38 The Independent Hero Association

On January 14th, in the Independent Hero Association’s base, three people were discussing matters while checking a pile of documents.

“It makes four hundred five candidates for tomorrow,” Iker the Old Mantis commented. “It will be hard to send so many of them home.”

“Not that hard,” Gilda the Bloody Cook assured, picking up a sheet. “There are a lot of them who applied just for fun. Look at that girl,” she said, and read out loud the sheet: “Nina Clover, seventeen years old, power: I’ve been very lucky since I’m born. What kind of power is that?” she laughed.

“Well,” Cynsea the Hypnotist cleared her throat, “I’m more worried about the candidates who say, ‘I’m good at fighting’ or ‘I can destroy the whole city with my powers’.”

“There was a guy who said that?” Gilda laughed.

“It was a girl, I think. Anyway, we asked Rita to accept even silly people like that, precisely because we don’t like to mercilessly filter people like the Nyomin does, right? But we will filter in the end. That’s sad.”

“It is, but it’s how society works, Cynsea,” Iker muttered, squinting at a document. “Besides, our candidates will have to pass the Nyomin’s filter as well.”

He was right. The Nyomin clearly said they wouldn’t accept any candidate chosen by the Independent Hero Association without evaluating them themselves. So the young aspirants would have to pass the tests prepared by both organizations. Cynsea sighed. After a year of negotiations with the Nyomin, their efforts to democratize the training for talented young people had paid off. But it was still unsatisfying. Out of the four hundred five candidates, only sixty would be accepted in the end. Cynsea had strong doubts whether she had to call that a victory. Didn’t they just give false hopes to those young people? Weren’t their efforts being used by the Nyomin authorities precisely to show a good image of themselves, something like “look, anyone can climb the ladder, just blame yourself if you are a loser”?

The merfolk shook her head.

Heroes society wasn’t going to change by doing this. They probably didn’t do any favor to the youngsters who applied whole-heartedly to the training… At that instant, Cynsea remembered the face of that young blond telekinetic she had led to Rita last month. Even if he were to pass, he most likely wouldn’t be supervised by the Nyomin as the “Chosen Candidates” would.

“Grrrrrr!” Cynsea grumbled suddenly. “Curse the Nyomin, curse the Nyomin, curse the Nyomin—”

“Don’t say that to the Nyomin judges tomorrow, Cynsea,” Gilda chuckled.

“It’s all right: I’ll hypnotize them and make them forget everything.”

“If you do that, we’re all screwed, so don’t.”

The door suddenly opened. Rita appeared on the threshold; a glowing halo hanging over her lavender hair tensed the three of them up: every time Rita’s halo was visible, it meant that she had been enduring something she didn’t like at all. Cynsea called it a martyr halo.

“Rita?” Iker said, standing up. “What is it?”

Rita’s face was calm when she said:

“We finally received the name of the judge for tomorrow’s examination. There will only be one: the Lightning Veil.”

Cynsea felt a chill running down her spine. The Lightning Veil. That woman was one of Lovecryce’s Nine Crowned Fairies. What was she doing in Farskyer? Why would she involve herself in an examination made by the Independent Hero Association?

Seriously, what was going on with that EPHT training?