CHAPTER 2: Upstart

CHAPTER 2: Upstart

CHAPTER 2

Upstart

At Serendia Academy, students chose two elective classes to participate in each year. Monica had chosen horseback riding for her first and chess for her second. Two days after her riding session, she headed to her chess classroom for the first time.

During the observation day, she’d attempted to play the game without really knowing the rules. But this time, she’d read through an entire textbook on the subject in advance.

As she walked, she reflected on the contents of said book—which she’d stayed up late reading the night before. Just then, she heard a lively voice call to her from behind.

“Hey! Monica!”

When she turned around, sure enough, she saw a tall young man with dirty-blond hair waving to her—Glenn. Next to him was Neil, who was considerably shorter, and his fiancée, the beautiful and tall Claudia. It was a strange group.

Bowing, Monica said, “Hello. Um…are you all taking the same class together?”

“We sure are!” answered Glenn. “We’re about to go to fundamental magecraft!”

When she’d seen him the day before, using a flight spell to zoom around the sky, that had been practical magecraft—where students tried out spells for real. Fundamental magecraft, which they were heading to now, was focused on classroom learning. Once a student had completed both classes, they could progress to the advanced practical magecraft course the year after that. The advanced course was what Cyril was taking, and Glenn apparently intended to start it the following year.

“Practical magecraft was so fun,” Glenn continued. “We got to use a bunch of spells! But it’s a sit-down lecture in fundamentals today… Neil, if I fall asleep, wake me up, will you?”

Neil offered a pained grin. Glenn already seemed sure he’d be napping in class.

Claudia looped her arm through Neil’s. “So you’ve gotten Neil to agree to wake you up if doze off? I see… Not a bad idea at all.”

“Um, Lady Claudia,” said her fiancé with a troubled expression. “You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?”

Claudia simply smiled back—or maybe it was more of a smirk. In any case, it made her look positively wicked.

Meanwhile, Glenn looked with great interest at the textbook clutched in Monica’s hands.

“What classes did you end up taking?” he asked.

“I chose horseback riding and chess… Today is, um, chess class.”

“Chess, huh? Sounds pretty hard,” Glenn said simply.

Neil smiled and cut in. “That brings me back,” he said. “Lady Claudia and I took chess last year. Isn’t that right?”

“…Yes, we did.”

In contrast to Neil’s grin, Claudia’s expression was clouded. She always had a gloomy, melancholic air about her, but that aura seemed to grow twice as heavy as soon as she heard the word chess .

I wonder what happened… , thought Monica, at a loss for how to react. Suddenly, she felt a weight press down on her. This wasn’t the weight of Claudia’s mood, however, but a physical weight—someone had placed their hand on her shoulder.

With stilted motions, Monica turned around to find a pair of drooping eyes staring down at her. It was one of the student council secretaries, Elliott Howard.

“Hey there, little squirrel,” he said. “Time for chess class, right? We’re both going, so might as well head there together.”

There was an upbeat smile on his face, but Monica was unable to decipher his true intentions and tensed up.

Elliott was a stickler when it came to social hierarchy. He disliked Monica because she had been chosen as a student council member despite her status as a commoner. When they had previously encountered intruders pretending to be from the Abbott Company, he’d made it very clear the two of them were different—he had responsibilities, and she did not.

That must be how he truly felt about her. And, come to think of it, Monica had barely spoken to the secretary since then; he’d been incredibly busy dealing with the incident’s fallout, after all.

She groaned internally. This is so awkward…

As she looked down at the book in her arms, she felt the hand on her shoulder grip her a little more tightly.

“We should go,” said Elliott gruffly.

“R-rokay!”

Monica bowed to Glenn and the others and started walking after Elliott. He thudded down the hallway without a word, and she needed to jog a little bit to keep up. She chased after him, slightly out of breath.

When they arrived at the classroom, Monica started panicking over where she should sit, and Elliott gestured with his chin toward the window.

“Sit over there. Let’s play a game,” he said before taking a chessboard off the shelf without waiting for her answer.

Monica sat down as instructed, and Elliott picked up the two king pieces and switched them around in his hands underneath the desk.

When he was done, he held his closed fists out to Monica. “Pick whichever one you want.”

“O-okay, then…um…this one,” she said, pointing.

He opened the hand she’d indicated to reveal the black king. Elliott would have the first turn as white, while Monica would go after him as black.

As she was clumsily lining up her pieces, Elliott—who had finished his own side already—propped his chin on his hand and said, “Hey.”

Monica stopped arranging the pieces and looked at him. “Y-yes…? What is it?”

“About the match we played before on observation day,” he murmured, toying with one of his pieces. “I hadn’t told you about castling yet, but I still used it to win… Why didn’t you point that out in front of everyone?”

Monica blinked, not understanding.

She remembered quite well her first game of chess on observation day. Elliott had handicapped himself by removing his own queen and giving Monica the first move. In the beginning, she’d been dominant. But at the very end, Elliott had used a special move called castling, which let him change the positions of his rook and king in a single turn, defeating her. At the time, she hadn’t known about the rule, so in a way, it was only natural she’d lost.

As she struggled to find an answer to Elliott’s question, he continued. “You had the right to criticize me, Lady Norton—to say it wasn’t fair.”

Suddenly, Monica had a realization. Lately, Elliott had been acting a little strange—he’d try to say something to her in the student council room, only to hurriedly move away. Was that all because he’d wanted to talk about this?

“Um, well…,” she began, carefully choosing her words. “Someone I know would have probably said this…” Monica recalled her colleague and fellow Sage, the Barrier Mage Louis Miller. She had a fairly good idea of what he’d have to say about the situation. “…You were a fool to accept someone’s challenge based only on their own explanation, without even looking up the rules for yourself.”

Elliott’s jaw dropped. “Who is this person? They sound awful.”

“Well, I actually, um, agree with them, so… And when they taught me a card game, they told me the game had started before we even sat down.”

The secretary heaved a sigh, then raised his hands as if in surrender.

“Okay, okay. Give it a rest. I wasn’t trying to trap you by not teaching you castling. I just thought someone new to the game wouldn’t understand what it was. And I was being cocky. I figured I’d beat you easily without using it anyway.”

“Oh,” said Monica ambiguously.

Elliott made a sour face, then mussed up his own perfectly combed bangs.

“That’s what you’re supposed to be mad about,” he insisted. “I looked down on you, then got mad when I started losing, and used a move I hadn’t taught you in order to steal the win. It wasn’t fair. It was a shameful thing for a noble to do.”

“Ummm… Well…”

This troubled Monica. She had no idea what she should be angry about. She’d never gotten mad at someone for looking down on her. To be quite honest, she had more of a problem with people making too much of her.

She couldn’t think of a reason to blame Elliott for not telling her about castling, either. It was her own fault for not looking up the rules herself. So she fidgeted with her fingers and said quietly, “I’m sorry. I can’t think of a reason to, um, be angry.”

For some reason, that made Elliott’s eyes widen in surprise.

Confused and wondering if she’d said something strange, Monica continued. “I just want to be able to, um, play chess, so…” She finished arranging her remaining pieces and looked at Elliott. “Shall we, um, start?”

All expression dropped away from her face. The hesitation and indecisiveness that always plagued her youthful features gave way to a quiet gaze like still water as she waited for Elliott to make the first move.

He released a long breath, then put his hand on a white pawn. “Then I’m not going to pull any punches. I’ll try my best to win.”

“That would, um, make me happy.”

“Heh, big talk! Just don’t start crying when I beat you, little squirrel,” said Elliott before moving the piece. He seemed oddly enthusiastic.

When Elliott Howard, eldest son of Count Dasvy, was six, his father had taken him to visit Duke Clockford for the first time. That was when he’d met Felix Arc Ridill, the duke’s grandson and the second prince of the kingdom. The same age as Elliott, Felix was a frail boy who had apparently been recuperating away from the castle at his grandfather’s home. Elliott’s father had brought him here to play with the prince.

But Elliott had hated Felix.

The boy was clumsy and had terrible motor skills. He was so weak he couldn’t even lift a training sword properly, and without a servant sitting behind him, he could barely ride a horse. His dancing was awful as well. He was slow to learn, so his grades were low. He was dull and stupid—he couldn’t do anything right.

To top it all off, Felix was terribly shy. He couldn’t say two words in front of someone else—he’d choke on them and look at his feet. He could barely even say hello.

In fact, the servant boy who was always with him spoke and acted much bolder than the prince. Elliott had sympathized with him—it must have been difficult, having a useless brat for a master.

Felix was just so incompetent. When Elliott thought about the possibility the boy would eventually outrank all of them, it made him helplessly angry.

And so, with a mean-spirited nature common to six-year-old boys, Elliott had made fun of the prince and derided him. And every time he did so, Felix would look down sadly and say the same phrase.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do anything right…”

What a miserable wretch. And yet he was far, far higher in social status than Elliott. And one day, he’d have to lead.

Although Felix lagged behind everyone else in most pursuits, he was knowledgeable about one thing in particular: astronomy. Despite the subject being of little to no use to royalty, the second prince’s eyes would always sparkle when conversations turned to the stars, and whenever he had the chance, he’d hide away and read a book about them.

So Elliott had taken Felix’s book while the adults and servants weren’t looking and hidden it up in a tree in the gardens. As expected, Felix was ready to burst out crying. He clung to Elliott, begging for his book to be returned.

“It’s up there in the tree,” replied Elliott. “It’s not that tall, see? You could just go get it.”

Felix blanched looking up at the branches. With his awful motor skills, he’d never be able to climb it alone.

Elliott, fully aware of this, smirked and teased him even more.

“Aren’t you gonna go crying to your servant like you always do? Or ask your powerful grandfather to save you? Go on, tell them you can’t do anything by yourself.”

“……”

The prince stared up at the tree for a while, face tense, until eventually he clenched his teeth and began shimmying up. But he wasn’t able move his limbs properly, and before long he froze and started trembling.

“Weakling,” grumbled Elliott as Felix’s shaking hand reached up for a branch…then missed, causing him to fall.

He wasn’t very high up, so Elliott simply watched it happen. But strangely, Felix didn’t get back up. Elliott cautiously approached, then saw a sharp branch stuck in the boy’s side. He’d fallen on it, impaling himself. A red stain slowly spread across Felix’s clothes, centered on that branch.

Elliott went white, screamed, and called for an adult.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” demanded Elliott’s father, striking his cheek.

Elliott didn’t make excuses. He knew his thoughtlessness was to blame for everything.

Felix’s wound wasn’t very deep; they’d been told the boy’s life wasn’t in danger. But he would still need several stitches.

“You’ve left him with a permanent scar,” said Count Dasvy. “And your own life won’t be enough to make up for that crime.”

His father was prepared to offer up his own head. But Felix, fresh from receiving treatment, intervened.

“Please wait!” he said.

Although his servant boy was supporting him, the prince was standing on his own two feet. Felix’s face was pale and slick with sweat. Of course it was—he’d just received sutures.

“Elliott isn’t at fault,” continued the prince. “I was fooling around and climbed the tree. Elliott tried to stop me and even cushioned my fall with his body.”

That was a huge lie. Elliott had been smirking at Felix as the prince fell, confident it wouldn’t hurt him at all.

But thanks to Felix covering for him, he had escaped blame—and his father would be able to keep his life.

After that, Elliott had barged into Felix’s room. “Why did you cover for me?” he asked. “That accident was my fault. You were badly hurt because of me!”

Is he trying to earn a favor from me? wondered Elliott, deeply suspicious.

Felix’s eyebrows drooped, and he smiled weakly. He seemed troubled.

“I fell from the tree because I didn’t know how to climb it. I can’t see any reason to blame you for that, Elliott.”

He said it like it was the most logical thing in the world. The prince seriously thought it was his own fault for not being able to climb trees.

“…When your wound heals, I’ll teach you how,” muttered Elliott.

Felix’s sky-blue eyes sparkled. “Really? Thank you so much. I’ve always thought I’d be able to see the stars better from the treetops.” The prince offered Elliott a smile—one that looked heartfelt and happy.

The reason Elliott had suddenly recalled all this was because Monica Norton had just said the same thing as the boy in his memories. Elliott had asked her why she didn’t blame him—and she’d told him she could think of no reason to—with the same look on her face as that gentle boy.

Oh. Everything finally makes sense… So that’s why he wants to coddle Lady Norton so much!

Filing that away in a corner of his mind, Elliott moved his white bishop. Monica wasted no time making her next play.

Just like last time, Monica was moving her pieces extremely quickly. She never took very long to think. Elliott would move a piece, and she’d immediately respond in kind.

And then, when Monica moved her queen, the game came to an end.

Elliott stared at the board and said, “It’s a stalemate.”

A stalemate—despite him having no handicap and the first-move advantage. Against a girl who had played chess only a couple of times.

Monica simply stared at the board, seeming neither pleased nor frustrated. She was probably thinking back on the game they’d just played.

“Chess has a way of bringing out someone’s personality,” Elliott remarked, almost to himself.

“Huh?” Monica looked at him and blinked.

Elliott shrugged a little. “Cyril plays a very easy-to-understand, protect-the-king kind of chess. He always has a strong defense. You’re the opposite.”

Although, to be precise, Monica’s play style didn’t simply favor offense. If he had to describe it, he would say she was thoroughly logical, never wasting a move.

“You’d probably even use your king as bait if it meant you could win,” he continued.

For Monica Norton, the king was worth as much as a pawn. She could sacrifice any piece she needed to, as long as it increased her chances of winning by even a little bit. She was strong—merciless. If she continued to gain experience and learned how to read and manipulate her opponent…she’d become a monster at the game. The prediction made Elliott shudder.

This girl had profound abilities that even Felix struggled to grasp, but her personality was timid and subservient. The gap between her talents and comportment was almost surreal.

As Elliott’s drooping eyes continued to watch her, Monica spoke.

“Lord Howard, your playing style is, well…,” she began.

“Oh? A novice wants to talk to me about how I play?”

“You seem really insistent about each piece’s role.”

Elliott’s eyebrows shot up. Mr. Boyd had pointed out the very same thing to him in the past. His play style focused far too much on each piece’s prescribed role. Queens acted like queens, pawns like pawns—he tended to give the higher-ranking pieces a greater role in his strategy. In a sense, he was the polar opposite of Monica, who didn’t assign any innate value to her pieces.

She pointed to one of Elliott’s pawns still on the board. “There was a point in the game where you could have promoted your pawn,” she explained. “It was the optimal move, but you didn’t take it.”

If a pawn reached the other end of the board—the opponent’s side—the player could upgrade it to another piece, such as a queen. Elliott had purposely avoided doing so.

Privately impressed that she’d noticed, he flashed her a sardonic smile.

“I just hate upstarts,” he said.

A soldier who cut his way straight to the deepest part of the enemy’s camp could rise in rank. Elliott despised that rule.

“My uncle, for some unfathomable reason, took a commoner as his legal wife,” he explained. “He always called her a simple, honest, kind girl. But in the end, she spent all his money. My uncle, feeling betrayed…hung himself.”

The first to find his dead, cold body had been Elliott, who had visited his beloved uncle in order to learn more about chess from him. The scene was still burned into his eyes after all this time. Essentially everything of value in his uncle’s estate had been gone by the time Elliott arrived. Upon learning of the man’s death, his wife, the former commoner, had taken it all and run—without even stopping to mourn the death of the man she had driven to suicide.

“Do you understand?” he asked. “Commoners must act like commoners and nobles like nobles. Try and cross the barrier of social status and someone will get hurt.”

That was why Elliott hated commoners who acted above their station. Such upstarts made his skin crawl.

At first, he’d harbored the same feelings toward Monica. Not only had she enrolled in Serendia Academy as a commoner, but she had even become a student council member. He couldn’t help but view her as an eyesore—until now, at least.

I suppose rare people like her exist—the kind whose incredible talents compel them beyond their station. Elliott hadn’t yet determined how to treat someone like her. So he just made a sour face and gave her a warning.

“I’m going to put aside my judgment of you for the time being, Lady Norton. But there’s one thing I need to warn you about.” He folded his legs and looked her right in the eyes, trying to make sure his next words got through. “Commoners born with rare talents tend to be envied by the incompetent or taken advantage of by the knavish. I know people like you whose lives have been ruined by such people.”

The words were meant to stir anxiety in Monica, and they did. She went white as a sheet and tensed up.

Elliott then gave a light shrug of the shoulders in his usual sardonic way and grinned. “You need to be very careful about how you act. After all, you’ll have even more eyes on you in the future.”

“…Huh?”

Monica seemed not to have realized it, but someone had been watching their game from afar this whole time. A tall man with a shaved head and rippling muscles—the chess teacher, Professor Boyd.

The professor had written something in chalk on the blackboard just now. Elliott glanced over, indicating with his eyes for Monica to look as well. When she did, she froze.

Chess Competition Representatives

First Match: Monica Norton

Second Match: Benjamin Mording

Third Match: Elliott Howard

Monica’s eyes opened wide, and her lips—now white—trembled as she said, “The…the chess competition…?!”

“The weekend before the school festival, we invite players from other schools and host a chess tournament. You saw the event in the budget proposals, didn’t you?”

“B-but me…?!” she stammered, shaking, her face pale.

Professor Boyd walked over to them, feet pounding on the floor. With the presence of a warrior who had seen countless battlefields, he took his large hand, which might easily crush a person’s head, and tapped on Monica’s shoulder. He spoke in a low voice, no expression on his face.

“I have high hopes.”

“I, I—I—I—I…I—I ca-ca-ca-ca, I…”

Figuring she was trying to say, I can’t , Elliott shrugged and told her, “Let’s just have fun with it, eh, Lady Norton?”

Monica continued to repeat the word I over and over, twitching. Elliott thought she must be only half-conscious by this point.

She was just like the boy in his memories—she crumbled under pressure.

The chess competition was a traditional event where three schools, including Serendia Academy, would each submit three players who would then participate in matches against one another.

Monica, chosen as one of the players and thus saddled with the pride of a famous school, was completely flustered. It should have been an honor to be chosen as a representative for anything, but Monica had only bad memories of such events.

She thought back to two years ago, when she’d been part of Professor Gideon Rutherford’s research lab at Minerva’s Mage Training Institution. Professor Rutherford was a sharp-eyed old man with clipped white hair. Though he’d been stubborn and narrow-minded, he’d generally allowed Monica to do her own research. And so she’d cooped herself up in the laboratory, working on nothing but magic formulae.

Then, one day, Professor Rutherford—smoking a pipe—had said to her, “Hey, Everett. How about you go swing by the Seven Sages’ qualifiers for a bit?”

The Seven Sages stood at the pinnacle of magecraft in the Kingdom of Ridill. The qualifying competition for such an important group was hardly something a person could just “swing by for a bit.”

Monica had figured the man was only making a mean joke, but then he’d told her he’d already submitted a letter of recommendation and that she’d passed the documentation screening.

“Wh-why me?!” she had wailed. “…I can’t! I can’t do that! I could never!”

She’d been shaking from head to toe, wrapped up in one of the lab’s window curtains, when Professor Rutherford had carried her—still wrapped up—and practically thrown her into the competition venue.

After that, despite committing the grave blunder of passing out during her interview, she’d been chosen as one of the Sages. At the time, she felt like her stomach was going to explode from the pressure. Even so, there were two people in the world she actually wanted to inform about her selection.

The first was her foster mother and the second her only friend.

It was thanks to that friend that Monica had been able to learn unchanted magecraft and put her best foot forward at Minerva’s. At the time, she had thought it was her duty to tell him. She’d been distant from him for a little while, but she knew if she told him she’d become a Sage, he’d praise her. And then…

“Hey, Lady Norton. You’re about to run into a wall…”

Hearing a voice from above her, Monica gave a start.

This was Serendia Academy, not Minerva’s, and she was calling herself Monica Norton as cover to infiltrate the school and protect the second prince.

And now that Monica had been selected as a representative for the chess competition and she and Elliott had finished the paperwork in the staff room, they were on their way to give their report to the student council.

“Sorry…,” she mumbled in apology, looking up at Elliott, who was walking next to her.

Elliott looked back down at her, exasperated. She was clearly depressed.

“You’ve been chosen as one of our players, but you don’t seem the least bit happy about it.”

Monica didn’t say anything in response, and eventually Elliott stopped in front of the student council room.

“Well, however you feel about it, we’re still reporting it to the prince.”

“Oof… Okay…”

Reporting the matter to Felix was another thing Monica was feeling gloomy about. She and Elliott would be receiving special training for the competition every chance they had—including break times and after school. Naturally, that meant their work as student council members would come to a standstill.

I’m going to cause more trouble for Lord Cyril… She’d just been reflecting on how everyone else was always helping her and wondering if she could do something for them in return—and now this. She hung her head, the situation weighing heavily on her mind.

In the meantime, Elliott had opened the door. Felix and Cyril were inside going over some paperwork, but Bridget and Neil were absent, probably handling other tasks.

Felix looked up from the documents, moving his gaze back and forth between Monica and Elliott. He smiled.

“I heard about the chess competition. I couldn’t be happier that we have two student council members participating again this year. I’ll be expecting your best efforts as representatives of the academy. And until then, we’ll reduce your council work.”

Monica stole a glance at Cyril. He had his arms folded and his eyes were narrowed in his usual stiff stare as he looked at the two newcomers.

I hope he’s not thinking this is all…a big pain…

Monica rallied herself, unconsciously balling her hands into fists, and struggled to get out her next words.

“Um, Your Royal Highness, Lord Cyril… I can bring my work back to my dorm with me, so—” she insisted.

“That’s ridiculous,” interrupted Cyril, cutting her down instantly. Her shoulders jolted, and Cyril continued, haughty as ever. “Our very own Serendia Academy hosts the chess competition. The rest of the student council will be present at the event as well, seeing to other matters. You need to focus on chess, lest you rub dirt in the prince’s face.”

Elliott nodded in agreement. “That’s right,” he said. “Besides, if you decide to take on all that extra work, I’d have to do the same, idiot.”

“B-but…!” stammered Monica, flustered.

“Lady Norton,” said Felix in a soft voice, “I was in the chess competition last year myself.”

“You…were?”

“I was. And the rest of the student council helped me with my work. So will you allow me to help you both this year?”

Despite Monica’s selection, Felix and Cyril were acting the same as always. They didn’t seem to find it annoying or envy her for it.

She relaxed her fists and bowed deeply to both of them.

“Thank you.”

It was just two words, but they came out surprisingly smoothly. She felt a tiny bit proud of having been able to properly convey her thanks without tripping over herself.

“You’re welcome,” replied Felix, giving her a slightly mischievous grin. “But try not to go overboard. You’re liable to stop sleeping.”

“…Oof.”

In truth, ever since the day she’d first learned the rules, she’d been borrowing chess books from the library and eating into her sleep time to read them. Especially recently—she’d been having bouts of insomnia after the incident with Casey, and she’d been holing herself away in her attic room, using chess to distract herself.

She didn’t own a chessboard, so she’d drawn squares on a piece of paper and used scraps of wood and small pebbles as the pieces. She’d play chess with herself, and before she knew it, morning would come. It had happened several times already, and evidently, Felix had noticed her lack of sleep.

As Monica restlessly toyed with her fingers, Elliott looked over at Cyril, seeming to remember something. His lips formed a dark grin.

“Come to think of it, I seem to recall someone getting so mad over losing to me in chess that he lost sleep studying, then fainted during our game. Does that ring a bell, Cyril?”

“…I have a meeting with the department head, so I’ll be leaving early,” said the vice president, his face scrunching up as he turned away and quickly left the student council room.

“Elliott, you shouldn’t tease Cyril too much,” chided Felix. “He takes things very seriously.”

Elliott gave a little shrug. A pained grin formed on Felix’s face; the other boy clearly had no intention of fixing his behavior.

“Anyway, from your point of view, how skilled is our little squirrel?”

“She’s a total beast,” he replied. “We’ve only played a few times, but she’s already driven me to a stalemate once.”

“Really?” responded Felix, looking a little surprised. He got up from his chair and took a chessboard and some pieces off a shelf. Then he moved to the reception table, placed everything down, and looked at Monica. “Want to try playing against me, then? If you’re going to be in a competition, there’s no harm in seeing how you match up with a variety of opponents.”

“N-no!” she cried. “I could never get in the way of your work like that…”

“At the moment, I’m just waiting for a response from the department head, so there’s nothing I need to be doing,” he explained. “Let’s see… If you beat me, I’ll grant you one wish.”

Monica’s eyes went wide at the proposal. Usually a dark, shadowed brown, they now scattered the light, gleaming the color of young grass.

“Can it be…anything?”

“Of course.”

Monica actually did have something she wanted to request from Felix. It had been too difficult for her to tell him before, but this was the perfect chance.

With a determined puff of air, she took a seat across from him.

“Th-thank you!” she said, privately eager. I can’t lose this game! she thought.

Meanwhile, Felix watched her with a look of faint amusement.

As he faced Monica, Felix’s heart was positively leaping.

In general, Monica never asked for anything. She fidgeted apologetically just borrowing a feather pen. But now she wanted something from him!

Felix was extremely interested in what the little squirrel wanted to ask him for. She’d been putting in the work in regard to both her classes and the council, so if she wanted something, he would be glad to give it to her as a reward.

The sight of her and Cyril drinking chocolate a while ago flashed through his mind. Felix had the feeling his favorite squirrel had gotten awfully attached to Cyril recently. In fact, she was now calling him “Lord Cyril” instead of “Lord Ashley.” And yet she still called him “Your Royal Highness” and “sir.”

Basically, he was sulking because his favorite pet had grown close to someone else.

What could a girl like her want…? A math book or something, perhaps? In that case, presenting her with the rarest one he could find and witnessing her astonishment sounded like great fun.

As he schemed, he moved his pieces. Skillfully, he aimed to lose without being obvious. With Monica’s stoic offensive, the game ended easily in less than an hour. Partly because Felix was holding back—but mostly because the way she’d attacked him had been absolutely merciless. He found himself agreeing with Elliott’s evaluation of her as “a beast.”

“That’s…checkmate, sir,” declared Monica, breathing a sigh. The scarily impassive expression she’d worn during the game dissolved into her usual innocent look.

Perhaps I held back too much… , thought Felix. Well, whatever. I was planning to lose anyway.

As he mused, Elliott—who had been watching the overwhelmingly one-sided game—took on a sharp look and glared at Monica.

“I finally figured it out,” he said. “Lady Norton, you were holding back in your game against me this afternoon, weren’t you?”

Monica looked at him in confusion and shook her head. “N-no, no! I, um, I didn’t hold back at all!” she cried, desperately trying to deny it—before immediately self-destructing by insisting, “I did my absolute best to get to a stalemate!”

“I knew it!” groaned Elliott in a low voice pricked with anger. “You were aiming for a draw right from the start! You know that’s usually called ‘holding back,’ don’t you?” He pinched Monica’s right cheek. For someone without much meat on her bones, her skin was unusually stretchy.

Sobbing with her mouth half-open, Monica tried to make excuses. “I wanted to test out patterns that would result in stalematesss…,” she whined.

“So you used me as a guinea pig,” replied Elliott. “I don’t like that one bit. I’m going to tell on you and have him switch your position with mine.”

“Noooo!” she wailed. “I’m fworry!”

Elliott pinched her right cheek as she sobbed, reminding the prince of a certain rascal from his childhood. The boy was very intent on acting as noble as possible, but Felix knew that he’d been a total brat long ago.

What an energetic pair , he thought, cracking a wry grin at the way Elliott was enjoying himself despite his anger.

“All right, that’s enough. Let her off the hook,” he chided. “Otherwise, the little squirrel’s cheeks are going to stay like that.”

Sulking, Elliott removed his hand from Monica’s face. She sniffled and rubbed at the red spot left behind.

“Anyway,” continued the prince, “what was it you wanted to ask me for?”

“It… It can be anything, right?”

“Yes, of course.” Felix nodded generously.

Monica’s face took on an uncharacteristically sharp expression. She balled her hands into fists again.

“I want you to…stop…calling me a little squirrel!”

“…………”

Maintaining his calm, gentle smile, Felix silently reached out and pinched Monica’s left cheek.

“Wh-whyyyyyy?!” she wailed.

“Wow, they are stretchy,” he remarked. “Mm. I can see myself getting used to this.”

“Fopp iiittt!”

“Oh. My apologies, Monica.” Felix yanked his hand away from her.

Sobbing miserably, she rubbed both cheeks and looked at him with the widest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Y-you… Huh? Just now…,” she stammered.

“Yes? What is it, Monica?” said Felix, smiling.

Monica paled everywhere except her swollen red cheeks, like some kind of parlor trick. Then, with her hands still covering them, she began to shake.

“U-ummm,” she started. “Maybe, errr, you could call me Lady Norton or Accountant Norton, um, like everyone else does…?”

“Your request was that I stop calling you little squirrel, right?” he answered nonchalantly. “I don’t remember you specifying what you wanted to be called instead.”

At last, Monica stopped moving entirely.

Felix had no way of knowing this, but Monica’s mind was now filled with the Barrier Mage Louis Miller’s arrogant laughter.

“Ha-ha-ha,” he laughed. “This is what happens when you fail to define your terms, my fellow Sage.”

As tears fell from Monica’s eyes, she reflected on how this was a perfect example of winning the battle but losing the war.

Benjamin Mording, the second student on Serendia Academy’s chess team, was a third-year in the advanced course and the son of a court musician. He’d studied music from a very young age, performing, composing, and doing everything in between. Apparently, he’d already earned some high-society fans. Benjamin had flax-colored hair neatly cut at his jaw, and his appearance was delicate and fragile.

…Yes, fragile. He was a fragile young man.

“Chess is music! The record sheets of chess games are musical scores! Look at a person’s records, play but a single match with them, and you will see the music of their game! While some will come at you with ferocious attacks—forte, forte, sforzando!—others play with the dignity of a classic, formidable and unperturbed! Elliott’s chess is like a march! A melody like a parade of well-trained soldiers, possessing beauty and strength in its regular form! Yes—simply listen, and you will hear it! The high horns signaling the commencement of hostilities! The valiant clapping of the cavalry’s hooves across the ground!”

Monica wondered when Benjamin had time to breathe as he delivered this over-the-top, red-faced, spittle-firing speech. Elliott stood next to her, a tired look on his face.

“He’s…something of an artist,” her fellow council member explained. “Once he gets started, he goes on and on.”

“O-oh,” she said.

“Best to just ignore him.”

It was unclear whether Benjamin had heard them or not. His thin, delicate finger danced through the air like a conductor’s baton as he gazed upon the chessboard in ecstasy. The pieces on it showed the conclusion of the game he’d just played with Monica.

“Lady Norton, your chess is like a suite performed by an orchestra! A score with no fluff, its every note from prelude to finale carefully constructed using precise calculations! A grand and sublime melody, each harmony played by every instrument to perfection—a compilation of the souls of the musicians! I would go so far as to say this miraculous score was granted to us by the god of music! What I mean to say is this…”

Benjamin turned to Monica, dropping his hands onto her slight shoulders as he continued.

“You should be our third player—the anchor of our team. Work hard.”

“I agree,” said Elliott smoothly in response.

Monica buried her face in her hands, squatted down to the floor, and squealed, “I—I…I can’t do it!”