VCAM 61

Chapter 61

“The Demon Princess and the Teacher of Formulas” [Demon Princess Arc ①]

The October morning wind brushed against the stone walls of the tower, stretching the shadows of the tree-lined path.
It was the day of the academy’s twice-yearly entrance ceremony. The clear chime of the spire’s bells rang out, and the school’s emblem flag fluttered with the scent of a new season.

Class Cross had advanced to their second year, and Lutitia and her classmates were now officially seniors.
From the balcony overlooking the courtyard, a single newcomer at the end of the line caught everyone’s eye.

Her hair shimmered like molten moonlight, faintly tinted with the hue of cherry blossoms.
Her eyes were a deep violet, reminiscent of a tranquil lake.
Her uniform was cut in a way that complemented her figure, her long legs striking enough to make one question their own eyes.
Her chest rose and fell modestly—but enough to make politeness hesitate.

(…She’s proportioned like she was built on the golden ratio. Not the kind of balance you can simplify.)
Kai quietly took a candy from his pocket, popped it into his mouth, and let the sweetness steady his pulse.

The ceremony proceeded smoothly.
The principal’s voice, warm yet taut, carried through the hall. Fine wrinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes—creases born not of age, but of worry.

“To the new students entering this term: Learning is born from the courage to meet the unknown. Respect one another, study well, and play well.”

As applause spread, the silver-haired girl from earlier stepped forward to deliver the new students’ address.
There was no waste in her movement—her balance smooth as ripples across still water.

“I am Liricia…,” she began, but hesitated a moment before omitting her surname.
Even so, her clear voice carried the calm rhythm of someone long accustomed to books and formulas.

“I wish to study the Principles here. I look forward to learning under your guidance.”

A soft murmur passed through the crowd.
It wasn’t just her beauty—it was her words, precise and disciplined, that marked her as a true scholar.

(Oh? Nice tone. Fits well… but her mana flow—it’s too smooth. Unnaturally so.)
Kai rubbed at his ear, shelving the thought for later. Now wasn’t the time.

“Look, Kai. Long legs,”
Lutitia whispered, elbowing him with her usual cheer.
“That’s what you noticed? I mean, you’re not wrong. Measure them and I bet you’d get some golden ratio number.”
“Not that I’m losing to her.”
“If the contest is leg length, you’re at a disadvantage.”
“Chest too.”
“You just said that out loud, huh.”
Lutitia laughed softly, the faint blue flame in her eyes flickering playfully before fading again.

When the ceremony ended, it was time for class assignments.
Before the door of Class Cross Year 2, twenty first-year students stood in perfect formation.
Their posture was uniform, almost military—but beneath that order was the whimsical scent of stray cats.

(They look disciplined, but one signal and they’d scatter like sparks. Interesting bunch.)

“Come in,” Kai said.

Twenty voices overlapped in unison—

“Yes, teacher.”

Among them, one tone resonated low and steady, like a deep note echoing from the gut.

“Welcome. This is the kitchen where we cook magic using mathematics. The only thing you should fear is the test.”
“So… the tests are scary, teacher?”
The deadpan reply from a short-haired boy in the front row drew laughter from the class.

“Alright then… Liricia, would you introduce yourself for us?”

Liricia stepped forward.
Her posture was perfect—her breath and gestures deliberate and elegant.

“I am Liricia. Until now, I have studied the formulas inscribed in the Principles and added some of my own commentary.
Here, I wish to deepen my understanding of describing magic through logic. I look forward to your lectures, professor.”

Someone in the back whispered:

“She said she’s looking forward to them. A flawless beauty said that. Our teacher really is amazing.”
“Shh. She’s still talking.”
Lutitia hushed them, though a faint smile played on her lips.

(“Commentary.” “My own.” That’s not something a normal first-year says… And that mana wave—too calm. But fine, leave it for now.)

“Alright then, let’s begin.”
Kai drew a circle and a line on the blackboard, sketching a simple wind formula in polar coordinates.
“This is a ‘wind’ spell that adjusts humidity and temperature just right. Today, we’ll learn how to make the formula resilient to fluctuations.”

“Professor.”
Liricia raised her hand.
“That coefficient… is this the core of the fluctuation control?”
“Where exactly are you looking?”
“At the tolerance of minute oscillations. This is where the caster’s inconsistency factors in.”
“Heh.”
Kai smiled.
“Then, go ahead and show us.”

She approached the board and added a slender auxiliary line into the equation.
A faint pat sounded, softer than a rustle of fabric.
The air in the room settled, and the lace curtains by the window lifted gently.

“…Whoa.”
A second-year muttered, while several first-years simply nodded as if it were normal.
To them, perhaps, it was.

(Beautiful. Too beautiful. The wavefront doesn’t collapse. …Don’t jump to conclusions yet. The real test’s still ahead.)

The lecture went on.
Chalk danced, formulas layered across notebooks, and Kai’s rhythmic tone softened each difficult concept.
The second-years looked reassured; the first-years, amazed.
The classroom grew pleasantly warm with focus and laughter.

“Professor, may I ask one more thing?”
“Go ahead.”
“This term—wouldn’t it be more beautiful this way?”
“Beautiful?”
“Symmetry is born. The equation starts to sing.”
“Did you just say sing? Alright, add one more line then.”

She drew another auxiliary line.
In an instant, the formula seemed to straighten itself and indeed—sing.

“How’s that?”
“…It’s beautiful.”

Liricia’s cheeks flushed faintly. Lutitia immediately raised her hand.

“Kai, that singing formula—teach me too.”
“No priority seating for wives, ma’am.”
“There is now.”
“No, there ain’t!”
Laughter burst out, and the newcomers’ eyes sparkled.

Break time.

Some first-years by the window were unwrapping something aromatic.

“Hey, what’s that?”
“Spicy pellets, teacher.”
“That sounds like an explosion waiting to happen. If the school blows up, I’ll drown in paperwork. Confiscated.”
“Aw.”
“I’ll make it up to you—next lab, we’ll make them officially. On one condition: no fires.”
“Yay!”
“Don’t celebrate yet.”

Even while joking, their hands were quick and precise—fixing wobbly chairs and leveling tilted desks with ease.
Their craftsmanship was almost unnervingly deft.
They were enjoying themselves—not because they were told to, but because they wanted to.

After school.

A small crowd had formed in the schoolyard.
Second-years and first-years stood facing one another.
Seniors wanted to show their strength; juniors wanted to prove theirs. It was inevitable.

“Shall we spar?”
Lutitia rested her sword on her shoulder.
“With pleasure.”
Liricia smiled.

“Rules are simple,” Kai said. “No hitting with blades. Don’t wreck the yard. If I say stop, you stop—no exceptions.”

He inhaled deeply.
The wind stilled, the air cleared.

“Begin.”

Light collided.
No clang of metal—their blades never truly met.
The magical “surfaces” each created deflected the other’s strikes, redirecting force and angle alike.
Lutitia’s flames bloomed like roses; Liricia’s wind held their shape and pushed them back.
Hair arced, sand split, and their footsteps carved fine lines into the ground.

(…What is this.)
A cold realization ran up Kai’s spine.
The layering of their formulas was too smooth—flawless.
No human caster could maintain this degree of precision.
There was no roughness, no static.
It was too perfect.

“Stop.”
Kai’s sharp command sliced the air.

Both halted instantly, blades frozen midair, not even a grain of sand disturbed.
Only their breathing carried heat.

“A draw.”
“I can still go.”
“I know you can, but that’s enough. No craters in my yard.”
“Yes, teacher.”

They obeyed instantly.
Too instantly.
It was obedience born not of discipline, but of instinct—a reflex to yield before a stronger presence.

(…Could it be…)
A line from an old grimoire flickered in his mind:

“Fickle, sensitive to strength, and once they choose whom to obey, they never waver.”

He didn’t say the word aloud.
He felt that if he did, something fundamental would change.

Lutitia, catching her breath, glanced sidelong at Liricia.

“You’re strong.”
“So are you.”
“…It’s annoying that I can’t bring myself to dislike you.”
“I feel the same, a little.”

Both smiled.
Sparks flew—but the distance between them grew just slightly smaller.

Later that evening.

Passing by the library tower, Kai spotted Liricia stepping out with a heavy tome in her arms.
The lamplight framed the edges of the pages in gold.

“Studying hard, huh?”
“Yes. The ‘Principles’ stored here have such a lovely scent. Reading them alone makes the formulas rise to life.”
“Yeah. You like that scent, don’t you?”
“I do.”

She nodded honestly. A ripple spread through the deep violet of her eyes before fading.

“Professor Kai.”
“Hm?”
“I think… I might fall in love with your formulas.”

“That line belongs to me, actually,”
Lutitia’s voice chimed from the shadows of the trees.
She naturally looped her arm through Kai’s.
“Kai’s side is my spot.”
“Quit fighting over seats. The library doesn’t assign them.”
“Conceptually, it does.”
“Don’t fight with concepts.”

Kai chuckled and gently separated them.

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight. It’s getting cold. Don’t catch a chill.”

Their footsteps differed in rhythm, but somehow, their pace aligned.
Behind them, a few first-years were fixing a wheelbarrow—without a single nail left over.
Their hands moved with eerie precision, eyes gleaming with both amusement and faint reverence.

“Teacher, I want to see that demonstration from earlier again.”
“Sure thing. Tomorrow morning, quiz time.”
“Yay!”
“Don’t ‘yay’—I said quiz.”

Laughter rippled through the dusk.

The spire’s shadow stretched long, the first star blinking in the western sky.
The autumn insects began their chorus as the academy cooled, still glowing faintly with the day’s warmth of learning.

(…A demon, maybe. But that’s fine. For now.)
(So long as they sit before the blackboard, they’re all just students.)

Kai took two candies from his pocket and handed one to each girl.

“Sugar’s fuel for the brain. Take it and get some rest.”
“Thanks, Kai.”
“Thank you, professor.”

Two different voices, yet they harmonized in an oddly perfect way.

The night sky deepened, vast and silent.
And thus, a new term quietly began to turn its first wheel.