Continuing . . .
Class 2
Pet the kitty.
Pet the kitty.
The kitty is soft.
The kitty is warm.
You want to pet the kitty.
Pet the kitty.
Pet the kitty . . .
It was tempting to blame Ilya. After all, she had needed a monster, or more specifically, a boogeyman; the biggest, baddest, “fuck EVERYTHING” option that could possibly be imagined, so that no one would ever dare to mess with the Holy Grail, EVER again. But it wasn’t Ilya’s fault, not really—the Foreigner Class was essentially his nature; Existence Beyond the Domain was a very literal description of him. And being a facet of the Class, not exactly something he could turn off . . .
Galen didn’t want to look at the loves of his life and see celluloid images—ink and paint or photographic.
And so, he concentrated on Mirai and the three concepts he’d tried his best to project when she and her sister were kittens: warm, soft, safe. Her colouring had changed, but the meaning of that look had not; nor the half-lidded one that counted as a “smile” on the face of a contented cat. And as long as he could see that, focus on that, it was OK.
Some of his fondest—and almost more important, longest-running—memories involved petting small furry animals and feeling their pleasure at it. Cats weren’t the first, but their purring conveyed it more thoroughly, giving the memories a bigger weight. And concentrating on that made it easier not to look around him and see the brushstrokes that made up the drawings that comprised this world—though it became harder to avoid every time someone opened their mouth . . .
Pet the kitty.
Pet the kitty.
The kitty is soft.
The kitty is warm.
You want to pet the kitty.
Pet the kitty.
Pet the kitty . . .
He closed his eyes, drawing on his Occlumency—and he could, weirdly enough. He was not a Heroic Spirit, still, but this time, there was a legend for him to draw on that was his own. “Galen Salvatore” might never match King Arthur or Jack the Ripper in the public consciousness, but that life had seemingly achieved enough of an “urban myth” status that, like Asagami Fujino under Fate/Grand Order rules, he could be used by the Counter Force . . .
(Of course, it’d be like using a nuclear bomb as a land mine—as likely to obliterate what it was meant to protect as to save it—but it was, as he understood it, theoretically possible. So, in the end, more like Okita Alter than Fujino, he supposed.)
I wonder if I’d be a Caster or an Archer, under normal rules . . .? Or “Gunner,” I suppose, if that ever gets off the “joke Extra Class” list . . .
Galen inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, trying to wrestle his train of thought back to something approaching coherent and consistent. It wasn’t easy; he’d always been prone to daydreaming and going off on tangents, and his current perspective encouraged it. By the same token, the identity he’d forged (albeit with a lot of help) had never yielded to anything—and pitting that aspect of himself against the other eventually resulted in something approaching his normal equilibrium.
Now, how bad is this . . .?
As far as threats went, the “students” themselves were a mixed bag; they were all anime-level powerful, with all the ludicrously over-the-top elements that implied. That Kazuma and crew were geared more towards a parody of such things, for example, didn’t mean that Aqua wasn’t a goddess, that Megumin couldn’t blow up castles on a whim, and that Darkness couldn’t tank explosions of that level with minimal injury—and the cast of Overlord was worse. That this world itself skewed even farther into comedy, to the point it was outright stated (if obliquely) to run on the concept of “don’t think about it too hard,” was a help, as it meant that things were less likely to be lethal, but not as much as the casual observer might believe.
According to Season 2, there is an ongoing plot here, behind and beyond the “slice-of-life” antics. Sure, the info came from Roswaal—whom I trust not even as far as I could throw Fluffy without using a wand, and would cheerfully disembowel after Re:Zero’s second season—but the reactions of the other staff imply that they’re at least somewhat aware of it, as well. . . Not to mention just as bound by the rules of this place as the “students.”
Could he stop it? Sure—by making good on Ilya’s threat and literally shredding all of reality like confetti, as Aoko had put it, and he absolutely could; he was trying not to do it by accident, for God’s sake! However, as Daffy Duck said, “But I can only do it once”—which limited its efficacy as a threat.
Not to mention the risk to the others, which apparently now includes—
No—he was not going to think about that until they were out of the classroom. That was a freak-out that deserved and demanded more attention than he could afford to spare . . .
Oh, crap, Aqua was about to—!
Panic galvanised both focus and power, as Galen flexed the abilities he now possessed, not to mention the sheer malleability of this particular setting, even as he shielded Mirai with himself—
“Nope.”
The results were . . . Gratifying, if no less disorienting in an entirely different way. Aqua’s divine-tier magic washed over him like the simple light it was, and only the claws digging into his lap kept everything else from following suit; and Hermione’s reaction—well, it was hardly unexpected, was it?
Still, he had to fight off a smirk at the blush on her face when Roswaal called her out; it wasn’t often anymore that Hermione looked so embarrassed, and forgetting that she was in a classroom, of all things, was amusing considering it was her. It was also worth noting that Kazuma and Subaru recognised her.
Kazuma’s a noted gamer and anime fan with a fair bit of Internet savvy—that he recognises Hermione isn’t too surprising. Subaru’s a little more so, since he seems to be more into manga than media in general, never mind Western media; on the other hand, they’re both of an age to have been kids when the books and movies were at their height. Tanya, naturally, was too mature for such in her first life, and her second is almost a century prior to the Harry Potter phenomenon. Ainz . . . Didn’t the light novels imply that he was from a century or two ahead of the twenty-first? Harry Potter probably faded from the public consciousness by then.
It likely wouldn’t amount to problems—just things to keep in mind as they searched for common ground. The thought that popped into his head from his usual backseat commentator—that snarky little corner of his mind that just loved to make him miserable—had other thoughts that were worth worrying about.
What are the odds, on the other hand, that Kazuma and/or Subaru would recognise TYPE-MOON . . .?
And after chilling Galen’s blood with that observation, it proceeded to deliver the knockout blow.
And you know, if Hermione hadn’t been stopped, Takara likely wouldn’t be the only pregnant one in the family by the end of the day—and she still might not be, once you get to wherever they’ve stashed you around here . . .
Stifling the urge to groan, for several reasons, Galen resumed petting the kitty—it really was the only thing keeping him sane, right now.
Hermione was mortified—and for the first time in almost a decade, not in a literal sense.
It was only the years she’d spent learning Occlumency that kept her from hyperventilating; she hadn’t done that since she was twelve and doing so would only add to her embarrassment. Fortunately, she had learned Occlumency, which eventually won out against her newly reawakened hormones.
In some ways, it felt like she’d lost several layers of skin; in others, like she’d unfrozen. Her body felt everything again, and everything about her body was working—she was fully and completely alive, and in a lot of ways, she felt like a raw nerve. She’d been “the living undead,” as Galen occasionally put it, for nearly the last (or most recent, at least) third of her life; adjusting back was taking more than a little mental re-shuffling. This was not in the least bit helped by her currently-racing heart, either, which was not only because she was human again. After all, her body had just been interrupted in the middle of making out with her husband . . .
A bit less embarrassing than being caught making out with my wife, she decided. Not that Hermione was at all ashamed of it—but they were surrounded by teenagers and young adults (or their equivalent, as with Albedo or Aqua) with all the stereotypical perversions that anime endowed them with. She wasn’t in a mood to titillate them just yet—or at all, really, but she’d spent too long defending her relationships to allow herself to deny them, either.
And with this and the baby, things are definitely going to change . . .
But that, Hermione decided, was a topic for after school—one of several, really. In the meantime, they had to decide just how much to share with the rest of the class; a task made somewhat more difficult by her bloodlink’s sudden cessation—but not impossible.
To the outside, it simply looked like a series of trading glances; the sort of wordless communication a longstanding unit could engage in. Professionally, it surprised no one they dealt with, though few even suspected, much less realised, the involvement of Legilimency. And while Galen’s frame of mind was potentially dangerous to meddle in, right now, Takara had no such issues. The two witches traded ideas and concepts back and forth, even as the expected round of introductions caused Galen to hum the Isekai Quartet theme distractedly.
“I’m Subaru Natsuki—I’m not only clueless, I’m broke beyond compare!”
“Major Tanya von Degurechaff, 203rd Aerial Mage Division of the Imperial Army.”
“I’m Kazuma, she’s Aqua, that’s Meg, and ignore that one.”
“I am the mighty AINZ OOAL GOWN!”
Hm—the introductions are quite similar to the song, aren’t they . . .?
Taking that as her cue, she rose to her feet.
“Hermione Granger,” she introduced herself. “As some of you obviously know, I’m a resident of what’s called ‘the Wizarding World’—and I work for the Ministry of Magic there.”
She specifically didn’t mention where; those who did know her “canon” history would presumably believe that she was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, working her way towards the Minister for Magic position that Rowling’s canon eventually gave her.
(So long as she married Ron Weasley, at any rate—and that still stung. The bitterness as a result of heartbreak, Hermione could accept, but why would anyone think that she wouldn’t pursue—or even double down on—her ambitions because of a boy, never mind who . . .?)
In any case, there was no need to mention her actual job placement, or her status within Whitehall—it likely wouldn’t matter regardless, but it had never hurt to have a few surprises stashed away.
“Salvatore Takara, desu,” her wife introduced herself, bowing politely (though gingerly, given her recent upheaval). “I work as a mediwitch—which is equivalent to a field medic—and medical researcher in the Wizarding World’s premiere London hospital. And as he’s likely loath to disturb the comfortable-looking cat, I’ll also introduce Salvatore Galen, my husband—”
“HUSBAND?!”
The exclamation burst from more than one throat, which was not unexpected; after all, with they way they’d aged, her spouses were biologically around nineteen. And Hermione, of course, was biologically seventeen, despite anticipating her twenty-sixth birthday in two and a half weeks. And while it might not be unusual for people in most of the societies their new classmates came from to marry comparatively young, they were young enough to not be comfortable with throwing the fact around as casually as Takara just had. Add that to the romantic natures of some of them, and an explosion was practically guaranteed, really—and the resulting chaos distracted anyone from at least voicing a question about what it was Galen actually did for a living.
Hermione resisted the urge to smirk—it would be a dead giveaway, after all . . .
Although—Rem, Emilia, and Viktoriya Serebryakov being part of the outburst was expected—they were young (or mostly so, in Emilia's case), the former romantic and in love herself, the latter two “girlish” enough to enjoy such things. Likewise with Albedo and Shalltear Bloodfallen (the former more than the latter), as a trigger for their own fantasies regarding their lord. The same might possibly be true of Megumin, Darkness and Ram, though their personalities were such that they’d generally make it less obvious.
Kazuma’s joining in, on the other hand, was a surprise—along with the rest of the 203rd (minus Tanya, naturally)? Why on earth would . . .?
Hermione frowned, considered that line of thought, and then sighed.
I withdraw the question . . .
Hopefully, the soldiers had enough discipline to take the ring as “fair warning”—if not, she supposed, it was always an option to complain to Tanya.
(She allowed herself a tiny smirk on noting the shiver that silently went down a number of spines out of the corner of her eye—a small benefit of being in a comedy world when you knew how things worked.)
Kazuma, on the other hand, was a trickier problem. He had a number of stealth techniques and made a point of not bowing to conventional wisdom, decency, or morality unless he felt like it. On top of that, he could cast spells, so he might not count as “mundane” to the standard Repelling Charms—and he was one of the few who might have, in this room . . .
Hermione stifled a sigh. Another element to consider for later—but for now, she supposed, they ought to simply try and get through today. At least this particular “episode” ended after introductions, as she recalled.
After class
“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!”
“I knew I was forgetting something . . .” Takara muttered, in sync with her spouses.
In her defence, however, she was less of an otaku than her husband, and lacked Hermione’s ability to rifle through his memories. However, Takara concealed her muttering by turning it into a formal bow, intending to try and brush off the confrontation by claiming a bathroom emergency—wait, wasn’t Aqua supposed to attack Ainz after class?
What’s going on here . . .?
Straightening up, she found herself facing—
HUH?!
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Originally Posted by Xamusel
For some context . . .
Thank you. *Sighs*
