The Academy’s Sashimi Sword Master — Chapter 379: Magic (3)

Chapter 379: Magic (3)

In this world, history‍ is one of‌‍ the most significant‌ values, and the‌‌ Academy takes pride in its long‍⁠ seven centuries of‍‍ existence.

That’s‍‍ why the newly⁠‌ founded Joaquin graduate school is classified‌‌ as a subordinate‌‌ institution to the⁠ Academy.

According‍‌ to my wife,⁠ Ryozo, structuring entities‍ hierarchically like this⁠‌ makes administration much⁠‍‍ simpler.

‘Must be because she⁠‌ laid the foundation⁠ for modern Japanese‌‌ administration, I guess.’⁠⁠

…Seriously,‌ I can’t afford‍ to make any⁠⁠ mistake they could‍‍ use against me.⁠‍‍ I made myself‍‍‍ that promise as⁠ I rubbed my‍‌ goosebumped arms.

‘She‍‌ has a truly‍ massive capacity.’

The‍⁠ current prime minister‌ is Ryozo’s older‍‌ sister, Saki Hina.‍‌ At first, the‍‍ prevailing opinion was⁠‌ that she wasn’t‌ up to the‍‍‌ task, that her‌⁠ capabilities were very limited.

And‌ it was Ryozo‍‍ who stepped in‍‌ to help her‌⁠ sister. First, she⁠ politically promoted the‍‍‍ slogan “an honorable‌‌ death of the‍ imperial throne,” taking‌‍‍ advantage of the‌‌ national character obsessed with honor.

“She‌ wiped her rivals off the board‌ in the blink‍ of an eye.”‌‌

After⁠ that, she changed⁠ the Japanese parliamentary⁠ system from a hereditary succession to‍ a direct election‌‌ one.

Thus,‍‍ the perception that‍ parliament was subordinate⁠‍ to the executive⁠ power was solidified,⁠‍ and Hina was‌⁠ able to focus⁠ on governing more‌‍ calmly.

That‍⁠ skillful combination of history and honor‌ became a political⁠⁠ example for many‌ other countries.

All‌ of that was‌‍ Ryozo’s doing.

Anyone⁠⁠‌ in the know‌‍ is aware of‍ it. Even the⁠ current Prime Minister,⁠ Saki Hina, has‍‌ never denied it.‍‌ When she has‌ administrative issues, she⁠⁠ calls Ryozo.

And‌‍ if the situation‍‍ demands it, she’s⁠⁠ even willing to⁠⁠‌ hand over the position of prime‍ minister to her‌‌‌ younger sister.

Anyway.‍

Ryozo‌‍ applied the same‍ “experiment” she did⁠‌ with her country⁠⁠‌ to Joaquin Academy.‍⁠ She incorporated the‌‌ graduate school as‌ a subordinate institution⁠ to the Academy,⁠ in a way‍‍‍ that didn’t lose‍ control but did⁠ reduce the workload. Smart management.

A classic method.

‘Classic‌‌ is classic for⁠⁠‍ a reason.’

Ryozo⁠ was especially good⁠ at that kind‍‍‍ of control.

She⁠‌ organizes my schedule.‍⁠ Leaves out the‌‍‌ clothes I should⁠ wear on a hanger. And if I have to‌⁠⁠ go on a trip, she discreetly⁠‌‍ sends Choi Seol-Ah to watch over‌ me.

‘Wait‍ a second.’

Aren’t‍⁠‌ these all traits of a psychopath?‌

“I⁠‍ don’t know if⁠‌ ‘psychopath,’ but I think it fits‍‌ that category of⁠ socio… something.”

I saw it in‍ a NouTube short.‌‌

“……”‌‍‍

I shook my head‍ quickly.

Tap, tap.

I walked aimlessly until⁠‌‍ I reached a door located deep‍ in the top‌ floor of the⁠ graduate building.

The‍‍ wooden door gave‍ off a strong scent, like freshly‍ baked bread. The⁠ smell of fresh‌ paint was so⁠‌‌ pungent it hurt even my frontal‌ lobe, not to⁠‍ mention my eyes.

Knock,‍ knock.

I gave a couple⁠‌‍ of short knocks⁠ before entering. The‍ man holding his⁠⁠ forehead looked up‌ and, upon seeing‍ me, smiled broadly.

“Heavenly‌ Sword!”

“Just‌ call me Kang‍ Geom-Ma, director.”

“Then‌ call me instructor,‍ not director.”

“…That’s‍‍ not the same.”

I complained as I took a seat‍ in front of‌ him. For some⁠ reason, in front‍‌ of this man,‌‍ I always felt⁠ disarmed.

Lee‌ Woo-Bin crossed his‌‌ arms and said:‍‌‌

“If the Heavenly Sword⁠ requests it…”

“Tch.”‌⁠‌

I clicked my tongue,‌‌ but couldn’t help‍‍ smiling. I rested⁠‍ my elbows on the desk and‍‍ fiddled with my nails.

“How’s‍ everything going? Are‍ you settling in?”⁠⁠

Lee‌ Woo-Bin’s expression darkened.‌

“No. Not at all.‍ I don’t understand‌ anything at all.”⁠

The‍‍‌ general manager of‍‍ Joaquin’s graduate school‍ is none other than Instructor Lee‍ Woo-Bin. Although his⁠ title hasn’t been‌‌ officially formalized, we‍‍ all call him⁠‌ “director.”

At first, Lee Woo-Bin‌⁠‌ showed reluctance toward‍‌ such a heavy‌ responsibility. He was⁠‌ someone very aware⁠ of his own‍ capabilities.

‘Too⁠⁠⁠ much, even.’

The‍‍ title “graduate director”‌‍ seemed like a heavy burden to⁠⁠‍ him. But after⁠‍ much insistence, he⁠ eventually accepted. I can proudly say‌‍ recruiting him was‌‍⁠ even harder than⁠‍‌ Liu Bei’s “three‌⁠‍ visits to the‍‍‍ thatched cottage.”

By‌ the way.

‘Hmm…’‌⁠

He‌ looked pretty worn‌ out. If he‍ keeps this up,‌⁠ what little hair‌‍ he has left⁠ might blow away‌⁠‌ with the wind.

It’s‍ fine. Since I came with the‍ intent to cheer⁠ him up, I’ll‌‍⁠ do my best.‌⁠ I leaned slightly⁠‍ forward.

“Ryozo‍‍ told me there’s‌ no one better than you. That’s⁠⁠ why she trusted you. You know‌‍⁠ how she is—she’s‌‌ not exactly affectionate.”⁠

“Oh,‍‍⁠ I know. She⁠ was a student⁠ in my Wolf‌ class, but I could never read‍ her.”

“Same⁠ for me…”

“Ah…”⁠⁠

“……”⁠‌

“……”‍

Silence.‍

“B-but…‌ you love her,⁠ right?”

“That’s‌ not even up‍ for discussion.”

“Hahaha.‌‍ That’s what matters!”‍‌‌

“I‍‌‍ feel like I have less and⁠‌ less of a life!”

“That’s⁠⁠‌ the beauty of‌‌ marriage!”

“Even‍ when I go‍‍⁠ on trips, I feel like I’m⁠‌‌ being followed!”

“That’s‌ why it’s called a hundred-year promise!⁠‌⁠ Marriage binds couples‍ with an invisible‌ thread!”

“Hahahaha! Instructor, you’ve got‌⁠ to get married‍ too. Please.”

“Hahahahahaha!”⁠⁠

Please,‍ really?

“Hahahahahahahaha!”⁠‍

We‌ both burst into‌ laughter. Once the⁠‍ atmosphere had lightened,‍ I got to‌ the main point.‌‌

“And how are the⁠ professors?”

“They’re‍ as grand as‍ the sky.”

He‍ didn’t even say‍ “amazing,” but “grand.”‌‌ It was rare⁠‍ to hear such‍⁠ praise from someone‍ as strict as⁠⁠ the instructor.

‘Well…’

We’re‍⁠ talking about the⁠ Dragon Lord and the archangel.

Even‌ the word “grand”⁠ doesn’t quite cut‌ it.

But‍⁠ that wasn’t all. To build an‌ even more solid‌ structure, I also planned to invite‌ a “third great‌‌ figure.”

‘Sorry,‍‌‌ instructor.’

It⁠‍ had to be⁠‌ done.

…Because⁠ honestly, it was the right thing‌‌ to do.

Lee‌‍‌ Woo-Bin wasn’t close‌⁠ to Ryozo and‍ had no way⁠ of knowing my⁠ true intentions. Since‌ the graduate school⁠ belonged to the Academy, Ryozo’s orders‍‌ were absolute.

‘Like‌ the instructor said,‌⁠ Ryozo isn’t exactly‍ sentimental.’

That‍ someone like Ryozo‍‍ would care so much about me⁠‍‌ was something genuinely⁠‌ touching.

‘Please‍⁠‌ save me.’

While‌ I silently suffered,‍⁠ Lee Woo-Bin smiled‍ at me and‌⁠ said,

“So‌ far, the evaluations‌‍⁠ of the new⁠‌‍ students have been‌ good. And even‌ though we’re still‍ in orientation, attendance‍‌ is amazing. Everyone⁠⁠⁠ is burning with‌ passion to study.”‌⁠

“I’m‍ glad to hear‌⁠⁠ that.”

“Being‌ rector is still⁠ too heavy a role for me.⁠ But seeing the⁠⁠ students’ passion, I feel maybe I made the right⁠‌ decision.”

“That’s⁠⁠ why Ryozo trusts‌⁠‌ you. I’ve never seen anyone care⁠ so much for‍⁠‍ students as you‍ do.”

“What‌‌‍ I’m sure of…‍‌ is that I have no talent.”‌

He‍ beat his chest‌⁠ with a fist. I smiled lightly‌⁠ and stood up,‌‍‌ dragging the chair.‍⁠ And as I turned, I dropped‍‌‌ my words.

“That’s‌‍ also a talent,⁠‌ instructor.”

I felt his gaze‌ on my back.‌

“That⁠⁠‍ all of us from our generation⁠‌‍ made it here⁠‌‌ without straying wasn’t‌‌ by chance.”

“Wow…”⁠‌

“So‌ I think you‍ can have more⁠‍⁠ confidence. At least,‌‍ I believe in⁠‍⁠ you.”

Out⁠‍⁠ of the corner‌‍ of my eye,‌⁠ I could see‍ Lee Woo-Bin’s face glowing slightly. Ah,‍ to be exact,⁠‍ it wasn’t his⁠ scalp that was‌‍‌ glowing but his⁠‍ eyes.

“Since this sappy talk‍‍‍ is exceeding the‌ limit, I’ll take‌ my leave. Don’t‌‌ push yourself too‍ hard. That’s why⁠⁠ you’ve gathered a whole brilliant faculty.”‍

“Yes…‍‍ yes, of course.”

With‍ his emotion-laden voice‌⁠‌ behind me, I stepped out of⁠ the office. I felt pride filling⁠‍ me to the‌‍ top as I walked down the‍ hallway.

The⁠ May 15th sunlight‍ shone warmly through‍ the windows of the long corridor.⁠⁠⁠

***‍⁠

Adolescence‍ is a fresh‍ time.

You‍ know what they‍⁠ say at that⁠⁠ age—even watching a petal fall can‍ make you smile.⁠

Maybe⁠ it was the‌⁠ autumn, but the‍ students at the‌ Academy, with minds⁠ purer than those‌‌ of other youths⁠‌ their age, were even more like⁠⁠ that. They were⁠ sincere with their‍ emotions.

If‍ the Academy’s regulations⁠ prohibited romantic relationships,⁠ that was like‌‍ trying to cover‌‌ the sky with⁠‌ the palm of⁠ your hand. The‌⁠ instructors warned them,⁠‍ yes, but didn’t‍‌ interfere. They also‍⁠⁠ knew—youth must express‍‍‍ their feelings just⁠‌‌ as they are. Only then is‍⁠ it true youth.‍‍

In⁠⁠ the second-year Rank⁠ Class, a juicy‌ rumor was going⁠ around—Ji Changhyuk had‍⁠ transferred to the‌ graduate school.

“Lucky‌ Changhyuk.”

“I want to go‍ to the graduate‍‌ school too.”

“Then sign up for‌ the next exchange⁠‌ program.”

“For⁠⁠ that, I’d rather wait one more⁠ year and get⁠ in officially.”

“And⁠ you think the‌‍ grad school would‌‍ accept someone like⁠ you?”

“Well…⁠ that’s true too.”‍

Ji⁠⁠⁠ Changhyuk had transferred⁠⁠ to the graduate‌⁠⁠ school of his⁠⁠ own will, as⁠‍ a reward for⁠⁠ his victory in‌ the exchange.

But‍‌ he wasn’t yet‌ a full graduate‍ student. He went‌ back and forth‍⁠ between the Academy and the graduate‌‌‍ school every other‍ week. It was⁠ his tutor Abel’s‌‌ decision.

The‍ memories with classmates‌ your own age‍‌ are the most‍ important part of⁠‌⁠ youth. Something that‌ can’t be traded‌‍⁠ for anything.

In‍⁠ the bustling classroom, a student was‌‍ staring out the‌‌ window with her‌ chin resting on⁠⁠ her hand. Her⁠⁠ melancholic gaze seemed⁠‍ taken from a high school drama.‌

As⁠⁠ she sunk deeper‌‌‍ into that image‌⁠‌ herself, the typical⁠⁠ extra from this‍‌⁠ kind of story‌‍ appeared. Her best friend approached and⁠⁠ spoke.

“Hey,‍‍ Yuna.”

“What…?”‍‌

“You’re⁠‌ a total mess.‌‌ It’s obvious you‌ like Changhyuk.”

“Ah!‍ What are you⁠ saying? It’s not‍‌ like that.”

“It’s‌ totally obvious!”

“Hey!”‍‍⁠

The⁠‌ girl protested. She⁠‍ was clearly acting.‍‌‍ Her friend loved teasing her like that, because she⁠ always overreacted.

“Yuna,⁠ why do you‍ like Changhyuk?”

“I⁠‍ told you, I don’t like him.”‌⁠

“Well,‍ let’s say you⁠ don’t. But if‌⁠ you had to⁠⁠ say what makes him special as‌ a classmate in‌ the Rank Class,‌‍‌ what would you‍ say?”

“…He’s‍ kind.”

The‍‌ girl muttered.

“And‌⁠ considerate.”

“Aren’t‌‍ those the same?”‍

But she didn’t respond.‍ She just thought‌ about the first‌⁠ time she met⁠‌ Ji Changhyuk. That⁠ day when she‌‌ went to class‌‍ with toast in⁠‌ her mouth and⁠‌⁠ they bumped into‌ each other by‌‍ accident.

Changhyuk apologized and returned‌‌ her toast. He said not even‌ three seconds had⁠ passed.

It‍ was a February‍‍ day.

But‍ even so… it‍ was summer.

***‍⁠

“That‍‍ was like shattering‍‍‍ a glass of‌‍⁠ water.”

Zing!‌‌

“Then‍ why are you⁠ reacting like this?⁠ You said you‌ didn’t feel anything.”‌‍

“I didn’t say I didn’t feel anything.‍⁠ I said I didn’t like him.‍‍‌ Also, I don’t‌⁠‌ like when people‍ badmouth Geumu just‌ because she’s his⁠‍‌ partner.”

That‍‍ was when the⁠ classroom stirred. Annoyed‍ by the noisy⁠ students, the girl⁠⁠ also turned her head toward where everyone was looking.‍‌

‘Huh?’⁠‌

Now‍‌⁠ that she thought‌ about it… today⁠ was Monday! And⁠‌ last week Changhyuk‌‍ didn’t come!

“There‍ he is! It’s⁠ Changhyuk!”

Her‍ best friend slammed‍‍ the desk and‍⁠‌ stood up but‌ collapsed immediately. The‍⁠ girl had pressed‍ down on her‍‌⁠ shoulder.

“Don’t‍⁠ make such a fuss. Sit down.”‍⁠

She‌‍ said it in⁠‌ a restrained voice.‍‌‌ She was probably⁠ clenching her teeth.‍‍

“W-Why‍ are you like‌‌ this?”

She‌ didn’t answer.

‘Changhyuk⁠‍ is going to‌‌ come this way.’⁠

It⁠ had to be‌ that way. Only‍ then would the drama be complete.‍

The‌⁠ student cleared her‌‍ throat. She tried‍⁠ to keep her⁠⁠ eyes fixed on⁠‍ the window. Her⁠ friend rolled her‍‌ eyes. Step. Step.‌⁠

Footsteps‌‍ were heard.

Stay⁠ calm… keep it‌ together.

‘He’s⁠ coming!’

She‍‍ bit her lower lip, tense.

He⁠ stopped.

She‌‍‍ felt his presence‌‌ beside her. Slowly, she turned her‌‌⁠ head. Just as⁠‍‌ she expected, it‍ was Ji Changhyuk.‍‍

The⁠‍ girl looked at‌‌ him like it⁠ was nothing, with‌‍ a nonchalant expression,‍ trying not to⁠‍ seem too obvious.⁠⁠

The‍‍ atmosphere in the⁠ classroom turned strange.⁠ The extras were‍ reacting just as⁠‌ they should.

“Excuse⁠‍ me.”

Finally,‍ Ji Changhyuk opened‌ his mouth.

“Can⁠‍‍ you move? That’s⁠‍ my seat.”

That‌‍‍ wasn’t the reaction‍⁠ she was expecting.‌⁠⁠

“And‌ another thing. Why‍ are your eyes⁠‍ so wide open?”‌

“Huh?”‌

“I‌‍‍ mean, why are‌‌ you looking at⁠ me like that?‍‌‌ Do I look⁠ like a joke to you?”

Hey,⁠‍ Changhyuk… you weren’t⁠ like this… this‌ isn’t your character!⁠

She‍‍ didn’t know what⁠⁠ had triggered him.‌⁠‍

“Is it because I’m‍‌ a graduate student‌‌ that you’re mocking me?”

Changhyuk⁠⁠ began to spiral‍ like a runaway‍‍‌ colt. The girl‌⁠ tried to calm‍ him down.

“H-Hey,⁠ Changhyuk… Being the Rank Class rep‍ and getting into‌ the grad school‍‍⁠ is something to be proud of,⁠⁠ but it must also be a lot of pressure…”⁠⁠

“Wow.‍⁠ Now you’re humiliating⁠‌ me? You want‍⁠ to fight me⁠ in subspace?”

The⁠‌ perspective pulled back.‌‌

The camera passed through⁠ the window and‍ encompassed the entire‍‌ Academy and the‌⁠ graduate school. In‍‍ the corner of‌⁠⁠ the frame, the‌‌ light refracted into a spectrum of‍‌ colors.

Finally,⁠ May’s greenery covered‌ the screen like⁠‌⁠ a canvas.