Hero: Part Two
“AAAAAAAAAH, Cammy, Shira, you can’t even imagine how much I missed both of you this week!” With her icy eyes on the verge of melting, FF-Class ’Data Analyst’ Katrina Welf seized her teammates by the necks. “I was so worried something might have happened to you, but those scum locked me in that filthy basement!” Her grip tightened, almost freezing both girls due to how cold Katrina’s blood was.
“We missed you too, Kat, but could you maybe stop strangling us, please?” FF-Class ’Ego Witch’ Carmen Asturias begged, struggling to breathe, while F-Class ’Copper Blade’ Oshira Ibn-Shin meowed in despair.
“NEVER! From today on, I won’t leave you or Oshira alone, even if the World’s End comes.” She solemnly declared. ”I know we’ve known each other for less than a month, but now more than ever I’m proud to say it—we’re best friends forever!”
The cold embrace of the 'Data Analyst' grew warmer than an Antimagic Reactor, which was probably why the 'Ego Witch’s' face turned as red as molten lava. Carmen’s mind sailed back to her childhood, trying to remember the last time anyone had called her that, and, sadly, the research was fruitless. Her obsession with theater had consumed what little free time she had left after school and helping at home, and once inside that temple of deception—where all human feelings were suppressed and replaced by near-perfect imitations—there was no warmth there, only the sharp hostility of her rivals.
How can Katrina, such a rich and—de facto—noble lady, stain herself by mingling with my plebeian presence?
Carmen wondered.
Still…it feels good.
Oshira, however, looked lost. “…What word friend…meani…means?” A blushing ’Copper Blade’ stammered, causing the two girls to blink at her in confusion. “…Me is reading many books…some words are…difficult understand…” She was talking about the children texts Jacques had bought for her, which were filled with concepts utterly alien to her—love, family, and, most importantly, what it meant to be a friend.
“Shira, are you joking, right?” Katrina cornered her. “Are you telling me you never had a friend back in Naturia? For real?” After a few mumbles of confusion, the 'Copper Blade' nodded—a veil of awkwardness settled over her amber eyes.
“Well, a friend can’t be defined with mere words,” Carmen began. “Mmh…how can I explain it…Oh, yes! It’s like falling asleep. You can’t remember the exact moment it happens, but when you wake up, you just know. It’s a special feeling that blooms in your heart without you even realizing it.” She snapped her fingers, and Oshira blinked in awe.
“…Heart?” Oshira murmured, gently touching her chest, feeling the hardened leather of the first enemy she had murdered and skinned to make that suit. “…Heart is life…if person make me heart beat…then they are part of me life?” Since childhood, she had been taught that her heart was her most precious possession and that it must be protected at all costs. “So…friends are our most valuable things.” Both Katrina and Carmen nodded enthusiastically, beaming at her conclusion.
“A friend is somebody you can share your dirtiest secrets with without fear, shame, or judgment—two hearts opening to each other.” Oshira grimaced slightly at Katrina’s words. “A friend is the person you want to have fun with, and everything you already enjoy alone becomes even better when you’re with a friend—two hearts beating in the same rhythm.” Oshira again. Killing enemies side by side with Sahel had always felt easier than when she fought them alone. “And a friend is the person you think about before you fall asleep, and the first one you think about when you wake up—two hearts connected by an invisible and everlasting thread.”
Jacques…is friend?
Oshira wondered, scratching the desk with the tips of her sharp nails.
“In short, you can’t live without friends because they are part of you and you are part of them,” Carmen concluded and Oshira’s amber eyes lit up, enthusiastically nodding because she had understood everything.
“Sahel, your sister has found her first friends. Aren’t you happy?” FFF-Class ‘Clown’ Connor MacMalley asked his toddler-looking roommate. After a week of basically zero human interaction, he had more or less stalked his Naturian friend, leaving him no room to breathe.
“No, Connor, I’m not,” F-Class ‘Tin Blade’ Sahel bitterly replied. “Once we return to Naturia, the memories of these moments will become an infection in an already deep wound, and she will suffer.”
“Ahem…I thought you were here permanently—weren’t you two?” The 'Clown' asked, scratching at the bandage on his face.
“Oh…yeah, right…ahah…I was just speaking hypothetically, you know, never say never…ahah…” The 'Tin Blade' deftly acrobatized his way out of the topic. “Anyway, Connor, how did it go in your bunker full of nobles?”
“What was it like to be locked up for a whole week with people making fun of my nose?” The Highlander Scion let out a few rhetorical chuckles. “I’ll tell you this, Sahel, I’m starting to think maybe the Korinthians weren’t entirely wrong when they called the nobility a living parasite, feeding off the backs of those who actually contribute to this society, doing nothing but staining their so-called honor.” The 'Clown' was lying. He could have endured every hateful stare—except hers.
*Snrrrrrrrk!*
Next to them, wearing a sleep mask, FFF-Class ‘Mafioso’ Jacques Dreux was peacefully asleep on his desk—for the third day in a row.
“I’m not asking for dinner at Le Miraval,” Connor grumbled. “But, c’mon, he could at least wake up and say hello to the friend who’s paying his rent, school fees, and food, and whom he hasn’t seen in a week.”
“Let him be. It’s been a complicated week for all of us, and Jude did a lot for us—we wouldn’t be here without him.” Sahel’s words flicked on a magic bulb inside the ’Clown’s’ mind.
“Why? Did you do anything interesting during the siege?” Connor asked, prompting an awkward silence to fall over the room as abruptly as a Valkyrie charge. Katrina and Connor perplexingly stared at their classmates as they exchanged fishy glances.
“Carmen,” the ’Data Analyst’ began her inquisition, her icy eyes drilling into her trembling classmate. “Did anything happen during my absence? You know you can tell me everything.” Knowing the ’Ego Witch’ would soon give way, someone decided to act.
“Ahem…I think we should tell them the truth, but you have to promise that not a single word leaves this room,” Announced F-Class ‘Scarecrow’ Casimir Piekazt as a shiver ran throughout the whole class. Katrina and Connor immediately swore the oath, while a horrified Sahel moved to shut Casimir up by any means necessary—only to be stopped by a wink. “Yes, I admit it. We used this national emergency to get filthy rich—right, guys?” Everyone just stared at him, completely puzzled. “Jacques used his connections to smuggle a crate full of drugs from Port Island, and we exploited the psychological pressure Miraval City’s inhabitants were under to make thousands of Marini by selling our illegal method of soothing the heart.”
“Truly a shining example of our political system,” Katrina bellowed. “Not even a week of political immunity, and he’s already colluding with the Mafia. Carmen, Oshira, I strongly urge you both to listen to nothing that wicked soul proposes and stay as far away as possible—Senator Dreux is a dangerous man!” The ’Ego Witch’—trying with all her might to keep a straight face—quickly reassured her that they had accepted the in exchange of a ship to escape Miraval City.
“Now that you’ve named him, where’s Jacques? The lesson is going to start soon,” the ’Clown’ asked.
“He told me he’d stop by the obituary to buy some food,” FF-Class ‘Gravedigger’ Derserk Rouge replied.
“What kind of food could he possibly buy in a graveyard?” Katrina wondered.
As soon as she said it, the new back door—built where a gigantic hole once gaped—opened and FFF-Class ‘Javelinist’ Jacques Dreux stepped in, dragging behind him a long black cloth bag. “Good morning, everyone.” Despite the greeting, he didn’t stop at his desk, continuing to haul the bag toward the opposite door. “Sorry, give me five minutes—I need to feed Miss Squatter,” he hastily explained before disappearing into the bathroom, returning to the classroom only twenty minutes later. “Finally, after so many days, we’re all together again. Seeing everyone safe and sound after everything that’s happened almost makes me cry with joy.” The ’Javelinist’ did not cry.
“What was inside that obituary bag? And who is Miss Squatter? And why does she feed on corpses?” The 'Data Analyst' shot her first bullets.
“Ahem…a small animal I found wounded, healed, and adopted.”
“What kind of animal?”
“You know, the one that looks like a dog but isn’t a dog, crawls like a rat but isn’t a rat, and it’s as vicious as a cat but isn’t technically a cat.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about—just tell me name.”
“I’m not here to babysit you—educate yourself!” Carmen started clapping, only to be instantly stopped by a cold glare from her teammate. “Anyway, she’s a carnivore, so I bought the carcass of one of the many Korinthian Sphinxes killed during the siege—much cheaper than beef, now that the supply’s been depleted.” Jacques continued as he sat down at his desk. “That being said, where the hell is Mr. Diaz? If we skip another lesson, he really deserves to be fired.”
“Fire a war hero? Are you mad?” Katrina’s chuckle made the entire class—except Connor—grimace.
“War…what?” Jacques asked, genuinely stunned.
“Didn’t you hear the news? During the failed raid on Mother Korinna, Mr. Diaz took command and coordinated the evacuation, saving dozens of professors—including Miss Fibber. Moreover, after the total defeat, he single-handedly stopped the subsequent Korinthian offensive by raiding their base camp alone, halting both the assault on the Miraval Dam and a possible expansion into the Horseshoe.” The more Katrina spoke, the more Jacques’s jaw tightened and his stomach churned.
“I admit my first impression of him was wrong. He might actually have the courage of a Highlander Knight.” Katrina approvingly nodded at Connor’s words, while the others did their best to curve their lips into a smile.
“Anyway, now that you’re here, let’s dig deeper into the matter,” the ’Data Analyst began. “I want your opinion on the siege. What do you think is the truth behind the Juggernaut’s explosion?”
“Do you want to lose another bet?” Jacques replied with a pleasant sneer.
“No thanks. You were outside during the siege—a rather unfair advantage.” She shrugged. “There are several unexplained events I can’t make sense of. How did the Korinthians seize the Miraval Canal without firing a single cannonball? Why was the most powerful Naturian Warlord aboard the ship at the moment of the explosion, while the rest of the officials had evacuated it? And why did a floating fortress detonate as easily as a firecracker just seconds before breaching our defenses?” She gave him a challenging stare. “Do you have any idea, Senator Dreux?”
“The whole thing might seem confusing from our side of the chessboard. So, if I were you, I’d focus my mental energy on thinking like a Demmie.” He snapped his fingers, smug on his face. ”Now, let’s revisit the final hours of Mother Korinna, when the Admiral and his entire crew decided to leave the Juggernaut in the hands of a Warlord to assault the Miraval Dam, which was defended by a single person—Vice-Principal Durere. Does that feel logical to you, Miss Welf?”
“Yeah, I suppose it does, Senator Dreux. What better guardian for your most vital asset than an Anima while you’re away?” Katrina replied, and Connor nodded at how reasonable it sounded.
“That logic dominates the cultural landscape on the right side of the Phoenix Gulf, but on the left side, it’s a little different—Admirals are not Essentia, and even a single bolt from the cheapest Gaussbow is enough to end decades of study and training. Are you following me, Miss Welf?”
“An Admiral, whose main job is strategy, has willingly decided to risk his life on a battlefield for almost no tactical gain. Is this what you are implying, Senator Dreux?”
“Exactly, Miss Welf, and now we can finally answer our question—why did he leave Mother Korinna just before the explosion? Because he knew it was coming—the simplest answer is usually the correct one, Maximillian’s Razor. Moreover, just think about it, what kind of bomb could melt the steel beams of Mother Korinna’s skeleton? It had to be an inside job.”
“So, Senator Dreux, you’re implying that the Korinthians initiated a war not to destroy us—their greatest enemy—but to eliminate a strategic commercial partner using such a spectacular trick?” Katrina raised an eyebrow. “It’s a fascinating theory, almost like a spy novel. Unfortunately, reality tends to be far more boring, and the simplest answer is usually the correct one—Maximillian’s Razor.” She softly laughed. “Most likely, the Naturian Warlord violated the agreements or outright revolted, and rather than fight a two-front war, the Korinthians chose to lose a single battle—turning Mother Korinna into his tomb.” She concluded, adjusting her sharp glasses.
“Wait a minute,” Connor interrupted. “Why would the Warlord side with the ’HRE’ at all? I thought he believed Prince Chad was the Stasi agent who killed his brother.”
“I don’t know,” Katrina replied, her icy lips curling into a malicious smirk. “Maybe he fell in love—the simplest answer is usually the correct one, Maximillian’s Razor. Right, Carmen?” The girl was caught off guard, and after some awkward mumbling, she cut the conversation with a quick nod.
“Wrong!” Jacques snapped. “It was planned from the very beginning—this whole affair sports the unmistakable signature of the Black Lion. People think the citizens of the C.C.C.P. are kinda like Heretical fanatics, but, in truth, they’re among the most pragmatic people I’ve ever met. Just think about it, if they had succeeded here, do you really believe the Marians would ever allow them to conquer the Pacific Archipelago? The only land the Korinthians could realistically gain from this war is the Great Dune, but why spend such an immense amount of wealth on a wasteland full of hostile Natives when it’s cheaper and easier to buy everything they need from the perpetually-in-need-for-assistance Naturian Warlords? Are you following me, Miss Welf?”
“With Mr. Gauda dead---Gupta's Leviathan---his Kaliphate is going to implode into a thousand warring states, reopening to the world a market that’s been closed for five hundred years,” Katrina explained, her malicious smirk widening. “If you’re right, Senator Dreux, it seems we Chaotians truly are the heirs of the Chaotic Gods.”
“The next world war won’t be fought on battlefields in Eastern or Western Chaotia, but in Naturia through endless proxy wars fought by mercenaries and biogenetic abominations—the Empire, the Peoplecracy, and the Admiralty, all competing for influence and resources in this newly fertile geopolitical landscape.” Jacques pointed his finger at her like an ace attorney. “The Korinthians now hold a decisive advantage, and if we keep wasting time on this joke of a conflict, we’re going to lose the real war—so you’d better call your father as soon as possible, Miss Welf.”
“Don’t get too cocky, Senator Dreux. You’re wrong if you think you can use me like a mere vessel to advance your political career,” Katrina countered while gracefully tracing patterns in the air with her blue and sharp nails. “Anyway, whether you’re right or wrong is a problem for those above us. We, on the other hand, ought to focus on a far more immediate issue—Mr. Durere. If he really is the mole, everything falls neatly into place—the poisoning of the Class S, the kidnapping of the Marquis, and the siege. There’s no better mastermind behind all of this than our dear Vice-Principal.” She concluded with a gentle flick of a bluish strand of her snow-white hair. However, when she reopened her eyes, she was met with a pitiful expression.
“Really, Miss Welf, I expected something better from you,” Jacques replied, mockingly. “You know, only in cheap mystery novels is the most suspicious suspect actually the culprit.”
“Are you implying someone is trying to frame him because, I don’t know, the culprit hated the Vice-Principal and wanted him to pay for some past sin?” The ’Data Analyst’ chuckled. “If that were the case and if the rumors I’ve heard are true, the list of suspects would be as long as an Elder Scroll.”
“That would be an interesting solution, but it still feels cheap,” Jacques refuted. “The real challenge is crafting a plot twist worthy of the reader’s time—what they’ve invested in an opera shall not be wasted—is how their tastes constantly change. In the good old days, people could access only to one or two mystery books, and even the flimsiest plots felt fresh new. Nowadays, industrialization and the Hydro have rendered these kinds of stories too accessible, flooding the market with such a volume of media that most ideas become clichés within a few years of publication. How can you be original when there are hundreds of books you’ve never even heard of getting released monthly, many of which may have already used your twist?”
“Ahem…what the fuck are you talking about?” Katrina frowned, genuinely puzzled. Jacques, being the Marian gentleman he always claimed to be, simply ignored the Arpine lady.
“Therefore, we need a plot twist that would surprise even a hypothetical reader who has read every mystery ever written, from today till the World’s End. And, as always, the simplest answer is usually the correct one.” His classmates stared at him, more confused than before, waiting for the fog to lift. “Why did the culprit try to frame Mr. Durere? Simply because he was an easier target than anyone else—Maximillian’s Razor.”
“Ahaha!” Katrina loudly laughed. “Now you sound even more absurd, Senator Dreux. Who in the world would consider Mr. Durere—a Class S with the darkest reputation I’ve ever heard of—an easy person to fool or manipulate?”
“Who, you ask, Miss Welf?” Jacques perfectly mirrored her malicious smirk. “After all this time, you still don’t understand who’s behind everything?” His chuckle shattered her confidence. “The Butterfly Wing that poisoned Princess Bradamanthe, creating enough chaos to kidnap Elf Gf in order to ignite this war, can only b—”
“Were you talking about me—KEKEKE?!” An eerie symphony interrupted the concert’s climax. All the musicians lifted their eyes from the script, glancing toward the director’s throne, but instead of Mr. Diaz, there stood a hunchbacked and obese monster grinning at them—its teeth made of wood, silver, and gold.
“Ahem…hello, Vice-Principal Durere. How are you doing?” Jacques muttered, still recovering from what felt like a heart attack.
“Very blissfully—kekeke! I’ve never had this much fun in years. Ahhh…if only we were sieged every week. *Slurp!*” The Vice-Principal finished with a loud slurp, drawing from a long straw buried deep inside an oversized milkshake cup.
“You look wonderful in that casual outfit,” Jacques said, tone polite. SS-Class ‘Grotesque Mannequin’ Constantine Durere was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and shorts, both covered in floral patterns—clothes that exposed his chest, which was all crisscrossed with dozens of sutural stitches.
“Do you like my new clothes? *Slurp!* I bought thirty-seven boxes of them at a police auction to finance the reconstruction efforts of Port Island—they really bring out my seductive side. *Slurp!*" He winked, but when he opened his eye again, the iris was gone.
“Mr. Durere,” Katrina chimed in. “I heard you survived alone in the Miraval Dam for almost a week, without help, communication, or resupply from the outside. That’s…pretty unbelievable, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I know—I’m the best, *Slurp!*” As the ‘Grotesque Mannequin’ took another sip, the door opened, and a man—little more than a shadow of his former self, looking both sleepless and drunk—entered the classroom.
“Esteban, I was looking for you. Please, sit down.” The ‘Raging Hornet’ froze at the sight of his boss, is already devastated expression, painting in terror. Slowly, never taking his exhausted eyes off his superior, he waited for Constantine to rise from his chair before sitting down himself. “Do you have any idea why I’m here, wasting my time with a filthy Paisano like you?”
After several gulps, Esteban muttered, “Y-you…s-spoke…to G-Gauston…didn’t you?”
“Bingo! You’re smarter than I imagined.” He clapped, crashing the single finger of his left hand against the back of his right. “So, are you ready to get what you fucking deserve, you filthy Paisano?”
“Yes. I’m ready.” Mr. Diaz faced the disappointment in his students’ eyes as his heart clenched, remembering what he had once told them. Nevertheless, as Gus had said, an Essentia had responsibility, and now he was ready to face it head-on. “To all my students,” he announced, tone steady. “Whatever happens today, remember this—perfection doesn’t exist. A man can fall into a bottomless pit, but he can also clench his teeth and climb all the way to the heavens.” For a brief moment, a flicker of their former image of their teacher resurfaced in that hollow shell of a man. Then, Mr. Durere placed a paper on the desk, but when the ‘Raging Hornet’ read it, his eyes widened in awe. “This is…a promotion?”
“What else, you fucking retard? *Slurp!* You’re a war hero who saved a beautiful lady from certain death like a Prince Charming. Therefore, I’ve decided to forgive you for what you did at last year’s party, making today your last day as professor of Class F—congratulations.” Katrina and Connor proudly clapped, but the rest of the class did not share their enthusiasm, bad-eyeing him.
“Wait a minute, who’s going to be our professor now?” Jacques protested.
“A good question for such a little shit.” The ‘Grotesque Mannequin’ scratched his crooked nose with one-fingered hand. “Hiring anyone in this unstable political climate for such a low position would be difficult. *Slurp!* Oh, I’ve found a solution. Jacques, starting today, you’ll be the interim professor of Class F—congratulations.”
The ‘Javelinist’ was stunned, then pleased.
Perfect. Tomorrow, a surprise test for Lipserk only.
However
,
his daydream was cut short by the sharp sound of tearing paper.
“Sorry, Constantine, but I refuse.” The two halves of his new contract fluttered to the ground. “I vowed to accompany my students to graduation, and I will keep that promise.” Shock engulfed the room. Mr. Durere’s jaw fell open, Katrina and Connor clapped harder than ever, but the rest of the students, however, could only glare at their professor with eyes filled of sheer disdain.
“Esteban, I was wrong about you. I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you until now—you’ve earned my respect.” They shook hands—Mr. Diaz’s hand enveloping the only finger Mr. Durere had left—admiration shrouded Mr. Durere’s face, while guilt was clearly visible on Mr. Diaz’s.
“Constantine…” the ‘Raging Hornet’ murmured. “One last thing before you go. Some ugly rumors are circulating right now, and before judging, I want to hear your side of the story. Why did you order the raid?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?!”
“Verdan died during that foolish military operation. Why did you approve such a suicidal raid?”
“Are you fucking retarded? Explain to me how the hell I could organize a raid while I was completely isolated inside the Miraval Dam.” Mr. Diaz handed him a printed copy of the [Email] he had received, which featured Durere’s [E-signature].
Vice-Principal Durere grimaced, using the single finger left on his right hand to pat his forehead several times as his eyes spun like energy spheres. “So it’s true, my theories are true—I have a doppelgänger.” He turned toward Jacques. “Give me my contingency plan, now!” The ’Javelinist’ didn’t complain, opening the box with the help of Mr. Durere’s blood. “See you later, roaches.
"I’m going to torture myself!”
