After some deliberation, they wound up taking up lodgings near each other; Topher booked an extended-stay room on the upper floor of an inn not far from the stable where their loft was situated, and Hotaka and Noboru did the same, splitting a room to halve the recurring cost. Makoto, to his surprise, elected to remain in the loft; "It's free, idiots, I'm going to save my money." Haruko seemed torn and took a long time deciding, but eventually asked to share a room with Topher.

"No offense, kid, but that's not gonna happen," said Topher, immediately. "If you want to room with someone, room with Makoto; anything else is just begging for trouble."

"Bailey-sensei, I don't want to stay in the loft anymore," Haruko complained bitterly. "It's cold, it's dirty, and it smells of horse. Why can't we just share?"

Topher rolled his eyes. "Haruko, you're a sweet kid, but no means no. It's not up for debate."

Eventually, Haruko ended up getting her own room in the inn, next to Topher's; he could tell she felt vulnerable and looked to him for security, which made him deeply uncomfortable for reasons he didn't want to contemplate. Already got these kids clinging to my pant legs all the time, he grumbled to himself; bad enough I've already volunteered to tag along with her to these stupid classes. Next they'll all ask me to cook for them again.

Nobody forced you, the distant part of his mind reminded him. You chose this, so stop whining about it. Topher, annoyed with himself, bought some ale from the inn's common room and drank himself unconscious.

The next morning, sporting his new clothes and a hangover, he knocked on Haruko's door. "Come on. We're gonna be late for Humiliation 101."

"I'll be out in a minute, Bailey-sensei," the young woman's voice came through the door. Sighing, Topher shoved his hands in his pockets and backed up to lean against the wall; as he did so, Hotaka came bustling up the stairs from the floor below, straining to carry a large bag with both hands in front of him.

Topher tried to squirm out of the way; but, his vision blocked by the bag, Hotaka promptly tripped over Topher's scrambling feet and went sprawling. He groaned, then laughed. "Tripped in the hall. A tradition for the first day of school."

Topher grunted, lifting the boy back up to his feet. "Guessing you've dealt with your share of bullies." Knees creaking and head pounding, he helped Hotaka gather up the contents of the bag -- alternate pairs of clothing and toiletries -- with only minimal grumbling. He wanted to smoke, but knew from experience that it would only make his hangover worse. Shoulda drunk more water.

"Bailey-sensei," said Hotaka, after everything had been gathered up, "how are you feeling after your injury? You should be cautious with your health."

Topher's grimace intensified. "I told you, kid, I'm fine. Quit worrying about me, okay?"

Hotaka sighed, gathering up the bag again and heading for his own room at the end of the hall. "You worry about us, Bailey-sensei. Is it so strange that we should wish to return the favor?" Shifting the massive bag to one hand, he struggled to unlock the door, finally managing it just in time to avoid losing his balance. "At least keep an eye on your status."

"What good would that do me?" Topher asked, disbelieving. "I can't see my own HP like you, remember?"

"It is possible that afflictions or ailments might be displayed in our statuses," came Hotaka's voice from behind the bag as he attempted to squeeze it through the doorway. "We cannot know unless we -- umph! -- try. Ah!" Abruptly, the bag went through, and Hotaka disappeared into the door after it. His head popped out a moment later, glasses askew, and he glanced at Topher reprovingly. "Please, Bailey-sensei. At least consider it." Then, before Topher could tell the boy to mind his own damn business, the door closed, and Topher was alone in the hallway.

Stupid nerd. What is he, my mother? Topher jutted his lower lip out but summoned his status anyway; as much as he hated to be bossed around by a kid whose balls probably hadn't even dropped yet, he couldn't argue with the bespectacled boy's logic. Obligingly, his status appeared:

Name:

Christopher Bailey

Level:

1

Class:

Otherworlder

Strength:

Rank F

Dexterity:

Rank F

Constitution:

Rank F

Intelligence:

Rank D

Wisdom:

Rank D

Charisma:

Rank F

Skills:

Literacy (Rank D)

Mathematics (Rank D)

Cooking (Rank F)

Customer Service (Rank D)

Data Entry and Filing (Rank B)

Packaging and Shipping (Rank D)

Home Appliance Repair (Rank F)

Pen Spinning (Rank A)

Special Skills:

Disrupt Illusion

Unique Skill:

Attract Object

See? Totally normal. Just like I... Topher blinked, then examined his Special Skills again. Disrupt Illusion? When did that show up?! Groaning, he let his aching head sag back against the wall with a thump; that must have been what pissed off that Naungraloth guy. Jesus, my own status is trying to kill me. He wanted an explanation, but knew he wouldn't get one; Noboru had had a skill show up unannounced in his status, so there wasn't any reason why the same thing couldn't happen to him. I guess I can add my status to the list of shit I have to watch out for all the time, he grouched to himself; he knew he was whining, but didn't care. At least he was only whining to himself.

Abruptly, the door opened; Haruko, her hair freshly brushed, bustled through the doorway. She had one of the unsold backpacks slung stylishly over her right shoulder, and her dress was freshly laundered and crisp; he wondered when she'd had the time. "Sorry, Bailey-sensei. I had to get ready."

"Less apologizing and more hurrying up," he replied, gesturing. "And put that backpack on properly; you'll get scoliosis. Healing potions probably don't fix spinal deformation." He hurried her out down the stairs and out the door, then over to the castle; despite preparing over an hour ahead of time, they were barely approaching the classroom when the last of the C-Rank and D-Rank students filed in, and Topher had to scramble to jam his foot in the door before they locked it. Typical. Limping a little, he ignored the glares and whispers as he accompanied Haruko to her designated spot: a patch of blank floor in the corner at the back of the room, where the blackboard at the front was only just visible between the legs and feet of the desks and the students who occupied them. This is gonna suck.

There was a moment or two of confused chatter; then, abruptly, another door opened in the back wall and a man Topher hadn't seen before walked in. He was tall and gangly, stick-thin with a mop of wild blonde hair that stuck out in every direction like a hedgehog's quills, and he wore a high, pointed hat that looked like a dunce cap had had sex with a sombrero. A loose, trailing robe completed the picture; he looked like every caricature of a wizard Topher had ever seen. He almost expected the guy to pull a rabbit out of that stupid hat.

"This is the Fundamentals of Magic instructional class," said the mage without preamble, ignoring everyone and beginning to draw a diagram on the chalkboard. "If you are in this class, that means that you have a Magic Unique Skill, a class with MP, or both. Without those, any spell you attempt to cast will fail no matter how correct your casting is, and anyone who cannot cast at least one of the introductory spells I will assign you today should not bother returning for tomorrow's lesson." Topher craned his neck, trying to see around all the kids in the way; it looked like the mage was drawing some kind of cube on the board, festooned with squiggly lines. "Spells can be cast a number of ways, but the most common is the assembly of runic sequences. There are sixty-four common runes, eleven high runes, and thirteen grand runes; fluency with these runes is required to accomplish even the most basic of spellcasting techniques. The common runes can be subdivided into a three-dimensional array of intersecting values, where the first file is delineated by the phases of the moon..."

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Oh shit. Why couldn't we have gotten the the easy-A professor? Topher, abandoning all attempt to understand the subject material, simply focused on copying down everything he heard as quickly as possible; within minutes, the pace had become grueling, and he knew the class would probably last for several hours. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see that the C-Rank and D-Rank students were having no problem assimilating the concepts the mage was rattling off; some of them -- probably the C-Rankers -- weren't even bothering to take notes. Topher wanted to scream.

Haruko was chewing her lip in intense concentration; Topher wanted to admonish her, but didn't have the attention to spare. Guess I know what happened to Oguro's lips. He blocked out everything except the mage's voice and what glimpses of the board he could snatch; he scrawled down the runes of Om and Nef and Zraqq and their places in the mystical etymology relative to the seasons and the hours of the day. He scribbled, scratched out, and drew desperate reminders in the margins of the paper; none of it made sense, but he wasn't here to learn. I'm an extra pair of hands, and that's all. Keep saying that to myself, and I might make it through another five minutes.

When the class finally ended, an eternity later, Topher's eyes and fingers were burning; he'd filled nearly ten pages, front and back, with densely-packed writing that slashed crazily across the page like a serial killer's manifesto. He eyed it grimly; he'd be lucky if he could decode half of this. Well, if it's not good enough, too bad. At worst, I can be here for moral support. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the instructor simply teleport out of the room in a flash of pale blue light; sourly, Topher supposed he hadn't wanted to stick around any longer than he'd had to. That's the first thing in this class I've actually understood. The other students, moving much more quickly and purposefully than he was, quickly began to file out of the classroom.

Haruko stayed behind to talk to some other girls who had presumably been her friends before the Summoning; Topher, in a self-conscious attempt at decorum, waited out in the hall. At first, his attention was mostly consumed by trying to get his lower back to un-kink, but after a minute or so he became aware that someone was walking towards him. Warily, he stepped away from the wall and focused his attention on the approaching figure.

The young Japanese man who strode towards him was tall and slender, with a whip-like build that made him think of hunting cats; his black hair was slicked back from his temples, and his face was ethereally handsome, like a model or actor. Topher had to blink and remind himself that this person was probably not old enough to drive in the U.S. -- he looked like the sort of junior executive that features prominently on corporate recruiting ads promoting diversity.

As he reached Topher, the young man bowed deeply. "Mr. Bailey. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." To Topher's shock, the young man had a thick Japanese accent; after a moment of confusion, he realized that the boy was fluent in English, and was talking to him in his own language rather in than magically-translated Japanese.

Topher nodded, unsure of the etiquette involved. "Uh, likewise, I'm sure. And you are...?"

"I am Sugimoto Sora, Mr. Bailey; that is, I am Sora, of the Sugimoto family. One of the S-Rank persons chosen to lead this war effort." Despite his proclamation, the young man gave off absolutely no sense of arrogance or entitlement; he seemed to be simply stating a bald fact. He wore a simple white silk button-down shirt which was immaculately tailored to his body, as well as a pair of black slacks and sleek, simple shoes; he could have passed for a prodigy day-trader except for the two additional accessories he wore. Around the boy's neck was a long black scarf, which looped around once and then trailed down his back like a half-cape, and on his hip was a wide-bladed iron sword.

"Uh huh." Topher crossed his arms; he did remember Hotaka mentioning someone called "Sugimoto-sama" as one of the possible S-Rankers, so it looked like his prediction had borne out. "Well, I'm real honored. What do you want? And you can speak to me in Japanese; I appreciate your consideration, but I'd rather we understood each other as clearly as possible."

The young man regarded him for a moment, then bowed again. "As you wish, Bailey-san." The effect of switching languages was almost comical from Topher's perspective; the young man's slightly stilted, heavily-accented English was replaced by mellifluous, smoothly enunciated English. This kid grew up with a diction tutor, Topher immediately intuited. He probably sounds fancy as hell to the others, like a British exchange student would to American kids. "I understand that you are attempting to help some of the other F-Rankers, including Ikehara-chan; it is commendable. But I think..." -- Sugimoto paused briefly, then continued on -- "...that you may not be aware of the broader cultural contexts in which your actions are taking place."

Topher sighed and adjusted his glasses. "I'm probably not. For the sake of expediency, please assume I am a typical idiot American so that we can move this along."

Sugimoto smiled. "Very well, Bailey-san." He bowed a third time, then drew the sword at his hip and held it up for Topher to examine. The sword was clearly made of iron, not steel; it looked rough and slightly pitted in places, but its craftsmanship was obviously extremely good despite its apparent age and lack of sophistication. A clear gem -- probably a diamond, only the best for the S-Rankers, thought Topher sourly -- adorned the pommel, but it was otherwise plain and unornamented. "Do you know what this is?"

"I would assume it's some kind of fancy artifact sword," Topher guessed. "Although I'm surprised it's not a katana, or whatever Japanese swords are called."

Sugimoto nodded, then spun the sword abruptly; Topher flinched back, fearful for his eyebrows, but Sugimoto was only balancing the sword on the tip of his finger. "It is the original blade which destroyed the first Demon Lord, one hundred years ago; it is called 'Dawnbreaker', I am told. It has been entrusted to me because my Unique Skill is God Sword -- supreme mastery of the combat arts. I am, using that skill, peerless; I can cleave a mountain in two from a mile away, slash the earth such that magma boils forth, and catch every drop in a rainstorm upon my blade. In a training exercise we conducted yesterday, I defeated every one of the A-Rank and B-Rank heroes that we have assembled here, simultaneously, without even drawing my weapon; a good number of them I mastered without conscious notice of their presence. I am fortunate enough to have Rank S in every attribute except Constitution, which is Rank A." Sugimoto sheathed the sword, then returned his gaze to Topher. "So when I tell you that I am the weakest of the three S-Rank heroes, I hope that it will impart upon you some awareness of the scope of the threat that we are facing."

Topher sighed again. "No offense, kid, but that doesn't tell me a lot. I've heard a lot of chatter about Demon Lords and doom and gloom, but that doesn't actually tell me anything about the real scope of whatever the threat is even rumored to be, let alone what it might actually be. None of us have even seen a demon yet; we've seen a guy with a crown, and another guy in a robe, who told us some scary words." He met Sugimoto's gaze, trying his level best to take this kid seriously. "You're from Japan; you don't need me to tell you what the scope of industrial warfare can be like."

Sugimoto bowed again. "I can see that I was right to come to you; you are a man who understands the complexities of things at this scale." He half-turned, looking out across the courtyard to where Arima was still, seemingly endlessly, training. "Despite -- or perhaps because of -- my inferior combat prowess, I have been placed in command of the nation's armies. To me it falls the responsibility of commanding and deploying all troops, materiel, and resources; it is a task I have been well-trained for, as I had been preparing to become an officer cadet in the JSDF. As a result, I have been briefed extensively on the size, scale, characteristics, and deployment of the Demon Lord's armies, and I have no hope of defeating them with a sword. To such a task will fall such talents as Saiki-chan, who bears the Unique Skill Air Command, and to Arima-chan, should all other options fail."

Topher, after a long moment of incomprehension, understood. His jaw dropped open. "You're saying that her Supreme Gravity Skill can do more than just crush or squish people. You're talking about some kind of..." -- he fumbled for the words -- "...magic missiles, or something."

Sugimoto nodded back. "The precise term is 'kinetic artillery'. Using gravitational manipulation, Arima-chan is likely capable of accelerating large quantities of mass to hypersonic speeds, producing destruction on the scale of such weapons as you or I would be familiar with from our world." He paused. "If not greater."

"Jesus." Topher's blood ran cold. "And you're worried that might not be enough destruction?"

Sugimoto's mouth hardened into a flat line. "I am. The Demon Lord's forces are not like Earth armies, Bailey-san. They will require exceptional effort to defeat, even with all of the power we can bring to bear." Finally, he turned back. "And that exceptional effort will be a great burden on each of the heroes assembled; not only on Arima-chan and Saiki-chan and myself, but also on the members of our parties -- the A-Rankers and B-Rankers -- and even moreso upon the C-Rank and D-Rank heroes who will be called upon to support the war effort in less glamorous contexts. As a result, their morale is a much greater consideration than you might otherwise predict."

Topher frowned. "Sure, I guess. But I don't see what that has to do with me, or with Haruko or any of the other kids who got dealt the short end of the stick."

"Bailey-san, what I am about to say will be unpleasant to you, but it is important that you listen." Sugimoto suddenly flashed through the space between them, abruptly standing only a few inches from Topher; Topher recoiled slightly. "In order for the lower-ranked Heroes to become equal to the demands which will be asked of them, it is important that they understand their destinies; in other words, that they believe in their specialness." There was a long pause, during which Sugimoto's gaze became increasingly cold. "And the easiest and most foolproof way to convince someone that they are special... is to give them someone to whom they may feel superior."

Topher, slowly and angrily, got the message. "You're saying that Haruko and the other F-Rankers..." -- and me, you pompous prick -- "...are here to make you look good? That our entire purpose in this whole shitshow is to suffer, so that you and the others can feed your own egos?"

Sugimoto nodded, grimly. "As you say, Bailey-san. Ikehara-chan is being allowed to attend these classes not out of kindness or pity, as you might otherwise suppose, nor is she being given a chance to prove herself." He leaned closer. "Her purpose in this class is to fail. To struggle and be broken beneath the weight of the demands upon her, so that the other lower-ranked mages may behold the degree to which they excel in comparison to her feeble abilities. That is why she is not allowed to receive a desk, or ask questions, or benefit from any other tool or assistance which might cloud or confuse the true objective. Not because we despise her, or wish her harm; but because it is the burden which is hers to bear in this conflict. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the message." Topher was not a hot-blooded youth who answered scorn with outrage; he was a middle-aged man in the process of becoming an old man, and he was more than familiar with the methods the world used to grind down those at the bottom of the heap. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel a surge of indignation -- albeit a tepid and weary one -- in the face of such naked disdain, no matter how justified. "But I hope you won't take it the wrong way when I tell you to cram it up your ass, kid. I get your reasons, and I know you won't give a damn about my opinion. But that doesn't mean it's not a shitty way to treat good people."

Sugimoto nodded, then bowed yet again. "As you say, Bailey-san. Regardless of their ultimate outcome, please convey my encouragement of her efforts to Ikehara-chan. And, by extension, to yours." He smiled, and it was not a nice smile; nor, however, was it a cruel smile. It was a smile kept in a box, trotted out for the appropriate purpose, and then put away again; Topher shuddered. A whole class of little Japanese Patrick Batemans. Jesus H. Jones. He shook himself, then opened his mouth to make some kind of return platitude; however, when he looked up, the young man was gone. The departure had been silent and instantaneous; Topher cringed a little internally, realizing how deadly such a talent would be employed to violence against an unsuspecting target. Not that I needed any more reminders how for out of my league I am. It was going to be a long walk back to the inn.