When I accepted a mission, I would see it through. Not to brag, but my task completion rate was 100% through all seven years of conflict. There were cases when victory didn’t come cleanly or easily or without costs, and that may have been most of the cases—but I never gave up halfway there.

  Ms Asia and I loaded the component boxes onto a trolley and left for a delivery tour like a pair of gnomes bearing midwinter gifts. Our first destination was the prefect office on the third floor, which I was to handle in person, and thank the stars there was a freight elevator.

  I wasn't so sure about setting up these strange devices under the watchful eye of a senior faculty member, but the prefects were only students like me and not any more knowledgeable about the inner workings of magitech. They probably wouldn't judge me too harshly if anything went wrong.

  People watched our solemn trolley escort with such eyes like we were driving so many genocided goblin corpses through the school hallways, though none had the courage to interrupt us and ask what was in the boxes.

  Standing out, badly.

  I was more than glad to finally spot the brass plaque on the wall marking the destination, and wasted no time knocking on the door. In a bit, a second-year male student's face popped into the door crack. It was a face friendly enough. Roughly cropped, reddish-brown hair stood airly on his head, his eyes brown and cheerful and surprised. He was tall and buff, and by all means a fit choice if you needed to stick person in a doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “Hello there,” Ms Asia greeted the youth, posing in a way that emphasized her dynamic hip-to-waist ratio. “We’ve got a computer for you. Is it okay if we come set it up now? Or are you occupied?”

  The boy looked at Ms Asia and froze with a very daft look on his face, not responding, his jaw left to hang. It wasn't difficult to guess where his mind was then.

  “Answer the question,” I told him, a little sharply. It was my adopted aunt he ogled at.

  “Huh? Ah! Oh, of course, come on in!” he stammered, and drew the door wider open, skipping out of the way. “We were here waiting for you, actually!”

  “Sorry we’re a little late,” Ms Asia said.

  “No, it's not a problem at all! We've nothing special planned for today.”

  The prefect office was about the size of a regular classroom, with a line of windows facing the school's steep front yard. Desks were arranged in a tidy rectangle form in the middle of the cross-parquet floor, chairs around on all sides, so that everyone could see each other clearly when assembled in a meeting.

  A formal, dignified air hung about the furniture, like in a small courtroom, a bit softened by the mellow antique lamps glowing near the ceiling. Set upon drawers in the far back were some private quality of life additions, such as a portable camp stove, a copper teapot, and an alchemical heater ready for winter.

  Only two students were in, apparently just for us, the boy who held the door—and a girl standing further in, gazing out of the windows. She now turned to us.

  It was the same girl I saw on the first day of the entrance exam, with the prince. What was her name again?

  A girl fresh like a ray of spring sun caught in the shape of a person.

  Somebody rude might have said no part of her reached the ideal, if examined in isolation. Her waist-length hair, blond from a distance, was actually more subdued brown than gold; large eyes that looked blue at first, but were mixed green up close; an unbalanced figure that nature had shaped more for family than martial arts, with overall too much target area. The chest bending her back and posture slightly out of shape, and buttocks that offset the center of gravity. Boyish, hardened hands that you couldn’t trust to handle a needle, or a flower. But she was more than the sum of her parts. A vibrant, vivid being who charmed everyone she spoke to, despite her undecorated manner.

  “Ah, you're that new magicky professor?” the girl asked Ms Asia, coming over with an excited smile. “I've been looking forward to meeting you ever since they first said you’d be coming!”

  “My, always a delight to meet a fan,” Ms Asia said and nodded graciously. “I'm Professor Ruthford. A pleasure.”

  They shook hands, and then the young prefect looked at me, an odd smile lingering on her face.

  “And you. I remember you. I saw you on the day of the exam.”

  “This is my niece, Hope,” Ms Asia introduced me, leaning on my shoulder. “She's my tech assistant for today.”

  The girl kept staring at me. Her eyes really were big.

  “Hope,” she repeated and smiled wider.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said blankly and nodded, unable to come up with anything smarter.

  The girl then spun nimbly around on her heel, went a few steps away, and then turned back the same way, like a trooper.

  “I'm Vanille D'Arnos,” she said and bowed chivalrously. “Sword course, second year, class A. Currently the president of the prefect office, also known as the Cabinet. And he’s Tom.”

  The boy on the side straightened his posture and whacked his chest with a fist.

  “Thomas Harding, Sword course, second year, class B. At your service!”

  What loud voice. These trainee knights were more like troupe performers.

  We went on to unload the components for one computer from the trolley and pushed them into the room, after which it would be my debut stage.

  “Will you be fine?” Ms Asia asked me once again.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “No problem.”

  I had to memorize and repeat much more complex magical operations in the past. This much was nothing. There wasn’t even a risk of anybody dying if I made a mistake.

  “Then I'll go on to the vice principal’s office. Come there to get me if you run into any trouble, okay?”

  “I'll catch up as soon as I'm finished here.”

  “Ooh, that sounded just a bit heroic.”

  —“Is there anything I can do to help?” Tom Harding eagerly volunteered.

  Clearly, he was still a novice to the ways of the military. You never volunteered for anything, unless you wanted to be the gofer forever after.

  “How much do you like pushing boxes?” Ms Asia asked him.

  “I was practically born to push boxes!”

  “Then I won't say no.”

  So my aunt picked up a free gofer and left. Being pretty and voluptuous was some cheat power. Quietly and powerlessly lamenting the unfair share of gifts in the world, I got started with opening the boxes, while Vanille D'Arnos remained hovering close by, attentively following my every move, curious but cautious.

  “Can I help with anything?” she warily asked, strikingly resembling a pet about to be dragged to a bubble bath.

  “No, it's fine. This won’t take very long.”

  I unpackaged the components, trying not to spill dry hay everywhere, removed the paper wrappings and checked from the list that I had every necessary part, and the right number of cables, before going on to build the machine.

  “Where would you like to have it?” I asked D'Arnos.

  “Huh?” The girl stiffened like a startled squirrel, blinking.

  “Who will use the computer most? It's best to assemble it directly at their station. It can be moved later, if needed.”

  “Umm, you can put it there on my desk, for now…”

  She pointed at the nearer end of the desk rectangle, which only had one chair behind it.

  “All right.”

  I took the typewriter into my arms and carried it onto the desk and then attached the cumbersome projector. The parts weighed about twelve kilograms and six, respectively. Which were not so effortless for me to handle, as embarrassing as that was to admit. Getting the projector to fit into its socket asked for quite a bit of force, as simple as my aunt had made it look. But those parts were nothing compared to the central unit. I soon recognized I was going to have to swallow my pride, and ask for help with that one. But could we lift it even with the two of us? The steel case weighed more than twenty-eight kilograms, and that was without the crystal drives attached.

  “How confident are you in your strength?” I asked D'Arnos. “Do you think you could give me a hand with this one?”

  It was not a very flattering thing to ask of a young lady, but she wasn't offended. Her eyes lighting up, the girl sprang forward at once like a puppy dog.

  “Just lift it up? Sure, I can do that.”

  We squatted at the opposite ends of the long case and sought a firm hold under the corners.

  “Slowly. Don't hurt your back.”

  “I’ve got it!”

  “On the count of three.”

  We raised the case up and out of the box, and scattered straws all over the floor around us. I exerted the full might of my humble mortal shell, trying not to show it, while D'Arnos held her side deftly in her fingertips, relaxedly, easily matching with my lead, not looking the least bit burdened. I was a fool to have ever worried. The Sword course students were built in a different way.

  We set the case to stand on the floor close by the desk, and I took a discreet timeout to let my protesting muscles breathe.

  “You’re pretty strong,” I said.

  D'Arnos smiled bashfully. “I grew up on a farm. I'm used to lifting things heavier than that.”

  “Hm? I thought you were from the house of the Archduke D'Arnos? Did I misunderstand something?”

  Sir Archibald D'Arnos was the commander of the Kingsguard, and his domain of Anthrober was one of the grand duchies of Calidea. Among the Four Pillars of the Kingdom, that house was considered the number one, holding most power after the Royal House itself. Was raising noble heirs on a farm meant to give them a reality check, or what?

  Her smile now remorseful, she explained,

  “The D'Arnos family only took me in a few years ago because of my...talent. I'm not actually related to the Archduke, or anybody important. Only a plain old commoner.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  Suppose being recognized as a Sword Saint candidate was a pretty big deal. We lost three Sword Saints in the war and the last one left was less than reliable, so the Kingdom must have been desperate to secure new talents at all costs.

  “Disappointed?” Vanille asked, a testing playfulness in her bright eyes, a touch of challenge—and a pinch of worry.

  “Why would I be? You are who you are.”

  Wasn't her situation practically the same as my own? Then how could I not understand.

  If anything, I was envious. A peasant had no past atrocities to hide. She wasn't even related to anyone with dirt on them. A soul as clean as one could get. She'd been given a second chance at life, free of baggage. Then it was better for someone like me to not get any further involved with her. But before I could leave to pick up the cables, D’Arnos’s hand had landed on my wrist and lightly held me back.

  “Hey. That was really nicely said.”

  “A plain fact, that's all,” I muttered, dodging her look.

  “Not everyone sees it the way you do.”

  What did she want from me? I’d stared down a wyvern once, but her directness left me feeble inside in a different way. The touch of her warm hand sapped my fortitude more effectively than the dragon rings. Instead of my magic, it felt like my soul itself was at risk of being sucked away.

  “I should finish this,” I said and drew my hand away.

  “Did I offend you?” she asked.

  “No. We just don’t have much time.”

  “Then I'll help you. Tell me what to do.”

  “No need. I’m almost finished with this one.”

  “Mmm…”

  Vanille reluctantly stood back, making an impatient sound, looking like she had a lot she wanted to say and was barely holding it in.

  The prefects insisted on “helping” with every installation that day, which let us meet Ms Asia's deadline and leave work early. And I learned that day I was no good with puppies.