The Solveig Playbook, Pt. 3

SOLVEIG

Solveig kind of sort of checked out the syllables after a while.

Well, she did, kind of. She was a tutor so she needed to know these kinds of things about the upcoming school curriculum.

And so what? Bite her! Old people speeches were so boring. Besides, Solveig had to helplessly observe from afar: a rapidly deteriorating Cain.

Most of the information up to this point was built from what she was able to gather from Cain.

The Concordat’s premier magical academy, their responsibilities as students to try as hard as they can, how the rankings worked—as she said, blah blah.

But one thing did stand out during his long-winding speech.

The Vote.

"...Alas, for outsiders, it is quite a convoluted system… but really intuitive once you’re immersed within our ecosystem. To put simply, the Vote determines which among you is worthy to become Student Council President. It is a position that grants the victor a tangible stake in the governing council of Illustria itself. It is a time-honored tradition for our students to have a permanent seat at the decision-making table, and a profoundly significant one at that. In these halls, no matter your blood, your nobility, or your lowborn status…”

Solveig saw Miriam sitting beside her wilt.

Poor girl.

So Solveig leaned into Miriam’s ear.

“Don’t listen to the Principal. Being poor is just a state of mind! It doesn’t have to define you.”

Miriam turned to look at her with a peculiar expression. Probably to ponder Solveig's profound piece of advice, as most people should.

“...The Vote is a democratic process from which everyone should benefit," the Principal finished.

A few commoner students in the back rows shifted in their seats. Excited murmurs spread throughout, especially the younger-looking crowd.

“However," Mackenzie continued. "Ho, is that excitement dawning in the crowd? Not every student with designs for power beyond their capacity can stand up here you know. Contrary to its literal name, The Vote is not purely a popularity contest based on simple ballots. If it was, it'd be all too easy. No, Hrafen would have wanted higher standards than that. Thus, the final outcome relies on a strict, merciless fifty-fifty split."

She saw some students shift uncomfortably at that.

“Fifty percent of your standing will come from the democratic votes of your peers. The other fifty percent will be determined strictly by your merit, your exact position among our official combat and academic rankings, and many more. Democracy gives you a voice, my dear students, but meritocracy gives you power.”

What happened next shook Solveig's entire world. Even with only the minute flicks of his fingers and wrists, Solveig could already tell Mackenzie was about to cast a complex spell.

But when the Principal grabbed something from his pockets and used that to interact with the formula, something really special happened.

FWOOOOOM!

A shimmering panel unfurled above the stage.

It's... a ledger?

Yes. People's names, numbers, birthdates, allergies, probably their favorite color of the rainbow for all Solveig knew, scrolled past the audience in a big rectangular projection.

Solveig pouted. A spell... for bookkeeping? Mannn... it would have kept so many more people alive...

Then the Principal scrolled up and focused on who was on top.

“As is tradition, last year's top two vote-getters, Isolde and D'Igoll, will stand before you to make their case for the year ahead alongside the incumbent House. Whichever House-slash-political party-slash-whatever have you wins the most support by night's end will set the pace for the semester to come. And the Student Council President position will be merely one step closer.”

Miriam's hands had curled into fists in her lap, which Solveig noticed. Probably had something to do with...

Two or three rankings from the top lied Miriam's name.

Solveig thinned her lips. Ah.

Up at the dais, the Principal cleared his throat.

"So without further ado, may we welcome the Duke's son for his address, as is time-honored tradition. The Duke's son: Sir Cain the Second!"

Polite applause.

Cain rose from his seat, coat straightened, expression carefully arranged into something that might pass for composed if you were a plebian and your name didn't start with S and end with G.

Only Solveig knew what to look for.

Cain Anger Meter: 41%

Climbing steadily, the way a kettle climbs toward a boil right before it screams.

All those eyes on him... All that weight riding on his family name... One wrong flicker in front of the wrong person and there would be no explaining it away.

She could see it now.

As soon as he got on that stage...

~KABOOM...~

So I need to make him not explode, then.

But how, from fifteen rows back, with zero standing in this room and no reason anyone would listen to a word I said?

There was exactly one lever left. One she'd hoped she'd be avoiding tonight.

I need to embarrass myself then? So be it.

She stood up before she could talk herself out of it.

"S-Sorry, actually, hold on..." Her voice cracked and carried. "I know this isn't really the moment, but I don't, um. I don't actually know anyone here. At all. Except him." She pointed somewhere in Cain's general direction, hand shaking just enough to be visible from the back row. "And crowds like this, I get really, really anxious, and I just, I need to be near someone I know or I think I'm going to be sick, so, could I, is it alright if I..."

Solveig soon moved out from her seat, half walking and half stumbling up the aisle toward the front, whispering rising up around her like a tide.

It worked exactly as well as she'd hoped.

Cain Anger Meter: 19%

Every eye that had been trained on him swung instead toward the strange transfer girl.

What she hadn't accounted for was the cost.

“Just who’s this girl…?”

“Cain’s new girlfriend, so I heard. I thought she was the one who’s whipping Cain… not the other way around!”

“Can’t this girl just sit on her own? She’s not even doing anything…”

Solveig Overload: 8%... 14%... 22%...

Her skin had started to prickle faintly under her sleeves.

She reached Cain's side and more or less collapsed onto the floor in front of him, knees folding before she'd really decided to sit.

"What," Cain said under his breath, "are you doing."

"Works better if you don't question it," Solveig muttered back.

“...You thought I was going to…”

“Your mana was leaking everywhere.”

“I had my anger handled.”

“Did you really?”

He groaned. “Yes.”

“Who says your tutor couldn’t have just had a little panic attack? You’re so insensitive~”

“You aren’t afraid of anything; you proved that in the Perrentine. No. You just get embarrassed.”

Cain is really good at reading people sometimes. Mainly myself. He’s probably a sort of Solveig specialist by now…

"It's fine, regardless," Solveig eventually said. "I've got it handled."

Solveig Overload: 47%

Solveig did not, in fact, have it handled.

This was only going to get harder from now on.

“Cain?” The Principal asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-Yep, yep,” he said already standing up. “Everything’s handled."

Solveig watched him go up the stage. 

That’s right. They still had the introduction left to go, didn't they?

Oh, and the Debate… too…

Sweat beaded down her forehead.

Could Solveig really make it and not blow up half the school in the process?