(Ryuta POV)
Unsurprisingly, those two didn't receive the memo as much as I had hoped, but I'll have to see what happens and act accordingly when something does happen again.
Ugh. When did I become the nanny for the special students' class? I'm here to learn, too, you know? I know I've dropped out of school in my previous life, but now I wholeheartedly want to do what I came here for, not do what should be teachers' jobs.
On the upside, I received my student uniform the other day.
They look quite nice, even by this world's standards. And they fulfilled their purpose of making social status less visible.
I looked at myself in a mirror and I had to admit... no clothing could divert the attention away from my odd eyes once you look at my face. And the white patch of hair doesn't help either.
Mismatched eyes weren't as common in my old world (excluding cosplay) as they are here, but they brought a lot of attention to you regardless.
But even so, the silver slits are unheard of. Even Orsted says my eyes are unique, which would have made me feel special... if he hadn't added that there are people who would likely want to take those eyes away from me. No matter the world, messed-up people are everywhere at any time.
***
Since it's been a while since I last attended homeroom class, I decided to go again.
My reason for attending it, however, was to create a picture of the two new special students.
I was rarely the one in the hall room where all the special students, regardless of their session, would have their home room session, but the markings on the floor pointed me in the right direction.
And as I opened the door, four were present in the room.
At the back row of the room sat the beastfolk princesses.
Linia had her legs crossed on top of her desk. I now know that she's wearing azure blue panties today because I caught a glimpse of them when she switched to the other leg.
And as for Pursena, unironically, she was eating another meat snack. A lamb chop, maybe? It's hard to tell with monsters being still researched upon.
As for the two other students, there would be one tall man with a bowl-cut and glasses who was too entranced by the grey figurine in his hands to notice my presence. He must be the prince and blessed child, Zanoba Shirone.
The other guy was no different when it came to acknowledging my presence.
He was a somewhat short boy with dark brown hair and blinding bangs as he looked through the strands of his hair while reading a book. He must be Cliff Grimoire, the grandson of the Pope.
While it didn't bother me that both of them were ignoring me, it turns out that I've already met one of the newbies.
Cliff was the intruder from the other day.
Perfect. I failed half my task before it even seriously began.
But, there is something important I need to address with this guy.
I closed the distance between us, slow and steady, not quite threatening—but deliberate enough to make it clear I wasn't just here to say good morning. Cliff didn't look up. Either he had nerves of steel, or he was just that absorbed in what he was reading.
"Hello there, mister thief," I said, voice low and flat.
He heard me and gave me one glance, only to realize that I was the same guy who had chased him out with the self-proclaimed goons.
He jumped up from his chair and glared at me as he hissed. "You! You're that tyrant genius everyone's talking about."
"I don't know about genius," I remarked. "But I sure as hell could be referred to as a tyrant for what I did to Linia and Pursena. Especially since their next punishment is about to come up."
"Wait, what?!" Linia yelped out, but I didn't look at them.
"Boss is being a meanie again," Pursena whimpered in a fake sad tone.
Cliff just looked at me with astonishment, a little hint of fear in his eyes.
Then, he took a step back, visibly bracing for a confrontation. "I wasn't trying to steal anything. I was just... curious."
"Still, you were trespassing by entering my lab without permission. And I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't do it again."
Cliff narrowed his eyes behind his bangs, a sneer forming on his lips as he straightened up, trying to reclaim a fraction of dignity.
"Hmph. That reaction says it all," he muttered. "You act so high and mighty, but you're probably just some fraud hiding behind secrecy. Let me guess—your inventions are someone else's work, and you're taking the credit?"
I didn't flinch. He wanted a reaction—something to bite into to prove he wasn't outmatched. But I wasn't about to play into that.
Before I could give a proper reply, I heard the sound of boots tapping against the floor. Linia strutted toward us, arms crossed, tail flicking with growing irritation.
"You got some nerve, little priest boy," she growled, eyes flashing with challenge. "Talkin' like that to our Boss? If anyone here's the fraud, it's you with that oversized ego of yours."
Cliff blinked, confused and slightly alarmed by the sudden beastfolk proximity.
"I-I was just making a point—!"
"Yeah? Lemme make mine, too." Linia leaned in close, her fangs bared in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You insult the Boss again, I'll give you a free tour of the school's infirmary."
"Linia." I pinched the bridge of my nose and stepped between them, pushing her back with one hand on her shoulder.
Her ears twitched irritably, but she relented.
"I didn't ask for your help," I muttered under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear. "This isn't some turf war. Go back to your desk."
"Tch. Fine," she huffed, giving Cliff one last snarl before sauntering back, tail still twitching in frustration.
I turned back to Cliff, who was trying to decide whether to stand his ground or make a break for the door.
"Now that the growling's out of the way," I said coolly, "let me be clear: I don't care if you think I'm a fraud. But if you break into my lab again without permission, you'll be more than just curious. You'll be a problem. And I've got plenty of solutions for problems."
Cliff's lips thinned, but he didn't respond. His fists were clenched at his sides, though whether it was anger or fear, I couldn't tell.
At least he was silent. That counted for something.
With the confrontation over, and Cliff sulking in his seat like a scolded noble child, my attention drifted toward the one person in the room who hadn't spared even a single glance at the drama.
Zanoba Shirone.
All this time, he'd been utterly absorbed in a small figurine held delicately in his oversized hands, as if it were a sacred relic. I hadn't taken a good look at it before, but now that I did, I could see why it might've caused a commotion.
The figurine was of a young girl dressed in magician robes and a witch's hat—maybe around middle school—with long, detailed braided hair and a staff pointed out in one hand. Her expression was calm, almost serene, and despite being made of unpainted grey stone or clay, it carried a level of craftsmanship that didn't match this world's standards.
No wonder Linia and Pursena had fought over. The thing had presence.
"…At least you have more of an eye for art than those two furballs," Zanoba said without looking up, his voice laced with amusement.
I didn't respond. Not because I was ignoring him out of rudeness, but because there was something… off about that figurine.
I couldn't place it. But something about it gave me an odd sensation in the pit of my stomach. Was it nostalgia? Déjà vu? No. It felt more like a pull, a hum that tickled the edge of my mind.
"Did you make that with Earth Magic?" I asked finally, my gaze narrowing on it.
Zanoba blinked, clearly not expecting that question. "Huh? No. I wish I knew the method of creating this magnificent piece of art. Why would you even think it was made with Magic?"
I stepped closer and squinted. "Because the detail is way too fine to be shaped with a chisel or carving knife. And the texture… it reminds me of my own work. Specifically, the casing of the prototypes I've been experimenting with."
I held up both my hands and channeled a bit of Earth Magic. A small pile of compressed soil spun in the air, forming into a simple canine figure—a dog sitting on its haunches, tongue lolling out. It wasn't polished like the girl figurine, but the shaping was smooth and stable.
"Hmph. Not bad," I muttered, examining the result. It wasn't refined, but the structure was there. With the right amount of focus, pressure modulation, and layering… I could probably match the level of detail in the figurine.
There was a loud gasp before me. Then, without warning, a thud.
I looked—and there was Zanoba, face pressed to the floor, arms outstretched in perfect reverence.
"PLEASE!" he bellowed, loud enough to shake the windowpanes. "Please take me as your disciple, Master!"
I stared at him.
Then, at Linia and Pursena, who looked like they had just witnessed someone get possessed.
Then back to Zanoba.
"…No."
"I BEG YOU!!" he cried louder, forehead smacking the floor again with such force that the floor tiles groaned. "No one else can do that! Not like that! You created a path of new, revolutionizing true art on the spot! With magic! That's a miracle!"
"I made a dog," I said flatly. "A lumpy dog."
"It has soul!" Zanoba barked, still prostrate.
I sighed.
Great. First, the beastfolk princesses, then the self-proclaimed genius, and now the royalty-bowed maniac sculptor. Was I building a fan club against my will? And this guy is especially nuts.
I rubbed my temples.
Zanoba was still on the floor like some fanatical cultist paying homage to a stone idol. His back arched. Forehead firmly planted. Voice raw with desperation. This wasn't flattery—it was full-blown obsession.
"I said no," I repeated.
"But you must understand what this means to me! I have been seeking the original creator for years. And now I find myself before you, the one who can replicate its work."
Oh, I understood. That was the problem.
"Look," I said, folding my arms, "even if I wanted to teach you—which I don't—I can't. This kind of magic…" I tapped the lumpy dirt dog. "This isn't something you just learn with lessons and homework."
He looked up, eyes wide like a kicked puppy. "What do you mean?!"
"It's chantless Earth Magic," I said simply. "No incantations. No circles. Just control. Even the one who taught me Magic first can't explain the process in words."
His mouth opened slightly, a soft sound escaping like I'd just told him his favorite statue had been shattered.
"But… surely I could try… learn… emulate your method—"
"No." I cut him off flatly. "It's not just that it's chantless. This requires instinctual control over density, form, and shape memory. And believe me if I say this. I TRIED teaching it to others. Even experienced adventurers and professors, after I explained the feeling to them, couldn't tell their own inner mana flow enough to manipulate it consciously. And the only professor who could was only able to use Wind Magic without the chant, and he passed away a few weeks ago."
"But—"
"And I don't have the time," I said, before he could spiral again. "I have several different projects, each of them time-consuming and technically demanding."
Zanoba's whole body trembled.
He sat up onto his knees, hands clenching into fists on his thighs. His head was bowed, but I could feel the waves of grief radiating off him like heat from a forge.
"This… this is a tragedy," he whispered. "To encounter a master of divine art, only to be cast aside like an unworthy worm…"
I wanted to interrupt and tell him he was overreacting, but he genuinely wanted to create this artistic work, or at least have more of it. I feel like I should give it a try and see what I can make of it. Maybe someday I can bring up a method to teach this magic craftsmanship.
After I heard a snicker, I immediately assumed it was Linia, but it was Cliff who was laughing instead.
Why, Frederic? Why can't you do your job instead of asking me for help?
***
Homeroom went without a hitch, and the teacher looked almost relieved when she saw that at least I was here. Poor lady had to go through wasted efforts trying to teach Linia and Pursena. And now there are two new troublemakers in this class.
After that class, I used my free time to sit outside on campus on a nearby bench and practice some more on those stone figurines.
As I thought, given the right amount of time, I could make the same detailed figure without a sweat. I'm thinking about making Orsted figures to help him be more of a looked-up-to person, even though the moment any of the figurine buyers would tremble in his presence.
I can't say why, but I think I might start developing a hobby of making these things.
If I could somehow manage to make more of those, I could see if I could profit from these with merchants. Even though I can tell they want to rip me off in the past, I don't quite care who they sell it to. Well, maybe I have to make extra sure not to make something with a choking hazard.
***
The sun had already started to dip when I returned to my dorm room. With a few hours to kill, I decided to get some training in. My usual routine—push-ups, sit-ups, planks, and a few rounds of Touki-enhanced calisthenics—was enough to keep me sharp.
But regular sets didn't cut it anymore.
I reached under my bed and pulled out my training gear: weighted bands and cuffs, each one lined with runes—simple Gravity Magic inscriptions, hand-carved by me. The enchantments weren't flashy, but they worked as intended. Each piece bore a carefully calculated load, and wearing all four would turn the wearer's body ten times heavier. I strapped them around my wrists and ankles, and the added weight immediately dragged at my limbs like I was underwater.
I had to go this far. My body wasn't normal anymore. Regular workout won't cut it for me anymore, and the exhaustion helped me fall asleep more easily. Well, that, and the small times I spend with one of the ladies at the brothel.
It's not like I looked like some muscle god out of a fantasy painting—but I had abs now. Real ones. The kind that didn't just show up when I flexed under perfect lighting, but stayed there, tight and solid, even when I was relaxed. My physique was lean, coiled with strength. Refined. Compact. The kind of muscle that comes from repetition, routine, and constant, stubborn effort. Efficient. Practical. Built for movement and impact, not for show. I could move fast, hit hard, and take a blow without crumpling, except when it's Orsted who is hitting.
Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I remembered just how far I'd come from the bloated, wheezing mess I used to be.
Still, that image haunted me. It'd be way too easy to slip again. One lazy week. One excuse. One winter, I chose warmth and comfort over discipline. That's all it would take. So I kept going.
I dropped down and started my first set—Touki flowing just enough to stabilize my form. The gravity-enhanced cuffs made each movement a battle. My arms trembled. My core burned. The runes hummed faintly with pressure as I moved, amplifying the resistance with each rep.
Sweat ran down my chest. My muscles screamed, but I pushed through it. That ache—that deep, familiar burn—was a promise to myself. I wasn't wasting this second chance.
By the time I finished and was toweling off, a knock came from the door.
I didn't need to check who it was.
With a sigh and every ounce of reluctance I could summon, I crossed the room and pulled the door open.
There stood Frederic, wearing the face of a man one apology away from an aneurysm. His eyes flicked over me—still shirtless, hair damp with sweat, gravity cuffs still hanging from my limbs—before settling into a scowl that said he really didn't want to be here.
"Zanoba," he began, voice already pinched, "was found in the infirmary. Bleeding out of his nose."
I blinked, unimpressed. "That sounds like a personal problem."
Frederic narrowed his eyes. "He said it happened while trying to recreate your Earth Magic technique. He pushed himself too hard and collapsed."
I leaned against the doorframe, arms still weighted, crossing them with a heavy clink. "And? I never told him to do that."
"Says you inspired him," Frederic snapped. "Claims you're his master."
"I told him no. Repeatedly." I held up a finger—slower than usual thanks to the gravity runes. "I told him it wasn't teachable to my knowledge at least." A second finger. "I explained how dangerous it was." Third. "And I explicitly said I don't have time for fanboys."
Frederic massaged the bridge of his nose. "Regardless, it still comes back to you."
"Oh, please," I said, rolling my shoulders to loosen up. "If I'm responsible for that, then maybe we should talk about how one of the new students broke into my lab."
Frederic's expression froze.
Yeah. That shut him up.
"Cliff Grimoire," I said flatly. "Decided to go snooping around, doing one thing or the other. Got caught by some of Linia and Pursena's goons. And now he thinks I'm some fraud because I kicked him out and warned him not to do it again."
Frederic's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked like someone had just swapped his tea with vinegar.
"That's what I thought," I muttered. "Face it, Frederic. This year's special class? Bunch of whack jobs like the rest. Cliff's high ego paired with breaking and entering. Zanoba's self-harming through figurine obsession. Linia and Pursena are, well… Linia and Pursena. And me, the guy who does the one intended purpose in this school."
"I can't exactly disagree," he said with a sigh, rubbing his temples. "But you're not helping ease the rest of the problems."
"I'm not their babysitter," I said, stepping back and reaching for a fresh towel. "I'm here to learn. Not wrangle egos. I've already dealt with the main delinquent group, but that wasn't intentional, as you know."
Frederic just stood there, quietly debating if it was worth arguing further. It wasn't, and he went to leave my room.
"Close the door on your way out," I said, already turning away.
And he did.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I let out a slow breath and stood there for a moment, towel draped over my shoulder, sweat cooling against my skin, gravity cuffs still pulling faintly at my limbs.
Frederic had his hands full. And yeah, I was making it worse.
The guy wasn't bad. Just tightly wound. Too invested in keeping everything orderly in a school like it's supposed to be an utopia. But it can't be just the special students who cause problems.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy pushing his buttons sometimes. But it wasn't personal. Just instinct, I guess—press back when people press in.
Still, maybe I was making it harder than it needed to be.
I sighed, unclasping the cuffs and placing them back into their carved box beneath the bed. My limbs felt light without them, but the fatigue still clung to me like lead, not just in the muscles, everywhere, deep in the bone—the kind of exhaustion that had been building over days, weeks.
I hadn't slept properly in a while. There were too many tests, prototype spells to refine, and hours of pretending I was fine.
After cleaning myself up, I lay back on the cot, arms behind my head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Hang in there, Frederic," I muttered to no one. "You're not the only one juggling knives."
Then I closed my eyes.
And for the first time in days, sleep came easily... at least I thought so until Orsted called me over through one of my Magic Tools.
///