”More to the right, Sahel! Oshira, cut only the trees damaged by our training!” Jacques yelled while looking at the blueprint he held in both hands.
The blue sun was high in the sky over the grassy field next to the Class F dormitory-classroom. It was a warm day, with the wind no more than a gentle breeze, and together with the absence of noise pollution in such a remote place, that afternoon felt perfect to dedicate to personal projects. With her copper scimitar, Oshira reduced towering trees into long planks of wood, while her brother used his welder to seal the pieces together with rivulets of molten tin—an unusual combination for a wooden structure, but surprisingly effective.
*Neighhhhhh!*
The ‘Javelinist’ froze at the sound behind him, and as he turned around, he was immediately greeted by a massive tongue slapping across his face. “BLEEEHHH! The fuck is this disgusting thi—ACK!” Another swing of the slimy tongue, then another and another. By the twelfth lick, his face was completely wallpapered in a thick layer of saliva.
“Hey, Jacques, why are you on the ground?” Casimir asked as he dismounted from the massive horse, its fur was raven-black and its eyes as emerald as the Sootish student. “Anyway, do you like my new friend?” The ’Scarecrow’ said, yanking Jacques back to his feet. “It’s a gift from Katrina…ahhh…she is truly the kindest person in the world.” His face flushed red as Jacques dodged the beast’s barrage of tongue-slaps, hiding behind Casimir and circling around him like a shield. “Anyway, what are you three doing here? It reminds me of when I helped my father build the barn—want me to lend a hand?” Casimir gave his horse a slap, sending it galloping off into the paradise of untamed expanses of green that was the Development Area.
“We’re building a stable for our Griffins,” Jacques explained. “Oshira is cutting and shaping the wood, Sahel’s handling the construction, and I’m doing the most important job—supervising their work and telling them everything they’re doing wrong.”
“What a fortunate coincidence! I was just looking for space to house Nezakonnie. Can I ask you to add a room for her?”
“Of course.” Jacques turned to Sahel. “Tear it all down and start again with the new project.” Sahel groaned but complied, and with a swift movement of his Welderblade, all the tin from the construction returned to the weapon, while the wooden planks collapsed to the ground.
“One last thing, Jacques. Remember when you asked me if I had a free bedroom at my farm?” The ’Javelinist’ nodded. “Then take a look at these photos.” Casimir pulled a thick photo album from his [Inventory] and began flipping through in front of his teammate. “This big gal is my sister Dragana. This elegant lady is my Aunt Balalika. This cheerful girl is my cousin Anya…” Page after page of photos about women with the same emerald eyes, and despite the album being filled with hundreds of faces, Casimir never once missed a name.
Jacques scratched his head. “The women in your family are indeed beautiful, Casimir, but…why are you showing them to me?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to join my farm after graduation? Better to prepare in advance, isn’t it? At the very least, you should know the names of my family members.” After a moment of hesitation, Jacques reluctantly agreed. “Good. Now, select the thirty-seven you like the most.”
The request felt weird to Jacques, but he complied, pulling from the album the photos of the most beautiful Piekazt girls. ”Well…can’t wait to meet them.”
“Don’t worry…” An eerie smile spread across Casimir’s face as his massive hand pressed firmly over Jacques’ shoulder. “You will.”
Meanwhile, on a porch table piled high with books and notebooks, FFF-Class ’Clown’ Connor MacMalley and FFF-Class ’Mafioso’ Jacques Dreux were studying physics together. “Okay, Jude, you can do it. These homework problems aren’t that difficult, anyway.” Connor flipped through the simplest of the ones assigned to them by Mr. Blues. “Your goal is to clean an object X from rust using a Y bacteria strain. Assume the strain is suitable for ’SMGE’—Standard Miraval Genome Editing—how many generations would it take to create a rust-cleaning strain? Also, is it possible to apply a permanent bacterial layer to automate dust cleaning on X?”
“Ahem…what’s a genome?” The ’Clown’ raised an eyebrow at the baffled ’Mafioso.’
“Even the worst public schools in the ’HRE’ teach this. How do you not know?!” He scratched his auburn hair in disbelief.
“Ahem…I never went to school.” Their eyes met in a seemingly everlasting moment, then Connor lowered his gaze in total defeat.
Oh, Original Seek, I beg you—tell me what to do!
“Oh, by the way, who cut the grass?” Casimir asked after noticing that the Grasshopper Khanate had fallen.
“Boomserk did, with his scythe.” Jacques pointed to the young man standing on a ladder, using a roller attached to his scythe to paint white the new wooden planks of their dormitory-classroom. “Our dear friend not only mowed the lawn, but he also spent the entire weekend repairing our house, and now he’s making it beautiful—we should take him out for dinner tonight to thank him” The ’Scarecrow’ enthusiastically nodded, suggesting a small tavern where he swore he’d eaten the best potatoes of his life.
Then, his gaze shifted back to the cleared field. “Now that I see it without the grass, this ground looks fertile.” He pulled a hoe from his [Inventory] and dug into the soil, rubbing the dirt between his fingers like an expert vintner savoring grapes. “Yes, it’s perfect. Jacques, get ready. Within a couple of months, you’ll be eating the best zucchini of your life.” The ’Javelinist’ forced a smile—he hated zucchini with all his heart, and now he had no idea how to tell him.
And so, for the rest of the morning, everyone busied themselves with their tasks, while Casimir’s horse galloped freely in the background, all enjoying the peaceful haven far from civilization as time passed almost unnoticed.
When the lesson was supposed to begin, Sahel, Oshira, Jacques, Casimir, Derserk, Jude, and Connor passed through the porch into the classroom, only to find no sign of Mr. Diaz. “Again? What the hell is his problem?” Jacques grumbled. ”I can understand falling asleep in the middle of class because of a hangover like last week, but if we exclude the weekend, this makes three straight days that filthy paisano has skipped his duty. I never thought I’d say this, but I want my lesson—now!”
”Good morning, everyone.” At that moment, Katrina and Carmen entered the room, stunning everyone because both were wearing the same outfit—a long, one-piece dress patterned with tiny flowers. Cheap and simple, a kind of dress very popular in Sardinia, but rather unusual to see on a wealthy lady like Katrina. Nevertheless, one look at Casimir’s wide-eyed expression made it clear that no matter what she wore, to him Katrina would always be the best. “We have a surprise for you all,” FF-Class ’Ego Witch’ Carmen Asturias announced, setting a baking sheet full of colorful biscuits onto Jacques’s desk while the ’Data Analyst’ placed a carafe of bluish juice beside them.
“What’s this for? Today’s not your birthday, is it?” Sahel asked as the Katrina began pouring juice into nine glasses, serving first Jacques and Casimir.
“Well, it’s not technically a special occasion, but my mother sent me too much food. So, why not to share it with my friends?” Carmen’s beam melted all their hearts. “To be more specific, Suarez’s government is planning a new national holiday, and since my mother was chosen to prepare food for the festival... let’s just say she was allowed to bring home the ’mistakes.’” With a little flourish, the ‘Ego Witch’ pulled dishes and paper napkins from her [Inventory], carefully preparing a plate of biscuits for each of her classmates.
“It’s blueberry, isn’t it? Truly delicious, send my congratulations to your mother.” Carmen swiftly rejected Jacques’s praise with a hasty shake of her head.
“Ahem…thanks for the compliment. You know, squeezing all those blueberries has been very hard.” Katrina brushed aside a bluish strand of her snow-white hair, its hue matching the stains still visible on her hands.
“IT’S A MASTERPIECE!” Casimir declared after emptying his glass in one gulp. “One more, please!”
The ’Data Analyst’ smiled, more than happy to satisfy his demand. “Although I was born in the Capital, I’ve never lost touch with my Arpine roots, and, sometimes, I like to experiment with my ancestors’ specialties.” Then, she served the rest of her classmates with equal care. “By the way, Senator Dreux, why did you leave us so suddenly at the museum?”
“Ahem…I suddenly received an [Email] for an urgent appointment with the tax office—it was a disaster.” Jacques shrugged as he took a bite of a biscuit.
“Crunchy…sweet…good…What name?” Oshira asked before devouring another biscuit.
“My mother told me the name is still a secret, so you all have to promise never to tell anyone until the festival begins.” Everyone solemnly swore with a hand over their heart. “They’re called—Drowned Rinaldos.” Jacques immediately began to whistle.
“…Rinaldo?” Oshira asked between bites, already enjoying her third biscuit in a row.
“Rinaldo Di Mario. He’s a very evil man who despises Suarez and its people with sheer obsession,” Carmen explained, her tone full of hatred. “But if the festival is in his honor, then I’d say he finally got what he deserved.” She chuckled at the thought, imagining the infamous Marian criminal locked in prison, or better yet, bankrupt.
Jacques, however, merely shrugged, crunching his biscuit.
Nevetheless, these are good. Maybe I can copyright-strike her mother.
“Mmm…I love drowning Rinaldo,” the 'Mafioso' innocently declared while staring at the ’Javelinist.’
“Same, dude.”
The little party carried on for over an hour, yet still there was no sign of Mr. Diaz. “Should we just report him to Dh. Miraval?” Katrina suggested splitting the group into two.
“Maybe it isn’t his fault,” Casimir chimed in. “I fear that maybe our professor is caught up in something dangerous…” The big guy began to shake. “Clients at the Blue Bird Experience have been whispering about strange movements of the Korinthian fleet. So…maybe…Mr. Diaz is…let’s just say—monitoring the situation.” The mood in the room darkened as they were reminded of the uncertainty of the coming war, but Jacques burst out laughing at his friend’s fears.
“Stop falling for fake news, Kaz. Did you even hear the Emperor’s speech at the Hydro last week? There was no war rhetoric—just trying to look tough while hoping to get a deal. C’mon, it’s only been eight years since the Fall of Bloodmarch. Neither we nor the Demmies have recovered enough to start anything yet.”
Connor frowned at Jacques’s words. ‘We underestimated the Eleutheria Republic once, and we ought not to make the same mistake again,’ the ‘Clown’ warned, while the ‘Gravedigger’ distanced himself from the thorny conversation.
“You’re right, but the circumstances are different,” Jacques countered. “Now, let me explain what actually happened. In a month, there will be a general election in Western Chaotia, and some dumb Demmie politician thought he could get the majority by kidnapping our dear Marquise. Now that the plan has failed, the Korinthians are shitting their pants and probably plan to use him as a sacrificial lamb to quell the tensions with us.” Some doubt still lingered in his classmate’s eyes. “Trust me, Connor. Nothing ever happ—ACK!”
*BOOOOOOOOOOM!*
As Jacques was about to conclude the sentence, a sudden explosion vaporized the classroom wall, a storm of debris slamming into the ‘Javelinist.’
“Jacques!” Carmen screamed, her voice drowned out by the hundreds of detonations thundering through the air.
The [HP] of the ‘Javelinist’ did its job, and he hastily rose to his feet, rushing outside with his classmates following him through the new hole the explosion had formed in the wall.
“MY ROOM!” Derserk cried. The blast had vaporized his abode.
“MY FIELD!” Casimir wailed. The explosion had obliterated his newly planted zucchini.
“MY STABLE!” Jacques roared. The impact had destroyed the Griffin stable.
“Aheh…guys…look up.” Carmen’s trembling finger pointed skyward at the hundreds of Mana Spheres descending toward them.
*BOOM!* *BOOM!* *BOOM!*
Suddenly, from the many windows of the Miraval Education Center and the surrounding buildings, hidden cannons emerged and unleashed a furious volley of projectiles, shattering the spheres mid-air—a rain of glowing dust fell over Academy Island.
*WHOOOOSH!*
Then, from the lake, a vast mana barrier surged upward, expanding until it encompassed the southern Demi-Circle. As it solidified into a shimmering dome, the constant flow of Mana Spheres crashed against it, exploding on its surface but failing to pierce it. However, Port Island—the most populous part of Miraval City—was left outside its protection, and from that direction, the Class F students saw dozens of black smoke columns rise into the sky, each a grim herald of an ominous future.
*THUD!*
The classroom door slammed against the wall, and every head inside turned toward the entrance. There stood a sweaty Mr. Diaz, gasping for breath. “Connor, Katrina—WITH ME, NOW!”
“Mr. Diaz, what’s happening?” Jude asked, and the rest of the students echoed his confusion.
“The Korinthian navy has breached into the Miraval Lake and is now surrounding the city with its ships.” He drew in a deep breath.
“WE ARE AT WAR!"
