The Fifth Day Since Shirone’s Death
By the fifth day after Shirone’s presumed death, the students had begun to regain their memories. The younger ones, in particular, were confused and disoriented. However, since they were all gifted individuals with stronger mental resilience than average people, the psychological aftermath was not as severe as expected.
But the real problems were only beginning.
The incident where monsters took over the school had exposed critical weaknesses in the academy’s security system. This was especially troubling given that the school operated a dormitory system, where student safety was supposed to be a top priority under academy regulations.
The biggest issue, however, was the loss of student lives—especially the death of Shirone Ariane, one of the school’s brightest and most promising talents.
Despite this, Shirone had been placed in the infirmary, not the morgue—an unusual decision made at the request of Iruki and Neid. While common sense dictated that a funeral should already have been held, the faculty found themselves in a state of uncertainty and hesitation.
The student council hadn’t taken steps to assign responsibility yet, primarily because Shirone’s death hadn’t been officially confirmed. In effect, it seemed like the administration was trying to buy time—deliberately blurring the situation to avoid accountability by treating Shirone as if he were still in a liminal state, neither dead nor alive.
Some teachers were deeply uncomfortable with this tactic. Many had gathered in the staff conference room, arguing urgently over what to do next.
"We need to hold Shirone’s funeral immediately," one teacher insisted. "His parents deserve to know. If we delay any longer, the school’s reputation will suffer even more in the long run."
"It’s not a simple decision," another replied. "News of a student’s death will create a massive scandal. We could lose everything we’ve worked so hard to build."
"But are we going to lie and pretend that a dead student is still alive? People will find out eventually! The school needs to take a moral stance before it’s too late. This isn’t just about reputation—if we keep hiding the truth, the academy might be forced to shut down."
"Everyone knows that," came another voice. "But don’t you think we should take a little more time to think things through?"
"The more time we waste, the worse it gets," someone snapped back. "Even Arcane’s disciples are missing right now. Losing track of criminals is a serious issue too. We need to act, and we need to act now."
The teachers had clearly split into two camps. Some were making political calculations—stalling in hopes of pacifying the students’ outrage while minimizing damage. Others, however, genuinely refused to accept that Shirone was dead. Teachers like Ethela, Thaad, and Siana—who had been directly involved in the incident—believed there was still room for doubt.
"Principal, please speak up," one teacher urged. "I heard the student council is being called together today. The faculty must take a stand before it’s too late."
The teachers’ urgency stemmed in large part from concern over the student council. Many students came from powerful families, and once those students began pointing fingers, it would be too late for the school to defend itself.
"I’m choosing to observe for now," the principal replied calmly.
Most of the teachers stood up in alarm.
Alpheas understood their reaction. The longer this situation dragged on, the worse things became for the school. But right now, something mattered even more than the institution’s reputation—Shirone’s condition.
It was an unthinkable question to raise at a magic academy, a place meant to symbolize knowledge and reason. That’s why he had to tread carefully.
If it had been anyone other than Shirone, would he have even entertained such a thought?
You have to stay rational. But I can’t.
Maybe Shirone was receiving special treatment. Even so, Alpheas couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling buried deep in the back of his mind.
"I don’t want to jump to conclusions about Shirone. Right now, we simply don’t have enough information about the Unlocker," said Ethela, agreeing with Alpheas.
She continued, "Shirone joined the Immortal Function three months ago. And during this battle, he fully unlocked it. The Order recognizes the Immortal Function as a mental sublimation ability. I believe this situation goes beyond just life or death."
"What are you talking about? We’re not here to debate the Order’s position—we need to resolve this situation immediately," one of the teachers responded in frustration.
Many teachers didn’t fully understand what Ethela meant. The Immortal Function wasn’t something that could be measured like a skill level—it was a state of being, a realm of enlightenment. No matter how much a teacher had studied, in terms of enlightenment, even a beggar on the street might be further along.
One of the teachers, who had previously supported Ethela, now turned to Alpheas and spoke bluntly.
"Principal, with all due respect, this whole thing started because of your past relationship. We care about the school above all else. If this continues, we could face a complete disaster."
Alpheas looked around. Dozens of eyes stared at him, filled with silent pressure.
"Disaster? What exactly do you mean by that?"
"There may be an order to shut the school down," the teacher replied.
"No," Alpheas said solemnly, "that’s not the worst-case scenario."
Another teacher thumped his chest in frustration. "What could be worse than the school being closed?"
"The worst outcome," Alpheas said, "is if all the students and teachers end up dead."
The room fell into heavy silence. One by one, everyone turned their eyes away from Alpheas.
"If Shirone hadn’t been there, none of us would’ve survived. And don’t forget—you might’ve been among the dead too."
Alpheas was deeply disappointed by how some teachers seemed more concerned about leveraging the tragedy than honoring the students who had died.
"Isn’t there still a chance?" he asked. "Even if it’s less than 1 percent—this is the student who risked his life for us. Shouldn’t we at least try? Even if the school shuts down, isn’t it our responsibility as teachers to fight for Shirone’s life?"
"But Principal," one teacher hesitated, "what does the school mean to us? I feel bad for Shirone too, but if we just close everything ..."
"The school won’t be closing," Alpheas declared firmly. "I’ll take full responsibility. So please, do everything you can for Shirone. Isn’t that the least we can do for that child?"
None of the teachers could argue with him. Whatever the circumstances, it was undeniable that Shirone had saved their lives.
Magic School Student Council
Meanwhile, in a large hall, the Student Council had convened. Unlike the teachers, who were mostly worried about their careers, the students were feeling angry and betrayed—especially about Alpheas’ past.
"Hello, everyone. I’m Student Council President Amira. We’ve gathered to discuss the current situation. Please share constructive opinions," she said from the podium.
Amira, from Class Two, was a 22-year-old climate magic specialist and one of the school’s first graduates. Known for her progressive views, it was clear what kind of tone the meeting would take. As expected, it was the conservative students—those who supported the school’s administration—who spoke first.
"This is Seriel from Class Three," one student began. "There’s definitely a lot of criticism of Principal Alpheas right now, but we need to be careful. The school’s reputation is also the students’ reputation. If we attack the faculty now, it could hurt future graduates."
"This is Cass from Class Four," said another. "Seriel has a point, but this issue concerns the integrity of our teachers. Even if it happened 40 years ago, it was still a crime. If the school doesn’t take responsibility, it has no future."
Amira silently agreed with Cass but maintained a neutral expression, only nodding in acknowledgment.
"This is Olivia from Class Six," a third student said. "Right now, the biggest question is whether Shirone is truly dead. From what we know, he is. But some teachers and students are twisting that truth. Because of that, we lost two suspects who were connected to Arcane, and the principal’s investigation is being delayed. This is a clear case of dodging responsibility. The Student Council should take action."
Amira shared Olivia’s anger. The teachers were stalling on investigating Alpheas because Shirone’s condition remained uncertain.
"Aren’t we overanalyzing the teachers’ intentions? Shirone’s heart may not be beating, but there’s no sign of decay either. I’ve heard there’s ongoing discussion in the Ivory Tower about what it means to unlock the Immortal Function. Considering that, the teachers’ hesitation makes some sense."
The other students didn’t take kindly to that argument. Even the faculty barely understood what the Immortal Function was, so how could the students be expected to? Many didn’t even know what it meant.
Amira felt the same way. The Immortal Function—supposedly the highest level a wizard could reach—but what did that really mean?
Magic was built on knowledge and logic. They were told it was something extraordinary, but it felt like chasing clouds.
Then, another student raised her hand.
"Hey, this is Veronica from Class Ten."
An eight-year-old boy timidly raised his hand. Although the students were young for holding class elections and assigning representatives, their opinions still carried weight.
"Yes, Student Veronica. You may speak."
"What did Principal Alpheas do wrong?"
Her voice trembled, as if she might burst into tears at any moment. Amira frowned and let out a quiet sigh.
This is why I suggested splitting them by class, she thought.
Veronica wiped her nose and continued.
"Even if Principal Alpheas made a mistake... can’t you forgive him?"
"That’s not the issue, Student Veronica. This is about the school’s honor," another council member replied firmly.
"But... everyone makes mistakes, right?"
The conference room grew noisy. Veronica’s emotional appeal clearly struck a chord. Her comment stirred the room, and the conservative members leaned in, curious to see how things would unfold.
"I get scolded by my mom all the time," Veronica went on. "But she never stays mad. She says everyone makes mistakes. Principal Alpheas might’ve messed up, but he’s always taken care of our school. Can’t we forgive him?"
At that moment, another hand went up.
"This is Mark from Class Seven," he said, rising to his feet. "I agree with Student Veronica. Of course, anyone who’s guilty should be punished. But as students who’ve trusted the school’s leadership and pushed to keep things stable, we might be overreacting. Unless the teachers are deliberately hiding something, I believe the student council should have the wisdom to wait and observe."
Nice work, Mark, Seriel thought, giving him a thumbs-up under the table. Mark returned it with a subtle nod.
The mood in the room shifted. The council was now sharply divided.
Amira listened closely, calculating where the votes might fall. Generally, the younger students supported the school, while the older classes were more critical. The advanced classes were split right down the middle.
If this keeps up, we might lose the vote entirely.
At this rate, there’d be no way to formally accuse Alpheas. Amira needed to regain control of the discussion, but the younger students were clearly more swayed by emotion than logic.
"This is Ardino Fermi of Class One," a voice suddenly called out.
Heads turned. As the top student in the senior class and the most likely to graduate first, everyone was eager to hear what he had to say.
Seriel watched Fermi with concern. With his dark brown hair slicked back and businesslike clothes, he looked the part of a responsible leader. But beneath the polished exterior, there was always something mischievous about him.
He had the skill to graduate long ago, but he kept failing for unknown reasons. Many thought he’d become the next student council president, yet he unexpectedly dropped out of the race and let Amira take the position instead.
Honestly, who knows what he’s thinking? Seriel thought. He probably just enjoys watching people squirm.
"Everyone in this room owes Shirone their life," Fermi began. "If not for him, some of us wouldn’t even be here. So it’s only natural that many of us can’t accept his death."
Gasps rippled through the students. They all knew how hard Shirone had fought to protect the school.
But Seriel’s heart sank. She knew Fermi well enough to realize—he wasn’t one to speak out of gratitude.
"I’m thankful for Shirone too," Fermi continued. "But right now, the teaching staff is hiding behind his memory. Our judgment isn’t clouded—this is about protecting Shirone’s legacy."
"What legacy?" someone snapped. "Shirone is dead!"
"It’s been five days. His heart hasn’t beaten since then. I doubt anyone here truly believes he’s still alive. Right?"