Agoris has multiple educational institutions.
Of course, the Falind continent also had many schools, but the representative place for training combatants was Constel, and it was practically the only one.
However, in Agoris—where there are no powerhouses on the level of the Zodiac and, instead, reliance falls on sheer numbers—multiple academies inevitably exist. Their overall level is similar, and the average isn’t bad.
The one at the very front of the pack, the institution every child on this continent longs to enter.
The place that holds the position of “Constel” on Falind stands here under the name “Atlas.”
And in the spring when a new year of Atlas begins,
one transfer student and two teachers joined the school.
“My name is Pielot. Nice to meet you.”
On the first day, during student introductions, Pielot kept his extremely short.
Most students introduced themselves similarly, so nothing was strange about it.
Still, a few students looked at Pielot’s face and tilted their heads.
“...Did we have a guy like that?”
When a new year starts at Atlas, classes are reshuffled, so unless you memorize every student’s face, it’s hard to pick out a new transfer.
But by third year, you’ve at least learned the faces of your peers to some extent, so you can feel a bit of dissonance.
Besides,
“Whoa, what’s with that face?”
“How did I not see someone like him until now?”
The girls nearby whispered among themselves.
In Pielot’s case, his looks stand out so much that any claim he originally attended Atlas lacks plausibility.
Frondier told Pielot,
—Don’t bring up being a transfer first. Don’t try too hard to hide it, either. Just keep the stance that it wasn’t worth mentioning because it’s no big deal.
The fact that Pielot is a transfer isn’t something that absolutely must be hidden. Even if found out, not much would change.
But if you introduce yourself as a transfer and cause a stir, or if you try hard to hide it and get found out later, both are bad.
Pielot’s identity is fake, after all. If too many eyes are on him, he could get exposed from an unexpected angle.
So even if the transfer gets known eventually, it’s best it come out as no big deal, slowly. Pielot will draw attention anyway for his looks and skill even if he stays quiet.
However, unlike Pielot—who could go under the radar for a bit—Frondier and Elodie had no such option.
“They say we’re getting a new teacher today. Two, actually. One of them is our homeroom.”
“Yeah. There was a name on the roster I’ve never seen.”
In one third-year class at Atlas, a small event had the room buzzing.
As third-years, they know all the teachers’ faces and names.
So when an unfamiliar name appears, they naturally pick up on it, and even before seeing the face, they already know a new teacher has arrived.
“But who would take a third-year homeroom right away?”
“Right? Don’t most start with first-years?”
At Atlas, teachers come and go. But when a teacher first arrives, they usually start with the first-years or don’t take a homeroom at all.
Yet here was someone homerooming a third-year immediately.
“They said this one handles theory.”
“Aw, come on. Got my hopes up for nothing.”
Cold water poured over the excited students.
Like Constel, Atlas trains combatants, so the students care more about practicals. Practicals carry far more weight in reality, too.
“The other new teacher’s in magic practicum.”
“Ugh, lucky. Wish that one was our homeroom.”
“And apparently she’s really pretty.”
“I’m so jealous!”
A heartfelt lament from a male student.
“What about our homeroom?”
“Supposedly a guy.”
“What is this, discrimination? Isn’t this a welfare issue?”
“But I heard our homeroom’s no slouch either, looks—”
Drreuk—
While the students chattered, the front door slid open.
“Looks, hu—”
The last words of a student trailed off, and silence fell on the classroom in an instant.
“Oh? To quiet down this quickly—what a class of polite, admirable students.”
The man who entered drew his own conclusion, not knowing the real reason for the hush.
“Nice to meet you.”
Even when he stood at the lectern and greeted them, the students were dumbstruck, as if their mouths had been sealed with honey.
The man went to the board and picked up a piece of chalk.
“Frondier de Roach”
But even when he wrote his name on the board,
“My name is Frondier de Roach,”
and even when he stated it aloud,
“I’ll be with you for the next year. Please take care of me,”
and even when he smiled to set them at ease, the students still didn’t let a single sound slip out.
“...Hmm. Being this well-mannered is its own problem.”
Facing the students frozen up at the sight of him, Frondier scratched his cheek.
***
A problem arose.
My age is too in-between.
I’m too old to enter as a student—already of graduation age—but too young to be a teacher.
We’d discussed it with the team, and that’s when Elodie made a suggestion.
“An achievement?”
“Right. An achievement no one would believe a mere student could accomplish.”
That’s how Elodie put it.
If I had an achievement, I could be a teacher despite being young.
I thought of something for a moment.
“...Like in the Terst Empire?”
“Yes. The merit you earned in the Manggot War. Because of that, people were debating for a while whether you’d become a Zodiac or not, remember?”
They were, indeed. I felt that buzz firsthand.
Ria Liss said,
“At the time, the imperial family was talking about Zodiac Medart’s retirement. They even said Frondier might take that seat. Her Majesty tried to dissuade it, but she never cited lack of ability.”
I didn’t become a Zodiac, nor did I intend to, but I suppose if pushed, it wasn’t impossible.
Elodie spoke again.
“You can’t keep being a student as a Zodiac, can you?”
“...Fair point.”
Even if the example is “becoming a Zodiac,” I don’t need to go that far.
As long as I prove I’m above student level, no one will question how quickly I became a teacher.
Elodie murmured,
“I had a similar worry myself.”
“I know.”
“...You ‘know,’ huh.”
Maybe she thought my answer was perfunctory; she pressed her lips together.
But I really did know.
When she neared success with combining the four elements, she worried she wouldn’t be able to remain at Constel.
'Of course, I can’t say I learned that by eavesdropping in the headmaster’s office.'
Anyway, as Elodie’s case shows, it isn’t impossible for me to become a teacher quickly.
“But what achievement should I get? On Falind, sure—but here, I’ve got nothing.”
A certificate for exploits in the Terst Empire would be nice, but of course I don’t have anything like that. With no intercontinental exchange, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
“We’ll make the achievement now.”
That’s when Arald spoke.
“With your abilities, Lord Frondier, one or two achievements will come quickly.”
“What do you think I am, exactly?”
In a game, ticking off achievements feels like filling blank boxes, but in reality, it’s daunting.
Apparently, I was alone in thinking that.
“It won’t be that hard,”
said Selena.
“What matters is what this continent values. What we consider an achievement might not be one here. Conversely, something trivial to us might be important enough to be called an achievement here.”
“If Bael’s preparing our identities, then we need to do something that fits those identities. Something with demand on this continent.”
Lirih picked it up.
“Then I’ll do preliminary research. If we don’t need to enter an academy right this instant, we have time. Meanwhile, we’ll secure our residence. We should also consider the treatment of the demons with us. We no longer have reason to fight Agoris’s demons, but the feelings will linger.”
Arald was lining things up neatly.
“...No.”
I told you, I don’t know how to make achievements.
But no one was listening.
***
“...Um, may I ask a question?”
And at last, a voice broke the bizarre silence.
One of them, a girl with neatly braided brown hair, raised her hand.
I looked at her with relief and asked,
“What is it?”
“How old are you, Mr. Frondier?”
“Twenty.”
If Bael is to be believed.
At my answer, the students murmured to their neighbors.
Ah, finally, voices. I still don’t know the reason for the earlier silence, but now it feels like a classroom again.
The brown-haired girl asked again,
“How did you get here so quickly...?”
“I graduated a bit early from my alma mater.”
Before coming to this school, I had already completed one “achievement.” That’s how I obtained teaching qualifications.
Whether it went according to my plan—or everyone’s plan, except mine—
“I completed the design of a three-dimensional map.”
“...!”
At that, the students’ expressions changed.
Bang!
One student couldn’t contain his excitement and slapped his desk as he shot to his feet.
“The 3D map that’s been all the rage lately was yours, sir...!”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Half of it.
This is already a story from a few months ago.
A few days after telling me I needed an “achievement,” Arald returned from a preliminary survey and told me:
“As expected, the 3D map is the right fit.”
“A 3D map?”
“From what I found, magitechnology is indeed advanced on this continent. But it’s overly focused on military purposes. Demand is likely concentrated there as well.”
“Then wouldn’t it be better to hit everyday life instead? Like ‘WizerView’?”
“That’s good too, but products without immediate demand take time for their value to be recognized. You need trust in the product, early adopters to buy and review it, and above all, public opinion.”
Given enough time, “WizerView” would become massively popular—and that would be an achievement, too.
But we can’t spend that much time. If it takes too long, even calling it an “achievement” becomes awkward timing-wise.
In a land holding an invisible standoff with demons, we need something immediately useful, quickly adopted, and special enough to be called an “achievement.”
“But my 3D map is incomplete.”
More than incomplete, it’s something only I can use—because it’s handled with Heukcheon.
When I visited Hitchcock in the past, I saw a product that borrowed from my 3D map idea, ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ but it was incomplete as well.
That’s when Arald said with brimming confidence,
“Then we’ll complete it.”
“...Hey, Arald. You and I are the only ones who know that tech. How exactly do you plan to ‘complete’ it?”
My original 3D map merely reproduced existing maps with Heukcheon; it wasn’t a field that demanded extraordinary tech or a brilliant mind.
But to make it widely usable, we obviously need technology. That’s impossible for me.
“We don’t have to complete it ourselves. We only need the design.”
“...You mean, don’t make the finished product—just create the schematics?”
“Any place that recognizes its value will respond.”
Arald was oddly passionate.
Is “giving me an achievement” just a pretext, and he simply wants to build this himself?
“If we combine the unfinished 3D map our company was developing with what you originally used, Lord Frondier, it won’t be impossible to create a magitech device that can be distributed.”
“...Well, sure. We have to try something.”
If Arald says it’s possible, it’s possible. He’s the chairman of Hitchcock.
At my answer, Arald’s eyes sparkled even brighter.
“Then I’ll prepare immediately. I have the schematics for our company’s 3D map device in my head, so I’ll prepare multiple design sheets to make it as easy as possible for you to—”
“Ah, no. It’s fine.”
If I let him go, he’d bring schematics from every possible angle—up, down, left, right, fore, and aft.
Instead, I said,
“They’re in my head too.”
