[326] The Second Outing (4)
"Ten snowballs for ten silver—that's one silver apiece? Pretty pricey."
Shirone, who'd grown up in the mountains and never seen a festival, felt a culture shock.
Amy, however, acted like it was perfectly normal.
"Tourist stuff comes with a premium. And that Ice Queen plush is actually famous. It's made on purpose by the district, so you can only get it at the winter festival. They change the designs every year—some people collect them."
"Oh? Is that so?"
Shirone's eyes brightened.
If it was a festival limited item, its value would only go up over time.
If he could win, paying ten silver for ten snowballs wouldn't be a bad trade.
"Alright, I'll give it a shot. Watch this."
Shirone paid ten silver.
"Ten snowballs, please."
"Another brave challenger steps up. May the Ice Queen's blessing be upon you."
There probably wasn't any real benefit to being blessed by the Ice Queen, but since her character was a festival commodity, Shirone let it pass.
He took the box of snowballs.
Someone was already trying the challenge when he entered the game area. While he waited, he picked up one of the balls from the box—water mixed into the snow made it dense and heavy.
'Hmm, this should throw pretty far.'
Throwing wasn't the problem.
But the layout showed the only way to get a snowball to the opposite turret was through a window cut into the wall.
Because the throwing angle was limited, it wasn't just hard to generate technique—accuracy would suffer a lot, too.
"Whew, this is tougher than I thought."
The challenger who'd failed wiped sweat from his brow and stepped back.
People who came every winter knew just how hard it was to win an Ice Queen collectible, so they weren't upset.
Following the host's directions, Shirone set the box down and picked up a snowball.
He rolled it between his fingers to estimate the distance, opened his stance, and threw with all his strength.
The ball passed through the window, fell under gravity, struck the battlement below the watchtower, and shattered.
A ripple of amused laughter went up among the tourists.
Normally Shirone would have laughed too, but since Amy was watching, his face warmed.
He couldn't bring himself to look back at her, so he snatched another ball and analyzed his failure.
'You can't raise the angle, so you can't apply much technique. This is way harder than I expected.'
Of course—the game offering a festival-limited prize wouldn't be made easy.
"Come on…!"
Gritting his teeth, Shirone threw again.
Maybe it was his resolve, but he almost hit the right distance. The ball, however, sailed past the soldier target and landed uselessly.
"Whew! Whew!"
Spurred on, he threw repeatedly.
He'd once landed a Thunder Strike on the first try, so he figured he could chip away at the errors and eventually succeed.
But after five throws the realization came.
'This is harder than Thunder Strike.'
The rules were simple, but it wasn't a slapdash game. It was set up to look winnable to anyone while subtly manipulating viable angles and distances so that only those with natural power or pro technique could actually hit the mark.
After ten throws Shirone was panting.
Despite the cold, his body was hot and sweat beaded on his forehead. He couldn't take off his coat because he still had Armand at his waist.
Sheepishly, he stuck out his tongue and went back to Amy.
"Uh…sorry. I failed."
"There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a game. Still, that looked really hard."
From Amy's view, Shirone's attempt made it clear the game's difficulty was top-tier.
Judging by his flushed face—if you factored in strength, gravity, and air resistance—there really weren't many trajectories that could hit the target.
"Hahaha! What a flop. Kids from the magic academy, huh? Pathetic to watch."
Shirone and Amy both turned. A shaggy-haired boy was approaching with a sneer.
Behind him stood a tall, curly-haired youth and a heavily made-up girl, all posed like they owned the place.
"Long time no see, Amy."
When Jocre reached out his hand, Amy paused and went quiet for a beat.
Since entering Alpheas School of Magic she hadn't really known anyone besides school friends.
Especially not boys.
"Um—sorry, who are you again?"
Jocre's face crumpled.
How could she not remember him? Even if she'd rejected him, a confession should be unforgettable.
At least Jocre thought so. He'd never had a girl confess to him, but if it happened he'd be proud of it forever.
"You don't remember? Or are you pretending? Jocre. Ains School of Magic. Seriously don't know me?"
"Jocre? Jocre…"
Amy mumbled, then suddenly opened her eyes wide and pointed.
"Ahhh! Oh my god! Wow! It's been so long."
Her exaggerated surprise wasn't exactly warm, but it swelled Jocre's pride in front of his friends.
Who else but Amy of the Karmis family would notice him?
They hadn't come merely to reminisce, though, so he lifted his chin and looked down his nose.
"Hmph. Don't you at least give a proper greeting?"
"Huh? What greeting?"
Jocre glanced over his friends, then pointed at himself with his thumb.
"Heard you're still at school. We're proper mages now—certified Grade-10 mages."
"Proper mages." The words hit Amy harder than she let on. She'd entered Alpheas at twelve; that phrase had lived in her head ever since.
Praying her expression hadn't stiffened too far, Amy reached out and offered Jocre her hand.
"Congratulations. You finally graduated."
She'd been thirteen then. Her memories of Jocre were thin, but she clearly remembered feeling a little superior when he'd transferred away like he was running from something.
A smile spread across Jocre's face.
Amy's poker face was perfect, but her feelings were readable. How humiliating it must be to watch from the outside as the world hailed a genius from the Karmis family while he'd supposedly failed.
'Hmph. How was it? Dumping you must have felt way worse than this.'
Jocre turned his attention to the blank-faced Shirone.
"Well, look who we ran into. Arian Shirone—kingdom's biggest prospect, yeah?"
Shirone remained silent. He could tell they hadn't come in peace.
"Want some advice from a senior? A 'prospect' is just a prospect. The real game starts after you become an official mage. Still, for a commoner you're doing alright. Hahaha!"
Amy snapped, angry.
"Jocre! What are you saying? Apologize to Shirone right now!"
"Why should I? I'm not wrong. Oh—was that a public secret? You should give up for your own sanity. It's already in the journals. None of the students don't know."
"Really? Fine. Then I'll say whatever I want. You sure you can handle it?"
Jocre's eyes hardened. Whatever she was about to say made him flinch.
'Amy…'
Five years had passed; Amy had grown into a much prettier girl than the child he remembered.
Her hair was permed in a style you wouldn't see in a journal photo, her clothes bright and cute—she'd clearly put effort into her appearance.
'Tch. That's a look she saves just for Shirone.'
Among the boys at Ains School of Magic, Amy had the biggest share of attention; across the kingdom, that number would be even larger.
Thinking she dressed up, put on makeup, and chose pretty clothes for one person alone gnawed at him—he felt defeated without even fighting.
'Disappointing, Amy. How could you possibly date a commoner? No matter how skilled, he's still just a student.'
Seeing Shirone frown and say nothing after being called a commoner made Jocre even more annoyed.
'He should at least say something. Is he snubbing me? No, he must be cowed by the "official mage" title. Pathetic—hiding behind a girl like that…tsk.'
He was wrong.
To someone like Shirone—who'd once gone toe-to-toe with Bosun, a certified Grade-4 mage—the title "official mage" wasn't particularly threatening.
Shirone's scowl wasn't because of Jocre, but because of the Armand at his waist.
The human mind flows like water.
Armand's precision control was an intricate function that synced with its owner's mind to near perfection.
If emotions weren't perfectly controlled, Armand could move before the owner had steadied their thoughts.
That's why it was a magic sword with a curse.
It might not have mattered to its previous owner, Gion—he could act on emotion and deal with the consequences.
But Shirone had to keep living his student life.
As a commoner with nowhere to turn, if he ever killed someone it could ruin him forever.
More than that, since coming back from Kazura he couldn't control his emotions as he used to.
The demon Behemoth was sealed in a binding circle, but it was linked to Shirone's mind through the keyword "anger."
If his emotions flared out of control, Armand could act without giving Shirone's conscious mind a chance to stop it.
'Maybe I shouldn't have come out wearing it. I'll be more careful.'
Seeing Shirone hold back, Jocre clicked his tongue and nodded toward the game area as he spoke to Amy.
"Guess not everything in the journals is true. Can't even buy your girl a doll. Mind if we show how it's done?"
Amy shrugged.
Anyone could play if they paid; there was no reason to refuse.
"Go ahead, if you want."
Jocre's group stepped into the game area.
Perhaps conscious of Shirone's earlier attempt, Vivian made sure to be heard.
"Guys, if you get the Ice Queen, you better give it to me."
"Try first. Though, if it's Rudvans, it should be easy."
The host handed over a box of snowballs. Jocre had paid, but Rudvans received the box.
Jocre turned to Shirone and Amy with a smug look and thumbed Rudvans.
"Rudvans is our school's Tugu representative. Expect great things."
Tugu was a combat sport derived from ancient warfare: five-person teams compete in an arena with cover, using rubber balls to hit opponents.
Among amateurs it's a fun game kids enjoy, but at the interschool level it approaches pro speed—pitches can top 160 kilometers per hour.
With three-cushion tactics and an array of trick throws, it's thrilling and dangerous.
Rudvans was the school's ace, and Ains' Tugu team had reached the quarterfinals in last year's national tournament.
"Alright…let's start with a probing throw."
Rudvans' form was in a different league from a layperson's. Every part of his motion had engineered mechanics, flowing together to produce top-tier technique.
He swung his arm like a falling tree; a snap of air sounded as the snowball shot out.
It struck the target dead center. Vivian whooped with delight.
"Nice! One throw! Told you our school's ace would do it!"