The Freshman Talent Show (2)

High mountains, deep valleys, deserted mountains. Snowy fronts, we go.

The spot where a young soul died. The wounded old pine forgot his words.

Do you hear, comrade, that angry voice?

Can you see it, comrade, the tearful eyes.

-From the military song 『Going to the Front』-

* * *

As the ages of the audience changed, so did the evaluations.

Older professors who had previously laughed at the newcomers' talent show as a child's game began to speak seriously.

"... I've never heard a military song that touched my heart so deeply. It's as if you can read my soul."

"It reminds me of the last front, fifty years ago, just before the empire was united, and so many of us died, Lieutenant Bigfresher, Sergeant Wisehawk, Corporal Upham, and Private Ryan, far from home... I miss you."

"Old comrades, I'm sorry I'm the only one left standing, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I hope you don't hate me for living up to your share...."

The old professors, who were veterans who had spent half their lives on the battlefield, began to tear up.

And the young professors and teaching assistants who had been through a war, big or small, were also wetting their chests with alcohol.

The old soldier read the waves of emotion in the old soldier's crude song and resonated with them.

It was a fine song, filled with a heavy sadness that the young pups couldn't understand.

...Do they know?

Just before. That a far-off successor who crossed the axis of time held a ceremony for themselves who were once senior or superior.

Meanwhile.

Tudor and Sancho, who had been forced to share a room, were scratching their heads at the sight of such a Vikir.

"Why is he singing a war song like an old man? Hey, Sancho, I thought you said you were a mercenary. Have you ever heard a war song like that before?"

"It's a war song that doesn't exist in the north. It's so good, I'd like to learn it."

"Do you have a veteran in your family? He must be the same age as us. Oh, and by the way, was he the top scorer in the written exam this time?"

"Hmmm. That's pretty ambitious for a nerdy kid. I can't believe he's thinking about singing a military song at the talent show."

It seemed that the young prospective heroes were not yet able to sympathize with the sentiment of military songs.

Then. Tudor and Sancho's conversation was interrupted.

"Hi. Excuse me, are you a Cold Class, and if so, do you recognize the man who just sang the military song?"

A pretty girl with short cropped white hair.

Sinclair's interest was piqued as she walked down the hallway from the Hot Class.

"Uh, no. We're in different class. I don't know him. Why?"

Tudor and Sancho shook their heads, and Sinclair watched Vikir and Piggy disappear into the distance with a twinkle in her eye.

She had actually been watching them earlier.

The way Piggy had twitched nervously at the sound of his name being called, and the clumsy hand on his shoulder.

"...just."

At this, Sinclair nodded with a faint smile.

"He seems like a nice guy, I just wanted to get to know him."

* * *

Vikir finished the talent show and returned to the bar.

Several of the older professors came over and spoke to him before he had even sat down at the bar.

"Is your father a soldier? I've never heard of a military song before. Is it from your old country?"

"...What, you wrote the song yourself, no way, such a great song!"

"Our Royal Academy often holds a competition for military songs. You must enter!"

"You. Why don't you take my songwriting class as a liberal arts elective?"

Vikir was somewhat embarrassed, but he didn't decline the professors's offer.

How could he refuse a drink from a gray-haired old professor who had once been his commanding officer, a senior officer who had taken a sword to the heart so many times on his behalf as a rookie officer..., a man who had gone into enemy territory in short order to save his men and died in the line of duty, and whose face was young and vibrant.

The Academy is a gathering place for heroes past, present, and future, so it's no surprise that he's met quite a few people from his past life.

Vikir drank all that was offered and returned to his seat.

The moment.

"...!"

Vikir turned to go back to his seat and paused.

Bianca. The Usher family prodigy, the only child, the only daughter, was standing in Vikir's way.

Vikir silently pushed past her to get to his seat.

The moment.

Bianca turned her head toward Vikir.

"The rooftop."

"...."

"Smells like rum."

"...."

Vikir considered stopping and turning around, but didn't.

Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk.

Vikir continued on his way, as if he didn't realize he was being spoken to.

Bianca smelled the familiar rum on his breath.

It was the same rum she'd smelled after the rooftop chase earlier.

No matter how fast she ran, she could never close the distance between them.

Despite running as hard as she could, Bianca had failed to uncover the identity of the man.

She'd never lost a race before, but she'd never been so overwhelmingly defeated that she couldn't keep up.

Bianca frowned and called out to Vikir.

"Hey, wait, you were definitely on the roof earlier...."

But Bianca couldn't finish her sentence.

"Here we go, newbies! Cheers!"

"Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!"

"The liquor's going in, chug-chug-chug-chug!"

A few drunken seniors clinked their glasses together with a loud noise, blocking Bianca's view.

Clink- clink- clink- clink- clink- clink- clink- clink.

Glasses clink in front of her, splashing droplets of alcohol.

Among the many glasses in Bianca's path was a glass of rum.

"...Hold on, I'll pass!"

Bianca pushed her way through the crowd, brushing aside the arms of her seniors and classmates.

But.

Once the toasts were over and the glasses were gone, Vikir was nowhere to be found.

"Where did he go...!?"

Bianca looked around, but couldn't find him in the crowd.

She stopped in her tracks to follow him.

Come to think of it, there's a lot of rum here now. It smells strong, too.

She couldn't say for sure if this was the same smell she'd smelled on the roof.

'Am I mistaken?'

Bianca frowned slightly.

The bitter rum scent that had seemed to emanate from Vikir was now completely gone.

Instead, her sense of smell was numbed by the other crude alcoholic odors wafting around them.

At this point, she wondered, had she really smelled rum on the rooftop earlier? She wondered.

Maybe the whole charade was a sham.

'... Yeah. It must be the mood.'

Bianca turned her attention away from Vikir.

Where was the strength and speed to outrun him, she wondered?

There was no reason to pay any attention to him just because he sang a military song she couldn't relate to and didn't know where it came from.

Meanwhile.

Vikir stood in the opposite direction from where Bianca's gaze rested.

'You've got good instincts.'

The rum on his breath must have been picked up when he subdued the mercenaries outside the academy.

Luckily, there were plenty of drunken seniors and classmates around to hide the scent.

He looked up and saw Bianca in the distance, looking around, then giving up and walking away.

'I shouldn't dismiss them as just kids, I'll have to be more careful in the future.'

Baskerville of the sword, Morg of magic, Quovadis of divinity, Don Quixote of the spear, Usher of the bow, Leviathan of poison, Bourgeois of money.

Even if they're just one-day puppies, they're descended from seven great families.

He would have to be more careful.

Vikir breathed a sigh of relief.

...just then.

Avoiding Bianca's gaze, Vikir found one more pair of eyes still lingering on him.

St. Dolores, the Academy's student council president and head of the newspaper club.

She was glaring at Vikir.

'What is it? What is it? There's something familiar about his aura?'

Dolores was scratching her head, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

Vikir quickly pushed back his bangs and adjusted his glasses.

He locked the door to his mind firmly to prevent the saint from reading his soul, then blended into the crowd as harmlessly as possible.

Fortunately, Dolores' gaze lingered for a few more seconds before fading away.

The old professors, including the department chair, had gotten his attention with compliments.

Vikir moved out of the saint's line of sight, doing his best to keep the Night Hound's identity a secret.

'That's enough of that. I must return to my dormitory.'

It was getting close to the end of the night.

A few drunken classmates were being carried out of the dormitory building.

Vikir thought he would take advantage of the atmosphere and go home a little early.

...However.

Just as he was about to disappear from everyone's sight, something caught his attention.

"Hey, did you make a funny face at the talent show earlier?"

"Is it nice to bury your roommate, are you a parasite?"

"Dude, you should sing by yourself. Ah, you have to learn to do it alone!"

"Bitter- senior told you to do it, why don't you do it sooner?"

"Guys~ Piggy is singing from now on~ Everyone listens up!"

A ragtag group of second graders surrounded Piggy.

Piggy was hiccuping with embarrassment.

"Stop, seniors. I'm not very good at anything, and I'm not very interesting, so I'm not going to... hic!"

His face was red from the alcohol, and he was sulking.

But the second graders were giggling and laughing at him.

"If you can't do anything good, what's the point of going to school? Why don't you try dancing, you were so good at it earlier?"

"All you could do was pump your fists and stomp your feet as if you weren't good enough, hahaha!"

"If you can't do it, drink it! Here, finish this and I'll let you off the hook! One shot if you're a man!"

"Guys, Piggy says he's about to show you something, pay attention!"

They giggle as if they've caught a toy that they can play with for years to come, a ball that they can do whatever they want with.

Cruelty, harshness, ruthlessness, malice.

There's a lot of that kind of violence in the eyes of the sophomores as they look at Piggy.

And then.

Standing some distance away, Vikir is watching the second years with similar eyes.

The only difference is.

"...."

Vikir is not smiling.