Chapter 11 : Chapter 11
Chapter 11 : A Microscopic God Is Normal
By the time the room was completely in order, the last glow of the sunset had also stained the tips of the silver fir trees outside the window red. Ryan closed his book and rubbed his slightly sore eyes. Right on cue, the little maid’s stomach let out a protesting growl.
It was time to eat.
He stood up and glanced at Cosette, who had just placed the last folded shirt into the wardrobe and was blushing a little from the embarrassment of her stomach making noise.
“Come on. We’re going to the dining hall.”
Cosette quickly closed the wardrobe door and followed after him in small steps.
As for eating at the same table as Ryan, after the extreme terror of the first two days and the half-forced adjustment of the past several days, she was no longer quite as helplessly flustered as she had been at the beginning. Although she still only picked up her spoon carefully after Ryan had started eating, at least now she could sit quietly and finish a meal.
The Lower Division dining hall of Saint Roland Magic Academy was a spacious, bright vaulted building. At this hour, it was dinner time, and the place was crowded. Long wooden dining tables were arranged in neat rows, and most of the seats were already occupied.
The smell of the food was reassuringly real enough. Ryan led Cosette into line and collected the trays assigned to students—a solid portion of white bread with butter, a fragrant vegetable and meat stew cooked until tender, a scoop of mashed potatoes that looked quite decent, and several slices of boiled sausage.
For a normal teenage boy, the portion was enough, and it was included in the tuition. That fact made Ryan feel slightly better about the enormous expense of those thirty gold coins.
Of course, if you wanted extra food, dessert, or drinks, the side window had clearly marked prices, and you had to pay for those yourself.
Carrying their trays, the two of them searched for empty seats in the somewhat noisy dining hall. Before long, Ryan spotted a fairly clean long table near a corner. Two students were already sitting at one end, eating with their heads down, while the other side was empty.
He walked straight over, set down his tray, and sat down. Cosette naturally followed at his side, then hesitated.
According to the vague notions that had been force-fed into her over the past two days, it seemed she should not be sitting on equal footing with her master.
But Ryan had already picked up his bread and started eating, with no sign that he wanted her to stand or go elsewhere.
So she had no choice but to sit down carefully in the empty seat across from him, trying her best not to attract attention. She placed both hands neatly on her knees and only picked up her spoon after Ryan had started drinking his soup.
And yet, almost the instant they sat down, the low hum of conversation around them seemed to pass through a few strange seconds of stagnation, as though swept by some invisible silencing spell.
Many gazes, some obvious and some concealed, turned toward this corner table.
The first thing that drew attention was naturally Cosette.
A girl dressed in a standard maid outfit was already conspicuous enough in a student dining hall. On top of that, her face—far too delicate after being properly washed clean—stood out among the ordinary or merely pleasant young faces around her like a white-feathered bird that had wandered into a flock of gray sparrows.
Quite a few boys let their eyes linger on her face for a moment before quickly looking away—not because she was not pretty, but because of the person sitting beside her.
Then even more gazes gathered on Ryan, carrying shock, disgust, wariness, and even fear.
Ryan Velt.
In the Lower Division—especially among the “older students” about to rise into the third year, who had spent the past two years here—that name was practically thunder in their ears.
Of course, it was not a good reputation.
“Look... it’s that Velt...” someone at the neighboring table whispered, practically leaning in until their heads touched.
“Why is he even in the dining hall? I heard he always had people deliver food to that lousy dorm of his.”
“Shh! Keep your voice down! Do you want him to notice you?”
“And the one next to him... is that a maid? Since when did he have a maid? Why is a maid eating at the same table as him?”
“What is so strange about that? That scumbag is capable of anything. Maybe this is just some new trick of his to toy with people...”
The hushed whispers spread outward like ripples on water, with Ryan’s corner as the center.
The two students who had been eating quite happily at the far end of the table suddenly sped up as though needles had been stuck into their backsides. They hurried through the last few bites, grabbed their trays, and practically fled.
In the blink of an eye, an invisible vacuum formed around Ryan and Cosette, spanning two or three tables in every direction.
Later students walked over with their trays, only to spot Ryan seated in the middle of that “forbidden zone.” Some let their eyes flicker and pretended not to see him, choosing another place instead. Others hesitated briefly before still deciding to stay away.
Cosette keenly sensed the shift in atmosphere and the complicated meaning behind the eyes turned toward them.
Her grip on the spoon tightened. Her back unconsciously straightened even more as she lowered her head and drank her soup in tiny sips, trying to reduce her own presence as much as possible. She could feel that those looks held not only curiosity toward her as an “improper” maid, but also fear and rejection toward the master at her side.
Ryan himself seemed completely unaware of the strangeness around him. He tore pieces off his bread at an unhurried pace, dipping them into the thick stew and eating with full concentration.
Every so often, he raised his head and let his gray-blue eyes sweep calmly over the empty space around them. The moment any student’s gaze met his, they looked away at once as though burned, or pretended to be in the middle of an animated conversation with a companion.
His own heart, however, was not calm at all.
Tsk. The original owner’s talent for attracting hatred had truly reached the summit...
As Ryan chewed on the rather decent stew, he rapidly flipped through the fragments of memory the original owner had left behind—glorious achievements from his past two years at the academy.
Maliciously injuring an opponent in practical combat class? Mm. If memory served, the other side had used a dirty trick first, and the original owner had only failed to rein in his temper after that.
Causing an explosion in lab class? That seemed to be because the original owner had wanted to improve a small flame magic model, and the idiots in the neighboring group had privately increased the Mana input and used unstable materials. The original owner had merely not warned them, and then it blew up.
A tool that turned people into dogs? ...That one really did seem to be an alchemical prank item the original owner had made out of boredom. It had somehow gotten loose and caused a minor commotion. Although everything had quickly been restored afterward, the terrifying rumor that “Velt likes turning people into dogs and stepping on them” had spread from that point on.
As for mocking people after defeating them in competitions...
Ryan thought back carefully. Rather than mockery, it had been more like a sharp critique born from absolute superiority in strength and an arrogant personality. The original owner had always aimed straight for his opponents’ weaknesses, every word stabbing right into the heart. Paired with that expressionless face and those lofty, condescending eyes, the effect had been devastating.
To sum it up: strong, terrible personality, no understanding of human relations, countless enemies, and a reputation sunk to rock bottom.
A perfect example of what it meant to ruin a great hand of cards...
Ryan rubbed his forehead inwardly. With the original owner’s talent and background, if his personality had been even remotely normal—or if he had at least known how to pretend—he could have flourished at the academy. Instead, he had somehow managed to turn himself into a “walking calamity” that all Lower Division students avoided like the plague.
And now this enormous black pot had landed firmly on Ryan’s own head.
He could feel the malice and alienation in those gazes. It irritated him, but more than that, it made him wary. Being isolated and hated like this would undoubtedly increase the difficulty and unpredictability of his plans.
Just then, a few more people entered through the dining hall entrance. At their head was a tall boy with curly brown hair and an open, cheerful smile on his face. Several companions with similarly distinguished bearing followed behind him. He was clearly the center of some small social circle.
They entered laughing and chatting, their eyes sweeping over the room out of habit as they searched for seats.
Then the brown-haired boy’s smile stiffened, and his gaze locked onto Ryan in the corner.
His companions noticed as well and murmured something to him. The boy’s eyes darkened for a moment, and the cheerful smile on his face turned a little strained. But very quickly he returned to normal and even deliberately raised his voice.
“Isn’t there space over there? Come on, let’s sit there.”
He was pointing to the seats one table away from Ryan’s.
His companions obviously hesitated, but seeing that the brown-haired boy had already started walking in that direction, they could only steel themselves and follow.
That action undoubtedly drew even more attention. Many eyes shifted back and forth between the brown-haired boy and Ryan, full of anticipation for a show.
The boy was Andre Garcia, heir to another viscount’s family from the northern provinces, one of the widely acknowledged “model students” of the Lower Division. He was well liked and fairly strong too—of course, that was only “fairly strong” if you excluded one certain unsociable outlier.
The bad blood between him and Ryan Velt was practically common knowledge throughout the Lower Division. It had supposedly started during some competition in which Andre had lost very badly, only to be publicly evaluated by Ryan afterward with the words, “Flashy but empty, and your footwork is so unsteady you look like a drunken goblin. If your father knows this is how you study magic, he would be better off shoving your wand up a bull’s backside.”
From that day on, the grudge had been set.
Andre led his companions to the table diagonally opposite Ryan, with one table between them, and sat down with an intentionally loud clatter of trays. He glanced at Ryan, then at Cosette, who was sitting across from him with her head lowered and almost no presence at all. A distinctly unfriendly curve pulled at the corner of his mouth, and in a voice pitched just loud enough for the nearby students to hear, he said:
“Well, if it isn’t Young Master Velt, looking as ‘different’ as ever. So what is this? Have you finally condescended to leave your noble dorm room and grace our common dining hall with your presence? And you even brought along a... new pet?”
His gaze paused deliberately on Cosette’s maid outfit for a moment, the implication obvious.
The air in that corner of the dining hall instantly grew even more stagnant.
Cosette’s hand holding the spoon froze completely, and the soup in it trembled slightly. She raised her eyes nervously and darted a quick glance at Ryan, whose face still showed no particular expression, then immediately lowered her head again. Her long lashes hid the panic in her eyes.
Ryan slowly swallowed the last piece of bread, picked up the cup beside him, and took a sip of water. Only then did he lift his eyes and look at the provocatively smiling Andre across from him.
There was no anger in that gaze. No agitation at being provoked. In fact, there was barely any emotion in it at all.
It was precisely that look that made Andre’s temper flare, yet also sent a strange chill through him.
Ryan set down the cup, wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and then spoke slowly in an even tone.
“The dining hall stew has too much salt.”
His gray-blue eyes looked straight into Andre’s face as it instantly turned ugly.
“Just like certain people’s nonsense,” he added. “Far too salty.”
After saying that, he paid the other boy no further attention. Instead, he turned to Cosette, who looked ready to bury her head directly into her soup bowl, and said in the same calm tone, “Finished? If you are, then let’s go.”
As though granted a pardon, Cosette nodded hurriedly and fumbled to pick up her tray, which was basically already empty.
Ryan stood first and carried his own tray toward the return counter, his back straight and his steps steady.
What he left behind him was dead silence—and Andre Garcia’s face, flushed red one moment and ashen the next.
Once they stepped out of the dining hall, the cool evening breeze swept away the mixed smell of food and the oppressive atmosphere inside. Cosette trotted two steps to catch up with Ryan, stealing cautious glances at his profile as if she wanted to speak but did not dare.
“What do you want to ask?” Ryan did not turn his head.
“M-Master... that person just now...” Cosette’s voice was very light.
“An unimportant source of noise. Stay far away from him if you see him again.”
“Yes...” Cosette replied softly.
She did not understand those complicated grudges, but she could feel the intense malice that brown-haired boy held toward her master. Quietly clenching her little fists, she thought vaguely to herself: I have to be more careful. I have to protect Master... though right now, it seems I cannot do anything at all.
Ryan lifted his head and looked at the sky. Night was beginning to fall, and the academy’s magic lamps lit one after another, scattered among the old buildings.
Trouble truly followed him like a shadow. And this was only the first day of term.