Chapter 10

By the end of the first year, a massive gap had formed between the three of us and the rest of the students.

In anything related to magic, I consistently took the top spot; in everything else, Leo remained unrivaled at the summit.

Kirio would just give a wry smile and say, “It’s hard being sandwiched between two monsters like you guys.”

Regardless, when it came to magic, both Leo and Kirio sought my advice, and for everything else, Kirio and I learned a great deal from Leo. That, more than anything, was why the three of us pulled so far ahead of the other students.

It wasn’t as if we were hoarding knowledge solely among our circle.

Not once did any of the other students come to me to ask for tips. They simply viewed Leo and me—especially me—as enemies because of our high grades, whispering petty gossip from a distance. Well, except for Bob, who preferred to hurl insults to my face.

Leo and Kirio, on the other hand, questioned me frequently and followed my advice without hesitation.

That made all the difference.

Then again, depending on how you look at it, the reaction of the other students might have been more natural. A seemingly insignificant commoner suddenly overtakes the nobility, flaunts top-tier talent, and becomes the favorite of a legendary figure like Merlin. Of course they’d be annoyed. In fact, it was more mysterious why nobles like Leo and Kirio were so willing to ask me for help and follow my lead.

Driven by that thought, I once asked them if they felt any hesitation in seeking guidance from a commoner.

Kirio answered with self-deprecation. “Being a noble is just a formality for me, especially with my house on the verge of vanishing. Personally, I don’t really care about the distinction between commoners and nobles.”

Leo simply laughed.

“You excel beyond me in certain areas. It would be foolish not to acknowledge that. Seeking guidance to absorb those superior skills is the most natural course of action.”

“That’s surprising. You seem like the type to have a lot of pride, Leo.”

“Don’t be absurd. I don’t possess a pride so cheap that it would be wounded by admitting you are partially better than me. I am a fist; you are a sword.”

“Eh?”

“It’s a metaphor. If I admit a sword is stronger than a fist, does the value of the fist decrease?” Leo said, still smiling.

Leo was right.

While I was a head above the rest in magic, Leo was extraordinary in every other field. Perhaps it was his Ogre blood, but his physical abilities were off the charts. During interpersonal combat training, even while enhanced to my absolute limit with magic, Leo beat me senseless. I truly learned the meaning of the phrase “not a chance.”

In academic subjects other than magic, Leo was also number one. In history class, he displayed a depth of understanding and a wealth of knowledge that even overwhelmed the teachers. With Leo practically acting as a private tutor for Kirio and me during our free time, there was no way our grades wouldn’t soar.

By the end of the first year, the overall rankings were: Leo in first place, me in second, and Kirio in third.

When we entered our second year, the smooth sailing of our first year took a sharp turn into a series of daily shocks.

It wasn’t that I struggled with my studies, nor that my friendship with Leo and Kirio had soured. Harassment from the other students had actually decreased—they likely realized it was a waste of time. Though Bob, as always, remained the exception.

The reason for my shock was different.

In the second year, I began studying specialized subjects: the detective system of the Kingdom of Shark and the reality of criminal investigation.

As someone who had been thrilled by the idea of individual detectives investigating cases instead of a police force, the reality was a sequence of crushing disappointments.

What shocked me was the sheer sloppiness of it all.

They identify a suspect based solely on found evidence and motive, and then they squeeze a confession out of them. Once they have that, they just hand them over to the Judiciary for trial. That was their “criminal investigation.”

The credibility of evidence was never questioned. There were no established legal procedures or proper protocols. Not a trace of the logic or reasoning I had dreamed of existed here.

That was the current state of affairs.

I was an idiot, I thought immediately.

In this subjective, sensory-driven world, I was wrong to assume that logic and deduction existed in the realm of criminal investigation.

Further research showed that the legendary “Great Detectives” of history, who had solved famous cases, each seemed to have their own effective methodologies. However, because these methods weren’t shared, they were never inherited or systematized. As a result, investigative technology had made zero progress.

I had been mistaken.

The “Great Detectives” I loved in my previous world relied on the existence of a police organization and its systematic investigations; they only stepped in to solve the cases that slipped through the cracks. In other words, organized investigation, manualized procedures, methodology, and scientific forensics were all prerequisites. They were such obvious prerequisites that they were simply overlooked in detective novels—or used as a foil for the protagonist’s logic and deduction.

This wasn’t just a matter of my personal hobbies. With investigations this poor, the world must be rife with false accusations and “perfect” crimes.

In fact, looking through criminal records, there were mountains of cases where the culprit remained unknown, or where there was strong suspicion regarding the innocence of the person convicted. If anything, cases that weren’t like that were the minority.

I was appalled.

I have to do something.

That’s what I felt then. It wasn’t arrogance—since I possessed memories of the previous world, I realized that I was the only one who could do something.

That was what I thought.

And from the latter half of my second year, I immersed myself in that work.

First, I needed a standard.

I recalled my conversation with Leo—his impressions of my mystery riddles. I had to decide where the line of “plausibility” was drawn.

What conditions must be met to judge someone as the culprit? At what point does evidence become credible enough to be used? And so on. I had to create a set of standards that everyone could share. It was the exact opposite of the rampant individualism of this world.

Next came the manualization of procedures and methods. What was the “correct” way to do things? For this, I poured in the techniques I had cultivated during my days as a detective.

Specifically, I focused on reports. I created a template for organizing case files. I figured that just unifying the format of the documentation would make a massive difference.

As for actual investigative methods and techniques, there was a limit to what a mystery-maniac like me—who had only played at being a detective—could decide on my own. Instead, I created a process to share, systematize, and optimize the effective investigative techniques held by the various individual detectives of this world. In the end, it was best to borrow the wisdom of my predecessors.

Though it was still full of holes, by the time a rough outline of the whole picture was complete, my second year had ended and I was already a third-year student.

We were gathered in our usual spot in a corner of the cafeteria.

“Heh, so you finished it?”

“Let me see, let me see!”

Naturally, the first people I showed my draft to were Leo and Kirio. Until then, I had been too embarrassed to show a single page, writing it secretly in my dormitory room.

“Hmm, you’ve written some pretty unusual things here,” Kirio said as she read, her atmosphere having softened considerably over the years.

“Right? I tried to include content that breaks away from the common sense of Shark—or rather, all of Pangea—up until now.”

“Yeah… it might be a bit too advanced for me to fully grasp,” Kirio groaned.

Leo, on the other hand, remained silent.

“Leo, give me your thoughts or advice. I’m thinking of using this as the foundation for my graduation thesis.”

Even when prompted, Leo didn’t react. Sensing something was off, I watched him closely. Leo was staring at my draft with wide eyes, his body trembling slightly.

“H-hey…”

It was my first time seeing Leo like this, and as I started to panic—

“WHOA!”

Leo suddenly let out a roar and sprinted away.

Kirio and I just stared at each other, dumbfounded.

A few dozen seconds later, Leo came charging back with incredible momentum. He was clutching several sheets of paper in his hand.

“Read this.”

That was all he said as he thrust the papers toward me.

“Uh, okay…”

Feeling overwhelmed, I took them and began to read. My eyes nearly popped out of my head.

It was apparently Leo’s own draft for a thesis. The subject was the current judicial system of Shark—specifically, a proposal for its reform.

And the proposal was staggering.

First, it aimed to change the current situation where clergy and nobles reigned as judges. It proposed making “judge” a profession that required specific qualifications. Yes—currently, being a judge was considered a “sublime duty” rather than a job. He wanted to completely transform it into a professional career path.

The sheer imagination required for that was incredible. It would be one thing for me, with memories of my previous world, but for someone born into this world to think of such a thing… I was floored.

Furthermore, he proposed changing trials from being based on a judge’s personal intuition to being based on universal, codified standards. To that end, he even proposed a massive overhaul of the laws. Up to that point, it shared a common theme with my proposal for criminal investigation reform.

But what truly shocked me came next.

The thesis didn’t just present these reforms as his own whims; it cross-referenced a vast amount of literature, scriptures, and historical records to prove that these changes were a historical necessity and in accordance with the Divine Will.

The sheer persuasiveness was on a completely different level from my own paper.

“Amazing…” I whispered involuntarily.

Compared to this, my thesis was nothing more than a delusional fantasy.

“Don’t talk nonsense. Compared to yours, mine is nothing but empty rhetoric.”

However, Leo spoke with an expression as if he wanted to bite my head off. It was the first time I’d seen such a look on his face, and both Kirio and I were startled. Anger and jealousy were written plainly across his features.

“This thesis of mine has no substance. It is impossible to change the judiciary alone. A trial is a place of judgment. Even if you make that part universal and rational, if the subjects and materials being judged remain stuck in the past, it’s nothing but a pipe dream. I knew that, and yet…”

Leo looked at my thesis with annoyance, then looked back at me. His eyes held a mixture of respect and envy.

“You genius. To think that was what you were building… I am truly glad I became your friend.”

“Building it? It’s still far from finished. Mine has no persuasiveness compared to yours, Leo.”

“Fine then. I will help you with the task of making it persuasive. In exchange, I’ll be revising my own thesis based on your reform plan for investigations.”

“Ah… yeah. Of course, that’s fine.”

“What a strange turn of events. It seems our two papers are destined to become two parts of a single whole. But with this—and with Merlin’s backing and my standing as a noble—our papers might just be able to change this country.”

As Leo’s eyes gleamed with ambition, Kirio spoke up.

“Hey, Leo.”

“What is it?” Leo’s expression suddenly returned to its usual calm.

“You don’t seem like your usual self right now. Are you really that obsessed with judicial reform?”

“No,” Leo shook his head simply. “What I’m obsessed with is reform itself. I am a genius.”

Suddenly, Leo started making a grand proclamation.

“Lineage, physical prowess, intellect… I have been blessed with everything. I have power. And those who have power have missions and duties. Don’t you agree?”

“And that duty is judicial reform?”

In response to my question, Leo flashed a predatory grin.

“No. In short, it is the duty to change the world. The means don’t matter. I simply want to try and change the world.”