“You are what you think.”

Demund twiddled his pen with his fingers. While the class was a history class, the teacher loved to include the philosophies that had emerged between the periods. While they didn’t emerge as test questions, they were, however, included as extra credit, which meant that he couldn’t afford to ignore them.

“Every human being thinks. According to Dene Recar, the element which separates us from animals is our ability to think. We, too, live by instinct, but our minds can surpass that instinct, bringing us closer to enlightenment. Now, who can tell me what enlightenment is?”

A girl raised her hand.

“It’s being able to think beyond that which restricts us.”

“Yes, it is. Instincts can restrict us. But so can culture and society, perhaps even your own parents and friends. That brings up the topic of objectivism, but that’s enough for philosophy. In 1625…”

The teacher went on as Demund jotted down notes. Memorizing was always his forte. At least, it had become one of his strengths thanks to his newly developed abilities. Philosophy hadn’t been a problem either. But today of all days, his mind seemed to wander with the thought.

You are what you think.

Absolute truth and good was always a complex subject. He hadn’t thought much of it before; he was busy living the present. But since he’d been talking so much with Prince Boren in the other world, these ideas had begun sprouting in his mind, distracting him even in the real world. That wasn’t good. But he’d begun to reflect upon himself.

And regret as well. So many regrets. His good memory didn’t let him forget about his mistakes, his afflictions, his numbness…

Even now, he felt the same.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

“You are what you think,” Shaden quoted, reading the scroll Boren had provided him with.

The prince raised his head. “Hmm?”

It was a pleasant, sunny day with beautiful clouds in the sky, floating gently by. They were enjoying tea and cookies in the garden, brought to them by the servants of the palace. A prince’s life wasn’t that busy, Shaden had discovered.

“It’s something I’ve read—in a book,” Shaden replied. “You are what you think. Does that mean that if you change your thoughts, you can become whoever you want to be?”

“Why, a great philosophical question! Let me ponder for a moment.”

His dragon, Markendrath, yawned broadly as it lazily made itself comfortable below the prince’s feet. It reflected the prince’s emotions most of the time. They’d come out here upon Shaden’s request, and judging by the prince’s reaction, it was certain that the man didn’t think that Shaden would be able to do much with the knowledge he’d been given.

“If you could control your thoughts perfectly, yes, you could become anything,” Boren decided. “As the ancient ones say: ‘The mind is the cause of action.’ But is it truly possible to control the mind? Just as you cannot build muscle overnight, the mind cannot change so rapidly. But I agree with your thought. You are what you think.”

Shaden furrowed his eyebrows. “Then—what about when you think about something, then regret it after? Maybe you thought about killing someone but then are horrified by it later.”

“That is still a part of you. See, thoughts are not only the ones you hear. There are subconscious thoughts as well. What do you think of the weather?”

“It’s warm and nice.”

“Yes. But you weren’t thinking of it before, were you?”

“Well—not really. But I was feeling it.”

“Yes. Your perception has created subconscious thoughts, which have emerged into your conscious mind when attention was brought into it.”

“You know, that made me realize that I don’t like philosophy.”

“Haha, it is an arduous process. Philosophy is the training of the mind.”

It wasn’t that it was difficult to understand what Boren was talking about. He understood it. It was just that it felt like through philosophy, the prince was making things much more complex than they actually were. It wasn’t his fault. It was philosophy’s fault.

“But what do you think?” Shaden asked again. “Is it possible to change simply by thinking about it?”

“No, not right away,” Boren answered. “It will take time and effort.”

Shaden pursed his lips. The prince chuckled, seeing his reaction.

“Do you want to change? This nation has very good teachers and scholars.”

“No thank you. I’ll find a way by myself.”

“Hmm.”

Boren took a sip of tea, sighing pleasantly while looking into the distance. “My sisters would usually join me for tea. Or rather, I joined them. Now that they are gone, it’s quite lonely around here.”

Shaden raised his eyes from the scroll.

“The princesses?”

“Yes. Dear Rayel and Valencia. You’ve seen them before, haven’t you?”

“Er—yes.”

“All is forgiven. We would often cast magic on each other as well, such as little curses here and there that would make us trip or make the water freezing cold. We competed with magic to see who would master spells first. When there were ones we didn’t understand, we helped each other learn.”

The prince placed his cup down. “Without them, I would not be where I am now. ‘Choose your friends wisely, for they shape you like sculptors.’ Surely you know that saying?”

“Something similar.”

“It’s difficult to change alone, if not impossible. Like—magic.”

He pointed at Shaden’s scroll. “I’ve given you the incantation, written in the ancient language as you’ve requested. But you will fail to cast it on your first try as you have no teacher. Again and again, you will have to learn the flow of mana and magic. A teacher makes things simpler. They have walked the path you are trying to walk and can show you the proper way.”

Shaden kept his mouth shut. There were things he wanted to say, but it would be rude to interrupt.

The prince continued. “Everything is similar. The body to the mind, the mind to magic. Just like learning magic is difficult, so is learning to change yourself. But we tend to neglect the mind. Like the body, it can be unhealthy.”

Shaden nodded. “An unhealthy mind. You’re saying that I need a teacher to cure it.”

“Only because you mentioned that you wanted to change,” Boren smiled. “I wouldn’t force you. That would be indoctrination which is a snare to philosophy.”

“You’ve said things that I agree with,” Shaden said, putting down the scroll while reaching for a cookie. Erm—would it be rude to eat while talking?”

“By no means. Do go on.”

“Right. These biscuits are good. Would the cooks get beheaded if their dishes are bad?”

“What? Certainly not. But we have tasters.”

“I see. Sorry, I was curious. As I was saying, I don’t think I was surrounded by…the best kinds of people.”

He hadn’t been forced to reveal everything about himself. While there was the possibility that Practol had divulged everything, there had been no mentions about the other families so far. So it was likely that Boren didn’t know exactly why he’d come to Raconel aside from the fact that he was there to learn illusion magic.

“Maybe they did sculpt me, the people around me,” Shaden continued. “I’m used to staying unnoticed. In school, there was so much attention I received—and I mean bad attention. Someone told me that I shouldn’t care about them. That I should ignore them. That I’d get used to it.”

“Skotos must have been…an unkind place.”

“Skotos?” Shaden blinked. “Oh, right.”

He cleared his throat. “So…there were places I went to, places I wasn’t used to. Maybe I was afraid of feeling uncomfortable. I was so used to being uncaring that it took me a long time to finally appreciate them properly. There were things I could have enjoyed much more, but I was keeping myself numb.”

“Please, go on.”

“Then I moved, and the numbness came back. You know, soldiers are not the best kind of people to socialize with. They’re rude, brash, and stubborn.”

Boren chuckled. “I wouldn’t know. They follow my commands very well.”

“That guy from the Reaper Squadron—Book. I was surrounded by people like him. It was horrible.”

“Book? Book is a good man. He may be rough around the edges, but he is sensible.”

Shaden thought back to his first encounter with the man. They’d barely shared a conversation afterwards. He’d merely been observed until the prince had come to free him from the dullness.

“I know, everyone has a good side,” Shaden sighed, thinking back to Hinz. “But it only works if they appreciate—no, respect you as well. You’re a prince; everyone respects you.”

“That is true.”

“But—where was I.”

The soft chirping of the birds made his mind wander for a moment, but he returned to his train of thought. “I stopped caring. I did what I was told. It didn’t end well. If I don’t follow orders, they hate me. If I do, they treat me like a dog.”

“It sounds like you had a lot on your mind.”

“I didn’t know I was this—this frustrated either.”

Shaden breathed out slowly. Circulating kept him calm, but he wasn’t doing that at the moment.

“I always kept myself cool-headed. Maybe it was a bad thing.”

“Truly, there are times when one must express themselves. Talking is the best way of seeing how one really feels on the inside.”

“Is that philosophy as well?”

“It is more common wisdom.”

“I think you may be right,” Shaden agreed. “You know, I never talked about this to anyone. It feels better.”

Boren smiled. “Conversation is key in healing the mind. The burden can be shared.”

Burden. Maybe it was a burden. If his friends in the real world heard about it, they’d think of it as annoying. As the club leader, he couldn’t complain about everything—especially when there were girls around. He’d…gotten so used to staying quiet and enduring everything.

Shaden breathed in, picking up the scroll again. “You know, I’ve never had many problems using magic. You said that learning magic was similar to strengthening the mind.”

“Something similar, yes. They cannot be rushed.”

“The thing is—I’ve always rushed through magic. Even when I began from scratch, I could make my imagination into reality. Do you think I could do the same with my mind?”

The prince was clearly skeptical given his expression, but he crossed his arms and rubbed his chin, looking as if he was thinking deeply. “The mind…I wouldn’t be so sure. But you could control emotions. That would be simpler. To change the mind, you would need another mind that is different from your current one.”

“Another mind?”

“But that mind wouldn’t be you,” Boren said. “It would be a different existence that shares the same body with you.”

For some reason, his shadow came to his mind. There had been times when it had acted independently, mostly to protect him, but always to prevent him from killing another person. He still didn’t understand it completely, but it would be the element he would rely on the most later on.

“Not me. True, I would still very much like to be me,” Shaden said. “But I’d like to be the ideal me. A happy, carefree, cool me.”

“For that, you will have to know yourself,” the prince said.

“Know…myself.”

He was Demund. An only child with a childhood friend, with problems during middle school that had made him reclusive. Gifted with the dream world when his friend left, allowing him to become somewhat independent. New friends had come to him along with a beautiful girl, but she was now gone, as well as one of his legs. He’d been caught in a drama again but had managed to emerge without being traumatized, helped by his friends to whom he now taught magic.

He was Shaden. The second child of his household, the heir of Skotos who’d carelessly enjoyed life before. He had two siblings. He’d made friends, Mistilia and Eilae, and a few others he hadn’t spent much time with. He’d been captured, rescued, trained, sent on a trip, then sent back to learn from the families. Captured, sentenced, oppressed, forced to do things he didn’t want to. A child not yet of age, yet mentally old, but not feeling very old. Perhaps childishly submissive, but not anymore. He didn’t want to be.

“There are still so many things I don’t know,” Shaden sighed. “What if I make the wrong decision? What do you think? Is it better to follow other people’s orders since they know better or act how I want to?”

“You don’t like inconveniencing others.”

“No.”

Maybe that was why he was telling the prince his thoughts, because he, while close enough to talk to, was not close enough for him to worry about annoying him. After all, the prince’s future was in his hands.

“It’s hard to make the perfect decision,” the prince nodded, “but who defines what is perfect? Here, it is the Guardian who defines it. And I—” the prince winked, “am not perfect. Inconveniencing others? Why not! Let them have their share of discomfort. As long as you can defend your cause, I would say—anything goes.”

“Like gambling.”

“Like gambling,” Boren agreed. “What is it that you want to do?”

Shaden looked up at the clouds.

“I want to enjoy my time here, and everywhere,” he answered. “I don’t want to feel the squeezing in my chest. And I don’t want to make it numb, but—blow it up.”

“Blow it up?”

“As in, let it all out.”

“You want to feel free from everything. That is what many philosophers seek.”

“You…could say that.”

Shaden smiled. His smile broadened into a chuckle, then a hearty laugh. “Isn’t it funny? We’re both imprisoned here.”

“Physically, yes. But aren’t we all imprisoned in our bodies? Freedom comes from the mind.”

“The mind,” Shaden repeated. “You—you may be right.”

He took in a deep breath, probably the deepest one he’d taken in his life. Closing his eyes, he decided, “I’m free.”

“How simple,” the prince chuckled. “Not that simplicity is a bad thing. All free men are simple, are they not?”

“I don’t quite follow, but—”

Shaden got up from his chair, picking up the scroll once more. “I think I know what I want to do now. Magic is a wonderful thing. So is meeting new people. I like helping them too. Showing off a little won’t be much of a problem, will it?”

“A wise man keeps himself composed, but yes. I like showing off too.”

“Then—so be it. It’s a wonderful day for some rain.”

“Rain? You don’t mean…”

Before Boren finished his sentence, Shaden began to recite the words of the scroll, pronouncing the words clearly with his mouth. Then again, his body always spoke the right words, able to decipher all kinds of languages. He felt a kind of line form between him and the sky, and the sound of distant rumbling could be heard faintly, as soft as the fluttering of bird wings. But his ears were keen.

“I suppose the blessing will keep you from tearing your mana pool apart, but don’t force it!” Boren called from his seat. “Stop right away when your head feels heavy!”

Shaden didn’t—or couldn’t reply. His eyes were one-third through the scroll, reciting everything with perfection. The thin line had turned into a waterfall flowing upwards, and a second rumble shook the sky, casting a shadow over the city.

“You—can’t be serious?!” Boren cried, jumping out of his seat to look at the sky.

While Shaden’s eyes were glued to the scroll, he could feel the air become heavier while the sun hid behind the thick clouds. By now, he had already memorized the last line. Letting the scroll drop to the floor, he looked up at the sky and recited the last line:

“I command the skies to open and let the streams flow to the earth – Rainfall!”

Shaden breathed heavily, his body brimming with mana. At the utterance of the final word, he felt something snap between him and the sky, stopping the flow of power out of himself. The sky was dark, brimming with thick, deeply-colored clouds, but there was no sign of water falling onto the earth. He heard nothing but distant rumbling.

“Did I fail?” he asked, turning to Boren.”

“It’s too early to tell,” Boren muttered, looking at the sky as well. “But I would say—the dragons be damned.”

They waited silently—almost too quietly. But when the first drop of water hit Shaden’s face, the city was soon filled with the thundering of heavy rain. He turned to the prince, uncaring that his body was soaked now.

“Magic is too simple,” Shaden said, raising his arms. “Thus, changing myself is simple as well. Maybe not there, but here? You know, I already feel happy. My indecisiveness, my reluctance to voice my opinions—I’m throwing it all away. It’s hard to change, truly. But this body—”

He balled his hand into a fist. “I know I can do it. There is nothing to fear anymore.”

“Good…luck with that?” The prince nodded. “Well, I wasn’t planning on getting soaked today.”

“Neither was I.”

“The people at the marketplace will be angry now,” Boren sniffed. “It was a wonderfully sunny day.”

Shaden’s eyes widened. “The—oh.”

“It’s an amazing feat what you did here, but we have weather forecasts for a reason. I’ll explain it to the court magicians, so don’t worry much. Next time, let’s go somewhere more distant, shall we?”

Sheepishly, Shaden scratched his head. “Yes, let’s do that. Could you get more scrolls for me then?”

“I’m going to get an earful for lending you the Rainfall scroll,” Boren said, shaking his head. “I will have to receive permission for more scrolls. Your talent is terrifying.”

“You only just realized that?”

“No—but this is magic that changes the weather. It couldn’t be as simple as reading the words off of a page.”

Boren peered at the sky. “And yet, it is.”

They looked up at the rain as the servants flocked around them with umbrellas and towels.

“Is it possible to stop it?” Shaden asked, scratching his cheek. “I feel a little bad now. Some people might have been enjoying picnics.”

“It’s unhealthy to change the weather frequently.”

“I see.”

“We have weather forecasts, and you ruined it.”

“Ah. Sorry about that.”

“But sometimes, a little deviation isn’t bad,” the prince said. “So, how does it feel to inconvenience others?”

He’d begun to feel a little bad. But he’d willed his emotions to change and his mind to shift its thinking. And he knew he’d succeeded in changing himself, like how he would change gears on his bicycle. It was strange. But—

“It doesn’t feel bad,” Shaden smiled. “Now I know I can control the weather.”

“So you can. So you can…”

It had been that easy, like the snap of a finger. Of course, when he woke up, he would still be his old self. He was fairly satisfied with his position in the other world. But at least here, he would do as he wanted. The biggest difference?

He decided to no longer care about those he didn’t like.

And that made all the difference.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

He was summoned by some higher-looking individuals sent by the king to see who had cast weather magic. It struck him that the Guardian was a lazy or reclusive one, seeing as it didn’t question him directly—or perhaps it didn’t care about trivial matters. It was likely confident in the curse it had placed on him as it already knew about the vast amount of mana he could conjure.

In any case, it was fortunate for him. The prince quickly explained matters, and they received permission to practice magic elsewhere. All things considered, his current life was quite relaxed. Melany seemed to like the new environment and had made friends at the orphanage. His parents weren’t too uncomfortable as well, though sometimes, he heard them talk about their friends back at Danark before he went to sleep.

The house they were living in was a good one, and they didn’t need to worry about money either. Garthan would be assigned a job soon, possibly as an instructor at the Royal Swordsmanship Academy. His mother could be a little lonely, but she was always the sociable type. She’d find friends among the locals soon enough. Shidey was as lazy as ever. He found himself getting used to his current life, talking extensively with Prince Boren and enjoying learning new spells, eating sweets in between. There were times when he was required to demonstrate his abilities once in a while before the court magicians and members of the Reaper Squadron, but those were minor inconveniences. Being a close acquaintance with the prince, no one bothered him, and while not utterly respectful, were not rude in the slightest.

It wasn’t a bad life.

Though…there was always a sense of emptiness in his heart. He didn’t have a particular goal set in mind, and while he was planning to set himself free, what else would he do afterwards? Would his family have to run from the city and go to Skotos for their safety? He would have to take their convenience away for his selfish reasons. While he did have the duty to go to the Veurbois and learn from them as well, it was something he could still do in his current situation.

Only animals can be forced to submit, Eshel had told him. It does nothing to people. Father says that while people have souls, animals don’t.

Souls. The topic had puzzled him since he hadn’t thought about the soul much. If there was a soul, was there an afterlife? People in Exarria believed in the existence of gods. There were spirits as well, though he hadn’t seen any before.

Did dragons have souls? He hadn’t used his magic on Markendrath to be polite, but he would have to sooner or later. It would solve so many of his problems once he knew.

But the question still was what he wanted to do after everything.

“I would make a harem,” Rhyne joked. “Actually, scratch that. Girls can be annoying. Don’t you usually aim to become the strongest?”

“The strongest,” Demund repeated. “That sounds bothersome.”

“I’d read so many books,” Riley said, “and eat so many foods. Learn magic too. Can you ride dragons and griffins?”

“I’ve ridden a wyvern before.”

“Wow. How’d it feel?”

“It’s scary if you look down, but overall, it’s nice. Your hair goes all over the place though.”

“I wish I could have gotten a dream world as my power,” Rhyne complained with a sigh as he hit his last dart on the moving target with perfection.

“You can literally slow down time for yourself.”

Rhyne shrugged. “Meh.”

It was Demund’s first time at the Senior Festival. There were various booths run by the seniors that could be enjoyed with tickets (which Rhyne had bought in bulk), and they were currently striding around, collecting prizes while eating skewered chicken, deep-fried. The school had been decorated extensively to fit that year’s theme: Pirates and Parrots. The swimming pool had been transformed into a sea filled with ships, one of the buildings into a governmental jail/bounty office, and the big old tree to the right of the library in the school garden was stuffed with parrots, though no events were being held there.

“Isn’t there a lot to do?” Rhyne said, triumphantly collecting his prize. “Ah, I know why you’re feeling bored. It’s because you didn’t fight anyone.”

“Fight? I don’t want to kill people.”

“You don’t need to. You just need to enjoy an intense battle. And when you’re losing, you shout your lungs out, then voila! You unleash your hidden power, destroying your enemies.”

Demund winced. “I had my lungs seared once. It wasn’t fun.”

“You can feel pain?”

“Well, duh.”

“But it’s a dream world.”

“That’s the thing. Sometimes it’s realer than reality. But sometimes, I can do anything I want. It’s weird.”

“Then can’t you make yourself not feel pain?”

“I can,” Demund said. Through circulating, he could control himself and ignore the pain, “but I still don’t want my limbs to burn.”

“You can still feel pain in dreams,” Riley added. “Remember when you talked about getting beheaded?”

Rhyne frowned. “Oh yeah. That wasn’t nice.”

“Let’s try out the floating apples next,” Demund suggested.

“You know, I still think it would have been cool if you wore a wooden peg leg,” Rhyne said on their way there. “You could have rocked the costume contest.”

“It might not be too late,” Demund shrugged. “Do you think they’ll have a peg leg?”

“Maybe. Riley, did you bring that eyepatch?”

“Dude, it’s a pirate-themed event. Of course I brought it.”

“Nice.”

They hadn’t done much together except study, eat, and play games. But they were close. Demund held in the urge to hug his friends. At that moment, everything seemed so genuine, so kind. It wasn’t like the other world.

Perhaps it was the people around him who made all of the difference. Not the fancy buildings, nor complex spells, but the individuals he met.

“No, no! Someone catch the bird!”

“Sergeant Peppermint!”

A distant yet familiar voice cried out among the crowd, and out of the corner of his eye, Demund saw something blue flutter by while a group of heavily-dressed pirates cautiously but frantically chased after it.

“What the heck was that?” Rhyne said, squinting at the commotion. “Sergeant Peppermint?”

“I heard someone brought an actual parrot,” Riley answered. “I think it was one of the missions. If I remember correctly it should have been with the student council president. Since he’s the captain and all.”

The student council. Last year, after they’d helped him earn permission for his confession plan, he hadn’t gone to see them at all. They’d visited the hospital, but afterwards, their relationship had sort of…died.

The student council was still the same. They’d done the elections and Brad Hickenson had been elected again with his group during the school assembly. The guy was good at what he did, being sociable, fun, and easygoing.

“Wow, look at that crowd,” Rhyne whistled. “Want to go take a look?”

A sizable number of people had crowded around the statue at the center of the school, their eyes looking up towards the figure’s open hand. The student council president was there, trying to climb the statue, but was being held back by the vice-president whom Demund remembered as the cool-headed one.

“Sergeant Peppermint! I had seeds! Seeds, I say!” the president cried, waving his hand. “Come down!”

“President, calm yourself,” the vice-president sighed. “Wait a while and it will come down.”

“Right, please go enjoy the other booths!” a girl announced through a small megaphone. Demund recognized her as the secretary. “The parrot doesn’t like crowds! Please move to let it come down!”

The crowd dissipated quickly afterwards, and hearing the notice, his friends turned around as well, motioning to him.

“Floating apples, right?” Riley said. “Let’s go.”

Demund looked from them to the statue, then back towards them.

“I think I could help,” Demund told them. “You guys go on first. Over there, right? It won’t take a minute.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I got a trick up my sleeve.”

After separating from them, he walked towards the statue where the student council members were looking up at the parrot. Naturally, the secretary stepped in his way, waving to get his attention.

“Sorry, the parrot doesn’t like—oh, Desmond?”

“Demund,” Demund corrected. “Hi. Long time no see.”

“Well…”

It was subtle, but he saw her eyes flicker past his leg. “Yeah, it’s been a while,” she agreed.

“Demund?”

The president stepped forward, seeds still in his hand. “Hey, you made it! Are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yeah, thanks to you guys.”

“That’s great. Well, as you can see—”

He motioned at the parrot, “—we’re having some difficulties. I thought I clipped his wings properly. Darn it. So, do you need anything?”

“I think I could get your parrot down,” Demund offered. The president nodded.

“Er, no damaging the statue though. Don’t worry, someone went to fetch the ladders.”

“Trust me. It won’t take a second. Besides, the parrot will like it too.”

“Well—why not. What’s your plan?”

“Here, watch.”

He stepped closer to the statue so that he could see the parrot clearly. It was moving about on the statue’s hand, paying no attention to them. Demund stretched his hand out.

“You need seeds?” the president asked.

Demund shook his head. To those who didn’t know, he would look pretty ridiculous. But what would happen would be even more so.

The parrot suddenly froze, cocking its head towards Demund and making eye contact. After jumping to the edge of the statue’s hand, it fluttered off, gliding awkwardly until it landed on Demund’s hand, looking up into his eyes.

“Peekaboo,” it said.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaat?!”

The president held his hair with both hands, his jaw dropping down. “But Sergeant Peppermint doesn’t like strangers!”

“Yeah,” Demund agreed. “He was very nervous. He’s calm now.”

“Really? How?”

“You must know what club I’m in.”

“You mean—magic?”

Demund smiled, passing the parrot onto the president’s shoulder. “I’ve asked it to not worry and stay with you, but the effects might wear off after I leave. When it fluffs its feathers, it means that it's upset and probably should go back into the cage. It’s lonely as well. You should get it a friend.”

He directed his focus toward the bird.

“I want a girlfriend,” the parrot agreed.

The vice-president raised an eyebrow. “President?”

“What? I didn’t teach it to say that!” he complained. “I never said that. How, Sergeant Peppermint?”

Demund held in the urge to laugh and cleared his throat instead. “I’ll be going now. Good luck with everything.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a minute.”

The president placed a hand on his shoulder. “You should participate in the costume contest. What do you say?”

“The contest?”

“Yes! There’s a big prize as well. Since Sergeant Peppermint seems to like you, I can lend him to you. Besides,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “I can’t exactly keep him under control. Maybe you would be better at taking care of him.”

“What exactly is the contest about again?”

“Dressing up as the best captain. I think you’ll make a perfect pirate captain. The only guy in school who can have a peg—”

The comment earned him a smack on the head by the vice-president.

“The contest happens at five,” she said with a sigh. “Only if you want to join.”

Demund nodded. “So I still have plenty of free time.”

The president’s eyes lit up. “Oh? So would you join?”

“Why not? I like the peg leg idea.”

“R-really? That’s great! Right, I’ll give you a call at around four-thirty.”

“Could I bring my friends as henchmen?”

“That’s actually a great idea.” The president clapped his hands. “Ruri, can we get more costumes?”

“We have plenty. But will it be enough to win against the other people? Some of them were wearing some high-quality clothes.”

“That’s our problem to worry about. We’ll make him win for sure for saving Sergeant Peppermint.”

“President—you know we’re not completely free.”

“Consider the time saved because my parrot was saved quickly.”

The vice-president sighed. “Fine, I’ll juggle it somehow.”

“Excellent. Demund—you’ll be the best pirate the world has ever seen. How good are you at roleplaying?”

“Excuse me?”

He’d expected a simple costume show. But the president’s eyes were burning with passion. The costume competition, Demund realized, was not simply a competition only based on costumes.

“This is top-secret, but you’ll have to battle against me and take over my ship,” the president whispered. “There are points for everything, so be prepared.”

“We’ll have to fight?”

“What? No, that’s scary! Just simple games. I said I’d make you win, but I can’t spill the beans just yet. Don’t worry, the costume accounts for one-third of the points.”

“What’s the other two-thirds?”

“Character and winning games, of course!”

Demund chuckled nervously.

He hadn’t been planning for this.