[373] Vol. 16 - Graduation Class Briefing (1)
A special tradition began where the students of Class Two welcomed the freshmen from Class Three.
When Shirone stepped past the steel gate, the jeers vanished as if they had never been there, and the students parted to make a path.
Shirone walked down the aisle to the sound of applause. It was a welcoming applause, but it didn't make him smile.
'This is Class Two.'
In the senior class, when ten students graduate, the remaining twenty are ranked according to their graduation exam scores. So the ten students welcoming him now were those who had been knocked out relatively early in last year's graduation exam.
Amy was among them, clapping.
She'd been the third eliminated last year, so she belonged to Class Two. In the senior class ranking, that made her eighteenth.
Shirone fixed his gaze forward and took in their faces out of the corner of his eye.
Male, female.
For now, that was all the impression he had.
Of course, having observed last year's graduation exam, he remembered the majors of a few students. Still, right now it felt like facing a group of strangers.
'If I can't break through here, I can't reach the top ranks.'
Class Two was the backbone of the senior class, the boundary between the upper and lower tiers.
The average age of this year's seniors was 20.6.
Shirone was 1.6 years younger than average, but considering senior veterans like Fermi and his group, most were around his age, and some were even younger.
The Class Three students who had passed along the path opened by Class Two circled back and arrived in front of the steel gate. They stood opposite the Class Two students, one by one.
"Welcome to the senior class."
A man stepped forward with a face full of confidence.
Shirone recognized him by voice alone. He'd been the one who'd hurled the harshest taunts before Shirone passed through the gate.
He was a flashy handsome fellow with blond hair slicked back.
His outfit, uncharacteristic for a mage, was a fitted blue tracksuit that showed off his frame.
About 175 cm tall, lean but well-proportioned enough not to look weak.
His cold gaze and high, wolfish nose gave him a sharp look, and when he smiled the tip of his tongue showed a strangely red sheen, as if stained with blood.
"I'm Screamer, top of Class Two."
At the name Screamer, the students of Class Three shared the same thought.
"He's eleventh."
"Eleventh overall."
His major was light, but his style differed from Shirone's photon magic or Dante's information magic.
Strictly speaking, he was a spellblade.
A hybrid like a gunner: he used various light magics to disorient opponents, then finished them with lethal blows using Schema-enhanced physical ability.
The only other senior who could use Schema was Amy.
But unlike Amy, who'd only learned it briefly as a child, Screamer's Schema was at a very high level.
His flashy teleportation moves that let him slip into blind spots and end fights with a single punch had drawn attention even in last year's graduation exam.
There were those who said that if not for his complicated arrangements—planning to join the Colosseum and train in hand-to-hand combat after graduating—he might have finished school even earlier. In short, he was a prodigy.
After Screamer finished, Pony stepped forward.
Her calm, pale-gold hair flowed down from a pretty crescent-shaped forehead, and her habitual expressionless face made it look like someone was trying to preserve a beautiful scene in a frame.
Her white face, crescent-shaped eyebrows, prominent nose, and pointed chin made her look like a doll from a distance.
"I'm Pony. Rank twelve. Major: Hydrodynamics. Branch: Rapids."
If Screamer's introduction had been long-winded, Pony's was brief.
Still, the Class Three students couldn't take their eyes off her. Not just because she was very pretty, but because everyone realized the most important detail had been left out of her introduction.
"Ah, so that's Pony."
The only royal at Alpheas School of Magic.
Though it was from the maternal line and thus distant from the core of power, it was still royal blood—something nobles wouldn't dare treat lightly.
Of course, competition in the senior class was fair. Pony hadn't added her lineage because she knew there was no reason to pointlessly make enemies.
Royal pride flowed in Pony's eyes. She reminded Shirone a little of Zion, the prince of Kazra. Not as intense as Uorin's absolute stare, but still there.
After Pony's turn, the introductions continued in a steady stream.
Shirone listened to each one with interest. Then he felt a woman standing in front of him watching him and turned his head.
Everyone's attention was on whoever was currently introducing themselves, but only she had been inspecting Shirone with a mischievous look from start to finish.
'Maya… was it?'
Brown-skinned, plump and rounded; her face was soft-featured in a way that made her rather cute.
She left a peculiar impression on Shirone.
She had been the first eliminated in last year's graduation exam. He'd heard she'd also come in last the year before.
Her major was sound magic—buffs and debuffs using sound—but Shirone had never been impressed.
In short, she lacked talent.
Her sound magic couldn't pierce a mage's psyche; she was scraping by on basic spells learned in the advanced class.
Solid fundamentals, but not skilled enough to face geniuses—she occupied that ambiguous border between the advanced and senior classes.
When Shirone looked, Maya flashed a grin and lifted her hand.
"Hi."
Shirone glanced around. It was poor manners to converse while others were introducing themselves.
But she didn't care; she leaned over and spoke in a small voice.
"I know you. Arian Shirone."
It was awkward to answer or not. Shirone hesitated a moment before replying in a whisper.
"Oh—yes. I see."
"You were at that research presentation last year. The ghost incident. I was really startled, you know? How did you even think of something like that? It was brilliant. I've been your fan ever since."
Maya still remembered that day vividly.
She'd lain down after hearing the midnight bell, and when a ghost popped out of the ceiling she'd nearly fainted.
Following the other students had led her to the central park, and that was when the three members of the Paranormal Psychoscience Research Club appeared on the roof.
Their presentation, which targeted psychological weak spots, had delighted her so much she'd laughed until she had stomach cramps.
"The play was super fun, too. You pulled off cross-dressing really well. What did you stuff in your chest?"
Screamer turned and scowled.
"Hey, Maya. We're in the middle of introductions."
"Ah, sorry. I got too excited."
"Tch. Some people have no sense…"
Maya stuck out her tongue at Shirone with an embarrassed look.
He still couldn't judge what sort of person she was. But the way Class Two looked at her was hostile.
Because she always took the last places, some didn't even accept her presence in the senior class.
Screamer was a prime example.
He'd missed getting into Class One by one rank and was annoyed even to share a class with someone like Maya.
When the introductions finally ended, Screamer brightened visibly.
"All right, now that we've seen everyone's faces, let's start the steel-gate tradition—the Courage of Truth."
Pony muttered with a sour face.
"Tradition my foot… tacky."
"Huh? Courage of Truth?"
Shirone raised an eyebrow and waited for an explanation. Screamer opened his mouth with his usual theatrical gesture.
"We'll ask the people standing opposite us questions. For example, who's the most handsome person? Something like that. Then you point to one of us."
'Hmm, I see.'
There was no better way to intimidate freshmen.
They used "most handsome" as an example, but no one would choose a kind question like that.
"So that's why Amy told me to definitely pick you."
Screamer looked at a boy with a youthful face.
"Aider, you go first. You're the youngest."
"Tch, it's about age here too?"
Aider was seventeen. That was why Amy hadn't had the title of youngest senior last year.
With catlike large eyes and dimples when he smiled, he looked far younger than his age; being short for a boy added to that impression.
'Why emphasize age?'
Shirone tilted his head.
What did being the youngest mean in a senior class where everyone was a competitor?
Still, Aider pouted a little and obeyed Screamer.
'Because the title of youngest is useful.'
Admitting you were young might invite petty annoyances, but it also came with clear advantages.
'True. Even I let my guard down around Aider sometimes.'
Aider's question was directed at Arin, the freshman. The Class Two students watched with interest.
It was none other than Arin the freshman. Whatever question he asked would surely make things entertaining.
Aider thought for a moment, then grinned like a prankster.
"Who's the ugliest person?"
"Huh?"
It was an unexpected question for Arin.
She couldn't properly perceive the shapes of things. That kind of information had already spread through the school, so the seniors likely already knew.
Class Two tensed automatically.
To her, "ugly" might mean an inner distortion as much as outward looks.
"The ugliest person?"
"Yes. Pick someone so ugly you'd ask how a human could possibly be born looking like that."
"Hmm."
Arin stared at Aider's grinning face.
Then she tapped her lips and slowly scanned the students of Class Two.
A few shifted their gaze away.
'Why ask that? Is he testing me?'
Arin raised her forefinger and pointed to someone on her right.
"You. I'll pick you, then."
He was a student so fat you could almost feel the heat radiating off him.
Even at a senior-class event he clutched a bag of potato chips, clearly addicted to food.
His eyes were small and hooded, his hair a tangled mess showing no care.
If only he wore baggy clothes it might be tolerable, but he wore tight garments that revealed his body's curves—embarrassing to look at.
'It's Luman.'
Luman, rank thirteen among the seniors.
His major was trap magic, branch: crowd control.
A branch that couldn't shine alone, he was skilled but prickly in personality, which often left him at a disadvantage.
Screamer snapped his fingers in rhythm and clapped.
"Ha, a woman's eye is sharp, as expected. Even a freshman can spot looks like an expert. Oh, who knows—if appearance is just a mold, maybe the heart inside was cast the same way."
A few students laughed.
Among them was Boil from Class Three. But his laugh lacked sincerity.
The psychological warfare had begun; they'd chosen an aggressive start.
Luman, made a mockery of, just continued to chew his chips loudly. Then he pointed at Boil and asked.
"But why are you laughing? Isn't that wrong to laugh?"
Boil exaggeratedly pouted.
"What? Whether I laugh or not, what's it to you?"
"It doesn't matter. But you're fat too. If you laugh, isn't that self-deprecation?"
Boil stared at Luman, flaring as his mother had taught him, and snapped back.
"I'm plump; you're fat. There's a clear difference. I've got elegance; you're just a pig."
Luman paused chewing the chip in his mouth, then resumed with the only response he had.