“Do I look like Stalin or Pol Pot to you?

What we’re establishing is a school, not a weapons factory.

We can teach kids how to become soldiers or scholars, but we cannot teach them to kill.”

— Quinie Cowan, at an informal White House meeting

 

An hour’s journey east from Sydney, Australia, brings you to a vast island.

Centered around Lord Howe Island, a UNESCO World Natural Heritage site, three artificial islands are connected to it. This is Australia’s pride and the world’s only academy specializing in training the superhuman.

Lord Howe Academy.

Each of the four islands that make up this academy has a distinct character and atmosphere, thanks to each artificial island being completed in 15-year cycles.

It’s a testament to the advancements in modern architecture.

The oldest, the southern island, boasts classic buildings with decades of history, while the most recently completed northern island features cutting-edge facilities and structures.

But this beauty is just skin-deep. The true splendor of Lord Howe Academy is something only the students get to experience.

The curriculum is befitting an academy. That, in itself, is Lord Howe’s pride and true beauty.

For superhumans, there’s physical enhancement training and martial arts. For mages, there’s magical studies rivaling the Magic Tower or Grand École. For religious devotees, priests dispatched directly from the Holy Kingdom teach spiritual invocation and blessings.

Following the vision of its founder, Quinie Cowan, the academy provides training in mana manipulation, tailored to each student’s unique qualities and talents.

And it doesn’t stop there; they also offer essential knowledge, character-building education, and...

“…Is there no shooting class?”

The Saintess’s voice cut through Margan’s endless praise for the academy.

“Shooting? Are you talking about military training?”

“I’m not sure what it’s called. Aren’t there any classes on how to use modern weapons, like handguns, rifles, or grenades?”

Modern weapons? The question was so unexpected that Margan tilted his head as he replied.

“Well, we do have such a program… but it’s mainly for students aiming to enter the U.S. military academies.”

He sneaked a glance at Yeomyeong, who was half-listening, gazing out the window.

“If you’re asking with Yeomyeong in mind, I don’t think he necessarily needs military training at the academy.”

“Pardon?”

“From what I understand, every superhuman in Korea joins the military. The Korean students I know enlist right after graduation. I imagine Yeomyeong would too…”

Realizing Margan’s misunderstanding, the Saintess interrupted with a laugh.

“No, no. I was thinking of learning it myself.”

“…”

“And Yeomyeong doesn’t really need shooting lessons, does he? He can manage with guns just fine, and he even carries grenades around…”

The Saintess trailed off, then suddenly looked as if she’d realized something.

“Oh… could he be a military veteran?”

At that, Yeomyeong turned to look at Margan and the Saintess.

“…How old do you think I am?”

“Honestly, I figured you might be older than me.”

“….”

Yeomyeong narrowed his eyes at her eyepatch, as if to say, Are you just now realizing this?

“Well… since we’re on the topic of age, should I call you ‘oppa’?” (oppa is a term used by Korean women for older male acquaintances, often carrying a sense of affection or familiarity.)

For the first time since boarding the plane, Yeomyeong looked visibly horrified.

Not even when surrounded by a swarm of journalists had he shown this expression.

Seeing his reaction, Margan realized that the Saintess and Yeomyeong’s relationship was nothing like the “romantic entanglement” the journalists had speculated about.

In any case, faced with an unexpected reaction, the Saintess scratched her nose awkwardly and commented.

“That’s odd. I heard Korean men like it when you call them oppa.”

“…Who on earth told you that?”

“My friend?”

“….”

You have friends your age?

Yeomyeong swallowed down the words rising to his throat.

And then the thought, Your crazy mother let you have friends? sprang up, but he stifled that, too.

Displaying superhuman patience, Yeomyeong finally replied.

“Anyway, please don’t call me oppa. We’ll be in the same grade, and it’ll be awkward.”

“That reaction just makes me want to call you oppa even more.”

“….”

“You’re too funny when you make that face every time I joke.”

Chuckling, the Saintess glanced at him, while Yeomyeong shook his head and looked back out the window.

“Um, Saintess. If you’re interested in shooting, why not register with the shooting club instead of military training?”

“A shooting club?”

“Our academy honors our founder’s legacy by supporting a wide range of student activities. Among them is…”

Margan smoothly resumed his academy spiel, and the Saintess listened intently.

He went on about clubs and organizations, Olympic gold medalist instructors…

As Margan’s quiet voice continued, Yeomyeong found himself once again alone with his thoughts.

The sword of the Imperial Knight, the academy route, the Player…

Reflected in the plane window, his golden eyes grew colder as he sank deeper into thought.

 

“Hey, they’re arriving soon, right?” “Really? Is it today? Are they coming by portal or by plane?” “It’s probably the airfield. There’s an article about them flying out of Manchuria.”

‘The Author’ clenched his teeth as he watched his classmates whispering over news articles on their phones.

During sacred class time? No, that wasn’t it.

What really irked him was the phrase ‘those people’ on his classmates’ lips.

The Saintess who changed the future in Manchuria and the mysterious transfer student.

…I get why the Saintess is here.

He didn’t yet know why she’d been in Manchuria, but from what he saw in interviews and articles, the Saintess’s actions weren’t far from the righteous figure he knew in the story.

A virtuous person, willing to roll up her sleeves to prevent innocent sacrifices.

Although her reason for going to North Manchuria remained unknown, she had returned to the academy just before the start of Chapter 1, so it was within the realm of understanding.

But the issue was the rumored transfer student. He… was beyond the Author’s comprehension.

…Cheonyeomyeong. That’s a name I’ve never heard in the story. At least, none of the main characters have that name.

Thinking about the transfer student, the Author bit his lip.

He couldn’t tell how much of the reports from the war correspondents in Manchuria were true, but even if only half were accurate, it defied reason.

Not only had he fought Kahal Magdu and claimed a dragon bone, but he’d also felled a living dragon and even rode it?

The most absurd part was his profession.

A rookie mercenary. In the game, he’d be just an NPC barely able to fend off level 6 monsters.

And he fought a dragon?

Perhaps the dragon was weaker than expected, or maybe it held back upon seeing the Saintess’s face – a possibility that couldn’t be entirely ruled out.

Since Orsse Tabul was a character mentioned only in background lore, the Author had no way of knowing its exact stats or disposition.

But still, a dragon is a dragon.

Even with the Saintess’s help, the fact that a rookie mercenary faced a dragon and survived was outside the realm of normalcy.

No matter how he thought about it, it didn’t make sense.

But if he had to consider a possibility…

…Could he, like me, be someone who came from outside the story?

It was the most plausible theory, but also the worst-case scenario.

If this theory were true, then while he’d been taking his time waiting for the prologue, this guy had been overturning the entire plot.

With that thought, his suspicions spiraled.

If he monopolized the opportunities, if he dragged the Saintess along just to catch a dragon…

Of course, these were all just theories. Without confronting and investigating the transfer student directly, there was no way to prove his suspicions.

The Author’s mind swirled with unanswered questions.

He was biting his lip habitually, and only when he tasted blood did he snap out of his thoughts.

Just then, the dinner bell rang, signaling the end of the melody to Für Elise, and the students rose from their seats.

But unlike usual, no one hurried to the dining hall.

“Anyone heading to the airfield?” “I heard upperclassmen are banned from the airfield today.” “So first-years are fine, right?” “I don’t care, I’m going!” “Hey! Wait up!”

Watching his classmates rush out, the Author licked his split lip.

Should I go see for myself? Or should I flee the academy now?

While he briefly weighed his options, someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Not going?”

The owner of the hand was… Jun Yoon-seong, the one the Author thought closest to the protagonist.

Looking at the fool who believed in this fake friendship, the Author hesitated.

“Well… I’m not sure. Should we go? I think the teachers wouldn’t be pleased.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re not the only ones going.”

“What if we all get punished? There must be some students who won’t go.”

The Author glanced at the few remaining students in the classroom.

Besides him and Yoon-seong, only two others remained.

The elf princess concealing her identity… and that mysterious crazy girl.

“If there’s anyone left… ah…”

Following his gaze, Yoon-seong turned and blushed slightly.

In contrast to the pure-hearted boy’s innocent feelings, the Author swallowed the bloody spit in his mouth.

He remembered the crazy girl he’d encountered at the junkyard.

Just the thought made him shiver, recalling the terrifying killing intent and mana.

Now that I think about it… that girl is a problem, too, not just the transfer student.

How did a place like this academy even come to exist in a world with people like them?

“Yoon-seong, maybe we should just…”

But just as he was about to suggest they go by themselves, Yoon-seong found his courage.

“Uh, um… Hey, Soemiri?”

“Yes?”

Yoon-seong, who’d called out to Soemiri as she packed her books, stammered.

“Uh, do you… want to come with us?”

“...Come with you? Where to?”

Realizing he hadn’t clarified, Yoon-seong quickly added.

“T-to the airfield! We’re planning to go see the Saintess and the transfer student!”

He spoke while tugging the Author up from his seat.

Soemiri blinked at the sudden invitation, then smiled softly.

“Sure, I’ll come along.”

“…Really?”

“We were planning on going, too.”

We? The Author gritted his teeth, spotting Seti following behind Soemiri. Damn.

He wanted to back out of the group immediately, but the moment he met Seti’s icy blue eyes, he felt like a mouse trapped before a tiger, unable to open his mouth.

“Shall we go?” Soemiri asked, her tone full of anticipation, and with that, the Author and the others left the classroom, heading toward the airfield.