Chapter 5 – A Buried Past (1)

“Agh… My entire body aches. Must be from using Magic after such a long hiatus.”

In the wake of another tumultuous lunchtime, I set about tidying up the store. I meticulously arranged the potions, retrieved a broom from the basement, and began sweeping away the accumulated grime and dust from the floor.

Though this establishment stood as the academy’s sole convenience store, barring a few frenetic peak hours, I generally enjoyed a tranquil atmosphere punctuated only by the occasional visitor. As I basked in the gentle afternoon sunlight, I found myself once again grateful for my decision to come to Farencia.

Should anyone dare to disrupt this hard-earned peace, I’d personally ensure they regretted it.

“I’m baaack! Bread, please!”

And there she was, right on cue.

I heaved a sigh as I watched Adela bound about on dirt-caked shoes, undoing my cleaning efforts in mere seconds.

Possessing a voice that could easily drown out five Baroness Livs, she exhibited an unparalleled talent for sowing chaos wherever she went—stealing bread notwithstanding.

Ever since Ansen, her former tormentor, had been carted off to the temple, her face seemed perpetually lit with an irrepressible smile.

Initially, I’d assumed they were an item, and that she pilfered bread as some sort of romantic offering. What was that expression again? Something about plucking flowers from a precipice?

I’d thought perhaps she engaged in petty theft for the thrill of it, deeming honest purchase too mundane. As it turned out, she was merely a bread mule.

In the aftermath of the incident, her effervescent demeanor appeared to have a positive influence on those around her. Among the first-years, the reputation of House Rochear’s second daughter had markedly improved.

A bit dim, but kind-hearted, seemed to be the consensus.

The academy was, in many ways, a cutthroat jungle where only the fittest survived. A kind and beautiful noble lacking magical aptitude? She was prime friendship material for her peers.

“Help yourself to whatever’s there.”

“No way! I want the fresh stuff, not yesterday’s leftovers! Look, I’ve even got money this time!”

From where I stood, however, her presence was nothing short of grating.

Adela seemed to have misconstrued my actions as some form of assistance. Now, at every available moment between lectures, she’d sprint all the way from the first-year classrooms to my store.

Given her prior infractions, I remained perpetually on edge, fearing she might pilfer something else the moment I averted my gaze.

“Jean Valjean.”

“…”

“Hey, Valjean.”

“I’m not Valjean. I’m Adela.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Assignments, perhaps?”

“Oh! Are you offering to tutor me?”

“…”

“If it’s not too much trouble, could you please help? I’ve never witnessed such awe-inspiring Magic in all my life!”

The more I attempted to distance myself, the more entangled I became.

Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to openly berate or evict her. After all, she’d played a part in keeping my duel with Ansen from reaching the student council’s ears.

She’d testified that Ansen had merely choked on some dirt-encrusted bread and collapsed.

“Scram. I’m not helping you.”

Naturally, I had zero intention of wasting my time on Adela, whose future prospects seemed as bleak as the vast ant colonies of Heljeb.

Her magical aptitude was, to put it charitably, abysmal. Word had it that even her own family at Rochear had all but given up on her—which, all things considered, might be a blessing in disguise.

To witness a celestial Magic of the 6th tier—a unique magical ability heretofore unknown to the kingdom—and then to request homework assistance… If she genuinely believed that to be a reasonable request, she must truly be a terrifying individual.

“Oh, come on! Pretty please? I’ll call you Teacher. Teacher Louis~”

I found myself genuinely relieved that the sole witness to that event had been this utterly clueless mage.

***

The mandatory second-year course in the Magic department—”Practical Applications of Black Magic”—was notorious for its high failure rate.

While Pennheim’s relationship with the Holy Kingdom was far from amicable, they weren’t exactly proponents of Black Magic either.

However, as an essential pursuit for any serious practitioner of the arcane arts, Black Magic held a place in the academy’s curriculum.

The crux of the issue lay in the fact that even a rudimentary grasp of Black Magic inherently required a certain threshold of Karma.

Consequently, every aspiring magician in the lecture hall studied with fervent desperation, striving to compensate for their practical shortcomings.

To survive Professor Glatos’ rigorous examinations, students had to invest more time and effort than in any other subject.

However, something seemed amiss with Liv, the perennial top-ranked student.

While her peers diligently took notes, she appeared preoccupied, fidgeting with something beneath her desk.

“Liv, what’s gotten into you today? You seem thoroughly distracted.”

Despite her friend Karen’s concern, Liv merely shook her head in silence.

“It’s nothing.”

In truth, Liv was deeply troubled.

The source of her distress? The charred Lit-Vice test paper she’d recently acquired from the store.

Had there been some error in its manufacture?

Try as she might, she distinctly recalled that the paper Louis had handed her was pristine white at the time of purchase.

Moreover, no one else had handled it since she’d stowed it in her bag. The identity of the individual whose Karma had turned the paper pitch-black was unmistakable.

Liv bit her lip. Her keen intellect had already deduced the implications of that ominous hue.

If it’s as the book describes…

According to the doctrine of the Temple of Light—the state religion of Monarch—humans are not born with innate Karma.

Even the most nefarious of Black Magicians cannot wield Magic through Karma alone, bereft of Mana.

That’s why in Basic Magic Studies, they teach that the test paper grows redder in proportion to one’s Karma.

A Lit-Vice test paper turned black indicated a being so fundamentally impure that it lacked even a modicum of Mana—the very essence of the Light God’s blessing.

A demon.

Surely, there had to be some mistake.

And the means to verify this error was deceptively simple.

She need only peer into the memories embedded within the test paper. Yet, Liv found herself hesitating to take that final step.

“Haa…”

She exhaled deeply. After a moment’s contemplation, she turned to Karen in the now-empty lecture hall.

“Karen.”

“Hmm?”

“What are your thoughts on Mr. Louis?”

“Who?”

Ah, she doesn’t even know his name.

“The store owner.”

“Oh, you mean that world-weary guy who occasionally sneaks glances at our chests?”

A rather scathing assessment. Liv didn’t think it was quite that bad.

“He doesn’t look that old… He mentioned he’s twenty-eight…”

“Listen, Liv. For noblewomen like us, if we don’t secure a marriage within a year of our debut, we’re relegated to spinsterhood. It’s not much different for men. If a guy’s pushing twenty-five without a romantic prospect in sight, he might as well take holy orders.”

“I never said he was of noble birth!”

“Oh, honey. That makes it infinitely worse. If he’s a commoner, he should have at least half a dozen rugrats by that age.”

“Even so…”

Karen’s jaw gradually slackened as she observed Liv’s persistent defense of the store owner.

Since their matriculation at the academy, Karen had witnessed firsthand the countless social invitations extended to Liv Lavre—a destitute noble in name only.

Even the most discerning professors, those who prided themselves on their magical acumen, had repeatedly urged Liv to consider joining their respective Mage Towers upon graduation.

And now, the first man to capture her interest was this surly store proprietor?

Absolutely unacceptable.

“Liv! Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“Why are you getting so worked up?”

Karen seized Liv’s slender shoulders, causing her to recoil like a wary feline.

Despite their close friendship, Liv harbored a strong aversion to physical contact. Yet, cognizant of this fact, Karen pressed on undeterred.

“I don’t care how far your family has fallen—the store owner is completely beneath you! He’s scarcely a step above the guards. Actually, scratch that. At least the guards maintain some semblance of physical fitness. Louis? He’s got nothing going for him.”

Liv had merely sought an appraisal of Louis, but now found herself at a loss for words in the face of Karen’s blistering critique.

After all, who in their right mind would form concrete opinions about individuals they barely interacted with—cleaners, servants, or others glimpsed for mere seconds each day?

Of course, there were those strange rumors circulating about him.

Like the peculiar fixation on the store within Farencia Academy’s notoriously dense rulebook—a tome universally discarded by students upon receipt.

Or how the director of Merak Tower, who’d overseen renovations a few years prior, displayed an uncharacteristic deference towards the store owner.

Or the curious black hole that marred the aerial maps of Horus’ Lighthouse, precisely where the academy should have been.

But these were all unsubstantiated gossip at best.

If anything, these dubious whispers only strengthened Karen’s resolve to steer her dear friend clear of trouble.

“Do you know anything about him? His past? His reasons for being at the academy?”

“Well, no…”

“Exactly! You’re completely in the dark! For all we know, he’s living in squalor above that store. Or worse, he could have a lover tucked away somewhere in the city.”

“A lover?!”

“It’s within the realm of possibility. Just look at that unkempt mop of his—I bet he reeks!”

“Is it truly that dire?”

“Well, I haven’t personally verified his odor! Look, Liv, be sensible. Even if you feel your current standing is insignificant, you’re still a Baroness. You’re leagues above some shopkeeper.”

“…”

“Here, take my notes from today’s lecture. And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t mention him again!”

How did this conversation devolve so rapidly? Liv mused silently as she watched Karen storm off.

She’d simply sought an opinion on the man, only to receive a thorough scolding for her trouble.

One thing, however, remained crystal clear: Louis bore no resemblance to any demon she could imagine.

Though their interactions had been limited since her enrollment the previous year, she vividly recalled each of his smiles and small kindnesses.

So why had this unassuming store owner elicited such a visceral reaction?

Liv found herself lacking the courage to immediately confront the truth hidden within the test paper.

Perhaps it’s best to ask him directly.

Yes, that seemed the wisest course of action. Surely, this was all born of some trivial misunderstanding.

Karen was right about one thing: she knew precious little about Louis.

It was no exaggeration to say that beyond his name and gender, he remained a complete enigma.

But if…

If he truly were a demon—

Liv’s grip tightened around her wand—a slender implement roughly the length of her forearm, resting across her knees.

The sole keepsake left by her late father.

She fervently hoped she wouldn’t be compelled to use it.