Aizel’s story continued between a string of heavy sighs.
"At the noble academy I attended before Kizen, I was bullied."
Aizel had a small frame, a timid personality, and was so shy he couldn’t even look people in the eye. He was the perfect target for delinquents. He’d been adjusting well at the start of the semester, but once the bullies started tormenting him, everyone else abandoned him. His friends, fearing they’d suffer the same fate if seen with the class outcast, naturally joined the chorus of insults and mockery.
Over time, a rigid hierarchy formed within the school, and eventually, even the students who once felt a pang of guilt for ignoring him no longer did.
"...Then, following my family’s wishes, I opened my core and became a necromancer."
Simon, who had been listening with a heavy heart, clapped his hands together. "Then the tables must have turned!"
"...Nope."
What good was opening his core? Using even the most trivial black magic on another person meant immediate expulsion. Not only would the other family raise hell, but it could also create serious problems for his admission to Kizen. The other kids weren’t even scared.
"Heard you learned some fun new tricks, Aizel."
"He’s still just Aizel."
The bullying only got worse.
"That’s when I realized," Aizel said, clenching his fist. "The problem was how people saw me."
So, he made a resolution. At his next school, he would never let himself be looked down on.
Before the Kizen entrance ceremony, he bought a sharp suit, changed his hairstyle, hid wooden blocks in his shoes to make himself taller, and put on a pair of glasses that made him look like an elite.
’From now on, I am an elite,’ he repeated to himself, over and over, as if it were a mantra. He worked to change his speech and accent, too. And when he enrolled in Kizen...
"People’s reactions actually changed!" Aizel’s eyes filled with elation as he spoke. "No one ignores me or looks down on me. They don’t hit me. In fact, maybe because I was a special admission student, they approach me first. They ask me to eat with them. They even smile kindly at me!"
His eyes sparkled with life. "That feeling of overwhelming joy... can you understand it?"
"Of course, I can."
"Ahaha."
Aizel leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had turned cold.
"The problem was what came after."
He became completely engrossed in the ’new self’ he had created, and the image he’d built grew ever more solid.
"Aizel is handsome, but isn’t he a bit short?"
He replaced the wooden blocks in his shoes with taller ones.
"His accent is a little off sometimes. Like a Kalos dialect."
He practiced in front of the mirror every day to perfect his speech. There could be no flaws. If he was looked down on for even a moment, he would fall right back into the abyss of his old school days.
Aizel became obsessed with the image he projected. He made things that were beyond his capabilities seem possible on the surface. On top of that, his black magic skills were genuinely exceptional, so in the meritocratic world of Kizen, he became an instant star.
Close friends, girls, seniors, teaching assistants, professors, and even Headmistress Nephthys herself came to see him. The media was flooded with articles praising him, and in his home kingdom, he even received a royal award as the most promising necromancer from Kalos.
By the time Aizel realized something was deeply wrong, the situation had already spiraled out of his control.
’So he got consumed by his own persona,’ Simon thought, letting out a strained laugh.
"But still, even if it’s an act, your personality can’t just become extroverted overnight, or you can’t suddenly become a good speaker when you weren’t before, right?"
At the question, Aizel smacked his lips and scratched his head. "Remember that guy who talked to you earlier? The representative of the Command Department."
"Ah, you mean Sota Pshyke? The one ranked sixth overall..."
"Yeah, he was the problem." He sighed deeply. "He was in my class from the first year, and he practically worshiped the ground I walked on, trying to use my image and authority. Whenever I was at a loss for words, he’d interpret my silence himself, spouting nonsense about it being a silent denial or an icy stillness, or that I was angry."
"...I see."
His image had been built up so much that now, even if Aizel made a mistake, the public would rationalize it for him. The Aizel they knew was a perfect, flawless being.
"I’ve never been able to relax, not even in my room or the dorm. Placing soundproofing magic circles wherever I go is the absolute bare minimum."
Aizel curled his legs to his chest and sipped his drink through a straw. Seeing his now-gentle senior, Simon smiled warmly.
"What I found amazing about you, Senior Aizel, was how you handled the pressure. The previous Student Council President, Phantastus, was so incredible."
"That’s right. He was one of a kind."
"So you were bound to be compared to him. To break through those doubtful gazes, you declared you would take on the long-term mission that Phantastus attempted a year ago..."
At those words, Aizel shot to his feet. "No!"
"Huh?"
"I didn’t do that because I wanted to!"
In reality, this is what had happened a few months before the start of the school year, during a meeting about the academic calendar.
"Why is that!"
The instigator, once again, was Sota Pshyke.
"Why are you removing all the events the previous student council president organized? Are you disrespecting Aizel?"
A staff member from the main office laughed awkwardly. "Come on, is Phantastus that special? Those were events Nephthys added arbitrarily because it was him. What’s the problem with returning to the normal schedule, like the year before last?"
At the time, Aizel was inwardly nodding along. ’Thank you, sir.’
"Our Aizel is in no way inferior to Senior Phantastus!"
’Please shut up, Sota. Just stay quiet.’
"Stop it, Sota." A female classmate grabbed Sota’s arm, but he was relentless.
"Let go of me! Who do you think you are to judge Aizel? Were you as outstanding as him when you were a Kizen student? Huh? Tell me!"
Sota was throwing a tantrum in a room filled with not only his soon-to-be third-year peers but also Kizen staff, professors, and even the elders.
"Now that you mention it," an elderly professor said, holding a document. "Aizel himself refused both the visit to the three major necromancer academies and the Katin Dungeon mission."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
"Of course he’d refuse! I’d be angry and refuse, too!" Sota didn’t back down. "The very first mission! You didn’t even assign Aizel the SS-rank mission that Senior Phantastus completed before becoming president! What? Aizel! You said it yourself! That you were displeased with being constantly compared to Senior Phantastus!"
Aizel inwardly panicked. ’That was just something I said offhandedly at a drinking party. Everyone was hyping me up, so I just went along with it.’
Flustered, he gripped the frame of his glasses with a trembling hand. And then...
"A confirmation! Gripping the edge of his glasses is a sign of confirmation!"
"Aizel confirmed it!"
A buzz went through the crowd as the narrative began to write itself.
"Is that true, Aizel?" the professor asked, his expression dubious.
Aizel looked around. The expectant gazes of countless people were fixed on him.
"If you truly feel that way, we will reinstate the long-term mission Phantastus undertook. The subsequent schedule will be decided based on the results. What do you say?"
’Aizel is about to do something again. As expected of Aizel. The man of miracles. The hope of the 328th class.’ Countless expectations swirled around him. At the same time, there were plenty of dissenting opinions.
"Hey, even for Aizel, that’s a bit much."
"You don’t have to push yourself."
Simon, who had been listening intently, couldn’t hold back any longer. "So what did you say?"
After a moment’s hesitation, Aizel touched his forehead pretentiously. "It is a simple matter for me."
’It’s your own fault!’
As Simon stared at him, Aizel’s face flushed, and he waved his hands frantically. "I couldn’t help it! I had no choice! At the time, rumors about my past at the noble academy were spreading, and some kids were doubting my identity! Back then, if I made the slightest mistake or if my image crumbled, it would have been the end!"
Simon sighed inwardly. For Aizel, his past was clearly the worst trauma of his life. He would walk through fire to maintain his current self.
"...Still, you really did complete that difficult long-term mission."
"Yeah, I did. But I was so busy I had no idea what was happening at school. Then I heard the news, and my world went dark."
One of the reasons Aizel took the missi on was to maintain his public image, but the truth was, he wanted to avoid the presidency at all costs. He didn’t have the confidence for such a heavy responsibility, and the thought of giving speeches in front of crowds was horrifying. He’d always managed to make excuses, but as president, that wouldn’t be possible. He’d assumed that while he was away, the runner-up, Balak, or other third-years would take Simon’s place.
However, Balak just kept muttering, "Aizel will return," and didn’t make a move. The other third-years were too busy watching Balak to do anything. In the end, Simon remained in charge, and it just so happened to be during the Dark Festival. If he returned then, he’d be forced to stand before tens of thousands of spectators. To avoid that at all costs, Aizel dragged his feet and only returned after the festival was over.
’So that’s what happened.’
Simon nodded, finally understanding. Just then, Aizel leaned forward. "You gave the speech at the Dark Festival, right? How was it?"
"Ah, yes. It was fun."
"...Fun?" He looked shocked. "You don’t get nervous standing in front of people?"
"Of course I was nervous. But once I started talking, it somehow worked out..."
"Amazing. So there are people who can just do it if they put their mind to it." Aizel grabbed Simon’s hand. "You’re the right person for Student Council President! I don’t know why Senior Phantastus chose a fool like me as his successor, but I don’t want such a high-profile position, and I don’t want to stand in front of people. I just want to graduate as quietly as possible. What about you?"
Simon wasn’t particularly obsessed with the power of the presidency either. But...
"Yeah, I thought it was like a midsummer night’s dream."
"We worked so hard! We cut back on studying and sleeping, stayed up all night for major events like the Dark Festival, and maintained a good reputation! And now they’re going to take away all our achievements? Isn’t that too much? Just because you’re a senior?"
Remembering the faces of his team, Simon spoke. "Yes. If possible, I would like to continue as the Student Council President."
"Good, good. Our interests align." Aizel smiled, satisfied. "But the problem is the duel. The fact that we have to fight for the presidency doesn’t change."
"Then, if you were to lose to me, Senior..."
"I’d like to, but more than not wanting to be president, I want to maintain this image of Aizel. No, I ’absolutely must’ maintain it."
Simon nodded. That was Aizel’s non-negotiable priority. And considering the public image of Aizel Bringer, it was impossible for him to lose to a second-year or forfeit.
"Is there any chance of me winning on my own merit...?"
"Huh? Don’t be ridiculous."
A nerve throbbed in Simon’s temple. Forcing a smile, he said, "Well, there could be a one percent chance."
"Impossible," Aizel stated calmly, his eyes narrowed.
It wasn’t confidence. This timid, weak-willed person was absolutely certain when it came to victory. For him, winning was an immutable law of the universe, not something that required confidence.
"In any case, the duel will happen. We need a way to transfer the presidency to you without damaging my image. If you’re a disappointment in the duel—if you’re so weak that passing the presidency to you would tarnish my dignity and image..." His expression went blank. "Then I’ll have no choice but to put on a show of thoroughly crushing you in front of the entire student body."
The weak-willed tyrant of Kizen. The little devil, Aizel Bringer. When it came to his skills, at least, there was no room for doubt. An involuntary chill ran down Simon’s spine. This person wasn’t normal, either.
"I want to find a path where everyone is happy, but I’d rather die than have the dignity I’ve built over three years be tarnished. I’d rather get expelled or hang myself."
"...You’re very firm on that."
Aizel stood up. "Anyway, keep thinking about it until the day of the duel after the final exams. If you come up with a good idea, I’ll follow it."
"...I understand."
"Well then."
Aizel gestured, and the cardigan on the table flew through the air and draped itself over his shoulders. Then, still in his socks, he hopped off the sofa, landing perfectly in front of his discarded shoes as his pants fell to cover his feet.
Simon’s mouth fell open. ’Was he floating on the wind?’
With a flick of his fingertips, a breeze lifted his hair, styling it into the sharp, elite look that exposed his forehead. Finally, he put on the glasses from the floor, and his meek image vanished completely, replaced by a sharp, angular appearance. They weren’t ordinary glasses; they were clearly a magical artifact.
"I’ll be expecting great things from you," Aizel said, his voice as cold and detached as if their entire conversation had never happened. He turned his back, one hand in his pocket, and gestured with the other without looking back. "Simon Polentia."
With a clatter, all the windows in the lounge flew open, and the curtains rattled shut. Every trace of the soundproofing magic vanished. By the time Simon went to see him off, Aizel had disappeared like the wind.

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