Reduced to its simplest structure, a protagonist's power-up event went as follows:

1. A sudden ambush interrupts a peaceful interlude.

2. A conspiracy comes to light amid trials and tribulations.

3. Positive concepts such as friendship and love trigger an awakening.

4. A series of rewards follows the resolution of those trials.

The structure was old enough to be called a classic, but classics became classics for a reason. Even variations rarely strayed far from that framework.

Take that logic one step further, and Ivan's preparations became clear. To force a protagonist's power-up event to begin, he simply needed to lay a conspiracy, ambush the protagonist's party, keep piling on adversity, and throw them some rewards afterward.

There was a minor distinction between awakening by overcoming adversity and having adversity thrown at you to make you awaken, but the route hardly mattered as long as you reached your destination.

In any case, all was well if the outcome was good. A trained agent never placed importance on the process. All that mattered was producing the right result, whatever the circumstances.

Thus, Ivan decided to prepare the rewards, arrange the trials along an appropriately rising difficulty curve, and weave a "plausible" conspiracy between them.

"At the very least, all the 'protagonists' need to learn neural acceleration and Line of Fire Detection... Ideally, I'd like them to pick up a secret technique each, too."

He considered this as he looked down at the map, covered in densely scribbled tactical symbols.

What he was doing was a form of game design. It couldn't be helped. In gaming terms, he had already cleared every "stage" the protagonists should have handled in a normal playthrough.

Now he had to build their stages himself. And stage design ultimately required precise calculations of the players' experience and the limits of their growth. It was a form of level design. Ivan stroked his beard as he studied the map.

"The protagonist's party, then."

Isabelle, Elpihera, Esidisi, and Oscar were indispensable. Those four were unquestionably the protagonist's party.

But Lucia, Enrique's disciple, was currently carrying out a "secret mission" alongside her teacher. It was the sort of mission the Princess controlled directly, unknown even to him as commander of Counterintelligence Command.

Any mission that required a member of the Hero's Party was sure to be grueling. With Lucia receiving Enrique's personal instruction along the way, he had no need to concern himself with her.

Which left the remaining "protagonists"...

"Oswald, Eugene, Yuri."

The trio of Possessors. These youngsters were somewhat complicated. Each had as much potential for growth as the Hero's Party's children, but each would have a narrative of their own laid out for them.

Oswald, for instance, had a romantic fantasy with a "villainess."

Eugene had an academy story about a "scoundrel youngest son."

Yuri had... Well, anyway.

In that case, directly intervening in their growth to shoehorn in a "power-up event" might be pointless. It would do nothing to advance their own stories.

Ivan tapped the table, deep in thought.

Considering how this story might end, the most powerful conceivable adversary was either the Demon King or the previous hero. In the worst case, he might have to face the missing Maximilien himself—the man said to have gone into seclusion bearing countless "curses" alone.

That was something he could never accomplish alone. He simply couldn't imagine himself killing Maximilien single-handedly.

Besides, it was "common sense" that a fallen hero was stronger than the original. Allies who turned into enemies always came back plastered with every buff imaginable.

Ivan was a man of common sense, so he did not overestimate himself. Instead, he looked down at the map.

He had to use every resource available. The Hero's Party's children were the finest resources at his disposal. An uncut gem only gained value once it was cut.

As he wrote the operation plan, Ivan reflected that trials that didn't kill people made them stronger. Hadn't he grown the same way?

* * *

Top of the class in the finals, naturally. As for the scholarship, "noblesse oblige." What did a little tuition matter beside the Grikencos family's wealth?

Elpihera hummed as she passed through the mansion's gates. Warm summer sunlight was busily heating the elven residential quarter.

"Oh, you're back."

"Sir Coenwulf."

Her mood plummeted the instant she spotted the elf doing a handstand on a sword in the middle of the garden. Quite literally, Edelflat Coenwulf had planted a sword point-down and was meditating upside down atop it.

This was the trouble with sword-swingers.

Meditation should involve contemplation in silence with a properly ordered mind. Why did a swordswoman even need to meditate? It all sprang from a base desire to imitate mages.

Sword-swingers had a habit of copying anything that looked impressive. And most "impressive things" originated in magic. This was a self-evident truth.

"When exactly are you going home?"

"My, showing me the door already? Hardly the way a noble should speak."

"You didn't understand when I put it delicately, like a noble."

"What a hurtful thing to say. I understood perfectly and declined like a noble. The Grikencos family's wealth is hardly so meager that it cannot support a single humble swordswoman as a guest."

"Excuse me, but you're richer than we are, Sir Coenwulf."

"Wouldn't paying rent be terribly vulgar?"

Edelflat chuckled, released the hilt, and spun down to the ground.

"I'm thinking of leaving before winter. I've no desire to experience another Krasilof winter. Though I can't say whether I'll be leaving alone."

"...?"

"Heh heh. I have my reasons. There's some mail for you. Go and have a look."

"All right. See you later."

Elpihera nodded a farewell to Edel, who had resumed her training, and walked away.

Mail? From home?

In the six months since entering the university, most of the many love letters Elpihera had received had been delivered at school. No human dared enter the elven residential quarter. And elves never conveyed their feelings through mere letters.

A letter sent to her house, then, was usually very likely to have come from her homeland... But her father could contact her through a crystal ball, so who could it be?

She picked up the envelope lying neatly on the drawing-room table.

"Huh?"

[Sender: Ivan Petrovich Yeremov]

"Mister?!"

Elpihera hastily hugged the letter to her chest and whipped her head around. Naturally, no one was in her mansion except the bare minimum of servants. Nor was there any reason to hide the letter.

Her brilliant intellect having discerned this fact, she cleared her throat and straightened her back.

She crossed her elegantly extended legs and took a cup of the black tea laid out with the drawing-room refreshments. Sipping slowly, she gave a little smug hum.

"So you've finally caught on, have you?"

When he had abruptly dashed off to get married, she'd thought: Ah, human judgment was so blind, so foolish. Could there be a more pitiable creature?

Yes, so he'd finally noticed his "opportunity," had he? An "opportunity" to be with an elf was, truly, an irresistible temptation for a human.

So now he wanted to come wagging his tail at her?

Grinning so broadly that, had she possessed a tail, it would have been wagging furiously, Elpihera slowly reached out.

She broke the letter's seal and took a deep breath. Phew. A hand over her chest, another moment to steady her breathing. Then she opened the neatly folded sheet wide.

Now came the heartfelt confession of love... The confession...

[Invitation to a Summer Getaway. Location: Irtysh Station Date and Time: 1500 hours on the final day of term at St. Jansk University Details: Board the Section 15 train departing Platform 1 at St. Barbai Station at 1530. Note 1. One-way ticket for the Section 15 railway enclosed.]

A... confession?

"Usually... if you can't put all your feelings into a letter, you ask them to meet you behind the school... Don't you?"

How strange. That was certainly how everyone around her confessed, received confessions, and started dating.

But this was so businesslike... Practically an official document, even using the incongruous word "invitation." And he'd enclosed a ticket for a train a week from now...?

More importantly, what? Where was Irtysh Station, anyway?

Elpihera was utterly bewildered.

* * *

"This is a honeymoon? Trip? That's what it is, right? Uncle, you think so too, don't you?"

"Well, it looks more like an invitation to a foreign noble to attend military exercises."

"That's because your romantic sensibilities are dead. This is just the kind of relationship Uncle Ivan and I have. You know?"

"Weeell... Do I? I've never seen you and that fellow properly exchange letters... or have a conversation..."

"That's because you've never been in love. When two hearts are connected, you don't need to talk or anything, you know?"

"Sure. Let's leave it at that."

Morde nodded quietly, watching the bouncing Esidisi with warm eyes.

All the while thinking: 'Boss, I think you've failed at raising your child. A little late to mention it now, but I think she takes after your wife more than you. In the bad ways, you know. They say daughters take after their fathers, but that's all a lie.'

* * *

"Sir Yeremov, hm."

Oscar looked at the letter as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel.

An unexpected letter and an unexpected invitation. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have given it a second glance, but...

"He is a powerful man."

He, too, had watched the recent tournament. Indeed, hadn't he felt Ivan's might keenly ever since the attack during their field exercise?

The man was a weapon this country kept hidden. Even as the son of a Hero's Party member, Oscar had never so much as heard Ivan's name before coming here.

Yet this man was close to Enrique and his own father. Despite possessing such strength, he remained unknown to this country's citizens. Those facts suggested only one thing.

Krasilof was preparing for war.

Contrary to popular belief, a ruler who loudly advertised military strength feared war more than anyone. That was why Thilles had posthumously named Gilles Vert Lord Protector and held lavish festivities.

As Gilles Vert's eldest son, Oscar understood that more clearly than anyone. Krasilof, however, appeared fractured by internal strife, was expending most of its military strength controlling its vast colonies, and had seen every hero of the last war retire or disappear.

Yet its domestic intelligence network was suspiciously thorough, and even while being judged on the verge of collapse from infighting, it responded to terrorist attacks with astonishing speed.

On top of that, it possessed a weapon named Ivan Petrovich and was revealing him to no one. It kept him under suspiciously tight wraps.

There was only one conclusion. Krasilof was preparing for war.

The great powers on its borders were Droan and Thilles. And his current understanding was that Droan's King had recently slipped into Prizhenkaya and struck some sort of agreement with the Princess.

That narrowed the countries Krasilof could immediately invade to Thilles alone. As a knight of Thilles, he could not allow it.

"Inform the homeland. Tell them my regular reports may become less frequent for a while as I gather inside information."

Ivan Petrovich Yermov. If he wanted to uncover this mysterious man's identity and the country's true intentions, staying close to him would be best.

Oscar, son of Gilles Vert, the knight of the Hero's Party. Six months after entering Krasilof, he was commencing his work as a sleeper agent—his actual job!

* * *

"Yep. This is training."

Isabelle crisply folded the letter and accepted the fact without fuss.

Was that "mister" really the sort of man to suddenly pester a college girl to go hiking so he could hit on her?

She might be at an age when her head was full of romantic daydreams, but Isabelle was one of the people who had watched Ivan the longest and from closest at hand. Naturally, she recognized it the moment she saw the letter.

Suddenly asking her to come outside the city? That man? Well, there was only one conclusion. What else could it be but training?

Right. Yes. So he was in good health.

Which meant he was perfectly fine, yet had spent days ignoring his promise to come eat her "vegetable stew," of all things.

And now he wanted to get her alone, saying they would train?

Yes, yes. There were so many watching eyes in this city.

An intelligence agent was naturally an asset managed by the state. Spending time "off-mission" with a foreign noblewoman would be awkward.

So if he was using training as an excuse to invite her out alone and take a train trip together... Yes, yes. She understood.

"This is love."

Honestly, this habit of talking in circles was such a bad one. Grinning, Isabelle began to pack.

* * *

"How strange. Why do I feel like there are so many familiar faces here? Don't you?"

"I know. Are you heading to Thilles as soon as break starts? Well, this line does take you to Thilles if you stay on it, doesn't it?"

"That explains me, but wouldn't you need the opposite platform for Droan?"

"Oscar, didn't you say you'd be staying in Prizhenkaya over the break?"

"I have a little business to attend to. What about you, Miss Elpihera?"

"Please don't talk to me. All these humans are making me dizzy. I'm allergic to human hair."

"How does she even manage to attend school like that?"

Summer break begins!