Author: Akashari	Original Source: Syosetu
Translator: Mui	English Source: Re:Library

Project GB is an official initiative by Re:Library.

The story goes back a little while.

“…This spot should do. I’ll at least praise you for not running away!”
“Have you finally decided? I was starting to think your strategy was to drain my stamina.”

After dragging me back and forth, Plerion finally settled on a corner of the courtyard as the stage for our duel.

It was a bit cramped, but there wasn’t anything around that would cause trouble if broken. And as long as the gathered students kept their distance, we wouldn’t have to worry about dragging them into the fight.

“Are you an idiot? There’s no way walking from the classroom to the courtyard would exhaust someone!”
“……Yeah, I agree with that.”
“Teach… why are you looking away…?”

The truth was, I’d been floating here and there as we moved, but it seemed no one had noticed. Since that worked out conveniently, I decided to keep quiet about it— and to ignore Stell’s questioning gaze.

“So, how do we decide the winner of the duel? You’re not going to say it’s over when someone dies, are you?”
“When one of us surrenders or loses consciousness! Konis, I’ll leave the judgment to you!”
“Huh?!”
“Besides, with this many spectators, letting everyone judge should prevent complaints later.”
“If… Teach says so…”

The courtyard had filled with curious elementary students and idle older students who had flocked over upon hearing the commotion.

With this many witnesses, even Plerion wouldn’t be able to argue against a declared defeat.

“How should we signal the start? Should I just toss a coin to keep it simple?”
“——Burn!”

The moment I looked away to take out a coin, Plerion launched a fireball.

Compared to earlier in the classroom, he didn’t even use a staff, and his chant was brief. It was good that he’d taken my feedback to heart and worked on improving— but this level of desperation showed he didn’t have any room to hold back anymore.

“But speed alone only earns you 50 points.”
“What…!?”

The fireball Plerion shot from his palm rapidly shrank, dissolving into the air.

By the time it reached my chest, it had dwindled to the size of a pebble— a quick puff of breath was enough to scatter it into nothingness.

“Y-You b̲a̲s̲t̲a̲r̲d̲! What did you do this time?!”
“I didn’t do anything. Your magic power wasn’t refined enough. That’s why your spell collapsed on its own. Honestly, you should consider yourself lucky it didn’t backfire.”
“What did you say?!”
“You all should remember this— casting magecraft requires precise construction. That’s why we use chants as molds and staffs as auxiliary tools to release spells.”

Chants were templates crafted through the relentless research of past wizards.

They shaped magic power into stable forms and unleashed it as magecraft. The more skilled a wizard became, the more flexible their chanting would be, but the foundational structure remained the same for everyone.

“Don’t get cocky. There are no shortcuts in magecraft. Instead of relying on surprise attacks, you should’ve kept your distance and calmly bought time for your chant.”
“Guh… grrr…!! Shut up!! Heat of the earth, heat of the sun, scorching fire that resides in my blood, dwell within my arm and…!”
“And another thing— when chanting high-level spells beyond your capacity, always assume danger is right next to you. Like this— Rise.”
“Huh? Ah——!!”
“Alright, everyone except Plerion, crouch down.”

So focused on his reckless chant, Plerion completely neglected his footing— an easy enough target for me to trip with a slight rise in the ground.

And once his attention shifted to his feet, his magecraft control faltered.

What happens when a complex spell, barely held together by an extended chant, collapses mid-cast? The answer was simple: black smoke billowed from Plerion’s body as his magic power surged out of control— and then, he exploded.

✦✧✦✧✦

“If your spell construction had progressed a little further, you’d have been blown to pieces. Any words of gratitude for me stopping you early?”
“Ugh… damn it…!! If you hadn’t interfered… I would’ve…!”
“Are you planning to say the same thing in a real fight? Quite the mighty wizard you are— directing killing intent at someone while assuming you wouldn’t get killed yourself.”
“Tch…!”
“So, what were the conditions for ending the duel again?”
“…I… I surrender…!!”

The moment Plerion declared his defeat, the courtyard erupted with applause and cheers from the students.

Mixed in were jeers like “Serves you right!” and “Good riddance,” which made it pretty clear how disliked he was.

“Master! What are you doing bullying a little kid like that?!”
“Ah, great. Here comes the noisy one.”

Pushing through the still-buzzing crowd was Momo, who should’ve been on cleaning duty.

Explaining what happened would absolve me, but honestly, it felt like too much trouble to go through the entire story.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, Momo. He picked the fight. I was just acting in self-defense. Self-defense.”
“Does self-defense usually involve sitting on them?”
“……No, I guess not.”
“See? Get off him, Master! Are you okay? You’re all covered in soot— are you hurt?”
“I-I… I’m…”
“Jeez, don’t move!”

Plerion’s face, bright red even beneath the soot, was unmistakable as Momo aggressively wiped it clean with her handkerchief.

Her presence, as abrupt as it was, quickly deflated the crowd’s taunting mood, replacing it with awkward pity directed at him instead.

“Master, you went too far. He’s practically in tears!”
“…Momo, excessive pity can sometimes hurt the defeated even more.”
“I don’t get hard words. I just wanna clean him up— can you wet this handkerchief, please?”
“…Alright.”

What remained wasn’t the image of an ‘arrogant, hated Plerion,’ but that of a ‘pitiful student whose pride had been shattered.’

And for the rest of the student body, the power dynamic on display that day likely burned itself into their memories. Later, when passing students in the hallway, they started speaking more formally to Momo than to me.

⇐ Previous

Next ⇒

⌈ Index ⌋