Someone was walking through a dark, moldy basement where the dust was so thick it was hard to breathe. Or rather, he was being dragged. A young, blond-haired teenage boy, his arms held firmly by two burly men in suits. When they reached the deepest part of the cellar, the men released him and stepped back.
A flame flickered in the darkness. The sound of an inhale was followed by a long, slow exhale of smoke.
"Hello, Malcolm."
The basement lights flickered on, revealing a middle-aged man sitting on a sofa. It was a face the boy knew all too well: Margel Randolph, leader of the infamous Randolph Gang—one of the three major gangs in the Dark Alliance—and the boyвЂTMs father.
"Father."
The boy was Malcolm Randolph, formerly KizenвЂTMs Special Admission No. 10.
"How cold of you, Malcolm," his father said. "ItвЂTMs your vacation, yet you disappeared without so much as a visit."
Malcolm remained silent for a moment before lifting his chin. "Why have you summoned me, Father?"
Margel took another long drag from his cigar. "It seems IвЂTMm a parent, after all. This came for you from Kizen."
Malcolm flinched. In his fatherвЂTMs hand was his first-year report card.
"LetвЂTMs see." Margel squinted. "You entered as Special Admission No. 10. And at the end of your first year..." The corner of his mouth twisted into a sneer. "You were ranked one hundred and twenty-eighth."
From tenth to one hundred and twenty-eighth. MalcolmвЂTMs face hardened, his fists trembling at his sides. "ThatвЂTMs—!"
"I know," Margel cut him off, his voice like ice. "Your specialty, the вЂTMDoppelgangerвЂTM, is a black magic that creates clones to overwhelm with numbers. It might be effective at the start of the semester, but itвЂTMs bound to lose its edge by the end of the year. Your rivals are constantly learning, constantly getting stronger."
He was right. By the middle of the second semester, every Kizen student had at least one area-of-effect attack and knew search-type spells or curses to identify the real Malcolm among his clones.
вЂTMWhen fighting Malcolm, all you need is the вЂTMColoring CurseвЂTM.вЂTM
The rumor had spread like wildfire, and the strategy to defeat him became common knowledge. The doppelganger user no one wanted to face in the first semester had become everyoneвЂTMs favorite punching bag in the second.
"I-ItвЂTMs not just because of that!" Malcolm stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He had to find an excuse. "The liquid bombs I used as my main weapon...!"
"I heard they were banned," Margel said, as if heвЂTMd been waiting for it.
The Randolph GangвЂTMs special вЂTMliquid bombsвЂTM—imbued with jet-black to create powerful explosions—were devastating when combined with his doppelgangers. But after a review by Kizen, they were deemed a violation of duel regulations and forbidden.
"But you brought that upon yourself, didnвЂTMt you?" Margel leaned forward, his eyes boring into his son. Malcolm realized his mistake.
вЂTMDamn it.вЂTM He shouldnвЂTMt have brought that up, even if it meant being beaten to death.
"Do you remember? Your duel against Special Admission No. 1, Simon Polentia."
Of course, he remembered. He could never forget it.
"In that duel, watched by countless high-ranking officials, including royalty, you used those liquid bombs recklessly."
The Randolph Gang had used those bombs to commit countless acts of terror, earning astronomical sums of money and crushing rival organizations. It was a highly sensitive weapon. But Malcolm, desperate to win, had used them, catching the attention of kingdom officials. As a result, all the unresolved explosion incidents the gang had denied were reopened for investigation. The fallout was catastrophic. Four kingdoms seized the organizationвЂTMs assets, levying massive fines and penalties. They were even attacked by rival gangs who had suffered from the bombs.
"If you have something to say, say it," Margel snarled. "Your damn school games put this entire organization in jeopardy."
Malcolm said nothing.
"And for what? ItвЂTMs not like your grades are any good. That Simon Polentia you fought maintained his first-place rank. All on his own, without a shred of family support." Margel rested his chin on his hand. "I wanted a son like that. His father must be dancing with joy."
A groan of agony escaped MalcolmвЂTMs lips, but he said nothing.
"ItвЂTMs over," Margel stated coldly. "DonвЂTMt go back to Lok Island."
He was telling him to quit Kizen. MalcolmвЂTMs head snapped up. "Father! I—!"
His words were cut short by a sickening вЂTMcrackвЂTM as a flashing black figure shot out, its foot connecting squarely with his jaw.
More figures appeared from his left and right, and pain exploded in his abdomen, side, and thigh. He couldnвЂTMt breathe. In an instant, a bloodied Malcolm was forced to his knees as two more Margels grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the stone floor.
He heard the sickening вЂTMcrunchвЂTM of his nose breaking.
"Have you still not come to your senses?"
The real Margel hadnвЂTMt moved from the sofa. The gang members watching from the shadows swallowed hard.
вЂTMThatвЂTMs Sir MargelвЂTMs doppelganger...!вЂTM
The clones grabbed MalcolmвЂTMs hair, forcing his head up. Blood streamed from his shattered nose and a gash on his forehead. Through a red haze, Malcolm saw his father, cloaked in darkness, his eyes glinting with menace. He was the boss of one of the three major gangs for a reason. Margel was always cruel, always unforgiving. Even to his own son.
"Your school games are over. Do you understand?"
Faced with absolute terror, Malcolm could only nod. The doppelgangers threw him to the floor and vanished into thin air.
"This is your new mission."
A few photographs fluttered down in front of the collapsed boy.
"Bring me the item in these photos."
The images showed the fossilized skeleton of some monster, its teeth replaced with high-purity gold. It looked incredibly valuable.
"ItвЂTMs in the Deimos Museum on the Parona Peninsula. While youвЂTMre at it, feel free to grab anything else of value."
Malcolm pushed himself up, his eyes scanning the photos. "What about backup?"
"YouвЂTMre going alone, Malcolm."
"ItвЂTMs impossible to steal this secretly by myself."
"YouвЂTMll create a diversion."
At MargelвЂTMs gesture, four men grunted as they carried over a knee-high metal object and set it down with a heavy вЂTMthudвЂTM. A crimson core pulsed in its center.
"Since the liquid bombs are no longer an option, I developed something new."
"A replacement?"
Margel nodded. "IвЂTMm told that high-level monsters emit a special frequency to control their lesser kin. The lower-level ones obey that frequency without question."
"DonвЂTMt tell me..."
"ThatвЂTMs right," Margel grinned. "This device was modeled on the frequency of a Naga Queen. It summons Nagas." His grin widened. "When activated, countless Nagas will swarm the Parona Peninsula. You, Malcolm, will use that chaos to infiltrate the museum."
"Father!" Malcolm scrambled to his feet. "The peninsula is in the middle of a festival! If you summon monsters, the casualties will be immense—!"
"Do you still think youвЂTMre a Kizen student, my son?"
Malcolm flinched and fell silent.
"Please," Margel said, clasping his hands and fixing his son with a glacial stare. "Do not disappoint me a second time."
After leaving the port, SimonвЂTMs group went straight to change their clothes. At MeirinвЂTMs enthusiastic suggestion, they decided to rent traditional Parona attire to get into the spirit of the festival.
"What is this?" Dick grumbled, looking down at his elaborate outfit. The silk garment, covered in the peninsulaвЂTMs moonflower pattern, fell below his knees over a pair of white trousers. A conical hat completed the look. "WhatвЂTMs with the flower pattern on menвЂTMs clothes? And this isnвЂTMt a skirt, so why is it so frilly?"
"I think itвЂTMs pretty cool," Simon said. He was already dressed, holding the brim of his hat to cover one eye as he struck a pose in the mirror.
"This is a total rip-off!" Dick fumed. "Nine hundred silver to rent these for three days? I could buy twenty bowls of hearty meat noodle soup with that!"
"WeвЂTMre here."
Meirin and Kamibarez entered, and both Simon and Dick turned their heads.
вЂTMWow...!вЂTM
They wore beautiful celadon-colored silk garments that flowed like dresses, with white trousers peeking through a side slit. Their conical hats were smaller and more delicate than the menвЂTMs. Meirin clasped her hands and lifted one leg in a cheerful pose.
"How do I look? Does it suit me?"
Kamibarez placed her hands over her heart, giggling. "F-For some reason, I feel so nervous."
SimonвЂTMs face flushed. He couldnвЂTMt take his eyes off them, simply nodding, mesmerized. "It suits you both perfectly."
"This makes no sense!" Dick complained, unable to deny how good they looked. He gestured angrily at his own clothes. "The womenвЂTMs outfits are so pretty, so why are the menвЂTMs so lame? This is discrimination!"
"If you donвЂTMt like it, you can wear a dress, you moron," Meirin retorted, covering her mouth as she giggled. "Besides, look at your best friend. It looks great on him."
Indeed, the shopkeepers were staring at Simon with admiration.
Dick shook his head. "He doesnвЂTMt count. That guy gets compliments just for wearing a white shirt."
"ThatвЂTMs not a compliment, is it?" Simon muttered.
Dressed in the traditional attire of the Parona Peninsula, the four of them stepped out into the bustling streets.
вЂTMWooow!вЂTM Kamibarez exclaimed in delight.
The streets were packed with people, nearly half of whom were dressed in the same traditional clothing.
"ItвЂTMs so pretty!"
The Moonflower Festival was in full swing. Fields of flowers swayed in the breeze, and the delicious smells from countless food stalls wafted through the air.
"Dick, whereвЂTMs the inn?" Simon asked.
"About a thirty-minute carriage ride from here. We need to do some shopping first."
"LetвЂTMs buy some things to grill at the market."
While Simon and Dick discussed their plans, Meirin and Kamibarez were completely absorbed in the festival.
"Kami! Over here! Look at all the moonflowers!"
"That place looks pretty, too!"
"Simon! Simon! Look here!"
Simon, who had been browsing for dinner ingredients, turned at the sound of MeirinвЂTMs voice. She was nestled among a patch of celadon-colored moonflowers, only her head peeking out. She smiled shyly.
"Can you find me?"
Simon, who had zero immunity to this kind of playful teasing, turned beet red.
"Ah, Lady Meirin!" Dick strode over dramatically and knelt before the flower bed. He picked up a nearby rock and wailed, "Lady Meirin! Where has your body gone, leaving only your head...!"
He was promptly sent flying by MeirinвЂTMs powerful side kick. Simon burst out laughing.
"Simon, Simon," This time, it was Kamibarez, pointing at a street stall. "Would you like some grilled skewers?"
"Sounds good. My treat."
"Ah, no! IвЂTMll...!"
Simon grinned. "Let me. I came into some money over the break." He still had the 10,000 gold heвЂTMd received from Israphel for the Holy Federation mission.
As Simon enjoyed the festival with his friends for the first time in ages, a small worry still gnawed at him.
вЂTMHow am I going to bring up the Student Council?вЂTM
He planned to make the offer that very night. He was trailing after his friends, lost in his own anxious thoughts, when he bumped hard into someone in the crowded street.
"Oops! S-Sorry!" The person heвЂTMd bumped into quickly bowed and offered a hand. Simon found himself on the ground. "Are you hurt? IвЂTMm really, really sorry!"
SimonвЂTMs eyes widened. вЂTMWhat just happened?вЂTM He hadnвЂTMt activated his jet-black, but his core strength was far greater than an ordinary personвЂTMs. Even distracted, he shouldnвЂTMt have fallen so easily.
He looked up at the person who had run into him: a young, clean-cut boy with a bushy mane of red hair and a high forehead.
вЂTMIt wasnвЂTMt on purpose. It seems like a genuine mistake.вЂTM
Simon took the boyвЂTMs hand and stood up.
"Again, IвЂTMm really sorry!" the boy repeated, bowing several times.
"ItвЂTMs okay," Simon replied. "I wasnвЂTMt looking where I was going, either."
The red-haired boy apologized a few more times before disappearing into the crowd. He was wrapped in a robe, a long, cloth-covered object strapped to his back.
"Simon! Simon! Where are you?" Kamibarez called out.
"Ah, sorry. IвЂTMll be right there."
вЂTMUgh! Ouch...вЂTM Having escaped the crowd, the red-haired man rubbed his shoulder, his eyes welling with tears.
"Did something happen?" a womanвЂTMs voice emanated from a communication crystal resting on a nearby fence.
"I just bumped into someone and my magic activated," he explained. "The other person fell, but if IвЂTMm in this much pain..." He scratched his head. "Normally, I wouldвЂTMve been the one sent flying! Ahaha!"
"I told you to stop being so clumsy, didnвЂTMt I? Mercenary King."
The boy, addressed as the Mercenary King, looked sheepish. "Ugh! That title is still a bit much."
"Then you should get used to it. WhatвЂTMs the situation?"
"ItвЂTMs quiet for now." The boyвЂTMs expression turned serious as he scanned the street. "But are you sure about the intel? That the Randolph Gang is going to attack."
"I donвЂTMt know if itвЂTMs certain. But we get paid whether thereвЂTMs an attack or not. We should just hope nothing happens."
"Mm." The boy idly stroked the hilt of the sword on his back. Then, as if just remembering something, he said, "Oh! Right! I bought an amazing souvenir at the Parona market!"
"A souvenir?"
The boy fumbled in his pocket and pulled something out. "This! ItвЂTMs a magic artifact that helps you spot dropped coins on the street if you carry it! And it was only ten gold!"
Silence emanated from the crystal. "Ugh! You actually believe that? You could spend your whole life picking up dropped coins and you still wouldnвЂTMt make ten gold!"
The boyвЂTMs jaw dropped. "Th-Then I got scammed?"
"You idiot!!"

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