Mythical Academy
How do they jiggle like that when all you're doing is sitting? Is it because she's breathing? Does the breathing contribute to the jiggle physics? It was a mystery I decided to invest myself in, and not just because I had other commitments I wanted to ignore.
"Well, what does it say?" Jean snapped me out of my investments. "I'm curious, what does the NMR want with you?"
"I'm just as lost as you are." That answer was more honest than I'd intended.
The leading theory was that they found out my uncle swindled them and they're looking for their Myth Tamer. Unfortunately for both parties, the Myth Tamer was used to successfully summon the Damselette.
The second theory was they want to arrest me as an accomplice in my uncle's crime. I doubt the law allows the arrest of a fourteen year old child. But I digress and I'd rather not indulge that theory.
"Well, open it." The silver haired landlord urged.
Jean had this look of anticipation in her eyes. Like a child getting way too excited about a birthday present. Which begged the question as to why she was looking forward to opening my letter. I decided to ignore the implications and just pry the thing open. I thought I was prepared for anything, but nothing could've prepared me for…that.
Letter of Admission.
Timothy Strife, after a thorough review, we are glad to inform you that your registration has been processed and you've been successfully admitted to Mythica Academy.
As required by Martial Law, and per enrollment requirement, you are to acquire a Beyonder before the first week of the third trimester .
We look forward to seeing you.
Yours Kindly
Mythica Administration
"So uhh…Jean," I growled. "What the Hell is this?"
Her beaming face, the smug smile, the aura of absolute pride that radiated from her. Like she just helped me accomplish some huge mission in life or something. Given the evidence, the court concluded that she was the culprit behind this letter.
There's also the fact I myself, had no memory whatsoever that involved registering in this mystery school.
"You got accepted, right? I knew you would you little genius you."
The hell, woman! I didn't sign up for this, you did!
My frustrations remained mental. Jean is still my landlord after all, and as much as I wanted to let her have it, I kept all my anger to myself.
"Jean….I need a Beyonder to enlist in this school."
"I know, right! Isn't it exciting? You're finally getting your own Beyonder."
"How!?"
"With a Myth Tamer, of course." She beamed.
I ATE THE STUPID THING!
Dear, whatever is in charge, why must my life be complicated so? I had the Damselette, but there were too many questions surrounding her for me to use her as my Beyonder. To top it off, I didn't even know how strong she was, or if she could even fight.
But what frustrated me the most was that someone else registered me to a school I didn't even want to go to.
"Miss Jean…I appreciate what you're trying to do, I am. But I can't accept this."
"Huh, why not?" she whined.
"Mythica Academy is crazy expensive and I don't have the money to pay for their tuition."
"Don't worry too much about that. They offer special admission for Folk Rank Beyonders and above."
Of course they do. Why wouldn't they do? I wanted to shut Jean's delusions down without a second thought but I just couldn't bring myself to disappoint that poor face of hers. Her eyes had all the hope in the world too. Like a mother sending her child to college.
"I'll. I'll do my best." I finally conceited to Jean's aspirations.
"Yay!" she cried out. "Keep me updated on how it goes. You still have some time before school starts so use it wisely."
"Yes ma'am."
Force was optional. Emotional manipulation was her main weapon and she mastered it like a veteran. Jean left me with a few words of wisdom and a little head patting before taking her leave from the room.
Leaving me to think about my uncle's arrest, the Damselette, the Abyss, the NMR and school! Wasn't my life enough of a struggle before school!? Apparently that wasn't enough for them!
"Master?" Artoria called.
"What!?" I snapped.
There she was, standing at the doorway, buttocks bare for the world- me, to see. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm all for fan service especially when I'm the fan being served. But when the service came from the King of Knights that's supposed to be my "legal" Beyonder, it was less service and more mental torture.
"Why are you naked!?" I snapped, shielding my eyes with the "Letter of Admission." It didn't provide much coverage, but it was better than staring directly at a Legend's birthday suit.
"Apologies," she said so matter-of-factly. "I thought you were in danger given your heart was racing. But I sensed no I'll intentions from 'Miss Jean'? I believe. I was conflicted on whether or not to draw my sword against her."
"Just please put on some clothes," I groaned, still using the admission letter as a pathetic shield.
Artoria blinked, looked down at her own reflection in the polished wood of the floor, and then back at me. "I see. My apologies, Master. I am still… adjusting to the requirements of this 'High Ground'."
I scrambled to my uncle's room and rummaged through his closet. Most of it smelled like old leather and bad decisions, but I managed to find a pair of grey sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with a faded logo of a rock band that probably broke up before the Rapture even happened.
I tossed them to her. "Put these on. And for the love of everything, keep the hood up. You look like a Norse goddess, and in this neighborhood, that's just asking for a mugging—or worse, a conversation with Jean."
Five minutes later, she emerged. If I thought she looked dignified before, she now looked like the most regal runaway in history. The hoodie was way too big, the sleeves swallowing her hands, and the sweatpants were bunched up at her ankles. But even in $10 clearance gear, she carried herself like she was about to lead a cavalry charge into the kitchen.
"The design is very… baggy," she remarked, tugging at the drawstrings.
"It's called 'streetwear', Artoria. Welcome to the 21st century," I sighed, grabbing the cold omelettes. "Now eat. We've got a long day of potentially getting arrested or becoming child soldiers."
"Pardon?"
"Just eat."
Plan. What was my plan? Ideally, I'd like to sleep for another hour or so but that's a luxury I can't afford anymore. On the other hand, the more pressing issue was the Academy letter of admission.
The second trimester starts in about a week from now, but I still need to bring my Beyonder to them so they'll assess her and give me an appropriate class based on her ability and mine.
But I shuddered at the thought of going there and being like, "Hey, this is Artoria, my Legendary Class Beyonder. She used to be King Arthur, but because stuff happened he turned into a woman and doesn't remember how she became one in the first place. Please don't arrest me."
I neglected to mention the part where my uncle stole a Tamer and I used it to summon Artoria in the first place. God, my life is a mess.
"Are you alright?" the regal knight asked. "Your face seems pale."
"I'll be fine. Artoria, you can fight, right?"
"Yes."
"And you're strong right?"
"Relatively."
"Good enough for me!"
I shoveled a forkful of cold, rubbery eggs into my mouth, chewing with a grim determination. "Relatively" was a word people used when they were trying to be humble, or when they were about to drop a bombshell. I really hoped Artoria was the former.
"Alright," I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Here's the deal. We're going to the Academy today. They have a preliminary testing phase for 'late' registrants. If we show up, they'll put you in a room with a bunch of sensors and probably a big, expensive combat dummy. You just need to hit it hard enough that they think I'm worth the tuition, but not so hard that they think I'm a threat to national security. Can you do that?"
Artoria looked at the piece of bread in her hand, then at me. "I shall strive to strike with… moderation, Master."
"Moderation. Good. I like that word. It's a very 'Class D' word."
The Commute
Getting to Mythica Academy via public transit was an exercise in pure anxiety. Artoria sat perfectly upright on the bus, her hands tucked into the oversized front pocket of the hoodie. Despite the baggy clothes, her presence was like a lighthouse in a storm—people kept glancing at her, sensing the raw, concentrated importance radiating off her, even if they just thought she was a very intense hobo.
"Master, why are those youths staring at us?" she whispered, her voice echoing slightly under the hood.
"They aren't staring at us," I hissed back. "They're staring at the fact that you're sitting like you're about to be knighted while wearing a hoodie that says 'Death Metal Unicorns'."
When we finally stepped off the bus, the Academy loomed over us. It was a fortress of white marble and reinforced glass, humming with the kind of high-frequency energy that made my teeth ache. This was the place where humanity's "swords" were sharpened.
If making the Beyonder thing Martial Law wasn't enough, the Mythica Academy made it clear. It was a school that specialized- rather, it's entire point was to train Beyonders and their Callers. It was a straight forward program, you come in, you get assessed, you get a class and you get trained to fight the Underside. Simple, am I right?
"Can we help you?" asked one of the two guards standing at the gate.
"Yeah, uh, Timothy Strife. Newly admitted student." I flashed the admission letter at them.
They were kind enough to swipe it from me and skim past the details. Their eyes were stuck on a single line, from what I can tell, reading it over and over again.
"It says here," the guards said at last. "That you're fourteen ."
Oh crap!
"Yeah, my parents enrolled me a little early. They were excited."
"Most parents are, especially when their children summon their own Beyonders. But very few enroll their children immediately after their summon. They usually wait a year or two."
Wait…does that mean?
"Does that mean I can't enroll?"
"You can-"
"Oh thank God."
"But you'll be the youngest one to do so."
"Of course I am!"