Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume 6 - Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

The Grilling

Disaster occurred during second period that morning. The first sword arts class Oliver had attended since relieving his double.

“…”

“What’s the matter, Oliver? You don’t look so good.”

Students were finishing up their sets and moving into the skirmish phase. Oliver was staring pensively at his athame. Sensing something amiss, Chela approached, but before he could answer, Rossi chimed in.

“The ’eat is on! Oliver, will you do the honors?”

“…We’ve already got a duel set for tomorrow, though.”

“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, eh? We rush straight to the main event, and you will be left astonished by my progress!”

Not waiting for an answer, Rossi pulled him toward the practice area. Oliver had no plans to turn down a sparring match—that wasn’t the problem here. It all just felt so wrong. Unable to shake that, he found himself facing Rossi at one-step, one-spell range.

“Ready? ’Ere we go!”

Rossi was already moving. He was melding the boldness of his self-taught style with the tricky techniques of the Koutz school, and it was getting harder and harder to read his approach. Oliver couldn’t afford a lapse of attention. He hit his usual Lanoff midstance, ready to parry.

“……Uh?”

They’d made it eight ripostes. Rossi let out a shocked grunt, and an athame clattered to the floor—knocked from Oliver’s hand by a blow to his wrist.

“““““““ ?!”””””””

A moment later, students in all directions turned to stare. Rossi taking a run against Oliver was a regular feature of this class—including the outcome, which invariably involved him being outmatched and sent packing. Everyone knew how things were supposed to go. Until now. And this didn’t happen at the end of a furious exchange but during the initial warm-up phase.

“……!”

Oliver was staring at his hand in shock, and his friends came running over. Guy, Katie, and Pete formed a shield in front of him and glared at Rossi.

“Rossi, you ass! I thought you were better than that!”

“I know you crave victory, but using poison?!”

“Oliver, what’s wrong?! What did he do to you?!”

“My honor lies besmirched! I swear, I am innocent! Upon my word as a Ytallian!”

Rossi threw up his hands in the face of this interrogation. More students joined the fray, and the commotion got loud enough that Garland turned to address the class—but just in time, Oliver himself spoke up.

“…He’s telling the truth. He did nothing untoward.”

A hush settled over the crowd. Oliver collected his athame and sheathed it. Then he pushed through the students to Rossi, doing his best to smile.

“Victory is yours, Rossi. You finally got me.”

He gave the Ytallian a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. Rossi was just gaping at him, and their respective reactions were making the crowd rethink things.

“…You’re off your game, Mr. Horn,” Stacy Cornwallis said.

Fay Willock nodded. “Are you sure there are no poison or curses involved? Those would be less shocking than this.”

Across the room, Richard Andrews was giving Oliver a dubious look. And a similar thought had the room buzzing again.

“…Then…”

“…He’s just having a bad day?”

“Bad enough that Rossi overcame a year of trouncing…?”

And as that notion spread, there was a thud.

“Any nobodies dreaming of seizing this chance, line up before me! I’ll crush you all in turn.”

Joseph Albright was in the center of the room, flashing his most terrifying smile. A few students had taken a step toward Oliver, but they scattered like spider hatchlings. As skirmishes started up again in all directions, Guy, Katie, and Pete turned to Rossi. The three friends looked chagrined.

“Sorry I doubted ya, Rossi.”

“You really didn’t poison him… I’m sorry, too.”

“Same here. I just figured it was the most likely situation.”

“You are all ’orrible at apologies! Argh, I cannot call this a victory.”

Rossi was tearing his hair out. He heaved an especially dramatic sigh, stepped over to Oliver, and took a firm grip on his shoulder. Half disgruntled, half encouraging.

“Get your ’ead back in the game before we next meet, please. The duel is off until then.”

“…Thanks,” Oliver said, glad for the offer.

In lieu of further sparring, he and Chela paired off, focusing on core forms while he attempted to adjust himself. They were still at it when class ended.

After class, he’d pushed away his friends’ concerns and was now walking alone down a deserted corridor.

“…Ngh…”

Oliver was shaking with fear and frustration. It had been tough to keep a lid on that in front of his friends, but he knew the real horror lay once he was alone again. There was no one else here. And that forced him to face himself.

This was not “off his game” or “a slump.” Nothing that mild. This was not his body. Movements acquired through dizzying amounts of training no longer functioned at all. This wasn’t “something wrong.” There was no part of him that wasn’t wrong.

And he knew why this was happening. Only too well. The soul merge—there was little doubt that that one spell cast on him during the Enrico fight was to blame for his condition. When he’d woken after three days and nights of torment, he’d noticed the problem right away. He’d hoped it was simply a by-product of his injuries and fatigue and gone about his life like normal, but those hopes had been betrayed. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“…Guh…”

Something vital had broken. That was a terrifying notion, but nonetheless, it was the first thing that came to mind.

And he could find no argument against it. It was a miracle he’d spent several minutes fused to Chloe Halford’s soul and lived to tell the tale. Others could heal his wounds, but none could say how bad the damage inside was.

Even mages weren’t capable of repairing all damage with a healing spell. The soul itself was the prime example, but damage to the ether or flesh could be equally irreversible. Restoration of anything related to mana circulation was extremely delicate. Growth and training created countless rivers of magic, branching and diving; the system was unique to each individual, and the shape of it was a mage’s power. The etheric body and soul remembered that layout, so it would not be lost in a routine injury. But there were exceptions. Specifically, any time the injuries extended beyond the purview of the etheric body.

And if that applied here—then all the strength Oliver Horn had gleaned in life may have been lost forever, all for the sake of a few minutes’ combat.

He couldn’t yet know that this was true. He knew not to leap to conclusions. But his hopes felt all too feeble. He’d been helpless to defend himself against Rossi, and that had fanned the flames of his fears. That outcome was more eloquent than a thousand rationales.

Dark thoughts flowed through him without end. Oliver shook his head, trying to cast them out. Whatever the truth might be, dwelling on it here would get him nowhere. He needed to speak to his cousins—then they could decide. He tried to force his feet into motion…

“Come, Oliver.”

…and he saw a girl’s hand held out to him.

“…Nanao…?”

He raised his head and found the Azian girl before him, her smile unwavering. He instinctively reached for her outstretched hand, which then closed around his. The warmth flowing into him was genuinely astounding. Only then did he realize how cold he was.

“Warm, yes? My mother sang its virtues. Said with me by her side, she needn’t heat any stones all winter through.”

Sharing her warmth with him, Nanao pulled Oliver along. His gaze was glued to her back. And he remembered doing the same thing—down darkened paths, with his own mother.

“You have nothing to fear. Nothing at all.”

His eyes were wet with tears. They left a trail on the ground where the two of them passed.

Late at night that same evening, on the edge of the labyrinth’s fifth layer—Firedrake Canyon, where the wyverns nested.

“Oh, Lu! How nice of you to drop by.”

Collapsed against the sheer rock face were the remains of the machine god, beside which stood a shadowy figure like darkness given human form. She waved cheerily. Few shortened Luther Garland’s name quite so drastically, but he nonetheless lowered his head in reverence.

“…Thank you for keeping the scene safe, Ms. Muwezicamili.”

“Awww, why so formal? We used to be thick as thieves.”

Baldia Muwezicamili was the school’s foremost expert on curses, but perhaps not manners. Garland deflected her claim with a faint smile, turning his eyes to the golem’s remains—and the back of the old woman standing astride it.

“Have I kept you waiting long, Instructor Gilchrist?”

“A mere three minutes. A trifle. Compared to your time as a student.”

Frances Gilchrist had been alive for a thousand years and teaching spellology for an equally dizzying length of time. A sarcastic dig at Garland’s student days was more than enough to silence the man. Behind him, Baldia’s black cloak rippled like water as she laughed.

“Lu was always tardy!”

“…Let’s get to the point. The reason we’re here—”

“Naturally, I’m concerned about the same thing. What lies on the other side,” Gilchrist intoned, pointing her white wand at the remains.

Garland nodded, and behind him, Baldia folded her pale arms.

“It is the obvious thing,” she said. “I’d love to turn it over, but if I try, it’ll wind up all cursed. It would be so easy if we could call Vana here.”

“I came before that could happen. Ms. Aldiss lacks the delicacy required and could easily destroy the evidence we seek,” Gilchrist said.

With that, she leaped off the machine god to the ground below. Well aware of his role here, Garland stepped alongside, raising his own wand.

“And I’m your backup? Fair enough. Flipping this mass is a tall order, but between the two of us—”

“Don’t be daft. I called you to bear witness to the accuracy of the evidence.”

She pushed her former student’s wand out of the way, then gently waved her own, chanting a spell.

“Revolve inversum.”

And her incantation lifted the entire bulk into the air without so much as a single vibration. A mass more than a hundred feet long wafted skyward, pausing above them and revolving in place. Then it descended at the same speed it had risen, raising no dust as it landed. Garland watched with reverence and awe. Even to the eyes of another mage, this was unreal.

“…Like flipping an egg to you, huh?”

“And now, observations.”

Gilchrist stepped onto the air itself as if a staircase lay before her, looking down at the newly revealed side of the machine god’s remains. Garland nodded and began inspecting the golem’s lower half from atop the hilt of his broom.

“They’re likely inspecting it by now.”

At the same time, on the first layer, the ringleaders of the faculty murder were speaking.

“Not a problem. All wounds on that giant have been doctored to look like wyverns and the lindwurm.”

“I know that! It was rough work covering up the evidence,” a female student said, shaking her head. “The golem itself was damn heavy—no way to move the thing. Had to burrow tunnels under and put everything His Majesty hit back the way it was. Adamant is tough enough to work with, and we had to put up barriers, keep people away, and work through the night to get it done. Only reason we made it is ’cause you and Shannon remembered the exact locations of every scratch.”

“Only Chloe Halford’s Gladio is capable of slicing adamant,” Gwyn said as he brewed a potion for his cousin. “Like the fourth spellblade, just seeing those marks would be enough to link us to her. We knew the cleanup would be rough going in… But our teachers aren’t about to let us hide everything.”

With that grim proclamation, the door to the room swung open. Both students looked that way and saw their lord standing there, looking very upset. Shannon glanced up from her writings and jumped to her feet.

“There you are, Noll… So the side effects have manifested?” Gwyn said. “Over here. Lie down.”

He took his cauldron off the fire and beckoned Oliver to a gurney in the next room. Shannon came over and nestled herself close to her cousin, who promptly yielded to her examination.

“It just feels…off. Like the surface…has been repaired.”

They’d been examining the golem for a good ten minutes before these words escaped Garland’s lips.

“Your instincts were always good,” Gilchrist said, nodding from the sky above. “There are distinct signs of magical modification. It was merely an impression on the top side, but the back has had minimal interference; they likely had to tunnel in, unable to flip the golem.”

That made a lot of sense to Garland. Having found what she was looking for, Gilchrist dropped back to the ground.

“This proves the boy did not blow himself up. Enrico fought and was bested. That much is certain.”

Garland nodded and hopped off his broom. If Gilchrist had nothing more to say, that meant there were no more clues to be found here. Whoever was responsible was clearly as skilled at subterfuge as they were in combat. Mulling that over, he asked the loaded question.

“…Who do you suspect?”

The witch merely shook her head. As he had anticipated.

“All I know now is that it was not me. There are signs of a cover-up, but we should not read too much into that. We can’t even say for sure the minimal processing on the back is not an intentional ploy to mislead us. Make not haste; make your foe show their tail. Hence the investigation,” Gilchrist said. “Still, whoever this killer is…they will not be sitting on their hands and waiting for us to make the next move.”

Early the next morning…

The Kimberly campus had an area reserved for magical creatures. The section where Marco had been kept a year ago currently housed the griffins, and Katie had become a regular visitor. Magical biology classes often met here; depending on the time of day, there were a lot of students moving in and out.

But at this hour, with dawn barely broken, only a few ever ventured near. Chief among them was Vanessa Aldiss—the magical biology instructor so terrifying, the students had nicknamed her “the Tyrant.” Her work duties naturally meant this area was her domain.

“Aw, shut yer traps. You ain’t roosters. Or do you want me to roast you for breakfast?”

The cries and growls of sundry creatures stopped dead the moment they sensed Vanessa coming, her presence so palpable, they instinctively grew quiet. Her every motion was rife with violence, conscious or not. She strode from cage to cage, making her morning rounds.

But something felt amiss. She knew full well how loud manavians were in the morning and which cages should be the loudest at this hour. Yet, one particular cage was quiet as a tomb.

“…Hah?”

Vanessa turned toward it, peering through the bars. She found the griffins flat out on the ground, deep in slumber…seemingly just as she’d left them the night before.

“…Hmm…”

But that was not slumber. The moment she realized not a single griffin was breathing, Vanessa knew—what had happened here and for what purpose.

“Oh-ho, taking a run at me, are ya?”

Her right arm transformed, twisting the bars of the cage. When her palm opened again, the metal fell to the ground, crumpled into a ball like a wad of paper.

Several others had the misfortune to be in the animal pens that morning.

“Okay, okay, good, good! Keep it up. Now this way— Augh?!”

The griffin’s wing had batted Katie aside, knocking her down. The young griffin she’d been trying to lead around glared at her a moment, then lost interest and turned away.

Miligan was watching Katie’s struggle from a safe distance, arms folded.

“Hmm, it sure has your number.”

“Erk… B-but still! It doesn’t attack like it used to!”

Katie was soon back on her feet, ready to face the griffin again—but the Snake-Eyed Witch stepped in.

“Now, now, let’s keep our heads about us, Katie. This works just like it did with Marco. We can’t forge a healthy relationship when they’re frightened of us, but likewise, we’ll get nowhere when they’re looking down their beaks at us. It seems like you’ve managed to convince the griffin you aren’t an enemy. The next step is to persuade it you’re more than an equal.”

The griffin saw Miligan approaching and backed away, hackles raised. Clearly, it had sniffed out that she was not to be trifled with. With Katie, it lacked that defensiveness—which was an advantage—but it had a distinctive derisive streak that rather undermined that. Seeing her stuck between a rock and a hard place, Miligan had proposed they work together.

“And that requires a demonstration of power. In nature, a powerful foe inspires fear, but a powerful ally generates trust. Seeking friendship from a position of power will not be refused so lightly.”

“…But I don’t want to hurt it,” Katie said, fists balled up tight.

Miligan smiled, nodding. “You won’t bend on that point. I know. We have to demonstrate power without a direct attack. That is a challenge.”

They fell silent, thinking it over. The three of them—griffin included—were at a stalemate. Then heavy footsteps came their way. The girls turned to look and saw a tall boy leading a troll in their direction.

“’Sup. Thought I’d drop by.”

“Guy? Er, why is Marco with you? Out for a walk?”

“That too. But I had an idea. You’re struggling with the griffin bonding, yeah?”

Marco moved toward Katie. The griffin could hardly remain indifferent to this troll-size threat and spread its wings—a gesture of intimidation.

“KYOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“Whoa…!” Katie cried. “W-wait, Marco. You’ll scare it. Best to keep your dis—”

“Nope. This works. Let him get close.”

“Wha—?!”

Unsure where Guy was going with this, Katie’s head spun; Marco stomped up to her side. He glanced down at the griffin, who flinched—and fell silent, folding its wings once more. Miligan watched avidly, stroking her chin.

“…Hmm. Might not work on a mature griffin, but at this stage of development, Marco is a clear superior. It knows it wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight.”

“Unh… Now what, Guy?”

“Right there is good. It’s your turn, Katie.”

“Huh? Me?”

“Have Marco put you on his shoulder,” Guy said, grinning.

Blinking, Katie looked up at the troll. “Uh, okay… Marco, do you mind?”

“No mind.”

Marco nodded and held out his hand. Katie stepped aboard, and he gingerly lifted her to his shoulder. She was soon seated at his eye level. Seeing the griffin’s gaze glued to this whole process, Miligan figured out the plan.

“Interesting approach,” she said.

“Not something the griffin can just ignore, right?” Guy chuckled. “Here’s something much stronger, obeying her directives.”

Violence was hardly the only way to demonstrate strength. Having powerful creatures serve you was proof of superiority. Miligan had to admit the strategy had merit.

“Katie,” she called. “Try bringing Marco along the next few times you interact with the griffin. Be careful not to give the impression of borrowed authority—make sure it sees him obeying your directives.”

“O-okay!”

Katie also had it figured out now, and from Marco’s shoulder, she began pointing, telling him where to go. The sight of Marco doing just that was likely making a big impression on the griffin. Its gaze never left them. One eye on that, Miligan slipped over to Guy, jabbing him in the ribs.

“Very clever, Guy.”

“Thanks. When she’s facing a creature, nothing else enters her head, huh? I figured it’d never occur to her to put Marco in the middle.”

“Yes… I should have thought of it myself,” Miligan said, rapping the side of her head.

Katie yelled down from Marco’s shoulder, “The looks it’s giving me are totally different! I think it’s working!”

“Well, great. Still…”

Guy’s gaze ran down her person. Scrapes on her hands and arms, dirt on her uniform, grass in her curly hair. Clear signs of the struggle so far. He put a hand to his brow, sighing.

“…Never mind. Keep it up!”

“? Don’t be weird.”

Katie shot Guy a baffled look, then gave Marco another directive. Guy observed her, stone-faced, and Miligan raised an eyebrow at him.

“…Holding your tongue?”

“You know, so don’t ask.”

“Heh-heh-heh. I suppose I do. You’re certainly minding Katie’s moves.”

“It’s more like she doesn’t, so someone’s gotta.”

Miligan shielded her eyes with one hand, like he was too bright and she couldn’t bear to look.

“Ahhh…she doesn’t lack for options.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Just thinking out loud.”

But no sooner had the words left her mouth than every living thing present shuddered.

“ ?!”

“……!”

They couldn’t move. The tension was so great, they could barely breathe. And the moment they realized this stemmed from something coming up behind them, all eyes were drawn toward it: Vanessa Aldiss, both arms ominously swollen, taking big strides their way, eyes raking across human, troll, and griffin alike. Three different species all registering the same hopeless threat.

“…KYO…O…”

Her eyes bored into the griffin specifically, and its mind registered her as inescapable death. A threat so great, it did not dare to run, let alone fight. Its animal instincts spoke loud and clear—from this range, it was already caught in her jaws.

“…A-ah!”

Yet, in the midst of that uncharted pressure, Katie alone took action. She dropped down from Marco’s shoulder and stepped out in front of the others. Like with Darius the year before, this was proof of her remarkable will. Here, however, she was but a lump of meat placed before a starving carnivore.

“…You gave…permission! What…do you want from us, Instructor Vanessa?”

The instructor’s palpable hostility scorching her face, Katie attempted to communicate with words. Here was the sole hope of every living thing present that wasn’t Vanessa. If words wouldn’t work, no other options existed. Resistance itself was futile. Even unintelligent creatures knew that to be true.

“…This one’s alive.”

Thus, when actual words were offered in return, their looming deaths made a swift retreat.

“…?”

“Carry on. Miligan, keep an eye on things till classes start.”

And with that, Vanessa turned on her heel and stalked away. Once she was out of sight, Katie’s knees buckled. Guy and Miligan each caught an arm. She was damp with a cold sweat, like she’d been caught in a midwinter shower.

“……What…was that…?”

“She’s…not usually that intense. Even my shoulders were quivering,” Miligan said, speaking for them all.

Katie took Miligan’s arm and pulled herself up—then sensed that she was being watched. The griffin’s eyes were on her, a look of wonder in them, as if the creature was staring at something it could not comprehend.

“…Were you scared? Don’t worry. I won’t let her do anything to you. Ever.”

She reached out to it, her tiny hand gently brushing its feathers. And this time, it didn’t shake her off. Something had changed within the manavian without anyone—Katie included—realizing it. Or rather: Perhaps this was curiosity. Curiosity toward a far smaller creature who had faced certain death and driven it away.

A shadow passed over them, and Miligan looked up. Beasts were flying overhead: fully grown griffins, wyverns, and the like. Their eyes scanned the ground—this was undeniably ominous.

“Watchers in the skies,” Miligan muttered, her voice grim. “Something’s clearly amiss.”

They found out what exactly was amiss the moment everyone gathered for breakfast.

“…That’s…awful…”

Katie’s fork fell to her plate with a sonorous clatter. Conscious of Katie’s emotions, her conscience demanding she not mince words, Chela kept her tone flat.

“I’m afraid it’s true. The griffins the second-year students were training have all been found dead. Only one survivor—the one you were looking after.”

Katie’s shoulders trembled. She started getting to her feet, but Chela stopped her.

“Deep breath, Katie. The faculty is already on the case. Those griffins were Kimberly property, and they aren’t about to write off the loss. You saw the beasts on patrol above.”

Her voice was soothing and well-intentioned. Katie knew she couldn’t spend the whole day with her griffin, however worried she might be. But the storm within was not subsiding. All those lives lost without warning—she couldn’t keep the anguish from her voice.

“…It doesn’t make sense! This place is ugly sometimes but especially lately. Why kill all those griffins?!”

“Is this part of it?” Pete asked. “The teachers—”

Chela put a finger to his lips. She then spoke a warning, not just to Pete but to everyone seated with them.

“You must not. You must not speak a single careless word. I trust you know why.”

Silence settled over the table. Beneath it, Oliver’s hand felt a squeeze from another person’s hand.

“No cause for alarm,” Nanao said, her smile warm.

“…You two have been hand in hand since you got here,” Chela noted with a smile of her own.

“I insisted.”

“Hee-hee. I envy that. But I do think it’s needed.”

Her voice revealed her concern for Oliver’s condition. And that only added to his hurt. He hadn’t directly ordered the griffins’ deaths, and yet—the moment he heard the news, he knew it had been his comrades’ work. Meant to rile up Vanessa Aldiss.

“Until things settle down, avoid moving around alone,” Chela advised. “Not just in the labyrinth but on campus as well. Try to stay with someone you trust. Katie, Pete, I’m talking to you.”

“…I know.”

“Less time in the library, then…”

They had their own thoughts on the matter, but neither blew off Chela’s admonition. The six friends ate quickly and rose to leave—and as if the Fellowship wasn’t already buzzing enough, further news arrived.

“The headmistress has summoned President Godfrey!”

“I have no knowledge of this matter.”

A resolute male voice echoed through the headmistress’s office. Seated on a solitary chair in the center of the room was Godfrey, a daunting gaze upon him, yet his tone never wavered.

“Once again, I am not involved with the disappearances of Instructor Enrico or Instructor Darius. Neither is any member of the Campus Watch.”

Each word had force behind it, as if demonstrating he had nothing to hide. And without that stance wavering, he shot a question back.

“Why would I even be a suspect? As president, I’m certainly in a position to move numbers, but as reasons go, that’s a leap. Would you care to explain the logic behind this summons?”

“A simple matter of your personal offensive capabilities, Purgatory.”

Her words like frozen steel, the headmistress’s gaze bored into Godfrey. One could argue that sitting before this witch unquailed, retaining your faculty for speech, was a prerequisite for becoming student body president.

“Neither Enrico nor Darius would be bested by a rabble of ordinary students. But you alone—there might be a chance. Your name coming up was not a leap but an inevitability. But that does not equate to the depth of the suspicion. Take it as an affirmation of your talent.”

This was likely the highest praise she was capable of offering. Godfrey did not look remotely pleased.

“This is merely one stage of our institutional audit,” the headmistress continued. “You aren’t the only student we’ll be questioning. If you suspect anyone yourself, name them now. I have a high opinion of your performance on the council. Thus, I consider your opinions worth hearing.”

“My job is to protect the students. Not suspect them.”

He didn’t even hesitate. With the culprit in hand, he might involve the authorities, but as the stage of mere suspicion, doing so would be a betrayal of the students he led. In Godfrey’s mind, that truth was self-evident. And the headmistress knew that about him.

“Fine. I’d like you to relay a proclamation in my name.”

“What would that be?”

Godfrey’s eyes narrowed. He wondered what words she might offer under these circumstances. But her answer surpassed his wildest imaginings.

“The faculty are upping the remunerations and prizes for all divisions of the broom races, broom fights, and broom wars. The victor or MVP on the winning team will receive a fifty million belc cash prize and a dragrium crystal. The same conditions apply to the combat league leading into the next election.”

“ !”

Godfrey’s eyes went wide when he realized what that meant. And Esmeralda’s next words fell like an ax:

“That will be all. You may leave.”

“Godfrey!”

“You made it!”

Tim and Lesedi were waiting for him outside, looking frantic. That summons from the witch of Kimberly was clearly an interrogation over the faculty murders. There was no guarantee the suspect would emerge alive—and that was not hyperbole. They’d been prepared to bust the door down if they had to.

“…I’ll live. Sure didn’t feel like it in the moment, though.”

He wiped the sweat from his brow, easing his friends’ nerves. They gave him a moment to recover, then Lesedi dug in.

“They think you killed those teachers?”

Godfrey pondered that briefly. “It’s more like…they’re going one by one through every possibility. I was called in first not because I’m their prime suspect but because nobody is.”

“So a wide-range investigation, open to the idea that a student could be responsible… That means they’re more in the dark than I thought. This isn’t like her at all.”

“Matters are clearly worse than we expected. Two lost Kimberly teachers in as many years is certainly unprecedented,” said Godfrey. “…But she’s taken action. The broomsport Big Three and the combat league before the election are all getting the prizes jacked way up. The victor and the team’s MVP get fifty million belc and a dragrium crystal.”

“Dragrium?!”

Tim’s eyes gleamed like full moons. Dragrium was rare enough that any mage would want some, but that value skyrocketed if you were deep into alchemy. Tim’s reaction proved that point and confirmed Godfrey’s ideas about the headmistress’s plan.

“That’s bait, no doubt. Designed to drag more students into the school building.”

“…Pretty costly bait. If that’s all she’s after, she could just hold a mandatory assembly for nothing.”

“An assembly as part of an investigation is completely unnatural. A far cry from something that draws people out to begin with. This contest lets her demonstrate that Kimberly is business as usual. If any students stay hidden and don’t take the bait—well, that just makes them likely suspects.”

Godfrey took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts. He could see where things were going. Now it was their turn to act. He turned to the boy next to him.

“Tim, the dead griffins.”

“I didn’t do it!”

“I know. I’ll negotiate with Vanessa and get permission for you to examine the bodies. I wanna know how they were killed. If possible, the time of death, too.”

“We’re running our own investigation?” Lesedi asked.

“No, merely pretending to. For now, I have no intention of pursuing the killer. This isn’t like the cases we’ve dealt with. As long as there’s a chance of faculty discord, us getting involved is far too dangerous.” Godfrey then added, “But the griffin slaughter proves there’s a chance this discord could spread to the student body going forward. We need to make the culprits think twice about doing that. So we make a show of looking into things.”

Faculty problems were for the faculty to solve—Godfrey had no issue standing by. Their role was to ensure the students were left out of it. Lesedi nodded in agreement but offered one word of caution.

“Just don’t forget the election’s coming. And the headmistress just lit the fires under it,” she said grimly. “The old student council members will be rubbing their hands together as we speak.”

Just as the underclassmen gathered in the Fellowship, there was a hall for upperclassmen to do the same: the Forum, on the fourth floor.

“I, Percival Whalley, say this unto you: Godfrey’s policies are fundamentally unsound.”

A fourth-year student stood at the center of the vast hall, white wand in hand. Not an unusual sight as the election drew near, but the contents of his speech were rather provocative.

“In the labyrinth and this school building, the Campus Watch has protected many a student from harm. These successes have earned them a broad range of support, and at a glance, that seems like a positive. But think on it, please. What have their efforts given Kimberly?”

Whalley paused dramatically. Not to actually allow his listeners to think but to give the illusion that they had. The answer would be the one he provided.

“It is all too clear—the student body has grown weak. Kimberly is where all mages ought to stand on their own two feet—but now they find themselves clinging to the council’s boots. The Watch have cast themselves as a source of unconditional aid. A veritable assault on the core tenets of this institute—freedom and results!”

His voice rose in fury. What had begun as rather fussy oratory was adding in one trick after another to whip his audience into a frenzy. His tone grew stronger still.

“If anything goes wrong—talk to the Watch. What say you to that? I say nay! Perhaps at some middling magic school, but this is Kimberly! We will not allow such namby-pamby nonsense to go unchecked! If a mage is in peril, they must carve their own way out! If you need assistance, you must pay the price, prove your interests are aligned, or resort to treachery and threats. By any means necessary! By following the principle of self-sufficiency! This is the way mages ought to be.” He paused. “That is what I find so unconscionable about the current council. They seek no recompense! They dole out salvation to all students in kind, with no discrimination, no discernment! And no regard for the degradation it will cause!”

Whalley was arguing that his opponent’s greatest merit was, in fact, the school’s greatest shame. And that could not be dismissed out of hand. After all, this was Kimberly. An institute that had long been detached from the morals of the world outside.

“After three long years, we have a chance to correct this error. Vote for me in the coming election, and as student body president, I will restore Kimberly to its rightful form. Those of you lending your ears need not wonder who is worthy of your vote. You know there is no other choice. Not if you are a true mage!”

With that final exhortation, he wrapped up the speech. But instead of the enthusiastic applause he’d expected, a rather sarcastic clap reached his ears. He turned toward the sound and found a female student, hair covering one eye. A fifth-year girl running against him.

“A fine speech, Mr. Whalley. I am impressed. It was like traveling three years back in time. Amazing—to think the candidate back then said exactly the same things.”

“…Vera Miligan.”

“But I have my doubts about your claims. Have you even stopped to wonder why Godfrey felt the need to form his own council? How stifling this place was under your cronies and their rigid ideas of what a ‘true mage’ must be? Have a mere three years been enough for everyone to forget that?”

Before Whalley could answer, a man rose from the listening crowd.

“I don’t deny that there was rot in our camp,” he said, long golden hair glittering, half his beautiful features marred by burns. The kind of man who turned heads wherever he went. “But that is in the past. I have spent three years carving out that cancer—as I would have done had I been elected. Our institute does not suffer fools.”

Leader of the previous council faction and Whalley’s chief supporter—Leoncio Echevalria.

Miligan smiled. She had hoped to draw him out.

“It’s a shame you never got the chance. Oh, have you still not healed those burns?”

In lieu of greeting, she chose to wind him up. The entire room froze. Whalley turned white as a sheet.

Leoncio dramatically put a hand to his brow.

“Ha-ha, ha-ha-ha. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Miligan…”

“Yes?”

“Solis lux.”

There was a sarcastic sneer to his voice, like he was trading jibe for jibe—but this was an incantation. He’d drawn his white wand so smoothly, Miligan was left unprepared. By the time she had her wand out, her vision was bathed in golden flames.

“Ignis!”

But fire from behind her pushed those flames back, the two forces equally matched. Two infernos clashing in the center of the hall. The flames neither spread nor sparked but instead concentrated. Vying for supremacy, they dwindled like a reactor core suspended in midair—and then they went out.

“…Put your wands away. The election is a distant prospect! Mind your tempers.”

Alvin Godfrey stepped in, wand raised high. Leoncio greeted him like a long-lost lover.

“Ohhh! Godfrey. My beloved Purgatory!” he cried. “It has been far too long. But at last, I am prepared to invite you to my bed.”

He put his wand away, holding out both hands and stepping toward Godfrey like a lovelorn soul. But the moment the gap between them shrank, a glass bottle sailed overhead.

“Go fuck a dog, asshole.”

A potion hurled by Tim Linton. Everyone not part of the fight turned on their heels and fled for the hills. Anything he threw would be fatal poison; their only chance of survival was to get out of range before the bottle cracked. And that would happen before it hit the ground.

Their expectations were thwarted, however—the rain of death never fell. An instant after Tim’s throw, multiple glass spheres sailed from the opposing direction—all containing potions and all bursting in the same space as Tim’s bottle. There was a violent neutralizing reaction that left only harmless smoke behind. Not a single drop of liquid made it to the floor.

“…I see you’ve made no progress whatsoever. Same old toxic gasser.”

A fifth-year stepped forward, shaking his head. He’d customized his uniform to encase his slim figure in tights; his smile was gentle yet unwavering, designed to capture the hearts of all.

The tip of his wand aimed firmly at Tim, he continued. “I’ve said it before, but you have no understanding of alchemy. Poisons that cause suffering are but a failed by-product of the brewing process. Potions should heal, confuse, or drive others mad.”

“Go back to polishing your tumblers, Barman. Your cocktails are too sweet for my taste.”

Tim had his white wand out, too, and a new vial in his free hand. The old council’s premier alchemist, Gino Beltrami—aka Barman—returned a look of pity.

As they faced off within striking distance, Leoncio snorted.

“…Your rabid mutt still isn’t house-trained, I see. You should get on that, Godfrey.”

Tim was so focused on Barman’s face that he failed to notice the wand reaching over his shoulder.

“Fragor.”

The spell hurtled right toward Tim’s head, bursting before he could dodge.

“You’re right—he needs it,” Lesedi said, stepping in the instant the spell activated—and then deflecting the opponent’s wand with her own. “But that’s not permission for you to snap your whips.”

The two white wands creaked, the wielders’ faces inches apart—Lesedi’s foe a degenerate-looking sixth-year elf, Khiirgi Albschuch.

“Such a terrifying scowl, Lesedi. Are you still holding a grudge about all those times I cucked you?”

“Are your lips only capable of emitting foul noises? Then their purpose is at an end. I’ll sew them shut for you, Avarice.”

Neither one of them was backing off. Three pairs, each evenly matched.

Seeing that, Godfrey spoke again. “Listen up, everyone! As president, I bring word from the very top: For the next league round, the headmistress is upping the rewards for all three disciplines. The winner or MVP from the winning team will receive a cash prize of fifty million belc—and a dragrium crystal. The same prizes are on offer for the combat league preceding the election. That is all.”

Leoncio put his free hand to his chest, eyes raised in admiration.

“Our headmistress certainly knows how to gild a lily,” he said.

“Pfft, she just extended the trough we’ll fill with—”

Tim was quick to retort, but he stopped as soon as he started. And he wasn’t the only one left speechless. Nearly every gaze in the room found itself locked on a single point.

“Exquisite. The perfect stage to make you mine.”

“……!”

Even Godfrey gasped. His eyes were glued to Leoncio’s nether regions; the cloth of his trousers had lifted to heights that made all doubt what they were seeing. Engorged with flowing blood, it pulsated like a beating heart—a member of truly prodigious proportions.

“Ahhh, the heat…! I can feel it, Godfrey! The mark you left on me is burning still!” Leoncio cried. “To extinguish it, I must tear everything from you! Rob you of everything you hold dear! Leave you dazed and confused, helpless to resist as I lead you to my bed. For days and nights without end, I will torment you, make you cry, make you groan, make you beg for mercy! I shall put a collar on your throat that shall remain there for all eternity!”

The man’s lust was fanned by loathing and obsession, and he showed no compunction about voicing it all before his target. This was a declaration of intent. Arrogant, selfish—and in that, exactly how a mage’s love ought to be.

“That day is not far off. Await it with breathless anticipation.”

His eyes swimming with passion, Leoncio waved a hand at his clique and turned to leave, making no attempt to hide his cock’s salute—no, he was proudly showing it off.

That same evening, the Sword Roses aimed to keep their word and inform Morgan of Ashbury’s current well-being. Given the unsettling state of the campus, they decided it was best for all of them to go together.

“I am familiar with the three broomsports. But what is this combat league?” Nanao asked.

They were on the second layer, the bustling forest. Making their way through the trees, they were discussing the headmistress’s proclamation—news that had arrived somewhat late, given all that had happened in the Forum.

“It’s an official magic tournament Kimberly holds on a regular basis,” Chela explained. “There are individual and team events, but I’ve heard in election years, the former is more common. The idea being to give the candidates a chance to demonstrate their personal prowess.”

She paused briefly to cast a gust spell, mowing down the shrubbery ahead. Leading the party through the unobstructed path, she issued a warning.

“But that will be next year. The broom events are nearly upon us. Nanao, I’m sure you can post strong results in any of the three categories. If you intend to win, we should begin strategizing.”

“You gotta go for it, Nanao! Fifty million belc! You know how much that is? You could live it up in Galatea for a month without breaking the bank!”

“Guy, don’t be greedy! But it certainly is a lot of money… If only I was any good at riding.”

“? Wait, you want money?”

“I’m not proud of it! But I could really use more, honestly. Given how expensive upkeep on magical creatures is…I can never have enough. Ms. Miligan also said it was high time I started thinking about my income…”

Katie let out a “life is hard” sigh. Research was often a huge money sink, and minor disciplines came part and parcel with budgetary concerns. She was going to be dealing with this struggle for a long time.

And hearing this made Nanao think.

“Then if I claim the prize, I shall offer it to you. I’ve no use for it myself.”

“Nanaooo! You’re such a good girl!”

Katie threw her arms around her friend, which stopped Nanao in her tracks—and since Oliver was holding her hand, it threw him off balance.

“…That would be nice,” Katie then added. “But you can’t. Keep the money. You may not need it now, but I’m sure it’ll be useful someday.”

She gave Nanao a firm pat on the back. One eye on them, Guy threw his arm over Oliver’s shoulders.

“Nanao’s going for it, so you’d better whip yourself back into shape quick.”

“Don’t rush him,” Pete admonished, pulling Oliver’s arm like he was trying to steal him away from Guy. “I read up on the subject, and a mage’s slump is a delicate thing. You don’t want him getting further messed up, do you?”

Since Nanao and Oliver had been holding hands the whole time, this left them at the center of a cluster—everyone but Chela clinging on to someone. The ringlet girl giggled.

“…Should I join in?” she asked.

“Please don’t,” Oliver pleaded. “Everyone, calm down! Give me some space; I can’t exactly move—”

Mid-sentence, the foliage parted, and a burly upperclassman poked his face out.

“The gang’s all here?” he asked.

Katie let out a little yelp. This must have been the Morgan they were looking for. Everyone quickly let go of Oliver—except Nanao, who was clearly adamant about this hand-holding thing. Chela stepped forward, speaking for the group.

“A pleasure to meet you, Morgan. I am Chela McFarlane, year two. I’ve heard you provided my friends with invaluable assistance, saving Guy from serious peril. I cannot thank you enough. Our friends here are Oliver Horn and Nanao Hibiya. Like myself, they’ve tagged along as a precaution—the school is a bit…agitated these days. That does make for rather a hubbub, but hopefully not an unpleasant one.”

“Oh, so you’re Instructor Theodore’s favorite daughter? I can see the resemblance!” Morgan exclaimed. “You’re all welcome! This was my request, so I appreciate your indulging it.”

His eyes turned toward Oliver, who pushed aside the urge to hide his and Nanao’s clasped hands and returned the greeting. It took only a few exchanges for them to feel like old friends; Oliver was relieved. This man was every bit as gregarious as he’d heard.

Before settling down to the main topic, they chatted about this and that, which naturally brought them to the current state of things on campus. Morgan looked genuinely surprised by the goings-on up above.

“Fifty million belc and a dragrium crystal? That’s quite a bonanza.”

“It seems likely the administrators have goals beyond making the league one to remember,” said Chela. “But perhaps it’s best we avoid further speculation on that topic.”

“Definitely the right call. If the teachers are fighting, you underclassmen don’t wanna be poking anything with a stick. Ignore the background noise and just enjoy the party.”

Advice from experience. With that, there was a lull in the conversation, and Nanao seized the opportunity.

“If I may,” she began. “I come bearing word on your lady Ashbury.”

“Please. Hit me,” Morgan said, nodding.

For the next few minutes, he lent his ear to her tale. When she was done, Morgan folded his arms, muttering, “…She still hasn’t broken that record, huh?”

Nanao added her own impressions. “As a broomrider myself, I can speak to the importance of a catcher who is with you heart and soul. And to the timidity their absence can bring.”

Morgan’s eyes snapped to the boy at her side. “…He’s your catcher?”

“That he is,” Nanao said, proudly putting her arm around Oliver. This made him fidget, but Morgan just grinned.

“Every rider-catcher pair is different. Sometimes they stick together like you two; sometimes they spend the whole time arguing their heads off. But the one thing they all have in common is that no matter what happens—neither side can be replaced.”

His eyes were focused elsewhere, staring into his own past.

“That was extra obvious with Ashbury. She’d had one catcher after another run off on her, until I was the only one left. Gah-ha-ha.”

The memory made him laugh, but sensing their rapt attention, he let it die away.

“Honestly, I wish I could go back. But I can’t catch anyone with my body like this. Showing myself to her now will just make things worse.”

Morgan sounded resigned to his fate.

Katie looked hesitant to speak but couldn’t stay silent.

“…Um, if we talk to the teachers, maybe—”

But mid-sentence, Morgan turned away, coughing hard. A burst of fire left his lips, curling upward and blackening the branches of a nearby tree.

“…Ahem. Sorry, what was that?”

“………Um…never mind.”

Katie said nothing more. What she’d just seen was more potent than any hope she might offer. The man ravaged by tír fire was only too aware how little time he had—and that was why he spoke to them as people who still had lives ahead.

“You’ve already done more than I bargained for, but let me ask one more thing. Don’t tell her I’m still alive. There’s nothing she can do for me. I’m just an ex-catcher burning himself out.”

That didn’t sit well with anyone. But he wasn’t about to let them dwell on it. The instant the mood got gloomy, Morgan’s voice boomed.

“So light the fire in her! If she’s up against a wall, then the best way to punch through it is to make her extra competitive. That’s how she ticks. The next league’ll be the perfect stage. All she needs is a rival.”

He turned to Nanao. One of the few riders capable of entering Ashbury’s zone.

“Take to the skies and face her down, Nanao Hibiya. That’s all I can ask.”

She nodded once. The heartache behind that request cut her to the quick.

As everything around him was in tumult, Oliver’s condition showed no sign of improving. His cousins’ examination hadn’t helped much.

“Enough. Wand down, Mr. Horn.”

It was bad enough that the teacher had to step in in spellology class. Oliver froze to the spot as Gilchrist approached.

“Your mind is adrift,” she said. “Attending class in that state is a liability for those around you.”

“…!”

He couldn’t argue. The results before him said it all. The assignment was a transformation, one requiring fine control—but the glass he’d intended to roll out thin as paper was mottled and white. His inability to maintain the transparency showed how badly he’d failed to control his mana.

“Waving your wand around blindly will not help. Recovery cannot be hastened. Sit yourself down for self-examination. Do you hear me?”

And here he was getting “helpful advice” from one of his targets. Yet, there was so little light reaching Oliver that he couldn’t stop himself from groping for an exit. He failed to find any hints on how to even begin the path to recovery; his days were filled with anxiety, panic, and failure. Class time was no different.

“Whoa, what’s wrong, Mr. Horn? You’re not usually someone who looks ready to fall off their broom. Did you break a few bones when I wasn’t looking? Need a little healing, maybe? My spells hurt like the dickens.”

Repeating takeoff and landing failures in broom class had Dustin genuinely concerned. The broom Oliver had been riding for years seemed perplexed, and he was struggling to even fly straight.

“Well…don’t let it get to you, Mr. Horn. This was rather a tricky assignment. Even upperclassmen blow a brew if they’ve been away from a cauldron awhile. We all have bad days.”

His brew in alchemy class was a complete write-off, and Ted’s smile was very sympathetic. He had no confidence in the simplest ingredient prep, and the more cautious he got, the further away success became.

“………”

His group was all following different curriculums, so Nanao was not in the alchemy class with him. This itself was not unusual, but in Oliver’s current state, it felt like the one guiding light had gone out.

“…It happens to everyone! Don’t let it get you down.”

“It wasn’t even a big failure. Not like you blew up your cauldron.”

Katie and Pete were with him and picked up on his mood. They tried to help, but all he could manage was a faint smile.

“Oliver Horn, Pete Reston.”

All three had been in a hurry to meet up with their friends, and an icy voice struck them in the back at the worst moment.

“I have questions for you. Proceed directly to my office.”

They turned like rusted machines. Her silver hair agleam, standing there in the gloomy hallway was the witch of Kimberly—Esmeralda.

Where Godfrey had sat earlier, the two boys found two chairs. They took their seats feeling like prisoners on death row. Standing at the window, her back to them, the headmistress began.

“You’ve heard about Enrico Forghieri’s disappearance.”

“Only rumors.”

“…Same.”

It took a lot of strength for Oliver to get those words out, and Pete followed his lead. The witch watched out of the corner of her eye.

“Shortly before his disappearance, you two visited his workshop, yes?”

That explains it, Oliver thought. He chose his words carefully.

“…Yes. Pete was invited, and I insisted on joining him.”

“Elaborate on what you saw and heard. Leave nothing out.”

As ordered, Oliver gave a rundown of the events. Pete’s invitation had seemed risky, so he and Nanao joined them, overcoming the trial Enrico had set to reach the workshop itself. There, they’d been shown Dea Ex Machina. All this was likely in the notes Enrico had left behind, so he had no intention of hiding anything.

When he finished his story, the witch turned toward them, snapping, “You loathed his work.”

Oliver’s heart leaped out of his chest. He had been sure he’d left out all traces of his bias, but he’d certainly revealed his distaste for Enrico’s work to the man’s face. He couldn’t allow for that to make him a suspect.

“……I didn’t…exactly—”

Trying to recover his poise, he started stammering a reply—but a chant echoed through the room, and the back of Oliver’s chair fell off. He and Pete sat bolt upright, watching as the headmistress sheathed her wand once more.

“This is my inquiry. Do not speak another meaningless word.”

Only now did the shudder catch up with him. She’d severed the back of his chair through his body, allowing him no response to the chant itself—and without harming a thread of his robes. Should she have so chosen, she could have sliced his body to pieces.

“…H-Headmistress!” Pete’s voice was a squeak, every part of him shaking. And yet: “Y-you suspect Oliver and I had something to do with his disappearance, don’t you? Th-this is part of the investigation, right?”

Her silence signaled agreement. A wave of fear hit them, like their heads could leave their bodies any second. Pete pushed through that, stringing words together so that he might live.

“Can I ask the estimated time of the incident? Between the last sighting of Instructor Enrico and the discovery of his disappearance? I have a good memory of my own activities that day. What Oliver and I were doing, who we were with—who can vouch for us.”

An orthodox approach to proving innocence. Pete kept talking, not letting Oliver help.

“I heard it took place on the fifth layer. I’ve never been that deep inside the labyrinth, but I’m aware that even for a skilled mage, it’s not somewhere reached in a short amount of time. We should be able to provide alibis.”

“No need.”

His life depended on these words, and she dismissed them out of hand. Pete stopped breathing.

“You are in your second year. I do not for a moment believe you slew him yourselves. I am speaking to you regardless for the simple reason that Enrico’s Deus Ex Machina was taken down. Do you realize what that means?”

Her blade turned back toward them. Seeing tears at the corners of Pete’s eyes, Oliver took over.

“If I may clarify something… We were shown a golem called Dea Ex Machina. An unfinished prototype with no lower body. Is this the same construct you called Deus Ex Machina?”

“What you saw was a second model, still under construction. What was destroyed on the fifth layer was a previously completed model.”

“…Okay, then… Your culprits are very good and likely more than one.”

“Worse. That invention was hardly something multiple skilled mages could hope to eliminate,” she corrected, moving directly beside him. “I believe the killers had thorough knowledge of the machine god before the fight began.”

Oliver felt his stomach twisting into a knot. He knew full well she was right.

“…And you suspect we leaked that information?”

“That is one possibility. Though a separate model, the invention was shown to you. And Enrico did not show off his work without a basic explanation of the functionality. That knowledge would make all the difference in taking it out.”

He had nothing else to say. A long silence hung between them before Pete managed to recover enough to speak.

“I understand why we’re here. But I’m certain we are not the only students Instructor Enrico showed his work to. And it was supposed to be only me there; Oliver invited himself along afterward. Since the instructor allowed that, I think it’s safe to assume he showed it to many other students.”

“You talk a lot, Pete Reston.”

This was praise, not a snide remark. Formulating a clear rebuttal required analytical skills, as well as the gumption to continue speaking even while shaking in fear. Pete was accomplishing something any Kimberly student could be proud of.

“Your reasoning is sound. You are not the only students invited to view the machine god. That is why I said ‘one possibility.’ The two of you visited the workshop right before the incident in question, and one could argue that students who visited the workshop long before the incident are far more likely suspects.”

Feeling like the pressure was lifting, Pete blinked—but the witch’s next words slammed it all back down.

“Yet, at the same time, you said it yourself—Oliver Horn was not supposed to be there. He invited himself.”

Pete looked like he’d been struck by lightning. He had never been the target of this investigation.

The witch’s gaze turned to Oliver—back to him. To the prey she’d always had her sights on.

“Enrico gave you a considerable challenge. Not one any ordinary second-years could ever overcome. Yet, overcome it you did, earning you the privilege of viewing his work.”

“……!”

“What made you that curious, Oliver Horn?”

Only now did he fully understand why suspicions had come his way.

Certainly, other students had viewed the machine god. But the vast majority had demonstrated magical engineering excellence and were invited there by Enrico. Someone asking to visit his workshop was clearly exceptional. And Oliver was not generally a particularly enthusiastic magical engineering student. Given what had happened after, finding his motives suspect was entirely natural.

The panic was making him sick to his stomach. He racked his brain for an explanation. What could he say that would alleviate these suspicions? If he simply said the truth—that he’d been worried about letting Pete go alone—how would that sound? Would that lousy answer satisfy this witch? He suddenly grew very conscious of the severed back to his chair. Cold sweat left his clothes clinging to him. If the next utterance he made was deemed meaningless, her subsequent spell would slice—

* * *

“We merely accompanied our friend out of concern for his well-being.”

It felt like a warm breeze against his back.

That settled everything. She’d spoken for him, saying what he’d hesitated to admit. No second thoughts, no trace of contention. Only with pride.

“We had no other motivations, Headmistress. Does that answer meet your needs?”

Standing straight as a pin, the girl stepped beside her friends. Pete called her name as if handed a lit torch when lost in darkness. “Nanao…!”

The Azian girl stood between them, directly staring down the witch of Kimberly. As she did, Oliver’s eyes caught a glimpse of something on the headmistress’s face that had not been there before—a brief twitch of her brow.

“…Leave this room, Nanao Hibiya. You were not summoned here.”

“That is most strange. Three of us attended Instructor Enrico’s workshop—Pete, Oliver, and myself. If the two of them are under suspicion, then I must be as well. Am I not?”

Her tone was as soft as her stance was firm. No trace of hostility or reticence. She sounded as if she was speaking to a friend. That, in all likelihood, was what perplexed the headmistress. Not a single student had dared this kind of approach since she began her reign over Kimberly.

There was a long silence. However—it was clearly not like the silences that came before. This was not a silence designed to intimidate; it was simply the result of someone struggling to make up their mind.

“…Today’s inquiry is over. You may all leave.”

And when the witch spoke again—there was a trace of a sigh in her tone.

They’d escaped the witch’s grilling with their lives. No exaggeration—that was how both boys felt.

“…Hahh, hahh…!”

“……”

They staggered down the hall outside her office and dragged themselves into a first-floor lounge. Pete collapsed on a chair in the corner, chest heaving like he’d been running for his life. Oliver had his head down, not moving a muscle. Nanao was standing behind them, stroking their backs.

“You are safe now. You have my word.”

“I’m making tea!” Katie said, stuffing leaves in a pot.

If they headed to the Fellowship, they’d find Chela and Guy and all the food and tea they could want, but neither boy was capable of walking that far yet. A few minutes in the headmistress’s office had left them thoroughly exhausted. As far as an audience with the witch of Kimberly went, this outcome was likely extremely fortuitous.

“…You really saved us,” Pete rasped. “I dunno how much more I could’ve taken…”

Nanao smiled and shook her head. “I should have been there from the start. Credit must go to Katie, who thought to fetch me.”

“Nanao, you said you had tea with the headmistress before, right? I remembered that, and then I didn’t stop to think more. I’m so glad it worked out!”

Katie wasn’t taking her eyes off the pot, waiting for the tea leaves to unfurl. And while they waited, Pete finally managed to catch his breath.

“…I can’t believe…you can just talk to the headmistress like normal,” he said, staring down at his cup as Katie filled it. “Every answer I gave, I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff.”

Relieved to see Pete was on his way to recovery, Katie glanced at the other boy.

“You want some, Oliver? It’ll help you relax. I put in a lot of jam.”

She handed him a teacup laden with apricot jam. Tea culture had spread to every part of the Union, and this particular style was popular up north. Oliver took it listlessly, but the heat rising from it proved irresistible, and he took a gulp.

“…Nn…”

Sweet, hot liquid slid down his throat and warmed his stomach—and as it did, big tears spilled from his eyes.

“…Er…?”

Katie had been prepping a third cup for Nanao; Pete had been taking a sip from his own. Both saw Oliver’s tears and froze to the spot. He sat hunched over his warm cup, his tears making the surface ripple as he sobbed soundlessly.

“…Sorry…I couldn’t…do anything…”

Apologies spilled out of him. He wanted to curl up and disappear.

“Nanao stepped in to save us. Katie went to fetch her. Pete kept the headmistress arguing until she got there,” he said. “But I didn’t do anything. I just let her cow me into submission, sat there shaking like a leaf, not even able to explain myself… Just letting all of you protect me…”

Once he got started, there was no stopping his remorse. Katie flailed about for a moment, then pulled a handkerchief out of her robe and started dabbing Oliver’s tears.

“…Oh…”

And from that close, she made a new discovery. When this boy cried, he looked far younger.

“…I never had any real strength. Not compared to the horrors in this school… But that’s exactly why losing what little I have is so damn scary. Walking down the halls, speaking out loud…just breathing is absolutely terrifying now…!”

Everything he’d been trying to hide was tearing out of him. And that put the same metaphor in both Katie’s and Pete’s minds. It was like a heart made of crumbling clay, exposed and floating before them.

Both moved without thought. They couldn’t not put their arms around him. They knew how often he’d protected them, and they couldn’t let him fall apart.

His body was cold to the touch—painfully so. Neither Katie nor Pete said a word; they just held their trembling friend tight. And Nanao put her arms around all three, like she was a blanket laid upon them. They stayed like that until the steam stopped rising from their cups.

“…Oliver, let us repair to our base tonight,” Nanao said at long last.

She flashed a toothy smile, as if that alone could banish all his fears.

“I have a notion by which we might proceed.”

That same evening, they’d collected Guy and Chela, relocated to their secret lair, and were once again discussing the gravity of Oliver’s condition. Whatever this was, it obviously wasn’t just going to go away on its own. That much needed to be clear to everyone.

“……”

When the initial discussion concluded, Chela rose to her feet. She moved around the table to Oliver’s side—and took his hands, almost falling toward them.

“…This is my oversight. We should have picked this apart and dealt with it long ago. How could I have been so blind? I should have known how dire this was the moment you dueled Rossi in sword arts class.” She went on. “I am so, so sorry… I can’t apologize enough, Oliver. Here I claim to be your friend, yet…!”

This had hit harder than anything since she enrolled here. She had looked the other way when her friend was suffering, and the resulting guilt brought her to her knees, shaking her more than any spell. She cared for him yet had come up short—and that realization made her heart bleed.

“…No… No, Chela…”

He managed a whispered denial, but even that had no strength behind it. With no way of resolving this matter on his own, he couldn’t find a way to comfort her. Their friendship was going in circles, connecting nowhere, and Guy couldn’t bear to watch.

“Okay, okay, deep breaths, everyone. Why do you folks have to be so dang hard on yourselves…?” he grumbled. “It doesn’t matter who missed what or when we knew. What matters is putting our skulls together and figuring this out. Let’s do that.”

Here were two friends prone to overcomplicating things, so Guy offered a simple solution. Rather than dwell fruitlessly on bygones, they could put their minds to making things better. That sounded immensely appealing. Katie and Pete were both nodding.

“Guy speaks the truth,” Nanao said. “And I do not believe this matter is as insurmountable as you fear.”

Sensing her confidence, Chela wiped her tears, asking, “Really? Nanao, you know how to cure Oliver?”

“‘Cure’ may not be apt. But as my people say, ‘a single sight is worth a hundred words.’”

Invoking a saying from her homeland, she began spelling out the specifics of her solution. They would use the base’s main hall, normally split into four quarters—Marco’s room, Katie’s animal pens, Guy’s garden, and the indoor exercise room—as one large space. Together, they moved everything—animate or not—aside. This took nearly half an hour.

“Mm, that should do it. Marco, if you could just stay in the corner…”

“My planters are all good. I’d just harvested everything anyway. And we put softening spells on the whole floor like you said—but why, exactly? We gonna be doing some tumbling?”

They’d done as Nanao asked and found themselves in the middle of a vast springy floor, like a gym covered in mats. She nodded her approval and turned to the others.

“You have my thanks. Now we are ready to play at being demons.”

At what? said every face there. Sensing they weren’t familiar with her term, Nanao gave them a rundown of the rules, and they were soon nodding.

“…Ohhh, you mean like tag,” said Guy.

“Where I’m from, we call it catch and catch,” Pete mentioned.

“Fascinating,” Chela added. “To think Yamatsu children play the same game!”

“But…why now?”

Nanao just grinned at Oliver’s question and said, “‘A single sight is worth a hundred words,’” again. Don’t think, do—apparently. Still somewhat perplexed, Oliver nodded. Best to take her word for it.

“With standard rules, whoever the demon catches becomes the next demon. I’d like to suggest a deviation there. The demon makes catches but remains a demon—thus, as the game progresses, the number of demons increases.”

“Oh, I’ve played by those rules!” Katie exclaimed. “The last player has to run like crazy from everyone!”

“So how do we score it? Wouldn’t that mean the game ends with all demons?” Guy asked.

“Precisely. Thus, there are neither winners nor losers. As humans, you flee as best you can; as demons, you endeavor to catch the survivors. That is how children play.”

Play for the sake of play—not for bragging rights. With the objectives clear, Nanao turned her back and covered her eyes with her hands.

“I shall serve as the first demon. I will now count to ten—so I suggest you all start running.”

She began counting, and the others spread out across the open space. None of them went too close to the walls—they needed room to maneuver as the demon closed in.

“…Seven, eight, nine, ten… Ready or not—here I come!”

Nanao spun around and made a beeline for Katie, who quickly turned and ran…albeit a bit too predictably. Nanao turned ahead of her, closed the gap, and her palm slapped Katie’s shoulder.

“A-already?!”

“You are now a demon yourself, Katie!”

“Argh, then let’s get everyone! Grrr!”

“Whoop…!”

Katie had flung herself at Oliver like a wild beast, forcing him to leap backward. She had leaned too far forward and went head over heels, but that was why they’d softened the floor; it caught her easily, and she bounded right back to her feet.

“…That didn’t even hurt! I love it! We can go all out!”

“Pete, your back’s unguarded!”

On the other side of the room, Nanao’s palm was closing in on the bespectacled boy. She’d caught him against the wall, and just as he seemed to have nowhere to run—his feet carried him diagonally up the wall. Nanao let out an impressed cry. A few steps later, Pete lost his balance and was back on the floor near Oliver, who stared wide-eyed.

“…Crap, I can’t get past three seconds. Need more practice.”

“Wall Walking? Pete, when did you—?”

“If I’ve seen it, I’ve practiced it. Obviously.”

Pete was already running off. Those shoulders seemed far sturdier than when they’d first met—but before Oliver could marvel at that further, his gaze landed on Nanao, and he was forced to run again. He incorporated a sideways feint to get her off his tail.

Meanwhile, Katie was throwing herself into this whole demon thing. She’d switched targets to Chela, lost her, and then got Guy cornered by the wall. Neither one was moving a muscle, just staring each other down—and it was hard to go into a Wall Walk without any momentum. Guy had two choices—left or right. And Katie was hell-bent on nabbing him, whichever path he chose.

But Guy was not so easily tied down. He drew his white wand, chanted a spell, and used the ensuing smoke cloud to slip past her. As he ran off, he yelled over his shoulder, “Nobody said no spells!”

“Augh! Cheap trick, Guy! Is that even allowed?!”

“As long as the spell won’t hurt anyone, I rather think so,” said Chela. “Do you agree, Nanao?”

“But of course!”

The rules expanded by request. Oliver grimaced at that, but come to think of it—this was how children’s games worked. Their feet nimble, their minds free. He sensed a touch of that youthful whimsy coming back to him—and felt a pair of arms close around his chest.

“Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh. I caught you, Oliver.”

“…Yeah, you got me,” he said more ruefully than he’d expected. Even as he switched to the demon role, he swore not to get caught next time. He hadn’t yet realized just how into this he already was.

Meanwhile, Katie had been after Chela again, but when she spotted Nanao’s arms around Oliver, an idea struck her.

“…Oh! Catching someone means you can touch them.”

“An excellent interpretation, Katie,” Chela called back, their minds as one even as they fled. With three demons, Guy didn’t last long. Chela held out to the bitter end but was soon surrounded and fell. Without pausing for breath, they went into round two.

“This time I’ll serve as the demon. Commencing the countdown!”

Chela covered her eyes and began the next round. The other five took positions, putting what they’d learned to use, mindful of the expanded rules.

“…Nine, ten. Here I come!”

She turned around and set her eyes on Pete, who had—fascinatingly—placed himself in the corner. Clearly, he had some sort of plan in mind, and that piqued her curiosity—so she headed straight to him.

“Clypeus!”

Wand in hand, he made a protrusion high above, then used the triangle jump principle to kick off both walls and get high enough to grab it. He pulled himself up onto the protrusion, looking down at Chela below.

“How’s that? If you try and climb after me, I can knock you back with a gust spell.”

“…Interesting. You’ve made yourself a safe spot to camp, rather than running willy-nilly.”

“It goes against the spirit of the game, I know. So I intend to try it out this round and go with something else next time.”

From his perch, he had his wand ready—and Chela smiled back at him.

“Don’t worry, Pete. You won’t have to.”

And with that, she put her foot on one wall—not running like Pete had. Just strolling up it, like she was on level ground—perpendicular to the wall. The bespectacled boy’s eye twitched.

“…You…can do that?”

“Watch and learn. I’m not yet a match for my father—but this is a real Wall Walk.”

The gap between her and Pete’s perch was closing fast. He recovered enough to make good on his gust spell threat, but she effortlessly neutralized with the oppositional element. Even mid–dramatic Wall Walk, Chela still had the capacity to sling spells.

“…Argh…!”

This perch was no longer safe. Pete used a blackout spell to blind her and tried to jump down the side she wasn’t on. But he couldn’t disguise his intentions, and Chela jumped into his path, wrapping her arms around him as he fell.

“Wah?! C-crap…!”

“You’re the first! Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“…Um, h-hey—”

In her arms, Pete looked flustered—but Chela paid that no mind, giving him a good squeeze. He found himself surrounded by warmth and soft flesh and went very stiff. The embrace lasted a full ten seconds before Chela finally released him. Where Pete was positively fossilized, her smile gleamed.

“What a wonderful game, Nanao. We can hug our beloved friends as much as we like!”

“?! No, wait! Hugs are in no way necessary!”

“Strictly speaking, no. But neither is there any rule against it. Much like your spell use, Guy.”

She’d clearly expected his argument and came prepared. Guy quickly gave up. He’d expanded the rules first and couldn’t really gripe if someone else did the same.

“Awww…you got me! Now I’m a demon!”

Katie went down two minutes later. She’d definitely been running for real but didn’t sound remotely disappointed to be switching sides. Her eyes caught Oliver’s across the room, and she grinned.

“…You don’t mind if I get a bit rough, do you?”

“…Sh-sheesh, Katie, you sound like you’ve got ulterior motives!”

Oliver backed away; Katie’s grin made her look like a carnivore sighting dinner. She lunged toward him—but Guy stepped between them, wand raised.

“Not so fast! All rules in moderation.”

“You can hug whoever you like, Guy! I won’t mind!”

“Like hell I can!”

“Then you’re next, Guy!”

Chela jumped into that fray, and the game sped up. The girls became fearsome hug warriors, and the boys were forced to flee their dreaded embraces.

Three hours straight of working their bodies to their utmost. No one had infinite stamina—not even mages.

“…Hahh… Hahh…”

Pete was on his back, breath ragged. He’d been the first to go down, but Katie and Guy soon followed. The three of them were all slumped together by the wall.

“…Well? You satisfied…? Having your way…with me…?”

“…You kept on…butting in, Guy… I wanted…to catch Oliver more…!”

“…You’re not even…trying to…hide it…”

“…Friends can hug! It’s not…weird…”

Guy and Katie were arguing through their panting, but three of their friends were still going strong. They didn’t look remotely tired—in fact, now that the players were more equally matched, they were going even harder.

Pete managed to pry himself up off the floor enough to see, muttering, “…How are they still moving? It’s been three hours… No breaks…”

“Yeah… Even off his game…we’re still no match…”

“…But…”

Katie frowned, looking over again. Her gut was nagging at her. Everything here appeared to be as usual—but something had changed.

“…was Oliver…always that fast…?”

The boy himself had not yet noticed.

“…Huff… Huff…!”

Oliver was in a white-hot high. His mind purely on the game afoot, chasing, being chased, a world of pure simplicity. No room for anxieties or fears.

The severity of his condition, the possibility it could not be cured—all such thoughts were banished. He spared not a thought for what lay ahead, simply running moment to moment. Dodging right, leaping left, feinting down but leaping overhead instead—and Nanao’s hand got his ankle anyway.

“Caught you!”

“…One more!”

“Then I’ll be the demon!”

The next game began the moment he landed. With only three players left, the rules had tightened up; no more spells, but “caught” now required a “hold” on any part of the body. Even if a demon got your back against a wall, if you could push past them without them grabbing on, you were free.

“Hahhhh!”

Chela’s hand snaked out, and Oliver deflected it with the back of his own hand. They traded feints a moment, neither gaining an advantage. All three had trained in hand to hand, so this was almost a martial-arts exchange. Only the demon could “grab,” but anyone could “deflect.” Get good enough, and you could go toe to toe with the demon. But even these rules were not enough to satisfy their thirsts.

“I’m all warmed up now! What say the demon has to get their foes pinned?”

“The yielding arts! Now that tickles my fancy!”

“I’m in! From here on out, getting your opponent’s back on the floor is a ‘catch!’”

A few exchanges later, Chela caught his arm and turned from him, both hands going for Nanao, who wasn’t backing down. They grabbed for sleeves and hems, skill against skill from any stance.

“Sword arts is too often about immobilizing opponents…but going hand to hand like this is a thrill all its own!”

“Don’t bite your tongue, Chela!”

As they fought for balance, Nanao suddenly shifted. Her right hand caught the sleeve by Chela’s elbow, her left the collar—and with those held firm, she spun her body, her back against Chela’s front. Chela flew upward, twirling overhead before landing on the floor again. This was one of the Hibiya-style yielding arts Nanao had learned back home.

“…Oliver!”

“…Come at me!”

Those words proved enough, their minds aligned. According to the rules, neither was a demon right now, but that had ceased to matter. They were children at play. And they played as their hearts led them.

“…Shaaa!”

“Raaah!”

They clashed, blood boiling. A moment’s lapse would leave him sailing through the air, and Oliver threw himself into turning those tables. His spatial magic was now uselessly inaccurate, so he cast that out, reading his opponent’s tells, biding his time to counter her moves.

She turned that back on him, too—baited him into a throw or a leg sweep. He hit the floor twice, then three times, bounding back up for more each time without stopping. Neither even considered it.

Nanao almost had his arm, so he jumped. He felt an elbow coming at him and bent himself just in time.

“Ha-ha…! Submission moves aren’t in the cards, Nanao!”

“My apologies! I was enjoying myself, and my body acted out of turn!”

She let go of the arm she had twisted behind him, laughing. A furious exchange of blows followed by collar and sleeve clutches, then more skills on parade. Her left hand forced his elbow down, and then Nanao half spun into the boy’s bosom. The move she’d used to throw Chela! Even as that registered, Oliver was already in motion. Not fighting the flow of power but flinging himself in the direction of the throw, keeping himself in control in midair, and getting his feet down on the floor.

“…Hng!”

“Hahhh!”

Nanao let go and righted herself, but Oliver turned that against her, attacking. In quick succession, he used three leg moves designed to push her down, and when her center of gravity was leaning forward in response, he switched his off hand from her wrist to her collar. He spun himself into her bosom, grabbed her right arm from below, and jerked his hips up. First, incapacitate the dominant hand—the hand holding the athame. A Lanoff-style sword art move devoted to that principle—the throwing technique Break Wheel.

The sound of her hitting the floor followed. Nanao lay there on her back, and the momentum of the throw left Oliver tumbling down beside her. They lay together, gasping for breath.

“Magnificent,” she said.

The others had been watching in awe, and they all scrambled to their feet, rushing over.

“Oliver, did you…?”

“Uh, you just threw Nanao!”

“My man! You’ve got your groove back, right?”

Guy said it all. To their eyes, Oliver’s movements had been getting sharper and shaper. He’d been too lost in the moment, but in hindsight, he felt it, too. His body worked. He knew how it worked. The nagging uncanniness that had plagued him, the feeling that he was trapped in someone else’s body—all that had faded away like it had never been there to begin with.

“…A simple matter,” Nanao said. “When your body changes, you need only move it. Dwell not on moving like you once did. Cease restraining yourself with notions of how you should move. Leave your mind behind as your heart guides you, like a child racing across the fields.”

She was still flat on her back, but she turned her head toward Oliver.

“Your body and mind were not aligned. That is all this ever was,” she told him. “Oliver—you did not lose strength. You gained it. You gained so much power that you could not operate as before—and entirely unawares, at that.”

Oliver let those words wash over him like sunlight. Nanao’s explanation proved insufficient for the others, who all turned toward the ringlet girl.

“…Translate that, Chela?”

“…A significant improvement to the mana circulation in a short period of time. As a result, how he need handle his mana is dramatically transformed in a way that leaves his consciousness one step behind. I believe that’s the gist.”

“That happens?”

“……I can’t rule it out. We are all growing mages,” Chela replied. “Just—as far as I can remember, Oliver’s mana output had been steady. Incremental increases in line with his body’s growth, but no signs of such dramatic leaps. Given that it left his own mind behind, this is clearly a remarkable case. Perhaps there was some trigger outside of our knowledge.”

There were still mysteries involved, but that was all the analysis Chela could offer now.

As everyone turned to him, Oliver muttered, “…So I’m not weaker?”

“Not a whit. You are, in fact, stronger than before.”

“Then I haven’t lost…lost everything I’d built.”

“The heavens and earth could switch places, and that alone would not betray you.”

Nanao spoke with authority. The foundations he’d laid remained within him.

“…Ah—”

His throat shook. His vision blurred. Emotions welled up within—ones he could not hold back.

“Ahhhhh…!”

Even as the emotions assailed him, he knew why he had so feared losing his strength.

Without that strength, he couldn’t fulfill his desire. He couldn’t avenge his mother or do anything for the comrades who’d fallen. Each of those reasons was accurate and yet not all there was to it.

The strength he had was inherently corrupt. Borrowed from a greater soul, the result far too warped to even dub a facsimile thereof. As the mad old man had so viciously decreed, his blade scarcely resembled what Chloe Halford’s own soul had been capable of. Once stained with hatred, no matter how he polished it, it was never more than the sword of a killer.

And yet—despite all that, it was a link back. His love for his mother, his admiration for her, his efforts to be like her… There was strength gained from that, too. He could look back and see his warped footprints in the sand, but if he followed them backward, it would take him to that shining past with her. However deep in darkness he now was, he knew there was still a path leading back to the light.

No matter how mistaken the nature of it was, the bond remained.

“Unh—ah—”

Thinking of days he could never have back was making his soul scream.

Oh, Mother, how I loved you.

Even though he had changed so much—though his nature was altered forever, the madness of that love alone remained.

“…Do not cry, Oliver. This is not the time.”

Nanao sat up, looking ready to cry as well. As the boy grieved, she pulled herself on top of him, brushing his cheeks with her fingertips.

“I cannot bear it. Cannot bear to stand uselessly by, watching these tears flow.”

Her face moved in, and her lips touched his. Like a lid upon his tears.

“Uh, Nanao…?! …?!” Katie yelped, but Chela reached out a hand and held her back. The look on her face made it clear she would brook no interference. This was not a moment anyone else could be a part of.

Guy and Pete felt the same. They held their breaths, watching.

“…Bwah…!”

After a long, long time, Nanao pulled away. She’d kept their lips together as long as she had breath, and now her shoulders were heaving, her cheeks flushed.

Oliver looked up at her, and she rasped, “…My apologies… I knew no other way to calm you.”

She had allowed herself to act and felt a tinge of shame. Her fists clenched, her eyes wavering between sense and sentiment, she stood ready to accept any rebuke.

And gazing up at that, all Oliver did was smile. “I don’t remember us making any rules against kissing when caught.”

Those words freed her from remorse, and he followed them by putting his arms around her. Brushing her head, soothing her, he patted her back with his other hand and poured all the affection he had into it.

At length, their embrace ended, and they stood up. Oliver turned to his other friends.

Guy spoke first, still rattled by these events. “Should we, uh…give you two some space?”

“Don’t make it weird, Guy.”

Oliver slumped right over to his friend and threw his arms around him. Guy was too shocked to produce sounds with any meaning.

“Uhhh…?!”

“We’re still playing demons. Hugs are all part of the rules. Right?” Oliver whispered. Then he tickled Guy’s ribs. Guy screeched and Oliver let go, turning to Pete.

The moment their eyes met, Pete looked away.

“Hmph,” he said. “Almost a pity. We fixed you so fast, I didn’t get a chance to protect you myself.”

“No, you absolutely did, Pete.”

Oliver put his arms around Pete, who was attempting at a brave face. The bespectacled boy kept his expression resolutely cross, but from within his robes, where no one else could see—his hand clenched Oliver’s shirt tight.

His third hug finished, Oliver turned to Katie. Realizing what was about to happen, she started backing away.

“…Er, um…Oliver…”

“Let me have this one, Katie. Even if I get a bit intense.”

He spoke over her and smiled from ear to ear, cutting off her escape. His embrace showed no mercy. It was very intense. His hands moved like he was petting a puppy.

Once Katie was down for the count, he handed her off to Nanao and turned to Chela—last but not least.

“…Chela, when I’m feeling most like saying sorry, you always come and apologize.”

“…Yes, it’s a habit we should both try to break.”

Wincing a bit, the pair reached for each other. Chela was doing her level best to act natural, but deep down, she’d been fighting to keep control. Overjoyed at seeing her friend in good spirits again, she was one step away from acting just like Nanao.

“…Uh-oh,” Oliver said, letting her go. “I feel like a single round of hugs isn’t nearly enough.”

It was as if her own desires had rubbed off on him. Chela puffed out her chest proudly. “Then by all means, keep going. Get all the hugs you need. Or…why not? What say we agree that within the Sword Roses, we have a free hug policy?”

“What in the heck…? It’s not like tea or coffee!” Guy groaned.

Chela was smiling brightly but clearly not joking. Everyone picked up on that…and was forced to give the proposal serious thought.

An eye on one another’s reactions, they began responding.

“…Fine, but only with fair warning,” Katie said. “I’d want a moment to prepare.”

“…I’ll push you off if I’m not in the mood. The rest of the time, go ahead.”

“I have always hugged whosoever I pleased.”

With Pete and Nanao on board, Oliver was now nodding, too. Guy remained the extreme minority. He blinked a bit, saw the expectant looks, and threw in the towel.

“…Argh, fine! Knock yourselves out. Just don’t yell at me if I’m sweaty.”

Possibly a touch of sour grapes, but everyone started grinning, and then all of them threw themselves on him at once. He tried to run, but Katie pulled him in, sniffing.

“……Hee-hee-hee, you do smell a bit sweaty.”

“Don’t worry,” said Chela. “I’m sure we all do.”

“Whoa, not all at once! The bath! Someone run the bath, please!”

Guy’s yowls filled the lair, and everyone laughed.

When one petal faltered, the others held fast until it could recover. The flower their swords made still bloomed strong.