HTACS 14

Chapter 14

From then on, Nephti and I met frequently, immersing ourselves in development and research for the new student welcome festival.

For some reason, she stopped asking for her hourly wage—and instead, devoured doughnuts with a blissful smile on her face.

By the time Nephti had—under the pretense of helping me—eaten every variation of doughnut imaginable, I felt we’d roughly covered all the ideas. Before I knew it, the festival was only a week away.

She had her own duties in the Knight Department, so she went back—and I was plenty busy on my own.

Eve, the star of this festival, was naturally swamped, and Aila hadn’t shown her face either.

In the meantime, I made a monumental improvement—I could now do one push-up a day and still feel fine the next day.

“Good. At this rate, Endurance 3 isn’t just a dream.”

2 and 3 are definitely different. I did my one push-up for the day and went to sleep.

…Anyway.

Placing orders for goods in time for the date. Confirming the location and hours for opening the stall. Checking the magic stone output limit for stalls, hygiene conditions, and expiration dates of products—before I knew it, it was the day before the new student welcome festival.

“Starting tomorrow, I’ll also begin my 3rd-year life.”

Until now, it was intercession, so I could skip classes—but from now on, I can’t. I’ll have to endure everything—the contempt, the disregard, and maybe even violence or underhanded social lynching. And simultaneously, I’ll keep the convenience store alive.

“…Keep the store alive. Graduate too. It’s an overwhelming task for a third-rate villain.”

But I’m prepared.

That is, if I don’t make a killing at tomorrow’s new student welcome festival, I’ll go bankrupt…

But that couldn’t happen, right?

—

Zeppelin’s total population is 100,000—but that includes undergraduates, graduate students, and faculty. Counting only undergraduates, each year’s enrollment fluctuates between 10,000 and 20,000.

The average age of admission is sixteen.

After completing the first four years of study, whether you return to the world at twenty, or stay for another three years to pursue bigger dreams, or remain here forever as a graduate student—there are three choices.

So, with so many possible futures to envision in this Zeppelin, the arrival of new students is quite an exciting event.

Nearly 18,000 freshmen.

Zeppelin’s grade management is quite strict. The graduation rate is roughly 60%—meaning nearly half of them will be weeded out.

This auditorium, capable of holding tens of thousands, could well be called another Colosseum.

The first-years stand at the center of the stage, and the second-years look down at them from the audience seats.

The second-years, having already survived, scrutinized the first-years as if appraising them, chatting among themselves.

“…Freshmen, huh.”

“I wonder how many of them will survive.”

“Hey—wanna bet on who drops out first?”

Ignoring their chatter, I scanned the crowd of nearly 20,000 with my eyes.

In the main game, among them are those who must be watched closely, and those who should be recruited if possible. But that’s from the protagonist Kelter’s perspective.

“……”

That’s why Wolfram looks for only one person.

Among 20,000, the one who could become the greatest hero of light.

The red-haired boy who’s probably wearing a clueless expression right now.

“I don’t see him.”

Of course—20,000 people isn’t exactly a small number.

More than that…

“Hey—look over there.”

“Why? Wasn’t he fired? Why is he here?”

“…Prince Wolfram is here? …Damn.”

“Shit… I’m getting out of here. Feeling sick.”

“That bastard got Dupel expelled.”

……

Come to think of it—this packed plaza. Staying here is the perfect way to get stabbed in a crowd. They’d chop up the body and dump it in the eastern forest for the goblins to eat and grow strong. Time to bail.

Thinking that, I was about to stand up as quickly as possible—

“Wolfram—there you are?”

“……”

A girl smiling at me—one who reminded me of a black crystal—had called out.

—

My fiancée and the overall vice-president—the Black Crystal and icon of rebellion—smiled faintly at me.

“Aila.”

“Didn’t you say you’d be selling at the new student welcome festival? Did you come to see me?”

“That’s right. I’m on my way to prepare now.”

“…Ah. I see.”

Why does she look annoyed?

“Anyway—I’ll be slipping out soon. If you’re interested, come find me—3rd District, commoner zone.”

“If I have time. Anyway—you’re coming to watch the ‘demonstration’ later, right?”

“If I have time too.”

Aila made a sulky expression.

“You tell me to win perfectly, and then you say you might not come to watch? Do you think that makes any sense?”

“……”

“I want a reasonable answer, Wolfram.”

“……”

She has a point.

Here, it’s important to talk enough to keep Aila from running me through. Work, brain!

A way to avoid upsetting Aila and complete my business safely…

Ah.

First, naturally curl the corners of my mouth—let out a scoff as if she said something utterly ridiculous. Then—one shrug.

“Even with your own abilities, you would have won overwhelmingly—and you’ve trained on top of that. Do I really need to see the results?”

“…Huh?”

“I merely told you to come prepared. If you—Aila Trista—were to waver even once against a mere commoner, wouldn’t that be something you could never forgive yourself for?”

“H-hmmm.”

“Your rebellion is meant to be carried out in the most secret, meticulous, and perfect manner. Isn’t it?”

“…H-heh, ho, hmm—you know well. You’re right. Exactly.”

“Then the outcome is already determined. Whether someone watches or not changes nothing.”

“R-right? Hehe. As expected of Wolfram. The wings of rebellion I acknowledged.”

What the hell are “wings of rebellion,” anyway?

Anyway—seeing her smile happily, it seems I’ve survived another day.

Come to think of it—there was something I needed to ask when Aila’s in a good mood.

“By the way—have you met your opponent? That commoner named Kelter.”

“Yes, I have. A red-haired young man. Looked like a farmer who herds cattle.”

“I see. Anything unusual about him?”

“Unusual how?”

“His equipment—his gear.”

This is important.

Zeppelin had a starting difficulty system—and naturally, in lower difficulty settings, you’d get good equipment early.

“Hmm… I don’t remember clearly, but he had a straight sword with a pommel as red as blood. He slung it over his shoulder. It looked like a quality piece—I’m not sure what sword it was.”

“A pommel as red as blood.”

There’s no difficulty that starts with that kind of gear—but this Zeppelin is reality, and I have no idea what’s been twisted, so I decided not to think too deeply.

Still—I have a rough idea of what that weapon is.

“Was it a two-handed straight sword that reached below his waist from his shoulder?”

“Yes.”

“I see. So he had that weapon.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Not exactly—but Aila. Watch out for his breakthrough.”

“……?”

It’s a weapon that normally wouldn’t appear until Act 2—why does he have it? I have no idea.

I gave Aila some rough advice and turned around.

“Are you not staying for Lady Eve’s opening address?”

“Do I really need to be insulted in person?”

“Fair enough. Wolfram.”

“Hm?”

“How does it feel to have the throne taken from you?”

“That thing—is nothing more than a replica.”

I acted tough in front of Aila, but honestly—I hold Eve in high regard.

First—the Zeppelin Student Council President is typically appointed from the Imperial family, so they’re ‘designated’ as president upon entering Zeppelin. And I entered in first year, coasted through second year, and got kicked out. The one who kicked me out was Eve—who was a first-year at the time.

Eve, wanting to understand Zeppelin life itself, conducted civilian inspections whenever she had time—and as a result, discovered my tyranny. In the end, unable to endure it, Eve declared she would become president the following year—raising the flag of rebellion, gathering evidence by building connections with existing students, cross-verifying, and writing a letter to the Emperor—our father—to cut me from the presidency. That’s the history of her coup.

What a terrifying girl.

“I see. So you’re looking at something greater—something I can’t see.”

“That’s not it.”

“Hehe. Opening a stall in the commoner sector—is that also for your own flight?”

At that, I said nothing.

Aila nodded.

“Just as I thought. I knew it. Intentionally antagonizing the nobles, making yourself a clown, and from there, gaining support from the commoners to rise back to the stage… what a dizzying rebellion.”

“……”

What is she even talking about?

“Though I am a bit disappointed.”

“About what?”

“If we’d talked a little longer, if we’d gotten to know each other a little more… maybe I could have stopped your downfall.”

What is this?

Aila seemed to have written an entire epic saga inside her own head.

Anyway—I shook my head. I need to stop her before she does something.

“This is most comfortable for me. Everything is going according to plan.”

“I suppose it is. …But I wanted to see the wings of your rebellion from the very front—even if that ends in ruin.”

“……”

Without a word, I shook my head.

Then, saying nothing more, I slipped out of the auditorium.

If I kept talking, my brain would probably stop saying anything other than “rebellion.”

—

When I arrived at my stall in the 3rd District for commoner freshmen, there was an early customer.

Well—not really a customer—it was Nephti.

“You’re here. Preparation is complete.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes.”

The other stall owners murmured.

Most of the students here are from Maestro, but there are also Magic Department members and Knight Department members. So—quite a few people recognize Nephti, the “Sword of Conviction” of the Knight Department. And naturally, quite a few also recognize Wolfram, the Academy’s top celebrity.

Everyone stared with wide eyes at the strange sight of the two of them running a business together.

Hmm—this definitely makes it look like I’m doing something shady. I have nothing to lose—but she has plenty.

“…Saying you’ll reform me—how impertinent. But I like it. That’s what makes you the Sword of Conviction of the Knight Department.”

“Wh-what?”

“Hmph. But I admire that spirit—so for today, I’ll play along.”

When I loudly said that, the surrounding attention quickly faded. That should be enough groundwork—and if any of the students here ask about Nephti, they’ll spread the rumor.

“The Sword of Conviction set up shop with the trash student council president to reform him.”—that sort of thing.

“…Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Hmph. Just prepare the stall.”

“Yes!”

Nephti, understanding my intent, bowed her head in genuine gratitude.

“By the way—how pitiful.”

“What is?”

“All of it.”

Looking around—naturally, being a stall market, there’s plenty of food. Some sell handmade crafts, others sell shoddy artifacts, and some sell swords or convenience tools.

But to me—THE convenience store master, the current world-first convenience store owner—it’s all amateurish. I plan to break ahead so far that my competitors can’t even dream of catching up.

“Nephti—we’re starting with that.”

“That… you’re actually going to do it? That’s… far too dangerous.”

“You won’t do it?”

“…O-other snack stalls might go out of business entirely.”

“I’ll give you a performance bonus.”

*Click.*

Nephti’s body froze.

“What did you just say?”

“Not hourly wage. If we sell well, you get 20% of net profit. If we make a million rin in profit, 200,000 rin is yours.”

Nephti’s eyes wavered endlessly.

“B-but—mutual prosperity—”

“30%.”

At that, she knelt on one knee, extended her right hand toward me, and recited with a resolute expression:

“For this moment alone—the loyalty of the Sword of Conviction is yours.”

“Hmph. Then prepare yourself.”

“Yes, my lord. The vanguard who will exclude all others and bring flawless victory to this stall—place your trust in me, Nepterian.”

What happened to the creed of mutual prosperity?

We finished our preparations—and soon, it revealed itself.

“An incredible… aroma.”

Even I felt my hands twitch at the scent.

A small ripple soon brought a great wave—and the wave turned into a storm.

Vanilla Beans, sugar, flour mixed together, with custard cream baked inside—a variation of the doughnut.

Seen anywhere, but the scent that drives people mad every time you smell it.

The demon of the subway.

**Ballymanju** had revealed itself.