Posts from Sakuramoria Auto-translated

Will they let us go back to our rooms, or will they line us up against the wall?

By rooms. Except for those who decided to stay and fight Duncan without an audience.

I shoot Duncan when Futaba leaves with the girl.

You're not serious, are you?

Want to play like Ixor?

Futaba lay down on the table, spreading her arms out. Her hair was scattered messily across the tabletop, and her vacant gaze was fixed on the ceiling. Ignoring the presence of the talking head, she fumbled in the pocket of her blazer with a trembling hand and pulled out a crumpled, worn-out pack of cigarettes. She lit one, took a deep drag, and held the smoke in for about half a minute, until her gaze became clouded and her lungs felt like they were on fire, then she exhaled. She dangled her legs, which didn't reach the floor, over the edge of the table, and took another puff, dropping ash directly onto the table – but this time, it wasn't the shabby dorm room table, but one made of polished, dark wood. It's interesting how a table made of such material affects its user. It's unlikely to be positive.
Perhaps from the outside, it seemed like she was thinking something over carefully, but that wasn't the case. Against the backdrop of the past few weeks, with the increasing signs of mental instability, the current day, filled with nerves, linguistic maneuvers, all kinds of negative emotions, and verbose revelations, had exhausted her so much that her head was now heavy and refused to organize the received information into words. The only aspect of her awareness of herself in this reality at that moment was the leaden fatigue of her body and soul.
Finishing her cigarette and getting to her feet, she lowered her head and slumped her shoulders, and Futaba let out a sigh that could probably inflate a dirigible balloon in one go.
"I can fulfill this role... but only in exchange for my conditions. They are very simple. No student in this school will be subjected to humiliation, witchcraft, physical violence, or, even more so, death. No tricks, like the ones from April or today, under any circumstances. This is non-negotiable, and I don't care if it's your new energy experiment or you just want to show off your animalistic nature. The moment something like that happens, the deal is off, and you can forget about my participation. You won't force me to do that in any way. If you know anything about me, you should understand that I'm not joking. I have no desire to build something that will then be destroyed."
"Secondly, the fate of those who stood against Mandragora today will be decided by me, and not by any of you. The old man spent a lot of effort to turn the challenge thrown at him personally into a challenge directed at me – which, frankly, is not very dignified at his age, and in general, makes me wonder if this was a hidden attempt to insult the crown? So let him stay quiet in this situation. I need written guarantees on these two points."
"And thirdly, I have no intention of tolerating your artificial attempts to isolate me from the rest of the student body, based on this," she pointed her finger at the wedding stamp on the new student's ID. "For the others, I can be the 'president' if my title requires it, but no one will be forced to kiss my boots at the barrel of your gun."
"And before you dismiss my conditions again, saying that it's not up to you to accept them, I believe that, as the right hand, or whatever, you should have at least minimal authority for such trivial matters. And if not, pass them on to someone who can approve them."
"That's all. And take me to one of your 'installations.' I want to see with my own eyes what all the fuss is about."

"All I can promise you regarding most of your requests is that I will relay them to His Majesty, but I don't think there's much point in that. As far as I know, he was already planning to arrange a new meeting with you soon, so just wait. Nevertheless, I guarantee that no harm will be done to any of the students before your meeting with him. Of course, only if they don't try any tricks. I think you should understand that none of us intends to serve as punching bags, and self-defense is always closely linked to the possibility of a sad outcome for the attacker."

Added 1 hour 3 minutes ago
A crossbow bolt flies past Duncan's head, leaving a fresh wound on the old man's cheek, and he turns towards Vaylis with the intention of engaging in a serious fight, but upon noticing someone's silhouette appearing in the doorway of the academy's main hall, he immediately freezes like a statue. Vaylis, Fortis, and all others who might have remained here instead of dispersing to the dormitory rooms are overcome by a state of lethargy – a sleep of the body, but an awakening of the mind.

"Worthless freeloader," he throws at Vaylis, and then turns his gaze to Fortis, "They say that Mana created all of us, but it seems that even the gods make mistakes." He approaches Duncan. "Old friend, it's time for you to retire. Today's performance has greatly disappointed me." "Your Majesty!" The former general stands even straighter than usual. "To what do we owe this unexpected visit?" "I can no longer watch as these brainless kings devalue the hard work that Futaba has done to preserve their insignificant lives. Take care of them, let her decide their fate." "Your will is law!" Nodding to the soldier, his royal majesty heads towards the student council building and goes up to the third floor – to the room where Futaba and Ianira were. "Leave us," he says to the colonel before she can greet him. Ianira obeys and immediately leaves the room, closing the door behind her. The king intently looks into Futaba's eyes, and for a while, silence reigns in the room.

— A lazy good-for-nothing, — he throws at Waylis.

Slippery little bastard.

In a normal situation, Nira would have happily watched the unfolding performance from her seat, but at the moment, the circus show staged by the teachers and students only evoked a feeling of hopeless disgust, so the girl was one of the first to find herself at the entrance. Casting a final glance at the stage, she caught a glimpse of her classmates huddled around the stooped figure of the old general. Fortis, consumed by his religious fanaticism, could be understood, as could Varya, who was flitting from camp to camp, but what was Waylis doing there? The cheerful young man, who was planning a date with Bella just the day before, suddenly decides to go to his death? Could it be that, apart from Leila, they all so desperately wanted to end their lives, which had only just begun? Nira tried to find Gideon in the bustling crowd, but the stream of frightened students pushed her out of the lifeless hall. No, Gideon couldn't have stayed with them; she herself had heard him dissuade Fortis. Even though he was brave and courageous, he wouldn't sacrifice his own ambitions for something so fleeting and relative, would he? Perhaps she should have said something to her friends, tried to dissuade them from certain death? Pausing at the foot of the stairs, the girl hesitantly looked back, but she couldn't bring herself to move. All her words and actions would be insincere, all her efforts would be futile. At least they would die for their own ideals and beliefs, and could she offer a sincere sacrifice that would be even remotely comparable to that? Clenching her fists tightly, Nira felt her nails painfully digging into her soft palms. She didn't remember how she got to her room or how much time had passed since the cursed election ceremony. It seemed as if the entire academy was now plunged into a stifling silence of anxious anticipation. The April incident had left her with room to maneuver, new and interesting roles, and, most importantly, hope for a peaceful future ahead. But the current situation was completely different. They were all becoming helpless hostages in the mad experiment of a king who had lost his mind. What were his goals? Perhaps to raise an elite royal guard from them, soldiers for special operations of particular importance. Perhaps they would eventually have their minds completely wiped clean, and for this, even many hours of lectures would not be needed; a couple of spells from the pointy-eared historian would be more than enough. Raising her eyes to the open window, which was black in the darkness of her consciousness, Nira thought with contemptuous pity about their new queen. Poor Futabu, who so generously saved their servile tongues from licking the royal boots. But perhaps it wouldn't have come to this if someone hadn't been so arrogant. The unfortunate bird, locked in a precious cage on a golden chain. Still better than being in a tin chicken coop, waiting for her turn in the meat grinder. One could argue that the king's favoritism would end when the young lady came of age, but what guarantee is there that the others will last that long? A year at the top of the pyramid is worth hundreds of years of existence among the gray masses. With a heavy sigh, Nira thought of her family for the first time since she started training. How wonderful it would be to be back in her home in Utah, in the comfort of her own room, waking up from this terrible nightmare, and with renewed inspiration, greeting a new bright day? To hear her mother's familiar lectures and her father's cheerful laughter again. But all of this was now hopelessly far away. Not only she, but also her parents were becoming hostages of a country for whose benefit they had been working all these years. And what a country it was. No one and nothing can help her now, except herself. Turning her tired gaze to the brand-new bedside table from the furniture set purchased the day before, Nira suddenly wanted it to be filled with something from her father's liquor collection instead of the prize toys. She herself had never tasted alcohol in her life, but seeing how favorably it affected her parents in difficult moments, she thought that it would be just the thing to calm her nerves. Taking a mirror and a cosmetic set from her bag, the girl mechanically put herself in order. With each minute, she felt her heartbeat subside, her breathing even out, and the real colors of the world return. In the end, nothing special happened! Let's imagine that there was no evil conspiracy, and that the queen of Sakuramoria had been in their class from the very beginning, and then she was elected president of the academy. Princess Claudia is also studying with them; the difference is not great! And then a couple of hotheads didn't like these ceremonies of respect, and they were punished to the full extent of Sakuramoria's law. After all, they live in an age of monarchies, so there is nothing surprising about it. And all this nonsense about freedom and equality is nothing more than a figment of the imagination of a rebellious royal granddaughter, who was exiled to the northern mines for it. A slight change in attitude towards the world around means a slight change in attitude towards achieving success. There is no need to invent all sorts of favors in order to get the votes of other students. By all rights, she had these elections in the bag, which means she has already proven that she is far superior to everyone else under the Levi regime. All that remains is to achieve the same success under the regime of her grandfather. For this, it is not even necessary to jump higher than before: it is enough to stay one step above the one that the bloody sword of his elderly henchman will cut off. To remain on the good side of Her Majesty Futaba and not be dragged down by her class: this is a simple recipe for success under the new regime, and she is quite capable of carrying it out.

To be honest, the lack of synchronization among the players and everything else led to the point where I don't know where Varya was supposed to be, whether she had already gone into the room or was still lingering in the doorway, wondering why Vale and Fortress were still delaying, since they had already fulfilled the requirements of their ultimatum, what more could they want?!
But I think it doesn't really matter, so it's easier to just forget about it.
As a bonus, I'll take Lorance-OS. Unless I change my mind for some reason by the beginning of next week.
Also, Rev, I saw that you haven't started leveling up my skills yet, well, since the battle didn't take place, you can save the experience, never mind. I could have spent it more effectively if it weren't for Dunk. But if you've already taken the actions I wrote about, then it's okay...

Futaba crosses her arms over her chest with a frown.

As he continued to look at Futaba, the king's serious expression gradually faded, and soon he looked as if he had lost a few intelligence points in those short moments – his facial features changed to an ecstatic smile, and he happily spread his long arms to the sides.
— Futaba! Come to me! I missed your warmth!

- All I can offer now is coldness, - she said through gritted teeth. Despite her feigned hostility, her true emotions in this situation were fear and helplessness. What she had seen in her dreams for several weeks felt like part of some theatrical performance, as if the events were happening to someone else. Now, in a real situation, with a clear mind, face to face with the terrifying old man, her only desire was to run, to anywhere, as far away as possible. Or maybe play along - pretend to reluctantly agree and stab him in the ear? It was quite possible that a better opportunity for this would not arise again. But for some reason, for the first time in her life, fear prevented her from doing so.

Are there any other candidates?

That's a good theory. But we have one strange retcon, disguised as a Rishik, who cleverly manipulated Futaba to kill Carvia, manipulated Laurence to save Michaela and Aliduma, and then manipulated the students to save the lives of the fighters and Fortis from Duncan... Draw your own conclusions.

— Ah, Futaba! Your voice, as cold as steel, pierces my heart! — The King theatrically places his right hand on his left chest and feigns agony. — But even on a hot July day, coolness can be pleasant! With a blush on his cheeks, His Majesty cheerfully runs towards Futaba, trying to catch her in his arms.