Chapter 10 - Exploring the Labyrinth

Six months had passed since the beginning of the school term, and so

naturally, each class was beginning to stratify. The experienced drew ahead

of the inexperienced, of course, but even among those who began studying

at the same time, a gap was beginning to form. This was especially

prevalent in subjects where the students were forced to compete directly

with one another.

"Hyah!"

"Uwah!"

The two students' enthusiasm filled the great room. Their classmates

formed a circle around them and watched as Guy boldly landed a strike on

his opponent's temple. Garland, the referee, raised an arm.

"One point. The match is over. Mr. Greenwood, you show some talent,

but you seem to treat the sword more like a club."

"Yessir. Sorry—I grew up rough."

"No, I applaud your fast decision-making. It's much better than

constantly having your tail tucked between your legs. But if you don't

refine your technique more, I'm afraid you'll never stand a chance against

an older student. Don't let this victory satisfy you. I suggest you work on

your technique as soon as you can."

Guy nodded. Garland then shifted his attention to Guy's opponent.

"If you had seen through that coarse technique, Mr. Martin, you would

have had a good chance of victory. It's not a bad idea to play defense, but

once you let the pressure get to you, that chance is gone. Go gain some

further experience—you'll build confidence that way."

"Yes, sir…"

The student named Martin looked down at his feet in frustration.

The sword arts instructor smiled encouragingly, then spoke again.

"Okay, next. Mr. Hughes and Mr. Reston, step forward."

"Yes, sir!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

The two students walked up. The bespectacled boy's face was stiff with

nerves. Oliver observed him from the sidelines. This is less than ideal. He's

got decent fight in him, but he's still a bit too jumpy.

"Begin!"

Almost as soon as Garland gave the signal, Pete dashed forward. Uh-oh,

thought Oliver. Pete's actions made it far too obvious what his aim was.

"Dyah!"

They clashed, and Pete parried his opponent's athame. Then he pressed

forward into a stab. This was a basic sword arts combination. And thanks to

Pete's diligent practice, his movements were quick and snappy.

"…Uwah?!"

Unfortunately, he was so focused on his attack that he wasn't looking at

the ground. A Gravestone shot up beneath Pete's feet, and he toppled

forward. When he got back up, flustered, his opponent's athame was

already in his face.

"One point. The match is over. I appreciate you going on the offensive,

Mr. Reston, but it seems your effort was rather for naught. Don't rush the

fight. Expand your vision."

Garland offered his advice based on the results of the match. Once he

was done instructing Pete, he turned to the opposing student.

"Excellent job reading your opponent's initial aggression and using

Gravestone, Mr. Hughes. But remember: Don't look at the ground. If Mr.

Reston had been more composed, he would have noticed your ploy. Practice

your spatial magic so that you can activate your magic without averting

your gaze."

"Yes, sir."

The boy named Hughes nodded and exited the arena. His friend clapped

him on the back and said, "No sweat, right?"

"Beating an overachiever from a nonmagical family isn't exactly worth

bragging about, though," Hughes replied.

"…!" Pete's shoulders twitched.

Unlike the people who had made fun of Katie, these two students didn't

mean any particular harm. Hughes wasn't trying to belittle his opponent; he

was just chatting honestly with his friend. This made the sting even worse

for Pete. He wasn't even worth bullying—in other words, he'd never even

been on his opponent's radar.

"I want to train more!"

Unable to wait for lunch break, Pete gathered his friends and blurted out

those words as soon as class ended. Oliver and the others were taken aback,

but Pete pressed on.

"I've tried training on my own, but the gap between me and everyone

else keeps widening. I know it's a pipe dream to try and beat someone more

experienced, but I can't stand being belittled by the people who started

learning this stuff at the same time as me." Pete ground his teeth.

Oliver had had a feeling this was the case. Pete was always listening to

Garland's instructions with the most intensity, and he never slacked on

practicing what they were taught. And yet, everyone else seemed to be

leaving him in the dust. It was no wonder he was so frustrated.

"In the next class, we're going to finally start incorporating spells into

our duels. If I can't even win with just a sword, how am I going to fare

then? If I don't do something now, I'll stay weak forever."

He looked down, depressed. Oliver and Chela nodded in unison.

"I figured you were having trouble. If you want to boost your skills, then

of course I'll help you out."

"Indeed. I'm glad you came to us for this, Pete. Don't worry: I'll take it

upon myself to personally train you into an excellent Rizett-style

swordsman," Chela promised with a determined glint in her eyes.

Oliver furrowed his brow. "…Mm? Wait a minute, Chela. Considering

past classes, shouldn't Pete continue to be trained within the Lanoff style?"

"But that's what's causing him trouble, isn't it? He should explore other

styles early on to see if they're a better match."

"You have a point… But judging from today's class, Pete's technique

isn't at a level where we can determine what he's suited to. He should avoid

any easy shortcuts. If he learns the Rizett style before mastering the basics,

the techniques he's learned so far will only backfire and trip him up."

"I disagree. In fact, it's my opinion that the current newcomer

curriculum is too biased toward the Lanoff style. And if I may be so bold…

this policy of just teaching everyone the Lanoff style while ignoring their

personal quirks is akin to mental stagnation, a mortal sin for mages."

A fierce debate swirled between them, leaving Pete stranded in the

middle. Katie and Guy exchanged awkward grins.

"Here we go again…" Katie groaned.

"Yep," Guy agreed. "Look, Nanao. This here's a classic dispute that

you'll find among any group of people. It's one of the three great arguments

of magical society: Which of the three basic styles is the best?"

Nanao leaned forward in earnest after hearing this explanation. Oliver

and Chela's debate was heating up, and they showed no regard for the fact

that everyone was staring at them.

"You can't say that's unconditionally true," Oliver countered. "For

beginners, the most important thing is to get a rock-solid grip on the basics.

If they start with the offensive-leaning Rizett style, it'll just lead them to

take a more aggressive approach. This might lead to more victories earlier

on, but it's easy to be duped by a style that relies on gambling. Thus, it's

totally possible to overlook big deficits in one's technique."

"That's an issue with the instructor, not the style," Chela countered.

"Furthermore, isn't Pete seeking a tangible sense of improvement rather

than rock-solid instruction? The longer he goes without a win, the more

likely he will burn out before he even masters the basics."

They argued with equal ferocity, and there was no end in sight. As they

continued, the Azian girl muttered to herself, "…Perhaps, if a conclusion

cannot be reached, we should split the difference, and I'll teach Pete—"

"No way!"

"Absolutely not!"

Oliver and Chela shot her down in total unison, as if they hadn't been

arguing only seconds ago. There was no debating it: Nanao's

swordsmanship couldn't be replicated by anyone else.

"I get what you're both saying. So why don't you both take turns giving

lessons?" Katie suggested.

"Chela can teach him offense, and Oliver can teach him defense. Why

not split the work that way?" Guy added. Neither of them could stand by

and watch this anymore.

Oliver, realizing his own immaturity, coughed. "If we can decide on a

direction beforehand, I don't mind. I agree, Chela; that feeling of

improvement is important. In a sense, this is good timing, since we're about

to incorporate spells soon."

Chela nodded silently in agreement. Oliver turned back to Pete.

"Pete. What I'm going to teach you now is a way to win a magical duel

without relying on any one sword arts style."

"Huh…?"

Unable to understand what Oliver was saying, Pete was clearly

confused.

Oliver continued. "Winning a duel with sword and spells—let me ask

you: How do you think that's achieved?"

Pete thought for a minute, then gave his best answer. "…By besting your

opponent with sword arts techniques?"

"Yes, that's one way. Anything else?"

"…Spells?"

"That's a second way. Anything else?"

He repeated the question, but Pete couldn't think of an answer. So Oliver

inched closer to the core of his speech.

"There is a third way to win a magical duel other than the two you've

stated. Draw your athame."

Oliver drew his as well and squared off against Pete. They were close,

about five feet apart. Once again, Oliver asked him a question.

"What would you do at this distance?"

"…Attack with my sword."

Oliver nodded at this answer, then took six steps back. "Then what about

at this distance?"

"Cast a spell, obviously," Pete answered instantly. If his opponent was

outside the range of his sword, then as a mage, this was the natural answer.

Oliver nodded again, then took a few steps forward. "What about at this

distance?"

"…!"

This time, Pete didn't reply so quickly. At first glance, it was a very

awkward distance; it was too wide to be considered within the one-step,

one-spell distance they'd been taught. Yet it wasn't so wide that a singleincantation spell would be guaranteed to land. Any attack would be met

with a swift counter.

"Imagine we're in the middle of a duel and attack me from your

position. Be serious," Oliver instructed.

After a little hesitation, Pete drew his athame with conviction. "Tonitru

—?!"

His incantation was interrupted at the very last syllable by a sword tip

pointing directly at his throat. He could say no more. Oliver stepped away

from the speechless boy and sheathed his sword.

"Understand, Pete? Just now, you didn't compete and lose with sword

arts techniques. Nor did your spell flinging come up short. You didn't have

time to execute either."

"..."

"In other words, this is the third method for victory: The side that

understands the battlefield's boundaries is the winner. You can see this quite

often in real battles."

The one-step, one-spell distance was an easy phrase, but there was no

official measurement for that distance. It changed depending on each

person's speed, the length of their arms and swords, and even the stances

they took. In this case, Oliver's speed meant he was faster than Pete's

ability to predict his next move, thanks to his Lanoff technique.

"In all magical duels, you could say that understanding distance is a

basic skill as well as a secret technique. The moment you miscalculate the

one-step, one-spell distance, even an expert becomes vulnerable to a lethal

blow. On the other hand, if you target and succeed at reading this distance,

it's your ticket to victory. This is the same logic that caused Badderwell,

who was famous for his quick draw, to lose."

"..."

"I won't ask you to perfectly calculate this distance every time. This

skill is an age-old theme of magical duels, and obviously, I haven't

perfected it, either. But there's a world of difference between those who are

and aren't aware of it. Understand? If you're up against someone you can't

beat in sword arts or spells, aiming for this opening will give you a chance

at victory."

"...!"

Pete's expression changed once the pieces clicked into place.

Oliver smiled, then continued. "For your training, I'm going to be

teaching you this. Some people call it the border dance. It won't be easy,

but if you master it, I promise it'll be a powerful weapon. Is that okay with

you?"

Pete instantly nodded. He begged Oliver to go again, so he could build

up even a little more experience before their next class. They drew their

swords when an aloof voice caught their attention.

"What is this? More roundabout methods, eh?"

Startled, Pete spun around. His eyes landed on the classroom entrance,

where a lone boy was leaning against the door. There was no mistaking his

unique accent and lanky build.

"Mr. Rossi…?"

Oliver addressed the newcomer suspiciously.

Instead of giving a light wave in response, Rossi spoke again. "I 'eard

everything. Our friend with the glasses wants to be strong, does 'e not?"

"..."

"Then I will teach you. My way is much faster. Not so fussy. You want

to come over to my side?"

He beckoned to Pete with his hand. Oliver and Chela quickly strode in

front of him, blocking the way.

"…You're interrupting our session. Please keep your invitations to

yourself."

"Indeed. I don't approve of eavesdropping, Mr. Rossi."

They kept Rossi back with sharp glares and terse warnings.

Rossi just chuckled. "Such reliable allies you 'ave to defend you. But is

that what you want, my friend?"

"...!"

"Feels nice, no? Protected like a princess, leaving all the danger to

others. So lucky to be blessed with such kind friends right after starting at

the big, scary academy. But do you really think such a person can ever truly

be strong?"

Pete just stood there, lost for words.

Oliver, standing in front of him, lowered his voice to a growl. "Take

your stupid antagonizing comments elsewhere. Or would you like me to

take your medallion here and now, Mr. Rossi?"

His words were laced with venom. If they really did come to blows, he

wouldn't mind at all. Katie and the others tensed, sensing a fight was about

to break out. But Rossi raised his hands and let it go.

"Ha-ha! Thanks, but no thanks. I will be late for class. See you, my

bespectacled friend. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find

me, eh?" he said nonchalantly before turning around.

Silence returned to the empty classroom, leaving the six of them feeling

somewhat miffed.

Rossi's intrusion had thrown them off, but it was true that class was about

to begin soon. The six of them ran out of the building and headed for the

outdoor workspace. They formed up around the last remaining workbench,

and a few seconds later, the magical biology instructor appeared. A unique

tension ran through the class.

"Today, you'll be learning about fairies. Well, I say fairies, but it's a very

broad term."

Vanessa Aldiss pointed to the rectangular barrier set up behind her.

Inside the glass-like structure were humanoid creatures with translucent

wings buzzing all over. There were too many of them to count.

"Species-wise, they're as diverse as birds. The category includes

creatures from sparrows to vultures. Size-wise, fairies range from barely

visible to the naked eye to almost twenty inches tall."

She rapped on the barrier with the back of her hand as she spoke. The

fairies didn't seem to respond, which quickly clued Oliver in to what kind

of barrier it was. Most likely, it was a one-way barrier constructed to allow

people to view captive creatures from the outside.

"Most fairies are also humanoid in shape. And yet, the tiny demihumans known as pygmies are classified differently despite so many

similarities between the two. Can anyone tell me why? Ms. Aalto, demihuman lover?"

Vanessa singled out the curly-haired girl with obvious mocking intent.

Katie answered her stiffly. "…It's because the structure of their bodies is

completely different. The biggest difference is that fairies don't have

'brains.' The neural network that emits from their body acts as a

replacement, but their cognitive abilities differ highly from that of humans.

It's said their sense of 'self' is very faint, and they are more akin to bees or

ants."

She delivered her response without stumbling, and the instructor gave a

fake gasp of amazement.

"What a surprise! You have enough sense to separate emotion from

reality. Anyway, she's right. They might look like humans, but their insides

and structure are totally different. It's totally obvious once you dissect

them."

Vanessa shrugged, then turned back to the students.

"Every year, I make it a point to teach first-years about fairies. Give you

a little taste of fear. Still, they're darn cute, aren't they?"

None of the students blindly accepted this statement, however. In just six

short months, they'd quickly learned that this instructor didn't love living

creatures at all.

"Most fairies are attractive to the eye. But that's not a coincidence.

Cuteness is a legitimate survival tactic. It catches you off guard, makes you

want to care for them unconditionally—a huge evolutionary advantage. As

a defense mechanism against predators, it can sometimes even be more

effective than poison or quick reflexes."

Oliver nodded in agreement. There were a fair few magical creatures

that used "cuteness" as a weapon. The more developed ones could cast a

version of a charm and even bend other creatures to their will.

"These li'l guys have evolved into these forms on purpose. But cuteness

alone doesn't cut it. If you manage to avoid being eaten, then you've gotta

find food for yourself. In other words, they have a predatory side as well.

That's what you're gonna see today."

Vanessa grinned, exposing her canines, and pulled out a cage from

underneath a nearby workbench. Inside was a live rabbit. She opened the

cage and grabbed it forcefully by the back of the neck, then tossed it into

the barrier. Apparently, this wasn't the type of barrier that prevented things

from the outside getting in, so the rabbit effortlessly fell into the multitude

of fairies.

The swarm, upon registering the presence of a new creature, instantly

began to transform. Their fingers and toes grew sharp; fangs sprouted from

their wide mouths; and the beating of their wings grew to a fever pitch.

Their cute appearance from a few seconds ago was gone. Their instincts

fully honed, the fairies descended upon the rabbit.

"Impressive change, right? This is what's called a gregarious phase.

Under the right conditions and when the population density of their habitat

exceeds a certain value, this aspect manifests. They abandon their cute

exteriors for predatorial forms that are specialized for successful hunting.

When they're like this, they'll even attack and eat humans."

The horde of fairies sliced and chomped into the defenseless rabbit. The

students silently gulped as they watched its last moments. It was too

gruesome a sight to be called the work of nature.

"There's nothing to be shocked about. You're all the same, aren't you?

You feel stronger than you are in groups, and when you feel threatened, you

do all you can to survive. This is incredibly natural for living things.

Because—"

She stopped her speech and spread her arms before the barrier. The

students tensed, unsure of what she was about to do. The next moment, her

arms began to crackle and transform. Her skin expanded from the pressure,

revealing a sinister physique. From her hands grew long talons that were

fused with her fingers.

"…!"

The familiar sight made all of Oliver's hair stand on end. Immediately,

faster than the students' eyes could follow, Vanessa swung her arms—and

with that, the fairies swarming the rabbit were shredded into thousands of

fleshy bits and scattered around the barrier.

"—you all know that this is what happens if you fail. Everyone works

their hardest, because their lives depend on it. In this way, millions of

creatures accumulate many different sorts of survival methods in their

genealogy. And unraveling them is what magical biology's all about."

Vanessa continued where she left off, showing off her bizarre, bloodied

arms to the students. The stench of blood and guts gave her words a brutal

realism.

"There are lots of cute creatures out there. But there's not a single one

that's just cute, without any strings attached. Don't make light of these

creatures, folks. If you don't want to die, then throw your everything into

studying them. For powerless kids like you, that's what living is for now."

Once class was over, the six friends headed for the cafeteria. Katie's rage

was endless.

"Oh my god! What the hell is wrong with that instructor?!" she shrieked,

not caring about all the people staring, and viciously bit into her pie. None

of her five friends tried to pacify her. It would have been more worrying if

she didn't fly into a rage.

"Let's say, for argument's sake, that she had a legitimate point

underneath all that garbage. But why did she need to feed the fairies a live

rabbit and then proceed to slaughter them?! She could've just explained it

all in words! She just wanted to scare us!"

"…That was intense, yeah. Don't really feel like eating now. Right,

Nanao—?"

"Mm?"

Guy played with his fork in midair, then looked at Nanao to see her

cheeks stuffed with food.

He grinned wryly and shook his head. "…Nah, never mind. You're as

tough as ever, girl."

"I still have my appetite, too! Guy, I'm taking this!" Seeing that her

friend wasn't feeling hungry, Katie stole the meat loaf from his plate.

"Ah, hey! My meat loaf…!" Realizing the danger he'd put himself in,

Guy began eating again.

Chela chuckled. "You've all gotten so much stronger since you started

here. What about this afternoon, though? We have time to visit some clubs."

The group exchanged glances.

"I wish to see broomsport for myself. It would be a good chance to

employ my new partner."

"You had a lot of invites to those groups, Nanao. I'll join you, then."

"Mm? You fly, Chela?"

"I'm confident in my skills, but I'll just be observing. I can't wait to see

how the broomriding scene will change once you've joined the club."

Chela's eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Next to her, Pete was poking at his pudding. "…I'm gonna visit the

alchemy-related clubs," he said. "It'll help me practice for class, and I heard

they have lots of students from nonmagical families, so they should be a bit

friendlier."

"Oh, good idea," said Oliver. "In alchemy, effort is pretty much directly

related to results. I think it's perfect for you." He smiled and nodded at Pete.

Guy sat back in his chair and pondered. "I've already checked out the

horticulture clubs, so I think I'll go watch Nanao, too. How 'bout you,

Katie?"

"I've got a whole bunch on my list. First, I'll check out the DemiHuman Research Society, and then of course the Magical Creature Club.

Oh, and there are a bunch of civil-rights-related groups—" Katie counted

off more clubs than her fingers could handle.

Guy shook his head with chagrin. "Guess you're on your own, too, then.

And you, Oliver?"

"Mm…"

Oliver felt the group's eyes on him, and so he looked back. Then almost

as he expected, he found himself staring into Nanao's eyes, which were

brimming with hope.

In the end, everyone except Pete and Katie went to check out the

broomriding club. There were four practice grounds on campus—one for

the daily practice of each of the four official academy teams. The gang

decided to visit the field for the Wild Geese team.

"Ohhh! Samurai girl, you came!"

Some older students, a boy and a girl, spotted the four of them from the

air and landed excitedly.

The Azian girl stepped forward to thank them for the welcome. "My

name is Nanao Hibiya. May I have the honor of observing your practice?"

"We'd be crazy to say no! Come on! Bring your friends!"

The girl circled around the group and urged them toward the practice

field. Once she'd sat them on the observing bench, she waved to her

teammates and gave them a sign. Then the boy proceeded to explain.

"Let me begin with a summary, then. Any sport that involves

broomsticks is considered part of 'broomsport.' Within that category are

three major types of games, known as the Big Three."

The boy spoke as if he'd done this a thousand times. Simultaneously,

large rings began to rise all over the field. The players also set off, circling

the elliptical field at a high speed atop their long brooms.

"First, you've got group obstacle courses! The floating rings are the

course, and you have to fly through them in order, or you're disqualified.

Other than that, the faster, the better!"

Behind their guide, the team gave a demonstration. Then the girl pushed

him from behind and leaned forward.

"Second is a one-on-one duel between two people flying in a figureeight shape!" she said. "In this one, you get some gnarly collisions. The

players use special clubs to try and knock each other off, so it seems simple,

but it's actually really involved!"

As she explained, two players broke off from the group that was circling

the field. They faced each other from opposite ends, then flew in arcs

toward each other, rising high. They drew their weapons from their waists,

then rocketed toward the ground, barely avoiding a collision. The heavy

sound of clubs clashing echoed, and Nanao cheered.

"Ohhh! They fight in midair?!"

"Intense, isn't it? This is real broomsport!" Chela joined in on the

cheering.

Emboldened, the older girl resumed her speech.

"And third, the star of broomsport and everyone's favorite: team

battles!"

The players split into two teams, assembled formations, and faced off.

They glared at each other for a few seconds and then clashed head-on. With

clubs in both hands, the players tried to knock the opposing team off their

brooms. It seemed like a real battle was going on up there.

"The quickest explanation is that it's like the second type, but with

teams of thirteen!" the boy added. "There are a bunch of detailed rules, but

the main point is if you knock down the enemy's leader, you win. Fight,

fight!"

He whooped and cheered, and the girl pushed him aside again.

"'Brutal, yet beautiful.' That's the broomsport motto. Here, brutality is

beauty, and fighting spirit is everything! So if you're willing, I'd like to—"

"Uwah?!"

Just as her explanation was reaching its conclusion, someone from up

above screamed. One of the players had crashed into another, knocking

them off their broom. They hurtled to the ground, seemingly sucked into it

—"Elletardus!"

Right when they were about to land on the grass, Oliver jumped up from

the bench and cast a spell to stop their momentum, gently lowering them to

the ground. The field went quiet. Still holding his wand, Oliver felt a bit

awkward.

"Sorry. It just seemed like they were falling too fast…"

He'd been unable to simply sit by and do nothing. He tried to apologize

again, but the girl clapped him on the shoulder.

"…You wanna be a catcher?"

"Huh?"

"You've got good eyes. Like you said, that fall could've been bad. The

grass can handle a normal fall, but an accelerated one like that can end in

huge injuries. The people who prevent that from happening are called

catchers. They wait on the ground and catch falling players."

The girl pointed at the student Oliver had saved to help reinforce her

point. Oliver was in a daze.

"They're responsible for our safety and are also known as the pillars of

our sport. They're really important to sport flying. Your spells need to be

accurate, of course, but you also need to be able to predict the players'

movements—just like you did. None of our catchers responded in time, but

you made it. You've got talent."

"…No, I just happened to be in the right spot…"

"Or you can join the club as a player. Practice your butt off and try to

become a starter, or just relax and enjoy the games. Either's fine! Only

thing is, we're always in need of catchers for both sides. It'd be a huge help

if you could fill that role. I'd be in your debt!"

"...I-I'll think about it."

It was all Oliver could do to offer that in the face of her passion and

insistence.

"Looking forward to a yes!" the girl replied, then turned and ran onto

the field to check the fallen student's injuries.

"That could be a good idea," Chela muttered.

"Chela?"

"Thinking back on flying class, I do believe Nanao is likely to be quite

reckless in her flying. I can easily see her falling in a bad way during

practice… In fact, I know it'll happen. But if you were there, Oliver, I'm

sure you'd be excellent support."

"Oh! Indeed, I agree!" Nanao clapped her hands at this idea.

Oliver instinctively pinched his brow. "…You want me to join the club

and be Nanao's personal catcher?"

"Only if you want to, of course. But you have so much talent. It would

surely be fulfilling."

Chela smiled faintly, and Oliver sighed. He couldn't dismiss it offhand

as a stupid idea, which meant he'd lost half the battle already.

Members who weren't aiming to become starters were free to participate in

the club as they saw fit, and they could quit whenever they wanted to.

Oliver mulled that over in his dorm room after what had been a long day.

"..."

The truth was, he wanted to wait to decide on joining until after he'd

visited the other three teams. But the most important thing was whether he

should join with Nanao or not. She'd been pulling him this way and that

ever since he started at Kimberly, for better or worse. Was it really a good

idea to extend that relationship into their clubs?

"…Actually, setting aside Nanao, do I really want to practice flying

outside of class? It'll take extra time," Oliver muttered to himself as he

thought, sitting on his bed.

Pete, who had been studying at his desk, glanced over at him. "…If you

want to do it, then you should, I think."

"Pete?"

"I'm not trying to interfere with your choice, but you seem to be

constantly searching for excuses not to do what you actually want to do."

Oliver stiffened in surprise at his roommate's unexpected comment. The

bespectacled boy turned back to his desk, as if trying to escape his gaze.

Oliver studied Pete's back as the boy resumed studying.

"…'Constantly searching for excuses,' huh?"

Repeating it aloud, he realized there was a terrible amount of truth in

those words. Oliver smirked and stood up from his bed.

"Thanks. I'll think it over for a few days. Anyway, I better go."

"Oh…"

Oliver started for the door, and Pete made a sound, as if trying to say

something. Oliver looked at him, and the bespectacled boy fumbled to find

the words.

"…It's nothing. Take care."

"Right. Thanks."

Oliver accepted his friend's well wishes and left the room. He exited the

dorm and walked alone under the stars toward the academy.

Tonight's entrance to the labyrinth was a giant basin in the corner of the

third floor. Like paintings and mirrors, bodies of water were often

connected to other realms. And yet, because the location they connected to

changed depending on the day, students had to memorize their pattern in

order to traverse between the academy and the labyrinth.

"...!"

The moment he arrived in the dark hallway, a heavy pressure weighed

down his shoulders. Even after six months at Kimberly, entering the

labyrinth on his own still filled him with dread. It was like the distance

between him and death itself had just shrunk significantly. Would he ever

get used to this feeling?

"…Get it together. If you can't walk around here on your own, you'll

never be able to do anything."

Oliver lightly smacked his cheeks and recovered his nerves before

illuminating the tip of his athame and proceeding cautiously into the

labyrinth. A few minutes later, he sensed people, and after the third corner

he turned, he came upon two upperclassmen.

"Whoa there, kid. We're not your enemies."

"You a first-year? You're too young to be walking around here alone.

Don't go in too far."

Fortunately, they didn't linger and left him with just a warning. Oliver

breathed a sigh of relief, then turned his eyes back to the dark hallway.

"…They're right. Can't let down my guard."

But regardless of his precautions, the next run-in blew away all his

convictions. Such occurrences were all too common at Kimberly.

"Hmm? Aren't you…?"

After about an hour of wandering, Oliver ran into her. In a corner of the

hall was a hauntingly beautiful witch sitting atop a stone and looking bored.

Like their previous run-in, the air about her was thick with heart-stealing

perfume.

"...Ms.…Salvadori?"

He called her name, as tense as if he'd just run into a monster.

The witch, Ophelia Salvadori, grinned sarcastically. "Yes, that's me.

Calm down, I'm not going to do anything to you right now. I'm not in the

mood. Can't you tell?"

The witch swung her dangling legs from her perch atop the stone.

Oliver frowned. He certainly couldn't sense any danger like in their

previous meeting.

"You've grown resistant to my perfume, haven't you? Good. I could use

a companion. I'm not asking you to be my friend or anything. I just need

someone, anyone to talk to."

It was hard to tell if she was joking or serious. Ophelia pointed to the

stone she was sitting on, inviting him to join her. Oliver considered turning

on his heel and sprinting in the opposite direction, but perhaps it wouldn't

be a good idea to anger her in this place of endless darkness.

He thought for a few more moments, then sat down slightly distanced

from the witch. He knew she meant no harm right now, and he aimed to

keep from kicking a hornet's nest.

"…Have you been living in the labyrinth this whole time?" he asked.

"Oh, I've gone back to the academy. I get a hankering for the cafeteria's

pumpkin pie, you know? Do you like their pie, too?"

"…I guess I prefer tarts."

Oliver wavered but decided to answer honestly. It would be easy to

simply agree with her constantly, but that seemed too obviously fake. If she

really wanted to just shoot the breeze with a lowerclassman, then this was

probably the best course of action.

Ophelia smiled. Oliver was relieved to see he'd chosen the correct

response.

"Yeah, I like them, too. I've been hearing rumors of you guys really

making a name for yourselves. How did it feel, fighting that garuda?"

"The truth is, I'm bewildered we won. And honestly, I'd rather never do

it again."

Oliver answered honestly, and Ophelia giggled.

"Godfrey said something similar once. This is just a guess, but I think he

likes you and your friends."

"…What makes you think that?"

"Because you're so similar. Especially the part about first-years going

on adventures that are way out of your league. Carlos and I were often his

accomplices."

It was a surprising past to reveal. Oliver resisted the urge to instantly

question her. Instead, Ophelia softly asked a question of her own. "…Have

you talked to Carlos? You remember that pretentious twit who was with

Godfrey, don't you? I think they're a prefect now."

Oliver considered his response to this carefully, too. If he told her about

the gathering the other night, he'd be clueing her into Pete's secret. So he

spoke about everything but that night.

"…Carlos gave me some advice about living at Kimberly, and we've

chatted a few times. They seem like a caring person, just like Godfrey."

"Caring? No, Carlos just has their own little proclivities. If you're not

careful, you'll end up being their next pet. Carlos loves younger kids who

respond well to attention, like you and your friends."

It was difficult to tell if this was a warning or an insult.

The witch stretched out. "Ah, I feel a bit better. Thanks for killing some

time with me. However…"

"—!"

She touched his chin with a white fingertip, and he stiffened.

Ophelia smiled bewitchingly. "…I don't recommend wandering around

this deep on your own. Limit your adventures and stick to your studies in

the academy—especially for the next few months."

And with that, she stood up and walked down the hall. Once she'd

disappeared behind a corner and the lingering perfume had thinned, Oliver

exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

After parting peaceably with Ophelia, Oliver walked for another twenty

minutes before arriving at his destination.

He chanted the password, revealing the secret door, and upon entering

the room, he was immediately embraced by a girl with pale-golden hair.

"Noll!"

A bit surprised, Oliver accepted the hug.

"Whoa! Good evening, Shannon."

He gently pushed her away by the shoulders. Then he looked to the

center of the room, where he spotted a large young man sitting and

attending to his contrabass.

"Thanks for coming, Noll. How was the walk?"

"I didn't get lost, at least, and I think I avoided any dangerous areas… I

still need to get used to it, though. Carefully."

The copper-haired young man nodded deeply at his honest remarks. The

pale-blond girl smiled, too, and placed a hand on his shoulder. They were

his brother, Gwyn Sherwood, and sister, Shannon Sherwood, both

upperclassmen at Kimberly and his blood relatives—specifically, his

cousins.

"More importantly, I was surprised to see you the other night, Gwyn. I

didn't know you were a duo act with Carlos."

"It's true. I wouldn't call them an ally, but we've known each other a

long time."

Gwyn spoke calmly as he continued to care for his instrument. Just

hearing his deep, calm voice was enough to ease Oliver's tension.

"That said, I'm happy to hear you were able to get here on your own.

This is me and Shannon's secret atelier—think of it as your second home.

Take a break or train here; it's your choice."

"I'll…make tea," said Shannon. "Noll, want some cake?"

Shannon began happily preparing a whole tea service. Within five

minutes, she'd produced some black tea and cakes, as well as a chair, which

Oliver accepted. Across from him at the table sat Gwyn, and next to him

was Shannon, who smiled gently.

Oliver picked up his teacup and took a sip. "…Ah, I can finally relax. I

was so on edge making my way here. Especially when I ran into Ophelia. I

nearly fainted then."

The moment she heard this, Shannon leaned in extremely close to

Oliver. It was all Oliver could do to keep from spilling his tea.

"You…met Lia? Where?"

Her expression was deadly serious. Taken aback by her reaction, Oliver

quickly summed up his run-in with the witch.

Shannon rose from her seat, but Gwyn stopped her with a soft warning.

"Don't. If she returned to the depths after leaving Noll, then at this point,

you'll never catch her."

Shannon dropped her gaze dejectedly.

Finished with his instrument's care, Gwyn crossed his arms. "So,

Salvadori, huh? She's a dangerous one, but she and Shannon aren't

enemies. Long ago, they even used to get along. They haven't seen each

other in a year, though."

"…You were friends, Shannon?"

"Lia gets…lonely," Shannon muttered.

Suddenly, Oliver had a realization: The girl he was so scared of was also

just a student one year below his sister.

"Funny how things work, huh? I heard you two met soon after the

entrance ceremony, but it's rare to find her this high up. She must've had

some reason."

Gwyn closed his eyes and pondered what this reason might be for a

while, but he decided against thinking anymore and opened his eyes.

Oliver's reflection shimmered in their gentle light.

"Enough talk about Salvadori. Tell me about you. Anything's fine.

Shannon and I can't wait to hear it."

Shannon perked up and smiled at Oliver. Feeling a little shy, the boy

searched his memories for something to tell them.

"There's been a lot… Where do I even begin?"

When their teacups were empty, Oliver had just about finished his

reminiscing.

"Nanao Hibiya, eh?"

Gwyn muttered the name of the person who appeared the most in his

younger brother's stories. Oliver had described her in the most detail, so of

course Gwyn would mention her first.

Oliver nodded. "She's still green as a mage, but she's got true talent,

even if it is unconventional," he said. "And it's growing, day by day. At this

rate, it's hard to imagine where she'll be in a year."

He was straightforward in his explanation, including his own inability to

quantify her talents. After a few moments, Gwyn spoke up again.

"…Are you sure she employs the seventh spellblade?"

"I can't be totally certain… She only used it once, in the battle against

Vera Miligan. She's tried to replicate it since, but to no avail. But my

instinct says it is. Even if she was a temporary spellblade user, I can say it

was of the same caliber."

Oliver's conviction surpassed all reason. Gwyn, too, seemed to accept

what he said without doubt. Once the topic had shifted to this subject,

Oliver was no longer Gwyn's younger brother but his lord and master.

"She also has this amazing charisma that draws people to her, don't you

think? Reminds me of a certain someone."

Gwyn's comment made Oliver bite his lip. He'd expected this response,

as well.

"…At the Broom Matching, Mom's broom accepted her." The memory

was still fresh in his mind.

Gwyn wasn't surprised, since he'd already been told that a samurai from

Azia had tamed "that" broom. He hadn't known anything about the girl

herself, as the story had circulated around the school the very day it

happened.

"Nanao has something in her. I feel it, too—I can't keep my eyes off her.

She's also quite reckless, and I can hardly leave her to her own devices. I

don't know what to do…"

Oliver laid his feelings bare to his two cousins, still unable to identify

the emotions that continued to bloom within him. A soft smile rose on

Shannon's lips.

"You…really care for this girl, don't you, Noll?"

"I…"

He couldn't immediately agree, but he also couldn't deny it. Was it right

to sum this feeling up as affection? Oliver furrowed his brow.

"Calm down, Noll," Gwyn said. "It's no use glossing over the truth with

Shannon… The feeling of 'attraction' is very important to mages. This girl

will most likely bring about a great change in your life. You shouldn't hide

from that."

His brother was telling him to stop trying to forcefully express his

nebulous feelings with words and just let them exist within his heart.

Oliver swallowed. He was at a loss. What distance should he take with

her? What kind of relationship should they have?

"When the time comes, you'll know what to call it. Don't rush the

conclusion. Take it easy. You're still first-years."

"..."

"Certainly, we'd love to get this Nanao Hibiya to join us. But haste

makes waste. Don't let awkward selfishness cloud your mind at this stage.

Just be yourself and be sincere with your friends. That's the key to gaining

allies—for both sides of you, Noll."

Gwyn's grounded advice struck a chord in Oliver's heart, and he could

feel the wavering part of him settle down. Oliver nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right… I'm glad I got to talk to you about this.

Well, I should get going."

Shannon was about to refill his cup, but he stopped her with a hand and

stood from his seat. If he stayed here any longer, he might grow too

attached. Shannon's face fell, and she reached out for him.

"…Take care, Noll."

Oliver accepted the embrace and hugged her back. She was warm.

Family. He didn't want to let go. The feelings rose in him, but he made sure

not to express any of them. He knew all too well that he didn't have the

right. At the same time, he knew that his inner conflict was clear as day to

her.

"Don't worry. I promise I'll come back."

Which was why any pretense of strength wasn't allowed. Oliver made

his promise not with empty hope but with unwavering determination.

For about an hour after he left the secret atelier, Oliver wandered the

labyrinth without any particular destination in mind. Then, about forty

minutes later, he felt a prickling on the nape of his neck.

"..."

He changed his direction a bit, searching for a specific place this time.

Somewhere wide, with flat ground and no risk of disturbances. Once he

found an area that fit all these criteria, Oliver stopped again.

"…That's enough. Come out, Mr. Rossi," he growled. Immediately, a

lanky figure poked his head out from a corner behind him.

"Aw, you knew? So sad."

The boy stepped into the hall, scratching the back of his head. It was

none other than Tullio Rossi, the one who'd suggested the first-years'

battle-royal tournament. Oliver fixed him with a look and asked him a

single question.

"I'd sensed you were after me ever since you suggested the event in the

cafeteria. Did I do something to earn your ire?"

"Nah, nah. I have nothing against you or your family."

"Then why are you after me?"

Rossi jokingly shrugged at the follow-up question. "I do not like that

you get all the attention and I get none. Is that not enough of a reason?"

"You're entitled to your opinions, but I doubt I get more attention than

Nanao."

"Nanao is cute, so she is exempt. I cannot 'ate her."

It was impossible to read his true intentions from such a frivolous

answer. Oliver glared at him silently as Rossi quickly drew his athame.

"But who cares about the details? A fight will reveal the truth. That is

what is so great about them, no?"

He was no longer in the mood to answer questions, Oliver realized,

placing a hand on his blade as well.

"Two things: No magic, and we keep the dulling spell to 'alf potency.

What do you say, eh?"

"..."

"I am not into pesky shoot-outs—it's not a real fight if there is no blood.

Let us just keep it to one step above gutting each other. Then we will 'ave a

battle fitting of the labyrinth!"

Rossi sneered. Not only did he want to keep their duel to swords only,

but he also wanted to purposely lighten the effects of the spell that

prevented them from killing each other. Up top, this would only be allowed

of senior students, but down in the labyrinth, such rules were effectively

meaningless. Oliver nodded in agreement with his opponent's suggestions.

"Sure, I accept both conditions."

"Ha-ha! Down to party, eh? I like it!"

Rossi cackled. The more dangerous conditions weren't enough to shake

Oliver, but Rossi seemed almost at home in the labyrinth. Alarm bells

sounded in Oliver's head.

""Securus.""

They applied weakened versions of the dulling spell to each other's

blades, and once the white glow subsided, they took their places within the

one-step, one-spell distance.

"Are we ready? Then let us begin!"

Rossi readied his sword. Oliver pointed his sword tip at his opponent as

well, who all of a sudden shouted at him.

"Ah, right! I forgot to mention something!"

"...?"

What now? he wanted to ask, but Rossi took off. He swung at Oliver

from the side, trying to cut into his armpit; Oliver used his athame as a

shield to block the strike.

"Actually, on second thought, I did not."

"Right off the bat with this, huh?"

Oliver frowned as their swords clashed. A head-on "surprise" attack as

soon as the duel started—Rossi was proving to be as conniving as his first

impression had suggested.

The weight pressing against Oliver's blade vanished, and his enemy

attacked again. Moving from a diagonal slash into a strike at Oliver's wrist,

Rossi employed the two attacks as a feint for his thrust; Oliver blocked

them all. Rossi's volley of blows continued, and he shouted in excitement.

"Ha-ha! Nice defense, eh! Beautiful use of the Lanoff style! You 'ad a

good teacher, no?"

Rossi dropped his body, and his blade whistled through the air toward

Oliver's shin. A strike aimed for his legs was annoying, to say the least.

Oliver instantly shifted his leading foot, and once the attack missed, he

countered with a thrust of his own.

"Whoa!"

There's no way he can dodge now, Oliver thought, but Rossi dived onto

the floor in a roll. As he passed Oliver's side, Rossi swung at his ankle.

Oliver yanked his foot up to avoid the blow. Rossi landed behind him, then

stood up and got into a midstance again.

"Unlike me, my sword can be quite rude. She is such a contrarian that I

cannot even practice the most fundamental styles. That is why all my

teachers 'ave bored me. Stupid, no?"

The rule against spells in their duel allowed Rossi time to run his mouth.

His sword technique, however, surprised Oliver. He was all over the place.

Attacking the legs, dodging by rolling—he ignored the basics of sword arts

without a second thought. And yet, surprisingly enough, there was no

awkwardness in his movements.

"You see, I am my own man. The Lanoff style, the Rizett style, the

Koutz style—none of them speak to me. Every time I learned a technique, I

could not help but think there was a quicker way. 'ave you ever thought

about it, Mr. 'orn?"

Oliver half ignored the arrogant question, focusing on their duel instead.

There was no need to rush. First, he had to understand his opponent's

fighting style. What he'd seen so far, he assumed, was Rossi's basic style.

However, that didn't mean Oliver was stuck in a defensive battle.

"Hah!"

Oliver attacked head-on, without feints. It was a standard plan to counter

abnormal styles with the orthodox approach. He'd attack relentlessly, giving

no openings and laying on the pressure until his opponent was backed

against the wall, then deliver the final blow. From his experience, people

like Rossi usually buckled under such pressure.

"Ho!"

Unfortunately, his plan fell apart after the first strike. Oliver widened his

eyes in surprise—his blade had been blocked, but not by his opponent's

sword. Rossi's left hand was covered in armor, which he'd used to counter

the sword with a punch.

"Like this, for example."

But it didn't end there. Before Oliver could mount a second strike, Rossi

stamped down on his foot. Prevented from moving backward, Oliver

faltered, and Rossi struck, nearly tackling him in the process.

"And this!"

Forced to block from an awkward position, Oliver quickly jumped back.

The flurry of blows continued, greedily aiming for his vital spots. Oliver

barely managed to parry each strike. There was no time for him to counter,

and his opponent was in complete control of the fight.

"…So fighting dirty is your specialty, huh?"

"Apologies for my poor manners."

Everything but their duel melted away, and they found themselves in a

deadlock. Oliver could feel his opponent's breath from across his sword as

he analyzed his fighting style.

Rossi's nondominant hand, which was covered in a gauntlet, was his

only way of blocking sword strikes other than using his own athame. And

yet, using his hand as a shield wasn't easy. The surface area was just too

small. But making it larger wasn't an option because adamant, the magical

metal his gauntlet was made of, was extremely hard but also extremely

heavy. In order to keep it from weighing him down, the biggest he could

make it was about half the size of his hand.

With those limits in mind, it naturally followed that the gauntlet could

only be used as a shield in the direst moments of their fight. However, some

fighters employed the metal in a more offensive fashion—not as a gauntlet,

but as a knuckle guard for their fist to blunt their opponent's attacks. None

of the three basic sword arts styles endorsed this technique; in fact, it was

practically a taboo.

"Do what you want. This won't be enough to break my training," Oliver

stated confidently, admitting his opponent was tricky.

Rossi narrowed his eyes sharply. "You will regret your offer," he spat.

The two edged toward each other. As soon as they entered the one-step,

one-spell distance, Rossi dashed forward. Circling to Oliver's left, he

unleashed two blows; Oliver didn't miss the fact that he'd quickly stepped

in with his back foot. He's going to force me on the defensive with his fist,

Oliver realized, and he focused all his effort on cleaving the incoming fist.

"—?!"

The blow to his face took him completely by surprise.

"Ha-haaah!"

Sensing his opponent's confusion, Rossi capitalized on the opening. He

rained down a flurry of blows right through Oliver's guard. An urge to jump

back welled up inside Oliver, but he stubbornly ignored it. If he retreated,

Rossi would run him right through, his mind screamed. So instead, he put

his all into standing his ground, continuing to play defense.

"Hup!"

Rossi weaved in a thrust to the face among his attacks. The moment

Oliver sensed a break in the assault, he instantly jumped back and distanced

himself. A sick grin spread on Rossi's lips.

"His calm mask has finally started to crack. It's refreshing to see!"

Using the back of his hand, Oliver quietly wiped away something hot

that was dripping down his nose. As he expected, a line of bright-red fluid

stained his skin. His nose was bleeding from Rossi's punch.

"...!"

There was no mistaking it. At that moment, Oliver accepted the fact that

he'd taken a hit.

"I bet you never expected to get a nosebleed, eh? Mages are all the

same. But I find it strange. We all have this piece of metal on one hand, and

yet no one ever tries to punch. Why? If he is too small for defense, then just

use him for offense, no?"

"..."

"There are so few strike techniques. That is my biggest complaint with

the three basic styles. You want to know what I think? Mages are too

focused on looks. This is a fight to the death, no? It is not any different from

a brawl between nonmagicals. So should we not use every tool at our

disposal?" Rossi shamelessly stated.

Oliver wiped the blood from his lip. "…I have to thank you, Mr. Rossi,"

he replied.

"Hah?"

"You've made me painfully aware of my own shortcomings. I'm totally

worthless. Not worth the salt I sweat. Not after taking a blow from the likes

of you." It was a harsh thing to say about himself.

Rossi's face contorted with fury. "…'ilarious. Looking for another

beating, eh?"

Rossi's lips drew back, revealing his canines in a most disturbing

impression of a smile.

But Oliver just shook his head and remained in his stance. "Not going to

happen. Your sword will break in the next eight moves."

Oliver spoke with the utmost confidence.

A gruesome smile formed on Rossi's face. "Very funny, my friend. No

one 'as made me so angry in a long time!"

He was clearly in no mood for more talking. Rossi attacked Oliver for a

third time, striking from every angle and building momentum with each

strike. His wild flurry ignored all the basics of sword arts.

Oliver calmly dodged, coldly calculating his chance for a counterattack.

"Gotcha!"

Aiming for the moment Oliver moved to counter, Rossi shot his left arm

out again. An adamant-gauntlet punch—his secret move that ignored the

rules of sword arts. He used his right arm to strike out with his sword as

well, intending to prevent any escape this time.

"—?!"

But the moment Rossi was sure of his victory, Oliver snaked his arms

around Rossi's left arm and locked it in place.

"This is the reason the three basic styles have very few fist techniques,

Mr. Rossi."

"Kah…!"

Rossi's pinned shoulder began to creak from the strain. The moment

he'd extended his fist, Oliver had wrapped his arms around it and circled to

Rossi's left. In this position, he was totally out of range of his opponent's

athame. Rossi's expression twisted with pain and panic.

"At punching distance, throws and locks also become viable. Basically,

the king of your beloved close-up brawls is actually grappling, not

punching. If you don't finish the fight in one blow, it's not even good as a

distraction against an opponent who's willing to take the hit in order to win.

You're basically asking to be grappled by extending your arm. You're

defenseless."

He eased off just before the joint snapped and continued lecturing,

making sure that his captive student learned his lesson in the fundamentals

of close-quarters combat.

"You managed to scrape together some semblance of style on your own.

I'll admit, you have talent. You slugged me good, after all. But the history

behind orthodox styles won't be demolished with a single punch."

"Gah—aaaah!"

Rossi's shoulder dislocated with a dull pop; Rossi had done it on

purpose. The pain and fear of his body breaking wasn't enough to dampen a

mage's fighting spirit. Gladly sacrificing an arm in order to escape the lock,

Rossi turned to face Oliver.

"Do not lecture me! This is not over yet!"

"It is now."

Rossi charged at his opponent in a murderous fury, and Oliver settled

into his stance stoically. There was nothing to fear. Rossi was off balance

from forcing his way out of the armlock, and his breathing was

uncharacteristically labored from the pain of his dislocated shoulder. Tullio

Rossi stood no chance of winning in his current state.

This final clash would decide the duel. Rossi aimed a thrust at Oliver's

head, and Oliver calmly knocked it away with the back of his left hand. The

blade slashed through nothing but air as Rossi's body was defenselessly

exposed to a lethal strike—this was the proper use of the gauntlet. With

enough foresight and the right timing, one could strike the oncoming blade

from the side and render it useless. On top of that, this also created a huge

opening. The three basic styles all shared this high-level technique: the

parry.

Rossi watched in shock as the duel-ending blow raced toward his arm.

There was nothing he could do to resist. A successful parry was a death

sentence.

"—That was eight moves, Mr. Rossi."

The loser's athame dropped from his hands, dripping with fresh blood.

There was a deep gash on his upper arm, and his weapon was on the floor.

A long silence passed as Rossi looked between his wound and his athame.

"You really piss me off…," he hissed weakly.

A few minutes later, he treated his injuries without any help from Oliver.

"Here, your medallion."

Rossi removed the medallion from his robe pocket and tossed it curtly to

him. Oliver caught it, and as he was examining it, Rossi let out an

exaggerated sigh.

"This does not look so good now. I lost the one battle I did not want to.

Even got a lecture."

"…I was a little high-handed. Sorry."

Oliver gave a short apology after checking to see if the medallion was

genuine.

Rossi snorted. "And I 'ate the little good boy act. Do not apologize.

Whatever. We are done 'ere. Good-bye."

He waved a hand and made to leave.

Oliver thought for a bit, then called out to him. "Mr. Rossi—like I said

during our duel, you have good instincts. Depending on how you polish

them, they could become quite a powerful weapon. But stay as you are, and

you'll eventually hit a wall."

"..."

"I suggest you choose one of the three basic styles and relearn it from

scratch before you pick up bad habits. It's not too late to create your own

style once you've mastered the basics. Actually, the Koutz style requires

good instincts, so it might be a good fit—"

"What the 'ell is your deal?!"

Rossi spun around, unable to bear Oliver's advice any longer. He stared

at Oliver, eyes full of bewilderment.

"Stop pouring salt in my wounds! You already got your medallion, no?

What more do you want from me?"

Oliver chewed his lip. He realized that a gracious winner shouldn't

lecture the loser. But he just couldn't stay silent.

"I realize I'm meddling. But I just feel it's a waste… Actually, I'm

jealous of your unique talent."

"…What?"

"In our duel, all I did was replicate what my teacher taught me. None of

it came from my own imagination. It's like that with everything. I'm only a

borrower, a caretaker of others' things… There's nothing that's truly my

own."

His expression bitter, Oliver stared down at the palms of his hands. They

could handle many things with ease, like sword arts techniques and the

proper spell for a situation. And yet, it never felt like he'd exceeded his

teacher's instructions.

"So I just want you to value the talent you have. That's all. I'm sorry

that I always sound like I'm giving a lecture."

Oliver shamefully dropped his gaze.

Rossi furrowed his brow and studied the boy. "Good boy 'as 'is own

troubles, eh? …Whatever," he stated simply, then turned on his heel and left

for good this time.

Once he'd disappeared around a corner, Oliver finally breathed a sigh of

relief. Then a voice came from right behind him.

"Excellent work, my lord."

"...?!"

He jumped forward like a startled rabbit, simultaneously spinning

around. His gaze landed on a small, kneeling girl who had appeared out of

nowhere.

"I was witness to your duel. Your victory certainly put him in his place. I

was utterly impressed."

"…Oh, it's you, Ms. Carste."

He exhaled in relief once he realized who she was—there kneeled the

girl his brother had introduced to him the evening he'd executed Darius

Grenville. Her name was Teresa Carste; born and raised in the labyrinth, her

mastery of invisibility was beyond compare.

"Thanks for the compliment, but it wasn't that impressive of a duel. I

even took a hit in the first half. I'm really getting fed up with how green I

am." Oliver spoke honestly, not even trying to hold up a facade since Teresa

had probably seen everything herself.

The girl shook her head firmly. "He wouldn't have been able to even

catch your shadow if he'd faced the version of you from that night."

She slipped close, making not a sound. The air itself barely moved.

"I admire that raw version of you, like a naked blade. Your kindness is a

sheath that clouds your brilliance."

"—!"

A pair of eyes peered up at him, and he recoiled. Teresa grabbed his

right hand with both of hers.

"If cutting me down will part the clouds, then please go ahead. It would

be my honor to become your whetstone, my lord."

She placed his hand on the hilt of his athame.

Oliver stared into her eyes. "…Your cheeks are red, Ms. Carste."

He meant to catch her off guard. Teresa stiffened for a moment, then

immediately pressed her hands on her cheeks.

"I had a suspicion about this when we first met, but that's not how you

normally talk, is it? I appreciate that you're making an effort for my sake,

but I think you're overdoing it. Just relax."

He pushed further. He was quite aware that he was in a position to lead

many, but that didn't mean he wanted to create fanatics. Especially not out

of young children. So he attempted to stress that this wasn't to his tastes.

"Th-that's not true…sir."

The unexpected response made her slip a little. Good, Oliver thought as

he observed her. The last thing he wanted was to groom this young girl into

an avenger's right hand. Even if such a wish was helplessly contradictory.

"I won't use and abandon you as a whetstone or as a follower.

Remember that."

"…F-forgive me!"

Teresa ran off, unable to hide how shaken she was. She quickly

disappeared into the darkness of the labyrinth. Silence returned, and Oliver

reflected on his behavior: Was I acting mature?

Meanwhile, Rossi was heading toward the academy after parting ways with

Oliver, the memories of his loss roiling in his mind.

"Dammit… Ah, dammit, I'm so pissed!"

His frustration had reached a boiling point. He could have swallowed

the humiliation of defeat. But a different sort of bitterness dominated his

heart.

"What the 'ell did 'e say? Relearn one of the basic styles from scratch?

Oh, so easy. Who the 'ell does 'e think 'e is?"

Rossi scowled. He'd hated Oliver Horn ever since he'd first seen him in

sword arts class. Oliver valued the basic styles and stuck to orthodox

methods; all the complete opposite of him. But most of all, he could see in

Oliver's swordsmanship the incredible amount of effort it had taken him to

get there.

"…Just 'ow much 'as 'e trained? 'e replicates the textbook perfectly."

A chill ran up Rossi's spine. He'd picked up techniques from a bunch of

different styles, but he and everyone else agreed that he conformed to no

one style. Aiming for the legs and using fist strikes were techniques he'd

specifically developed to counter "honorable" opponents. But things didn't

look so good if a boy his own age could break down his strategy after one

clash.

And yet, Oliver Horn had done exactly that. Looking back on it, the only

attack Rossi had connected with was the blow to his face. All his more

dangerous sword strikes had been blocked, never making contact with

Oliver's body. He'd been completely shut down by the most orthodox, bythe-book method possible.

"'e's one crazy bastard," Rossi said honestly. That wasn't the sort of

territory a normal fifteen-year-old had any business being in. If he was

extremely talented or had good instincts, it might make sense. But after

crossing swords with him, Rossi knew that Oliver Horn wasn't that type.

He'd just filled his every waking moment with training. That was the only

thing he could think of. All to immediately obtain what he might have in ten

or twenty years. The training to achieve that must have been insanely strict

—torturous, even.

"I just want you to value the talent you have."

"..."

Rossi had walked a path of thorns for years and years. And it was for

this reason that Rossi understood the weight of those words, whether he

liked it or not. His pace slowed until eventually, he stopped. Scratching the

back of his head, he exhaled deeply.

"…Haah, fine. I can go beg Instructor Garland. It is not my style to learn

the proper way, but…I 'ate losing even more."

He'd once again face everything he'd belittled till now. Rossi knew this

was a path he would never have chosen just the previous day, and it made

him chuckle bitterly. What could he do? There was no point resisting after

witnessing such swordsmanship.

"…Lost, did you?"

Just as he'd begun attempting to accept his new situation, a chilling

voice echoed in his ear from behind.

"All it takes is one look to recognize a loser. Who beat you?"

Their tone was past ridicule or sarcasm—this was pure scorn. Rossi's

face immediately tightened. He didn't need to turn around to know who was

there.

"Of all the people I could meet, it 'ad to be you, eh?"

Deep inside him, it made some sort of sense. Challenging someone to a

duel, losing utterly, and then escaping unharmed was unheard of at

Kimberly.

"Before I waste my time, let me ask: You still have medallions left to

give me, correct?"

The arrogance of a predator seeped into the air between them.

Letting out a single breath and steeling himself, Rossi placed a hand on

the athame at his waist. "Ah, funny. What am I, a bank?!" he shouted, then

drew his weapon and turned to face his opponent. His gaze landed on a lone

mage standing perfectly still, not even reaching for a weapon despite

Rossi's total willingness to fight.

"...!"

The moment their eyes met, a sickly sweat formed on Rossi's cheek.

This person was sharp as a razor, far beyond any first-year. Long ago, he'd

sensed something similar the one time he'd seen a Gnostic Hunter—the

frontline soldiers of the magical world.

"You're right, for I have nothing to offer. I am merely going to take."

And with that exceedingly arrogant statement, Rossi's opponent drew.

Rossi instantly dashed forward—and into his second loss that night.

Oliver managed to exit the labyrinth without any further trouble, and it was

just past two in the morning when he got back to his dorm room.

"…I'm back," he whispered so as not to wake his roommate and crept

inside. Barely illuminating the darkness with a dimmed lamp, he reached to

undo the belt that held his athame—when he noticed the state of his friend

on the bed.

"Huff… Huff…"

"...?"

Pete was sleeping on his side, practically shuddering with every breath.

"Huff… Huff! Huff! Huff…!"

His breathing became more rapid and pained.

Concerned, Oliver rushed over. "You okay, Pete?"

"Ah…?"

He patted him on the shoulder, and the boy sleepily opened his eyelids.

Oliver gently placed a hand on Pete's forehead. "You've got a fever…

And your mana circulation's going berserk."

"It hurts… I feel nauseous… Can't…breathe…"

"It's all right. You'll feel better soon. I'm taking your top off, okay?"

He helped Pete sit up, then undid the buttons of his pajama shirt. Pete's

swollen breasts indicated he was currently in his female form.

"…? Wait, what're you…?"

Pete was confused. After managing to remove Pete's top, Oliver inhaled

deeply and took control of the mana flowing within his own body. His

preparations complete, he placed his right palm on his roommate's exposed

back.

"Ah…"

Pete instantly felt something warm flowing into him.

Oliver proceeded to explain as he rubbed Pete's back. "This is a healing

art. By sending my own mana into you through my hand, I can tune your

body's flow of mana. This is only a stopgap solution, mind you."

Every mage knew this art. It was the most primitive of all magical

healing arts. The mana that had become stagnant within Pete began to move

again with Oliver's encouragement, and Pete's labored breathing relaxed.

"I feel…better…"

"You should. Like those upperclassmen said, your body's still not used

to handling the mana of your female form. When your sex changes, so does

the flow of your mana. The paths have changed so much that your mana

can't flow correctly. Your mana distribution is off, which is causing you to

feel sick."

He explained what was happening so that his friend could understand. It

wasn't enough to just heal him—both combined were the best way to give

Pete relief.

"At times like this, external moderation is the best solution. You lead the

built-up mana to the parts of the body where it's needed, like so."

"Mm…!"

An intense jolt ran through Pete's body, causing him to spasm.

Leaving his hand on his shoulder, Oliver spoke in a calm tone. "Relax,

Pete. It's okay. There's nothing to worry about."

The concern in his voice and the warmth of his hand helped Pete trust

his roommate. There was no reason to resist. Slowly, he relaxed, leaving

himself in Oliver's care.

"...Do this often?"

"Mm?"

"Do you do this often? You're so purposeful. You're, like…good at it."

The comments slipped from Pete's lips as he accepted the treatment.

The question made Oliver go silent for a bit; then he nodded. "…Yeah, I

have experience. It's not uncommon for a mage's mana circulation to go

haywire, even if they aren't rare cases like yourself. It happens when

they're sick, for example, or during puberty. And…"

A memory resurfaced vividly in his mind as he continued the healing

art. Back then, he was terrible at it. He'd been desperate, with no hope for a

relaxing conversation like tonight. Every night, he'd faced her back and

suppressed the tears that threatened to overflow.

"Ah, that feels good. Thank you, Noll."

Despite his awkward fingertips and inexperienced heart, she always

smiled at him, as if giving him a warm embrace.

"…during pregnancy."

He continued the rest of the treatment in silence. Pete basked in the

pleasant feeling. Suddenly, with the pain subsided and his mind clear, he

felt an strike of panic upon realizing his current situation. He was in his

female form, half naked, and Oliver was still touching his bare skin.

"H-hey… Are you done yet?"

"Mm? Oh, sorry. I was too focused. How do you feel? Your mana

circulation should be much calmer now."

Oliver quickly paused the treatment to check on his friend. Breathing a

sigh of relief, Pete assessed himself.

"…I feel so much better, wow. My nausea's gone, and I can breathe."

"That's good. But like I said before, this is only a temporary measure.

Until your body learns to control its female mana, you'll have to be

prepared to do this a lot."

Pete nodded as he pulled on his pajama top.

"…The others said it would take at least two months, or up to a year," he

said.

"It definitely won't get better soon, but eventually, it'll subside. Think of

it like growing pains. And I'll be right here, so you can always count on

me." Oliver spoke comfortingly, placing his hand on Pete's head and

stroking his ashen hair. It felt nice, but the next moment, Pete snapped out

of his daze and grabbed Oliver's arm.

"…Don't just touch someone's head."

"Oh, sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"...W-we have to get up early tomorrow. Let's get to bed."

Pete bundled up in his blanket as if trying to escape the moment.

Oliver turned to return to his own bed when a muffled voice came from

within the blanket.

"And…thanks."

Unable to look his friend in the face, it was the best Pete could manage.

Oliver happily accepted his awkward gratitude with a smile.

"Good night, Pete."

The next day, at lunch, Pete decided to tell his friends. This was something

that had been on his mind ever since that night with Carlos.

"A reversi?! No way! That's amazing!"

Katie's eyes went as wide as dinner plates after hearing his story. The

six of them, huddled in a corner of an empty classroom under the veil of a

sound dampening spell, listened as Pete revealed his ability.

"I'd suspected something, but a reversi… That's quite a rare trait.

Congratulations, Pete. My heart soars for you." Chela grasped his hand and

praised him. She and Katie reacted the same way Oliver had. Pete,

recognizing this was a perspective unique to mages, expressed his concerns.

"At the moment, I'm so busy being sick that it doesn't feel like

something to be proud of. How exactly am I supposed to make use of this

ability?" He bluntly asked for their advice.

Chela crossed her arms and hmm'd. "There are numerous advantages,

but let's see… Pete, come here. I'll teach you the fastest, most practical way

to control the female body."

She beckoned him over, and he reluctantly approached. Stooping, Chela

put her fingers to a slightly questionable spot beneath Pete's belt.

"?! Wh-what the hell—?"

"No need to feel embarrassed. Listen to me—now that you're in a

female body, you have one new organ. Do you know what it is?" Chela

demanded as Pete freaked out. He then looked fearfully at his lower half in

sudden realization. "That's right—a uterus. Most commonly known as the

womb," said Chela. "In any case, the uterus is such a significant organ to

witches that it's even called a second heart. The reason being that it acts as

one of many mana storehouses in the body."

"Mana…storehouses?"

"Yes. The mana stored in here is like an emergency ration, to only be

consumed in times of dire need. When you run out of mana, the door

naturally opens and provides your body with nourishment. However, with

training, it is possible to open and close this door at will."

As she explained, Chela pressed firmly on Pete's abdomen.

"You're going to experience that now. Brace yourself for a shock."

She gave him a second to get ready, then, using her arm as a pipe, she

sent the refined mana from within herself over to Pete. His heart thumped

loudly, and his uterus instantly responded to the sudden, massive influx of

mana.

"Gah—?!"

Mana coursed through Pete's body. Waves of heat emanated through

him, starting from his abdomen. His mind was completely overwhelmed; he

simply experienced it.

"Wh-what is this? Power's overflowing in me…!"

"It's a fresh, raw sensation, I'm sure. The unlocking of your mana

reserves causes a temporary increase in your mana circulation. Your mana

output has now increased many times over, and the effectiveness of your

spells will be visibly improved."

The ringlet girl continued her explanation. She let him experience the

sensation for about thirty seconds, then touched his abdomen and sent her

mana in again. Suddenly, the waves of overwhelming power within Pete's

body subsided. This time, he understood that the unlocked mana reserves in

his uterus had been cut off.

"I closed the door. The strain is too great on your body while you're still

new to this. But after that experience, what do you think? A female body

isn't bad, is it?"

Chela puffed out her chest with pride. Seeing she was finished with her

explanation, Oliver jumped in.

"The uterus's ability to store mana is the reason why women have

historically had an advantage in the magical world," he said. "A man's

testicles have a similar function, but it's nothing compared with the uterus."

Guy looked at his crotch dubiously.

Oliver grinned wryly at this, then continued, "However, for men, there

are many such places in the body. With that in mind, total mana retention

and output is similar for men and women. Thus, neither sex is

unconditionally better—or at least, that's the idea proposed by recent

research."

Satisfied with his accurate supplementary explanation, Chela nodded

firmly. Nanao, impressed, placed a hand on her hakama, which had been

repurposed into a skirt.

"I see, the uterus… I myself am but a shadow of a woman, but can I do

the same?"

"Don't lift your skirt, Nanao! …Honestly, your mana circulation far

exceeds these levels. I suspect you already use your body's reserve mana as

needed, including that of your uterus. Hence your Innocent Color."

Oliver forced her to put down her skirt, while Katie eyed Pete up and

down.

"…Difficult topics aside, you currently have a girl's body, right, Pete?"

Her eyes glinted dangerously.

Pete recoiled from the indescribable pressure. "Wh-what? What's with

the creepy smile…?"

He stepped back, trying to escape from her gaze.

Katie closed in, grinning from ear to ear. "Hey, Pete. Would you wanna

wear a skirt?"

"Huh?!"

"Ever since I first saw you, I thought your small, delicate features would

look wonderful in cute clothes. I gave up since you had a boy's body, but

not anymore, right? You have a good reason to wear something cute now.

There's nothing to be ashamed of about wearing frilly things."

"L-lay off!"

Pete went white as a sheet and hid behind Oliver.

Chela crossed her arms thoughtfully. "Of course, it's up to you…but you

do have the option to make the most of this trait. The great sage Rod

Farquois, a fellow reversi, was famous for his many male and female

lovers. I hear that nonmagical society is rather heteronormative, but

relations are much more varied in magical society. There's certainly no need

to be shy or avoidant of it."

"Wha—?"

Pete was reeling from this information.

Unable to watch any longer, Guy intervened. "Leave him be, girls. His

brain's about to short out. I mean, you guys keep talking about uteruses and

testicles, and like…"

"Hey, Guy's blushing! Perv! Perv!"

"Shut up! Maybe I'm just not completely shameless!" Guy spat back as

Katie jeered, and they were once again at each other's throats. This was the

usual pattern, so no one attempted to stop them. Just then, a voice from

outside their circle spoke up.

"You all seem to be 'aving fun. No idea what you're babbling about."

Chela's sound dampening spell prevented sound from escaping their

bubble but still allowed outside sounds to reach them. Everyone stopped

talking and turned to the source of the voice—Oliver was shocked to see

him again so soon.

"Mr. Rossi. What are you doing here?"

"Aw, no need to be so tense, eh? I just came to complain. I am not your

enemy any more."

Sensing the tension in the air, Rossi raised his hands to indicate he was

no threat.

Chela, who had been on guard after dispelling the sound dampening

spell, relaxed a bit.

"I lost more than once last night. I still 'ave medallions left, but what is

the point, eh? I 'ave seen my limits and lost my motivation. So I withdraw."

"More than once? Did you duel someone else after me?"

"Yes. Do not look at me like that, Oliver. 'alf the allotted time for this

battle royal has been spent. Only the strongest are left. I expect you will

beat most of them. But watch your back, because some of them are really

strong."

Rossi dropped his carefree attitude to deliver a solemn warning. Oliver,

unable to understand what his goal was, fell silent. Then a grin returned to

Rossi's face, and he shifted his gaze to the Azian girl.

"That goes for you, too, Nanao. Show me what you can do. I'm a big fan

of yours."

He grabbed her hand and shook it vigorously. Then he quickly turned on

his heel.

"Well, good-bye. Thought I should go see Instructor Garland during

lunch today, eh? See you soon, Oliver. I will retrain myself, then be back to

challenge you again."

He raised a hand and strode off. Once he was gone, Chela nodded in

understanding.

"…I see. So you beat him last night, did you? I figured Mr. Rossi wasn't

going to be a pushover, so very impressive, Oliver." Chela cast the

dampening spell again and listened with rapt attention, asking for more

detail.

"Yeah, he's really strong. He has something I don't." Oliver recalled

their duel from last night.

"Oh, right! I have something to discuss with all of you as well."

Katie spoke up during a lull in the conversation. She paused, then

continued with a serious tone.

"What do you think about getting our own secret base? Want one?"

The five of them could hardly believe their ears.

Guy, not catching her drift, cocked his head suspiciously.

"…If I had to choose, I'd say I'd want one. But where'd this come

from?"

"No, I get it. She's suggesting a shared workshop," Oliver interjected.

Guy nodded, and Chela jumped in to further explain.

"It is, quite literally, a workshop shared by multiple students. It's not

uncommon at Kimberly. However, only a handful of senior students are

allowed by the academy to have one on campus. An exception for firstyears with no accolades like us would be…"

She recognized on some level what Katie's suggestion meant and tried

to be vague in her wording.

Instead, Oliver said it for her. "…You want us to set up an unofficial

workshop in the labyrinth, don't you?"

Guy and Pete went stiff with shock. Katie, aware of everyone's eyes on

her, nodded.

"Yeah, that's it. But we wouldn't be starting from scratch. I already have

a place in mind. It's got most of the essentials, and it's on the first layer."

She seemed to have something very specific in mind.

Understanding, Oliver put a hand on his chin. "Right… Ms. Miligan's

workshop, huh?"

"WHAT?!" Guy blurted out hysterically.

Katie quickly followed up before he could say any more. "She has

multiple bases within the labyrinth, not just the one I was taken to. As an

apology for what she did, she offered to give me one. And since the area's

been a workshop from the beginning, the environment is perfect. I don't

think it's a bad idea, personally, but what do you guys think?"

No one spoke. Not because they had no objections, but because it was

difficult to settle on just one thing to complain about first. Dozens of

seconds passed in silence, until eventually, Guy retorted:

"A-are you crazy? This is a workshop created by Miligan! Can you even

imagine what she used it for?"

"She claims it hasn't been used for her demi-human experiments since

she was having difficulties with the supply route. Honestly, I don't know

how much of what she says is true. I could list my doubts for days, but my

initial impression is that it's clean."

Katie answered him plainly, as if she'd been expecting this question.

Guy opened his mouth to argue, but she spoke over him.

"If we don't take advantage of this situation, it'll be impossible to have a

workshop as first-years. Of course, I'm aware that I can't maintain it on my

own. So I want to rely on you guys. Will you help me manage the workshop

Ms. Miligan gave me? You can use it for whatever you want!"

Her desperation to persuade them seeped into her expression as Katie

continued her proposal. Oliver studied her, his face stony.

"It is certainly tradition for Kimberly students to set up workshops

within the labyrinth. However, that's usually in their third year, or in the

latter half of their second year at the earliest."

"For first-years, the risk of descending into the labyrinth far exceeds the

advantages of having a workshop. If you can't protect yourself, it's not even

worth discussing. Katie, you understand this, don't you?"

Chela chose her words to be as convincing as possible.

Katie dropped her eyes to the ground and asked, "An average of eight

hundred twenty a year… Do you know what that number is?"

It was an odd question. The five of them couldn't answer, so Katie

continued:

"It's the number of demi-humans exploited and destroyed by this

academy. They're used as research material, toys for amusement, and a

bunch of other things—but this is only the publicly stated figure. It's bound

to be much higher if you include the incidents that go unreported. And if

you add magical creatures beyond demi-humans, it's impossible to imagine

just how high that number balloons to."

Oliver swallowed. He'd never heard this number before.

Katie scowled. "It would be different if every sacrifice was absolutely

necessary. But the truth is, they aren't. The students and faculty here treat

magical creatures with such terrible indifference and kill them needlessly.

They don't even attempt to respect the lives of nonhuman beings."

She'd experienced this attitude more times than she cared to remember

since starting at Kimberly. Katie looked up sharply.

"I want to change that trend. But I can't change anything shouting on my

own. So first, I want to win an award as a researcher, with a focus on

interspecific communication. I want to find a symbiotic, sustainable

relationship between us that can replace this one-sided abuse for resources."

Chela folded her arms in thought as she listened to Katie explain her

vision.

"Interspecific communication? I hate to admit it, but this is the first I'm

hearing of such a field."

"I'm not surprised. It's hardly a major field. I searched every part of the

library I was allowed into, and I could only find three books on the subject.

Right now, I'm just scrounging through old student essays, but at least it's

something."

Katie smiled sadly, her tone hardly hopeful. But her strength returned

with her next words.

"You could also look at it as an untapped gold mine. If I really dig, I'm

sure I'll discover something new. Which is why right now, I want to start

building up experience as soon as I can. I want to further my studies

through a healthy exchange with these living beings, not whatever that

witch calls a 'class'!"

Oliver could sense the depths of her passion from the power in her tone.

Katie Aalto wanted to find a different path from the one Vanessa Aldiss

taught.

"To be very clear, I want a place under my own control where I can raise

magical creatures. That's the purpose I want to use Ms. Miligan's workshop

for. But I can't do it on my own, so I'm asking for your help. I know this is

blunt…"

She trailed off. Her ideals were grand, but she seemed constantly

tormented by her lack of power to realize them.

"I'm sorry for being selfish. Honestly, I know it would be natural for

you to refuse. I don't even know if any of you want a workshop at this

point. So if you have reservations, just turn me down right now. I'll find

another way—"

"Count me in."

Nanao couldn't wait for her to finish. The other five looked at her in

surprise, so she continued without hesitation.

"I do not know what exactly a workshop is. However, from what I can

tell, Katie wants to claim territory within the labyrinth, yes? Then as a

warrior, it is my job to protect the castle. Please take me under your banner,

milady." She stood in front of Katie and gripped her hands firmly and

encouragingly. "Have confidence, Katie. The light of determination is in

your eyes. And it has only grown brighter since meeting that troll. One day,

I wish to see that light illuminate the darkness. And that is well enough for

me to join you."

"Nanao…" Overcome with emotion, Katie hugged Nanao with tears in

her eyes.

Guy smiled awkwardly. "…Guess I'm in, too. It's not the first time

you've dragged me around by the nose. And…the idea of my own garden is

tempting."

"Guy!"

The tall boy flashed a toothy smile. After a bit of silent thought, Chela

and Oliver exchanged a look, then spoke in turn.

"…Very well, count me in, too. There are many strong-willed people

here at Kimberly, and those wills take many forms. It is the mark of a good

friend to support one who is trying to move forward."

"I figured this might happen as soon as Nanao agreed. But let me say

one thing: Everyone's safety comes first. If anyone is threatened, then we

abandon the workshop. If you're okay with that, then I'm in, too, Katie.

What do you say?"

Katie nodded repeatedly, then glanced over at their last friend, Pete.

"Are you…out, Pete?"

Her eyes were filled with hope, yet also prepared for the worst. After a

few seconds of silence, he sighed dramatically. "…What's the point in

asking when you've already taken away my options? I can hardly even take

care of myself right now. If Oliver and Chela are in, then I obviously have

to go along with this."

He snorted and looked away. Katie tackled him with a hug around his

torso.

"Thank you! I love you guys…!"

"Uwah! D-don't hug me!" Pete struggled, eventually peeling her off.

"…You've got quite a chest," she said quietly. "You should probably

wear a bra."

"No one asked you!"

Pete covered his chest with his arms and hid in Oliver's shadow.

Chela watched them warmly, then thought of something. "You're

certainly thinking very far into the future, Katie. I had no idea you had such

grand aspirations as research, accolades, and reform. I simply thought you

were going to join the civil rights movement on campus."

"Oh, them… Yeah, I've checked them out. But to say they're my allies,

well… We're very different." She gave a dry smile as she recalled the

people she'd met. "…It was like a bunch of Miligans, but different. Does

that make sense?"

No one tried to ask for further details. Oliver took a breath, then decided

to change the subject.

"If that's settled, then we should get moving. Let's all go together to

claim the workshop. Does two nights from now work?"

No one objected. And so their adventure began.

Once lunch was done, it was time for their afternoon lessons, and the

students gathered in the alchemy classroom with their textbooks on their

workbenches. A majority of them, however, shared the same concern.

"…Instructor Darius isn't coming today, either, is he?" Guy whispered

under his breath, and everyone grew visibly uncomfortable. Indeed, the

alchemy instructor, Darius Grenville, had simply vanished.

"You think what they say is true? That he went missing in the

labyrinth?" said Guy.

"It's hard to say. A student would be one thing, but it's difficult to

imagine that happening to a faculty member. Oliver, what do you think?"

Chela innocently inquired.

Oliver responded without letting his true feelings rise to the surface. "I

hear that only instructors maintain the lowest depths of the labyrinth. If an

accident did occur, even they could be taken unawares. It's just one

possibility, however."

He did his best to give his usual, flat response so as not to arouse

suspicion. Fortunately, no one suspected anything.

At this point, Pete joined in on the conversation. "I've heard a lot of

other phony-sounding rumors, too. Like there's infighting among the

faculty, or that he was killed by a mage with a grudge against Kimberly."

"Pete, don't talk such nonsense," Chela scolded. Kimberly was a

breeding ground for endless numbers of such rumors, but carelessly digging

into them was a surefire way to shorten one's life span.

"Hmm, I wonder what really happened."

A voice suddenly came from above them. The students looked up in

surprise to find a man standing upside down on the ceiling. Golden curls

were draped either side of his head, just like Chela's.

"Father?!"

"Uncle!"

Two voices shouted in unison. One was Chela, while the other was Stacy

Cornwallis on the other side of the room. The man did a half flip and landed

on the ground, then instantly gave the girl in front of him a tight embrace.

"Yes, it's your daddy! How long has it been, Chela? You've gotten so

much prettier in the short time I've been away."

Chela accepted the man's overbearing embrace—but only for five

seconds. "This is not the time or place! Where on earth have you been?!"

"Oh, all over. I know I've been busy. I'm sorry for making you feel

lonely."

"There's someone else you ought to apologize to first!"

Chela admonished him, indicating her friend, Nanao, by her side.

Readjusting his clothes, the man turned to her.

"Yes, of course. It's been six months since I last saw you. Are you

having fun, Nanao?"

"I am. I'm glad to see you are healthy as well, Lord McFarlane."

She smiled and chatted pleasantly with the man.

At that moment, Oliver and the others recalled the story she'd told them

of how she'd come to their academy from the faraway land of Azia. Of the

mage who had discovered her on that Yamatsu battlefield.

"I can't believe you, dragging her halfway across the world, teaching her

the language, and then abandoning her! Do you have any idea how much

she's suffered since school started?"

"I was slightly concerned about that, but I knew you were in her class. I

knew she'd be all right."

"What father drops all his responsibility on his daughter? You never

change!"

Chela's tone became increasingly aggressive as she began lecturing her

father.