Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume SS01 - Chapter 1

Case 1

Toxic Gasser

Mage endeavors always went hand in hand with death. Their learning institutes offered added facilities but did not alter that fundamental nature. Kimberly was arguably one such institute.

As a result, morals that held sway in the outside world had no place here. The effects of the civil rights movement were certainly felt, but the way the students here lived had not changed significantly since the school’s founding. Namely, they followed their own spells, no matter what suffering that caused—to them or to those around. If they chose to fight, they fought. If they chose to steal, they stole. If they chose to kill, they killed. That core stance meant that all students here were forced to be combatants.

And thus, the only reason there were rules against duels in the school building was because they interfered with other students learning. If they chose a location where that concern did not apply, things had to get awfully noisy before the faculty would bother caring. The Kimberly campus was vast and dark. There was no shortage of suitable venues.

“Impetus!”

“Tonitrus!”

Once again, two wands were crossed in an out-of-the-way corridor. A furious exchange of spells from range; in time, one went down, and their athame rolled across the floor.

“Gah…”

The loser was left in a heap, groaning. The girl he’d been fighting approached with a twisted grin.

“Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! That’s all you got? You just ran your mouth off with nothing to back it?”

“Hurck…!”

Still riding a high, the girl kicked him hard in the stomach, eliciting a throttled grunt. Not a savage act she allowed herself due to lack of prying eyes—there were definitely students glancing sidelong at them in passing, albeit from a safe distance.

“Uh-oh, the loser’s getting beat.”

“Someone, stop her. He’s puking blood.”

“Let him. If they wanted to be stopped, they’d have arranged for a ref.”

One and all agreed it served him right. No one moved to intervene. Most duels had a ref to keep things from getting out of hand; if the combatants skipped that step, they had only themselves to blame. No mercy for the loser. In that sea of indifference, the girl raised her foot again, clearly not done tormenting her opponent.

“Enough!”

A cry against the tide of public opinion. The girl swung around, surprised, and found two stern-looking second-years. Alvin Godfrey—distinctive upturned brows, eyes that never wavered. Carlos Whitrow—slim, with an androgynous air. The girl appeared baffled by their sudden intrusion.

“Hah? What’s your problem? Stay out of my business,” she spat.

“You’ve already won. Duels are one thing, beatings another. This is just abuse.”

“He’s the one who started shit! Getting his ass beat after is just what he gets for insulting a mage! My family’s rep was on the line.”

“I appreciate the motivation. You’ve repaid the insult and proven your skill to those around you. Now is the time to demonstrate mercy. That is how strong fighters from houses of repute behave.”

Godfrey’s appeal followed mage logic. His attitude made it clear that if she would not listen, he stood ready to take her on. The girl studied his face for a moment, then sighed and lowered her blade.

“…Fine. I could handle a second duel, but I’m not in the mood to fight you. Whatever! I’m bored now. Do what you like with him.”

She turned on her heel and stalked away. When she was out of sight, Godfrey and Carlos ran to the boy.

“Are you still with us? I’d love to heal you myself, but I’m afraid I can’t tell if there’s internal injuries,” said Carlos. “All I can do is provide anesthetics; we’ll carry you to the infirmary.”

“…Urk… Ah…”

The boy was in too much pain to answer. Godfrey had seen sights like this far too many times, and they always left him grinding his teeth.

Afterward, they took the boy to the school infirmary, where he did turn out to have some mildly ruptured organs—injuries that would prove fatal to an ordinary but weren’t even taken seriously at Kimberly.

“…It’s too much,” Godfrey muttered from his chair in a lounge.

Carlos’s silence showed they entirely agreed.

“I was warned before my arrival, but living here is far beyond—far beneath my expectations. It’s rare to go a day without encountering a violent act. Will we reach the end of classes without blood drawn? Carlos, place your bet.”

“I’m hardly going to wager on something that unsavory. But my healing skills have improved by leaps and bounds in a single year. I get firsthand experience each and every day.”

Carlos sighed, eyes on their wand. The two of them had spent a year together, never far from the scent of blood.

“We’ve stuck our noses in everywhere, but I’m at my limit!” Godfrey slammed his fist on the table. “I can’t leave it like this! Enough stopgap solutions. We’ve got to act to change things!”

He settled back, eyes on his friend.

“I do have an idea,” he said. “Interested?”

“You know it. This will be lovely, I’m sure.”

Carlos propped up their chin in their hands with an encouraging smile. Godfrey laid out his idea.

“I want to form a neighborhood watch. Not just the two of us, but one roping in all like-minded students,” he began. “We’ll be maintaining order and banding together to deal with outside threats. Gradually expanding our turf until it covers the entire campus. The specifics are still hazy, but if we can attract decent numbers, it should help discourage the worst impulses.”

Godfrey was dead serious about this. Carlos folded their arms, considering the proposition.

“It’s certainly bold. I’m sure you’re aware it will be met with fierce opposition. It’s a direct challenge to the Kimberly spirit. Less a watch, more a resistance movement.”

“…Can’t disagree. I considered joining the student council and working to change things from within, but they’re too divorced from my ideals. Wouldn’t even let me join—and even if they did, I don’t see them listening. Best I start my own movement.”

“The only option, yes. They’re hardly going to pay us much attention while we’re small; that would be counting the scales on a wyvern before it’s slain. Best we focus on how to attract an initial membership. It’s not much of a watch with only two people in it.”

Carlos was narrowing the scope to their immediate concern, having counted themself among the membership already, which earned them a grateful grin from Godfrey. Without a friend like Carlos, Godfrey thought, I’d never have dared embark on this venture.

“I’ve got a few leads, so I might as well talk to anyone and everyone. Is there anyone you think is promising? Including the new crop of first-years.”

“…Hmm…” Carlos had to think about that. Eventually, they said, “I do know one, but I suspect she’ll need a bit more time.”

Godfrey nodded, taking them at their word. He wasn’t one to argue with a friend’s judgment call.

“Then I’ll leave her to you. For now, I’m focusing on my own leads. Got my eye on one person in particular.”

With that, he stood up. Carlos had a hunch who he meant—and followed him out.

“A neighborhood watch? In your dreams.”

In a classroom where multiple auto-drums kept the rhythm, a female student skipped around to the beat. Lesedi Ingwe, a second-year student—and Godfrey’s first candidate for watch membership. Observing her lethally aggressive dance, he folded his arms, shot down already.

“Not even worth considering? Mind elaborating on your reasoning?”

“Do I have to? Even a child would understand. No one’ll care as long as the risks far outweigh the return. You want to use this watch to impose order on campus, but the status quo is so far gone you’ll be but a drop in the bucket. What can two second-years do against any real threat? And one more member won’t change that equation.”

Lesedi never once broke step. Her hands on the floor, upside down, legs windmilling. It was hard to take their eyes off her. She wasn’t dancing to the beat for the art of it—this was how martial artists from her continent trained. Godfrey knew little about the practice, but he could tell she was sharpening her fangs.

“I’m well aware. That’s why I want to start with the best. We can announce ourselves and take action after that… Assuming our membership will be our year and below, our starting lineup must know how to handle themselves. That’s why we came to you first, Lesedi.”

He wasn’t about to hide his reasoning, either. She flipped out of her handstand and broke off her training, breathing hard. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and turned to face Godfrey.

“Not interested. You want to make this dream feel real, prove you can get results. You’re talking about numbers—and I get that. But that ain’t enough. You need something that resonates. Show you’re not all talk, but can bring about real change—that your actions will bring tangible benefits. Convince me. Even if the math don’t add up, mages love to follow their guts, logic be damned.”

Lesedi pointed right at his chest.

“You need to prove you’re a draw. You’re no longer a laughingstock, but now you’re just an overpowered oaf. Fix yourself, then try me. When you’ve got something to show for it, I’ll at least hear you out.”

With that, she grabbed her towel and left the room. Godfrey watched her go.

“…Lost that one,” Carlos said with a rueful grin. “Certainly some harsh truths.”

“I’d call it a fair warning. Not a single thing she said was out of line. I’ve gotta prove I’m a draw—that’s a hurdle anyone trying to lead has to overcome.”

And it forced him to reconsider. He turned to Carlos.

“Before we talk about how this watch will work, I need a win of my own. Bluntly speaking, I need a reputation. And ideally, I need to earn that in a way Kimberly students don’t. Show who I am, what kind of group I’d lead, and why people should flock to it.”

“A dry run, then,” Carlos said, nodding. “Take a problem the watch would solve, and fix it all on your own. These little scuffles we’ve tackled aren’t nothing, but ideally you’ll want a big bang. Kimberly students do rather love the dramatic.”

“That’s the long and short of it. We’ve got an approach in mind—now we’ve gotta go looking for trouble. We’ll pick something major that we think I can handle, and take our shot. Put on a show—and do it with integrity.”

“Problems on campus? They’re a bushel a belc.”

“Stick your nose in, and you’ll get burned. What can you do?”

“You’re gonna tackle an upperclassman on their turf in the labyrinth? Enjoy dying.”

Godfrey and Carlos were chasing their new goal but were met with a frosty reception. No one placed any stock in their ability to get things done, and they showed no interest in the watch he envisioned. More than anything, asking for help solving your problems was simply not what Kimberly students did.

“…No place for outsiders in anything involving family dealings. The labyrinth is a petri dish for trouble, but diving in to fix things is still a tall order for us.”

Godfrey had his arms folded, pondering this. The enchanted labyrinth was synonymous with Kimberly’s name; the school building a lid on the sprawling dungeon beneath it. Down there, away from the eyes of the faculty—that was where the bulk of students did their work, and they’d have to tackle those issues in due time. But between the multitude of magifauna and the high odds of encounters with formidable older students, they could not even handle things on the upper layers.

“What we’re looking for is in short supply,” Carlos noted. “There are plenty of minor issues, but chasing those is like taking care of our chores. We’d be better off sticking to our previous approach and stepping in when duels go too far. We don’t want people thinking we’re the odd-jobs squad.”

Carlos sighed. Godfrey, too, was acutely aware that their standings and skills did not let them tackle many issues. Sticking their heads in where they didn’t belong would only lead to premature destruction.

But there were problems they could handle. Carefully plucking one of these from the pile their questioning had uncovered, Carlos said, “Although this did catch my interest. One of the new first-years is causing untold problems. Not just a lone wolf, but extremely aggressive—arguments tend to swiftly lead to lives on the line.”

“Yeah, I heard. New students often want to prove themselves, so I assumed he was one of those…”

“Perhaps time would resolve it, but they say he’s turning magical poisons into mist and spraying them everywhere. Lots of collateral damage, and the whole first-year contingent is on edge. If the neighborhood watch wants peace on campus, isn’t this exactly the sort of problem we should handle?”

Godfrey mulled that over. Then he nodded.

“No one asked us to step in, but that does sound like a case for us. If the cause is a first-year, we won’t be outclassed, but it’s a big enough issue the whole year is aware of it. Can’t expect it to resonate much with the older students—but better than doing nothing.”

Godfrey made up his mind, sights set on his target.

“Swift decisions are one of your virtues.” Carlos smiled. “No time like the present. Let’s check in on the boy himself.”

They dashed off down the hall. The watch’s first endeavor: rehabilitating a problem child.

It happened to be lunchtime, so they soon found their target in the Fellowship. He was a small-statured first-year occupying a large corner table all by himself. Perhaps the other students were simply afraid to approach, but the way he was eating a roast chicken bare-handed was downright insolent. He punctuated each bite with hostile glares at his surroundings, which certainly sold the reputation they’d heard.

“…That him? I see. Everyone’s keeping a wide berth,” Godfrey noted.

“Quite a feat for a first-year at Kimberly. Looks like a tough nut to crack. Should I go first? I’m an old hand at taming prickly children,” said Carlos.

A kind offer, but Godfrey turned it down.

“No, this one should be me. No tricks, just the direct approach. We’ll want to be all about candor and sincerity.”

“The two words furthest from Kimberly. Then I’ll keep watch from here. Call me if you’re struggling.”

Godfrey nodded and stepped toward their target.

He’d never been much of a talker. All he could do was hear the boy out and then state his own goal in plain Yelglish.

“…Hate to interrupt your meal, but can you spare a minute?”

The moment he spoke, the boy’s glare stabbed through him. Seen up close, he wasn’t quite what Godfrey expected. Small body, thin limbs, glittering gold hair cut just above the shoulders, even features with a touch of childish innocence remaining—that alone would make anyone deem him an adorable boy. But as he turned, his hand slipped into the pocket of his robe, and the gleam in his eyes radiated abject hostility.

“…The fuck are you?”

“Alvin Godfrey, second-year. I’d like a word.”

He met the boy’s gaze, not flinching from it. The boy started to his feet.

“…Looking for trouble? Let’s step outside.”

“No need to be hasty. I’m not here to fight. Just trying to open a line of communication. Won’t hold you longer than the meal takes.”

Talking the boy down, he took a seat. The boy frowned, but settled back into his chair.

“Communication, eh? The fuck we got to talk about? I ain’t got shit to say to you.”

“I won’t dictate the subject. If you’ve got frustrations or gripes to get off your chest, I’ll listen. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Ha, you’re a weird one.”

He snorted, but there was no rejection in his tone. Godfrey took that as permission.

“Glad you’ll allow it. I haven’t lunched yet, so I’ll eat here.”

He reached for the big plate, grabbed a charbroiled drumstick, and took a big bite.

The boy scowled. “You’re just eating off that plate? Ain’t you heard a word I just said?”

“? I’m not a picky eater. And the roast chicken here’s great.”

Godfrey was talking with his mouth full. The boy went quiet, and Godfrey reduced three pieces of chicken to bones far faster than this boy was doing. Then he reached for the salad, not bothering to plate it, just plowing through the contents like a horse. By this point, the boy was actively appalled.

“You got one hell of an appetite. Did you skip breakfast?”

“Nope, I’m always like this. Only just learned why—I’ve got a way bigger mana pool than most. Till we figured that out, people just called me the bottomless stomach or a dumpster. Since I’m free of that concern, food tastes all the better. Don’t worry; I won’t eat your share.”

He was already done with the salad and dragging a meat pie across the table. For a little while, the boy watched him eat, like a child observing a predator at the zoo.

“So, thoughts?” Godfrey asked when his stomach felt human again. “Like I said, any complaints?”

“Complaints?” the boy snapped, coming back to his senses. “Sure, I got some. Nothing but. This place is a dump, a heap of shit they done stewed. Diluted a bit compared to where I came from, but the essence ain’t changed.”

Already some reveals. Godfrey picked through those words for a moment.

“Not taking to Kimberly, then? I can sympathize. I’m largely of the same opinion.”

“Don’t butter me up. You ain’t different. You think I’m a target for your spells or a ball you can kick around. That much is obvious.”

“Is it?” Godfrey said, looking him right in the eye. Not even blinking—staring the boy down.

The boy must have read something in that look, because he muttered, “…Okay, you ain’t here to fight.”

For the first time, the tension left his shoulders. He’d had one hand in his pocket this whole time, but he withdrew that, saying, “Tim Linton. I get you ain’t hostile. So I’ll let you hear my name.”

“Appreciate the understanding, Mr. Linton. And I get that your attitude is your way of taking stock of people. You’re not throwing down with just anyone, are you?”

“…They start shit with me, and I’ll throw down, one second flat. But I ain’t exactly running a sale on beatdowns. I don’t do shit if they just leave me alone. But do they ever?” Tim spat, eyes darting around the room.

This was a huge discrepancy from what Godfrey had heard prior to meeting him. The rumors had suggested he was the aggressor, but it seemed the boy believed he was merely defending himself.

And Godfrey could tell the boy did not welcome this state of affairs. He wasn’t just acting that way for Godfrey’s benefit—no reason to put on a show for a no-name second-year, and if he’d been a deft performer, he’d have avoided making waves in the first place.

He’d likely had a rough time on the way to this current mess. In light of that, Godfrey resumed his questioning.

“So it’s not like you’re unable to weather an insult. Sorry if I’m reading this wrong, but you don’t seem interested in defending your family’s honor.”

“The Linton family? Ha, who gives a warg’s ass? If they collapsed tonight, I’d drink to it. This place is a cesspool, but at least it’s got edible food. Didn’t get that back where I’m from.”

Tim threw the last bite of sausage into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and got up.

“Meal’s over. Like you said, we’re done communicating.”

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Linton. I’m glad we spoke.”

Godfrey shot him a smile, and Tim pursed his lips.

“…You’re coming back, huh? I ain’t gonna stop you, but don’t expect me to talk next time. If I ain’t in the mood, I’ll stonewall you.”

“Fair enough. But I will keep coming.”

He was firm on that point. Tim Linton snorted, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the Fellowship.

A moment later, Carlos sat down next to Godfrey.

“Nice work, Al. I had concerns, but you did pretty well. First impressions?”

“Not bad. He’s got his head screwed on far more than we thought. He’s bucking against the Kimberly scene—a fundamentally different stance from those who thrive on the violence here. In that sense, he oughtta fit in with us.”

His honest opinion and a happy accident. He’d expected to be rehabilitating a problem child, but inside, he’d sensed one of his own.

Still, that was no reason to be optimistic. There was still a gulf between them, and Godfrey accounted for that in his next move.

“Gonna take time for him to open up. He let a few things slip, and I think he gets I don’t mean him harm, but he’s still very guarded. Perhaps he’s simply never encountered anyone he could trust. Even that brief exchange made it clear he grew up in a very bad place.”

“Oh…like so many mages. My girl’s in the same state.” Carlos sighed, then shook off that concern, giving their friend a pleasant smile. “But it sounds like you’re the man for the job. Candor and sincerity, was it?”

“Precisely. I’ll keep running at him till it gets through.”

Carlos chuckled. A year had been long enough for them to know—when their friend made a promise, it came true.

Naturally, Carlos wasn’t about to let their earnest friend do all the work.

The evening after their first contact with Tim, Carlos split up with Godfrey after dinner, searching the halls for a girl they knew. Eventually, Carlos found her in a garden full of fountains.

“There you are, Lia. How’s this place treating you?”

The girl they’d been searching for was a first-year, sitting alone on a bench. She glared at him.

Pale, unblemished skin, purplish hair, amethyst eyes glittering at the center of her fragile, delicate features. Her uniform was worn to specification—to a degree past proper and into downright fastidious. Clear signs of concerted effort on her part to show as little skin as possible. Yet, in sharp contrast to that intent, the air about her was inarguably enticing—even without the Perfume her body naturally produced, one that captivated the minds of the opposite sex indiscriminately.

Her name was Ophelia Salvadori. The features of her bloodline were well-known across the magical world—one could say she was the heiress to a storied dynasty.

“…It’s fine,” she said crossly. “No one’s tried anything funny. You don’t have to keep checking up on me.”

Ophelia’s gaze snapped to Carlos.

“What are you up to?” she asked. “I heard you and some oaf are running around breaking up fights.”

“Heh-heh, that we are. At first, I was just worried and stuck around to cover for him, but…he’s a very active soul. Before I knew it, it’s like we were lifelong partners. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories—you can’t tell me you aren’t curious.”

“The stories I’ve heard make him sound like a nitwit. This is hardly the place to defend the weak. I don’t see the point.”

She wasn’t mincing words, and Carlos found this hard to argue.

“Fair enough… If the stories aren’t convincing, why not meet him yourself? I imagine you’ll soon discover what manner of man he is.”

Ophelia snorted at this suggestion. But she also thought: If I’m loath to face anyone from my own year, what harm can it do to goggle at a fantastical creature?

Tim had expected Godfrey to visit again, but he soon discovered he’d underestimated the man.

“Sunning in the gardens? It’s a lovely day for it!”

With that, Godfrey settled down on the bench next to him. Tim had been reading a magazine, and he sighed dramatically.

A lovely day? It could be the worst weather in a decade, and this man would just concoct some other excuse.

Every other day. For a month now, Godfrey had maintained that pace like clockwork, regularly dropping in on him. Depending on his mood, Tim would play along or point-blank ignore him, and he’d learned the man would be satisfied with a few minutes of small talk, which gradually lowered Tim’s guard.

“Even if that is true, I doubt you make a habit of it yourself. Shit, I should never have humored you. Now it’s an open invitation.”

“Don’t be like that! I don’t mind the occasional stroll here, and you can’t tell me you have any real objections to our conversations.”

As he smoothed the boy’s feathers, Godfrey glanced around and spotted something unexpected among the neatly trimmed branches. A dome-shaped nest, from which emerged the tiny face of a magical creature—a pot weasel. This species planted their own seeds, shaping trees to meet their needs.

“Oh, a pot weasel. At this range, they usually hiss or flee… Have you been feeding it?”

“I just tossed a few scraps its way. Don’t make eye contact. You’ll spook it.”

“Ah, my bad. You like animals?”

“Hell no. But cute shit? Kinda makes your troubles seem far away.”

Tim meant this as an off-the-cuff remark, but Godfrey took it as a rare glimpse of his tastes. Nodding to himself, he turned his eyes to the magazine open on the boy’s lap.

“What had you so absorbed?” he asked. “Mind if I peek at the cover? Oh, I’ve seen this on the stands. It’s a big-name fashion magazine, right?”

“Sure. I usually just flip through, but this time they had a feature on Madam Pasquier’s designs. Even have breakdowns on pieces created specifically for contests. This really does it for me—but I guess you wouldn’t understand.”

Tim shrugged, stopping himself there.

“I may not be a fashionista,” Godfrey said, looking unusually annoyed, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes. I mean…this would look great on you.”

He pointed at the page. An eye-catching dress that used hoops to give the skirts volume. Covered in lace and frills, it was worn by a petite girl who was smiling with a parasol in hand.

“This shit’s for little girls!” Tim gaped. “That’s what you think of me?!”

“Mm? I don’t know that gender matters. I just thought you’ve got the looks to pull it off.”

“ !”

That caught Tim entirely by surprise and made him gasp. Objectively speaking, he was certainly good-looking—but given his usual behavior, no one had offered compliments to his face. This was possibly the first time that had ever happened. It was the last thing he’d expected, and he drew a total blank on how to respond.

There was a lengthy silence, and Tim started feeling like he needed to change the subject. Irritated at how implacable Godfrey’s profile was, Tim snapped the magazine closed.

“…Time you fess up. Which fight put you onto me? You want me to behave, yeah?”

“That’s a part of it, sure. But no one put me up to this in particular. My purpose is more self-serving than that—to be blunt, I want credit for reforming a problem child.”

“What for? That ain’t gonna do you a lick of good here.”

“I’m not so sure. Sometimes people’s needs don’t show on the surface. I think that’s doubly true in a place like Kimberly.”

Not catching his drift, Tim scowled. Godfrey looked him in the eye and spoke his mind.

“Talking to the students who got caught up in your fights, I can tell your magical poisons are far better than any normal first-year’s. They’re extremely powerful and take Herculean effort to detoxify. Yet…you’re making them airborne and scattering them willy-nilly.”

“Ha. And you want me to stop?”

“Not exactly. I’m more interested in you,” said Godfrey. “How are you unaffected? The way they describe your fights, you’re inhaling plenty of your own poisons. Which makes me curious.”

He seemed to mean this, and Tim turned his gaze to the cup beside him on the bench. He took a vial from his pouch, added a single drop to the liquid already in the cup, drank half of it himself, then offered the remainder to Godfrey.

“…Give it a try. If you don’t mind sharing.”

“Hmm.”

“Scared? You should be. No rational man would drink this. Go ahead. Toss it out.”

Tim’s smile looked rather forced. He started to put the cup down, but Godfrey snagged it first.

“No, I think I will.”

“Huh?”

Before Tim’s jaw even dropped, Godfrey chugged the rest of the concoction. It was the last thing Tim had expected, and he froze completely. A few seconds of silence—then the cup slipped from Godfrey’s fingers, rolling across the stones at their feet.

“…Gah…!”

“…You actually fucking drank it?! How are you that dumb?!”

Godfrey was doubled over, clutching his chest. Tim stared down at him, stunned. He’d meant this as a warning, expecting the man to back off—but he’d just knocked it right on back.

“I think you know now,” Tim said, all warmth draining from his voice. “But yeah, that was poison. Toxic enough that a single drop can mess up even a mage. But it don’t work on me. I could take five times that dose and be hunky-dory. I’ve got resistances. Been dosed so often I had to build them up.”

This was the answer he’d been looking for, but Godfrey was past offering a response to it. It was all he could do to withstand the scorching pain in his belly.

“That ain’t a fatal dose,” Tim said, his voice awfully flat. “But it will make you suffer. For hours till they manage to cure you.”

With that, he got up and walked away, leaving Godfrey there.

This wasn’t what Tim had planned on, but it suited him just fine. It just moved his plans forward. Those with hostility, he paid back in kind. Those without, he simply pushed away. Didn’t matter which Godfrey was—this ended things.

“Learned your lesson? Don’t come see me again. If you do, then act like the others and try to shut me down. I’ll show you what I can really do.”

Godfrey tried to call out after him, but his body couldn’t take any more. He toppled over. Tim was conscious of a pang in his own heart. He swore under his breath, refusing to let himself turn back.

A moment later, as Godfrey passed out, a girl emerged from the shadows.

“…”

Ophelia Salvadori. Carlos had talked her into taking a peek—and what she’d witnessed defied her understanding.

She stood over Godfrey, sounding as confused as she was appalled.

“What am I supposed to make of this? He just voluntarily poisoned himself…”

Ophelia had witnessed the entire spectacle and could not be less sympathetic. He had to have known the cup was poisoned—drinking that was simply self-destructive. If someone threw themselves into a tornado and wound up blown away, what else was that but stupid?

“…Argh, honestly…”

She considered turning on her heel and leaving him there, but a tug of obligation stayed her feet.

“…Carlos is fond of him. They’d grumble if I did nothing.”

She sighed and drew her wand, sliding her other hand into her pocket. If standard medicine helped, good. If not, she’d just have to drag him to the infirmary.

When Godfrey’s eyes opened, he found his friend smiling at him.

“ ”

“You’re up? That took ages,” Carlos said gently.

Godfrey sat up in bed, glancing around. It was their dorm room.

“…Huh…?”

“I carried you back myself. A kind soul provided an antidote, so by the time I got there, you’d stabilized. Be grateful to whomever it was.”

But after Carlos caught him up to speed, their smile faded.

“I can guess what happened: He slipped you some poison, right?” they asked.

“…Not quite. I…drank it intentionally.” Best to make that clear. When Carlos looked aghast, Godfrey added, “I asked how he can withstand his own poisons. By way of explanation, he drank half the cup, then offered me the rest. He didn’t force my hand—I could’ve easily refused it. This is all on me.”

“Rather rash, I have to admit.”

Defending the other party to the bitter end. Carlos shook their head and moved to the table, filling a cup from the teapot.

“I’ll only say this once: This is a good place to throw in the towel. You survived this time, but will that luck hold out? I know he’s not a bad kid deep down, but that doesn’t guarantee your safety. That is the nature of a mage.”

A gentle suggestion. And Godfrey appreciated it.

“Thanks, Carlos,” he said, eyes downcast. “You’ve always got my back.”

“You just noticed? I’ve been right here since before we took our exams.”

Carlos smiled, offering the teacup. Godfrey took it and felt the strong brew jolting his mind back into gear.

“But in this case, you need not worry,” he said. “I’m now completely certain he’ll be a good friend.”

His confidence came through loud and clear. Carlos shrugged as if they’d seen it coming.

“Once your mind’s made up, you’re steadfast. Fine, I’ll trust you on this one. What else are partners for?”

“I may need your help again. But…it will pay off.”

His mind made up, Godfrey tilted the cup, downing the rest in one go.

Evening, two days later. Tim was in the hall after his last class. His eyes were constantly searching the area, checking for any signs of Godfrey.

“…I finally drove him off? About time.”

There was a sigh in his voice. He was relieved the man had given up. Hostility, he met in kind. But the opposite? Tim really didn’t know how to handle that. This was not a skill he’d acquired growing up.

These thoughts in mind, he moved down the hall—and then stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, I can feel that… Nice to get a bit of legit hate after all this confusing shit.”

He could feel their gazes boring into his neck. Tim spun around.

“Come on out, chuckleheads. You’re after me, right?”

Five students appeared from the classrooms on either side of the hall. All first-years—and he recognized their faces. Each of them had wound up inhaling his poisons in previous scuffles.

“…We’re done letting you roam free in our class.”

“Take a knee and beg for mercy, Toxic Gasser. Or we’ll show you the true meaning of hell.”

Their athames came out, and Tim sneered, drawing his own. His free hand reached for the pouch at his hip.

“I’ve already seen what you got,” he said. “Or are you here to sample my new product?”

He baited them to start the fight. Their ultimatum rejected, they chanted a spell.

“““““Tonitrus!”””””

“Flamma!”

Five bolts shot at Tim, but he did nothing to stop them. From over his shoulder, an inferno blocked the bolts, clashing in the air before him.

“…Huh?”

Tim reeled, eyes wide. A man’s wand extended over his shoulder.

“Well, isn’t this nasty? No ref, and five on one?”

Alvin Godfrey. His sudden arrival made the attackers step back.

“A second-year…”

“What was that fire?!”

“Hold your nerves! He burned his own arm,” one hissed.

The first-year was right—Godfrey still didn’t have fine control over his own spells, and the flames burned his arm and the sleeve of his shirt. This alone was a serious injury, but he kept his eyes on the attackers, showing no pain. The girl leading the group took a step forward.

“We picked our location. This doesn’t involve you—stay out of it.”

“Yeah! This is a first-year problem!”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories—you know what this asshole’s done!”

Once the others chimed in, Godfrey nodded at the accusations.

“I gather this rift runs deep. But I’m also getting to know this boy, and I don’t think the blame for this current friction lies entirely on Mr. Linton’s shoulders.”

He voiced his trust—and Tim’s face was a sight.

Is this guy brain-dead?! Did he already forget what I did to him?!

“Still, that doesn’t mean I’m ignoring the harm he brought you. What do you say we repair elsewhere and talk things over? With me moderating? Mr. Linton’s not actually trying to start fights. And I’d like to find a peaceful solution.”

“If you think there’s the slightest chance of that, you’re not worth talking to,” the leader spat.

After her stance was made clear, Godfrey mulled things over, then nodded.

“…Very well,” he said. “But we disperse for now. I have no intention of fighting you, but I have zero issues kicking up a fuss until a teacher shows up. And I’m sure you don’t want that.”

“…You stick your head in other people’s problems and then snitch?”

“Have you no concept of pride?”

“I abandoned that my first year,” Godfrey replied, just grinning at the students’ insults. “If you’re curious, we could find out what happens. See just how sad it looks when a second-year begs for help when cornered by a pack of first-years.”

The leader studied him for a moment, then put her blade away.

“…We’re done here,” she told her lackeys.

“Huh?”

“You mean that?”

“We’ll be back. For now, we’ll let him off with a warning.”

She turned and stalked off down the hall, her pack on her heels. Her mind was on that clash of spells.

We all cast at full strength. Even if I account for the extra year, his output is downright abnormal.

“Best we don’t fuck around and find out how strong he really is.”

Her instincts rang a warning bell, and she beat a retreat. Godfrey watched until they’d rounded the corner, and then he lowered his wand, relieved.

“…Managed to send them packing. Glad their leader has a head on her shoulders.”

“Hey!” Tim grabbed his collar, face contorted in fury.

Godfrey didn’t bat an eye. “What’s wrong, Mr. Linton? That’s an intimidating gesture.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

He put his gripe into words—and Godfrey just grinned.

“I didn’t help. I merely admonished everyone. If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d have given as good as you got, possibly wiped the floor with them. That’d be five more students in the infirmary. Six, if you needed help. That’s an outcome I can support.”

“That’s any given day at Kimberly! What’ll stopping it once do?”

“I think there’s meaning in dealing with individual incidents, not the total sum. A different perspective, perhaps.”

“Even if those pissant successes ruin your rep? You ain’t gonna tell me you forgot how I dosed your ass.”

“When did that happen? I seem to recall choosing to drink.”

Godfrey looked genuinely confused. Tim let go of his collar, feeling dizzy. He staggered backward to the wall.

“…Ah, shit, I can’t. I’m done.”

Frustrated and lost, he glared at Godfrey.

“Lay it out there! What’ll taming me do for you? You said you wanted the cred for getting a problem child in line, but what the hell’re you gonna do with that? Running around like a dipshit helping people, as if you can change this cesspool?!”

“I’d like to make it a little nicer.”

Godfrey didn’t even hesitate. Tim froze completely, so Godfrey put his hand to his chin, elaborating.

“A bit lacking in specifics? The original idea was to form a neighborhood watch. A group meant to bring order to the halls and the labyrinth, handle the dangers therein. I’m looking for like-minded students. The reason I’m attempting to reform you is because I need to prove my leadership skills. Also…”

He gave his junior a long, hard look.

“…I’d like you to join us. You didn’t take to Kimberly; you’ve spoken against the way things are here and taken action to contest it. Deep down, you think the way I do. I’d like your help changing this place. That’s all I’ve got going on inside.”

“Ch-change? This dump?!”

Several seconds of stunned silence, and when Tim recovered, he broke eye contact.

“Y-you gotta be kidding! That shit ain’t possible. No first- or second-year—”

“Oh, it’s possible. A few years from now, we’ll be in the upper forms. Time enough to increase our numbers, build a proper structure, and start having real influence. We take it one step at a time. It’s no fantasy. It might be a long road, but it’s no pipe dream.”

“That just proves you’ve got a screw loose! A cesspool will always be a cesspool! Sweeping it out ain’t gonna do squat! Places like this don’t change!”

The words he spat spoke to a deep-seated hopelessness. But Godfrey solemnly shook his head.

“Giving up on changing an unwanted environment means you’ve surrendered. And I’m not about to do that. I’d rather go down fighting than resign myself to misery. And I believe you feel the same way.”

Those eyes bored right through him. Tim couldn’t stand it. He spun on his heel and stalked off down the hall.

“…Nobody asked you to believe!”

“Tim!”

“Don’t follow me! I will gas your ass!”

One last threat, and he ran off. Godfrey stood right where he was, watching the boy’s back until he was out of sight.

“…Dammit, dammit! What’s his problem?! Poison oughtta be more discouraging! Instead he’s blabbing all kinds of bullshit…”

Tim was past caring where he was headed. Swearing under his breath over and over, his irritation was going nowhere. But the more he swore Godfrey was a fool, the more it proved he couldn’t quite dismiss him. A thought smoldered inside him.

“…Change? Change this place…? Can he? Can anyone? Is that even worth hoping for?”

The very idea had never occurred to Tim, so he hadn’t thought to ask if it was possible. He’d spent his entire life at the mercy of his surroundings. Enduring suffering and cruelty, unconsciously abandoning everything but the need to survive. The speed at which he resorted to violence was a side effect of that—yet even the struggle to stay alive had begun to eat at him.

Godfrey’s approach upended that very premise. It was a bolt from the blue.

“…Then…can things change? Back then…could I have…?”

“What? Eat up, Tim. Don’t leave a bite behind.”

“That’s a poisonous bug’s role. You killed him. You survived.”

A dark memory. Cold sweat beaded all over his body; he shook his head, driving it out.

“…No. No…that wasn’t so easily done,” he muttered, his feet stopping.

At a loss, he turned his eyes to the ceiling.

“…What should I do? Brothers and Sisters…what say you?”

Evening. Six days since Godfrey last met Tim. Godfrey and Carlos were roaming the halls, looking for the boy they could not find.

“Well? Any luck?” Carlos asked.

“Nope, no sign of him. He’s shown up in classes…so he must be avoiding me.”

They were trading updates in the hall. Godfrey crossed his arms, scowling.

“I thought it was time and told him everything…but perhaps it was too soon. Dammit, I never think hard enough.”

“…I’m less convinced. The fact that he’s avoiding you proves just how deeply your words resonated with him. People don’t avoid what they can ignore.”

Carlos offered another perspective, and Godfrey nodded.

“Let’s hope,” he said, turning around. “But that just proves he needs us there. I’ll make another round. If you find anything, send a familiar.”

“You know I will. Be careful, Al.”

With those words at his back, Godfrey was already running off. He had a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Meanwhile, the boy he sought was wandering unsteadily around the outskirts of the campus.

“…Can’t choke it down… Sheesh… Is this even dinner? Or is it animal feed?”

His face was a fright. Hanging from his arm was a basket of food he’d loaded up at the Fellowship. He always brought extra to feed the pot weasel, but he wasn’t up to eating anything…so it was all for the beast. Since his last talk with Godfrey, his mind had been going in circles, and he couldn’t muster an appetite.

He was headed for the pot weasel’s nest. But as he approached, he sensed something amiss—no signs of life.

“…? Yo, why ain’t you popping your head out? You usually spot me from here… Come out, or I’ll take it back— Oh.”

His voice died away. Several upperclassmen were there, but Tim never even noticed them. He only had eyes for the tortured remains of the animal on the ground at their feet.

“Mm? Hey, first-year. Mind cleaning this mess up?”

“It was like this when we got here. So gross and disgusting.”

“Dunno who did it, but if you’re gonna take out your issues on an animal, clean that shit up.”

They radiated contempt, and that at least told Tim they hadn’t done the deed. No Kimberly student would bother lying about something as trivial as animal torture. It would never even occur to them that they needed to feel bad about it.

However, he’d rather they had done it.

That would have given him a target. He could have unleashed his rage on them and ended things there.

“…”

Tim knelt without a word and scooped up the five abandoned bodies. The parents had been raising young; this was all three of their offspring. Oblivious to the blood on his uniform, he cradled them close and walked past the older kids.

“…What the…?”

“How dare you ignore us!”

“Was he feeling sick? Dude looked white as a sheet.”

Still holding the remains of the pot weasels, Tim walked the length of the building—and the skies opened up. Cold rain pelted down on their tiny bodies, but Tim was past caring.

“…Ha-ha…”

A hollow laugh. Thinking of the creatures that had provided some fleeting solace in this hellscape. Uselessly clutching them now that they’d been brutally trampled.

“…Why am I taking this so hard? I knew all along. That’s what this place is.”

And this was the natural outcome. Painting over all other emotions with a coat of self-derision, Tim let his laugh ring high.

“…Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…! That’s right—I knew it! Nothing changes! No matter where I am, everything stays the same…!”

Tears ran down his cheeks, mingling with the rain. After a long, long time, his laughter died away. A whisper fell from his lips, as if begging forgiveness.

“There you have it. Brothers, Sisters…haven’t I done enough?”

Approximately ten minutes later, still soaking wet from the rain, Tim staggered into the bustle of the lower forms’ dining hall—the Fellowship.

“Whoa, the Toxic Gasser’s here.”

“Make room, make room! Too risky to sit near him!”

Students who spotted him made a show of changing seats. But Tim never even noticed. He reached the center of the Fellowship and came to a standstill.

“…? What’s up with him? Why ain’t he moving?”

“Maybe he’s looking for someone. Does anyone actually talk to him, though?”

They were still offering scorn—when Tim tossed his pouch in the air.

“Fragor.”

A burst spell followed, pulverizing the pouch. All the magic potions he kept inside detonated, spreading a multicolored mist across the room.

“Huh?”

“…Uh?”

“No, wait…!”

Before they could recover, those touched by the mist went down, foaming at the mouth. A sight that made blood drain from everyone’s faces.

“H-he’s—”

“—gassing us all!”

Terror lent wings to their feet. As the panic spread, Tim pulled more vials from his pockets, tossing them wildly in all directions.

“Fragor… Fragor… Fragor.”

No emotion in his voice. The toxic mist rapidly filled the entire room.

“…Fragor… Fragor… Fragor, Fragor, Fragor…”

Once he ran out of poisons, he began casting willy-nilly, turning his athame every which way. No point taking aim. His rancor was directed at the school itself, at the very world around him.

“Let me make this clear. Only one of you will survive in this urn.”

The speaker was a wizened old man. He was in a windowless room, surrounded by frightened children—ingredients—taken from his extended family. Young Tim was among them. Aleister Linton was once a great alchemist, but his sanity had been on the decline, and these sacrifices were a part of his final rite.

“Craft your poisons. Brew them so that you will survive them but anyone else will not,” he intoned. “You will be paired at random; each pair will drink each other’s concoction. The survivor will eat the flesh of the deceased, inheriting their resistances. We shall repeat this until only one of you remains. That survivor will be my masterpiece—resistant to anything and everything.”

As the children grasped what fate had in store for them, their faces fell. There was only madness here.

“You are but poisonous bugs, surviving on the flesh of your brothers and sisters. If you understand me, abandon your humanity and set about your brews. Emotions will do nothing but dull your venom’s bite.”

Tim kept casting, tears streaming from his eyes, screaming at the past lurking at the bottom of that urn. If it was possible to change things, he’d needed that knowledge there.

“Kuh!”

In lieu of his next incantation, he found blood on his breath. His knees buckled under him.

“…Ha-ha… There’s my limit…,” he whispered.

The athame fell from his numbed fingers.

The resistances acquired in that vile survival game were not without limits. Even Tim could not last long in the thick of a fog made from his own toxins.

He didn’t care. He’d brewed these poisons himself and knew he couldn’t survive them—nor did he want to. He’d done that far too many times already.

“…So be it. Do your worst!” he spat. “…Brothers, Sisters—did this help at all…?”

Speaking to the children he’d ingested, he let himself fall to the floor. Past moving so much as a finger. Hoping his heart would stop soon. No longer capable of bearing a life devoid of light.

“…I should never have been born. Not into a world like this…”

One student’s rampage had plunged the Fellowship into chaos. Godfrey came rushing in a beat too late.

“Al!”

“What happened, Carlos?!”

His friend had arrived ahead of him. Keeping a wide berth of the toxins, Carlos filled him in.

“He gassed the room. All his poisons, right in the center of the Fellowship. I’m pretty sure he’s still in there. He was still casting spells not long ago…”

Carlos peered into the fog. Godfrey looked grim.

“…Carlos, call my name. Repeatedly.”

“Al?! You don’t— You’re going in there?!”

“I am. Otherwise, he’ll die.”

Godfrey took a step toward the fog, but Carlos grabbed his wrist, hard.

“…I’m not letting you. Even for you, this is suicide. There’s no way you’ll come back alive.”

“I’ll go straight to him, pick him up, and come right back out. If I minimize the breaths I take, I should last that long.”

“Based on what?! Conjecture? Delusional levels of optimism?! Don’t be rash! Do you want me to stand here and watch my friend die?!”

Carlos never raised their voice like this. Godfrey saw tears forming in his friend’s eyes, and he hung his head, balling his hands into fists.

“You’re absolutely right, Carlos. So…I’m sorry.”

With that, he shook off their hand and shoved them back. Carlos stared wide-eyed, and Godfrey plunged into the toxic gas.

“I’m going anyway.”

“Al—!”

Meanwhile, in the heart of that fog, Tim was in agony.

“…Koff, koff…! Shit, these resistances are screwing me over… Won’t let me…die easy…”

Face contorted in pain, he swore under his breath. He longed for death, but his body was fighting like hell to keep him alive. Prolonging his suffering. Like a curse upon him.

Perhaps it would be faster to grab his blade and run it through his chest. As he entertained the notion, he heard footsteps coming closer.

“…Uhhh…?”

Baffled, he tried to focus his eyes. And saw a large male form looming out of the mist.

“There you are! On my shoulders, Tim.”

“…Huh…?”

Before the boy could process that, Godfrey picked him up. Tim’s first thought—the poison was making him see things. But the skin contact let him feel the man’s warmth, and that proved this was real. A chill ran down his spine.

“…What…are you doing…? Where…do you think you are?”

“Don’t talk; you’ll inhale more gas.”

With that, Godfrey started walking. Something bumped his leg, blocking his progress.

“…Hmm…? A table?”

He adjusted his course, moving again—and soon bumped into another table. This made his condition all too clear.

“…Dammit… You can’t even see?!” Tim’s face contorted. “J-just leave me here! Drop me and go! Before you—”

“Not happening,” Godfrey growled.

Tim slapped the man’s back—ineffectually, as the poison left him weak.

“Stop, stop…! You’re gonna die! In your condition—koff—you won’t last a minute! Even if we start detoxing you now, I dunno if we can s-save you! You know that yourself!”

“Maybe I do,” Godfrey said with a nod.

He was well aware of how stupid this was.

A solid 90 percent of his vision was shot to hell. His balance was way off, and it was hard to walk at all. The pain of his curdling skin was not as fatal as the nausea and wooziness—if he let himself relax for an instant, he’d black out. He knew better than anyone that he was tumbling toward certain death.

His father would let out a howl of anguish. Here Godfrey was, attending a school far more prestigious than he deserved—and he’d chosen to waste that. Godfrey felt a pang of guilt. But he’d long since come to terms with the fact that he would never be the kind of mage that man wanted him to be.

“…Still—”

Still, Father. Your fool of a son knows this to be true. No human was ever meant to be anyone but themselves.

Deny my nature, hammer home the lamentations of my heart, pound out the cracks that causes, force a shape upon those remains—is that the spell you desire for me? As a father, as a mage, is that the future you ask of your son?

In that case, I cannot live up to it. I do not want to. I do not want anyone to end up like that.

I am here to become myself. And I will not betray that goal.

“—this is what I want to do.”

The smile on his face was positively radiant. The strength in his voice, the force residing in his soul—both echoed through the frozen valves of Tim’s heart. A ray of light, piercing through the clouds of misery and despair. Not once in his life had he beheld a light like this, a warm, crimson glow like a fire burning in a hearth.

“Al! Over here, Al! Can you hear me? This way!”

Godfrey’s bleary mind latched on to his friend’s voice. His ears functioning just enough to track it. How grateful he was for it—as long as Carlos called his name, he knew where to go, no matter how many tables he bumped into.

With Tim on his back, he forged onward. In the right direction. To where his friend awaited.

“…At last…”

“Al…!”

Carlos let out a silent shriek at the sight of them. With no resistances, Godfrey was in even worse condition than Tim. Wherever his skin wasn’t covered with his uniform, it was melted clean off—he looked far worse than your average cadaver. Yet, he did not collapse, staying upright long enough to lower Tim to the floor.

“…Are you…still awake, Tim?” Godfrey asked, kneeling down.

Unable to find words, Tim answered with a look alone.

“…Ah… Good.”

That reassurance allowed him to let go of consciousness. Godfrey toppled over. Carlos moved to treat him, but someone else stepped in. Carlos looked up and found a first-year girl beside them.

“Lia?”

“…What’s wrong with him?” Ophelia whispered.

Her eyes on the prone man. Less appalled at his foolish act than pitying a freak.

“…He’s almost dead. First he drinks poison himself; now he plunges into a fog of it. Has he been pulling stunts like this since he enrolled?”

Carlos just nodded, which spoke more than any words. Emotions that she could not control rose inside Ophelia, and her voice grew ragged.

“…That’s insane. He’s not right in the head. What is the point of this, Carlos? What is worth this kind of pain…?!”

Her question was nearly a shriek. Carlos had grabbed some water from a table nearby and was rinsing the poison off Godfrey’s skin.

“He’d do the same for you,” they murmured. “That’s just who he is.”

“…!”

Ophelia found herself at a loss for words.

Panic still held sway in the hall around them, but the school physician came running, her roar echoing over the hubbub.

“Blimey, what a turnup! Whose work is this? There’ll be hell to pay for dragging me out of my office, or my name’s not Gisela Zonneveld! My cure will make you wish you’d died! You’d best scream your heads off and hope that lightens my mood! Form a tormented choir, or there’ll be no end to your suffering!”

The physician hauled the victims off like so much lumber, and the situation was resolved as quickly as it had begun. The bulk of the students had fled the gas cloud on their own; the crop who had gone down at the start had been swiftly evacuated by second- and third-year students accustomed to these calamities. Godfrey was an exception, having plunged into the most toxic sector of his own volition; his injuries were far more substantial than anyone else’s.

Three days passed with the whole school abuzz over the incident and its fallout.

“I apologize. I mean that—I genuinely regret this.”

In the infirmary, Godfrey was sitting in bed, his head bowed low. Conscious again but not fully healed, his body still bandaged like a mummy. One sight of Carlos’s sullen face had convinced him the time for rest was done.

Despite Godfrey’s apologies, Carlos refused to make eye contact.

“…I’m not convinced,” they said. “When have you ever listened to a word I say?”

“That’s not true. I value all the advice you give. I swear! Your words are always in my best interest. I would never dream of dismissing them.”

“The facts suggest otherwise.”

“And I apologize for that. But I just—I just had to save him. I couldn’t let him die there, all alone. My feet moved of their own accord. No matter how foolish an act that was.”

He could not deny those feelings. Carlos’s eyes swam with tears.

“…I know full well that’s who you are. I imagine I know that better than anyone else here.”

“…”

“But…I need you to understand how I feel. How it broke my heart to see you plunge into that toxic fog. Imagine the look on my face if you hadn’t returned, and I’d been left behind. Please.”

This plea made Godfrey close his eyes, his head still down. Taking this as a sign their words were sinking in, Carlos wiped their tears and mustered a smile.

“Enough sermonizing! I am glad you came back alive. You can see again, and it sounds like there’s no other long-term effects. Be grateful Dr. Zonneveld knows her stuff.”

“…I am grateful. Just… I’d rather not recall the healing process. To say the least, that was torture she merely called healing.”

Godfrey shivered at the memory. Yanking his mind away from it, he found himself wondering about the boy he’d saved.

“…So how’s Tim doing? There was no sign of him when I woke up.”

“Knock, knock!”

A student burst into the infirmary. Godfrey and Carlos both looked up in shock and saw a frill-covered figure advancing directly toward them. A small-statured, adorable girl with a beaming smile.

“’Sup, Godfrey, Whitrow! How’s it going? Any blood in the phlegm or urine? With the volume you inhaled, no telling what’ll go wrong. Spot anything amiss, and just say the word! I can’t make antidotes myself, but I’ll write it all down and let the doctor know! And if you need anyone to wipe you downstairs, I am here! Ask me for anything!”

The furious volley of words left them both blinking.

“W-wait. Hold on a second,” Godfrey said, hands up. “Wh-who are you? I appreciate the visit, of course, but I’ve got no memory of ever meeting you.”

“Huh? What’re you on about? It’s me.”

The girl pointed at herself. The slight whiff of hostility beneath that light makeup finally clued both second-years in. This was a boy they knew.

“……You’re Tim?!”

“Yep, yep! Who else would it be? Oh, right, the outfit tricking you?”

Godfrey and Carlos nodded, and Tim did a twirl, letting his skirts flare out.

“You know how I love cute things! If I made myself cute, I figured I’d be unstoppable! Since I was coming to see you, I went the extra mile—does this not do it for you? Would you rather I go for a formal look? Lay those thoughts on me! I’m up for anything that’ll make me cuter.”

Tim’s passion was a bit much for Godfrey. Carlos actually recovered first, nodding.

“…So you do drag? That certainly caught us off guard, but it’s hardly unusual in mage circles. And you are adorable! You’ve got a good eye.”

“Thanks a million! I shoulda known any friend of Godfrey’s would have impeccable taste!”

Tim held up a hand, and Carlos gamely gave him a high five. By this time, Godfrey had caught up, remembering the fashion magazine and his off-the-cuff remark. The outfit Tim had on bore a distinct resemblance to the one Godfrey had pointed to.

After this initial burst of enthusiasm, Tim’s shoulders drooped, and he shot Godfrey a somber look.

“So, uh. A bit late, but thanks a lot for what you did. I put you through the wringer, and I’m glad you pulled me out.”

He spoke his feelings in plain Yelglish. Godfrey had been prepared for the exact opposite; he looked taken aback. Tim did his best to explain.

“Honestly, I went there ready to die. But once I didn’t—I dunno, that impulse just up and vanished. I know I came in bouncing off the walls, but I’m just feeling super-duper good right now. I dunno how to put it—like the long dark night finally ended.”

That metaphor described the change within. Tim stared Godfrey right in the eye.

“You saved my life, Godfrey. So you get to decide what I do with it. I’ll follow your lead into any mire. I do that, and I know I’ll die with a smile.”

Godfrey gulped, and Tim put a hand to his chest, beaming. Then he turned bright red.

“So, uh…mind if I join that neighborhood watch thing?”

He looked up through his lashes. Godfrey and Carlos exchanged glances and grinned.