“Well, now we’ve identified our enemy,” I said.
“Enemy,” the chairman echoed with a laugh.
This is no laughing matter.
“They are our enemies. They’re trying to interfere with our performance all because of a difference in factions. They’ve even infringed upon some students’ right to take part in the festival. Are you okay with that? I’m not. Therefore, they’re our enemies.”
I was mostly saying that to rile the other students up, but momentum is important for these things. The acquiescence of everyone in the barrier had proven this point.
Yep. Sometimes muscle-brained reasoning is the best.
“Y-You’re right. And right now, our enemy believes their plan is working.”
“Yeah, but our performance is going to suffer either way.”
The chairman was quite right.
“Just to be sure,” I said, “you can all manage a coordinated spell by yourself, right? The third prince and I both can.”
This sent a ripple of surprise.
“A coordinated spell solo?”
“That’s impossible!”
“But she said she and His Highness can do it. Your Highness, is this really true?”
The third prince responded with a silent nod, startling the other students, including the chairman. Was it really that unexpected? Either way, actions spoke far louder than words at times like these.
“I understand your doubts, so let me show you,” I said.
“Huh?”
There were all sorts of coordinated spells, but the best proof would be the spell used in our upcoming performance. So all by myself, I began to cast. I played another team’s part in order to avoid any suspicions that the third prince might be helping me.
The older students were completely bewildered.
“It’s really possible...”
“No way. I can’t believe a second-year could do that...”
Some of the reactions were a tad insulting, but I let them slide. Now they all believed that casting a coordinated spell solo was possible.
“As you can see, even an individual can handle a coordinated spell,” I said. “Now, this isn’t feasible for anyone with a low mana pool or if they’re just plain bad at magic.”
“That’s a frank way to put it,” the chairman said with a chuckle. “So in other words, the students with the best grades should still be able to manage?”
He was quite right, meaning everyone inside the barrier would be able to cast solo once they practiced it a bit.
“Seeing as we applied to use coordinated spells on academy grounds, most people would assume that we’ll be helpless if we lose too many members. Of course, that includes our enemies.”
“And we’re going to take advantage of that assumption by practicing coordinated spells solo so we can finish the performance.”
I nodded. “One more thing: We should probably not let anyone know that we can do this. That includes everyone still left in general magic.”
The chairman and the other upperclassmen were outraged.
“You think they’d inform the enemy?!”
Well, yeah.
“I don’t believe they would do it intentionally. However, someone might let it slip out while chatting with friends in the dorm. They can’t leak what they don’t know.”
What if someone unintentionally spilled the beans, allowing the enemy to come up with a new plan and ruin the event? Wouldn’t that student be flooded with guilt? They’d probably agonize over it. More than necessary if they were the diligent sort.
The outraged students accepted my careful explanation.
“In that case...”
“Nobody will complain if we just say that the top students are practicing on their own.”
“Won’t that leave their teams shorthanded?”
“We’ll have to reorganize...”
I hadn’t thought of that. But this was just another thing we could foist onto an adult!
“How about we ask the general magic instructor to take care of team composition?”
That made their eyes go wide. The third prince seemed more exasperated.
Don’t worry about it. It’s a good idea.
“Our instructor also handled the initial composition,” I said, pressing on with a smile. “I see no reason we can’t ask for an update. Our practice is already keeping us more than occupied.”
Nobody objected to that. Like I said, they all understood that they would otherwise end up doing it themselves. Nobody wanted that chore.
After that chat, we decided that the chairman would talk to Bear on our behalf. Thank goodness for that. If I went, Bear would find some way or another to make me help. In the end, he agreed to take charge of reshuffling the teams, along with allowing the top students to use coordinated spells solo.
In exchange, the second-years (myself included) would teach the older students the method—or trick—to solo casting. The first-years wouldn’t be part of this because they still hadn’t officially learned coordinated magic. Oh? But last year, we did synchronized magic, which was even more of a challenge. I would’ve started to get bitter if not for my friends’ support.
All it took was a simple explanation and the chosen students had the hang of it. It probably helped that our musical performance didn’t ask for anything too difficult. Normally, you’d think putting on a little concert would be a lot of work, but everyone was in charge of just a single sound bite each. The important part was working together so it all formed something coherent.
I thought organizing the performance was a much trickier job than actually performing. The messy task of herding all of general magic fell to the chairman, and he was doing it splendidly. Maybe he was just born for roles like this.
I could never show the same level of attention to detail that he had. Again, my meathead tendencies were showing, but that was fine. I wasn’t meant for taking the lead. What’s that? I needed those skills if I was going to inherit my house? Well, it was probably too late to tell them I didn’t want the job.
One day while getting ready for the festival, I was called upon by Bear. The top students had already gotten comfortable handling coordinated spells solo and were busy practicing their parts. So what did Bear want with me? The new teams had already been sorted out and I didn’t think there was anything else he could drag me into.