What St. Florin's Academy lacked in aesthetics, it gained in walls.

A lot of them.

Originally founded as a final retreat during the tail end of The War of the Five Sickles, Carnelian Castle, as it was known during its infancy, grew from the destitution that followed Berylcross's eventual annexation.

Wealth gathered within its walls as the castle became the de facto shelter for deposed nobles following the regime change, only further congregating when it also became the staging ground for rebellion by those same deposed nobles, now bolstered by their every distant relation gambling their future livelihoods on another round of warfare roulette. Throughout the years of smouldering ruin that followed, the only thing which rose higher than the smoke and flames were Carnelian Castle's walls. And they only ever increased.

Thus, as Mireille peered curiously around the circular courtyard, it felt more and more like St. Florin's Academy was detached from reality and sectioned off in its own little world. Granted, it was a little world encompassed by battlements which wouldn't have looked out of place towering over the city's main gates, but the courtyard nevertheless retained all the pleasantries that a prestigious academy demanded these days, if not required.

The tiled courtyard was littered with oak benches and beds of orchids, all centred around a fountain topped with a delightful bronze mermaid figurine. The water flowed from a seashell cupped against her ear and frothed past her waving fins.

Mireille felt that the St. Florin's Academy courtyard would have made for a wonderfully tranquil park, if not for the sounds of haggling which even hiked above the sounds of rushing fountain water.

The academy boasted its own range of shops and stalls, some dotted throughout the courtyard like concession stands at a fair, while some were inexplicably carved into the twenty metre high walls, as though the original castle always intended to pay for itself by being rented out as an extremely sturdy set of commercial premises.

Mireille eyed a particular shop peeking out at her from between a pair of potted trees. She could hear the uncertain notes of a piano being played from within, as well as the wailing of a new violin being forcibly tuned. Her hopes of treasure were muted, but she'd still try browsing for AKELA merchandise later.

Now, though, she had to breathe. And breathe. And breathe.

There were two cafés on the academy grounds. One was for the nobility. One was affordable.

It also helped that the affordable one included outdoor tables perfectly suited for collapsing on.

“Six minutes past one,” said Olivia, beaming without a hint of sweat on her. “Wonderful work, class! Next time, we'll make it in time to hear the lunch bell chime.”

“Next time . . . ?” croaked Tabitha, her last remnants of stamina being directed into keeping her prized staff from sliding onto the floor. “Are . . . Are there lunch bells in heaven . . . ?”

“I'd be disappointed if there wasn't. However, you're not quite dead yet, Tabitha.”

“Yet . . . meaning there's still time . . .”

“Much more time. The year has only just begun.”

“U-Ugh . . .”

Olivia Barinette smiled without an ounce of mercy. If it wasn't for the forced nature of their march back to the academy, passers-by would have mistook them as being on a class outing. With Olivia walking at the front of the procession and everyone else trailing behind to form a semi-organised group, it really did look like a field trip. For a time.

Except it turns out that no actual field trip could possibly be as exhausting as a stroll in the sunshine with their new homeroom instructor.

As the rest of the 279th intake was getting to know each other in the courtyard of St. Florin's Academy via the exits of their well-ventilated classrooms, Mirielle, Yuela, Tabitha and Coco had arrived from the main gate covered in variable amounts of sweat and grime.

“This concludes today's homeroom session,” said Olivia, as if their suffering was planned all along. “I need to discuss the details of my contract with that lovely principal of yours. I might see you again in the afternoon or evening, depending on what the schedule looks like these days. Until then, please enjoy your remaining classes.”

With a gentle wave, she left her four students to their misery. Pushing a few café chairs neatly into place as she left, Olivia strolled off without a care in the world.

Well, except for the impending details of her salary.

“Demon,” murmured Tabitha, the moment she was out of earshot. “Our homeroom instructor isn't a gardener. She's a demon.”

“Please do not speak ill of the teaching staff,” said Yuela, who had joined Mireille on the path of ignoring every falling strand of hair over her eyes. “There is a method to her madness. I am certain of it. No instructor would be so wilfully disdainful of their students' physical well-being without a reason.”

“No, wait, I'm pretty sure that's a dig at her . . . and not a very subtle one, either . . .”

“Clearly, she wasn't satisfied with our stamina. That's why she insisted on traversing the way by foot.”

“Oh, it makes sense now. And here I thought she was just a sadist.”

“Sadism and an appreciation for endurance training are not mutually exclusive attributes.”

Tabitha laughed. The table shook as she planted her elbows on it.

“Now you're not even trying to hide it. I'm pretty impressed you were still standing, though. I thought you were already tired from the amazing phantasm thing I missed out on?”

“You did not miss out on anything. In fact, I would highly appreciate it if you would intrude on any future scenarios involving large and menacing phantasms around my immediate vicinity.”

“Got it! If no bump on head, go help out the damsel in distress!”

“. . . And as for your query, so long as Mireille had the strength to continue walking, then so did I.”

“Ooh, that's pretty stoic of you! Hey, Mireille, how did you manage to keep — huh? . . . Mireille?!”

Mireille's face was planted on the café table.

“Guys, I can't feel my body,” she said to the darkness. “. . . Is that normal?”

“No, that's not normal,” replied Yuela, whose hands had reached out to gently reposition Mireille's head. “Here, at least collapse in a way that allows you to intake air.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“You worked hard today, Yuela.”

Yuela's eyes blinked in surprise, then glanced between a nearby tree and an orchid before returning to focus on Mireille's upturned face.

Mireille wondered if mundane compliments for Yuela's work didn't come as often as they should have.

“Yes, well . . . as did you. We certainly introduced ourselves with more vigour than the typical new student requires . . .”

“Ooh . . . Yuela looks pretty cute when she's embarrassed,” said Tabitha, smiling from ear to ear.

“I did not ask for your opinion. Nobody ever asks you for your opinion.”

Yuela hurriedly looked away, this time settling on a group of students parked just beyond the ring of tables. As the noise of their conversation began to seep across, it became obvious from their manner of speech that they were associated with the academy's nobility.

“Shouldn't we choose lunch at the Café Trénilo? This one is for the . . .”

“Their menu is too extravagant. A simple lunch here will do.”

“Is it acceptable for us to dine here?”

“We're not dining, Helena. We're students eating lunch. There are no formalities we must observe for choosing between which perfectly serviceable café on the academy grounds to sit at.”

Yuela looked away, brows creased and eyes slightly forlorn. She joined Tabitha by planting her elbows on the table.

Naturally, a whole host of considerations could be derived from Yuela's simple actions. Tabitha had to be delicate.

“Hey, they look like they're wearing rich girls' panties. You wanna go say hi to them?”

Tabitha chose to be delicate in her own way. A special way. And so Yuela merely chose to redirect her slightly solemn eyes against her instead.

“Why?” asked Yuela plainly.

“Why? . . . Well, 'cause friendship and stuff?”

“Friendship . . . the predator of the naïve,” murmured Yuela, her head and arms plopping down to rest against the table. “Social circles are prisons for the foolhardy . . . Bonds, rapport, relationships . . . all gratuitous self-adoration masking as empathy.”

Tabitha tilted her head.

“Eh? Say again?”

“I am better off without such vaporous notions as friendship dragging me down. I will be stronger alone. I will rise above the crowds gathering like ants on a piece of rotten fruit.”

“Uwah, this is scary . . . Yuela has already become a shut-in . . .”

“Wouldn't she normally be spending time with the other noble girls now?” asked Mireille, recovering enough of her bodily functions to sit up.

“Well, she still can, right?”

“Hmm . . . but they look like they've already started forming into groups?”

“Why's that a problem?”

“Maybe it's a noble thing?”

“What? Rich girls can't be late to parties? Witches can bump into each other at any time of the day and automatically be best friends.”

“Well, Yuela is in a different class to everyone at this point. I think the nobility in schools have something called 'cliques'. It must be hard for her to just introduce herself for no reason.”

Seeing as how this only seemed to make Yuela appear more depressed, Mireille pointed at the bow resting on her lap. As the saying probably goes, when the going gets tough, obstinately change the subject.

“Yuela, the way you used your bow earlier was amazing!” she said with maximum enthusiasm. “It kinda looked like the arrows just . . . appeared on the bowstring. Is that magic?”

“Hm . . . ?” Yuela sluggishly raised her head. “No, it's not magic . . . well, not in the usual sense. I mean, you are not technically incorrect . . . the arrows are called by the bow . . .”

“Seriously? Isn't that really, really amazing? How do you make that happen?”

Yuela blinked, then peered down at her lap. Apparently, just like with declaring her entrance examination results, her melancholy could be eased with a spot of grandstanding.

“My bow has its own Mana cache. Although I'm not a witch and cannot wield spells, I do have enough ancestry in my blood to utilise a weapon of this calibre. But rather than saying I am conjuring the arrows, it is more apt to say that the bow is summoning them on my behalf.”

“That's amazing! Isn't that amazing, Tabitha? A bow that summons arrows!”

“Eh? . . . Is that it? O-Oh, right! It totally is amazing!”

Yuela's face darkened in response to Tabitha's supreme disingenuousness.

“Your staff also has impressive properties, I take it?” she asked curtly.

“Yup!” Tabitha faithfully hugged it. “My staff helps me focus on setting fire to stuff.”

“Haaaaaaaaaaah . . .”

“H-Hey, what's with the defeated sigh?”

“Nothing . . . Nothing at all. Your staff certainly does look ominous, especially with that large jewel on top . . . In fact, I wonder if it's more expensive than—”

“Yeah, no doubt.”

“Excuse me?”

“Trust me, my staff is waaaaaaay more expensive than what you've got there.”

Well, at least Tabitha knew how to dispel gloom. All she had to do was replace it with a stronger emotion. Like annoyance.

“My bow was commissioned by my mother,” said Yuela, joining Mireille in sitting up straight. “And crafted by a consortium of the greatest living artisans known on the continent. Bowyers and magic artificers combined their knowledge and expertise to create this weapon. I chose to name it Ophelia, in tribute to the Chief Librarian of the Artificer's Guild who oversaw its entire creation.”

“Heeeh, is that so?”

Tabitha leaned across the table.

“My staff was whittled from a branch donated by a black walnut tree. The tree was planted by my ancestors and is bigger than the castle you might or might not live in. My staff's a living weapon. It's not only imbued with magic, but has a soul of its own. These precious, super expensive staves have watched over generations of my family, and this one will watch over me as well.”

Yuela nodded, then hesitated.

“. . . Does it have a name?”

“Of course it has a name. Mira. After my godmother.”

“I see. And do you . . . do you find that your proficiency with your weapon increases after giving it a name . . . ?”

“I do! It's weird how that works, right?!”

“I agree! It shouldn't have any practical effect, and yet the results are tangible . . .”

As a moment of understanding crept between the two squabbling classmates, Mireille eagerly decided to step in. Not to be undone by anything as petty as public etiquette, she proudly unsheathed her beloved pair of swords. The girls who had begun to sit down at the next table looked at her in alarm.

Mireille happily brandished her swords.

“This is Shop Bought Rapier, and this is Shop Bought Sabre! I'm very fond of them both!!”

Yuela and Tabitha stared at Mireille with a pair of rigid smiles.

“Mireille, I noticed this earlier . . .” said Yuela lightly. “But do you always look so cheerful when you're waving your weapons about?”

“I dunno . . . do I? Should I stop?”

“N-No . . . I mean, it's rather frightening in its own way, so, I suppose it's fine as it is . . . ?”

“All right!”

At this point, Coco lifted up her arms. As she had no weapons to speak of, she probably felt she had to raise them as high as possible to compete with the dangerous array being thoughtlessly exhibited in a public space.

“This is Coco's right fist. And this is Coco's left fist.”

“Your fists don't need names, huh?” said Tabitha cheerily.

“Names are redundant. Coco's enemies never forget her fists. The shape imprints onto their faces.”

A moment of respectful silence followed.

“Uwah . . . Coco won.”

Mirielle smiled at the girl proudly showing off her little fists.

However, as she thought about the ease in which Coco pummelled the phantasm into the void, she recalled the intense chill she felt from the brief contact her back had made with the creature's mass. Simply recalling it was enough for a ghostly shiver to run through her like an aftershock.

“Coco, doesn't it hurt to punch a phantasm?” she asked.

“Negative. Coco's offensive strengthening magic depletes the shock of impact.”

“Does that mean you don't feel . . . well, how cold it is, either?”

Mireille asked that in the hope Coco could also dispel the unworldly chill with her strengthening magic.

However, Coco instead gave a short pause before answering. That pause sent a greater chill up Mireille's spine than any she'd felt today.

“. . . Coco has become accustomed to the sensation of phantasm contact.”

All Mirielle could do was gently smile. Coco was a much braver girl than she was.

As well as stronger. Much, much stronger.

“Coco, you're really something.”

“She is,” said Yuela, who was perhaps unaware of the sacrifice Coco made whenever she sent her fists plummeting into a phantasm. “Beating down phantasms in hand-to-hand combat? Honestly, nothing about her fighting style makes sense. In fact, a bit of sense is something all of us are sorely lacking.”

“. . . By 'all of us', you super mean everyone but you, right?” asked Tabitha, busying herself by patting Coco's head.

“That's correct.”

Yuela stood up, ignoring any sense of remorse at the boldness of her claim.

“Let's go.”

“Eh? Go where?” replied Tabitha.

“I've decided we cannot waste away the lunch period while our fellow students get the better of us. We're going to do some special training.”

“What kind of special training?” asked Mireille, feeling excited despite her endless fatigue. "Combat training?"

"No." Yuela shook her head. “Common sense training.”

Before anybody could question the bizarre nature of this special training, which was likely even going to triumph over the severity of the gardening training they'd endured earlier, the waitress came over with a pad and pen in hand.

“Sorry for the wait. May I take your order?”

Yuela sat back down.