Boing Boing

I was stunned.

As we underclassmen watched from the sidelines, two adults were engaged in a serious, no-holds-barred duel.

"Unbelievable... You're telling me they're doing that without magic?"

"There’s no physical reinforcement either... How the heck are they moving like that?"

"Are we... actually going to be able to graduate?"

I couldn't blame the students for the anxious whispers leaking out. Right now, we were being treated to a front-row seat of Teacher Milk versus Darius.

"Red-hair, you’ve polished those skills of yours quite a bit," Milk remarked.

"I haven’t been a teacher just for show, you know," Darius grunted back.

I already knew they were old acquaintances. If I recalled correctly, they were comrades back when Teacher Milk was still a knight. Darius was a regular instructor here, primarily teaching tactics, combat, and survival.

This battle served a specific purpose: to demonstrate Teacher Milk’s prowess as a temporary instructor. To shut up a bunch of arrogant noble brats, there’s no better method than a raw display of power.

The strategy was a massive success. I doubted anyone would dare talk back to Teacher Milk now—not that anyone should have been able to in the first place.

"Hah! This is great! Fighting someone who actually knows what they're doing is the best!" Darius shouted.

"Stop... using... that... tone... in front of... the students!" Milk punctuated her words with strikes.

Teacher Milk’s attacks were terrifying, a perfect marriage of speed and power. She hammered him from every direction—up, down, left, right—without a second's pause, weaving in kicks and strikes the moment she saw an opening. She always held back during our private training sessions, and the realization of what she’d be like if she added magic to the mix sent a shiver down my spine.

In contrast, Darius focused on heavy, physical strikes powered by his massive, muscular frame. Between his sheer bulk and his shock of red hair that looked like it was perpetually standing on end from rage, he was the embodiment of "macho." In the original game, his strength stat was absolutely monstrous.

Even I, with my meta-knowledge of this world, was captivated by the battle. For the underclassmen seeing it for the first time, the shock must have been immeasurable.

I also noticed an alteration from the original plot: Darius and Allen seemed to be on good terms. They shouldn't have had any connection in the game, but according to Cynthia’s intel, Darius had actually mentored Allen before he enrolled. Is that the secret behind Allen’s freakish strength?

Finally, the match reached its conclusion. Teacher Milk landed a final blow to Darius’s face, ending the bout.

In the end, the gap in power was hammered into us until it hurt. However, despite the intimidation factor, the male students looked strangely... satisfied.

The reason was simple: this entire exercise was being held on top of a swimming pool.

"That concludes the demonstration. Now, for today’s lesson—the matches begin. You'll face off one-on-one. If you fall in the water, you lose. If you win, you stay on for the next challenger."

"""Yes, Teacher Milk!"""

The boys responded in perfect, military-grade unison, even as the girls pelted them with icy glares.

We were at the pool. And Teacher Milk had been in a bikini this entire time.

"Weiss, step forward."

Boing, boing. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, but... boing, boing.

Teacher Milk’s sun-kissed skin. That red bikini. Boing, boing.

Oh, gods... the jiggle...

As if she could hear the perverted screams of my inner soul—

"I’ll kill you."

She threw a dead-on, verbal preemptive strike.

I'm sorry. But... boing, boing.

Now, you might wonder why Nobless Academy—the most prestigious school in the land—was conducting a lesson like this. The answer is simple: because this is a game. The original "game" was incredibly popular, which meant a mandatory pool fanservice event was practically a law of nature.

A noble academy? Gentlemen and ladies? Forget all that refined garbage.

The students had all changed into swimwear, but for some reason, the girls' outfits lacked any uniformity—ranging from bikinis to school-issue one-pieces. If I let my guard down for even a second, I felt like I’d blurt out, "Why?!"

But here was the beauty of it: nobody questioned it. And as for me, I wasn't about to say anything so unrefined. My reason was purely professional: messing with the scenario’s flow is just asking for trouble later. That’s it. Truly. I had absolutely no ulterior motives. None whatsoever.

"Weiss, I’m gonna have to knock you off!"

"Just try it, Duke—or should I call you Protein?"

A mountain of a man stood before me. Instead of a sword, he held a mysterious, soft foam cylinder. We were standing on small boards floating in the water; just balancing was enough to make me feel like I was going to tip over.

"ORAAAAAA!"

"Begone."

"NOT YET, ORA!"

"You damn muscle-brain."

"ORA ORA ORAAAAAAA!"

He was tenacious. Roughly five times more tenacious than usual. In this lesson, the more you won, the longer you stayed out there. Which meant more time to play with the girls later.

This guy... he’s a true man among men.

I decided to mentally upgrade his nickname from "Protein" to "Chicken Breast."

Despite his stubbornness, I managed to shove him into the water. My next opponent was Carta. She was wearing a navy-blue school swimsuit, likely trying to minimize skin exposure. I didn't mind her shy, timid demeanor. In terms of volume, she was about a "four-boing" on the scale. She had the kind of physique that made me think, Maybe this style isn't so bad once in a while.

"W-Weiss-kun... I won't lose!"

She bit her lower lip, her cheeks flushing crimson. If you're that embarrassed, why aren't you questioning the curriculum?

I expected her to fall immediately, but Carta swung her foam stick with desperate fervor. Boing, boing. I could hear the cheers from the boys' gallery.

"Weiss, you legend..."

"Look at him... he’s shifting his center of gravity to make her move left and right... Keep it up, Weiss!"

For some reason, my reputation among the guys was skyrocketing. Not that I cared. I mercilessly sent Carta into the drink. I wasn't going to apologize—this was a "lesson," after all.

Next was Cynthia. She wore a black bikini. Her figure was voluptuous, her waistline perfectly sculpted. As expected of my fiancée.

"I don't care if it's you, Weiss. I'm not holding back."

"Good."

But, of course, I won. She was a solid "three-boing."

"Lord Weiss, I won't lose either!"

"Right."

Lilith came out in pink, fluffy ruffles. It was anachronistic as hell, but I still took the win. One boing.

I figured Allen would be the final boss, but for some reason, Teacher Milk stepped onto the board in front of me instead.

"I’m the last one."

"Just as I hoped... Boi—I mean, Teacher Milk."

That was close. I almost called her Teacher Boing to her face.

The battle was a stalemate. Even I didn't want to lose this one. For some reason, we actually got "points" for this lesson. That said, I was no match for Teacher Boing-Boing. I stood no chance.

Once the lesson ended and we were back in the classroom changing, guys who usually ignored me started striking up conversations.

"Weiss, that was incredible! I've totally misjudged you!"

"Seriously. I had you all wrong, man."

"I knew it! Making them bounce up and down really is the best way to do it!"

...Having low popularity is a problem, but having this kind of popularity is also a bit concerning.

Just then, a girl's scream echoed from the classroom next door. The door clattered open, and Allen stumbled back in with a red handprint on his cheek.

"I forgot they moved the changing rooms..." he muttered.

As expected of the protagonist—ending the day with a "Lucky Lecher" trope.

...Damn it. I'm so jealous.

Unsurprisingly, this "lesson" was the first and last of its kind.