The entrance ceremony attack scenario was suddenly brought to an end.
Just as Allen was about to rush at the remaining assailants after his pen trick, the resurrected dean of the Hero Faculty appeared out of nowhere and stopped him.
Whispering something to the frozen Allen, who had paused with the pen in front of the next victim, the dean calmed him down.
“<Everyone, calm down.>”
Even words that didn’t seem like an incantation became one, creating a magic circle large enough to fill the dome’s ceiling.
The white snowflakes that descended from the magic circle soothed tens of thousands of people.
Showing off the overwhelming majesty of a Grand Mage, he explained the attack scenario and reminded everyone of the dangers of terrorism.
“I don’t know what thoughts you might have about this incident, but I hope you take some time to think about how you should act if such a situation occurs on this island.”
After that, the speech by Phia Parma flowed smoothly (not that they had any intention of letting her speak), and the entrance ceremony concluded successfully.
As the eventful entrance ceremony ended, Leon stretched, forgetting all decorum.
“Carl. Where’s the car?”
“If you wait by the entrance, I’ll bring it around.”
Leon was eager to return to the hotel and rest as soon as possible.
The day had been so intense that it seemed even a celebratory banquet for the entrance ceremony would be difficult to attend.
However, there was one person who betrayed Leon’s expectations.
“Hey, Leon, Carl. Come with me somewhere.”
The protagonist, who had stirred up all the commotion, came back behind the stage.
Leon’s guess that bad news would follow didn’t miss the mark.
“The dean is calling for you. To the dean’s office.”
“Because of the pen?”
“Bingo.”
“Isn’t he just calling for you?”
“No, you too.”
Leon and Carl wiped their faces for what felt like the umpteenth time today.
The quiet atmosphere filled the room.
The scent of herbal tea permeated the air.
Heinkel Faust, the dean of the Hero Faculty and a legendary hero, savored the herb-scented tea as he looked at the two young men sitting across from him.
“Please, have some tea.”
A Grand Mage could brew tea with a mere flick of their fingers, but he insisted on brewing it himself, saying that only then could one truly appreciate its beauty.
“Thank you.”
Having the opportunity to drink tea brewed by one of the world’s top mages felt like a rare honor, so they carefully lifted their cups.
Huff, huff—
Then they remembered it was improper to blow on the tea.
But he only smiled warmly, like a grandfather gazing fondly at his grandchildren.
“You really are William’s son.”
“Do you remember my father?”
“I couldn’t help but remember. Even though he didn’t become a hero, he was a young man who stood out in the Hero Faculty.”
Surprisingly, Heinkel had been the dean of this school since my father’s time.
For a Grand Mage who transcended limits, lifespan didn’t hold much meaning.
His soul was already rooted in the constellations of the heavens, and his body was nothing more than a shell that could be remade at will. He was like a constellation lingering on earth.
It was no wonder that he held more influence than the president.
I didn’t know how to feel about the fact that such a man remembered both my father and me.
“Your father once smashed a graduate student’s head during the Festival Attack scenario.”
That wasn’t the way I wanted to be remembered.
With a wry expression, I sipped the tea.
Oh, it was delicious.
Of course, having eaten giant cockroaches in a nuclear blast zone before, it was hard to find anything that didn’t taste good, but even with that in mind, the dean’s ginseng tea was excellent.
Leon and Carl didn’t seem to like it, though.
The dean, seeing my expression that showed I liked the tea, was pleased.
“Do you know why I called you here?”
“Uh… Maybe because I fought too brutally?”
“Exactly.”
His answer left me confused.
The world still had little awareness of brutality.
I had seen my father’s beheading performance when I was three, so that said it all.
But the fact that my pen trick was stopped because it was deemed too brutal was hard to understand.
If even that was considered brutal, how would they handle future hero activities?
However, the dean’s explanation after reading the thoughts on my face made sense.
“To be clear, it wasn’t because of the students, but because of the graduate students.”
“What?”
“Imagine this. What would leave more trauma—being beheaded with a sword or having a pen stabbed into your eye?”
“Ah…”
Even though people could be revived in the Sanctuary, their minds couldn’t.
That’s why actors in the Sanctuary usually underwent training to get used to death at the Academy.
Burning alive, drowning, and so on.
They were trained to become familiar with death inside the Sanctuary, while still maintaining a healthy fear of it outside. It was a rigorous process.
Many even pursued graduate studies to adapt to life in the Sanctuary.
The problem was that none of them had experienced death by pen stabbing, or even witnessing it.
The dean’s point left me speechless.
“Why a pen, though? Weren’t you primarily a bare-handed fighter?”
In a world where martial artists existed, dying from a punch was far less traumatic than dying from a pen.
Avoiding the dean’s reproachful gaze, I confessed the truth.
“It was about sending a message.”
“What?”
“It was a slip of the tongue. In a one-against-many situation, I thought fear was the most efficient way to subdue the enemy.”
In simple terms, I aimed to break their morale.
It’s common knowledge that crushing the enemy with a tank is more effective at demoralizing them than just shooting them with a gun.
Especially when dealing with uncompromising terrorists, using one person as an example to establish dominance increased the chances of success.
So, I had merely chosen the senior cultist approaching me as an example.
“Have you been to a war before? For a noble’s son, you…”
“Don’t hold back, huh.”
Leon, who was next to me, agreed with the dean’s observation.
I had noticed that myself as well.
But the experiences of my previous life and current life were more than enough to turn me into this kind of person.
“That’s strange. William was aggressive, but not to this extent.”
That’s true.
“My father was at least merciful. He only smashed heads with a single punch.”
Compared to that, my fighting style was a bit more drawn-out, brutal, and far too emotionless.
Even in this world that was lenient toward brutality, as long as the dean considered himself an educator, it seemed he was reluctant to just let my condition slide.
Perhaps because I could easily turn into a highly functional psychopath.
So, I had no choice but to reveal one piece of information that could get me out of this situation.
“I may not look it, but I’m a baptized believer.”
“Oh, is that so? That’s reassuring.”
When I showed him my baptism certificate, the dean immediately accepted it.
Baptism was a guarantee provided by the gods.
It was usually bestowed as proof of a mature soul, but sometimes it was used to vouch for someone whose mental or spiritual state didn’t match their age.
In other words, it was a guarantee that this person was mentally and spiritually mature, regardless of circumstances.
To him, I must’ve seemed like a peculiar kid who was just born that way.
As soon as the dean learned that I was a baptized member of Lictus, he stopped questioning me.
Questioning a baptized individual was tantamount to insulting the gods, and even if he did, it would have been pointless.
If there were ever an issue with a baptized person, the gods would immediately revoke their baptism, which was never taken lightly.
From then on, our conversation shifted to light chatter and concluded.
Just before leaving the dean’s office, having enjoyed the refreshments, the dean spoke to me as I stood by the door.
“Once again, congratulations on your admission, John.”
“Thank you, Karamvelt.”
Leaving the dean’s office and walking out of the building, Leon and Carl remained silent.
In the elevator, they kept glancing at me as if they wanted to say something, but they never did.
Once we got into the car, the moment Carl set up a soundproof barrier, Leon snapped at me.
“Hey! How does the dean know your true identity?!”
Honestly, seeing his reaction, it’s impressive he held it in until we got to the car.
How did he even manage to keep his mouth shut with such an itchy tongue?
Calming down the prince, who was grabbing me by the collar, I answered their question.
“I left too many clues. The dean’s no fool. Of course, he’d figure it out.”
First of all, there was the pen trick.
Killing someone with a pen is something even the most capable heroes can do.
But the problem was that my opponent was a graduate student from the Hero Faculty.
The pen trick isn’t something that just anyone can pull off against someone of graduate student level unless there’s a significant difference in combat power or they’ve specifically trained for it.
The issue is that recently, there was an actor who demonstrated that same pen trick in a movie.
Coincidentally, I showed evidence that I was baptized in the temple of Lictus around the same time as that actor.
And although Allen and John’s faces and ages are different, their heights are similar.
Even in this world, it’s rare to find people over 180 cm tall.
With all these clues piling up, there’s no way the dean, who once worked in the hero industry, wouldn’t have caught on.
The dean isn’t an NPC, after all.
“So what now? Can you even continue school life if your identity is exposed?”
“Don’t worry about it. The dean used to work in the hero industry, too. He knows the code of conduct between heroes. Rather than revealing my identity to others, he’ll probably help me keep it hidden.”
Most heroes and supporting actors operate openly, showing their faces. However, there are a few who hide their identities.
Those who do are usually called Luchadors, and their anonymity is crucial to their livelihood as actors. That’s why they go to great lengths to keep it hidden.
If a Luchador does reveal their identity, it means they trust the person they’re revealing it to. And in return, it’s customary for the other person to do everything they can to protect that secret.
Besides…
“The dean was a Luchador himself. He’ll make sure to protect his junior in the industry.”
“Now that I think about it, when we left the room, you did say something like that. You called him Karamvelt… Wait, what?”
Karamvelt?
Carl, who had been quietly listening to Leon’s words from the driver’s seat, flinched.
Agion Karamvelt.
He once played the strongest demon king who drove the entire world into a frenzy.
Because of his character’s ability to resurrect even after being killed, he was a recurring villain in many hero series.
Though he had retired decades ago, he was still revered by every actor and every mage in the Mage Tower.
If you asked how famous he was, he was on the level of Darth Vader from Star Wars.
“Hey, the car’s shaking. Calm down, man.”
For the magic car, which reflects the driver’s emotions and mana to some extent, to shake like this, Carl must have been pretty agitated.
But my voice didn’t seem to reach him.
What hobbies would mages who were cooped up in the Mage Tower even have?
Sweating hobbies were obviously out of the question, and they already used their brains enough for research.
It was only natural for those types to become movie maniacs.
Especially for Agion, who stood at the pinnacle of all mages, he was still considered a superstar, even decades later.
“Autograph…! I need an autograph…!!”
“Hey, your character’s crumbling. That’s informal speech.”
“Does that even matter?! It’s Agion Karamvelt’s autograph we’re talking about!”
“Cut it out. Didn’t you hear what I just said? He’s a Luchador. It would be incredibly rude to ask for an autograph from a Luchador who’s retired and living a normal life.”
“But how do you know his identity?!”
“Did you forget? I’m John Armstrong.”
At my level, it would’ve been stranger if I didn’t know him.
“Argh! I should’ve become an actor too!”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got a role in mind for you.”
“Really? I’ll do it!”
As Carl was easily swept away, John smirked.
Leon could only sigh as he watched the two of them.
Are these the guys I’m supposed to be guarding…?
“Hey, come to think of it, why did we even go with you to the dean’s office?”
“That? I didn’t want to go alone and get scolded.”
“Didn’t you say we were called?”
“Hehe, that was a lie.”
Suddenly, there was a flash inside the car.
As the light dimmed, Allen was slumped in his seat, drooling, while Leon sat with a throbbing vein on his forehead.
Thank for the chapter!