Two days after the academy attack, Principal Himena sat in her office, wrestling with a thick stack of documents labeled “Damage Report.”

The costs were staggering—medical expenses and compensation for hundreds of casualties, massive repair costs for the damages, and a torrent of protests and political pressures pouring in from every direction.

No matter how many issues she resolved, the material and political complications seemed endless.

She set the paperwork down momentarily and massaged her temples.

She hadn’t slept for two days; her head throbbed, and her eyes stung from fatigue… but resting wasn’t an option.

The real problem hadn’t even started yet.

‘…Those damned reporters.’

Journalists from around the world were pouring in at this very moment.

The Australian forces stationed on the island and the US Navy were controlling access and trying to prevent information leaks…

But the academy wasn’t a military facility, and they couldn’t censor every form of communication.

They could only stall the parents and staff with vague reassurances about the situation for so long.

By dawn, reporters who had gathered the facts would be flooding the headlines.

‘As expected, it’s going to be a mess.’

The principal pressed her fingers to her forehead, bracing for the inevitable criticism the academy would face.

It didn’t help that this had happened in a relatively slow news season.

Though Manju was catching some attention, even that was about to be resolved soon.

For the media, this tragedy at the academy was too juicy to ignore.

And after the public outrage built up, those who had been waiting to bring down the academy would seize the chance to tear it apart.

Especially France. They’d spent over a decade trying to elevate the Grande École Superhuman Division above Lord Howe, and now they would use this incident to tarnish Lord Howe’s reputation endlessly.

‘Only three months until the Superhuman Olympiad… It’s going to be brutal.’

With a sigh, the principal picked up another report.

It was titled “Analysis and Response Strategy Regarding the Transfer Student and the Sacred Sword.”

She read it slowly, meticulously, not wanting to miss a single word.

The report, written by a dwarf teacher who had gone all the way to Manju, wasn’t long. It wasn’t exactly comprehensive, either.

How had the Sacred Sword met the transfer student, what events had brought them together, and what was their current relationship…?

Not a single definitive answer was given—only speculation and more speculation.

Frankly, it was a disappointing report.

Yet, the principal didn’t throw or tear it up.

It fell short of her standards, but it did contain one piece of valuable information.

[It was confirmed that Cheon Yeomyeong possesses a relic associated with the Comet Sword.]

The principal read that line several times, then reached for the phone on her desk—or tried to.

The moment her hand touched the receiver,

“Ahem.”

A small cough came from behind her.

The principal reflexively summoned mana and checked the mirror on her desk. Recognizing the reflection, she sighed.

“…What brings you here at this hour?”

“The task you requested has been completed.”

The woman wore a blue mask covering half her face and a long blue coat reaching down to her calves.

“…I didn’t expect Morine’s president herself to deliver the report.”

“A special guest deserves more than just any employee.”

As the conversation continued, the principal tried not to let her eyes drift to the report she held.

She calmly, almost casually, set it down and turned her body to hide it entirely from the visitor’s view.

Her movements may have seemed exaggerated, but to her, they weren’t cautious enough.

After all, this report was about the Sacred Sword. No one outside should even see the title of such a document.

Especially not if the person was the head of an intelligence guild, also known as an information brokerage.

Had her act worked? Fortunately, her visitor didn’t seem to notice the report.

The visitor ignored the report entirely and extended her hand toward the principal.

“First, let’s confirm the information.”

The Blue Rat held two pieces of paper, each slightly smaller than her palm.

Without needing an explanation, the principal knew these papers contained the Blue Rat’s memory inscription spell.

“…You could’ve just delivered a report.”

“This is safer.”

Without further objection, the principal accepted the papers.

Each paper bore a title: “Current Status of Internal Informants in the Academy” and “List of External Invites and Incentives for Special Training.”

After examining the titles briefly, the principal waved her hand dismissively.

“The fee will be deposited in the usual account. You’re dismissed.”

Though it was a clear dismissal, the Blue Rat lingered, quietly observing the principal.

“…What else?”

“I’d like permission… to do something.”

“Permission? For what?”

The principal felt a vague unease at the word ‘permission.’ What could she be planning that would require approval?

“I’d like to speak with a student. Of course, unofficially.”

…

Unofficially? In other words, she was planning to sneak in.

Well, it wasn’t as outrageous a request as the principal had expected. With a sigh, she nodded.

“Do as you please. A parent meeting their child—why would I stop that?”

…

“Now go. Have a nice time with your daughter.”

But again, the Blue Rat did not leave.

In fact, she seemed to be wearing an awkward smile behind her mask, looking at the principal’s back.

“…Not here to see your daughter?”

Without a word, the Blue Rat nodded.

The principal didn’t ask further. She wouldn’t have gotten an honest answer anyway.

“…Fine, as long as you don’t harm the student, I permit it. Not that you would, but… make sure the military doesn’t catch you.”

The moment permission was granted, the Blue Rat’s figure vanished from the room.

The principal stared at the spot where she had stood for a moment, then, certain that she was completely alone, returned to her desk.

“A mountain atop a mountain…”

She looked at the paper titled “Current Status of Internal Informants in the Academy” with a bitter expression.

However, she didn’t activate it immediately. There was something more pressing at the moment.

“List of External Invites and Incentives for Special Training.”

Lifting the paper containing information that could alter not just the academy’s fate but that of individual students, the principal fell into thought.

The deliberation didn’t last long.

“If there’s no path… I’ll have to climb over the mountain.”

The next moment, she infused mana into the paper.

 

Five days after the large-scale terrorist incident,

The academy was striving to return to normalcy.

The principal’s top priority was to repair the students’ dormitories and the main building.

Fortunately, the repairs didn’t take long.

Unlike other areas struggling to clear thousands of zombie corpses, the dormitory and main building areas had been rid of all zombies, reduced to dust by the Sacred Sword.

The main building repairs were completed within three days.

Classes could resume immediately, but the principal didn’t force it.

She labeled all classes as “temporary sessions” and allowed students to attend at their discretion.

A few students found this decision puzzling.

But the staff, especially those from military backgrounds, fully supported the decision.

After all, the students hadn’t gone through light experiences.

A sudden terrorist attack, a horde of zombies covering all sides…

Either incident alone would be a lifelong trauma, and these students had endured both in quick succession.

Even the second-year students, who had been safely sheltered, reported mild stress, and a wave of withdrawals spread among the third-years who had suffered casualties.

Of course, not every student was traumatized. Lord Howe students were different from ordinary ones.

They were superhumans who could wield mana, and each was finding their own way to cope with the trauma.

One student, a would-be priest, created a memorial for the deceased staff and held prayer sessions to process the grief.

Others buried themselves in the training room.

First-years who had witnessed the battle firsthand were especially driven to improve.

Some even skipped classes to seek out higher-grade combat instructors, causing the staff quite a bit of trouble.

As a result, the academy had yet to fully regain its normal rhythm.

Particularly in the “temporary classes,” where the atmosphere was far from usual.

Attendance was low for subjects like Ethics and World History, and even in Magic and Religious Education, most students couldn’t focus.

The only exception was combat training.

 

In front of the first-year academy’s main building, outdoor training ground.

“Students, it’s been a while.”

In the expansive space that could accommodate nearly a hundred students moving simultaneously, the dwarf instructor addressed the gathered students.

“I’m Margan, and I’ll be handling today’s interpersonal combat class. Your usual instructor, Mr. Antoine, is hospitalized, so I’ll be leading the temporary classes for this subject.”

It might have seemed odd for Margan, who usually taught Ethics, to handle combat training, but none of the students seemed to mind.

They still remembered him, drenched in zombie blood and flesh, fighting outside the shelter during the attack.

Unaware of this, Margan let out a sigh of relief at the students’ reactions.

“Since this is a temporary class, we’ll focus on the basics rather than advanced techniques. I hope for your understanding.”

With the poise of a seasoned teacher, he continued the lesson.

“As you all know, interpersonal combat involves conflicts between superhumans and superhumans, as well as superhumans and civilians. So first, you must learn how to control your strength appropriately to become a member of society….”

He explained the theory behind using mana and martial arts as a superhuman, and demonstrated a few techniques, giving students a solid foundation in combat.

As the class progressed, one student interrupted.

“Can we learn something more practical than this basic stuff?”

It was unclear whether they found the simple lesson boring or if the recent attack had stirred something within them, but the sentiment echoed across the training ground.

“Can we learn to counter guns?”
“What about fighting zombies?”
“Isn’t this just about controlling our strength so we don’t accidentally kill civilians?”

Margan didn’t ignore the questions and gazes directed at him. He listened to them for a moment and responded seriously.

“I understand your desire to learn real combat techniques after what’s happened.”

He looked each student in the eye, his voice steady.

“But it’s times like these when basics matter most. Teaching a child who’s just learned to walk how to run is akin to intentionally tripping them.”

It was sound reasoning. While not all agreed, his words were hard to dispute.

The students fell silent, and the brief quiet settled over the training ground.

“Ahem. Let’s continue the lesson…”

Just as Margan cleared his throat and attempted to resume,

“Then how about a sparring match?”

Another voice interrupted, a different one this time.

A gentle boy’s voice.

A voice Margan knew well… and one everyone here recognized.

“…Jun Yunseong. What do you mean, sparring?”

Margan and the students turned their attention to Jun Yunseong, who stood at the edge of the training ground.

Though he flinched slightly under the weight of their gazes, he steeled himself and continued.

“Wouldn’t sparring among ourselves, and watching others spar, also be part of interpersonal combat? Especially in a temporary class like this.”

“…Jun Yunseong.”

“And we happen to have someone here who could share real combat experience.”

Jun Yunseong turned his head toward the other side of the training ground.

At the far end, standing quietly among the students, was a student with golden eyes.

Cheon Yeomyeong. The transfer student who had saved the entire first-year class.

Jun Yunseong looked directly at him, his voice full of determination.

“Cheon Yeomyeong.”

“…?”

“…How about a match with me?”

As Margan let out a sigh and pressed his forehead, a murmur of excitement rippled through the students.