[327] The Second Outing (5)
But it was too soon to celebrate. The target that had looked ready to topple sprang back upright on its recoil.
"Too bad! First round failed!"
Vivian gaped at the target swinging like a pendulum, then narrowed her eyes and complained to the announcer.
"Why is it a failure? He hit it dead center."
"No, no. I said you had to knock it down."
"Isn't this a total scam?"
"Ha! A scam? First time at the Winter Festival? Everyone knows about this. And what sort of collectible is this? Resell it later and that doll will fetch more than a gold for sure."
Jocre glanced at Rudvans and asked, "Looks like there's a spring underneath. Think you can do it?"
"Well… I still have nine throws left."
Rudvans set the snowballs where they were easy to grip and studied the target.
'They set the angle awkward on purpose. Guess I have to go straight for it.'
For the next ten minutes he threw the remaining nine snowballs.
Rudvans kept his expression blank in his single-minded throwing stance, but sweat beaded on his brow and steam rose from his head.
"Too bad. One more and I might've pulled it."
The challenge failed.
He'd landed the second and third throws, but missing the fourth, fifth, and sixth was the undoing.
Hitting the target at maximum power from a distance—farther than the arena—wasn't easy, even for a semi-pro.
He rallied and hit every throw perfectly from the seventh on, but the target still didn't fall.
Shirone got a clue from that.
'You have to use the recoil. No wonder the target had a spring.'
When a pendulum still has momentum, consecutive hits amplify the recoil. Once it crosses a threshold, it can't hold the weight and it falls.
Rudvans' seven hits out of ten showed great accuracy, but because the hits weren't applied in a continuous chain, he failed.
"Amy, why don't you try?"
"Huh? Me?"
Amy blinked in surprise at Shirone.
She was mischievous enough that a fun game would tempt her, but usually boys tried to show off in front of a girl, so she'd been content to watch.
'I see—so that's the plan.'
She understood Shirone's intent. If someone needed to puff up their chest here, it should be her.
'Then there's no reason to hold back.'
Amy walked up to the announcer and paid ten silver.
If Rudvans was the tower's student rep, this was a matter of pride for Amy, a future sniper.
"I'll take the challenge. Ten silver."
"Oho, a female challenger—haven't had one in a while. But miss, the tower's guards aren't swayed by looks. Still, I'll throw in an extra snowball. Do your best."
"No, ten is fine."
"Ha! What a spirited young lady! Everyone, a round of applause for this brave challenger!"
The crowd applauded when a slight girl who looked barely able to toss a snowball volunteered.
Amy wet her lips with her tongue and took a snowball. Her pupils reddened as her self-image memory registered the current state.
"Hup."
With a delicate motion she swung, but the snowball fell short like a dud before reaching the midway point.
Tourists chuckled indulgently.
Shirone, however, watched in silence. Amy's real performance was just starting.
This time she took a proper stance and fixed her gaze on the target.
Her self-image memory corrected the error and let the exact trajectory register in her brain.
Thanks to her schema's basic strength boost, she gripped the snowball tightly, widened her stride, and swung hard.
The snowball flew with a speed similar to Rudvans' earlier throw and struck the target; the crowd's eyes widened.
Amy stored the feeling of that second throw into her memory. Then she mechanically launched the third, fourth, and fifth.
With each hit the target rocked more violently, and finally, unable to withstand the eighth strike, it toppled with a clatter.
"Wooooa! She toppled it! A girl knocked it down!"
"Miss, are you an athlete? That was amazing."
Amy exhaled and looked up, relieved.
Having tried it herself, she knew it was a difficult game. Even a schema user would struggle without trained senses.
Of course, a master schema user could probably topple it in one blow equal to a cannon, but someone like that wouldn't make a scene at a festival just to win a doll.
The announcer gladly handed her the prize.
Holding the Ice Queen doll, Amy thanked the cheering crowd and hoisted it like a trophy.
Vivian looked at the doll's wide crescent smile with envy. "Ah, lucky. I wanted that one."
Shirone and Amy walked off excitedly, forgetting that Jocre's group was nearby.
Rudvans muttered, "…That's irritating."
Jocre felt the same. "Hmph. She's always only thinking of herself. That's why she flunked the graduation exam. I heard she got beaten up. Who else would hang with someone like that but commoners?"
Shirone and Amy only remembered Jocre's group after they reached the first floor.
They had no desire to go back. These weren't people who'd approached them with goodwill to begin with.
Amy hugged the Ice Queen doll to her chest and rubbed her cheek against it, enjoying the soft texture. "Hehe! So cute."
Shirone smiled quietly at her. Despite how she came off, she liked cute dolls—didn't her room already have dozens of teddy bears?
'Good thing her taste is ordinary,' he thought. He certainly wouldn't collect something like El Crouch's porcelain dolls from Uolin—those required a perverse hobby to appreciate.
"She paid twenty silver and probably only got one gold value, so even if it's worth one gold, she made eighty silver profit."
"Ha! That's so you. But isn't it too soon to be counting? You are the richest student at the Magic Academy."
"The richest? Me?"
Amy pointed at Shirone's coat. "Armand. You said its value as stolen goods was over two billion gold, right? So at auction it'd go for at least double. In short, you're carrying our whole school around with you."
Only then did Shirone blink. The sum was so beyond common sense he'd never dared calculate the sword's worth.
Thinking of wearing an S-ranked object worth over four billion gold through a crowd made his side ache.
'What if someone steals it? No—wait, we share consciousness, so it can't be stolen.'
Amy carefully packed the Ice Queen doll into her bag. Shirone pointed outside.
"It's hot from all that. Let's cool off and get some air."
"Yeah. I should get fresh air too. Want to go skating? I heard the ice here is great."
Shirone nodded eagerly, remembering skating on a frozen lake with the skates his father had made.
"Great! Then to the rink!"
The Combat Mage's Philosophy (1)
The rink was full of couples.
Shirone and Amy joined the outer flow and skated.
The cold winter wind hit them refreshingly.
Gliding along behind someone, Amy could forget her worries for a moment.
But that good mood evaporated the instant she saw Jocre's group enter the rink.
They hadn't joined the flow; they were showing off figure-like tricks in the center.
It wasn't against the rules, but having already earned the crowd's dislike, Amy didn't like it one bit.
"You followed us here?"
"We came to skate. Don't worry about us."
Amy didn't want to get tangled with Jocre's group. Seeing them leisurely enjoying themselves after passing the graduation exam reopened the wound of failure.
"Forget it. Let's just avoid them. We've cooled off, and I want to look around elsewhere."
"Okay. Let's go."
Shirone and Amy pushed off awkwardly and headed for the exit.
"Hey! Leaving already?"
Turning, Shirone saw Jocre sprinting full speed, arm swinging.
He yanked Amy back, and as Jocre changed direction he skidded to a sudden stop. The blades cut the ice and a spray of ice dust burst up. The cold showering their faces made Shirone frown.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Throwing ice at someone's face?"
"Ha! Why get mad about that? You're tighter than I heard. I was just joking."
"Then why joke like that?"
Amy shoved Shirone aside and stepped forward. "Why do you keep following us? If you have something to say, say it properly. Don't act like kids."
"We ran into each other after a long time. It's fate—let's have some fun. We still have unfinished business between us."
"Unfinished business? What business?"
When Jocre's name came up, Amy only remembered that he'd quit competing at the elite school and transferred out.
'Huh? Could it be…?'
A blurry memory surfaced in Amy's mind. Before he transferred, Jocre once confessed his love.
At the time it had been trivial—an ordinary thing—but seeing Shirone made it awkward now. No woman would treat the word "date" as a joke if a man said it like that.
Amy wasn't naive. If a man and woman went on a two-night, three-day trip together, anything could happen—she'd followed Shirone fully aware of that possibility.
She didn't want to make Shirone uncomfortable over some ridiculous past incident. Being told someone once confessed wouldn't necessarily feel bad, but having the person in front of her bring it up was different.
"Fine. I don't want to talk to you. Shirone, let's go somewhere else. We don't need to hang with these people."
As Amy tried to leave, Jocre brushed past Shirone as if ignoring him and approached her.
"Wait. We were talking—"
Jocre stopped and turned. Shirone gripped her shoulder and scowled.
"I said I don't want to."
"You won't let go? Even if we're at different schools, I'm your senior. I'm a full mage."
"That's one thing, and this is another."
Jocre was baffled by Shirone's insolence. "You get cocky because people fawn over you despite your low birth. Don't you know Amy and I have known each other since we were thirteen? This isn't your business."
"Who someone met when doesn't matter. By that logic, we met when we were twelve. Stop pestering someone who said no and go away."
"You met when you were twelve?"
Jocre was stunned by Shirone's lie. Having memorized journals, he even knew Shirone's background. How could someone who'd only been at the Magic Academy a year have met Amy at twelve? Especially someone who wasn't noble—the child of a mountain man?
"You're shameless. Think that lie'll work? Do you know what happens when a senior picks on you? Especially someone like you with nowhere to attach yourself—you'd just be driven out."
"I don't want to join a place where seniors make petty threats."
"You little—!"
At Shirone's unyielding retort, Jocre lost his temper and raised his fist.
But the moment he swung, a snowball flew from somewhere and thudded into the back of his head.