Principal Campa cast an indifferent glance at the quartz clock by the poolside as he explained the task to Idiot. Throughout the explanation, Idiot listened in silence, offering neither protest nor objection.
When the briefing concluded, Principal Campa turned as if to leave. Just before stepping away, he cast a cold glance over his shoulder and said—
"Do you understand? The task must be completed. Only by fulfilling your duty will you earn food and other necessities. Should you fail, you'll be subject to the punishment I've promised. Since you started at seven today, I won't demand the pool be completely filled—nine-tenths will suffice. I reward and punish with equal measure. If I've promised a reward, you'll receive it without fail. But if I've promised pain, you won't escape it either. Now, begin."
With a sweep of his cloak, Principal Campa vanished into the entrance of the locker room. From behind the poolside wire fence, one could see that he had indeed left. After he was gone, Idiot quietly set down the bread, picked up the iron bucket, and stared ahead...
......Sploosh....Sploosh....Sploosh.
Bucket after bucket of water was scooped from the reservoir and poured into the vast, empty pool. The sun climbed steadily higher, inching toward its zenith. The heat of summer began to intensify, vapor rising in wisps like pale smoke.
Was such a task even normal?
No one came to tell Idiot otherwise. But even if it wasn't normal—what of it? A job was a job. Only by completing it could he eat. Only by finishing it could he keep the bread from starving. Wasn't that so?
......Sploosh....Sploosh....Sploosh.
His footsteps grew heavier. The uneven platform around the pool baked under the scorching sun like a sheet of molten iron. A ten-year-old child staggered under the weight of a sloshing iron bucket. Water spilled with every step, more than half lost before he reached the edge.
...Sploosh.
A meager half-bucket of water splashed into the seemingly bone-dry pool. The shimmering air made the pool bottom waver in the heat. Was the water pouring in faster, or evaporating faster?
Another bucket.
Idiot's palms were now blistered and bloody. His arms swollen and bruised. His muscles surely torn. His gait grew erratic—swaying, staggering. And then...
His frail body collapsed. The bucket toppled, its contents lost completely.
The cicadas screeched in the trees. By the silent pool, he seemed the only human still clinging to life. His body no longer even sweated. No matter how much water he drank, it would pour back out through his skin, leaving him even thirstier.
"Waaah... waaah... waaah...!"
In the shade near the pool, Little Bread cried from hunger once more. Idiot turned his head, forcing his cramped body upright, and stumbled over. He picked up the small bowl of oatmeal on the table, and for the third time, fed her.
When she finished, those bright green eyes opened slowly. She looked at the boy before her—wasted and hollow-eyed. Fear flickered in her gaze, and she looked on the verge of crying.
"Don't... be afraid."
Idiot reached out with his left hand and gently patted the edge of the open swaddle. Her trembling turned to hiccups. Cradled by his soothing gesture, she drifted back into sleep.
"All right... back to it..."
He picked up the bucket once more and dragged his feet toward the showers. All this time, Annihilatus had remained silent. It never once said, "You fool, the principal's tricked you!"—it merely watched, its blood-red eye unblinking, offering neither warning nor aid.
At last...
With a loud clang, the bucket fell to the ground. Idiot collapsed by the pool's edge. Under the searing sun and the weight of exhaustion, he finally lost consciousness.
...
...
...
When did he awaken again? Idiot no longer remembered. What he did remember was the sound that roused him: Little Bread crying out from hunger. But when he opened his eyes, he was met with a sky full of stars—and the unmistakably displeased face of Principal Campa.
"..."
"You failed to complete the task I gave you. Look at your work—it's as if nothing was done at all! Tell me, do you truly deserve food? Hmm?"
Campa seized Idiot by the collar and dragged him to the pool's edge, pointing to the barren, cracked bottom.
Idiot stared blankly at the sight, then turned his head. Under the starry sky, a frost once again crept into his eyes.
"You don't seem convinced."
Campa released his grip and continued, "You're probably thinking it's impossible for one person to fill a pool of this size. That I'm setting you up to fail. That I'm deliberately making things difficult."
Idiot's gaze remained fixed on him, unwavering.
"Fine. If that's the case, allow me to give you an explanation. Come here!"
Campa clapped his hands. From the shadows behind him stepped a boy of about sixteen or seventeen, clad in a cloak reserved for Stoneweavers. From the emblem on his chest, he was merely an apprentice.
The boy approached with utmost respect. Though he tried to restrain himself, joy flickered unmistakably in his eyes.
"Mr. Campa! Y-you called, sir?"
Without looking at him, Campa gestured toward the pool. "Demonstrate for me—fill this pool by your own power. Can you do it?"
The boy froze. For a moment, he looked utterly stunned, as if he had heard something unbelievable. He studied the pool, thought for a second, then bit his lip and shouted, "Yes, Mr. Campa! I can do it!"
"Good. Proceed."
"Yes, sir!"
Overcome with excitement, the boy pulled open his cloak with a flourish, retrieving a collection of multicolored stones from the inner pockets. He arranged them on the ground in a precise formation, then drew a sigil with chalk. Once everything was prepared, he took a deep breath, raised his arms, and slammed them down at the center of the glyph.
The earth trembled violently. Even Little Bread fell silent from the shaking. Sweat streamed down the boy's brow, yet he pressed on, teeth clenched. Then, with a thunderous cry—
A torrent of water burst forth from the reservoir beneath the showers. It flowed in a serpentine path, like a summoned dragon, before cascading into the pool like a great waterfall. In under half an hour, the entire pool was filled.
A miracle.
Despite his exhaustion, Idiot was dumbstruck by the sight. But as his gaze was drawn to the now-brimming pool, he failed to notice the boy behind him, now on his knees, soaked in sweat and utterly spent.
"You did well, child."
Campa stepped forward and gently patted the boy on the shoulder. The boy looked stunned by the gesture, too overwhelmed to speak.
"Well done. Your performance was exemplary. I'll add twenty points to your term credits. Now, go and rest."
The boy was nearly moved to tears. He murmured thanks, declaring it was no trouble at all. The stones on the ground had turned to ash, but he didn't seem to care. Under Campa's approving smile, he limped away—no doubt eager to brag to his roommates.
Three moons hung in the night sky, their reflections shimmering in the water. Idiot turned back to see Campa approaching step by step. The hostility in his eyes had vanished. His head bowed instinctively.
"Don't excuse yourself with 'He's older than me; he can do it, I can't.' He's human. So are you. What he can do, you must do as well. In the laws of survival, no one shows mercy just because you're young. No one forgives weakness."
As he spoke, Campa reached out a hand. Before it touched him, Idiot felt as though a beast had locked onto its prey. He couldn't move, couldn't flee. He could only watch as that hand descended—
"Uwaaaahhhhhh—!"
It was perhaps the most excruciating pain he had ever endured—second only to the time Annihilatus had sliced his arm open with a serrated chain-saw. Azure lightning danced across his skin. Every inch of his body screamed in agony. His cries pierced the night as his frail frame was lifted by that hand, electric sparks lashing like venomous serpents.
The smell of scorched flesh soon filled the air. Smoke began to rise from his charring muscles.
"You failed to complete your work. As promised, I am administering punishment. From this day forward, every failure will earn you the same agony—until the task is done."
The sparks crackled on. But Idiot no longer moved. His eyes rolled back. White foam spilled from his lips. He had become little more than a lifeless corpse.