[V16C10] Good Morning... (Very Gentle Voice)

Hugo Galletti, the disciple of the Artillery Mage, hummed a cheerful tune as he walked down the corridor of the Magic Corps headquarters.

Later today, in a forest just outside the royal capital, they would be holding a magical battle between four disciples of the Seven Sages. Hugo was one of the participants, and he seemed very optimistic about it.

After all, two of his opponents were inexperienced beginners, and one was a researcher.

Hugo had no acquaintance with the Silent Witch’s disciple, Isaac Walker. However, he did overhear a conversation between his master Bradford and the Starseer Witch.


“The disciple of the Silent Witch said that he’ll beat my sixfold reinforcement someday.”

“Oh my, how bold of him. He is still growing, after all~.”

“Growing?”

“That’s what Monica-chan says~… ‘My disciple is still in his growth phase’.”


In other words, Walker was a growing young boy full of spirit and ambition. No doubt he dreamed of surpassing the Artillery Mage and becoming the strongest mage ever.

In which case, it was Hugo’s job to show the youngster what a composed adult looks like.

(I even brought some candy in case I accidentally make Walker-kun cry. All set and ready to go!)

Before long, Hugo arrived at his destination. The disciples who would be participating in the magical battle were gathered in a separate waiting room from their masters.

“Excuse me, coming in!”

Hugo opened the door with a casual greeting only to be met with a surprising scene.

The room only had one other person. A young man with dirty blond hair wearing a blue robe, sitting down and slumped over the table. He was Glenn Dudley, the disciple of the Barrier Mage.

Glenn noticed Hugo’s entrance and sluggishly turned his head to look at him. His head did not leave the table, and his eyelids seemed heavy with fatigue.

“Hugo-san… hey there…”

“What’s wrong, Glenn-kun? You look like you just survived a war.”

As far as Hugo knew, Glenn Dudley was a cheerful young man who constantly talked in a loud voice. But now, he looked completely worn out, speaking only in a hoarse murmur.

“Well… I got chased around by my master all night…”

“Eh? Why? That sounds awful.”

“I managed to get a little nap in, but… honestly, I just wanna go home already…”

Whatever the reason, it seemed that Glenn went through a fierce battle with his master.

Hugo sat in the adjacent chair and pulled out a paper-wrapped candy from his pocket. This was a treat made of crushed almonds in a sugary coating, as his hometown was famous for almonds.

“Want some candy?” Hugo asked.

“Thanks…”

Glenn slowly raised his upper body and began munching on the candy.

Hugo had to pity the thoroughly exhausted Glenn, but at the same time, this meant his victory was assured.

Among his three opponents, Glenn was the biggest threat. Despite being a bit green, his huge mana capacity gave his spells unparalleled power.

But now, his condition was far from perfect.

(Sorry, Glenn-kun, but I’m totally winning this one.)

Hugo reached into his pocket to grab a candy for himself, as he heard a knock at the door.

“Excuse me.”

A man entered the room with a simple greeting, and both Hugo and Glenn blinked in surprise.

He was a tall blonde man with turquoise eyes, clad in a black robe. Likely in his early twenties, just like Hugo. His eyes were sharp, and a noticeable scar ran above his right eye.

The most surprising thing about him was the hunting rifle slung over his back. Not a staff or a sword, but a rifle.

The man closed the door behind himself and fixed his sharp eyes on Hugo.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Isaac Walker, the disciple of the Silent Witch.”

His voice was quiet, but it was backed by a strange pressure.

And it wasn’t just his voice. He radiated fighting spirit from every fiber of his being. Hugo had no military experience, but even he could tell that the man was no ordinary person.

It felt like each step he took caused a weighty thud. That was how heavy his steps seemed. His boots looked especially rugged, and he was probably carrying more weapons concealed under his robe.

This was no spirited boy in his growth phase. He was a huge guy rearing for a fight.

Next to the frozen Hugo, Glenn hesitantly asked a question.

“President, what is that rifle for…?”

Hugo had no clue what Isaac was the president of, but it seemed he was acquainted with Glenn.

Isaac lifted the corners of his lips into a smile. A condescending and cold smile, clearly not intended to be friendly.

“Let me apologize in advance, Dudley-kun. I do consider you a friend, but… I cannot afford to lose today’s match.”

After a flick of Isaac’s hands, the hunting rifle strapped to his back somehow found its way into his grip. The next instant, it was pointed at Glenn’s forehead.

His cold smile melted into an ecstatic trance. The face of thinking about someone he worshiped.

“I shall take you down to protect my master’s honor.”

Hugo could only gulp, as Glenn squeaked an “Eep…!”

(He’s so different from what I imagined! Way bigger! And super scary! …But his scar is kinda cool!)

Of course, hardly anyone would have pleasant memories associated with their scars, so Hugo wasn’t insensitive enough to blurt out something like, “Your scar looks awesome!”

Still, Hugo couldn’t help but think to himself.

About how striking Isaac looked. How he wanted to be as tall as him. How cool his brooding vibe was. How amazing the black robe matched him. Etc…

And so, when Isaac took the seat across from him, a bit of Hugo’s feelings leaked out.

“Hey, Walker-kun.”

“What is it?” Isaac asked, looking at Hugo with his cold turquoise eyes.

“Do you mind, like, leaning against the wall and crossing your arms? Maybe you could say something like ‘Good grief’ while shaking your head…?”

“…”

Isaac did not answer. Rather than ignoring Hugo, it seemed like he didn’t know how to respond. He must be shy.

Hugo pulled a candy from his pocket and offered it to Isaac.

“Want some candy?”

“I’d rather not eat right before the match.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

Hugo popped the candy into his own mouth, while quietly thinking to himself, Walker-kun would look amazing against a sunset. Seriously, he’s so cool.

＊　＊　＊

There was a man walking down a corridor on the first floor of the Magic Corps headquarters.

He was dressed in an undecorated robe with the hood pulled deep over his head. White hair and a scruffy white beard covered most of his face, so it was practically impossible to see his features.

His white hair suggested that he was elderly, but he was not hunched over in the slightest. He maintained a perfectly straight posture, and his shoulder muscles looked very impressive.

However, one of those shoulders started twitching slightly. The man rushed into an empty hallway and whispered to his shoulder.

“Pikeh, stop moving so much. It tickles.”

“But I’m bored.”

“You can hold it until the start of the match. And Thule, can you scoot a bit closer to my neck? It feels a bit lopsided.”

“Like this, Cyril?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect now. Thanks.”

With that, Cyril Ashley patted both of his shoulders over the robe.

He had packed the weasels into his shoulders to disguise himself as one of the Roseberg disciples and infiltrate the Magic Corps, all in order to cheer for Isaac and surprise him as a prank. Raul’s idea, of course.

Raul successfully brought Cyril into the building, but then he left to attend a meeting with the other Sages.

In the meantime, Cyril was supposed to wait in the break room prepared for the Roseberg disciples helping with the magical battle, but he decided to sneak out until the match began.

Raul had briefed the disciples about the prank, so they did not find Cyril’s behavior suspicious. In fact, it was the opposite. They treated him with an excessive amount of reverence.

Raul was the head of House Roseberg, and said to be the reincarnation of the First Thorn Witch. As such, the Roseberg disciples viewed him with great fear and awe.

He had apparently told them, “Me and my friend are pulling a prank, you guys can secretly help us out!” However, their treatment of Cyril was more like “a vital ally assisting their master on a high-stakes mission”.

Cyril slipped away because he was unable to bear the excessive formality.

Walking through the halls ran the risk of bumping into Monica or Isaac, both of whom possessed sharp senses, each in their own way. That said, Cyril had undergone a complete transformation into a burly man. They could not possibly see through his disguise.

(Muscles…)

Cyril prodded his biceps a bit. Currently, Thule and Pikeh were perched on his shoulders, facing towards his neck, with their fluffy tails draping down his arms.

In other words, the heads and torsos of the weasels formed Cyril’s broad shoulders, and their tails formed his biceps.

“Sorry, Pikeh. Can you lower your head just a little more? You’re making a lump on my…”

“…Oi.”

Cyril flinched as a voice suddenly called out to him from behind.

He slowly turned around to see a man with purple hair eyeing him suspiciously. It was Ray Albright, the Abyss Shaman.

Cyril had met Ray before, so he almost panicked when he saw him, even if the disguise was perfect.

“You look really suspicious…” Ray muttered. “You’re not wearing the uniform of the Magic Corps…”

“I-I am with House Roseberg, here to serve as a recorder for today’s magical battle…”

Cyril hurriedly blurted out his excuse, but Ray’s pink jewel-like eyes were already fixed on his shoulders.

“I saw you talking to your shoulder just now…”

He had seen everything. The jig was up. As Cyril turned pale, Ray interrogated him in a low tone.

“What are you hiding…?”

Cyril scrambled for another excuse, but of course, it was practically impossible to come up with a good reason for talking to your shoulder.

The flustered Cyril stammered the first thing to come to mind.

“I-I was talking to my muscles!”

“…”

“I heard that… talking to them helps them grow…”

Even Cyril understood how crazy he sounded right now.

It was over. He had been exposed before the magical battle even began.

As Cyril fell into despair, Ray widened his eyes and started trembling all over.

“I see…!”

His voice contained surprise and a flicker of hope.

Cyril watched dumbfounded as Ray hunched over and gently stroked his own stomach.

“Good morning, abs…”

Ray was no longer paying the slightest attention to Cyril. He turned away and walked down the hallway, softly murmuring to his stomach, “Good morning… good morning…”

(I… I somehow managed to bluff my way through…)

The whole “talk to your muscles to help them grow” idea was total nonsense, inspired by his memory of Raul talking to plants while watering them.

(Ah, why did I tell him such a cruel lie…!)

Cyril clutched his chest in guilt. Surely, both he and Ray were similar in that they desired an unattainable goal: a perfectly chiseled six-pack.

As Cyril drooped his head and covered his face, Thule and Pikeh whispered from beneath his robe.

“Cyril, Cyril, do muscles really grow if you talk to them?”

“Then I’ll start talking to your arms from now on.”

“No… no, they don’t grow…”

Cyril continued groaning until he heard the loud rattling of a large object being rolled down the corridor.

He turned around to see, as the weasels also peaked out from the collar of his robe.

Someone was pushing the handle of a makeshift cart at the far end of the hallway. There was also a petite figure sitting on the cart and working on something.

Cyril widened his eyes in shock.

The man pushing the cart was the Count of Ambard, Bernie Jones, and the girl sitting there was Monica.

(…Monica!?)

Monica was wearing her Sage robes and carrying her staff. She was seated on the cart, busy inscribing a magical formula onto a crystal ball.

She seemed so focused on her work that she didn’t notice Cyril at all. Her eyes remained fixed on the crystal ball even as the cart passed right by him.

“For crying out loud, why do you always have to be like this?! Every time, you just have to come up with a new formula right before the deadline…!”

“Mm… hold on… this method for recording vibrations seems more stable… Just a bit more… I’m almost done…”

“Your ‘almost done’ is never trustworthy!”

“Almost done… almost done…”

Bernie turned a corner in the hallway, and the two vanished just as quickly as they arrived. However, Cyril could still faintly hear their voices.

“At least walk up the stairs yourself!”

“Mm…”

“Pay attention to your feet when you’re walking up stairs!”

“Mm…”

What in the world was that?

As Cyril stood dumbfounded, Thule pulled his head back under the robe and murmured softly from his shoulder.

“They look very close.”

“Eh?”

“That guy and Monica.”

Cyril had heard about Count Ambard and Monica being classmates at Minerva. That would explain the informal tone they used with each other.

But even though he understood the reason, Cyril felt a strange uneasiness in his chest.

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