A familiar voice echoed from the speakers in the hallway ceiling. “Hello, everyone!”
The students across the academy froze in place at the sound of that cheerful voice, heads tilting upward in unison to focus on the announcement by Pinyata.
“As the principal mentioned, the long-awaited Serichane Festival is just around the corner! And as your ever-reliable broadcaster representing all the students of Basamiel… I will absolutely not pretend to be impartial! Haha! Of course the winner of the Martial Arts Tournament will be the Magic Department!”
“Booo!” jeered the students from the Knight Department, responding to Pinyata’s blatantly biased commentary.
Lately, the hottest topic of debate had been whether the Magic or Knight Department would take the championship at this year’s tournament.
“Ah! But that’s not why I got on the air just now! I’ve got some hot news to share! The second-place prize was just claimed a few moments ago, and I couldn’t wait to tell you all! Of course, I don’t know who took it—but congratulations anyway! This has been your Basamiel storyteller, Pinyata. Bye!”
What?!
Students who were sitting around the central garden in groups erupted in surprised murmurs at Pinyata’s shocking announcement. The fact that the violin, revealed earlier in the semester, had already been claimed was no small news.
“What? Already? Damn it, I’ve been eating only the daily special just to save up for that!”
“Who the hell managed to buy it? That’s insane. I don’t think I could save up 5,000 Tilon even in four years.”
“For real. I’m dying to know who it was.”
Someone muttered in frustration.
***
A beautiful melody filled the dormitory corridor.
Catherine hummed along quietly, naturally swaying to the rhythm as she confidently approached a door. The skillful playing and seamless flow of the tune impressed her, yet she had never heard the piece before—not once, despite being a noble with an ear trained for refined music. That could only mean one thing: the piece was composed by the performer themselves.
A bright smile curled on Catherine’s lips. She had already figured out who was behind that melody.
“Hans!”
Clink.
Like a music box winding down, the tune came to an abrupt halt.
Without knocking, Catherine swung the door wide open and found Hans in the middle of a violin performance. He looked as if he was used to this kind of entrance.
“Catherine… I did ask you to please knock before coming in…” he muttered sheepishly.
The towering Hans slowly lowered the violin from his chin, his lips forming a small pout.
Naturally, Catherine had no intention of acknowledging her friend’s quiet grumbling.
“Hey, what’s with the sudden violin? Didn’t you say violins don’t have the kind of deep, rich sound you like?”
Thump.
She threw herself onto the plush dormitory sofa and began to speak. As one of Hans’s closest friends at the academy, she remembered even the offhand remarks he had made months ago.
Hans chuckled as he carefully placed the violin bow back in its case and closed the lid on the rosin container beside it.
“This one’s different. It’s a special violin.”
“Oh yeah?”
Reclining comfortably, Catherine glanced lazily toward the violin Hans was handling so delicately.
Her longtime friend owned a vast collection of instruments, each of which could be sold for enough gold to buy a commoner’s home several times over. She could tell the difference between cutting-edge magic tools and rare mana stones—but discerning the special qualities of a violin? That was beyond her expertise. She quickly lost interest.
“…It looks exactly the same as all your other violins to me.”
“You can really feel the difference when you play it.”
Yeah right. Like I’d know what that even means.
Catherine glanced around at Hans’s impressive instrument collection displayed along one wall of the room, then suddenly let out a small “Ah!” as something clicked in her memory.
“Oh, this is that one, right? The one you said you wouldn’t be able to afford until after the Autumn Festival! What happened? Did your family suddenly give you a big allowance?”
“Ah…”
Hans rubbed the back of his head with a shy expression.
To be honest, he hadn’t been sure whether he’d be able to buy it this year at all. But perhaps the gods had smiled upon him—his newest piece had gotten an unexpectedly strong response.
“The song I wrote over the break apparently got some attention at the salon. So I pulled in the social club funds from the Arts Department a little early.”
“What? Congrats! Damn, you must be rolling in Tilon now. Treat me to lunch!”
“…Well… I’d like to, but…”
An awkward silence filled the space as Hans gave her an embarrassed smile.
Catherine had been clapping him on the back in congratulations, but now she slowly turned her gaze to him, her expression growing suspicious.
“…Don’t tell me… you spent it all? Just to buy that?!”
At her exasperated outburst, Hans hung his head and gave a small, defeated nod.
With a deep sigh, Catherine launched into a lecture for her financially irresponsible old friend.
“Seriously, what are you going to do if you blow all your Tilon without a plan? Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”
Catherine gave Hans a look full of exasperation. It was a stroke of luck that she had zero interest in anything outside of magic. Had she known Hans had impulsively spent 5,000 Tilon on a violin, she wouldn’t have been able to look at him with such disdain.
***
Basamiel was abuzz with talk of the upcoming preliminary rounds of the Serichane Martial Arts Tournament.
Posters bearing the slogan “All who wield the sword, raise it high!” in vibrant colors were plastered across the campus. And as if challenging those very posters, another slogan—“The victory will go to the mages anyway”—had been cheekily posted right next to them.
Apparently taking the slogan literally, any student who had wielded a sword since childhood or could use even a little magic had already signed up on the first day of registration.
In the main hall’s central foyer, names of the registered participants were carved into a large marble wall in order of sign-up. Students gathered around it, searching for familiar names and chatting about who might win.
—There’s no limit on the number of applicants for the tournament?
—Nope. They just take everyone. The preliminaries will weed out the pretenders anyway.
—Even the entry fee is 20 Tilon, so Hounds and Amber must be making a killing. I heard most of the Hounds club members are joining. If a winner comes from their club, that would be perfect.
—I heard this year’s tournament had the highest number of applicants ever. The prize pool’s already over 4,000 Tilon.
—Look, even Prince Mikhail signed up yesterday.
—Seriously? This is gonna be fun. I should hurry and get a ticket for the matches.
Adrian, who was peacefully reading a book on a bench in the central garden, perked up.
4,000 Tilon?
That was the most intriguing part of the chatter spilling out from the main hall.
Is this it? Could this be Mikhail’s chance to get his hands on Fellen Deeps’ sword?
If so, it was the perfect opportunity to finally bolster the prince’s underwhelming track record. All those mornings of practicing sword swings might finally pay off.
Adrian listened to the voices from the main building, then lowered his gaze back to his book.
Still, something had been bothering him for a while now. A slight furrow formed between his brows.
“…Mikhail, is something going on?”
Adrian spoke without lifting his eyes from the page.
A voice replied from behind—the unwelcome guest leaning casually against the tree behind the bench.
“Not really.”
Adrian tilted his chin upward to look at the speaker’s face. With his head tipped back, the world appeared upside down.
“Then why have you been watching me for the past hour?”
“Watching? That’s an odd choice of words. I’m just doing mana training over here.”
At Mikhail’s shameless reply, Adrian let out a dry chuckle.
“…While leaning awkwardly against a tree like that?”
He’s not even skilled enough for that yet.
Seeing the amused smirk on Adrian’s face, Mikhail placed his hand on the back of the bench with a soft tap. His voice came low and clear, right beside Adrian’s ear.
“Your name still isn’t on the list.”
“My name?”
“…”
Adrian closed his book with a faint thunk, giving up on pretending not to understand.
Mikhail’s unwavering gaze was locked onto Adrian’s face. His expression said it all: You know exactly what I mean.
“You mean next week’s preliminaries.”
“Aha, the Serichane Tournament. I’m not planning on entering. That kind of brutish contest just isn’t my thing.”
“…But someone like you would have a hundred times the chance of winning compared to the average fodder that’s signing up.”
Adrian shrugged with a bored expression.
“Too much of a hassle. I’m not doing it.”
He was long past the age of getting caught up in childish contests of strength.
Mikhail fell silent, lips twitching slightly as he debated whether or not to say something. Finally, he spoke.
“…They’re giving out viewing tickets to participants who make it to the finals.”
Adrian’s indifferent eyes drifted toward Mikhail. Even without words, his expression clearly said, And? What does that have to do with me…
Mikhail smirked, meeting Adrian’s gaze head-on. He had never expected this guy to catch on quickly anyway.
“What I’m saying is—I’m guaranteed at least one viewing ticket.”
He flashed a confident grin.
Only ten people would qualify for the Serichane Tournament finals. Mikhail’s tone exuded utter certainty that he would be among them.
Adrian looked at the prince, whose eyes sparkled like garnets as he grinned with pride.
“…So?”
“So don’t bother wasting money on a ticket like an idiot.”
Because I’ll just give you one myself.
Since Mikhail was aiming for first place, the ticket meant nothing to him.
Adrian stared at him. This wasn’t what Mikhail should be focusing on right now.
“Is that so? I heard the tickets are pricey. Why not just sell it?”
At that, Mikhail’s smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, chilling glare.
“…Just try selling the ticket I give you. I’ll make sure to check whether you actually show up.”
