Chapter 10.2: “The Alienation of the Gale or the Rebellion Against Perfect Silence”
The academy’s First Training Ground. It is a sanctuary of silence‚ prepared for Student Council President Solan Arclight to maintain his “perfection.”
From the high ceiling‚ inorganic magi-lights cast a stark white glow‚ and the polished stone floor reflects our figures like a mirror. But above all‚ what’s abnormal is this “air.”
(…Yeah‚ I knew it. Every time I come here‚ the back of my ears starts to sting.)
I let out a huge sigh inwardly as I tightened the laces of my beloved assault-type magi-boots.
President Solan’s deployed singularity‚ “Absolute Zero Silence (shin…).” It calculates all surrounding magi-waveforms and physically crushes impure noise. It’s not that there’s no sound. The sound is being “killed.”
“Invalid. Mark‚ your third step is 0.02 seconds too slow. It deviates slightly from the theoretical vector.”
At the center of the training ground‚ the silver-haired master standing perfectly still—Solan—spoke in a cold voice.
He isn’t looking at me. He’s only looking at the inorganic waveform graph displayed on the magi-monitor behind me.
I cracked my neck and deliberately replied with a flippant grin.
“0.02 seconds? Huh‚ that’s surprising. My gut clock’s telling me it’s about time the cafeteria’s daily set meal sells out.”
Without moving an eyebrow‚ Solan slightly shifted his gloved left hand.
“…Do not mix personal feelings (noise) into theory. Your role is ‘Gale‚’ a bullet that travels the calculated shortest path. Excess emotion is nothing but an impurity that lowers mana efficiency.”
“The shortest path‚ huh… Too short to even enjoy the scenery. Following your score makes me feel less like a human and more like an automatic writing pen.”
I shrugged exaggeratedly‚ but my inner irritation was nearing its limit.
Solan’s “cage” of silence. Here‚ even my specialty—high-speed movement—is processed as mere “coordinate optimization.” The sound of cutting wind‚ the pounding of my heart—everything is denied as “wasted energy emission.”
“…Mark-sama. The president’s instructions are mercy to maximize your survival probability. If you have time to move your mouth‚ prepare for the next spell deployment.”
Celes‚ standing by‚ narrowed her amethyst eyes sharply and warned me.
Her bearing is perfect. Even beside Solan‚ she doesn’t disturb the silence at all. As if she herself is part of this precise‚ clockwork world.
“Yeah‚ yeah. Mercy‚ huh… I’m so grateful I could cry.”
I prepare to run again.
But the air filling my lungs is cold‚ carrying nothing but an inorganic ozone scent. There is no “heat” here. A beautiful—and deadly dull—cage of “perfection” created by Solan‚ who blindly believes in Mother Reina’s theory.
(…Man. Someone please just tear this damn polite score to shreds.)
With a clack of my magi-boots‚ I kicked off the ground again to play the role of the “Gale.”
At that moment‚ the absolute-zero pressure enveloping my body physically “calculates” my acceleration and slows it down. In suffocating silence‚ I had no choice but to keep running while killing myself.
That’s when it happened.
As I kicked the mirror-like stone floor and tried to trace the theoretical “shortest parabola”—a vibration surged up from the soles of my feet‚ like something grabbing my heart directly.
“…!?”
I failed my landing and rolled across the floor in an unsightly manner.
This isn’t just an earthquake. The sensors in my magi-boots “Gale” are screaming‚ detecting not just physical shaking but a heavy‚ sticky‚ hot “rhythm.”
(What the…? Something’s leaking from underground…?)
“Invalid. Mark‚ that landing was not beautiful. State the cause of your lapse in concentration.”
President Solan’s voice poured down from above like icicles. Without moving a muscle‚ he adjusted his left glove slightly‚ coldly judging my failure.
Still on my hands‚ I strained my ears.
Through the soundproof walls of the training ground‚ what echoed from deep underground was a clumsy‚ muddy‚ yet overwhelmingly intense “thump-thump” dissonance.
It was a raw‚ dirt-covered pulse that should not exist in even a single measure of Solan’s constructed score.
“President‚ didn’t you hear that just now? Sounds like someone started pounding a ridiculously huge drum underground.”
I stood up‚ brushing off dust‚ and pointed at the floor leading downward.
Without even shifting his gaze‚ Solan glanced at the monitor’s waveform.
“…Merely a faint vibration from the disposal zone (trash). Garbage outside calculation crying out just before collapse. Are you saying your ‘Gale’ is swayed by such noise?”
“Dying cries‚ huh… Sounds more like someone on the verge of death desperately kicking the ground for air.”
“Meaningless emotion (noise). There are only failed works I have ‘rejected’ down there… Celes‚ the observation results.”
Prompted by Solan‚ Celes flicked a hologram monitor with her finger. Her beautiful brow furrowed slightly.
“…Reporting. An abnormal resonance reaction detected at the deepest underground level. Waveform pattern—‘White.’ The theoretical survival probability has increased from 0.03% to 0.04%‚ a significant difference of 0.01%.”
“0.01%… a significant difference?”
For the first time‚ Solan’s voice wavered slightly.
He gripped his left wrist tightly with his right hand‚ as if suppressing an unpleasant heat rising from within.
“Yes. Someone is forcibly restarting discarded ancient circuits… It is an extremely crude and illogical method.”
At Celes’s words‚ I couldn’t help but curl my lips upward.
A 0.01% difference.
So even in the place perfect theory discarded as “trash‚” such burning obsession still remained.
“Heh… Someone’s playing an interesting ensemble in the ‘trash bin.’ President‚ your score’s about to be rewritten by that 0.01%‚ you know?”
“…Be silent‚ Mark. An error is still an error. 99% despair cannot be overturned by such noise. That is not salvation… merely a ‘stay of execution.’”
The “silence” around Solan suddenly intensified‚ scorching my skin.
Yet the pulse transmitted through my magi-boots kept pounding the ground powerfully‚ as if mocking that cold silence.
(…This sound. I’ve smelled it somewhere before… Ah‚ right. That salty ‘five-times miso soup’ that Aria spilled in the cafeteria corner.)
A warm scent‚ unrelated to theory‚ revived in the back of my nose.
Into my chest‚ which had been suffocating under Solan’s “perfection‚” that clumsy rhythm flowed in like fresh oxygen.
“…I don’t recall telling you to stop training‚ Mark.”
A hard‚ cold voice pierced my eardrums.
President Solan dismissed my brief stillness as a “malfunction.” His “Absolute Zero Silence” doesn’t just erase sound—it freezes even the edges of my thoughts‚ robbing me of sound judgment.
“Sorry‚ President. Seems like the ground’s in a bad mood.”
I exaggeratedly picked my ear with my pinky while shaking my stiff neck.
But my restless leg wouldn’t stop. That awkward beat from the ground was scraping my nerves and demanding rhythm.
“The ground’s mood? An illogical delusion. If your magi-boots’ sensors are malfunctioning‚ send them for repair immediately… Next. Third movement—retry the acceleration melody (Accel Phase).”
“…Hey‚ President. Can I ask you something?”
I refused to run and stared straight at Solan. His gloved fingers traced the hologram‚ painting errors in red.
“If I follow your score‚ yeah‚ it’s the shortest and most efficient. But then my legs just don’t ‘want to move.’ My Gale isn’t decoration for your metronome.”
“…So you prioritize emotion (noise)? Mark‚ your speed is a ‘component’ to protect the kingdom’s order. Changing its rotation by personal will is an insult to theory.”
Solan stepped toward me. The air grew even colder‚ and behind him Celes narrowed her eyes warily at me.
“An insult‚ huh… Then tell me‚ President—since when did your ‘perfect silence’ become so suffocating?”
I struck my chest.
My heart was pounding like a drum. Even as silence tried to crush it‚ it responded to that “five-times miso”-scented noise from underground.
“My ears won’t shut up. From the place you called ‘trash‚’ I can hear a ‘living sound’ way louder than your perfect melody.”
“Wrong! I told you—it’s merely the sound of self-destruction! Are you mistaking the dying screams of the ‘failed work’ Aria Adel for a song of hope?!”
There wasn’t a shred of doubt in Solan’s words.
“Dying screams‚ huh… If that’s the case‚ hers excites me way more than your completed piece. Sorry‚ President—I’m tired of being a well-behaved part.”
I kicked off the ground hard. Not by Solan’s command‚ but a chaotic leap driven by my own impulse (rhythm). A rebellion to physically tear apart the cage called silence with sheer speed.
“…Mark. So you stray that far.”
Solan’s magi-waveform turned murderous‚ and my vision flickered.
Theory and Gale. Gray and white.
Incompatible melodies began to physically “crack” the air of the training ground.
(…Yeah‚ this is it. This stinging feeling. You’ll never get this from a perfect score!)
I grinned fearlessly and converted my uncontrollable fidgeting into explosive acceleration.
Tearing apart the gray cage of silence with a shockwave of initial velocity that could rupture eardrums.
“…Haa‚ haa… Damn‚ is the air in this room not oxygen but diluted liquid nitrogen or something?”
The cost of that reckless leap appeared immediately. My leg muscles‚ pushed to their limit‚ screamed‚ and I collapsed flat on my back.
“Mark-sama. Your breathing is unstable. That heart rate reduces theoretical rest efficiency by 30%.”
“…Here you come.”
In my prone view‚ Celes peered down at me. Her long violet-black hair brushed softly against my cheek.
“Now‚ Mark-sama. Please don’t move. I will perform fine-tuning of your biological waveform.”
“…Hey‚ you’re too close.”
Each time my hot skin touched her cold fingertips‚ the back of my nerves tingled.
“…Celes. If you stay this close‚ my ‘dissonance’ might rub off on you.”
“…Noise can simply be rejected. However… your pulse‚ Mark-sama—it’s slightly ‘warmer’ than yesterday.”
Celes suddenly removed her hand from my chest and turned her gaze toward President Solan.
There‚ the president alone stood‚ the skin visible through his glove turning into an inorganic‚ eerie gray—like stone.
(…Corrosion level 2. President… are you turning yourself into the world’s ‘dumping ground’ just to protect that theory?)
“…No saving either of you.”
I shook off Celes’s restraint and staggered to my feet.
The president’s “gray” is a cold death. Aria’s “white” is a hot death.
Both are broken. But which one my “Gale” is drawn to—there’s no need to calculate anymore.
“Mark-sama? Where are you going… Are you really going?”
Celes’s amethyst eyes wavered—scolding‚ or perhaps worried.
“…Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to smell that unbelievably salty ‘five-times miso.’”
“If you go to Aria and the others‚ you will become an accomplice to ‘failures.’ You will lose all honor as an elite.”
“If honor made me faster‚ I wouldn’t struggle. What I want is a ‘soul (beat)’ that accelerates my speed.”
“…I don’t understand.”
“It’s not comfortable. But that ‘0.01% difference’—it’s physically shaking my magi-boots (accel). I want to see that out-of-calculation miracle with my own eyes.”
I turned my back on Celes and started walking toward the exit.
She said nothing more. Only the faint light in her amethyst eyes—a mix of resignation and a trace of envy—quietly saw me off.
As the heavy door began to close‚ I saw it.
Celes gripping the hand that had just touched my skin—still faintly warm—with her own left hand‚ cold as stone‚ squeezing it until it turned white.
As if she were coldly rejecting (canceling) the impure “heat” that had seeped in‚ by her own will.
(…Ah‚ I see. To her‚ who chose to stay by the president’s side and become stone (gray)‚ my back as I run toward external noise must look like the very “heat” she once discarded.)
(…And that’s the most beautiful ending his silence wanted? Don’t make me laugh.)
The heavy doors of the First Training Ground closed behind me without a sound—“shin…”
In that instant‚ all echoes from beyond the door were swallowed‚ and it became nothing more than a lifeless stone wall.
The absolute-zero curse clinging to my ears peeled away‚ and the “living noise” of the academy corridors struck my eardrums.
(…Haha‚ yeah. This is way better.)
I started running down the corridor.
Forcibly tearing off the output limiter of my magi-boots “Gale‚” turning the nerve-scraping friction into a fanfare.
(Wait for me‚ Aria. That ‘white’ baton you’re swinging—I’ll accelerate it even further with my speed!)
Accelerating heartbeat. Cracking silence.
I leapt‚ by my own will‚ into an incalculable future.
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