Episode 132 The Freshman Talent Show (3)

The sophomores surround Piggy and boo him.

“This time it’s Nagari, look forward to the next one.”

“If the next one is also Nagari~ pull out all your teeth~”

“One beat off! Two beats off! Three beats off! One, two, three, four!”

“Hurry up and do something, brother, the ladies are bored!”

This group of six, three men and three women, continued to harass Piggy.

Naturally, Piggy was too timid to say anything, so he just stood there with tears streaming down his face.

Then the girls giggled.

“What is it, is he crying?”

“Oh, my God, poor thing.”

“You’re so mean! Why are you picking on him!”

The boys giggle and retort.

“When did we bully you?”

“It’s all about getting to know you, we’ll be seeing you for a long time.”

“Dude, why are you crying and XX, are you trying to make us look bad?”

Just then, a girl tapped Piggy on the shoulder.

“Dude. Stop crying. Get a drink.”

At the same time, a large glass began to fill with liquor.

gulp gulp gulp gulp……

A vile bomb of fermented and distilled liquor.

One drink and it was clear that his head would crack the next day.

The schoolboy looked into Piggy’s face and grinned.

“One shot, and we’ll let you off the hook.”

The six of them surround Piggy and giggle.

They weren’t going to let him go until he finished his drink.

Eventually, Piggy started drinking with a sullen face.

The result came less than two sips later.


Piggy gagged and spit out the contents.

Since he hadn’t eaten any appetizers, the vomit consisted mostly of alcohol and gastric juices.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team freaked out when they saw Piggy throw up.

“Yuck! That’s so gross! It’s all over your tights!”

“Wahahahaha, you’re puking, you’ve been so colorful since OT!”

“From now on, your nickname will be Puke! Puking Piggy!”

“I’ll call you Puke until I graduate!”

Gazes snapped to attention. The murmuring around them made Piggy cower even more.


A flutter.

Something covered the top of Piggy’s vomit on the floor.

It was Vikir’s cloak.

A cloak given to new students.

Embroidered with the Academy’s logo, it was so symbolic that newcomers treasured it next to their lives.

Vikir took it off and covered the vomit on the floor.

Then he walked to the front of the group of dazed second years and slapped Piggy on the back.

“Go to your dorms. I’ll clean up here.”


Piggy looked at Vikir with a shaky gaze, but Vikir merely wiped the floor with his cloak in silence.


“Hey. You.”

The sophomore grabbed Vikir by the shoulders, his face crumpled.

“Are you crazy, hanging up on a senior when they’re talking to him?”

“What are you doing with that cloak, and how dare you think you know what kind of cloak it is…….”

“You bastard, are you this guy’s coworker, you’re in class B of the Cold Class, what’s your name, take off your bangs and show me your face.”

The atmosphere was becoming even more tumultuous.

Several members of the group patted Bikir’s glasses and cheeks, giggling.

“You must be pretty confident, coming out like this.”

“Dude, your friend left you some leftovers, you should finish them.”

“This is Piggy’s glass, and if you finish it, I’ll let you and Piggy go.”

“You’re his friend, you’re going to drink it for him, don’t you think he’ll just leave? Show some loyalty!”

The men dangled large glasses in front of Vikir’s eyes.

A bomb of vodka, rum, pulque, and more.

Piggy had only taken two sips, so at first glance it looked like more than a liter, and it was sloshing around the edge of the glass.

It would be impossible for a human to drink this.



Vikir picked up the glass without another word.

And then.

Gulp- gulp- gulp- gulp- gulp.

Without a single change in expression, he emptied the glass.

Children in Baskerville always take a small amount of poison with their meals. To build up their tolerance.

They can’t get drunk on a mission, so a tolerance to alcohol is also essential, along with a naturally strong liver.

Vikir has seen his fair share of drinking in his previous life, even amongst the toughest of men.


Vikir downed a full liter of the bombshell too easily, then slammed the glass down on the table.

Then he walked away as if nothing had happened.

As he walks away, the crew stumbles to their feet and tries to follow.

“Hey. What’s all the fuss over there? Did someone throw up?”

Student Council President Dolores, who was walking back to the Hot Class, called out to them.

“Ah, ah, ah, one of the newcomers threw up.”

“We’ll clean it up!”

“It’s no big deal!”

Dolores can only shake her head in response to the awkward smiles of the first-year students.

“You guys, you can’t be harsh on the new students. Protect the dignity of the Academy’s upperclassmen. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course!”


The saintess glanced at the sophomores, then turned and walked back the way she came.

The sophomores looked up, but Piggy and Vikir had already disappeared.

“Man, these assholes just ran off.”

“I’ve never seen an asshole wipe someone else’s vomit with a commemorative cloak in my life.”

“Yeah. Maybe they’re commoner assholes or don’t realize the value of this logo?”

“I’ll find them later, and I’ll beat them both half to death.”

“Oh, how are you going to do that? You do realize that dueling is forbidden without an upperclassman initiate of at least two grades, right?”

“Well, we could just beat them flat at a sporting event or something.”

The sophomores walked away, each muttering a few words.

Each one of them grumbled a few words, thinking about how they would harass the two juniors who had been caught today.

* * *

A few hours later.

“Man, you’re drunk. We should go out and get some ice cream.”

The sophomore class had gotten quite a bit drunk.

They left the lecture hall where the drinking was going on and strolled for a while toward the shopping district outside the Academy’s walls.

“It’s a bit far, but the ice cream is always better outside.”

The group of sophomores giggled and walked out the Academy’s back door and into the shopping district.

In the alleyways, small festivals were taking place alongside the academy’s otis.

The sophomores made their way down the street to the various food vendors.

……No. I tried to move it.


Until one of them was grabbed by a hand that shot out of a narrow back alley in the dark night.

“Whoa! Eup!?”

The first boy to be grabbed looked up, startled.

A dark shadow loomed eerily in front of him.

A black leather glove wrapped around his face, and an unyielding grip.

Beneath a wide-brimmed black hat, a stork’s-bill mask, with a pestilential aura.

His eyes bore into those of an unseeing monster.

Puck! Woof!

The next moment, he was hit by a flying fist and slammed against the wall.

He didn’t even have time to raise his mana.

The monster’s fists were fast and strong.

One hit had already shattered his nose and teeth, sending him sprawling on the ground.


The same fate befell the other five.

Dragged into the mud of the back alley, the six sophomores looked up in disbelief.

Night Hounds.

An existence that looked like a hell beast was staring down at them, looking like it would pounce and bite them all to death at any moment.


The jaws of the first one to be captured snapped back.

Teeth broke through the back of his head, and then through his cheek.

His nose was broken into three pieces and twisted into a zigzag.

His cheekbones were sunken and hanging down, and blood was leaking from every hole in his face.

The bravest of them all opened his mouth.

“uhh, do yu knw wh I m?!”

It was a classic “do you know who I am?” threat.

Vikir, in Night Hound mode, nodded once.

Then he let out a mana-modulated growl that sounded like a hoarse old dog growling.

“I know, I know.”

The second-year students were stunned twice, once by the eerie sound of the Night Hound’s voice, and again by the fact that he knew who they were and had done this to them.

The Night Hound continued.

“From right to left, Uspear, Realbelt, Yellowlove, Acme, Redmin, and Southmid. They are sophomores in Class B of the Cold Class, scions of House Pal, House Vetri, House Housings, House Seaweed, House Bison, and House Euler, respectively. Their parents are Baron Oppenheimer, Baron Munich, Viscount Osburn, Count Germa, Lord Upham, and Lord Dowsing.”

As the names, houses, locations, and even the names of their parents come out, the faces of the sophomores turn pale.

And then. The Night Hound thrusts a sharpened dagger in front of their eyes.


The second-year students shook their heads in horror, but they could not escape the firm grip on their jaws and the slow draw of the dagger across their foreheads.

The blade, with its ominous aura, left a festering scar on their foreheads.


A mark like a bull’s-eye.

It was both a symbol for a target and a stigma that would not be erased for years to come.

“Make a nuisance of yourself inside the Academy one more time.”

The Night Hound had warned them sharply as they paced, blood dripping from their foreheads.

“Then I will kill not only you, but your father and mother, and your family.”