Don't give them an inch.
While the strength of this conviction varied by the individual, the core
mentality was shared by the majority of Kimberly freshmen. The means to that
end depended on the mage's personality and the cards they'd been dealt. Some
imagined themselves shining in class, others in schoolyard fights, and still others
merely spun tall tales with abandon.
"Heh-heh-heh…"
There were those who chose an even showier approach. The girl walking the
halls accompanied by a magical beast several times her height was one of these.
A snake's head, from which gleamed vicious fangs, and green fur in which
lurked virulently poisonous spikes—the new students around gulped at the
sight.
"Yikes, what is that thing?!"
"A peluda? I've never even seen one before!"
"A first-year with that as a familiar?!"
She acted like she heard none of these comments but was smirking inside.
Yes. Gasp in awe. Quiver with envy. Fear me. Look upon this beast and know I
am better. It was well worth pushing myself to get it trained in time.
" ?"
But then she wandered around a corner—and stopped. Her path was blocked
by the bulk of a demi-human. A troll, crouched down with its back to her.
"…Hello?" the girl said, peeved. "Get that troll out of my way."
"Mm."
The troll turned toward her, at a loss—but it didn't move. That enraged the
girl, who raised her voice.
"I said, out of my way! I'm coming through!"
"Urgh…sorry. But now, here…bad."
Her next words stuck in her throat. Did it just talk? Human language?!
Goblins, sure, but…what troll species can do that?
The girl started running through her magifauna knowledge but quickly
decided that wasn't what mattered here. What mattered was that this was
Kimberly, other students were watching, and she could not afford to give
anyone an inch. With that in mind, she raised her voice once again.
"…So…so what? Let me through! Or else—"
"Heyyy!"
The girl was about to order her familiar to issue a threat, but a boy came
running in. From the color of his tie, he was a year above her. She blinked at the
second-year, and he spread his arms, as if protecting the troll.
"What's your problem, first-year? Don't be mean to Marco!"
"Urrr…Dean…"
The troll's face visibly relaxed. Things weren't going the girl's way, and she
was starting to panic, but she did her best to appear calm.
"…I-I'm not being mean. This troll is simply blocking the path for no good
reason. This is a public space! My familiar and I have a right to walk where we
please."
"He's blocking your path for a very good reason. Did you even ask him why?"
"A-ask? A troll?! Don't be ridic—"
The girl felt downright dizzy. But as she tried to argue—a shadow passed
overhead, blotting out the sun.
"Hold it right there!"
A new girl's voice rang out, and manavian wings spread wide. A griffin
descended from a height. It landed right before them, its glare so fierce that the
first-year girl took a step back despite herself.
"…Eek…?!"
"JAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
As the girl flinched, her peluda screeched, instinctively making a show of
strength.
Here, the figure on the griffin's back hopped down. A third-year girl with curly
light-brown hair—Katie Aalto.
"Sorry, there are pot weasels nesting here. We'll have that moved in no
time!"
Katie pointed over the troll's shoulder. The girl looked that way and saw a
dome-shaped nest in the branches of a sapling with several weasellike
creatures inside. This species nested in trees they'd grown themselves—and at
last, the girl realized why the troll was here.
This was one too many twists for her mind, and she found herself standing
stock-still. Leaving her to it, Katie turned to the other student present, flashing a
brilliant smile.
"You're looking after Marco for me? Thanks, Dean! You're such a good boy!"
"I—I—I just did what anyone would!"
This griffin was very intimidating, and Dean was doing his level best not to let
his knees buckle. Katie's beloved manavian had grown quite a bit over the last
year and was noticeably larger than the first-year girl's peluda. It gave Dean
flashbacks of the beast that had once captured him—but he could not let that
fear show. He was bluffing with all his might.
Here, Katie's gaze turned toward the first-year's creature. Her eyes lit up, and
she stepped closer.
"Wow, a peluda! Female, maybe five years old? What an adorable familiar!"
"Ador—?!"
The girl couldn't believe her ears. What could possibly lead anyone to
describe this hideous beast in those terms? Beside her, the peluda was
screeching away, threatening both Katie and her griffin. It was no longer acting
on the girl's orders but driven entirely by fear. And the ruckus was drawing
other students to them.
"H-hey! Stop that screeching!"
The girl hastily started trying to talk her familiar down. With no overt hostility
directed their way, failing to stop the ruckus would reflect poorly on her. But
the beast was too agitated to listen. The peluda had its claws extended and was
growling—this was too much for the girl, and she reached for her white wand,
seeing no solution but a spell.
"Don't draw," Katie cautioned, putting a hand on her arm. "Sorry, let me talk
to her a moment. Lyla, stay right there."
That last comment was addressed to the griffin behind her. Empty-handed,
she stepped right up to the peluda. The girl couldn't believe her eyes—what
was she doing? Even a third-year would be helpless if a beast like this attacked
them while wandless.
"JAAAAAAAAA…!"
The peluda roared right in her face—which Katie let pass with a smile. Moving
slowly, she reached out and touched it. The peluda flinched. Mindful of the
poisonous barbs in its fur, Katie stroked the creature, reassuring it.
"…You're still not used to being around people, are you? And you there:
You've done nothing but implant your familiar with fear—to excess. Trying to
tame her quickly, no matter what?"
"…?!"
The girl's face tensed. Katie had seen right through the methods used after
observing the peluda for only a handful of seconds.
"…Don't worry—I'm not your enemy. Not me, not Marco, and not Lyla," Katie
whispered to the peluda.
With each word, the creature's growls grew fainter. Its master stood stunned
—until hands clasped around hers. Before her stood the older girl—someone
beyond her comprehension.
"I'm Katie Aalto, Kimberly third-year. Nice to meet you! What's your name?"
Meanwhile, in a remote corner of the school building's first floor, a little
scuffle had broken out.
"…Ha! Is that all you got?"
Three students were lying on the ground, and one boy was standing over
them—all first-years. They simply hadn't liked the look in one another's eyes;
that was all it took to start a fight if everyone really wanted one. It was a great
way to strut your stuff, and it just happened that he'd had the most stuff to
strut.
"You should've warned me you're this weak. I'd have let you go three-onone."
"…Unh…"
"Dammit…"
Three fights running, yet they'd been unable to gain the upper hand. The trio
of first-years was left lying on the floor, groaning as the boy sneered down at
them.
"Pardon me."
"…Eh?"
Someone had stepped out in front of him, standing by the fallen freshmen.
The new arrival was on the small side, but the necktie was the third year's color.
The face and voice alone weren't enough to nail down a gender. As the victor's
frown deepened, the newcomer busily set about tending to the losers' wounds.
"No need to hide your fights. Make sure you've got an older student
observing. That way, someone can step in to heal you up after."
This was meant as fair warning to the younger students, yet the boy read it as
scorn and pointed his athame at the new arrival.
"Thanks for the advice, asshole. But I don't remember giving you permission
to heal anyone."
The edge in his tone was enough to make the third-year—Pete Reston—turn
around. The eyes behind Pete's glasses were very cold—far more intimidating
than the first-year boy had anticipated. He almost flinched, but he'd committed
to this approach and wasn't backing down easily, no matter how much older
the foe. He put on his best glare.
"The fight's over. What's the problem?" Pete asked.
"Victor's rights. Figured they'd be good targets to practice my pain spells."
"…So you want to hurt people?" Pete sighed, then narrowed his eyes. "In that
case, this is no longer a fight. If you insist, I'll take you on."
That makes things easy, the boy thought. His lips curled into a taunting smirk.
"You mean…you'll take their place? Suffer in their stead?"
"Practice all the pain spells you like. If you can beat me."
"…Hmph."
The air grew tense. The boy measured the distance between them. He was
two steps outside one-step, one-spell range. But his foe hadn't even reached for
his athame. The boy was certain—even against a third-year, he could win.
"Tonitrus!"
The boy cast first. Lightning coiled at the tip of his blade—and his vision was
scorched by blinding light and heat.
"Gah…?!"
He couldn't see a thing. Backing away, he waved his blade around wildly,
catching nothing—and then he felt something pressed against his throat. The
chill of a metal blade. The boy froze, and a calm voice spoke in his ear.
"Think you're a quick cast? It was like you weren't even moving."
"…Ngh…! Wh-what did you even do…?"
"You saw it. I threw a burst orb timed to the cast of your spell."
The truth sent a chill down his spine. He'd timed that? The third-year had
waited for him to chant and swing his athame, then thrown out the burst orb?
But he'd seen no signs of that motion—
"If you failed to spot it, that's the limit of your current skill. Train some more
and try again."
"You motherf—!"
Unable to accept the loss, the moment his vision recovered, he swung his
blade. You couldn't give anyone an inch here. If this third-year was good at spell
length, then if he tried sword arts—
But even as the thought crossed the first-year's mind, his athame was
clattering along the floor.
"Count yourself lucky it was me you fought. Some students here would've
done far worse than a mere pain spell."
"…Ah…"
Pete caught the look in the boy's eye and calmly put away his blade. He went
back to healing the kids on the floor. When that was done, he turned and
walked off.
"I'm Pete Reston, third-year. You want a rematch, come at me whenever.
Duel rules suit me fine," he told the boy. "But don't diminish what time here
does to someone—to you or to anyone else. I was born nonmagical, and this is
what two years here have done to me. That's what you've signed up for at
Kimberly."
"It's definitely bearing fruit. What do you make of it?"
Meanwhile, in a corner of the garden filled with all manner of magiflora, Guy
was showing a teacher a tree he'd grown. The smooth gray bark had a sheen to
it, like it was coated in varnish. Its thick trunk split in three, spreading in each
direction, and at the tip of every branch hung a voluminous blue fruit. The
garden's proprietor—David Holzwirt—looked it over thoroughly.
"…It's in good health. Congrats, Mr. Greenwood. Lanternblue are an
endangered species…and it's been five years since a student managed to raise
one from seed to bearing fruit."
"Thank you, sir. It's certainly a prickly customer, but I took my time and
worked with it—and it turned out okay."
Guy grinned, and the door to the conservatory flung open. A girl a year
younger came running in.
"Appleton, s-second-year!" she said. "Um, I heard the lanternblue bore fruit!"
"Come on over, Rita. Take a gander!" Guy boasted. "Ain't they lovely?"
Rita eagerly jogged up to him, looking the tree over and nodding.
The instructor let his students bask for a moment before speaking again.
"…You kept logs of the growth?"
"'Course I did."
"Mm… Pair that with your findings and give me a write-up two weeks from
now. Once I've read it—we'll discuss the contents in my workshop."
And with that, David departed the greenhouse. They watched him go; then
Rita turned to Guy, cheeks flushed.
"Wow!" she exclaimed. "That's amazing, Guy! Instructor David almost never
invites anyone to his workshop. He's supposed to be really hard to get along
with…"
"Yeah? From what I've seen, that ain't true at all. He just doesn't waste time
thinking about anything except magiflora."
Guy shrugged. A thought struck him, and he grimaced.
"I have a friend like that already… Might actually be easier to get on with the
instructor. I've got a green thumb to begin with, and he don't start any
arguments."
That cut Rita to the quick. His tone of voice made it clear who he was talking
about—and how much he cared for this friend.
"…You mean Ms. Aalto?" she asked.
"Yeah, she's hard to miss these days. She's finally got that griffin on her side
and can't stop herself from riding it around. She's seriously terrorizing the new
kids."
This was the kind of griping you did only about people with whom you were
genuinely close. Unable to bear hearing any more of it, Rita interrupted—aware
that doing so was more than a bit awkward.
"…I-I'd better go. The teacher wants to see me."
"Mm? About your research? Whatcha growing? I could come along—"
"No."
Looking grim, she raised both hands to stop him.
Guy blinked at her, and she hastily explained.
"I, um…I didn't do well on the last written test. Gotta take makeup classes."
"Oh. Well, if you need help, feel free to ask. You're doing great otherwise!"
He plopped a hand down on her head. She'd planned to leave at once, but the
warmth of his palm was awfully nice; Rita lingered, eyes on the ground.
"I… Yes, I'll do that," she whispered.
"You're all making a name for yourselves."
Miligan had taken one sip of her tea and dropped that line on her cohort of
underclassmen. They were in their secret base—clearly, she'd heard the stories.
"That's hardly new for some of you, but Katie, Guy, and Pete—you're each
starting to really pull ahead in your respective fields. Makes me so proud."
"I entirely agree," Chela proclaimed. "I have not embraced you nearly
enough."
"You stay down, Chela!"
"We are done with the celebratory hugs!"
Guy and Pete both started squawking the moment the ringlet girl stood up.
The three of them began circling the couch, with the boys attempting to
maintain a safe distance.
"I appreciate the praise." Katie sighed, looking up from the paper she was
reading. "But I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere. The walls I'm banging up
against seem so much bigger than the problems I've managed to solve."
"With research, that is always the case," Miligan said, smiling at her. "Katie,
never let it get to you. For all your protests, your growth is clear to everyone."
Meanwhile, Guy had tried a double feint to escape Chela's reach, but she'd
seen it coming and snared him. He let out a screech, but her hug's vise grip
clamped down upon him.
"Even well-trained griffins rarely let people ride them," Oliver said, nodding
and side-eyeing the commotion. "That's a much bigger deal than you realize.
And it proves your approach is effective."
"I-it does? Well, good."
Katie blushed at this, then shuffled the papers on her knees into a neat pile.
She stole several more glances at Oliver…
…a fact not lost on Nanao, who was sitting right next to her.
"Oliver!" she announced. "Katie desires a celebratory hug."
"Uh, Nanao?!" Katie yelped.
"Oh, my apologies. I should have known."
As bidden, he rose from his chair. Nanao grabbed Katie's hand and pulled her
off the couch. The curly-haired girl let out a squeal, but the free-hug rule they'd
implemented last year applied here, and she soon found herself in Oliver's
arms.
"Hwahhh…"
The moment she felt that squeeze, Katie went docile. Then Nanao pounced
on her back. Behind the couch, Chela had caught Pete and was doing the same
thing to him.
"You no longer hesitate to express your affection," Miligan said, beaming.
"Heh-heh…will any of it spill over to me? I'm wide open!"
She spread her arms, but Katie and Chela shot daggers at her. The Snake-Eyed
Witch quickly put her hands down and changed the subject.
"A pity about Nanao. You were one match from a prize in the broom fight
league."
"'Tis a pity indeed. I did what I could, but the upper forms are formidable."
"Don't be like that, Nanao," Oliver said. "The bounty was unprecedented, and
Ms. Ashbury's exploits left everyone feeling competitive. The gaps in your
experience and technical skills were considerable, but you hung on for as long
as you could."
Oliver's hands had slipped forward to embrace her and Katie.
"Well put!" Miligan added. "And from my perspective, you did exactly what I
needed."
"You mean when she downed Mr. Whalley?" Chela purred darkly.
The Snake-Eyed Witch grinned.
"Our position is less than desirable, if I'm being honest."
Elsewhere on the first layer, in the base of the previous student council, Gino
Beltrami (aka Barman) was reporting on the current election standings. His
voice was calm and collected.
Leoncio listened quietly.
"As it stands, no one candidate has managed a clear advantage. Which means
the swing votes remain impossible to predict. We're in a deadlock."
"…What do you say to that, Percy?" Leoncio asked.
"...!"
Percival Whalley, candidate for the next student body president, could only
gulp. He was kneeling by the side of Leoncio's chair, the man's pale fingers
lightly brushing his neck. There was pleasure in it, mingled with fear—should
the man be so inclined, he could easily snap Whalley's neck.
"Ha-ha! Don't torment the boy, Leo," the seventh-year elf Khiirgi Albschuch
said. "I sparred with her myself; the girl is not one easily measured. And she's
the type who blooms in the thick of things. Meanwhile, Percy's the type who
wins by margins; he's doomed to struggle with her ilk."
Whalley was incensed, and he glared at her. Had she done more in the past,
he wouldn't have needed an assist here. The source of his frustration was
obvious to all—Khiirgi's whims had disrupted his plans far more than their
enemies had.
"That said, she is a foe you could have beaten. Your experience and
broomsport skills should have given you the advantage, Percy."
"Fair enough. Percy's final standings were higher than hers, enough to claim a
prize. I know it's all hindsight, but what led to your downfall was an abundance
of caution, the knowledge that you could not afford to lose."
Gino was trying to be helpful, but this made Leoncio frown.
"So I am to blame for placing that pressure on him," Leoncio muttered.
"Hmph."
"…Ah…!"
His fingers left Whalley's neck. The boy glanced up, tentative, searching his
mentor's face for answers, and Leoncio addressed him head-on.
"I have no intention of replacing you. Win the next one, Percy."
"…Yes, sir."
As Miligan gave them the rundown, Guy brought out one of his pound cakes
—a confectionary avidly sought after across campus. They washed that down
with tea, and when their cups were empty:
"And that's where we stand. No one has a clear advantage, but that means
my candidacy continues to serve its purpose."
With that summation, Miligan scooped up the last bite of cake, looking sorry
to see it go. Her familiar, Milihand, was walking around the table, collecting
dishes.
After due consideration, Chela said, "Then the final surge will be decided by…
the combat league?"
"I'm afraid so. If we're matched elsewhere, then the greatest show of
strength will win. That's how Kimberly works."
"So if you clean up, you've got it in the bag!"
"It's not that easy, Guy," Miligan said, pursing her lips. She was good, but
hardly the best in the upper forms.
Well aware of that, Chela suggested a more achievable goal.
"The grand prize may be out of reach, but a finish in the money after
defeating Mr. Whalley's team…that's probably your best bet. How do you like
your odds?"
"One-on-one versus Whalley, our odds are dead even. But Kimberly changes
the combat league rules regularly. There's no guarantee it'll be that simple this
year. And they've upped the prize considerably—so honestly, I'm not sure what
the faculty has planned."
"Are we in agreement, then? We can call this plan final?"
A meeting room on the first floor of the main building. Theodore had passed
out a proposed set of combat league rules with the utmost confidence. Several
other instructors were reading it over.
"…It sure is elaborate," Ted Williams said, finishing it up. He was the alchemy
instructor.
"I simply thought it should be worth the fifty-million-belc prize," Theodore
proclaimed. "It's hardly festive if the event itself is nothing to write home
about."
"But getting the lower forms mixed up in this… Instructor Garland, your
thoughts?"
Ted turned to the sword arts instructor, looking for an assist. Garland paused
before answering…but his smile failed to conceal his enthusiasm.
"…It'll be a league for the ages."
"I knew you would agree!" Theodore beamed.
Ted abandoned his feeble resistance. If Garland was into this plan, there was
no use arguing it further.
With everyone on the same page, the faculty's collective gaze turned to the
head of the table. And the headmistress dropped her decree:
"Very well. Announce the rules to the students first thing tomorrow and begin
preparations."
The next morning found the Campus Watch Headquarters positively crackling
with tension.
"…I don't like it," Lesedi Ingwe muttered, pacing the room. A dark-skinned
seventh-year, she was one of Godfrey's closest companions. She, Godfrey, Tim,
and the rest of the Watch had all seen the combat league rules posted on their
arrival that morning and made a beeline for their HQ.
"An unprecedented rule set," Lesedi added. "Victory requires strategies
beyond your own year. What exactly is the faculty plotting?"
The same thoughts were on every mind.
"The scale is as immense as it is complex," Godfrey said. "But that doesn't
work against us."
He'd put all other concerns aside, always inclined to find the simplest solution
—specifically, what did he want to do, and how could he do it?
"There's no need to involve the lower forms. We just have to get out there
and win. Nothing more, nothing less."
"These rules sure are a snarl."
At the same time, in the Fellowship, the Sword Roses had gathered to discuss
the same topic. The papers had put out extra issues covering all the rules, and
once their bellies were full, each started reading over the complete details.
"First off, there's three divisions," Pete explained. "Lower forms are limited to
second-and third-years, while the upper forms are split into a fourth-and-fifthyear group and a sixth-and-seventh-year one. Participation requires forming a
team of three within your division. The league itself is a prelim, a main round,
and a clincher. The prelim is a group event in which everyone participates, the
main round is a free-for-all with multiple teams involved—and the format of the
clincher has yet to be announced. Freshmen can't participate, but anyone else
can."
Oliver took over here, stroking his chin.
"And in each division, the older teams' advantage is offset by a significant
handicap. In the lower league, any team with two or more second-years is given
a proportional advantage. There's a lot of specifics still unannounced, but the
existence of teams and the merger of two school years both seem significant."
It might matter less in the upper forms, but the gulf between the second and
third year was huge. It was only natural to give the older students a handicap if
they were in the same division. The team angle was much thornier—far more
intel to process than a one-on-one fight and that much harder to predict the
outcome.
"The money and prizes will be paid out to each division in full. Which means
even we have a shot!" Guy said.
"Or rather, anyone does," Chela mumbled. "This is no longer something one
enters for fun. These rules will motivate students who normally sit the league
out—and that's likely what the faculty wants."
She turned toward two of her friends, looking crestfallen.
"This pains me more than you can know, but I should be up-front about it.
Oliver, Nanao, I'm unable to form a team with you this time."
"Mm? Whyever not?" Nanao asked, blinking at her.
Oliver folded his arms, surmising the reason. "Ah. Theodore's involved in the
league management. Is he behind these extra rules?"
"Precisely." Chela sighed. "Nearly all of them are my father's proposals.
Which places me in an awkward position. He has not gone so far as to ban me
from participating, but it would be ill-advised for me to join with anyone in the
upper echelons of our year—with anyone likely to win. It would be difficult to
shake the impression of a rigged contest if my team made it to the podium."
There was a moment's silence; then Katie looked up.
"Guy, Pete—wanna team up with me?"
Surprise showed on all five of her companions' faces. Pete and Guy gave her a
searching look.
"Heh…going for that fifty mil?" Guy asked.
"I don't think I'll get it. But not even trying would feel…wrong."
"I'm shocked. I thought you hated violence."
"I do! But…that doesn't make it avoidable. Not here."
Katie sounded sure of herself, and Chela quickly connected the dots.
"Ah!" she said. "You specifically want to team up with them. Not me, not
Nanao or Oliver."
"Right," Katie replied. "If I team with any of you—I'll just…rely on you. This
has to be on our terms, our strength."
The prizes were a secondary concern. She wanted to test what she'd gained
over the last two years, and the determination in her eyes had Pete convinced.
"I was thinking the same thing," he said. "Didn't expect you to suggest it first."
"You're both fired up! Well, if you put it like that, no way I can bow out."
With Pete and Guy equally eager, one team was already formed. Oliver
decided he couldn't just sit still. He had to determine his stance on this league
and, if he was entering, find a team. But as he mulled it over, someone outside
their table spoke up.
"Michela, a moment?"
All six friends turned and saw a girl with her manservant. Chela immediately
averted her gaze in embarrassment.
"Oh, Stacy? How can I help you?" she asked.
"Go on, Stace," Fay prompted.
"…I was wondering if you've finalized your combat league plans. If you have,
then never mind."
Stacy spoke in barely a whisper, and she was fidgeting with the hem of her
robe. Oliver hid his smile. It was all too obvious what she wanted.
"Go with them, Chela," Nanao said before Chela herself could answer. The
others nodded, and that got her to her feet.
Chela, Stacy, and Fay left for another table. Guy began nodding.
"…Ohhh. If you're as good as Chela, people'll start trying to recruit ya."
"Yes," Oliver replied. "The fights begin with team selection. And Chela has
always had a connection to Ms. Cornwallis. If she's not with us, she'll likely team
up with them."
Even as he spoke, he made up his mind. His eyes turned to the Azian girl
beside him.
"Nanao, if you intend to join the league, I'd like to team up with you. I won't
press the point…but I'd very much like you to agree."
"But of course."
Nanao didn't even hesitate. Relieved as he was, Oliver nonetheless felt a pang
in his chest. If they were on the same team, then they wouldn't have to fight
each other. That above all was why he'd moved to recruit her. This condition
mattered far more to him than the outcome of the league itself.
"Oh-ho! Then you'll be needing a third!"
Someone else outside of their table spoke up. It was the usual suspect, so no
one was surprised. Oliver and Nanao turned to face him: last year's transfer
student, smiling brightly.
"A fine morning to you, Yuri," Nanao said.
"…Leik, will nothing correct this habit? Are you compelled to barge into every
conversation?"
Well aware this was a waste of time, Oliver said it anyway—and Yuri just
clapped a hand on his shoulder. In his other hand, he had a paper with the
league rules.
"I got back from the labyrinth, and all kinds of fun broke out!" he said,
grinning. "This place never lets you get bored."
"You're thinking of entering?"
"You betcha. I love anything festive! Things like this bring you in contact with
so many people and so many mysteries."
He looked proud of himself. It was very Yuri to care nothing for the money or
prizes and everything about the people he met along the way. Oliver couldn't
stop himself from smiling. He rather envied that outlook on life.
"I can't promise we'll join forces with you—but it's certainly true we'll need to
find a third teammate."
He took Nanao's hand, glanced at the other three Sword Roses, and got up to
leave. Yuri said not a word but clearly intended to follow.
"Let's go scout," said Oliver. "I want to know what other teams are forming."
To no one's surprise, Nanao and Oliver were hit with a flurry of solicitations
the moment they stepped away from their table.
"Ms. Hibiya! Wanna join us for the league?!"
"Mr. Horn, be our ace! …No? No matter what?!"
Oliver was turning people down left and right, and when they didn't give up,
he was forced to push his way past. Watching this go down, Yuri whistled.
"You two are in hot demand! I wonder why no one's asking me?"
"For starters, no one knows how good you are. Otherwise…well, you'll have to
take a good look at yourself."
They made a circuit of the room, parrying invites while seeking out the best in
their year. Along the way, a question came to mind.
"What have you been up to anyway?" Oliver asked. "Still wandering the
labyrinth and campus willy-nilly?"
"Well, sure, but I've got real goals now! I've found two mysteries worth
probing."
"Mysteries?" Nanao asked.
"Yep. The Case of the Missing Teachers and the Case of the Stolen Bones."
Yuri had a finger raised high and was not lowering his voice at all. Clearly not
caring who heard him.
"You're looking into the teacher thing on your own?" Oliver asked, glaring.
"That could get you killed. Even the Watch is staying out of that one."
He was being deliberately harsh, trying to get through—and it at least made
Yuri stop goofing around and straighten up.
"Yeah, I'm aware," he admitted. "But…I'm sure you both have things you
won't budge on, won't ever back down on, no matter what anyone else says. In
my case, that's solving mysteries. I don't know why that is myself—but I'm
driven to do it. By the blood flowing in my veins, by the nature of my very soul."
He was getting downright deep there, and Oliver could hardly argue. People
didn't easily change the way they lived. Especially not a mage.
"But just to be clear, I'm not interested in taking out the culprit or making
sure they get punished. No interest in that whatsoever. I just wanna know who,
why, and how. Or maybe where it's all going. That knowledge is everything, and
I have to probe further."
"You clearly won't be dissuaded. But what's this stolen bones thing—?"
"Oh, there they are! Mr. Horn and Ms. Hibiya," a curt voice cut in.
They turned to look—and found a female upperclassman, on the short side.
None of them recognized her. Despite their befuddlement, she came right over.
"Lend me your ears a sec. It's important."
"Um…who are you?"
"Huh? Whatcha talking about? It's me—we've met several times, yeah?"
Oliver's bewilderment grew. The uniform had so many added frills; essentially
no trace of the original garment remained. No one this distinctive could possibly
have slipped his memory. Had she looked dramatically different when they first
met? With that thought, he focused his gaze on her face. Even then it took
several seconds—but the gleam in the eyes behind those long lashes rang a
bell.
"Mr. Linton? From Godfrey's crew?"
"Obviously! Damn, you look like you just saw a ghost or something. Or wait—
is this the first time you've seen me like this?"
Oliver nodded several times. Tim hadn't changed how he spoke at all, but the
outfit and voice were totally different—everything was screaming girl. Even a
shape-shifter couldn't change this dramatically overnight. Seeing Oliver gape,
Tim pursed his pink lips and shrugged.
"…Well, my bad, then. For reference, I do drag when I feel like it, which is
often enough. And I'm cute, right?"
Tim blew him a kiss. The gesture itself was bewitching, and the knowledge
that this was the Toxic Gasser made Oliver feel downright dizzy.
"G-got it," Oliver said, aware that letting any of this show might just infuriate
Tim. "So, uh…what brings you here?"
"Combat league stuff. Wanna check if you're in, who you're with—so spit it
out! I mean, answering's voluntary, but don't opt out; it's a headache."
There were a lot of contradictions in that statement, but it would all be public
knowledge the moment they registered, and there was no point in keeping
their participation a secret from the Watch in the first place.
"…All I know right now is that Nanao and I are in," Oliver said. "We're
considering our options for a third teammate."
"Cool. Lemme know as soon as you choose someone, and I mean the instant
you decide. Voluntarily!"
That last word was clearly an afterthought. Then Tim grabbed Oliver's collar
and pulled him in close. Oliver blinked at him.
"Word to the wise—just talking to myself here—the outcome of this combat
league could have major sway on the election. But the faculty has gone and
jacked up some rules the likes of which we ain't ever seen. No clue what's
coming at us. You catch my drift?"
"…Yeah."
"If you're in, play to win. And don't screw up your third pick. All voluntary, of
course!"
With that, Tim slapped him hard on the shoulder and stepped back. Since
Oliver had told him where Nanao stood, Tim turned his gaze to Yuri.
"Mr. Leik, our transfer student. Who're you backing in the election?"
"I'm undecided. Gonna keep a close eye on what everyone does and vote for
whoever dazzles me most!"
"…Right. Well, figure it out sooner rather than later."
He didn't seem that interested, and he didn't press the point. Tim turned and
stalked away.
Watching him vanish into the crowd, Nanao murmured, "He seemed rather
out of sorts."
"The lower league outcome stands to drive a great deal of votes one way or
the other. Since Miligan and the Watch are in cahoots, and we're backing her,
we're seen as being in their corner. We're part of this whether we like it or
not."
Oliver nodded to himself. Tim's demeanor made it clear these new rules had
rattled the Watch, which meant Oliver would have to confer with his cousins
soon. He scanned the room once more.
"I'm curious what Godfrey's thinking. And what the other standouts in our
year are—"
"Ah, were you looking for me?" a cheery voice interjected.
Oliver turned, looking through the crowds—and saw a tall boy with a friendly
smile.
"Rossi," he said. "Yeah, I was curious about you, too."
"Bwa-ha-ha! Honored to be counted among the standouts. But seeing 'im
with you, far less pleasing."
His voice dropped to a growl, and he glared at Yuri. Oliver was reminded that
these two got along like oil and water.
He smoothly stepped between them. "I know you can't resist joining
something like this," he told Rossi. "I'm with Nanao. What are your plans?"
"Hmm…so your third is yet unknown, eh? The idea of joining you does sound
tempting."
"Betraying us already? You've got a lotta nerve."
A low growl echoed behind Rossi, and a large hand snagged his collar. He was
hoisted onto his tiptoes, but that only made the Ytallian stick out his tongue.
"I jest, of course," he said with a grin. "Spare me the scowls, eh?"
Oliver's eyes locked on the intimidating form behind him.
"Mr. Albright—you're teaming up with Rossi?"
"Our options were limited. If we plan to win, that is."
His free hand was hoisting Rossi still higher, and the Ytallian's feet left the
ground, swaying in the air.
"I would enjoy fighting by your side," Rossi told Oliver, "but that means I 'ave
no chance of defeating you. I aim to settle things this time—no flukes or off
days to excuse it."
"Yeah, I'm not counting that last time, either. And I'm happy to oblige."
Oliver nodded, accepting the challenge. But then he frowned. If the two of
them were teaming up, how would that affect the election?
"…Not to change the subject, but how are you two voting?"
"I am apolitical, so I 'ave nothing to say. You?"
"Wish I had a choice." The big man shrugged. "But I'm the eldest Albright."
That told Oliver everything. Family connections and political positions could
limit your options, even in a school election, regardless of personal feelings. If
the heir to a major Gnostic Hunter clan voted for a demi-rights candidate, that
alone could pour fuel on the fire. That meant Albright was forced to vote
conservative—for one of the previous student council candidates.
At the same time, Oliver knew—in the first year, before he and Nanao had
crossed wands, this boy would never have expressed dissatisfaction with those
obligations, and certainly not made light of it. He nodded, rather touched.
"Yeah, sorry. I should have known."
"No worries. It's a trivial matter compared to our rematch. Right, leader?"
Grinning, Albright gazed over his shoulder. A new boy had joined them, and
Oliver had to think fast.
The long-haired boy was in their year, and his every gesture reflected good
breeding. He'd fought Oliver far before the other two—on the first day of sword
arts class. And they hadn't faced each other in some time.
"Mr. Andrews. You're their third member?"
"I am. I knew if it was a team match, I'd be asking these two to join me. For
one purpose only—to defeat you two, Mr. Horn, Ms. Hibiya."
Richard Andrews was already issuing ultimatums. He had history with the pair
—but then he spotted Yuri gaping at all this from the sidelines and frowned.
"…I assumed Michela would be your third. Not that you need to explain—"
"No, we haven't decided yet. I'm not hiding anything, just still considering our
options, honestly."
Oliver left out Chela's issues, sticking to their perspective. He knew Andrews
wasn't trying to pry; Andrews was simply hoping that Oliver and Nanao would
be coming into this fight in peak condition. Two years had been enough to get
the measure of this man.
Andrews nodded. Nanao had been watching intently by Oliver's side, but now
she smiled.
"The fires are lit within you, Mr. Andrews. This battle will no doubt be a
delight."
"If it looks that way to you, I can rest assured."
Andrews flashed a smile, then turned to leave. Rossi and Albright followed.
Each knew well their own strength, and together, they had all the bearings of a
powerhouse team.
"We'll face each other in the league somewhere," Andrews said. "Pick your
third in light of that or live to regret it."
"Whoa, that means even we can jump in this league thing."
Throughout the Fellowship, it wasn't just third-years kicking up a fuss. Dean
was reading over the newspaper's extra edition.
"Given how worked up the older students are, these rules are unorthodox,"
Peter Cornish said. Like Dean, he was a second-year student. "Dean, you
seriously want to enter?"
"Hell yeah. I mean, we're at Kimberly; we gotta rack up some experience."
"I don't think Ms. Aalto would join your team," Rita muttered.
That made Dean do a spit take.
"Cough, cough… Wh-where'd that come from, Rita?!"
"Oh, uh, sorry. I just figured if she was in this, she'd be with Mr. Horn, Ms.
Hibiya, or Guy."
This attempt at explaining herself just made Peter wince. He used a spell to
clean the tea off the table.
"Just admit it," he said. "Everyone knows you've got a crush on Ms. Aalto,
Dean."
"I do not! I—I just respect her! A lot!"
"True, I still can't believe she tamed that griffin in, like, six months. And that
makes it even harder for you to get anywhere near her!"
"Stop making it weird! She helped me out a ton last year. Kept me safe and all
that. And I wanna show how I've grown."
"…Yeah, that I get," Rita mumbled, picturing Guy's unguarded smile. She'd
lost track of how many times he'd helped her out last year. Not to use a
gardening metaphor, but she wanted to show all that watering had made her
grow—that was a natural urge from any mentee.
She thought it over a minute, then smiled at Dean.
"Let's enter together, Dean. I feel like showing off a bit, myself."
"That's what I'm talkin' about, Rita!"
He threw up his hand, beaming, and Rita gave him a high five. Peter folded his
arms, grunting.
"I wish I could join you, but fights just aren't my thing. I'd prefer to help you
plan. If you just had another member…"
He glanced across the table to the friend who'd yet to say a word. Teresa was
using a knife to cut some syrup-laden pancakes.
"…What?" she said, glaring back at him.
"Whaddaya mean, 'what'?"
"Dean, don't start anything." Rita sighed. "Teresa, don't you have anyone to
impress? This is your chance to show them what you can do."
Teresa's knife paused. It hadn't taken long for one face in particular to cross
her mind.
Like the broomsports league before it, the combat league results would have
a significant impact on the election. With that in mind, Oliver visited his cousins'
workshop the evening after the rules were posted.
"We've got to ensure Godfrey's side wins. But if our actions are too
coordinated, the faculty will be on to us."
Gwyn was standing by a cage in the corner, feeding the familiars inside. The
election's balance hung by a thread—perhaps that was why his expression
betrayed a rare glimpse of fatigue.
"It's a thorny field, but it's our job to plot our way between those two
concerns. You're free to team with whoever you like and win your division fair
and square. Or even stay out of the thing entirely. Just make your choice soon—
it'll affect our approach."
"…I'm planning to enter," said Oliver. "It makes sense for me to wade on in,
all self-assured. There's just a big difference between winning fair and square
and winning by any means necessary. Are you sure the former will be enough?"
"Just give it your best shot—like an ordinary third-year would. We'll be
moving behind the scenes, but you don't need to concern yourself with that
here."
Oliver nodded. Act as a student, gunning for league victory—that alone would
help Godfrey's side. That was the most natural course of action for him now.
Then came a nearby girl's voice:
"…What should I do?"
Oliver turned to look and found Teresa kneeling beside him. The rules allowed
for her participation, so he gave the matter some thought.
"Why not invite your friends and join in?" he suggested. "The way the rules
are written, teams will likely align along school years. My team will be all thirdyears, so there's no need to worry about backing us up."
With that, he glanced over at his cousin. Gwyn had finished feeding the
familiars and was drying his hands.
"That work for you, Brother?" Oliver asked. "Teresa still hasn't exactly fit in at
Kimberly. Proactively joining the league would probably help her mingle
better."
"As you wish," Teresa said, not waiting for Gwyn's answer. She was trying to
settle things before any objections could be raised.
Gwyn raised an eyebrow at her, then sighed.
"If you think it'll help, go for it. But, Noll, be extra careful in the labyrinth.
You've already had people coming after Ms. Hibiya, but this time they'll be after
you."
Oliver nodded, taking that to heart. He, Nanao, and Yuri had barely staved off
that one ambush, saved only by the intervention of the late Clifton Morgan. The
man's breathy laugh still echoed in his ears.
"For the duration, I'll ensure upper-form comrades are on the same layer as
you whenever you're delving. Let me or Shannon know before you head in."
"Will do. Let's start that tonight."
Oliver stood up and took a step toward the exit—and someone tugged his
sleeve. Shannon had been quietly sorting through magic tools in the corner, but
now she was smiling up at him.
"…Sis?"
"I can join you. Partway. Teresa too."
She spoke as if they were out for a walk. But this was an offer Oliver had no
means of turning down.
The second layer was ideal for an evening stroll. Lush green forests, open
skies above, and a false sun burning in it. The more time he spent down here,
the more Oliver came to realize that this layer served as a surrogate surface for
upperclassmen too buried in their research to ever swing by the campus
proper.
These thoughts ran through Oliver's mind as he walked with Shannon.
Teresa came running over. She was not in hiding today.
"Pepper weed," she said, holding up some grass she'd plucked from the
ground nearby. "Can be boiled down to a good insect repellent. Eaten as is, it's
extremely spicy."
"You know…a lot, Teresa. Good girl."
Shannon patted her on the head, and Teresa went darting off again. She
roamed at a distance for a bit, but a minute later, she came running back to
them. This time, she had a translucent caterpillar pinned between her fingers.
"A bleary moth larva. Edible, but the flavor is extremely unpleasant."
"…You've tried one?" Oliver asked.
"Yes. It turned my mouth purple, and it was some time before I could taste
anything at all."
"Wow… Good to know."
"Would you like to sample it?"
"Maybe some other time."
Teresa tossed the caterpillar aside and dashed away again. She spent so much
of her time concealed, not even allowing her breath to be detected—so Oliver
wasn't quite sure what to make of this side of her.
"…Is she…excited?" he asked.
"Hee-hee. Adorable. Noll…when she's with you…she's always trying to
impress."
Oh, Oliver thought. Excited she might be, but this was likely closer to the real
Teresa, her usual reticence merely a by-product of her covert duties. The
behavior she exhibited when those duties weren't required showed her true
nature.
Catching the look in his eye, Shannon whispered, "Don't worry. Since she
started classes…she's having fun. She does…talk about her friends. Often."
That was some small solace. He managed a nod.
Her little brother started walking again, and Shannon softly asked, "How are
you…physically?"
"Completely back to normal. Movement feels natural—even better than
before."
"…Oh."
"So you don't need to worry—"
"I do, though," she said, speaking over him.
Her head was down, and Oliver swallowed, halting his advance.
"I know…how much pain…it caused," Shannon said. "Not…all of it, perhaps.
But…I was there."
"Sis…"
Unsure what else to say, he let her cup his cheek. Her eyes glistened, staring
up at him. Her voice shook.
"I will never…stop worrying…about you, Noll."
Her tears wouldn't stop, and Oliver had no words to console her. Teresa was
dancing from one foot to the other, unsure what to do or say—but then they
sensed someone else approaching, and she did what covert ops do. As she
vanished into the brush, Oliver pulled away from his cousin.
"Hmm?"
They turned to find a boy pushing his way out of the brush. Eyes gleaming
with curiosity, he looked from Oliver to Shannon and back again.
"A new face!" he said. "I'm Yuri Leik. Rare to see you in different circles,
Oliver."
"Hello. Shannon Sherwood. Seventh-year. You're…Noll's friend?"
She managed a forlorn smile. This brought an end to her dialogue with Oliver.
For once, he welcomed Yuri's interruption, and he almost fled in his direction.
"…You're headed to the layer below, Leik? I'll join you."
Without waiting for an answer, Oliver headed deeper in. Yuri bobbed his head
to Shannon and followed. She stood where she was long after they'd vanished
from view, her eyes fastened on the spot where she'd lost track of her cousin.
Passing through the woods, Yuri spoke up.
"Sorry, I kinda barged in back there."
That was certainly a commendable gesture, but it earned him a frown.
"Since when have you ever not?" Oliver asked. "Why apologize this time?"
"Ha-ha, you got me there. But it's rare I see anyone looking that sad."
He must've been referring to Shannon's smile. Oliver's pace slowed, like he
was carrying a lead weight. He felt an urge to turn and run back to her…and
managed to trample that down.
"Something I didn't get the chance to ask about this morning—you
mentioned you were investigating two cases. What's the Case of the Missing
Bones?" he asked Yuri.
"Oh, right! Um, it's kind of a long story. Still interested?"
Oliver nodded and found a fallen tree to rest on.
"To be clear, this is just the name I've given it," Yuri began. "Pretty sure I'm
the only person who's realized it's a mystery at all."
"? Only you know about it, then?"
"Mm, not quite. Everyone's heard about the events in question—they just
don't think of it as a 'case.'"
These phrases were bewildering Oliver, so Yuri pressed on.
"And we know who did it: a seventh-year named Cyrus Rivermoore."
" ?!"
"You've met him? Sweet. I still haven't had the pleasure."
Yuri's eyes gleamed, but Oliver's expression clouded.
"…A few times, under less than auspicious circumstances. I'm sure you're
aware, but he's a mage specializing in advance compound sorcery using bones
as a conduit. Even in Kimberly, he's one of the biggest threats around."
"Yep! They call him the Scavenger. Anyway, Rivermoore's known for popping
out and assaulting students in the labyrinth, right? I happened to find one of his
victims right after the fact. A fifth-year named Pamela."
"Ms. Gorton? The Labyrinth Seller? I shop with her pretty frequently."
"Right? Her stall's often open on the first layer. Real handy when you just
need to stock up quickly."
But as Yuri spoke, the implications were starting to sink in. Pamela Gorton
provided a valuable service. She was someone you wanted to keep around. So
why would Rivermoore go after her?
"You know the cave between the second and third layers? I found her lying
there. I took care of her, listened to her story, and found out Rivermoore was
behind it," Yuri said. "I only gave her a quick glance over—but one of her bones
was missing. The second lumbar vertebra. And he'd nicely replaced it with a
temporary synthetic bone. After a bit of rest, she was able to walk and made it
back up to campus, but she was definitely not in great shape. Obviously, since
the spine plays a major role in mana circulation."
"…He stole a bone."
Oliver folded his arms, thinking.
"So I got curious and hit the books," Yuri continued. "Pamela wasn't the only
one. For the past three years, Rivermoore's hit up any number of students—and
they all lost a bone. They were out of sorts for a bit, but proper treatment made
them right as rain again. So the bulk of the students affected never even
reported it to the Watch."
"…Then how'd you find out? About the unrecorded victims?"
"Nothing particularly outlandish. I just took a look over the Watch's records of
labyrinth incidents and used that info to contact the victims and ask a few
questions. I bet you've read through those records yourself."
Oliver nodded. That made sense, and he had made use of them on several
occasions. Godfrey's long-term goal was the reduction of such incidents, so he
would happily show the log to anyone who asked. The school papers regularly
used those very records as the basis for articles about common labyrinth
problems.
"Rivermoore's magic uses bones as a conduit, right? Everyone knows that, so
nobody questions why he'd be going around stealing people's bones. They all
just assume it'll be part of some ritual. But that didn't feel right to me."
Yuri was talking faster and faster. He pulled a notebook out of his robe—likely
his notes on the investigation. Every page was filled to the margins. He flipped
to one of them and showed it to Oliver.
"Look at this! Between the Watch's records and my personal inquiries, I wrote
up this list of the bones Rivermoore has taken. Sixty-two in all! Likely not a full
list—probably any number of incidents that never got out at all. But—"
Oliver's eyes ran down the list. Ribs, clavicles, radii, ulnae, tibiae, patellae—as
he skimmed, a realization set in.
"You mean…?"
"Fascinating, right? Not a single overlap. There's, like, two hundred bones in
the human body, and if you're grabbing sixty-plus at random, you're gonna get
the same one eventually. If that hasn't happened, that makes it very likely
Rivermoore is intentionally avoiding duplicate bones."
Yuri was grinning, but this was all leading Oliver to a sinister speculation.
"…He's gathering a complete human skeleton?"
"That's what I thought!" Yuri snapped his notes closed, his eyes brimming
with curiosity. "That's the mystery I'm chasing. Why gather bones from
students? What for? I just have to find out!"
"…Sounds like I can't talk you out of it. What's next on the agenda?"
"Good question. I've got data, and I formed a hypothesis—next up is dropping
it on the man himself. The data say the bulk of Scavenger encounters are on the
third layer and below, so I figure if I wander around down there, I'll meet him
eventually."
"And you fully understand the implications of that, right? You're trying to pry
into the beating heart of that man's spell. And this is the Scavenger—running at
him is tantamount to suicide."
Oliver was intentionally being harsh, but Yuri's face just lit up.
"You're actually worried about me? Awesome!"
"Don't act delighted! This is a perfectly standard response to your reckless
behavior!"
His voice was getting a bit loud. Yet he knew all too well—mere words would
never stop this boy. Yuri had already figured out what kind of mage he was. And
the fear of death would never stop someone who had learned that about
themselves.
Was there a way to prevent Yuri's suicide in light of that? Oliver fell silent,
pondering the question. Eventually, he offered a suggestion.
"…You seemed interested in the combat league."
"Mm?"
"Peppering Rivermoore with questions within the labyrinth will just get you
killed. But if you do the same thing on the surface…it's far less risky."
Yuri snapped his fingers. "Aha!" he said. "You figure Rivermoore's gonna join
in?"
"I can't be sure of it. But given the insane money and prizes at stake, the odds
are good. And it clearly allows for a more planned approach than your random
labyrinth wanderings. Most importantly—if there are eyes on you, it's easier to
stay alive."
A real shot, without the need to delve deeper. And Yuri was starting to nod.
"Achieve my purpose under cover of the festivities! I like it. But if that's the
case, I'll have to join in the league myself." Then he exclaimed, "Oh no!
Whatever shall I do? I have no teammates! Pray, do you know of two kindly
people in my year who would be willing to join forces with me? True friends I
can rely upon?!"
He ramped up the theatrics and kept shooting Oliver meaningful glances.
Oliver heaved the largest sigh he could muster this was very much how he'd feared things would go.