Chapter 156

“[Arcane Module]—what is it?”

The most basic question.

Adam Richardson, Professor of New Materials Engineering in the Academy’s Science and Technology Department, opened his mouth.

He was strangely obsessed with old-fashioned teaching methods. Because of that, the lecture hall he taught in didn’t have a graphic-display electronic board but instead had a green chalkboard with chalk.

For the Academy, which was obsessed with efficiency and money, to prepare an entire lecture room with an old-fashioned chalkboard and chalk for just one professor was an extremely unusual thing.

And yet, the reason such an irregularity was permitted was simply because Adam Richardson’s qualities as a professor were outstanding.

Even Miyu liked Professor Adam’s lectures better than those of any other professor.

From their second year onward, students of the Science and Technology Department had to choose a major. Among them, to become a student of the “Department of Module Engineering”—the so-called “Module Department”—Professor Adam’s lecture on “Mana Materials Engineering” was said to be practically essential.

At first, Miyu almost panicked at the overwhelming number of students. But then she realized that having so many people around meant attention wouldn’t be focused on her, and so she listened to the lecture in relative comfort.

“The superhumans of the Tactical Combat Department believe that the power of the [Arcane Module] they use comes from something magical, like out of a novel. You could call that the prejudice of non-experts, or perhaps the romance born of ignorance.”

Professor Adam also had the strange habit of looking down on the professors and students of the Tactical Combat Department.

Strictly speaking, he seemed to think of most humans classified as “Adaptees” as nothing more than muscle-brained fools.

“An [Arcane Module] is made by processing the essence extracted from [Mystics]. That’s as far as the general public knows. Then, as experts, what must we understand?”

Chrrrk.

When he flipped the chalkboard, a neatly organized periodic table appeared.

Though it was surely written with chalk and handwriting, the letters looked as though they had been printed. It was a glimpse of how meticulous Adam was, both with others and himself.

Pointing to the blank parts of the periodic table, he continued.

“Here—do you know what goes in this part? You there, answer.”

“Yes, professor. Plutonium.”

“Correct. An artificial element created more than 200 years ago. And here?”

“Ah, Americium.”

For students of the Trinity Science and Technology Department, it was an extremely easy problem. The lecture progressed through Professor Adam’s questions and the students’ answers.

“And here’s where it starts.”

The eighth row of the periodic table.

It represented the eighth electron shell.

“Starting here, through the particle known as ‘Mana,’ composed of fifth-generation quarks that broke the existing theories discovered 200 years ago, humanity has created artificial elements composed of the eighth and ninth electron shells…”

Professor Adam filled in the empty slots of the eighth and ninth rows of the periodic table one by one. ‘Mystanium,’ ‘Arcanium,’ ‘Occultium,’ and so on—artificial elements that one absolutely had to know in order to create [Arcane Modules].

“…This Mana particle is heavily influenced by human thoughts, concepts, and ways of thinking. The exact cause is still unknown, but it appears to be due to the quantum-mechanical nature of human cognition…”

From then, the lecture truly began in earnest.

Though the subject was “New Materials Engineering,” his lectures contained heavy doses of “liberal arts” content—such as culture, ideology, philosophy, and metaphysics from various countries.

Students quickly stored what he wrote on the board into their cerebral-assist devices while simultaneously struggling to understand the complex “concepts.”

But no matter how elite they were as engineering students of Trinity Academy, most of them had only just recently been high schoolers. To grasp university-level theories immediately and precisely was nearly impossible.

There was, however, an exception.

‘Hmm. Something’s strange… In the module I made last time, the Law of Reimir seemed completely ignored… Ah, could it be because of that…?’

Miyu wasn’t just absorbing the content one-dimensionally. She was understanding it, and developing it further on her own.

Naturally, her level already far surpassed that of undergraduates. Ever since arriving at the Academy, she had been quickly acquiring high-level information unavailable from mere internet sources, advancing to ever-higher realms.

“…That’s all for today’s class. There’ll be a quiz soon, so review thoroughly.”

As he put down the chalk, the students let out sighs. The lecture hall brimmed with heat from their overheated cybernetic devices.

Even Miyu, who had been glaring at the formulas on the chalkboard for some time, exhaled in satisfaction after absorbing new knowledge.

‘A little disappointing, though…’

If only she had listened a little longer, she felt she could have caught a clue as to why the module she had made back then had produced only that much output…

At that moment—

A wave of deep gloom overwhelmed her.

“Ugh…”

Her chest felt tight, suffocating.

The personal world she had built up during the lecture wavered and faded, and soon an emotional tide shook her heart violently.

“……”

Trudging.

After packing her things, Miyu moved her feet weakly. She was heading back to the dormitory. But the direction she took was opposite of the Special Dorm where the Stingray dormitory was located.

During breaks like this, the elevators in the main corridor were jam-packed. She had no ability to endure being stuck in that crowd, so she planned to use an elevator installed in a less crowded area.

“Th-this should be good enough…”

Noticing there was no one around, Miyu pulled a tablet PC from her arms. Her old one had been ruined when the dwarf she had met washed it in water, so this was a newly purchased replacement.

She activated the PC and opened up schematics and data. It was about the [Black Out] module she had made for Aaron last time.

‘It’s still lacking…’

In Miyu’s personal assessment, Aaron’s [Black Out] module was both a success and a failure.

The fact that she had managed to create a module comparable to Lv.5 within such a short time and limited budget was definitely something to be proud of. Yet she wanted a better result.

‘A half-finished module that can’t be used without relying on other modules…’

In her mind was the image of a better module… or to borrow her own unique expression, a more “cute” module.

It cried out in her head to be made, insisting there had to be a way to create it. But the vision remained hazy, shrouded in fog.

At the time she created [Black Out], she had tried to make “that thing” in her head, but what came out instead fell short.

For Miyu, that was a shock.

Because not once had such a thing happened before.

She had always succeeded in creating exactly what she imagined. As long as she decided to make something, the method always popped into her mind on its own.

Because she had been like that, this failure inflicted a deep wound and humiliation on her, one she was still struggling with even now.

‘Even that makeshift race managed to replicate Lv.5 Arcane Modules so easily, and yet I…’

What exactly had gone wrong?

What exactly had been lacking?

From that day onward, Miyu constantly checked the [Black Out] schematics whenever she had time, trying to identify the flaw. Even now, the reason she booted up the PC was to figure out the mistake she had made.

Tap tap tap.

She manipulated the tablet PC, re-examining the data from the very beginning. This was already her 25th review. And yet, once again, she found no apparent errors or room for improvement.

‘Just what should I have done…’

Completely absorbed in the screen—

“Hm?”

“‘What is the [Arcane Module]?’”

The most fundamental question.

Adam Richardson, professor of New Materials Engineering in the Academy’s Science and Technology Department, opened his mouth.

He was strangely obsessed with old-fashioned teaching methods. Because of that, in the lecture hall where he taught, instead of a digital display blackboard, there was a green chalkboard that used chalk.

For the Academy—a place obsessed with efficiency and money—to prepare an outdated chalkboard and chalk for the sake of just one professor was an extremely rare thing.

Even so, the reason such an irregularity was allowed was because Adam Richardson’s qualities as a professor were that exceptional.

Miyu, too, liked Professor Adam’s lectures more than those of any other professor.

From their second year, Science and Technology students had to choose a major, and among them, those who wanted to become students of the “Module Engineering Department,” or simply “Module Department,” practically had to take Professor Adam’s “Mana Materials Engineering” lecture.

At first, Miyu had almost panicked because of the overwhelming number of students. But soon she realized that having a large audience meant the attention would not be focused on her alone, and she was able to listen to the lecture with relative ease.

“The superhumans of the Tactical Combat Department believe that the power of the [Arcane Modules] they use comes from something magical, like the kind that appears in novels. One might call that the prejudice of laymen, or perhaps a kind of romanticism born of ignorance.”

Professor Adam also looked down on the faculty and students belonging to the Tactical Combat Department with a strange degree of disdain.

To be precise, he seemed to regard most humans classified as “Adaptees” as nothing more than muscle-headed fools.

“[Arcane Modules] are made by processing the essence extracted from [Mystics]. This is the extent of common knowledge. Then, what should we as experts know?”

Chwarrrk.

When he flipped the chalkboard, a neatly organized periodic table of elements appeared on its surface.

It was clearly handwritten in chalk, yet the writing looked as if it had been printed. This alone revealed just how strict Professor Adam was—both toward others and himself.

Pointing at the empty parts of the periodic table, he continued his explanation.

“Do you know what belongs here? You, over there. Answer.”

“Yes, professor. Plutonium.”

“Correct. An artificial element created more than 200 years ago. And here?”

“Ah, Americium.”

For the students of Trinity’s Science and Technology Department, these were extremely simple questions. As Adam asked, the students answered, and the lecture proceeded.

“And from here is where it begins.”

The 8th row from the top of the periodic table.

It represented the 8th electron shell.

“Through a particle called ‘Mana,’ composed of fifth-generation quarks that shattered existing theories discovered 200 years ago, humanity was able to create artificial elements forming the 8th and 9th electron shells……”

Professor Adam proceeded to fill in the blanks in the 8th and 9th rows of the periodic table in turn. “Mystanium,” “Arcanium,” “Occultium,” and so on—artificial elements essential to creating [Arcane Modules].

“……This Mana particle is heavily influenced by human thought, concepts, and ways of thinking. The precise reason has not yet been discovered, but it seems to be because human cognition is intertwined with quantum mechanical properties……”

From that point on, the real lecture began in earnest.

Although Professor Adam’s subject was “New Materials Engineering,” his lectures were full of “liberal arts” subjects such as culture, ideology, philosophy, and metaphysics.

The students quickly stored the contents he wrote on the chalkboard into their Cerebral Assist Devices while at the same time struggling to understand the overwhelmingly complex “concepts.”

But even though they were elite engineering students of Trinity Academy, they had, until recently, been nothing more than high school students. It was nearly impossible for them to immediately grasp university-level professional theories with precision.

Still, there was always an exception.

‘Hmm. That’s odd…… When I made that module last time, it felt like the Law of Reimir was completely ignored…… Ah, could it be something like that……’

Miyu was not only absorbing the professor’s lecture at a superficial level but also understanding, developing, and expanding upon it within her own mind.

Naturally, her level had already far surpassed that of any undergraduate. Ever since coming to the Academy, she had quickly absorbed high-level knowledge inaccessible from internet sources alone, striving toward even greater heights.

“……That will be all for today. I’ll be giving you a quiz soon, so make sure to review thoroughly.”

When he set down the chalk, the students exhaled in relief. Because of their overheated cybernetic devices, the lecture hall was filled with suffocating heat.

Even Miyu, who had been wrestling with the formulas on the board, breathed out with satisfaction after taking in the new knowledge.

‘A little disappointing though……’

If she had listened just a bit longer, she might have grasped the clue as to why the module she had made back then had output only to that level……

At that moment.

A great wave of melancholy struck Miyu.

“Ugh……”

Her chest tightened as if being squeezed.

The personal world she had completed during the lecture rippled and blurred, and soon, a tide of emotions surged uncontrollably through her heart.

“……”

Step, step.

After packing up, Miyu dragged her weary steps. She was heading back to the dormitory. Only, the direction she took was opposite of the Special Dorm where the Stingray Dormitory was located.

During breaks like this, the main corridor elevators were crammed full of people. She had no way of enduring being squeezed in that crowd, so she intended to use the elevators in a less crowded area.

“Here… here should be fine……”

Confirming that no one else was nearby, Miyu pulled a tablet PC from her arms. The one she had used before had been ruined when the Dwarf she met had washed it in water, so this was a newly purchased one.

She powered it on and opened design schematics and data. It was material related to the [Black Out] module she had made for Aaron last time.

‘Something’s still missing……’

In Miyu’s personal evaluation, Aaron’s [Black Out] module was both a success and a failure.

That she had been able to create a module rivaling Lv.5 within such a short time and on a limited budget was certainly an achievement worth pride. But she wanted more.

‘A half-baked module that can’t be used without relying on other modules……’

In her mind, there existed an idea for a better module—or in her own peculiar way of phrasing it, a “cuter” module.

It was crying out from within her head, begging to be made, insisting there had to be a way to bring it into existence. Yet the image was still hazy, fogged like a mist.

When she had created [Black Out], she had been trying to create “that.” But the result had been something else, something inferior.

That had been a shock to her.

For she had never once failed before.

She had always succeeded in bringing her imagination into reality. Whenever she resolved to create something, the method naturally appeared in her mind.

Because of that, this failure had dealt her a deep wound and humiliation, one she was still suffering from.

‘Even that shoddy race was able to replicate Lv.5 Arcane Modules so easily, but why couldn’t I……’

What had gone wrong?

What had been missing?

Ever since that day, Miyu had constantly checked the schematics for [Black Out] whenever she had spare time, trying to uncover its flaws. And now, too, the reason she had powered up her PC was to find what mistake she had made back then.

Tap, tap.

She manipulated the tablet PC and once again went through the data from the beginning. This was already her 25th review. Yet once again, she could not find any clear error or point of improvement.

‘What should I have done differently……’

All her attention was locked on the screen when—

“Hm?”

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