Last Gun Alchemist

The morning sunlight continued to brighten the Royal Academy.

Its light spread across the Main Administrative Center, falling over the wide roads and buildings where people were already moving from one place to another as they prepared for another day of the Grand First-Year Combat Festival.

Although the Young Alchemists had been given a break before the next round, the excitement surrounding the festival had not disappeared.

If anything, the break had given the spectators more time to talk.

Families of Noble and non-Noble status moved through the Main Administrative Center, with many of them heading toward restaurants to eat breakfast before the next matches.

Some children wandered toward the merchandise stalls.

The stalls had already been updated with new merchandise featuring the remaining First-Year students who had made it into the Tenth Round.

Small flags, banners, shirts, badges, and other items bearing the names and faces of the young Alchemists were displayed for the spectators to purchase.

Some children pointed excitedly at the merchandise.

Others argued with their parents about which Young Alchemist they wanted to support for the semifinals and the Best loser match.

The adults had their own interests.

Many of the men especially, along with several Young Adults, gathered around restaurants and open seating areas to watch analysis programs covering the Ninth Round.

Large glass televisions illuminating the television-sized Holographic Screens had been placed throughout the Main Administrative Center.

Some were mounted against walls.

Others floated above restaurant counters.

A few restaurants had large screens positioned toward their outdoor seating areas so customers could eat while watching the broadcasts.

There were also programs discussing the Young Alchemists who would face each other in the Best of Losers match the following day.

The previous day’s battles had given the broadcasters more than enough material to discuss.

”The matches yesterday were filled with amazing Alchemy combat abilities.”

The voice of one host echoed from a glass television inside a restaurant.

The screen illuminated the faces of the customers sitting around it as they ate breakfast and listened.

”Does Lady Vera Ashenlocke’s win against Sir Ravenor Burnwick prove that she’s going to win this Combat Festival?”

Another host’s voice came from a television-sized Holographic Screen inside another restaurant.

Several customers turned their chairs toward the screen while continuing their breakfast.

”So that is why I came to the conclusion that the Jewel of Ash is a true example of how an Alchemist should fight. Use your brain, try to predict what your opponent can do, and counter even before he or she does. That’s what she displayed to everyone against the Copy Genius of Burnwick.”

Another host spoke from a different television-sized Holographic Screen.

That particular restaurant section was more open than the others.

Large umbrellas covered the tables where customers sat and ate while listening to the analysis program.

The hosts continued discussing the Ninth Round matches, breaking down the abilities that had been displayed and the decisions that had shaped the fights.

Then another voice joined the broadcast.

”Lady Diane Bergwyn’s strength is on another level.”

The host paused briefly.

”From what a Meister Alchemist such as myself can see from this display of strength, I can tell you she has the same natural strength as a Meister Alchemist and might even be stronger.”

The discussion continued from one screen to another.

Different voices analyzed different fights.

Some praised Vera’s battle sense.

Others discussed Diane’s physical strength.

Some talked about Ravenor’s Flame Alchemy.

While some praised Ezra’s gadgets yet again.

Others continued trying to understand the mysterious Maxwell.

The voices of the broadcasters filled the Main Administrative Center.

But there was one Young Alchemist whose name appeared across the headlines more than the others.

Was Maxwell too arrogant to show his Alchemy Path and lost?

Maybe Maxwell is hiding something from us?

Does he use a Forbidden Alchemy Path?

Who is this Maxwell, and how did he become a student of the Royal Academy?

Is the Royal Academy Board hiding information about Maxwell?

Who is Maxwell?

Did arrogance cost him his match, or was the Sleeping Ice Beauty simply too strong for Maxwell to defeat?

The questions continued appearing across the Skynet.

Rumors spread quickly.

Speculations followed them.

People who had never even heard Maxwell’s name before the Combat Festival were suddenly discussing him as though they had been following his entire life.

Linsta was especially filled with conversations about him.

Some users defended him.

Others mocked his loss.

Some believed he had deliberately hidden his Alchemy Path.

Others believed there had to be something unusual about his background.

Nobody seemed to agree.

And that disagreement only made Maxwell’s name spread further.

Today was supposed to be a break for all the Young Alchemists.

Especially the three Young Alchemists who would face one another in the Best of Losers round before the Tenth Round began two days later.

For most of them, the break was an opportunity to rest.

For some, it was a chance to train.

For others, it was simply time to enjoy the festival.

But for one person...

This break felt more like torture.

Inside Maxwell’s residence in the West Wing of the First-Year Royal Academy residential district, the morning atmosphere was completely different from the lively Main Administrative Center.

The noise of the crowds could not reach the same way through the walls.

There were no cheering spectators here.

No Holographic Screens filled the room.

No fans were shouting his name.

Only the quiet interior of his bedroom remained.

Ring!

Ring!

Ring!

Ring!

The sound of his Para 12 rang loudly inside the bedroom.

Maxwell remained where he was.

The device continued ringing until it stopped ringing.

Then...

Ring!

Ring!

Ring!

Ring!

The phone device began ringing again.

A holographic image of a phone appeared above his Para 12.

A golden circular wave flowed outward from the vibrating device with every ring.

Maxwell stared blankly at the holographic image.

He already knew who was calling him.

Cherry Sailor.

The thought of her immediately made him sigh.

”She must be really worried, huh.”

Maxwell muttered to himself.

The holographic phone continued ringing for several more seconds.

He didn’t pick it up.

Eventually, the image vanished.

The room became quiet again.

Maxwell continued staring at the Para 12.

His expression remained blank.

Then...

”Arghhhh!!!”

He suddenly screamed in frustration.

His body turned sharply toward the wall of his bedroom.

BAM!

His fist slammed into it.

The wall trembled from the force.

Dust barely shifted around the point of impact.

Maxwell pulled his fist back.

His breathing became heavier.

BAM!

He punched the wall again.

”Damn it.”

His fist struck the wall a third time.

BAM!

”Damn it.”

Again.

BAM!

”Damn it.”

Again.

BAM!

”Damn it.”

Again.

BAM!

”Damn it.”

Again.

BAM!

”Damn it.”

Again.

BAM!

”Damn it.”

His jaw tightened.

Then...

BAM!

”DAMN IT!!”

Maxwell punched the wall harder.

The entire house trembled more violently from the force.

Yet the wall didn’t break.

It didn’t even crack.

The material used to construct the Royal Academy residences was strong enough to withstand impacts that would have completely ruined an ordinary building.

Maxwell slowly lowered his fist.

His knuckles were pressed against the wall.

His teeth remained clenched.

He stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose.

The anger inside him wasn’t disappearing.

If anything, every punch had only reminded him that breaking a wall wouldn’t solve anything.

His expression gradually changed.

He began thinking back.

He remembered the time when he had confidently said that he would take the number-one seat from all the Nobles and non-Nobles first years.

He had said it without hesitation.

At the time, there had been no reason for him to doubt himself.

Then he remembered challenging the Second-Year upperclassman from the Iron Vanguard Faction during the welcome ceremony for the First-Year students who had just joined the factions.

He had stepped forward with the same confidence.

He remembered how he had confidently challenged Ravenor, Vera, and Diane during their first practical test.

He had looked at all three of them as people he wanted to see their Genius strength the fellow first years kept bragging about.

Then there was Logan Drakes.

Maxwell remembered how confidently he had faced Logan when the child of Drakes wanted to prove that he was a fraud for claiming to have mastered the Law of Inversion.

Each time, Maxwell had believed in his own strength.

Each time, he had walked forward without thinking that he might be the one who needed to learn something.

And then he remembered the argument he had with Cyrus after the eighth round ended.

Everyone had been heading back toward their hotels, residences, and designated Guest Houses.

Maxwell remembered Cyrus’s words clearly.

’I hope you get beaten at least once. So, you can understand what I’m telling you.’

Maxwell’s teeth pressed together.

His fist tightened again.

The memory irritated him even more now.

”What do you even know about wielding something powerful, that you are talking like that?”

He said it with frustration.

His voice was rougher than usual.

He looked down at his fist.

The memory of Diane catching it with one hand immediately returned to him.

His fingers curled tighter.

Then a familiar voice came from behind him.

”You look a complete mess... Hehehe.”

Maxwell’s eyes widened.

His body turned sharply toward the voice.

”Yo.”

Professor Kent waved one hand.

He was sitting casually on the chair inside Maxwell’s bedroom while eating red grapes.

The grapes had come from Maxwell’s cold storage.

Maxwell stared at him.

He hadn’t sensed Kent entering his house.

He hadn’t heard the door open.

He hadn’t heard footsteps.

He hadn’t even noticed Kent moving around the residence, taking food from his cold storage and carrying a chair into his bedroom.

”How did you enter my house in the first place?”

Maxwell asked immediately.

That was the most important question.

Kent continued eating another grape.

”Spare key card, of course.”

He replied with an innocent expression.

Maxwell narrowed his eyes.

The look on his face made it clear that he wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

”Hahaha...”

Kent laughed.

He held out a black key card between two fingers.

”Professors have special authorized key cards to have access to any student’s residence.”

He spun the key card around one finger.

The black card turned once before he caught it again.

Then he slipped it back into the pocket of his black trousers.

”Oh...”

Maxwell said after finally understanding.

He looked at Kent again.

The Professor seemed completely comfortable sitting in his bedroom as though he had been invited.

Although, I was only given the key card by the Vice Headmaster, since he was the one who made me come here to talk to you, even though I rather be relaxing watching the replays of the Ninth round.

Kent thought to himself.

His expression remained faintly awkward for a moment.

The privileged treatment of a disciple of Sir Andraver.

His eyes shifted toward Maxwell.

I wish I had that kind of treatment when I was still young.

Kent continued looking at Maxwell with a fake innocent smile.

Inside his mind, however, there was a faint trace of envy.

Maxwell stared at him for another moment.

The frustration from earlier had not disappeared.

But now, at least, he had someone standing in front of him who had clearly come here for a reason.