Chapter 23 : Chapter 23
Chapter 23 : What Kind of Plot Is This, with a Beautiful Girl Blocking My Door?
For Ryan, the next ten days were a rare and relatively peaceful breathing period since his transmigration.
The mysterious Elf seemed to have temporarily withdrawn. At the very least, there were no more nighttime intrusions, nor were there any obvious traces left behind.
Within the academy, Andre and Wood’s side had also become strangely quiet. Apart from occasionally casting him unreadable looks, they made no further provocative moves. The rumors seemed to die down little by little as well.
It was as though the incident at the training ground had never happened at all. Even the lunch lady in the cafeteria had stopped shaking her serving hand—she had given him half a ladle more stew.
Ryan called these ten days his “strategic hibernation period,” devoting most of his energy to the preliminary study of Magic Tools and tinkering with those few pieces of junk he had picked up.
Saint Roland Magic Academy had a very flexible curriculum. At the start of the term, it was mainly composed of lectures and independent preview study, which gave him plenty of time.
The Magic Tools of this world were somewhat similar to the magic-powered machinery and devices he had seen in fantasy works from his previous life.
Their basic energy source was not electricity—although something called an “electrical crystal” did exist, capable of releasing a stable current, its efficiency was far too low for mana-driven systems. It was mostly used as an auxiliary component for specific functions such as triggering mechanisms and signal transmission.
The more efficient and more widely used energy source was the “magic core,” also called a mana crystal.
This was a solid core formed from the refined mana condensed inside a magical beast after it was killed. Depending on the beast’s type, attribute, and strength, the attribute energy, purity, and capacity of a magic core could differ as vastly as heaven and earth.
They could be embedded into Magic Tools as power sources, and they were also used in alchemy, potions, magic arrays, and many other fields. They were one of the hard currencies of magical civilization.
High-quality magic cores were extremely valuable, far beyond anything Ryan could hope to covet at present.
His goal was to use the cheapest materials possible to complete functional repairs on those broken items and increase their value as much as he could.
That required a deeper understanding of basic mana circuits, material properties, and rune principles. He frequented the basic Magic Tool section of the library, gnawing his way through those obscure books by relying on the original owner’s foundation and his own logical thinking. From time to time, he also used the cheapest basic materials in the workshop to conduct simple verification experiments.
At that moment, Ryan was trying to wind the cheapest mana-conducting copper wire into a basic circuit. Hearing this, he glanced at the 《Principles of Basic Magic Tool Construction》 beside his hand, then at the pieces of junk he had scavenged from the secondhand stall—a pocket watch that no longer ticked, a lantern that would not light, and a rusted badge.
Magic was 5G. Electricity was 2G.
And he was currently trying to cobble together a brick phone capable of making calls using secondhand parts he had picked up from a scrap heap.
Practice was far more interesting than theory. When he successfully infused a trace of mana into that rusted badge for the first time and saw a faint layer of green light rise across its surface, a kind of joy unique to an engineering-minded man quietly bloomed within him.
Even though the light went out after three seconds, and the badge became hot enough to fry an egg.
Meanwhile, during this peaceful stretch of days, Cosette continued advancing her literacy campaign with difficulty but unwavering determination.
Ryan borrowed several brightly illustrated children’s primers and picture guides to common objects for her from the first floor of the library.
The little maid learned with great difficulty. She would often stare at a single word for ages, scratching her head in frustration until her little face scrunched into a ball. But that refusal to admit defeat was enough to make even Ryan look at her differently. Her progress was slow but steady.
At first, she could not even recognize all the letters. Gradually, she became able to haltingly read out short sentences, and she even drew a crooked smiling face with charcoal on the bread roll from Ryan’s dinner, labeling it with the newly learned word “happy.”
Whenever she learned a new word, her eyes would sparkle. Though she did not dare show off on her own initiative, that eager hope for praise practically overflowed from her. Ryan would pat her on the head as encouragement, or point out a spelling mistake, but that subtle sense of accomplishment from “raising a child” quietly accumulated in his heart without him realizing it.
And so the days slipped by in a rhythm that was somewhat dull, yet fulfilling and peaceful.
Until the afternoon of the fourteenth day after school began.
Ryan had just completed his registration for Practice Experience Week at the academy notice board.
According to the announcement, starting tomorrow, all third-year students in the junior division would participate in a five-day series of specialty practice lectures. Each day, they would experience a different professional direction—Magi-Theory, alchemical applications, dual cultivation of magic and martial skill, nature magic, summoning contracts, and so on—so they could deepen their understanding through direct practice. Even students who had already chosen their path were required to attend, as the experience counted toward broadening one’s academic horizons.
For Ryan, this was not a bad thing. It was a good opportunity to systematically understand the other directions, and perhaps draw useful parallels from them.
With the registration receipt tucked away, he followed the familiar path back to Silver Fir House.
At this hour, when he pushed open the door to Room 207, what should have greeted him was the simple aroma of food drifting through the room, along with the sight of a certain little maid—either hunched over the literacy textbook at the table with a deeply aggrieved expression, or already having set out the bowls and chopsticks, her eyes lighting up the instant she saw him return before she began stumbling through a report on today’s learning progress.
But today, the atmosphere was subtly different.
The smell of food still drifted out through the crack in the door—so dinner was clearly ready.
However, that little figure who should have been inside the room was now standing at the dormitory entrance.
No, to be more precise, she was blocking the dormitory entrance like a kitten that had wandered into a beast’s territory—every hair on end, too frightened to move.
Cosette had her back to the corridor, so Ryan could only see the little bun of deep brown hair at the back of her head and the neatly washed maid dress on her back.
Her shoulders were hunched, both hands unconsciously twisting the edge of her apron in front of her. Her posture was stiff, and even the back she usually kept ramrod straight had grown a little bent. Every inch of her radiated helplessness and the desperate thought of I really want to run away.
And the source of all this stood opposite her, at the turn of the staircase.
Just a single side profile carried an overwhelming pressure that almost felt tangible.
It was a tall girl.
She was not wearing the familiar dark-blue uniform of the junior division that Ryan knew so well, but rather a sharply tailored outfit that was clearly different—the exclusive attire of the intermediate division.
Her upper garment was a dark gray stand-collar short jacket in an almost military style, fitted at the waist. Its polished metal buttons gleamed brightly, accentuating a figure that was slender yet carried a sense of supple strength.
Below that was a pleated skirt of the same color, the hem ending just past the middle of her thighs. As she subtly shifted her center of gravity, the skirt swayed gently.
Beneath the hem, black over-the-knee stockings tightly wrapped around her long legs. Between the tops of the stockings and the hem of the skirt was a strip of exposed skin—a perfect absolute territory—gleaming faintly beneath the corridor lights. On her feet were black lace-up ankle boots. The heels were not high, yet every step they made felt steady and grounded.
Most eye-catching of all was her vivid red hair, as brilliant as burning sunset clouds.
Rather than letting it fall loose like most girls, or braiding it into some elaborate style, she had simply tied it into a neat high ponytail behind her head with a dark hair ribbon. The ends swayed gently with her movements like a flickering flame.
One hand rested casually at her waist—where a sheathed longsword hung. Its hilt was plain and unadorned, yet for some reason it gave off a heavy, razor-sharp impression. Her other arm was folded across her chest, the fingertips of that hand tapping lightly against her arm now and then. She looked a little impatient, yet also as though she were suppressing some battle intent that was just about to burst forth.