“Gear plays an important role in Gift education. Owing to the Hero Institute and Gear, it is now possible for those with a certain level of ability to artificially acquire Gifts of some degree, even if one is not a prodigy— C-100! Do you think you can sleep in my class?!”
As I was getting lost in my thoughts, Professor Aliza’s sharp voice brought me back to reality. I looked over and saw Ruchika next to me, face down in her textbook, fast asleep.
“Mmmhhh… I can’t eat any more…”
“C-088, what are you gawking at?! Wake her up already!”
“Ruchika. Ruchika, wake up.”
As I had sat there, stunned, Professor Aliza had suddenly barked a rebuke at me, too. I hurried to follow her order, shaking Ruchika by the shoulders. But that showed no signs of working. Then just as I thought she was finally stirring and saying something…
“Nnnh… Lecture’s just so boring… Like some kinda sermon…”
Ruchika’s sleepy reply came out louder than it should have in the quiet classroom.
“…Pffft, a sermon…”
“…Hee-hee-hee…”
Unable to hold it in, other students started bursting into fits of giggles. Professor Aliza grew humiliated up on her podium, shaking her fists in anger.
“…Fine, then. If that’s your attitude, then I have another idea. Everyone is to write a five-thousand-word report on the concept of Gifts and turn it in by next session. Since you’re all so smart, I suppose you won’t require my sermon on the subject. Class is dismissed.”
As everyone in the classroom erupted in complaints over being given such a tedious assignment, Professor Aliza ignored us and quickly took her leave. Naturally, everyone’s gazes then turned to Ruchika, who had caused the problem in the first place. But the girl herself was still in the middle of a carefree dream.
“Oh, Ruchika…you sure know how to make an impression.”
“Nor, please don’t sugarcoat it. This was completely her fault.”
“That’s true, but…”
“Ruchika, if you don’t wake up this instant, I’ll resent you for the rest of my life.”
“I’m up!”
Ruchika popped up so fast, I doubted she was ever asleep in the first place. But it seemed she truly didn’t have a grasp on the whole situation, as she looked around in befuddlement at the harsh glares piercing her from all over the classroom.
“Umm…did I do something wrong?”
“Sure did.”
“Aw, dang… Now I’m in trouble!”
But Ruchika didn’t look troubled at all as she simply laughed it off.
As one could see, Ruchika’s attitude when it came to her classes was terrible. And it wasn’t only in lectures—she basically did as she pleased in practical training, too.
“C-100! Put your Gear on!”
“But it’s easier if I don’t wear it!”
“I don’t care—put it on anyway! Learning to use your Gear well is the shortest path in becoming a hero—”
“I’ll become a hero without a Gear. How about that?!”
Her ability to do better than everyone else in the class even without her Gear only served to annoy the people around her. But it was saying something if she even came to class in the first place, as she usually failed to attend any courses she wasn’t interested in. Personally, I found her conduct unbelievable. However, Ruchika performed so remarkably well in practical training that no one had any room to complain. I couldn’t help but secretly feel embarrassed at how she did all this.
The reason I was so stubborn over the use of Gear was because it was something my mother had bequeathed to the world. Before she’d invented Gear, humans didn’t have much use for magical devices—and it was the first device of its kind, one created by implementing the magic of demonkind. As I’d already explained, Gear instructed its wearer of the ideal path they should take. Consequently, it was an incredible waste for someone to go out of their way to avoid using it.
As the daughter of the Almighty Hero, I had always faithfully followed the guidance of my Gear. Although I’d doubted if I would be suited for the path my Gear had recommended—swordplay—the odds of the device being wrong were slim to none. And sure enough, ever since the introduction of Gear, Kars Kingdom had produced a steady stream of capable heroes in all sorts of fields. It stood to reason that we should follow it. Moreover, as the daughter of the woman who’d created Gear, I considered its guidance tantamount to my mother’s own words. Because I believed this to be true, I had dedicated myself to the practice of swordplay.
And yet, as if to disregard all this, Ruchika did whatever she pleased. The way she steadfastly believed in herself over everything else and acted accordingly made me knit my brow. I had nothing against her, but that one point—the way she ignored the guidance of her Gear—I simply could not accept. It was almost like an insult to my mother’s memory.
“What’s wrong, Leonie? You look upset about something.”
“…And whose fault do you think that is?”
“Huh?”
I curtly responded to Ruchika’s question, venting my anger at her, and started to leave.
“Ah, wait up, honey!”
“Who do you think you’re calling ‘honey’?!”
I can’t with this girl…
“Ruchika, you should take your obligations more seriously. Please, do what you’re supposed to.”
“Leonie, I think you should try to give yourself a little more freedom. Why don’t you just do what you want to do?”
It seemed our mindsets would run parallel to each other no matter what, never to reach agreement. I could do nothing but heave a sigh at her for what felt like the millionth time.