In the wake of the mission evaluation, a new routine began for Simon the next morning.
"How has everyone been?" Professor Jane asked, her voice echoing through the lecture hall.
"Great, Professor!" the class chorused back.
It had been a while since he'd attended her Basic Black Magic class. Simon sat with Dick, Meirin, and Kamibarez, listening intently. He occasionally exchanged nods with acquaintances at the next table, like Cindy Vivace and Jamie Victoria. He also shared a silent greeting with Toto, with whom he'd grown closer through their club activities.
"I have an announcement for this week," Jane continued. As always at Kizen, those words heralded major news. The students leaned forward, their faces tense with anticipation. "First, your midterm exam results are out."
A collective groan swept through the room. Dick slumped forward, burying his head in his arms. Meirin, unable to hide her excitement, drummed her fingers rhythmically on the table. Beside her, Kamibarez nervously flapped the small bat wings on her back.
"You will all receive your midterm grades and your class rank," Jane explained. "Of course, the rankings are based purely on your written exam scores and do not include performance evaluations."
The TAs moved through the aisles, calling out names. The report cards were sealed in plain envelopes, adding to the suspense.
"Simon Polentia?" a TA called.
"Here!"
Simon politely took the envelope. He only had a vague sense that he'd worked hard and hadn't bothered to calculate his scores beforehand. Now, holding the results in his hand, a wave of anxiety washed over him. He swallowed hard, tore open the seal, and pulled out the stiff sheet of paper.
[Simon Polentia]
Cursology: 63.00
Jet-Black Dynamics: 65.00
Summoning: 87.00
Necrology: 44.00
Hemomancy: 61.00
Venomology: 60.00
Combat Magic: 73.00
Defense Against Divinity: 70.00
Total: 65.375 [Rank: 458th]
'Wow!'
The results were far better than he'd dared to hope. On Jane's first test, his average had been a dismal 37. Now, it was 65—an improvement of nearly 30 points. In a school teeming with geniuses, securing a stable, mid-tier rank on written exams alone was a monumental achievement. A giddy sense of relief washed over him. It was proof that his hard work was paying off, that he had a fighting chance even without a privileged academic background.
When Simon looked up, his eyes met Meirin's. Her expression was fiercely determined.
"What'd you get in Summoning?" she asked, forcing a smile.
"You first."
"Hey, no fair! I asked you first!" she whined, nudging him.
Dick leaned over, catching a glimpse of Simon's report card. A slow grin spread across his face.
"Ooh, Simon really hit the books. You've got some tough competition, Meirin."
"Just tell me the score!" she demanded.
Simon gave a wry smile. "87."
Meirin's expression became a battlefield of emotions—a flicker of a smile warring with a flash of frustration, all underscored by a wave of relief. Now it was Simon's turn to feel anxious.
"I told you mine. Your turn."
"Haaah," she sighed, placing her report card on the table like a card player revealing their hand. "I lost. 85."
"Woooow!" Kamibarez let out a cheer and squeezed Simon's hand tightly. "Congratulations, Simon! This means we can stay together at Kizen!"
"Th-Thanks, Kami," he stammered.
Watching her friend's heartfelt reaction, Meirin smiled silently. In truth, she'd never had any intention of letting a silly bet get Simon kicked out of Kizen. Besides Summoning, her one weak spot, she had scored in the nineties in every other subject, once again achieving an average over 90. Her overall rank, however, was a bit of a surprise.
Total: 92.00 [Rank: 2nd]
Even with an unbelievable score of 92, she wasn't number one in the school.
"Kizen sure is a big place," she sighed.
"Still, you're second in the entire school," Simon said, trying to console her. "That's incredible."
"Nah, it's nothing." She waved his compliment away. "Midterm scores don't mean much. At Kizen, practical evaluations are what really matter—duels, performance assessments, mission points. Those are weighted much more heavily. Once the scores of all the monsters in this school are tallied, I'll probably be pushed out of the top ten."
"B-But we all made it into the 'mansion,' right?" Kamibarez chimed in. "We can expect good scores from the Island Survival, too!"
Simon knew she was right. He also had a good chance of climbing the ranks, as he always performed better in real combat. He'd earned a perfect 100—the highest score in Class A—for the cyclops hunt. He'd done well on the written performance assessment before midterms, thanks to Meirin. His Island Survival score was bound to be high since he'd reached the mansion. He'd excelled in both the Arnish and Blue Harbor missions. And in the Duel Evaluation, he was currently undefeated and in a top squad.
His heart swelled with anticipation. If all those practical scores were factored in, how high would his rank be by the end of the semester?
"Attention."
At Jane's single word, the chatter died down.
"By now, you should all have a sense of where you stand," she said, her gaze sweeping across the room. "The top-ranking students have done well, but don't get complacent. Aim higher. The lower-ranking students still have room to rebound, so I expect you to redouble your efforts." She paused, letting her words sink in. "We have only just passed the halfway point of the first semester."
"Yes, Professor!"
"This week overlaps with the mission period, so there are no major events. I expect you to use this time to prepare for the Duel Evaluation, reinforce your weaknesses, and maximize your strengths." A faint smile touched her lips. "You'll need to, if you want to endure the next performance evaluation."
Her cryptic warning sent a ripple of tension through the students. Jane turned to her assistant.
"TA, are the matchups for the next Duel Evaluation out?"
"Yes, Professor. They were just released."
Jane accepted a sheet of paper. Students craned their necks, murmuring excitedly. The one-on-one duels were always a hot topic.
"It's been a while since the last evaluation, what with midterms, Survival Island, and the missions," Jane remarked, holding up the paper. "The real test begins now. You're no longer fumbling novices, unsure of what black magic to use in a fight. By now, you should have all established your own styles. But remember, your opponents have grown just as much as you have, if not more."
Simon nodded. The days of being clueless were over. Every opponent he faced from now on would have a trump card, and the gap in skill would have narrowed considerably. As a member of a top squad, he would inevitably be pitted against the best of the best.
'I wonder who I'll be fighting this time.'
The TAs began distributing flyers with the matchups. Simon took one, drew a shallow breath, and read his opponent's name. It was someone he'd met before.
Dick glanced over at Simon's paper.
"Simon! Who'd you... Oh." He shook his head.
Meirin's expression faltered.
"This one won't be easy."
[Arena 2 - Round 1, Match 6]
Class A, Simon Polentia vs. Class M, Malcolm Randolph.
It was the aggressive Special Admission No. 10, the one he'd clashed with at the mansion during the Island Survival. For the first time, Simon was scheduled to fight a student of the Named Level.
That night, in a dusty, abandoned building, sparks flew as a silver staff scraped against the concrete floor.
"This school never bores you, does it?" a man with yellow-dyed hair mused as he walked, dragging the staff behind him.
Though the building was derelict, curtains covered the windows. Inside, a group of tense-faced Class M students stood at rigid attention. They were all members of Malcolm's faction.
Malcolm hoisted the staff onto his shoulder, grunted, and sat down on a lumpy mound. A pained groan immediately sounded from beneath him. It wasn't a mound of rubble, but a pile of bloodied Kizen students. Some of them coughed, spitting up blood.
"Impressive you managed to make this," Malcolm said, holding a potion vial between his fingertips and swirling the contents. "It's not even taught in Venomology. 'Amnesia Potion.' Damages the most painful recent memory when consumed." He set the vial down. "You were trying to make me drink this, weren't you? Say something."
In front of him, a student slumped against an old blackboard, his arms bound in chains.
"Haren Cork," Malcolm said with a grin.
Haren said nothing.
Haren was drenched in blood. It dripped from his mouth, forming a dark pool on the floor where several of his teeth lay scattered. A few of his fingers were bent at unnatural angles. Malcolm extended his staff and prodded Haren's face.
"Did you cook up this little scheme because you were afraid of my revenge? Pathetic."
It had started after Island Survival. Haren had failed to carry out Serne's orders and had lost the trust of his allies. With no one left to protect him, the time had come to pay the price for taunting Malcolm with Serne's feather. So, he'd decided to strike first.
At the time, Malcolm had been conducting a ruthless purge of his own faction, branding the Class M students who had abandoned him as traitors. Haren had recruited these disgruntled outcasts and purchased the amnesia potion from the black market in Rochest. The plan was simple: use the traitors to lure Malcolm away from his meal in the cafeteria, then spike his food and drink. But...
—"Malcolm! They're trying to feed you something weird!"
One of his own had betrayed him. The plan fell apart, and a furious Malcolm had exacted a merciless and brutal punishment on Haren's group, which brought them to the current situation.
"You guys are so damn predictable," Malcolm chuckled, shaking the vial. "You were going to make me drink this and erase the memory of me bowing to you like a dog, right? Not a chance. I have absolutely no intention of forgetting that humiliation."
Chained to the blackboard, Haren spat more blood and stared at Malcolm, his face a mask of terror.
"P-Please... spare me..."
"Bullshit."
Malcolm smashed Haren's face with the staff again.
"If you wanted to live," he growled, striking the staff once more, "from the very beginning," another 'crunch', "you shouldn't have messed with me."
Blood sprayed. The other members of Malcolm's faction kept their heads bowed, but one finally mustered the courage to speak.
"M-Malcolm... isn't this too much?"
"Yeah! Dealing with the aftermath is going to be a huge problem...," another one stuttered.
Malcolm's eyes flashed with cold fury.
"Then you can take their place."
They fell silent immediately. Malcolm's family was a notorious gangster organization, one of the three major gangs operating throughout the Dark Alliance. He had inherited his father's cruelty and possessed an intimate understanding of fear.
"Tie them up," Malcolm ordered with a flick of his wrist.
His followers scrambled to haul the collapsed traitors into chairs, binding their hands behind them and gagging their mouths with cloth.
"Lift their shirts."
Their uniforms were rolled up, exposing their abdomens. Malcolm strode over to a small fire and picked up a glowing piece of iron. The gagged traitors began to scream and thrash.
"I just wanted to live a normal student life," Malcolm said, his voice deceptively calm. "Why won't any of you help me do that?"
"Mmph! Mmmph!" The traitors shook their heads frantically.
"Later, you can go crying to the professors," Malcolm said with a grin as he advanced on them. "That way, I can finally let go of this charade and... comfortably... go after your families as a civilian. Right?"
"Mmph! Mmmmmmmph!"
The corners of Malcolm's mouth twisted into a demonic sneer.
"Help me." A horrifying scream tore through the air. "Help me be just a student."
The lesson in fear had begun. Malcolm glanced over his shoulder, a chilling smile on his face.
"You're last, Haren Cork."
Tears and snot streamed down Haren's face as he stared back, paralyzed by terror.

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