After eting with Senior Artemis, I made my way back to my dorm room. The walk itself felt longer than usual, not because of the distance, but because my mind refused to slow down. Every step echoed with unfinished thoughts, half-baked ideas, and the uncomfortable awareness that sothing needed to change.
Once inside, I closed the door behind and let the silence settle. The room was familiar. It was too familiar. Sa bed. Sa desk. Sa quiet walls that had heard mutter to myself more tis than I could count. I dropped my bag aside and stood there for a mont, staring at nothing in particular, before finally deciding that this was the place where I needed to think.
Really think.
Changing my plan now—this late—was a bold move. Reckless, even. I was already deep into it, and backing up to revise things at this stage felt like admitting I’d misjudged sothing earlier. But as much as that irritated , I couldn’t deny the truth. Revising the plan to better align with the baseline the administration had already set was smarter than stubbornly pushing forward and getting rejected again.
If I wanted them to accept it, I had to et them halfway.
Still, I wasn’t naive enough to believe it would be simple. The administration didn’t welco change just because it sounded good. If I wanted them to bite, the revision had to be tempting—sweet enough that rejecting it would feel like a loss on their end.
That was the problem.
Right now, I had nothing.
I sat down on my bed and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as if it might suddenly hand an answer. After a few seconds of that going nowhere, I pushed myself forward and shifted toward my bedside table instead, elbows resting on my knees.
Alright. Think.
Almost imdiately, I began trying to piece together a new revision to the plan. Not rewrite it entirely—just reshape it. Improve it. Make it harder to dismiss.
First question: other than setting a baseline, what else could I offer?
What kind of system would actually benefit both the administration and the cadets once it was implented? Sothing practical. Sothing asurable. Sothing that didn’t just sound good on paper.
As I ran through the possibilities, an uncomfortable realization crept in.
This was the first ti I had ever struggled like this.
Normally, ideas ca to quickly—sotis too quickly. I’d always been the kind of person who could spit out an idea almost imdiately, confident enough to push it forward without second-guessing myself too much.
But now?
Now I was stuck.
This was the first ti I had ever been forced to think deeply, slowly, and carefully about sothing that actually mattered. And the more I sat there, the more I started to wonder if my usual way of thinking had been the real problem all along.
Because maybe—just maybe—it was my quick thinking that caused every previous plan to fail. Every proposal I made had been rejected, after all.
I exhaled slowly.
"Now then," I said quietly to myself, breaking the silence. "The plan is to bend the rules so cadets can graduate into any profession they want—but with a baseline."
That part was solid.
"If they want to graduate as magic knights, then they have to et that baseline."
That wasn’t new. It was familiar. Almost traditional.
"It’s basically the sa thing the founders of the academy did," I continued, more firmly now. "Only those who reached Gold Class were allowed to graduate as magic knights."
That rule already existed. I had already built my earlier proposals around it.
"That’s the base rule I applied," I said. "But... it’s not enough."
The words lingered in the air.
They were true, and I hated that they were.
Just reusing an old idea—even if it was proven—wasn’t going to convince anyone. It wasn’t innovative. It wasn’t compelling. And it definitely wasn’t enough to justify restructuring how graduation worked.
I needed sothing more.
Sothing layered on top of it.
As I sat there, eyes unfocused, the answer finally hit .
My eyes widened slightly as the realization snapped into place.
And then everything started moving.
Thoughts connected. Ideas aligned. My mind raced, calculating possibilities, outcos, and objections at a speed that made my pulse quicken. It felt like ti itself was struggling to keep up as I ntally assembled the frawork.
That was it.
That was the missing piece.
By the ti the rush settled, the plan was no longer just an idea—it was a structure.
***
A week later, the plan was finished.
Not half-finished. Not loosely defined. Finished.
Princess Titania and Leon were with now, seated nearby as we went over the final details one last ti. Papers were spread out between us, covered in notes, revisions, and carefully thought-out conditions.
"Sounds like a good plan to ," Leon said after a mont. He didn’t say it lightly, either. There was real consideration behind his words. "Though... I’ll admit, it’s more complex than what’s already in place."
"I can see that," I replied without hesitation.
He wasn’t wrong.
The plan was complicated. More so than the current system, and definitely harder to implent. I doubted the administrators would just nod along and approve it without pushback. If anything, they’d scrutinize it even harder.
The core change was simple in concept, though.
Cadets would graduate under a baseline requirent that qualified them to beco magic knights.
But that baseline wasn’t arbitrary. It wasn’t just about rank or raw talent. It was designed to benefit both the academy and the kingdom in the long run.
Any cadet who reached Rank B-minus proficiency in both physical and ntal capabilities would pass the initial requirent. That alone filtered out those who weren’t ready.
On top of that, there was an added condition.
They would need to pass a major assessnt conducted by the Commander herself, the Vice Commander, and the current Queen.
Three authorities. Three perspectives.
Since the Commander directly oversaw the magic knights, it made sense that she would have the authority to personally select candidates. The Vice Commander added balance. And the Queen’s assessnt ensured alignnt with the kingdom’s interests.
If even one of those three chose a cadet who had already passed the initial proficiency test—both physical and intellectual—then that cadet would effectively be considered passed.
That was the structure.
That was the hook.
Still, Leon’s concern lingered.
Putting all three of them together for sothing like this wouldn’t be easy. They already carried responsibilities critical to maintaining the kingdom’s stability. Expecting them to consistently make ti for assessnts like this was a tall order.
"Which is why I need your help, Princess Titania," I said, turning to her.
"M-?" she asked, blinking in surprise.
"And Leon, of course," I added quickly.
Without them, the plan wouldn’t survive the first round of scrutiny.
"Yes—but mainly Leon," I continued, smiling slightly as I looked at him. "Leon is Bronze Class. But his strength and power already exceed even so of the Gold Class cadets."
I let that sink in before continuing.
"I think it’s important for the administrators—and the Commander especially—to realize that they might be overlooking diamonds in the rough. With enough polishing, those diamonds could truly shine."
That was the real intention behind it all.
Of course, it ant putting Leon directly in the Commander’s line of sight. Exposing his abilities. Drawing attention.
But at this point, it was the only way I could think of to convince the Commander—and by extension, the Vice Commander—to agree to this setup.
"Do you want to do it, Leon?" I asked. "This could an revealing your true strength to the public."
For a brief mont, he was silent.
Then he smiled.
"Well," he said calmly, almost casually, "you need my help, don’t you?"
He shrugged slightly.
"In that case... I’ll lend it as much as I can."
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