth during the Ophelia Salvadori

incident."

"You did?"

His eyes went wide. Matching his pace, Teresa nodded.

"On the third layer, after I split off to cross the marsh. I was unable to

catch up before the aria began, but once I reached the far bank, I followed

in your footsteps—and saw him en route. Roaming the third layer, out in

the open, cutting down every chimera that came his way."

"...…"

"I need hardly point out that his actions break the rule that faculty only

act eight days after students go missing. He did not appear to be searching

for Ophelia Salvadori's workshop, so I was unsure of his purpose. What do

you make of it?"

She left the interpretation to him, merely reporting the facts. In light of

which, he pondered the question for a while.

"…Perhaps he simply chose not to wait. Eight days was too long."

"…Meaning?"

"Being Kimberly staff, he couldn't personally involve himself in the

search yet. So he did what he could to indirectly aid Godfrey's efforts. By

drawing the third layer's chimera to him, without anyone the wiser."

There were several other possibilities, but that one made the most sense

to him.

"That had not occurred to me," Teresa said, stroking her chin. "…Might

I ask your basis?"

"I have none," Oliver answered, his voice grim. "At best—the man's

character. I can't deny he may have had any number of other motives."

His shadowy vassal was watching his expression intently. "In other

words—you like Luther Garland?"

"..."

Her flat voice slipped into his ears. Her stare was cold, unblinking—it

felt reptilian. And this wasn't the first time he'd sensed that quality from

her. To Teresa Carste, Oliver Horn was her lord and master—yet also a

subject to observe.

"Then what did you make of their conversation just now?"

Her question cut him to the quick. This was not an evaluation—she was

testing him. He turned to glare down at her—but she was already nowhere

to be seen.

"I spoke out of turn—pay it no mind. I take my leave of you."

He heard her speak but could not tell where from. Then the last trace of

her presence faded. Kicking himself again, Oliver ground his teeth. Anyone

not on his side could easily turn against him—he knew that. How much

simpler things would be if they were all easily detested.

On his way down the stairs to the cafeteria, Oliver remained in low spirits.

He had so many things to think over, but negative emotions were drowning

them all out. He was not successful at holding them at bay, though he knew

he couldn't let himself dwell.

"You free this weekend? Wanna grab a cup of tea with me?"

"No need to reject this offer out of hand! You know you're interested."

Dragging his mood with him, Oliver stepped into the lunchroom to find

people chatting up his friends again—their attitudes as cocky as their

connections were tenuous. Once again, Nanao and Pete were fending off

invitations from students their age, whose names they barely knew.

"..."

A wave of irritation rushed over him. And the self-control that usually

kept that bottled up was lost in the swirl of frustrations. As a result—he

sped up, pushing through the crowds to his friends' table.

"Oh, Oliver."

"They're getting pestered again—"

Katie and Chela turned toward him, but their words went in one ear and

out the other. He placed himself in front of Nanao and Pete, physically

shielding them.

"We've already got plans this weekend!" he snapped, slapping the table

with his palm. The force behind this was so unprecedented it alarmed not

just the interlopers but his own friends. Eyes turned toward him from all

directions, but Oliver's gaze was laser-focused on the two intruders.

"Er, um…"

"We could come along—"

They tried to stand their ground, but it was like throwing fuel on a fire.

The pair sensed Oliver was about to reach for his athame, and they both

flinched, already stepping backward.

"Okay, not an option! Sorry!"

"Excuse me!"

They spun around and ran off. Oliver glared after them a moment, but

they were soon lost in the crowds.

"…Whew…!"

Buffeted by anger that refused to subside, Oliver let out a long sigh,

forgetting to take a seat.

"…Th-this isn't like you, Oliver," Katie said, staring at him. She seemed

slightly overwhelmed. "You never raise your voice…"

"Sheesh, somebody's pissed. Drink this! You need some white grape

juice, bad."

Guy slapped him on the shoulder and slipped a glass into his hand.

Oliver took it and downed its contents in one gulp, finally feeling calm

again.

Chela studied this a moment, then said, "…Well, we can't exactly make

him a liar."

She'd read his outburst as the result of mounting stress—and she was

hardly the type to let that go untreated. The ringlet girl immediately

proposed the best remedy.

"We could all use a little fun. What say we pay a visit to Galatea this

weekend?"