Raging Hornet: Part One

Raging Hornet: Part One

It took Adam twelve days to create time, space, and matter. Twelve days to create sky, sea, and earth. Twelve days to create flora, fauna, and mankind. However, on the 37th day, a doubt arose in his mind. ”Hmm…I have a strange feeling, as if I’ve forgotten something really important…” Then, the Father of the Gods shrugged. ”Well, not my problem anyway.”

The Creation of Imperfection,

The Holy Axiomata, Various Authors, 24-36 AD.

Sunlight glowed over the Ambered red and yellow leaves that wallpapered the many floors of the Miraval Pyramid, its homely warm juxtaposing with the modern coldness of the other side, which offered a blurred view of Miraval City behind its bluish crystal.

The Pyramid’s 23rd floor—known by many as The Bloody One—housed most of the operating rooms, where, each day, an everlasting afflux of pilgrims sought penance for their carnal sins through sharp steel. However, on that fateful day, the once-white parquet gradually darkened under the steady passage of angels, making it clear to the sinners waiting in the hallway that the apocalypse had begun, and their salvation would have to wait.

AAA-Class ’Raging Hornet’ Esteban Diaz and FFF-Class ’Clown’ Connor MacMalley sat side by side on a bench in front of the only door that had remained closed for the past five hours, which bore an engraved with the Miraval Tree—a tree enclosed within a circumference, whose roots intertwined to form the word Miraval—a privilege reserved solely for members of the Miraval Family. They had spent the entire week trying and failing to remove the cursed Memento from Connor’s nose, and now, their last hope lay behind that door.

To kill time, Mr. Diaz scrolled through the Revolution Express’s front-page story, which deeply examined the sudden leadership change in his homeland. Francisco Urquijo, whip of the left wing of the Peasant People’s Party—Partido Popular Paisano—had just been elected Gran Paisano following the political downfall of his predecessor—CC-Class ’Cold Blood’ Felipe Zapatero, who, at the time, led the party’s right wing.

In a controversial interview with Sandhedens Stjerne, Compañero Zapatero claimed that the Popular Peasant Republic, by its very definition, didn’t technically need to submit to the will of any monarch. Though Compañero Zapatero insisted he was only arguing about semantics, the gaffe enraged the party’s religious wing, forcing him into a hasty exile. The resulting political chaos was swiftly exploited by the young and charismatic Compañero Urquijo, who seized leadership for himself, vowing to liberate La República a second time from what he called the New Nobility—the bureaucrats.

Years spent surviving in the corrupt Reactionary World had dulled Mr. Diaz’s once-fiery political zeal, but he still cared about his homeland and the friends he’d left behind. Zapatero may have been a weak leader, but he had brought stability and secured numerous diplomatic and economic agreements for his nation. Urquijo, on the other hand, was too young to understand the fine art of compromise—something the ’Raging Hornet’ had learned the hard way—and now, as a member of the Miraval Family, Mr. Diaz understood that if civil war broke out, he would be forced to make a difficult choice.

Next to him, Connor was immersed in reading a Photonic Book. Thanks to a Memory Crystal embedded in the spine, this technology allowed the reader to access different stories by simply turning a wheel on the cover, and for books longer than a hundred pages, one only needed to close and reopen the cover to load a next set of pages. Though it might not have been the noblest way to read a book, it made it possible to carry all thirty-seven volumes of the foundational work of Rolandish literature—Matter of Chaotia. It was an anthology of chivalric poems set in a romanticized version of the Dark Century, where history and legend intertwined with no clear boundary.

Connor’s favorite part was the one narrating the life of SS-Class ’Rightful King’ Emperor Connor I Rolandsson, a historical and legendary figure who embodied the highest ideals of Rolandish civilization.

Born a peasant in the Highlands and unaware of his noble heritage, the young Emperor’s fate was doomed the day a group of infamous bandits razed his village, leaving nothing but ashes of his family, friend, and past. Having survived the massacre and driven by vengeance, he embarked on a journey across Chaotia that would forever change the course of history. A tale of friendship, courage, betrayal, and, above all, love—an eternal love for his princess, Connie Von Sternenstaub. In an age when the Essentias were consumed by a lust for power, the 'Rightful King' never gave in to selfish desires. He stood as the brightest beacon in the darkest storm ever to strike the 'HRE,' helping the needy not for profit, but because it was the right thing to do. Famous were his words—”There is no difference between one and a million compromises. Once you succumb to evil—even when justified by the most logical arguments or the most utopian of dreams—it's your World's End.”

Connor self-inserted a lot into the Emperor, but he wasn’t alone—his entire homeland did. In an age when the cynicism of modernity was substituting chivalric values, the High Kingdom of the Highlands stood as their last bastion. It didn’t matter if the shining plate armor might have been replaced by high-performance Woven Armor, the noble steed by tireless Bioengineered Chimeras, and epic sagas by petty satire, being a Highlander Knight had never changed—same values, same honor, and same oath. That being said, Connor’s first week at Miraval Academy had relentlessly tested those values, the lowest point of his life—so far—and rereading those old stories helped him to hold on.

He loved every single one of them: The Connor Saga: Chapter One—The Connor Identity; The Connor Saga: Chapter Two—Magical Boogaloo; The Connor Saga: Chapter Three—Too Angry to Die; and so on. Each was written by a different author, decades apart, but that didn’t matter—legacy isn’t about one person or a bloodline but faith in a common idea.

“Excuse me. May I ask when Dr. Miraval will be available?” Tired of waiting, Mr. Diaz asked a question to a nurse who just walked in front of them.

“My deepest apologies,” said a lanky nurse, taller than Mr. Diaz but as thin as a skeleton, sporting deep eye bags and all other visible signs of a brutally long night shift. “A horrific emergency has stretched our resources, and Dr. Miraval’s been in the operating room for the past twelve hours. I’m afraid there’s a high chance your appointment may be canceled.”

”Thanks, nonetheless,” Mr. Diaz replied calmly, watching the nurse hurry away down the hallway. ”Let’s wait another hour, then try again tomorrow.” Connor gave a silent nod, but, fortunately, just thirty minutes later, a man in a leaf-ambered coat—completely stained with blood—showed up at the far end of the hallway. His face looked worse than the nurse’s, yet he wore an enthusiastic expression, like a child at a birthday party.

“Good morning, Dr. Miraval, we’re he—” The doctor placed his left supernumerary finger over Mr. Diaz’s lips.

“Give me five minutes. As you can see, I need a shower.” The doctor chuckled before vanishing into his office, and, after some minutes of complete silence, the hallway speaker crackled to life. “Sybille, where is my COFFEE?!”

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Moments later, the lanky nurse was seen sprinting down the hall with a cup in her hands. Once she entered the office, unaware the speaker had been left on, their entire exchange was broadcast throughout the floor.

“Aah! You always make the best coffee.”

“If there’s nothing else I can assist you with, may I take my leave?”

“I just saved our Princess from certain death—I am a national hero! Come on, you Silly, haven’t you got some words of congratulations for me?”

“Good job, and goodbye.”

[Sound of door creaking open]

“Wait a minute. After a twelve-hour operation, I need a moment to relax…what about…me and you…tonight at Le Miraval?”

“Are you seriously asking out a married woman?”

“Are you—WHAT?!”

[Sound of high-pitched static]

“Are you serious? I got married three months ago—with your brother.”

“That’s impossible. I’ve never heard of it! If it’s true, why wasn’t I invited?!”

“...Yeah. I really wonder why.”

At that exact moment, Mr. Diaz and Connor spotted Dr. Miraval standing just outside his office door, his eyes hollow as he watched the lanky nurse walk away. Then, without a word, he turned toward their bench and silently gestured for them to enter.

The office was bland and sterile, and the only personal touch was a single photo frame on the desk, which Dr. Miraval stared at with brooding intensity. Mr. Diaz, seated in front of him, tilted his head slightly, discovering that the pic depicted the doctor and his nurse at an amusement park. He wore a radiant smile while she looked extremely uncomfortable. “It’s fine,” Dr. Miraval muttered, barely audible. “The Emperor’s going to reward me with a Knighthood. I’ll be so famous, Sybille’ll divorce that bastard to be with me.”

“Ahem…May I suggest we begin?” Mr. Diaz interjected, snapping the doctor out of his delusion.

“Oh, right.” He straightened his spine. “Let’s begin with introductions. I am DDD-Class ’Divine Hand’ Esteve De Miraval, and I’ve been entrusted with the bizarre case of the young…” He opened a folder on his desk. ”...Connor. Apologies for the long wait, but during my last operation, all my assistants got infected and since…” He flipped a switch. “…every single pussy in this shithole of an hospital was too afraid to do their fucking job…” He flipped it again with a satisfied nod. “I was forced to call in a freelancer. A brilliant guy who discovered that the Mold was actually a Hivemind capable of rudimentary cognition. Hence, he proposed using his own arm as bait, giving me a window of time to eliminate the parasite once its brain exposed itself to feed on him. I saved our four precious Class S students, including Princess Bradamanthe—a complete success.”

*Bzzz!* At that moment, a bold fly zipped through the small gap left when Mr. Diaz had carelessly closed the office door. However, its journey was a short one. With a flick of his wrist, Dr. Miraval launched a toothpick across the room, impaling the insect mid-air.

“So, Connor, let’s see the famous nose.” At first, the young Highlander Knight hesitated, but after a long breath, he slowly peeled away the bandage he had worn throughout the entire week to conceal his shame. Beneath the gauze, the skin burned by Griffin’s Urine had mostly healed, but the main issue was still grotesquely noticeable. After carefully observing the red ball and rereading some notes, Dr. Miraval placed two fingers on it, and Connor’s entire body started to vibrate. “Whew!” The doctor whistled. “I’ve never seen such loving atoms in my life. My colleagues have been talking about your nose all week, but I thought they were exaggerating—it’s fascinating. Oh, sorry, I mean from a scientific point of view. Anyway, sadly, this leaves us with one solution left—an Essentia Surgery.”

Mr. Diaz whitened while Connor only grew more confused. “What’s that?”

“Your Essentia, despite being intangible, is, de facto, an organ of your body.” Dr. Miraval explained. ”So, technically, a skilled surgeon might be able to fix your issue at the source!”

“And you’re that skilled surgeon, aren’t you?” Connor impulsively asked.

“Absolutely, I’m the best in my field. But this kind of surgery…well...it’s a little infamous. Shall I ask a boy to put his life in danger for a merely aesthetic problem?”

Connor abruptly rose. “NONSENSE! It’s not just about my looks—it’s about honor. I am the Scion of the Highlands, and one day I will be High King. How can I expect the respect of my people in my current state?” He crushed his fist on the desk. "I’m willing to do whatever it takes to restore my honor. I’m not afraid—I am a Highlander Knight!

“Connor…” Mr. Diaz interjected. ”Only two Essentia Surgeries have ever succeeded—out of thousands. You are going to die.” His straightforward words failed to quench Connor’s fury.

“Before making any hasty decisions, let me explain your situation in simple terms.” From his [Inventory], he retrieved a black photo depicting a glowing white silhouette overlaid with a strange blue shape. “This is your Hydrography—a photograph of your Essentia. As you can see, the blue mass is your Essentia, which is divided into two main clusters—one large mass in your body and a smaller one in your nose, connected by this thin blue thread.” Then, from beneath the desk, he pulled out a balloon, which the ’Divine Hand’ inflated and twisted till it resembled the blue shape on the Hydrography. “It turns our that your new nose had twisted your Essentia millions—perhaps billions—of times, and to remove your Memento, we first have to untwist this thin line.” The enthusiasm in the ’Clown’s’ eyes was immediately curbed. “However, if I were to make even a little mistake…” Dr. Miraval took another toothpick, piercing the balloon...but it didn’t pop. “Well…that’s awkward. Sorry, but my [Passive.Skills] left no room for fun. Anyway, I’m sure you got the point."

Instead of intimidating the young man, his words reignited Connor’s hope, and his eagle eyes lit up with determination.“So can you actually do it?!”

“I am the only surgeon to have successfully performed an Essentia Surgery since my ancestor, Lully,” the doctor proudly declared. “That being said, my colleagues did estimate the probability of success.” He handed them a sheet of paper.

“I’ve never seen so many zeroes after a decimal point,” Mr. Diaz mumbled out of incredulity.

”The odds are actually decent compared to my first surgery. But don’t worry, even if they were worse—I’d still bet on myself.”

“Then do it!” Connor exclaimed.

“Ahem…here comes the bad part, boy—I can’t operate on you.”

“What? Why not?!”

“You’re still a student, and I need a legal guardian’s consent. I’ve contacted your father, the High King, but he has refused. ‘Better an ugly son alive than a beautiful corpse.’ His words, not mine. I’m sorry, but I’m bound by the law.”

”YOU SHALL OPE—” Although his blood was boiling, Connor quenched his rage, remembering the holy oath he had taken—to obey the High King, no matter the circumstance. Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to sit down, his lifeless eyes now observing the stains of coffee on the floor. “I apologize for my behavior,” he whispered, gulping down his soul. “So…what should I do, now?”

Dr. Miraval leaned back, offering him a soft smile. “You can only wait. Either until your father gives his consent, or until you graduate. If it helps ease your mind, I’ve already started studying Lully’s old manuscripts, looking for ways to improve the odds enough to convince your father. It’ll take time, but this is the best I can promise right now. ”

“Thank you, nonetheless.” Connor rose, gave a short bow, and left the room. Mr. Diaz stayed just long enough to offer Dr. Miraval a handshake, then followed Connor into the hallway.

The sun was setting, and, through the Pyramid’s walls, violet sunlight filtered by the blue crystal bathed the hallway in an enigmatic atmosphere. “Connor, wait…I…” The ’Raging Hornet’ hesitated. The student was giving his back to his professor, who felt he was the main responsible for the ’Clown’s’ cruel fate. He wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in his throat, held back by a mix of fear and pride.

"Mr. Diaz," the 'Clown' interrupted his professor. "May I ask you one question? If someone else had been my teacher...would things have turned out differently?"

It took some time to find the strength to look at his student in the eyes. ”No, Connor. Nothing would have changed. The Mana Architecture of your [Class] is unlike anything we’ve ever seen before, and even the Miraval Institute of Magic and Technology—the best minds in the ’HRE’—have been baffled by it. If you’re familiar with Mana Chemistry, you should know that strict rules govern how Mana Particles interact. Your [Class] doesn’t break those rules but…” He paused, searching for the right words. ”...it makes fun of them. Your Essentia translates into reality extreme cases that scientists have only theorized in their wildest theories. At one point, the ’MIMT’ even considered designing a brand-new Memento, just for you, but before they could even begin, someone found that red nose in an old warehouse together with a note—’From the ‘Author’ to the ‘Clown,’ a comic relief will be needed in such a tragedy’—and the rest is history.”

Connor made a long sigh. ”Then I have no reason to hate you. Just…give me some time to be alone with my thoughts.” As Connor Rolandsson once said—“A true hero shuts the fuck up, rises, and fights back. If you want to bitch about unfairness—do it in your grave.” It was said that the Holy Trinity gave their toughest battles to their strongest warriors, so Connor couldn’t give up—not yet. These were his thoughts as he stepped into the elevator, leaving Mr. Diaz alone with his shame.

Nevertheless, the ’Raging Hornet’ couldn’t let things end like this. Even if only for a day, he had to lift Connor’s spirits by making him leave the Academy—and he knew exactly how.

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