| Author: Sasaki Ichiro | Original Source: Syosetu |
| Translator: Mab | English Source: Re:Library |
| Editor(s): Silva | |
The middle-aged deacon turned on his heel, seething with fury. “I will make sure Bishop Aaron hears of this! Savor that sorry excuse for a supper while you can!”
With that, he strode out of the diner. As soon as he left, the hall erupted in applause. The typically subdued atmosphere during meals suddenly became charged with excitement, energizing the entire hall.
Most were simply rejoicing at having stood up to the haughty senior clergyman. However, some genuinely worried about the young boy’s fate.
“Are you going to be okay? Bishop Aaron is basically your superior, right? Isn’t it risky to defy him like that?”
“He already hates me and keeps comparing me to his own son. I doubt he could lower his opinion of me any further.”
Cestlavie responded with self-deprecating humor, shrugging as he dipped the hard bread into the soup. The young clergymen sitting around him, though only 3-6 years older than the 12-year-old priest, acknowledged this with a nod.
“Isn’t that the idiot who graduated from the seminary in second place using money? Maybe he’s just pissed that he lost first place to Mister Child Prodigy here. In the end, it’s just the weight and money of his dad that he’s throwing around.”
“In comparison, the best we can do is try to make ends meet, filling our stomachs in this cheap diner in some back alley.”
Just then, someone from behind the counter shouted, “You can say ‘cheap’ again, prick!”
“Thanks for the meal. Right, this is going to be hell, but I guess I need to meet the father of that idiot.”
“My condolences,” someone commented sympathetically as Cestlavie left the diner.
♢♦♢♦♢
“Rejoice, Brother Cestlavie. Your wish to transfer to the Imperial Academy has been officially approved.”
Bishop Aaron, a seemingly virtuous figure in his spotless white ecclesiastical attire and sturdy build, with smiling eyes, made the clear announcement. Cestlavie recited the instructions in his heart and respectfully bowed.
“My deepest gratitude, Brother Aaron.”
“Worry not. It is… admirable that you, a young man, are capable of recognizing your immaturity and aspire to move to a new place of learning. You are truly living up to your title as a child prodigy. However, keep in mind that your performance in the seminary may not necessarily translate to success in the wider world. Keep yourself humble and keep up the hard work.”
From the slit of his eyes and the needles in his words, the contempt that Bishop Aaron could barely conceal was evident. Cestlavie pretended not to pick up on any of it, replying with a short “yes,” while maintaining a dignified demeanor.
“For the following three years, you will remain a priest while staying at the church in the imperial capital. However, should any issues arise, the church has the liberty to issue disciplinary measures, so always remember that you are a clergyman before you are a student. …Ah, and the scholarship application you submitted has been accepted. You should verify the documents later.”
Without uttering a word, Cestlavie silently accepted the stack of documents that had been obviously thrown onto the desk beforehand.
“As for your successor, my son… ahem, Brother Camil will be taking your place. Weren’t you and he first and second in your class? Well, his promotion to priesthood indeed came a year later than you, but I’m sure the position will be reversed in three years.”
Bishop Aaron remarked with an exuberant tone, relishing the sense of superiority in seeing the outcast drop himself out and the novelty of good riddance.
“…I see. Is there any message I should pass on to my successor?”
The boy asked indifferently, his usual absentminded expression unchanging. Bishop Aaron likely saw it as a loser’s last-ditch effort to save face. He ushered the young priest to leave, dismissively telling him there was no need, as if shooing away a stray dog.
“—Excuse me.”
With a bow, Cestlavie left the room. Just before he closed the door, he noticed the deacon from earlier standing near it, ostentatiously sniffing and smirking.
Casting a sidelong glance at him, Cestlavie closed the door and, maintaining his solemn demeanor, turned the corner of the hallway with its thick carpet. Once sure he was alone, the young priest stretched his arms out widely.
“That troublesome little prick. I’m not interested in your pissing contest.”
His face, usually absentminded, was now sharp like a naked blade. He was secretly pleased to weaponize his snobbishness — transferring to the Imperial Academy couldn’t have been easier.
His superiors were all too eager to rid themselves of an annoying thorn, and Cestlavie was more than willing to leverage this opportunity to connect with aristocrats’ children from various countries. Well, isn’t that beneficial for all parties involved? Cestlavie concluded.
“It’d be a miracle if the Church still exists ten years from now. …then again, I need to secure a base for living in the imperial capital first, don’t I?”
The scholarship was a boon, but Cestlavie knew most of it would go towards tuition and food. When factoring in the cost of living and books (even basic books and manuscripts were expensive without letterpress printing), making ends meet seemed unfeasible.
“I can either take jobs as a private tutor or register in an adventurer’s guild if nothing else is available.”
At 12, he was a child prodigy, mastering Earth and Lightning Attribute Magic and elementary Healing Art. With no backing or wealth, he was confident in his unparalleled knowledge and talent.
“…I may not be able to go back home for a while.”
Nostalgia for his hometown’s breeze and hills never crossed his mind. Instead, his heart yearned for the little girl he met long ago.
—Teach me magic again tomorrow, that’s a promise!
A brief moment of happiness. A simple promise, unfulfilled. Who broke it? Was it her? Him? Their social class difference? Or was it fate?
“Does she still remember it?”
To an aristocrat like her, it must’ve been a trivial event, long forgotten. But for Cestlavie, it marked the first turning point and setback in his life. This encounter propelled him to become the prodigy he is today.
Why am I this sentimental… thought Cestlavie, a wry smile creeping up as he resumed his absentminded expression.
Even so, if she remembered her promise, the time frozen since that day might start moving again, allowing him to step forward — Cestlavie pondered as he hurried down the corridor.
Author’s note:
My fingers were flowing as I typed this chapter, so I uploaded this rather quickly.
A lot of you commented that he doesn’t look like a Last Boss. I’m sorry for the misleading expression. When I say Last Boss, I mean he’s someone who comes to Jill with destiny.1
He’s not necessarily evil.
