Editor Authority (1)
While the cat was busy devouring its meal, Cleio took the chance to search through the bedroom for more clues.
She owned almost nothing—just textbooks, writing tools, and her school uniform, with a few sets of pajamas and plain everyday clothes.
"No wonder this place felt more like a hotel room."
The desk drawers were empty except for a student notebook and a checkbook issued by Plata Bank.
"So they sent this kid—who can't even look people in the eye—off with nothing but a checkbook. How kind."
Judging by the situation, though, the linked account must have held a considerable sum.
Maybe if I drain the account, I'll finally get to see that grand 'Baronet Aser,' the illustrious rich dad.
"Just like that dorm matron, Lyuba, said… I should go to the bank."
Judging by the torn stubs, a few checks had already been used.
Cleio shaded the signature section lightly with a pencil, and the indentations revealed a signature she could easily imitate.
"Good enough. I'll use this for now."
She slipped the checkbook into the inner pocket of her jacket and finally opened the student notebook.
Cleio Aser
Born in the year 1873 of the Dernier Calendar
First-year student, Albion Royal Capital Defense Academy
Class 2, aspiring Magician
Aether Level: 1
As Cleio examined the notebook, Behemoth wound its body around her legs, having completely finished the chicken and broth.
"Hey, Cleio-who's-not-Cleio."
"Just call me Cleio. What now?"
"Chicken was fine, but I'd prefer steak. Medium rare, with Madeira sauce. And wine."
"You're a cat. Cats aren't supposed to drink alcohol."
"Do you take this noble being for an ordinary cat? Hmph! I've been quite forgiving today, so tomorrow you shall repay me—with blood-red Boudigala wine and roast veal!"
When Cleio ignored the extravagant demand, Behemoth kicked her shin with his hind paw.
It hurt.
"If I actually fought this thing, I'd lose."
Barely thirty minutes later, that same street-thug of a cat sat innocently licking its paw, curled in the lap of Isiel Kishion.
"That deceitful beast."
Light filled the parlor. A beautiful girl sat in an armchair, a cat purring contentedly in her lap.
"I didn't notice before, but in daylight… she's really stunning."
Her skin, sun-kissed from sword practice, was smooth and glowing like wheat. Her neck-length curls shimmered red, like June roses, and her green eyes gleamed as if sunlight passed through emeralds.
A slender chin, sharp nose, and lips tightly pressed in resolve—she was a portrait of grace.
It could have been a picture-perfect scene—if the cat weren't a centuries-old schemer and the beautiful girl hadn't come to interrogate Cleio.
"Don't even think of dodging the question, Cleio Aser. Judging from your circle range, your ability is at least Aether Level 2. Why are you hiding that fact?!"
"I'm telling you, I don't know. I don't remember anything after falling into the river."
"Great. Just when I thought I could rest, now it's a full-blown hearing."
Isiel had stormed into Cleio's room without warning. For a moment she hesitated because of the pushy cat, but soon she remembered her purpose.
"So you're saying you opened your Circle unconsciously."
"I can't completely rule out the possibility."
It was Cleio's first time talking to such a beautiful girl, but whatever flutter of excitement she felt had long vanished under Isiel's relentless interrogation.
This girl clearly intended to ruin Cleio's plan for a quiet, pampered life as a wealthy baronet's useless son.
Naturally, she had to take things seriously.
Expression hardening, Isiel set the cat down from her lap and rose to her feet, looking down coldly at Cleio still seated in the chair.
"Strange. Today, you didn't yield to my presence even once, though I'm a swordsman."
Isiel Kishion recalled what everyone used to say about Cleio Aser.
The news that the second son of the wealthy Baronet Aser would be entering as a freshman had spread quickly through the academy. But he'd turned out to be timid, dull, and a bribed entrant.
And now—this boy before her?
He was still thin and frail, yes. But his eyes and demeanor were entirely different.
Calm, steady eyes like those of someone who'd lived long. A gaze that met hers head-on. A tone that treated a peer like a child.
"And this is supposed to be Cleio Aser?"
"You might've heard already, but the fall in the river caused some memory confusion…"
"You haven't lost a single argument with me. Can a person change this much from a little memory loss?"
From Cleio's point of view, it was maddening.
She knew now that Cleio Aser had been timid and depressive, but she wasn't an actor—she couldn't mimic the personality of someone already dead.
"You can't be someone you're not. And yet, here I am, already getting grilled for it."
Still, Isiel's reaction wasn't entirely unreasonable.
She suspected that the mysterious magic circle incident was part of a plot by rival princes to harm the Third Prince, Arthur.
Of course, it wasn't.
It had just been a few students experimenting with a summoning spell they'd found in an old manuscript.
If she could just hold out, the truth would come to light, and Isiel would lose interest.
"Enough talk. Let's go to the Headmaster and have your Aether Level measured. If you're really Level 1, then I'll admit I was mistaken."
Cleio stiffened.
"If they measure it now, it'll definitely come out high, won't it?"
There was no way to separate Promise from her body. She'd already tried several times, but the ring clung to her finger like it had been glued on.
The cat, meanwhile, swished its tail and watched with wicked amusement, clearly enjoying the chaos.
"Meeooowwwrrr (What in the world did you do to make that pretty girl this mad? I'll tell you in advance—once your Aether Level is measured, there's no hiding it.)"
For the first time since arriving in this world, Cleio's mind whirred at full speed. If she wanted to keep living comfortably and unnoticed, she couldn't afford to attract attention.
"I'm not feeling well. I don't see why I should agree to that kind of request right now."
"Cleio Aser. If you refuse the measurement, I'll report you for Aether Level fraud."
"You have no proof."
"My proof is what I saw with my own eyes."
"Maybe you misunderstood in the heat of the moment. I told you, I don't remember anything."
Ah, the classic hearing defense. Cleio suddenly understood why those people on trial always repeated, 'I don't recall.' Faced with the same situation, there was no better move.
"What's next, a wheelchair and a neck brace?"
Sitting calmly, fingers interlaced on her lap, Cleio concealed her rising anxiety well. She remembered the manuscript clearly.
"Right—three days after that duel, the real culprit approaches Isiel. I've got four more days of sick leave left."
"Then let's do the measurement after my medical leave ends."
"Don't try to play games."
"It's not a game. I'm sick and exhausted. Is it righteous to persecute an innocent person unjustly?"
Cleio deliberately appealed to Isiel's moral compass—her commitment to fairness and justice.
"…And how can I be sure that isn't part of your scheme?"
"Ask my housemate or the attendant. Before I fell in the river, did I even speak to another student—or anyone at all?"
A faint crack appeared in Isiel's blank expression. She'd probably already checked. Cleio Aser didn't have a single friend.
"Not one."
"If the case isn't solved by the time my leave ends, I'll comply with your summons. But if it's resolved before then, don't bother me again."
When Cleio looked up, her face—though that of a seventeen-year-old boy—seemed weary and drained beyond his years.
What could an overworked thirty-two-year-old office worker do against an idealistic teenager determined to wreck his peace? Of course his expression was miserable.
A cold sweat glistened on his pale forehead. He genuinely looked ill.
Isiel, taken aback, couldn't press him any further. Her lips parted, but no words came.
Feeling a real chill down his spine—whether from fever or nerves—Cleio hid a triumphant grin.
"Come on, take the hint. Let me rest."
Just a little more and he could have convinced her—
BANG!
The front door slammed open as if someone were trying to break it down, and heavy footsteps stormed into the parlor.
"Cleio Aser! Get out here right now!"
"I thought this kid had no friends. Why are people suddenly lining up today?"
"Do you have any idea how much trouble I've been dragged into because you jumped into that river? I felt sorry for you, so I tried to be nice!"
A large, broad-shouldered boy brushed right past Isiel and charged straight at Cleio, too furious to think straight.
A huge fist came flying toward Cleio's face—a blow strong enough to shatter bone if it connected.
"Ugh—[Help, someone!]"
Before Isiel could intervene, a golden semicircle filled with intricate sigils flared up around Cleio.
The boy's fist struck the barrier and ricocheted away violently.
"AAAAAGH!"
He screamed, clutching his hand in pain. Isiel's eyes widened as she stared past the shining golden dome that encased Cleio.
Her hand had already moved to the training sword at her hip, ready to draw at any moment.
"Oh, crap. What now?"
Even a magic-illiterate like Cleio could tell what this was.
The golden circle surrounding him—about two meters in radius—was unmistakably a mage's Circle.
A Circle was a circular field whose size corresponded to a mage's Aether Level. Within it, the mage could defy ordinary physical laws and perform true magic.
Cleio frantically recalled what the manuscript had said about Circles.
Only exceptionally gifted students could manifest a Circle in their first year. For him—ranked dead last—it was like suddenly scoring perfect marks on a national exam.
The ring, Promise, shone brilliantly. It seemed to automatically deploy the Circle and defensive magic whenever his life was in danger.
"…Well, if you're going to throw a modern person into a fantasy world, a bit of insurance is only fair. So this is what Isiel saw back then."
It was obvious now—the magic had activated unconsciously and saved him when he'd fallen into the river.
"Thanks, but not now! Can't I turn it off? How do I stop this thing?"
After insisting so hard that he didn't know magic, he'd just gotten caught red-handed.
As Cleio desperately searched for an escape, glowing golden letters appeared before his eyes again.
Heat burned on the back of his right hand.
[―Unique Skill: "Editor Authority." Would you like to activate it?]
[―When activated, the Author accepts the Editor's revision request.
Limitation: Usable up to three times per chapter.]
Cleio shouted inwardly—
"Whatever it is—use it!"