“And so, having determined that any further attempts to recapture their strongholds would be futile, I offered my surrender. Any questions?” Godolphen asked, thus concluding his rather broad account of the events of the camp. Those gathered before him were already holding a more detailed report of the same events that was meticulously compiled by Tim, vice captain of the Fifth Legion of the Royal Order. A graduate of the Royal Academy himself, Tim was skilled in not only combat, but also in matters of a more administrative nature. Furthermore, being largely responsible for recruitment within the Fifth Legion, he was also renowned for his ability to give insightful (and impartial) evaluations of prospective recruits.
Besides Godolphen and Tim, also present at the meeting were the chairwoman, most members of the faculty, and a few other concerned parties, all of whom—after hearing Godolphen’s report—were impersonating a collection of particularly dumbfounded statues. All except one that was, who instead had a broad smile. Her name was Thora. She was a notable researcher in the field of monster-derived ingredients, and she also served as the matron of the standard dormitory (or the Doghouse, as it was colloquially known), where all of the Class 1-A students resided. Living in such close proximity to the students in question, she was quite familiar with their private lives, thus the reason for her participation in the meeting.
Within seconds, all eyes had turned to Thora, mostly because she’d just burst into a fit of unruly laughter.
“Ha ha! Hee hee hee... Oh, he got you good! Shouldn’t someone who was once vice commander of the Royal Order have a little more self-restraint, Goldie? But no, the kid provokes you into a fight, and not only do you give it to him, but then you go and lose spectacularly too!” Thora began laughing once more, clapping her hands in wild glee.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Madam Cendrillion...” Musica Yugria—assistant chairwoman, teacher at the Academy, and the appointed facilitator of the ongoing meeting—said, her expression complicated. She was genuinely pleased to hear that the students were growing, and rapidly at that. As a proud educator, though, she couldn’t quite stomach the fact that they’d grown far beyond her wildest expectations without her even realizing it, nor that she’d apparently had no part to play in their growth herself.
“Of course I am! I see how hard those kids push themselves every day, and I know better than anyone how strict they are on themselves. I love ’em like they’re my own, and any decent parent would be thrilled to see their kids performing so well.” She grinned. “I’ve taken a special liking to the Rovene kid though. He’s loved that run-down dorm of mine since the minute he stepped foot inside, and he’s never been afraid to show it.”
Tim nodded, smiling wryly. “I heard there were rumors of suspected misconduct when he first enrolled, but after seeing him in action, I can’t fathom why anyone suspected him in the first place. His discipline and his determination are incredible—scarily so, in fact.”
Thora cackled. “You’re damn right, Tim. People less perceptive than you took that determination to be simple stubbornness, but they were fools, the lot of ’em.” She paused for a moment, gazing up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Once... Once, I came across him singing this song.”
She began to croon. It was a song no one present had heard before, with a slow, melancholic melody that seemed to reverberate inside their chests. The lyrics spoke of month after month spent reading, of pages illuminated by the light of fireflies and the moonlit glow of the snow beyond the window frame, until the final line, where the singer left through the cedar door and left their life and loved ones behind. It was certainly no lighthearted lullaby.
“I asked the boy where he’d learned such a song, and he said it was his own composition.” She smiled gently, a stark contrast to her usual wild grins. “Compared to circumstances like that—studying day in and day out with only the snow for light—I guess even the Doghouse would feel like paradise.”
Musica tilted her head, frowning in disbelief. “Allen Rovene was singing? I suppose it’s not uncommon for children from the high nobility to have musical inclinations, but I’m rather surprised to learn that he does... Those lyrics surprise me more, though. Even for a viscountal family from the countryside, I doubt they were so destitute as to not be able to afford at least a few candles, if not proper lighting.”
“I thought the same, Musica, so I asked the kid, and he told me he drew inspiration for the lyrics from that private tutor of his,” Thora replied.
Upon hearing this (which, in reality, was merely another of Allen’s spontaneous decisions to attribute random extracts from his previous life to Soldo), Godolphen’s shoulders began to shake. “Alas, it seems my tear glands have weakened with age,” he murmured, wiping his eyes. “I always wondered why someone of Soldo Vineforce’s apparent caliber never tried to make more of a name for himself in the world... I owe him an apology. Someone as blessed as I could never even begin to imagine the misfortunes he’s surely suffered, nor do I have any right to be criticizing the decisions of such a great man. Oh, if only he’d been born under a brighter star! If only our world was a fairer place...”
Tim grunted. “I dismissed the notion of a ‘simple life’ in the standard dorm as a mere idealistic fantasy on the boy’s part. I thought it was nothing more than the whim of a privileged child playing at being a commoner, I’ll admit. But now that I’ve seen their discipline and teamwork firsthand, I’d be a fool not to reconsider. Their shared determination is nothing short of extraordinary, and I can only conclude that it comes as a result of their communal lifestyle.” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. “Physical strength is relatively easy to evaluate, but mental fortitude is another beast entirely. Determining to what extent it might have impacted their results would be all but impossible. However, if you ask me what sets Class 1-A apart from the rest most of all, I would say it’s that immeasurable willpower of theirs.”
A somber atmosphere had fallen over the room ever since Thora’s rendition of the song she’d heard Allen crooning on his way back from the dorm’s bathing area. Incidentally, the song—which was traditionally played over the loudspeakers when a public bathhouse was closing for the day back in his native Japan—had merely popped into Allen’s mind spontaneously, and he’d started singing without realizing Thora was nearby.
“All right, everyone. We need to focus. We’ll start by reexamining the first scenario...” In an attempt to get things back on track, Musica kept the discussion moving in a forcibly cheerful voice. No matter how hard the scoring would be, they still had to decide on a score; such was their responsibility as educators.
At Musica’s urging, they began the arduous task of determining Class 1-A’s official overall score, ultimately landing upon a shocking result of 5,250 points. Their basic score of 50 points had been multiplied by an unprecedented difficulty level of 70, before being further multiplied by an incomprehensible completion rate of 150 percent.
“I can’t believe it... The previous record of 4,320 points has been unbroken for over a century, and they’ve put it to shame while also arriving in last place...” Jeffery (Class 2-D’s homeroom teacher) muttered, shaking his head.
“Well, actually...” Godolphen interjected. “In truth, there is more to the fifth scenario than what you’ve read in the report. I’ve only spoken to the chairwoman of this so far, though I imagine you already have your suspicions, Tim... When I offered my surrender to Allen Rovene and Beld Univance at the northern stronghold, I found myself on the receiving end of a thorough scolding. The boy questioned my alleged ‘indomitability’ and criticized my discipline for good measure.”
Everyone stared at him blankly, completely unprepared for whatever it might be that the Sage was about to say. Tim’s report, while thorough, had made no mention of anything that had occurred after he’d fallen in battle. As soon as he’d “died,” he’d been forbidden to continue observing the scenario, given that his mere presence could potentially influence the student’s decisions and the eventual outcome.