Chapter 17
Chapter 17
"Haa...."
As soon as Evelin stepped into the professor's office, she scowled deeply.
She was in a foul mood.
Even "filthy" was a word too vulgar, too beneath elegant imperial etiquette for her to want to say aloud, but there was no other way to describe how she felt right now.
'Why on earth?'
Her red eyes flashed sharply.
'Why did it have to be some uneducated lout like that who became Professor Iris's disciple?'
It was a position she had admired so much, a goal she had set before even entering the academy.
The empire's greatest genius, the youngest professor in the Department of Magic.
The sole disciple of the lofty, perfect Iris von Evergarden.
That glory should naturally go to someone as noble and talented and prepared as herself.
And yet, who was the one who had grabbed that spot?
'Parne's Barbarian.'
'The Starving Second Son.'
'Parne's Unlettered One.'
A man who had captured that absurd triple crown.
Evelin bit her lip.
'Was it even possible for one person's reputation to be buried under three epithets so vile they could drill through the floor and stab into the planet's core? In less than a month, no less, let alone a year?'
At that point, it was talent.
Of course, talent in the direction of leaving a stain on imperial history.
Her gaze swept over the reception sofa.
While Iris had turned away for a moment to make tea, Evelin was choosing a seat.
There were three single sofas in all.
One was the seat of honor, with Iris's bag and staff placed on it.
The cushion on the sofa to the right of the remaining two was faintly sunken in.
The traces of that barbarian's butt having sat there and mashed it flat were obvious.
...
Evelin's brow twitched.
'There's no way in hell I'm sitting where that barbarian's warmth still lingers.'
Without hesitation, she sat on the left sofa, avoiding it as if it were filth, and clutched the skirt of her dress tightly.
Her goals upon entering the academy were firm.
For Princess Evelin, wasting even a single day of life was an unforgivable sin.
At the very top of that list, a five-star priority, was "become Iris's disciple."
But that plan had gone wrong from the very start.
Two catastrophic scenarios flashed through her mind.
[Disaster 1: Shared Disciple]
What if she became an additional disciple?
Then she'd have to breathe the same air as that shameless barbarian for the rest of her student life.
[Disaster 2: Rank Adjustment]
The academy runs on grade levels, but within a magician's lineage, where apprenticeship-style education is the norm, order of initiation is rank.
In other words, she'd have to treat that ignorant fool as her direct senior and call him "senior."
'...Terrible.'
Just imagining it made her want to vomit.
It had to be erased.
Absolutely.
'I don't accept it. Absolutely not. Someone like that as my senior? Ridiculous.'
Delaying, no—canceling—Cassian del Parne's appointment as a disciple and taking that spot for herself.
That was the only way to wash away this filthy feeling.
Then it happened.
Clink.
As Iris turned from the cabinet with a teacup in hand, Evelin suddenly realized the air in the room had gone cold.
Evelin crossed her arms and tilted her head.
'What is this? The weather's pretty warm already, isn't it?'
The window was shut, and the afternoon sunlight was streaming in nicely.
Then why was there a chill in the air cold enough to make her spine prickle?
'Did they already turn on the AC this spring?'
She looked up at the ceiling, but the mana-driven cooling unit was sitting there peacefully asleep.
Just as she was wondering what was going on, Iris approached with a tray.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Your Highness."
"Not at all, Professor."
Evelin smiled politely and lifted her head.
Then she froze.
"…Huh?"
Iris's face.
The professor's face, which had always seemed so pale and lofty, like that of a black-haired witch.
was now, ever so slightly, flushed peach-pink.
Even the back of her neck was distinctly red, so red Evelin couldn't believe she'd only just noticed it now.
'...Her face is red, isn't it?'
Evelin's eyes narrowed.
Her genius brain began analyzing the situation in an instant.
1: That barbarian just left.
2: The professor's face is flushed red.
3: The room is cold enough to lower body temperature.
Conclusion: she got so frustrated teaching that ignorant barbarian that she worked herself into a fever.
He must have been impossible to reason with.
How frustrated must she have been to forget even turning on the AC and hastily cool the room with magic?
'What a nuisance that guy must be.'
In a voice brimming with concern and certainty, Evelin asked,
"Professor, were you having a hard time because of the student who just left?"
"Pardon?"
Iris froze midway through setting down the teacup.
"You seemed rather agitated just now. And your face is red."
"Ah..."
Iris hurriedly covered her cheek.
"No, it's not that."
Iris's eyes wavered.
For a moment she seemed as though she wanted to say something, her lips moving, but then she answered with an awkward smile.
"It was just that... I got a little too enthusiastic while teaching, so I suppose I got a bit carried away. It isn't the kind of negative situation Your Highness is worrying about."
Alarm bells blared loudly in Evelin's head.
'Not because she was angry... but because she got fired up teaching him?'
How long had it even been since she took on a disciple?
No, before that—she got fired up over that moron?
'Dangerous.'
Evelin sensed danger instinctively.
While she was dawdling, the ignorant weed of a man she'd just met was stealing Professor Iris's interest.
She couldn't make sense of how he'd done it, but if she ignored that fact itself, the situation would only get worse.
If real teacher-student affection ever began to bud, it would be irreversible.
'I have to step in. Before it's too late.'
The original plan was to have an elegant tea time,
"I came to this academy because I wanted to be taught by a good teacher too."
and casually lead things in that direction.
Then, over the next few days, she'd gradually build up the justification for cutting that bastard out. She'd also offer a reward: if he were removed, she'd slip into his place.
That's what politics in everyday life was like.
But she didn't have the leisure for that now.
Full revision.
Evelin set down her teacup and opened her mouth with a solemn expression.
"Professor, the reason I came here today is... because I have a proposal I'd like to make."
"Yes, go on."
Iris replied calmly, the redness still lingering on her face.
Evelin swallowed dryly.
It was a gamble that staked her pride.
"Do you happen to know that I'm majoring in magic studies?"
Silence.
Iris lifted the teacup and moistened her lips.
She answered matter-of-factly.
"Of course."
"…!"
"The fact that Your Highness has outstanding magical talent is known not only in the capital but throughout the entire empire. Even a lab rat like me, holed up in a laboratory, has heard the rumor more than once. I hear even the imperial court mages are left speechless by it?"
Thump, thump, thump.
Evelin's heart began pounding wildly.
The corners of her lips twitched uncontrollably.
This was not the kind of flattery common among nobles.
That person was Iris von Evergarden.
The youngest professor in history, a genius dripping with arrogance.
For her to recognize Evelin's talent—and even acknowledge it.
It was electrifying.
'Yeah... Professor really did know me.'
Her perfectionist self was satisfied, and her self-esteem soared straight through the sky.
She stared at Iris with eyes full of conviction.
"Then, Professor."
There was no need to hesitate now.
She just had to push that moron aside and put everything back where it belonged.
"Would you be willing to take me on as your disciple?"
Of course, she'd say yes.
She had accepted that barbarian too, so there was no reason to reject the Empire's princess and a proven genius.
But.
"Hmm."
Iris set the teacup down, her expression unchanged.
"What you just said—was that an order as a royal, or a proposal as a magician?"
"..."
Evelin's brow furrowed slightly.
A command?
Did she think Evelin was some vulgar opportunist trying to crush people with power?
A slight displeasure rose, but she quickly suppressed it.
'Right. If she's a genius, if she's going to be the teacher who teaches me, she should have this much pride.'
A woman who was easy wasn't fun.
That arrogance, even when faced with power, stirred the princess's pride.
"The latter."
Evelin replied clearly.
"I don't want to be just a magician who's good enough for a princess. I want your guidance simply as a magician."
"Very well."
Iris rose from her seat.
"I like that spirit. I wouldn't originally have intended to take on a disciple, but thanks to Cassian, I've grown interested in teaching someone."
It was a shockingly pride-scraping remark.
'So I got this chance because of that bastard?'
"Then I'll give you a problem."
Iris pulled the portable blackboard over from the corner.
Rrrrk.
"It's a simple problem. Don't feel pressured. Feel free to sit comfortably and look at it."
She picked up a piece of white chalk.
Tap, tap-tap, tap.
Formulas were written across the blackboard.
Evelin stared at the board with tense eyes.
What kind of difficult problem would it be?
A compound operation for multi-casting?
An elemental sequence design for stack nesting?
What had been written on the board after all that tension was utterly unlike what she'd expected.
"I've finished writing it."
...
The moment Evelin saw the blackboard, her brain completely stopped.
This was... a common problem at undergraduate level.
Difficult for a first-year, but a memorization-based problem that any student with the basics could solve.
'What is this?'
Evelin's pupils trembled.
She could solve it with her eyes closed.
Then why was a genius archmage giving this kind of childish test to select a personal disciple?
'Wait.'
Her gaze went to Iris.
Iris was standing there with her arms crossed, watching her with an unreadable, peculiar expression.
There was no way that unprecedented genius was expecting an ordinary answer.
'This is a problem asking me to find the hidden meaning.'
Swallowing hard, she rose from the sofa and walked up to the blackboard.
'This is a test where writing the surface-level answer means failure. She's not asking about ordinary calculation—she's asking about the essence of magic hidden beneath it!'
The hand gripping the chalk trembled faintly at the fingertips.
'I have to find it. The true intent hidden in this problem.'
It was the beginning of hell.
* * *
Evelin glared at the blackboard.
Such an obvious problem.
As she looked at it, stray thoughts began creeping up one after another.
'Could she have set an easy problem to be considerate of me?'
No. Stop having such comfortable thoughts.
There was no way, was there?
'Then is there a hidden variable?'
Probably.
'Is she telling me to derive a creative interpretation based on this problem? No. There's no way she'd set such a messy problem.'
Cold sweat ran down her forehead.
Trying to find an invisible answer inside such a standard problem made her head feel like it would burst.
If she wrote the answer she already knew, the textbook solution, that would be the end of it.
But.
'If I do that... I'll just be treated as an ordinary prodigy.'
The same answer as everyone else.
A solution anyone could come up with.
That would never catch Iris's eye.
'I have to forge a new path. I have to show the extraordinary brilliance befitting a princess, on a completely different level from that barbarian!'
But she was at a loss.
How was she supposed to extract some other meaning from the formula A+B=C?
She couldn't see anything beyond that.
'Is this... a wall?'
Evelin despaired.
Instinctively, she sensed that she couldn't produce the answer Iris wanted—the answer that was plainly in front of her, not the one beyond it.
How much time had passed?
The hand holding the chalk wandered aimlessly in the air, and not a single mark had been made on the board.
The air in the room settled heavily.
Then it happened.
Clink.
The sound of Iris setting down her teacup rang out.
"I think you'd better stop here, Your Highness."
"…!"
Evelin jerked around in surprise.
Iris was staring at the blackboard—or rather, at the blank answer before her—with eyes as cold as ice.