The Archetype | Rimuru Tempest x TBATE

The academy grounds spread out before me, and, honestly? It was hard not to be impressed. Even with my best attempt at staying casual, the place was just stunning. The buildings shot up into the sky, and the pathways were covered with glowing patterns of magic etched into the stone.

I made sure my face stayed neutral—no need to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me wide-eyed.

I kept my pace steady, trying to look like I belonged. The gardens were full of plants I'd never seen before, in colors so bright they almost hurt to look at. Water from the fountains didn't just fall—it floated, spun, and danced in wonderful patterns.

The whole place looked like it was trying to outdo every fantasy story I'd ever heard.

It didn't take long for people to notice me. A group of students snapped upright as I passed. Two girls walking nearby froze mid-step, one of them fumbling her stack of books so badly she dropped half of them.

I sighed inwardly but bent down to help her pick them up. "Here you go," I said, handing over the topmost one.

"Th-thanks," she stammered, her face going bright red.

I waved my hand off, kept walking, and pretended not to notice the way she whispered something to her friend, who immediately glanced my way.

"Did you see his face?"

"Those eyes!"

Students lounging on benches or walking between buildings turned to look as I passed. I could hear their whispers, see the way they nudged each other and pointed. Not exactly subtle, but then again, teenagers rarely were.

"Is that...?"

"Rimuru Tempest…"

"The new Grand Marshal..."

"He looks so young..."

"Kind of hot though..."

I kept my pace steady, pretending not to hear them. The photochromic glasses helped—they'd darkened in the sunlight, making it harder for people to tell where exactly I was looking. The coat probably helped too, billowing slightly in the breeze. Not that I was trying to be dramatic or anything.

As I approached the main building, the whispers grew like ripples in a pond. Students who had free periods began to gather in small clusters, not-so-subtly pointing in my direction. I kept my expression carefully neutral, though I couldn't help but feel a bit smug.

What really got interesting was when I passed by the actual classrooms. Despite the ongoing lectures, faces began appearing in windows, pressed against the glass like curious fish in an aquarium.

Some students weren't even trying to be subtle about it, standing up from their seats to get a better look. I could see several professors attempting to maintain order, but even they couldn't help stealing glances.

So being the Grand Marshal does comes with a lot of clout, huh? Figures. The position was hyped by the council. I wonder if it's to pressure me?

One particularly bold student actually stuck his head out of a second-floor window. "Hey, are you the Grand Marshal?" he called out, earning himself what sounded like a sharp reprimand from his teacher.

I didn't respond, of course. That would have ruined the mystique. Instead, I kept walking, letting the whispers and stares wash over me like a wave. This was exactly the kind of entrance I'd hoped for—no grand announcements needed, just the natural spread of curiosity and gossip doing its work.

By the time I reached the central administrative building, I had accumulated quite the trailing wave of whispers and stares. Students were finding increasingly creative excuses to be in the hallways, and I could hear the buzz of excitement following in my wake. Some were even taking out communication scrolls, probably already spreading the word about the unannounced visit of the mysterious Grand Marshal.

Not bad for a first impression, I thought to myself as I approached the Director's office. Though I had to wonder—if this was the reaction I got just walking through the campus, what would happen when they actually announced who I was?

I adjusted my glasses one final time, took a moment to ensure my coat was sitting perfectly, and reached for the door handle. Time to get down to business.

I pushed open the door to the Director's office, the wood creaking slightly on its hinges. The room felt like a cross between a library and a war room. Shelves packed with scrolls and books lined the walls, while a large oak desk dominated the center, strewn with various papers and an orb of glowing light hovering above it—and behind it sat Director Goodsky.

◇◇◇

Rimuru stepped outside the director's office after an hour since he entered. He closed the door behind him with a click, and leaned against the door for a while before heaving a sigh. There was a look in his face that's uncharacteristic of the usual Rimuru. Concern, curiosity, and irritation all at once.

Rimuru massaged his temples as he began walking through the corridor. Classes were still ongoing. Students with vacant periods passed by him—as usual, giving him a gaze a moment longer than necessary before indulging in whispers with their companions.

The usual.

Rimuru continued walking, trying to not think about anything. But he couldn't. Echoes of his conversation with the Director flashed by his eyes. The news, the secrets—the revelations that shouldn't even be brought to surface with someone whom he'd just met.

"I guess that's partly my fault," Rimuru muttered in a self-deprecating tone.

Because I forced her to talk.

Rimuru was snapped out of his trance as he heard a battle yell to his right. Before he knew it, he was already outside the main administrative building and is next to the upper division buildings—a separate one with larger accommodations and an entire combat arena packed into it.

That signature, whose is it again? Rimuru thought as he felt the trace of a mana he found familiar.

<>

Oh, right, he mused, realization clicking into his face. "So he goes to school here, too, eh? Wouldn't hurt to check him out. We go way back, after all."

Following the distant shouts and clashing mana, Rimuru entered the dome-like structure. The corridors soon opened into a vast arena designed to simulate a natural environment. Grass, rocks, and scattered trees dotted the space, with sunlight filtering through the glass-paneled dome above. Bleachers lined the first and second levels, filled with a modest crowd.

It seemed there was a mock battle going on.

I caught sight of Arthur Leywin wearing some grey uniform. He danced through a barrage of flames, and by the looks of it, he's gotten stronger and more skilled. Hm? Is he concealing his elements?

"Welcome, Grand Marshal Tempest."

Rimuru's assessment was interrupted as a woman with hair that's a deep shade of maroon approached him, giving him a greeting and a bow a little way too polite for his liking.

Rimuru suppressed a sigh, maintaining a neutral expression. He'd seen the Lances receive this sort of treatment often, but being the one on the receiving end firsthand will surely take some time to get used to. Even as the king of Tempest, Benimaru had been the one managing their forces directly, leaving Rimuru to oversee from afar.

"I am Professor Vanesy Glory. How may I be of assistance, sir?"

"Ah, no need for all that," he replied with a small wave of his hand. "I'm just here to observe."

"As you wish," Professor Glory said as she joined Rimuru in spectating. "This is a mock battle between the Student Council and the Disciplinary Committee. They're our most promising students."

"I can see that." Rimuru replied with genuine interest.

But then, Professor Glory whistled to the entire class. Everyone stopped what they were doing as they all looked towards Professor Glory's way—towards Rimuru's way.

"Hey—" Rimuru called out, but he was interrupted.

"All students! Attention!" Her voice, even without magical amplification, boomed throughout the entire building. Rimuru blinked in confusion as the students began to assemble in neat rows. Some obliged stiffly, already recognizing what this was about, while the slower bunch muttered amongst themselves in confusion, but complied nonetheless.

"By order of protocol," the professor continued, "we welcome the Grand Marshal of Dicathen, Rimuru Tempest."

A ripple of murmurs passed through the students before they stood straighter, crossing their arms over their chests in a unified gesture of respect.

"Uh, is this really necessary?" he asked, glancing at Professor Glory, who gave him an apologetic smile.

"I'm afraid it's standard protocol for high-ranking officials," she replied gently.

Rimuru sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Great. Just what I need."

His eyes scanned the student body. More than a handful was familiar to him. There was Arthur Leywin, of course. His eyes moved from one to another, until. "Ah," Rimuru muttered with a condescending smile. "It's been a long time, Mr. Wykes."

Lucas Wykes visibly stiffened at being called out, and Rimuru had to fight back a smirk. Several students glanced between the two, clearly sensing some history there. Rimuru let the awkward moment stretch just long enough to be satisfying before breaking into an easy smile.

"Relax. I'm not here to settle old scores between me and your family."

He turned to Professor Glory, who looked like she was trying to piece together exactly what kind of history she'd stumbled into. "Thanks for the welcome, but I should get going. Got a busy schedule and all that."

"Of course, Grand Marshal," she replied, though he could see her curiosity wasn't quite satisfied. "Would you like an escort to—"

"No need. I'm sure these students have training to get back to. Well," Rimuru said, turning to the students, "don't let me interrupt for too long. Carry on."

He caught Arthur's eye as he turned to leave and gave him a slight nod. They'd catch up later, preferably somewhere without all the formality and standing at attention.

The walk back through the academy grounds was exactly as eventful as Rimuru had expected. News of his presence in campus had clearly spread—students were practically hanging out of windows to catch a glimpse of him. A group of girls nearly tripped over each other trying to cross his path casually, only to freeze like startled deer when he actually looked their way.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, adjusting his glasses. "Ridiculous, but cute."

His little walk took him past one of the academy's gardens, where the magical plants seemed to be showing off extra hard, their colors practically screaming for attention. He continued down the path and eventually arrived near the main gates.

Rimuru picked up his pace slightly, his boots clicking against the stone pathway. He'd had quite enough of being the center of attention for one day, and he sure was ready for some peace and quiet.

The guard at the gate looked like he was preparing for another formal bow, but Rimuru pretended to be suddenly very interested in adjusting his coat until he was safely past. Sometimes the best way to avoid ceremony was to simply act like you hadn't noticed it was about to happen.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the floating city, and somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled to signal the end of classes. Rimuru could already imagine the explosion of gossip that would follow.

He made a mental note to avoid the academy vicinity for at least a few days—or at least until the next big piece of gossip came along to distract everyone. Right now, he needed a drink.

Just a nice, hot drink.

———

Shadows whipped across the building rooftops, mingling with the faintest traces of magic. Five figures, cloaked entirely in black from head to toe, moved swiftly yet cautiously, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in pursuit of their target. In perfect unison, they came to an abrupt halt atop the roof of a nearby café, their eyes scanning the streets below.

The leader raised a closed fist, signaling the others to hold position. Below them, through the café's window, they could see their target—the newly appointed Grand Marshal—casually entering a café like he didn't have a care in the world.

"He's alone."

"He's been alone all day. No guards, no escort."

The leader's eyes narrowed behind their mask. It seemed too easy. The intelligence they'd received painted Rimuru Tempest as a formidable opponent, yet here he was, completely exposed. Either their information was wrong, or...

"Stay alert."

Below, Rimuru accepted a paper bag containing his coffee and stepped out into the dimming evening light. The assassins tensed, ready to move. But instead of heading toward his villa, he turned down a narrow alley.

The leader's instincts screamed that something was wrong. The alley was a dead end—anyone with local knowledge would know that. Either their target was embarrassingly uninformed about his own neighborhood, or something else was going on.

"He knows."

They all moved, dropping down into the alley like shadows given form, exactly as their target had expected them to. The leader remained on the rooftop, watching as their carefully planned ambush transformed into something else entirely—something that felt increasingly like a trap.

In the alley below, Rimuru was placing his coffee on a crate with deliberate care, as if he was settling in to watch a show he'd been looking forward to. His voice drifted up, casual and almost friendly, making the leader's blood run cold.

"You know, if you're going to follow someone, you should at least do it properly."

The leader could only watch in horror as everything went wrong.

◇◇◇

The sun was beginning to set as I pushed open the door to Bitter & Sweet, a modest café tucked away near my villa. The bell chimed softly above me, and the scent of freshly ground coffee beans wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Behind the counter, a barista who couldn't have been more than twenty greeted me with a cheerful smile.

"One cappuccino to go, please," I said, already fishing out some coins from my pocket. "Extra shot of espresso."

While I waited for my order, I leaned against the counter, idly watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of orange and purple through the café's window.

"Here's your cappuccino, sir!" The barista's voice pulled me from my thoughts. She handed me a paper bag with the coffee nestled inside, still smiling that carefree smile.

"Thanks." I took the bag and headed out, turning not toward my villa but down a narrow alley between two buildings. The shadows were deeper here, the sunset barely reaching between the tall structures.

Perfect.

I walked unhurriedly, listening to the nearly silent footfalls above. They were fairly good by human standards—I'd give them that much. Most people wouldn't have noticed them at all. But then again, I wasn't most people.

Halfway down the alley, I stopped. "You know," I said conversationally to the seemingly empty air, "if you're going to follow someone, you should at least do it properly."

I carefully set my coffee down on a nearby crate.

The shadows moved. Four men dropped down to surround me, while one remained on the rooftop. All wore black from head to toe, faces hidden by masks that probably cost more than their training.

"Are you Alacryans?" I asked. No response. "Nothing to say, huh? That's fine."

Uriel.

The first assassin's arm separated from his body before he even realized I had moved. There was no blood—the limb simply ceased to be attached, the flesh and bone separating at a molecular level. He didn't even have time to scream before his other arm followed.

Uriel's severance series worked wonders.

The second assassin managed half a step backward before his legs gave way, crumpling like paper in a rain shower. The third and fourth tried to attack simultaneously—one from behind, one from the side. I didn't bother turning. Their bodies simply came apart, piece by piece, like a puzzle being disassembled by invisible hands.

The fifth assassin, still on the roof, tried to flee. I flicked my gaze upward, and he froze mid-step, every muscle locking in place.

"Okay, then," I said, walking toward the paralyzed assassin as he fell down to ground level. "Want to tell me who sent you?"

The assassin's jaw worked behind his mask, but no words came out.

"No? Shame." I studied him for a moment longer before sighing. "Well, points for loyalty, I suppose." A single look, and the assassin joined their companions in pieces on the ground.

I walked back to where I'd left my coffee, picking up the paper bag and fishing out the cup. The cappuccino was still warm, though not quite hot anymore. I took a sip as I stepped out of the alley and back onto the main street, where the last rays of sunset were painting the cobblestones gold.

"Mm," I murmured appreciatively. "They really do make good coffee here."

Behind me, shadows writhed briefly in the alley before settling into stillness, leaving no trace of what had transpired there just moments before.