The stone ceiling reflected white light. 　Early morning light, still carrying traces of dawn, filtered through the narrow gap of a thin window. The stone bed was hard, the blanket thin, and the pillow was something rolled up. 　A temporary holding room—that's what Pedro had called it. This room was located at the far end of the east wing of the academy. A barred window, an iron door, stains on the wall. By any measure, it was a room meant for confinement. Well, in reality, that's probably what it was. 　Yahata slowly opened his eyes. 　Ceiling. Stone. An unfamiliar room. （……Ah, so it was an isekai after all） 　Yesterday's memories came trickling back. He'd collapsed on the street, been carried on a stretcher, been called a "Mirror Crown," and brought to the academy. Because his head was bald, he'd been treated like an important person, but in reality, he was a useless NEET who couldn't cast a single spell. The tutorial was terrible. 　Just as he was yawning and trying to sit up— "You're awake," Arishia said. 　A voice came. 　Yahata froze. 　In the corner of the room—no, in front of the window, in the backlit morning light, a person was standing. 　Arms crossed, looking straight at Yahata. Her deep purple semi-long hair caught the morning light and shimmered faintly. Her academy uniform bore the school's crest, but it was a practical combat version that allowed for easy movement. A thin spear was fixed at her waist, and her stance had no openings whatsoever. Her calm silver eyes narrowed as if observing Yahata. Slender, dignified eyebrows. Despite her youth, there was an odd weight to her presence. 　In any case, she was a beautiful woman worth painting. And her expression was, frankly speaking, "work mode." Her emotions were organized, everything filed away in professional drawers. （……Who?） 　Yahata, still half-asleep, thought vaguely. "Um. Who? An NPC? Ah, where do I pull up the quest acceptance screen?" Yahata asked, yawning. 　The next instant, something flew straight at him. 　Thud. 　Something hard drove into Yahata's cheek. He tumbled off the bed and hit the stone floor. "—!?" Yahata gasped. 　Unable to understand what had happened, he held his face, and the woman—Arishia—stood with her fist still in striking position. Her expression hadn't changed. It hadn't changed, but the edge of her eyebrow had risen slightly. "Addressing the Mirror Crown without the bald crown salute—the courtesy of bowing one's head—and speaking while seated is, by proper etiquette, considered disrespectful. The Mirror Crown is a supreme title recognized only seven times in a thousand years of history. It is a position that should receive respect equal to that of a king. If you claim such a title, you should at least learn basic courtesy," Arishia said. 　Her voice was polite. Terrifyingly polite words, delivered with a very precise right straight. 　Yahata held his cheek on the floor and organized the situation. （There's etiquette. She mentioned something called the bald crown salute. I'm paying the price for skipping the tutorial.） "……Why did you hit me?" Yahata asked. "Emotion took priority," Arishia replied. 　It was a short answer. 　Arishia crossed her arms again. "I am Arishia. I was dispatched by Academy Director Grandion's orders to verify the identity of the Mirror Crown. To determine whether you truly possess the power of a Mirror Crown, or something else entirely," Arishia said. 　Academy Director Grandion—the person Pedro had mentioned yesterday, the highest-ranking figure in the academy. An elderly Archmage, and also a council member of the Bald Crown Council—the supreme decision-making body composed of twelve Crown-ranked Mages, he'd heard. The fact that such a person had directly ordered a "verification" meant Yahata's existence was of considerable importance to this academy. 　Or perhaps a nuisance. "Verification, huh. So how are you planning to verify?" Yahata asked. "Show me your magical power. If you're a Mirror Crown, you should have corresponding—" Arishia began. "Can't show it," Yahata interrupted. "……What?" Arishia asked. "Can't use it," Yahata said. 　Silence fell. Arishia's silver eyes narrowed. "A Mirror Crown who cannot use magic?" Arishia asked. "That's right," Yahata said. 　Silence again. This time, longer. For the first time, a hint of uncertainty appeared in Arishia's expression. A small crack had formed in her completely professional face. （It feels weird to just stay silent and back down.） 　Yahata stood up from the floor and started moving his head. The fact that he couldn't use magic was impossible to hide. So he had to approach from a different angle. In game terms, if direct attacks were ineffective, you needed a different strategy. "But can I ask you something? You were doing a magic stance in the hallway earlier, right?" Yahata asked. "……In the hallway? I was confirming things before entering," Arishia said. "You put your hand on your head and chanted something. That hair-root sorcery thing, right? Magical power accumulates in hair roots, and it activates through chanting and hand contact with the head—meaning every time you use magic, magical power is released from the hair roots and hair falls out. That's how it works, right?" Yahata said. 　Arishia's expression changed slightly. "……You understand it?" Arishia asked. "I understand. And from that, I want to ask one thing," Yahata said. 　Yahata continued while holding the bruise on his face. "If one hair root dies every time you use magic, there's a limit to the total number of hair roots, right? It's a resource management game with limited ammunition. And if you use them all up, the storage itself disappears—meaning the more you use magic, the stronger you don't become. Eventually, you can't use magic at all. A system where the person who's exhausted their resources is the most important, but also the most combat-ineffective. Isn't this game design bad enough to fire the designer?" Yahata asked. 　Arishia froze. 　She froze, and for three seconds, said nothing. 　And then. 　Thud, thud, thud, thud. 　Four strikes came flying. 　Yahata was sent flying into the bed and crashed into the wall. "—! That was four just now, right!? That's five total, right!?" Yahata shouted. "Silence!" Arishia shouted. 　Her voice was rough for the first time. Her polite tone was peeling away. "Hair-root sorcery is the foundation of this world! It is protected by the Bald Crown Code—the basic law of the Kingdom of Regnum regarding magic—and a system established by law. To deny it is tantamount to blasphemy against the state!" Arishia said. "I'm not denying it, I'm pointing it out. If I'm wrong, argue back," Yahata said. 　Arishia's mouth stopped for a moment. 　Yahata saw it stop. （Ah, critical hit.） 　While smiling inwardly, he endured the pain while pressed against the wall. Half his face was definitely swelling. This was going to be a bruise problem tomorrow. "……What is a game designer?" Arishia asked. "A job from my previous world," Yahata said. "Previous world," Arishia repeated. "Different story," Yahata said. 　Arishia stared at Yahata for a while, then took a deep breath and crossed her arms again. She was composing her expression. But Yahata could see it—something catching in the depths of her composed face. 　In truth, Yahata's point wasn't wrong. Arishia herself knew it. She had seen three years ago how a Crown-ranked Mage's power had greatly declined from its former level. There were cases, whispered about quietly within the academy, of mages who had consumed too much magical power and exhausted their hair-root storage. 　To speak of it—for now, she could not. --- 　The morning deliberation ended sooner than expected. 　When Yahata and Arishia were called to the instructor's office at Tonsura Academy, three instructors with white beards on their chins were waiting with documents spread out. The central instructor tapped the table lightly and spoke briefly. "As a result of deliberation, we approve provisional enrollment as an unconfirmed Mirror Crown. A formal certification exam will be scheduled later. Until then, follow academy rules," the instructor said. "Got it," Yahata said. "Say 'understood'—properly," Arishia said. "Understood," Yahata said. 　The instructor coughed and continued. "Your supervisor will be Arishia. I'm counting on you," the instructor said. 　At that moment, Arishia froze. One second. Two seconds. "……Eh?" Arishia said. "Your polite tone slipped," Yahata said. "Silence," Arishia said. 　It was an immediate response. The instructor's expression softened slightly. "Arishia, regarding this morning's incident. You violated Article Seven of the Bald Crown Code—the prohibition of direct violence against the Mirror Crown. Exercise restraint going forward," the instructor said. "……My apologies," Arishia said. 　It was a perfect bow. A deep bow with no room for complaint. But Yahata didn't miss it—her gaze flying toward him even as she bowed. It pierced. It felt like it would physically pierce. "Look, I get that you don't like me, but can you stop trying to stab me with your eyes?" Yahata asked. "I am not stabbing," Arishia said. "You were stabbing," Yahata said. "I am not stabbing, I said," Arishia said. 　All three instructors clearly looked exhausted. 　In the hallway, Arishia crossed her arms and began walking. Yahata followed behind her. The meaning of the role "supervisor"—Arishia understood it well. Leaving an unconfirmed, magic-less Mirror Crown alone would be too risky. The academy's judgment was correct. Correct, but why herself was a separate matter. "Then I shall explain the academy's basic rules. First, regarding the bald crown salute—" Arishia began. "It's the courtesy of bowing to bald people, right? I know," Yahata said. "……Regarding the Bald Crown Code—" Arishia continued. "Research and use of magical systems other than hair-root sorcery are prohibited by royal law. Violators face blasphemy charges with a minimum of life imprisonment, or in severe cases, forced hair growth—a punishment where drugs are used to forcibly grow hair, stripping the mage of their honor," Yahata said. 　Arishia's footsteps stopped. "……You are quite well-informed," Arishia said. "The instructor explained it while carrying me on the stretcher yesterday. Also, that's a pretty brutal penalty, forced hair growth. Being forced to grow hair and getting socially executed. This world's values turned against itself—it's a pretty refined punishment system," Yahata said. "Refined is not the correct term," Arishia said. 　Arishia's voice became slightly stiff. "The Bald Crown Code was established after the Great Hair Loss War two hundred years ago—an internal conflict over the legitimacy of hair-root sorcery. In that war, seventy percent of Crown-ranked Mages exhausted their magical power and fell. It is a law to preserve order. If strange magical systems were introduced, another war could occur," Arishia said. "I see. So the highest authority protecting that law is the Bald Crown Council—an assembly of twelve Crown-ranked Mages—and Academy Director Grandion is one of its council members, right?" Yahata asked. "……That is correct," Arishia said. 　A long silence followed. Outside the hallway windows, the academy's courtyard had begun afternoon classes, and several students were practicing magic stances toward targets. With each chant, several hairs scattered, and light ran. 　Suddenly, Yahata's gaze turned toward the far end of the hallway. Past the turn at the end of the east wing—the Sealed Root Vault, as Pedro had called it yesterday. A forbidden section where heretical theory books were sealed, he'd said. Books on root-origin regression theory, designated as taboo. （Like a sealed power-up book in a game.） 　The face of the man in the wanted poster—Vex—flashed through his mind for a moment. A man with a bald Mirror Crown head like himself, pursued as a for