Earl Geist stared at Ermes's answers—which, by the student's own self-assessment, were flawless—with bloodshot eyes.
But before long.
"…………Hahaha."
His gaze caught on a particular section of the exam, and he burst into laughter as though he simply couldn't help himself, then declared:
"I see. For a commoner, you're rather capable, aren't you, boy? — However."
He paused for a beat, and then, with the triumphant expression of someone who'd just claimed a demon's head:
"How unfortunate. That last question is the only one you got wrong!"
"…So you're acknowledging that the other answers were correct?"
"That's entirely beside the point."
Just as expected—apparently, the only thing rattling around in this instructor's head was the urge to find fault.
"In the first place, I only assigned questions that any decent student should be able to solve. The nerve of saying 'the rest were correct, so let me off the hook'—give me a break."
He hadn't actually said any such thing, of course.
"Even if everything else is perfect, a single mistake ruins everything. That is the nature of noble society. You may be a former noble, but it seems you've forgotten even that fundamental truth."
"……"
"That's precisely your problem. The correct answer to that question is '2.43.' Your answer was '2.66.' Good grief, what sort of absurd calculation produces that? Don't tell me you made a simple arithmetic error? Honestly, this is why—"
And so Earl Geist, with undisguised relish, tore into Ermes's incorrect answer.
First, however, he needed to present what he considered the correct one.
In a certain sense, an answer that matched Ermes's prediction.
"…If you'll permit me, sir."
Therefore, Ermes spoke in a calm tone—yet firmly and without hesitation:
"That question—"
"The one who is wrong—"
"Is you, sir."
"…Excuse me?"
"First, sir, you—"
The earl's question mark hung in the air as Ermes began his explanation.
But then, something suddenly occurred to him. And he thought it probably wasn't wise for a newcomer like himself to talk too much.
So he stopped mid-sentence, turned to the girl beside him, and addressed her.
"Lady Sara."
"Y-Yes!?"
"When you turned in your answers earlier, I caught a quick glimpse—were your answers to that particular question the same as mine, by any chance?"
"That is… yes, I believe so."
As I thought, he nodded, and then continued.
"I believe the difference between our answers and the earl's comes down to which error-correction formula you apply at the final step. If you'd be willing to share, I'd like to hear what you concluded."
"O-Okay… So, um—"
The point of this was to demonstrate that he wasn't the only one who'd reached the same answer.
…Besides, he'd felt a certain way about what she'd endured earlier—the harsh treatment directed at someone she knew.
Responding to Ermes, who had placed the conversation in her hands, Sara began her explanation carefully.
"As Ermes said, the question hinges on the error-correction formula. Looking at the data trends, at first glance, it seems like the 'Alsvert Method' should be applied. In that case, the earl's answer of '2.43' would be correct, but…"
"…Ah."
"However, when you consider the quantity and distribution of the data, as well as the strict definition of the applicable formula, this falls within the domain where the 'Yosman Method' should be applied. In that case, the answer becomes '2.66.' …I nearly went with the former myself at first, but upon closer look, it was clearly different. …So, I… believe the correct answer is that one."
"Y-Yes. If I may be so bold, I reached the same conclusion, but I welcome any objections."
Earl Geist had no response.
He'd realized it too, now that it had been pointed out. This was the type of trap where catching it on your own was the hard part—once someone stated the correct answer, you could see it plainly. That was, without a doubt, the right one.
"Truly impressive, though."
Leaving the earl aside for the moment, Ermes turned to Sara.
"Embarrassingly enough, this was the first time I'd encountered this question too—or rather, it was only because of that past experience that I solved it this time. But it sounds like this was your first time seeing it as well, Lady Sara? Getting it right on your first attempt is remarkable."
"Oh, ah… thank you…"
At his straightforward praise, Sara's cheeks flushed and she looked down bashfully.
She was rather endearing in that moment, but he'd set that aside for now.
…Yes, what mattered was this:
Ermes said that this was the first time he'd seen this question.
But that was not true.
In fact, this was a rather infamous trick question from an extremely niche field.
When he was eleven or twelve, Rose had once posed it to him while he was studying arithmetic, and he'd fallen for it spectacularly. She'd teased him mercilessly, and he'd been quite sore about it—so the memory had stuck with him.
If his memory served—the numbers on this problem were identical down to the last digit.
Which meant—
"So then, sir. Earlier, you made it sound as though you'd devised these questions yourself…"
"…!"
"At the very least, this particular question was taken from somewhere else, wasn't it? And when you think about it, the others all have a certain déjà-vu quality to them."
His guess was almost certainly correct.
After all, these questions—nasty as their intent was, designed to humiliate the respondents—were far too well-crafted.
They wanted to make us suffer, but didn't want to expend the effort required to create the problems themselves.
Wasn't it more likely that they'd simply grabbed a few famous difficult problems on a whim?
Which meant they hadn't scrutinized the questions, nor verified the answers. Driven by the arrogance of "but I could solve them," they'd latched onto whatever answer sprang to mind and assumed it was correct.
That was precisely why they'd ended up in this situation.
"Sir, then."
Addressing the still-silent Earl Geist, Ermes deliberately kept his voice mild.
"I believe at least one student has answered every question correctly. Will you, as you said, conduct a proper lesson going forward? Something that actually produces results, rather than… this. …Also, that means Lady Sara has answered at least one question correctly as well. You'll listen to what she has to say, won't you?"
"Y-You probably cheated somehow—"
"Stole someone else's answers? Whose? I appear to be the only one who got every question right. And I doubt you prepared a solution key, so there was no way to cheat, was there?"
He used his earlier statement as leverage, methodically confirming each point—and in a single motion, cut off even this last feeble counterattack.
Earl Geist, slick with oily sweat, searched desperately for a gap in the argument but found none. Just as he considered dismissing the whole matter entirely—
"Um, honestly? I don't really understand all of it."
From a completely different direction, a voice rang out.
It belonged to the girl seated on Ermes's opposite side—opposite from Sara. She leveled a question at the earl.
"But to sum it up… you made up a weirdly difficult question and claimed you'd 'thought of it yourself.' You were confidently criticizing our mistakes, but—"
"Could it be—"
"That you—"
"Messed up the answer—"
"Too?"
That was the final blow—concise, devastatingly accurate.
In several spots around the classroom, someone stifled a snort.
Hearing it spelled out so plainly must have made it impossible to bear. The sheer absurdity of it.
"A single mistake ruins everything"—and by a stroke of irony, the earl himself had just beautifully proven his own words.
Naturally, the shame was more than he could endure.
"…………!!"
Unable to withstand the students' gazes and the emotions directed at him, Earl Geist—
With a sharp tearing sound, ripped Ermes's answer sheet in two.
"Oh, pardon me. That answer was simply too painful to look at—I couldn't help myself."
"……"
"What? Do you have a complaint? Truly, the moment you find the slightest fault, you kick up a fuss as if you'd claimed a demon's head. Do you have any idea how little grace you're displaying?"
It was the same blustering tone as before. But there was one critical difference.
For starters, he was speaking far more quickly than before, as though afraid someone would talk back.
His voice was trembling slightly, and his posture had a certain hesitant crouch to it. And on top of that, what he was saying was completely incoherent.
But above all—no one in the classroom was afraid of him anymore.
"That's enough. After this, you can study on your own—I'm done!"
Finally, with one last line that sounded exactly like a bitter exit line, he hurled his papers aside, strode off at considerable speed, and left the classroom—stumbling slightly on the entrance step.
The entire sequence of movements screamed the word "fled."
As he left, most of the students probably caught sight of his ears, burning red with fury and humiliation.
And so the tyrannical instructor was driven out, and peace returned to the classroom.
Or—almost.
"………………"
The atmosphere inside the room was heavy. No, not quite—that wasn't quite right. To be precise, it was… awkward.
(…Well, that makes sense.)
Exposed to that atmosphere, Ermes thought to himself.
Of course it would be awkward. After all, the person who'd contributed most to driving the earl out was Ermes—the very same Ermes they'd been despising since that morning's self-introduction, right up until class began.
He'd undeniably saved them, but their pride and their previous attitude wouldn't allow them to simply offer sincere gratitude. That was how noble children were, probably.
Naturally, Ermes understood this.
He wasn't especially bothered. He hadn't done what he'd done because he wanted gratitude or admiration—he'd done it simply because Earl Geist had gotten on his nerves.
If anything, it would have been worse if they'd suddenly flipped and started showering him with unconditional praise. He only needed to think back to the party he'd once attended with Katia and the blind subservience the nobles had displayed then. At least this reaction was healthier.
For now, no longer being treated with nothing but contempt was enough.
So he caught Sara's worried gaze and silently assured her he was fine.
After watching her bow politely and return to her desk, he turned to his own, ignoring the other classmates' complicated expressions, and began the self-study he'd been told to do—though the subject was magical theory rather than arithmetic.
"…Hm."
Watching him from beside his seat was the girl who'd spoken up earlier—the one who'd delivered the final blow to the earl. She studied him with an expression of clear interest.