There Is No World For ■■

Lord Howe’s faculty office was spacious.

Unlike the students, who had separate main buildings assigned for each grade, the teachers shared a single office space.

Of course, this didn’t mean it was some chaotic market-like place with dozens or even hundreds of teachers crowded together.

The Academy had the resources and capacity to provide most teachers with private offices, and most of them preferred it that way.

As a result, Lord Howe’s faculty office, contrary to outsiders’ grandiose imaginations, resembled a quiet administrative office where teachers worked individually.

At least, that was true—until yesterday.

Today, the day when applications for special classes began, the office had transformed into a veritable madhouse.

Marcus, the third-year math teacher, shouted across the room.

Kim Soo-jin, the second-year international law teacher, frantically searched for someone while clutching a stack of papers.

Everywhere, teachers were rushing about, consumed by their tasks.

The faculty office looked less like a workplace and more like a scene of utter chaos.

Among the flurry of activity, a dwarf teacher let out a heavy sigh.

“Why couldn’t we just handle this electronically...?”

Although it wasn’t a question he expected an answer to, one came from the seat next to him.

“Well, what can you do? Not every student knows how to use electronic devices.”

Turning his head, Margan saw Teacher Gemini heaving her own sighs as she wrestled with a mountain of paperwork.

Without even sparing him a glance, she continued her explanation.

“Some of these students probably saw a cell phone for the first time after arriving at the Academy—especially those from beyond the dimensional gates.”

“....”

“The same goes for the special instructors. You know how some mages still think using electronics drains their mana? They claim it’s some Earth conspiracy or whatever.”

Her voice brimmed with an animated frustration that made Margan chuckle wryly.

“Looks like overtime is guaranteed today.”

“I’d settle for overtime. At this rate, we might have to pull an all-nighter....”

As she spoke, Gemini pulled out another thick stack of documents.

These included student profiles for the special instructors and materials submitted by those instructors regarding their classes.

“As long as nothing unexpected happens, we should finish by tonight.”

“...You know that saying something like that guarantees something will go wrong.”

Gemini frowned at him but didn’t protest further. Instead, she lightened his load by moving some of the documents to his desk.

“This special class program is already a disaster. What worse could happen?”

The nearby teachers all glanced at Margan upon hearing this remark, but none contradicted him.

It was an unspoken truth. Most of the faculty in the office shared the same sentiment.

The Academy already had a competent teaching staff—what did these special classes mean for the existing teachers?

Still, no one had acted on their discontent.

The majority understood why Principal Himena had made this decision.

Considering the external pressures on the Academy and internal threats like Nikolai, the special instructors were likely the best countermeasure she could implement.

But understanding didn’t make the extra work any less grueling.

“At this rate, I might end up sleeping here in the office.”

Margan sighed and prepared to return to his tasks. Or so he tried.

Just as he was about to resume his paperwork, a message from the Facilities Management Department popped up on his computer screen.

[To the First-Year Conflict Resolution Team and Teacher Mal Uragan]

[Partial destruction of the road in front of the first-year male dormitory.]

[Signs of combat observed, with blood splatters at the scene. No casualties reported.]

[Attached: Incident photos (PDF).]

Margan frowned deeply as he read the message.

“...Damn it.”

The Facilities Management Department had likely assumed it was a student brawl and forwarded the report to him, but...

What kind of student could cause this level of destruction to a road?

First, there had been the fight near the staff lounge in the southern district, and now this. It was almost certainly the work of one of the special instructors.

Whoever was responsible, Margan swore they’d pay dearly if he found them.

Grumbling to himself, he reviewed the report and drafted a response to Facilities Management.

“...Rough day, huh?”

Teacher Gemini chimed in sympathetically from the side, but her words didn’t bring much comfort.

The real workload for Margan was only just beginning.

Shaking his head, he pulled out a bundle of documents from the mountain of papers on his desk.

These contained the profiles of the special instructors and the lists of students who had chosen them as their first-choice teachers.

The first name on the document belonged to [Corvus Darkwing], a beastfolk.

“...A beastfolk? Not likely to have many first-choice applicants.”

Margan flipped to the list of students who had selected Corvus as their top choice.

And in the next moment, he froze, doubting his eyes.

“What... the...?”

Rubbing his eyes, he checked the list again. But the names hadn’t changed.

“An error...?”

Though he knew it was unlikely, Margan tilted his head in confusion.

It was only natural—every single student on Corvus’s list was one of the Academy’s most famous first-years.

[Male: Cheon Yeomyeong]

[Female: Hong Seti, Seo Miri, the Saintess]

The southern rest area, far from the first-year main building.

Amid the wreckage of the forest, which looked as though it had been bombarded, the Saintess carefully opened her mouth.

“Yeomyeong... why do you trust me?”

It was a sudden and unexpected question.

So unexpected that Yeomyeong, who had been wiping blood off his face, furrowed his brows.

“What are you talking about?”

“...You trusted me enough to fight Hoana based on just my signals.”

Yeomyeong didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he blew his nose into a tissue, expelling the blood that had been clogging his nostrils.

“I didn’t fight her—I was being tested.”

“...It looked more like you beat her senseless.”

“She wasn’t the type you could afford to go easy on.”

Hoana Thule was far sturdier than you’d expect for someone her age.

Her punches were so fierce that each strike broke bones and ruptured blood vessels.

Throughout the fight, Yeomyeong had five ribs fractured, and his nose and cheekbones shattered more than twice.

Without his abnormal regenerative abilities, he would probably have woken up in a hospital bed instead of here.

“...Well, in the end, Hoana accepted the outcome, so there’s no need to talk about it further.”

Running a hand through his damp hair, Yeomyeong continued.

“Now tell me about your foresight regarding Seti. That’s why we came here, isn’t it?”

At his straightforward remark, the Saintess lowered her gaze slightly.

Yeomyeong looked at her face with suspicion.

“...Was it a lie?”

“...No, it wasn’t a lie.”

Fiddling with her eyepatch, the Saintess hesitated before speaking in a quieter tone.

“Then... Yeomyeong, why do you really trust me?”

“...Is this really that important right now?”

“Yes, it’s important.”

As if steeling herself, she clenched her fists tightly. Yeomyeong sighed and sat across from her.

“Is it my religious belief that the Saintess wouldn’t lie, or my personal experience that you’ve never lied to me before? Which one do you prefer?”

“...Neither. Don’t give me such superficial answers. Tell me the truth.”

The Saintess emphasized the word “truth” as if saying it with enough conviction would compel him to be honest.

If she wanted the truth, he supposed he ought to give it to her. Slowly, Yeomyeong began to speak.

“Saintess, the reason I trust you is...”

The Saintess swallowed nervously, her throat bobbing.

“Just because.”

“...What?”

“Just because I trusted you.”

Even though her eyes were hidden beneath the eyepatch, Yeomyeong could feel her disbelief.

“Ever since Manju, I’ve never had a particular reason to trust you. I just did.”

Perhaps his answer was too shocking, as the Saintess unconsciously raised her voice.

“Th-that’s strange, isn’t it? You even fought Hoana earlier!”

Her lips quivered weakly, and her hands fidgeted nervously.

“And you’re saying you did all that just because you trust me? That’s... no, it doesn’t feel bad, but... you’ve been like this since Manju? That’s... completely... insane...”

Before her rambling could get any worse, Yeomyeong cut her off.

“Why are you even asking me this? Have you lied to me before?”

“Uh... uh? Maybe... once?”

The Saintess twiddled her fingers, clearly embarrassed by her own admission.

“W-well, it was back in Manju...”

“...You don’t need to tell me what it was about.”

“....”

I’ve lied to you plenty of times too, Yeomyeong thought to himself, swallowing the words. Then, he leaned forward slightly.

“Let’s stop talking about this. Now tell me about Seti.”

Finally, the Saintess dropped her foolish smile and wore a more serious expression.

“...Yeomyeong, let me ask you one last time. Do you truly trust me?”

What could she have seen in her foresight to be acting like this? Swallowing his concern, Yeomyeong nodded.

“Yes. I trust you.”

A small smile graced her face. The Saintess reached out and held Yeomyeong’s hand. Her hand was as soft as marshmallows.

“Yeomyeong, what I’m about to tell you must never be revealed to anyone else. Swear it.”

“...I swear.”

When Yeomyeong nodded, the Saintess continued.

“There are people even my foresight cannot see.”

People beyond the blessings of the Five Gods.

It was a statement so heretical it bordered on blasphemy, yet the Saintess explained it without hesitation.

“Like the person we met in Manju, Pa-soon, or Jeon Yunseong, and... you and Seti.”

“...Me and Seti?”

“Yes, the two of you are included.”

“But you saw Seti’s death at the shelter, didn’t you?”

Before Yeomyeong could finish his rebuttal, the Saintess shook her head.

“That wasn’t seeing Seti specifically—it was the future of the entire shelter. Even in that vision, Seti appeared blurry, like it was censored.”

“...Censored.”

The word struck a strange chord of familiarity within Yeomyeong. Pa-soon, Seti, and fate.

As Yeomyeong mulled it over, the Saintess added,

“But... just recently, I’ve started to see Seti’s future.”

“....”

“I don’t know why. I just did what I always do—tried to foresee her every morning. Then suddenly, I could see her.”

“Every morning... what?”

Yeomyeong furrowed his brows, but the Saintess tightened her grip on his hand.

Then, with her other hand, she reached for her eyepatch.

“...Will you look at the future I saw with me?”

The Saintess whispered softly.

Yeomyeong didn’t refuse.