Several hours later, they finally agreed upon a way to incorporate Allen’s “bonus round” into the official scoring, ultimately coming up with an overall score of 6,560 points. They felt no accomplishment for their efforts in managing to do so, however, for they all keenly understood what the score truly was: meaningless. The previous record—one set by the fabled cohort of students that had included Salaman Swordfiend, Fire Lord Festie, and Saint Sally Reverence, among other figures of legend—had stood firm for 120 years and, until now, had been thought to be unbreakable. Class 1-A had broken it with ease, however, with a score that felt entirely hollow to those who’d determined it.
That meeting marked the first time that the Royal Academy’s esteemed faculty felt a sense of impending danger—that if they remained complacent, resting on their laurels, they’d quickly be left behind by the times.
Michale smiled gently upon seeing their somewhat fearful expressions. “Don’t fret too much, everyone. There are simply some things that cannot be measured via conventional means. Officially, we will record a score of 6,560 points for Class 1-A, but in my official report to His Majesty the King, I will note that we were unable to evaluate their score successfully, and take full personal responsibility for our failure to do so. Any objections?”
None were forthcoming, so Michale continued. “From all the reports that have crossed my desk concerning Allen Rovene, it appears he has a particular fondness for the words common sense. Wind magic, spellswords, and even that so-called zone healing spell he encouraged the Reverence girl to cast... All were just ‘common sense,’ or so he’d have us believe. Ha! No, I believe the boy is trying to send us a message. He’s telling us that what we consider to be common sense is outdated. Obviously, he’s already redefining what those words mean per his own opinions—we can either learn from him, or lag behind. That’s merely my own interpretation, of course.”
With that, Michale stood up and turned to the window, pulling the curtain aside and flinging it open. The sky above was dotted with wispy clouds, and the crisp wind carried the promise of imminent winter. She turned to face them once more, looking at each of them in turn—and then spoke. “The Royal Academy has no need for teachers willing to sit idle while their students make a fool of them. Our pride as educators...we will reclaim it.”
Her declaration set a bright flame burning in every heart in the room, and seeing their expressions—now fervent, rather than fearful—Michale smiled again.
Yes, that’s it... That’s what makes you Royal Academy teachers.