Chapter 08.1: “The Rhythm of Iron or the Eroded Silence”
Why is the world so full of “excess noise”?
Early morning in the student council president’s office.
Outside the window‚ students with little sense of purpose heading to their first class of the day were spilling out noise in the form of idle chatter with absolutely no productivity.
I closed the window and deployed a double-layered soundproofing spell.
At last‚ silence arrived.
I poured black coffee‚ extracted at a temperature with not the slightest deviation‚ into a white porcelain cup.
Even the rising steam traced graceful curves exactly as my calculated construction formula predicted.
“…Beautiful. Only theory is the sole equation capable of saving this ugly world.”
I let the monologue slip out‚ not meant for anyone in particular.
Yet that “perfection” was being betrayed by my own body.
My left hand resting on the table trembled faintly.
Not the fingertips.
A “sediment” clinging deep within the muscles and bone marrow was making my nerves heavy like mud.
Knock‚ knock.
A restrained yet precise rhythm of knocking struck the silence I had deployed.
“President. Excuse me. It is time for your morning treatment.”
The one who entered was my secretary‚ Ceres.
She alone knows how to walk in a way that does not disturb the “order” I have spread throughout this room.
Her deep violet-black hair‚ arranged in a half-up style‚ highlighted her intellect without a single strand out of place.
“…Ceres. Don’t you think the noise is worse today than yesterday?”
I set down the cup and slowly rolled up the sleeve of my uniform on my left arm.
Beyond the white glove I removed‚ what spread across my wrist was not healthy skin.
An eerie texture like stone.
A ‘gray’ at erosion level two‚ as though stubbornly refusing death in a muddy‚ clinging way.
The price for my filter—myself—drawing in the world’s dissonance and crushing it.
A “noble stain” required to maintain the emotionless theory my mother Reina arrived at.
“No‚ President. The air outside is perfectly calm. …However‚ the ‘gray’ on your left hand has spread by a few millimeters compared to yesterday.”
Ceres’ amethyst-colored eyes grew moist with concern as she gently placed her fingers against my wrist‚ which looked almost frozen.
Her fingertips were surprisingly warm.
A vivid human warmth in stark contrast to my cold skin.
“…A few millimeters of error. Within the expected range. More importantly‚ Ceres‚ perform that treatment more coldly. Your body temperature is becoming a factor that disrupts my construction formula.”
“My apologies. …But this hardened area seems to be rejecting even blood flow. I’ll massage it a little more firmly.”
Ignoring my refusal‚ Ceres softly wrapped her hands around mine.
Her breath brushed lightly against my defenseless wrist.
Her fingers spreading the ointment slid over the gray skin.
A restrained‚ heat-tinged contact disguised as treatment.
Biological warmth‚ the wavering of a heartbeat.
Unnecessary. Nothing more than noise that disrupts logic.
I try to reject the sensation in my mind immediately.
Yet for someone like me who lives within this absolute-zero silence‚ the faint vibration of “life” she brings is also an undeniable truth—the only anchor that keeps me tied to this reality.
“…Ceres. Do you believe the report that the so-called ‘failure (Aria)’ submitted an entry sheet?”
As if to get past the feeling of her fingers‚ I spoke of an unpleasant topic.
“Yes. And he formed an ensemble with those incomprehensible bundles of noise called Cross and Nagi. …It seems they truly intend to challenge you‚ President.”
“How ridiculous. Incomplete rhythm‚ uncontrollable bass… that isn’t even music. Just an exhibition of calculation errors layered together without reaching theoretical values. Nothing but garbage that stains my silence.”
Ceres finished the treatment and rewrapped my wrist with fresh bandages.
She gazed up at my face for a moment and lightly bit her lip.
“President… Even so‚ I’m concerned about the information that a girl named Nagi is ‘tuning’ him. Her ‘blue blood’ should sense the world’s noise more sensitively than anyone. Yet the one she chose was Aria.”
“…Nagi‚ hm. She too is merely a pitiful observer whose brain has been burned by that peculiar constitution. On the tournament stage‚ I’ll bury that unpleasant noise with perfect silence—a requiem.”
I put my glove back on‚ concealing the gray truth once more.
Outside the window‚ the academy bell rang.
The sound drove a cold needle into my nerves.
Aria.
The boy my mother declared a “failure.”
Why does the “noise” he supposedly plays make my gray wrist ache so much?
“…Let’s go. To the Fourth Training Ground. I must observe with my own eyes what kind of ‘barbarian solution’ they’re preparing.”
With a cold smile‚ I left the office.
Unaware that Ceres bowed deeply and watched my back as I departed.
The Fourth Training Ground.
For me‚ it was a miserable space that seemed to convert the concept of “barbarism” into physical law.
From the front row of the spectator seats‚ I looked down below.
Even though I had deployed a double soundproofing spell‚ chaotic vibrations surged upward from below‚ unpleasantly shaking my eardrums.
“…Terrible. If that is called magical training‚ then the word ‘elegance’ must be deleted from every grimoire.”
As if affirming my monologue‚ Ceres beside me nodded quietly.
Her amethyst eyes were also narrowed coldly at the crude waveforms below.
The first thing that leapt into view was Cross‚ his red hair standing on end as he swung a massive lump of iron—the silver claymore.
With each swing the air screamed‚ and the training ground floor was physically carved away.
“ARIAAA!! Look!! The ‘soul’s resonance’ released by my lat muscles is about to break its limit!!”
In response to Cross’s roar‚ I coldly terminated the calculation.
Soul’s resonance?
Converting muscle vibrations into magical waveforms is an insult to theory.
Muscle is not magic.
Just an enlarged mass of protein.
Next to him‚ Liam‚ holding an excessively heavy shield‚ shouted with a face as though praying.
“Sir Aria! My shield‚ backed by one hundred percent pure trust‚ will reflect every bit of noise!!”
The idea that mental spirit could interfere with magical strength is a delusion inferior even to third-rate fairy tales.
They have abandoned even the calculation of physical weight and mana conductivity.
Bringing an uncertain variable called passion into a construction formula is like throwing mud into precision machinery.
And to top it all off was the girl in the corner of the training ground releasing steam—Rinne.
From the thermos she carried came a violently salty aroma that pierced the nose even from this distance.
“Aria‚ focus! Fire it all at once before the salt in the five-times miso soup escapes!”
…Cooking.
Unbelievably‚ she had brought the “smell of daily life” into this sacred field of magical training.
That was no longer soup.
It was practically a biological weapon.
“President… Those scattered waveforms shouldn’t possibly function as a single spell. The instrument readings are chaotic like the sea on a stormy day.”
Ceres said this in exasperation while showing the monitor in her hands.
Indeed‚ the waveform on the monitor was producing a dissonance like a broken metronome.
Kotone‚ in charge of analysis‚ was desperately pounding the keyboard‚ but that was not “analysis”—it was “picking up trash.”
And yet.
My gaze was stitched to the figure of a single boy standing at the center of that noise.
Aria Adel.
The boy who had once been declared a “failure” by my mother and supposedly exiled from the abyss of magic.
He was tapping a rhythm on his knee with his fingertips.
It was not the mechanical‚ dead-fish-like pulse he used to have.
Deeper.
Sharper.
As if deliberately pushing the rotation speed of his own circuits to their theoretical limit—a mad rhythm.
(…Hmph. So that’s where you were hiding.)
From a blind spot in the stands‚ from behind a pillar‚ I felt a jade-colored gaze and slightly lowered the corner of my mouth.
The tuner Nagi was pointing him out.
My senses are not dull enough to miss that uncertain variable from my observation.
At that moment‚ Aria’s eyes lifted.
What dwelled there was neither loyalty to theory nor fear of defeat.
It was the abnormal resolve of a conductor who would not hesitate to burn out his own life—his own circuits—for the sake of his goal.
He had turned his fingertips into a baton and was trying to forcibly bind the chaotic energy behind him into one.
An arrogant and illogical command.
“Ceres… What are they trying to do?”
“…I don’t know. But the convergence point of the spell doesn’t seem to be aiming at the target itself… it appears to be heading toward the measurement device’s ‘limit point.’”
Unconsciously‚ I tightened my grip on the railing.
Under my white glove‚ the gray erosion throbbed with heat in response.
Aria Adel.
What are you trying to play?
The perfect cage of silence I have preserved by shaving away my own life… are you trying to trample it with that inferior waveform?
“…As a construction formula‚ it’s hopelessly broken.”
Even as I spat those words‚ I could not tear my gaze away from him.
The air had begun to tremble violently.
What was about to begin was not magical training.
It was a “riot” of barbarians trying to smash the wall of theory with physical mass.
“…Madness. That isn’t even magic.”
I gripped the spectator railing so tightly my white gloves creaked.
What was unfolding below was not the deployment of refined “spells.”
It was a riot—violent emotions and physical mass forcibly bound into a single direction.
At the center‚ Aria flicked the air sharply once with his fingertips.
At that instant‚ the air of the training ground seemed to physically crack.
“Sir Aria! Now! With my ‘bell‚’ I’ll crush all the noise!!”
Liam shouted and slammed his giant shield into the floor.
A reverberation like a heavy bell shook the training ground walls‚ forcibly binding the scattered dissonance of his comrades into one direction.
“YEAH!! Devour… my soul!!”
Cross’s claymore swung down in synchronization.
It was no longer the aftershock of magic.
Space itself screamed‚ and my vision was filled with gold and red light.
The next moment‚ a shockwave struck the spectator stands with a thunderous roar.
The double soundproofing spell I had deployed shattered like fragile glasswork.
—Silence died.
The sanctuary I had built was trampled by the chaotic clamor and the screams of machines from below like a muddy torrent.
“…Beginning measurement. Cycle 3.5… no‚ impossible to measure. It’s surpassing the limit!”
Within the exposed noise of the world‚ the voice of Kotone—the analysis officer—rose like a scream.
The monitor before her sprayed sparks violently.
“…Impossible. With that kind of output‚ the caster’s own circuits should burn out before the target disperses.”
Still gripping the railing‚ I accelerated calculations as I watched the abnormality below.
Beside me‚ Ceres stood frozen‚ eyes wide.
“President… Their waveforms aren’t complementing each other. They’re forcibly colliding their ‘deficiencies’ to refine energy! It’s almost like—”
“—An overload prepared as a suicide attack. How vulgar. Abandoning the pride of a mage just to push through a mere ‘explosion’ by brute force.”
I spat the words.
Yet despite those words‚ my body was honest.
Beneath the glove‚ the “gray left wrist” began beating hotly‚ thump… thump… in response to the destructive resonance Aria released.
“…!”
The eroded part burned.
The gray skin that had been frozen like ice now cried out in pain as though melting from within under the influence of Aria’s muddy rhythm.
A sensation outside calculation. Reject it.
Such an uncertain element should not exist within the construction formula that is me.
“President!? Your complexion…! That noise must be poisonous—”
“…Don’t touch me. It’s nothing. Just a physiological discomfort.”
I coldly stopped Ceres as she tried to reach out.
At that moment—
—KIIIIIIIIIN!!!
A metallic shriek like grinding steel filled the training ground.
The highest-hardness measuring stone statue at the center vanished instantly into “nothing” without even being granted time to shatter.
Immediately after‚ more than a dozen measuring magical devices placed throughout the training ground froze simultaneously‚ spewing black smoke.
“…Unbelievable. All the devices are outputting error codes. ‘Measurement impossible.’ The judgment system has been physically destroyed.”
Ceres’ trembling voice echoed.
The “barbarian solution” no one in the history of magical theory had chosen.
Not precision—but surpassing the system’s limit with physical mass‚ thereby invalidating the judgment itself.
Through the smoke‚ I saw Aria drop to one knee.
Even from afar‚ his fingertips looked pale—almost transparent.
Unlike my mother’s “silence.”
It was the whiteness of death‚ born from combustion efficiency that ignored safety limits.
Nothing more than the burnt remains of life used as fuel.
“…You stain beautiful theory‚ break the instruments‚ and think you’ve won‚ Aria Adel…”
I ground my back teeth together.
The trembling would not stop.
—Fear?
No. Impossible.
A masterpiece like me cannot fear a failure like that.
This is merely temporary sensory numbness from being exposed at close range to a massive waveform of calculation errors.
“…Ceres. Discard all that data. Something like that… isn’t worthy of observation.”
“…But‚ President. The needles of the instruments are physically bent. This is not a value that can simply be ignored.”
“…I said discard it‚ Ceres.”
I cut her off in a freezing voice.
My gray left wrist still remembered Aria’s pulse.
The eroded part throbbed shamefully‚ craving that white of Aria’s.
I crushed the throbbing wrist tightly with my right hand.
The perfect silence was collapsing from within.
Aria.
What… have you done to my world?
When I left the Fourth Training Ground and returned to the cold stone corridor‚ it felt as if the world’s “resolution” had finally returned.
“…Such a terrible waveform that my auditory organs could malfunction. Ceres‚ later add three more layers to the office’s soundproofing spell.”
“Understood‚ President. …However‚ regarding Aria’s ‘output‚’ according to the record—”
“Records are meaningless. Since the instruments stopped functioning‚ that was not magic but merely a physical phenomenon. A barbaric act that produced nothing but a pile of residue with no trace of beauty.”
I dismissed it coldly and unconsciously rubbed my gloved left wrist.
The gray erosion still burned with heat.
My “silence‚” which constantly suppresses the world’s noise‚ had reacted sensitively after being struck by the chaotic energy Aria unleashed.
An unpleasant sensation.
Then it happened.
From ahead came a rhythm that tore at my ears.
—ton‚ ton.
ton‚ ton.
Not mere footsteps.
It was as if something were gouging out my sanctuary of silence and knocking directly on my heart.
I stopped walking and cast an icy gaze toward the shadow.
Standing there was Aria Adel‚ walking alone after parting from his companions.
“…Such inefficiency. Is turning a valuable training ground into a heap of junk your new tactic‚ failure?”
When I said it coldly‚ Aria stopped and slowly lifted his face.
The old him would have lowered his eyes here and fled.
But now‚ in his eyes burned an unfathomable madness that did not even reflect my perfect silence.
“So you were watching‚ Soran.”
A flat voice with no temperature.
It sounded like a question‚ yet it processed even my existence as a mere phenomenon.
“Your ‘perfect theory’ couldn’t calculate that explosion earlier‚ could it?”
“I told you it wasn’t worth calculating. Causing such an error by brute force is equivalent to suicide for a mage.”
“Suicide‚ huh. …I suppose it looks that way.”
Aria laughed self-mockingly and raised his right hand.
I suppressed with reason the sensation of holding my breath as I looked at his fingertips.
—White.
Not a clean white.
The abnormal whiteness born when magic circuits are pushed to the extreme‚ burning even the last drop of blood as fuel.
A death-tinged transparency far beyond theoretical values.
“…Those fingers. Are you waving them like a baton using not only your own life but even her remaining time as fuel? It’s madness devoid of logical judgment.”
“Sanity can’t save her. …With your ‘beautiful magic‚’ the ninety-day wall can’t be crossed‚ Soran.”
Aria’s gaze stabbed sharply for a moment at my left wrist—the “gray” hidden beneath the white glove.
“What about your wrist? …You’re stopping the world’s garbage with your own body just to maintain perfection. Can you really call that more ‘beautiful’ than my method?”
(…Can he see it? Or has he been poisoned by that variable called Nagi?)
I sealed the shiver that ran down my spine deep behind my facial muscles.
He saw through my “noble stain‚” which should have been physically hidden‚ as if it were something natural.
Without moving my expression even a millimeter‚ I slowly pressed down on my throbbing wrist beneath the glove.
“An irrelevant deduction. Do not equate an incomplete being like you‚ who mixes impure emotions into magic‚ with me‚ who bears the order of the world. …No matter how much noise you make‚ on the tournament stage my ‘silence’ will crush it all in an instant.”
“Crush it‚ huh. Go ahead and try. Our sound is already too loud for your silence to swallow.”
With that‚ Aria walked past me.
The steady pulse—ton‚ ton—pounded against my ribcage from the inside.
As we passed‚ my gray wrist brushed against the lingering chill of his white‚ sending a convulsion deep through my nerves.
“…President. Aria’s fingertips… those were…”
Ceres’ anxious voice came from behind.
I knew.
Those were no longer the colors of someone using magic as a human.
“…Incomprehensible. Such inefficient combustion is a collapsed construction formula.”
I said coldly and once again smoothed the wrinkles of my white glove perfectly.
All that remained in the corridor was the cold “premonition of death” Aria left behind‚ like a winter forest.
“Let’s go‚ Ceres. …There’s no way my perfect silence would be shaken by such an unpredictable bug.”
My declaration‚ spoken to convince myself‚ echoed stiffly into the silent corridor and faded away.
Night fell‚ and the academy was wrapped in silence like death.
But to me‚ this silence was the true form of the “normal” world.
Moonlight streamed into the student council president’s office.
Alone‚ I sat surrounded by an open grimoire and holographic construction formulas.
That “barbarian solution” I witnessed during the day.
Aria’s madness of overloading the judgment system itself.
Each time I recalled it‚ part of my construction formula wavered with unpleasant noise.
“…I will not accept it. That was the defeat of magic. I won’t let my mother’s theory be stained by such vulgar sound.”
With trembling fingers‚ I forcibly flattened the floating waveform before me.
At that moment‚ an intense pain burst through the surface of my white glove from the inside.
“…!”
Nearly collapsing from the chair‚ I grabbed the desk with my left hand.
The gray covering my wrist had now begun crawling up along my veins toward the middle of my forearm.
A texture hard and cold like stone.
The price of continuously drawing in and crushing the world’s dissonance as its filter.
Reject it.
This is not pain—just frictional heat required to maintain order.
Aria.
If you burn out white‚ then I will not mind becoming a gray stone.
If you burn Iris as firewood to create sound‚ then I will make myself the foundation of silence and eradicate your sound.
“President… You still haven’t gone to rest?”
The door opened silently and Ceres entered.
Seeing my pained expression‚ she approached without a word and stood behind me.
“…Ceres‚ I told you to step back. I am at the critical point of construction.”
“No. The one at the critical point is the President’s ‘heart.’”
She gently placed a warm hand on my shoulder.
Then her five warm fingers touched my left wrist—the stone-like gray skin—with tenderness.
Her fingertips softly traced the hardened skin.
It crossed the boundary of mere treatment‚ a restrained yet vividly human contact filled with heat.
“… ”
Her body temperature invaded the world of cold theory.
Though it should be “noise” that must be eliminated.
That warmth temporarily eased the frozen gray erosion and held together my thoughts on the brink of collapse.
Without her as my “anchor‚” I might turn completely into stone even at this very moment—such an illogical premonition.
“President… Tomorrow’s tournament‚ please do not push yourself too far. I’m only worried that your silence might… begin to waver.”
“…Not silence. What I protect is my mother’s correctness.”
I gently yet firmly removed her hand.
Adjusting my gloves‚ I once again put on the mask of the cold student council president.
“Aria is leaning on the ‘echo (pwan)’ called Iris. Such sweet resonance will vanish instantly before my ‘silence (shiin…).’ …Ceres‚ we enter final adjustments for the tournament. Do not let anyone approach tonight.”
“…Yes‚ President.”
Leaving a lonely trace in her eyes‚ Ceres bowed deeply and left the room.
Perfect silence returned once more.
I looked up at the window.
In the night sky shone an unpleasant golden moon that disturbed order.
An impure light that my silence must erase.
Aria.
I will observe how far the “sound of the future” you play can resist my “eternal silence.”
At the end of theory lies either salvation—or total disappearance.
On tomorrow’s stage‚ I will draw the curtain on that unpleasant ensemble.
Just as the perfect and beautiful score my mother believed in dictates.
The office lights went out‚ and in the darkness only my left wrist glowed with an eerie gray light.
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