# Enhanced Translation: Academy Festival Common Sense
## Chapter 12: The Common Sense of Academy Festivals
"Entry during alchemy experiments requires knocking first."
"Child sleeping. No knocking."
A subtle stench wafted through the cracks of the perfectly sealed club room door.
This bizarre club, formed by eccentric students from the Magic University, Theology Department, and Physical Education's Knight Division, was generally avoided by others, but especially during this period.
No one dared approach that club room where non-alchemy students conducted experiments amid the overwhelming smell of fermented herring, despite having no connection to the Alchemy Department.
The righteous alchemy students who might have protested this tarnishing of their department's reputation were all crawling around like zombies in their labs. This is why people should study humanities. (Physical education and arts count as humanities in the broader sense. Because they're all about having fun.)
"Add more anchovies."
"B-but... if we add any more...!"
"Add more!! Do you want to ruin the project?"
"Fine! I get it, damn it!"
The research team, looking as though they were creating a homunculus or the philosopher's stone, trembled as they added ingredients to a massive container.
"Try... try tasting it!"
"I... I already tried earlier. It's your turn now!"
"I'm in charge of production! Don't pass the bomb to me!"
"Bomb? Did you just call our passion and memories a bomb?"
After this heartwarming scene of researchers passing their findings to each other, and after much more time had passed...
"We've... done it..."
"Damn. I never thought I'd actually see something like this."
"Is it really complete? To me, it looks like we just dissected some monster's corpse."
"Stop with the facts."
They gathered in the center of the dark club room, looking like cultists summoning an ancient god, and solemnly congratulated each other on their achievement.
With red liquid splattered chaotically over their white lab coats, the scene resembled a slaughterhouse—minus the smell.
Removing his sweat-soaked mask, Oswald sighed.
"It's been a long, arduous journey..."
Yu-jin closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross with perfect theology student precision.
"Our Father in heaven, bring peace to this land through Your glory."
"Hey, stop with the blessing! You're purifying it!!"
Yu-ri slapped Yu-jin on the back and laughed warmly.
"But everyone worked hard. I really didn't think this would work."
"I knew it would. Among faith, hope, and love, faith is the greatest."
"Don't let your guard down yet, everyone."
Oswald calmly waved his hand and approached the preservation container.
"We've only buttoned the first button of our experiment. Our goal is far grander."
"Right. Soon... 'that day' will come."
Yu-jin swallowed dryly and whispered ominously.
"That day. At the university festival... our club will dominate all departments and clubs. May the Lord bless us. The power of advanced culture...!!"
"Honestly, I don't think anyone's going to eat this."
"Hey, don't you know about national pride? Watch your words. This is a perfect food that prevents cancer, seizures, and dementia."
"Did you actually believe that?"
A food made by salting vegetables, seasoning them with chili powder and fermented seafood, then fermenting the mixture.
That's right.
They had successfully created kimchi.
Kimchi is ultimately a simple dish made by salt-preserving vegetables, adding fermented seafood and spices, then fermenting it.
In a world with vegetables (cabbage), fish sauce (anchovies), and chili powder, there's no reason it couldn't be made.
Though its current form and smell might be bizarre, any 21st century Korean would know:
Kimchi becomes edible when stir-fried or boiled. This is a truth proven over many years by restaurant owners who stir-fry cheap Chinese kimchi with frozen pork belly.
Bringing 21st century culture and riding the wave of massive capital flow was "common sense" in transmigration stories, so the three transmigrators decided to seize this opportunity.
It was a day with just one week left until the festival began.
"We're going to be rich!"
That day, they immediately submitted their vendor application to the student council under the name "Michelin Fine Dining" in a world without Michelin.
## Episode 12. The Common Sense of Academy Festivals
"The festival is coming up soon."
"Hmm."
"Do you have any plans for the festival day?"
Ivan tilted his head at Isabelle's question.
A festival is ultimately an extension of the university schedule. And from a broader perspective, that means it's not much different from the regular undergraduate curriculum.
Therefore, for Ivan, festival days weren't much different from regular days.
"No."
"D-Dear!!!"
Isabelle screamed, throwing down her wooden sword. Since it wasn't a particularly pleasant sight, he quietly picked up the fallen sword and handed it back to her.
"Then come see the festival with me!"
"See the festival?"
"Yes! You know, things like shooting games, and, um, what else happens at festivals... maybe magic shows...?"
In a world where firearms are classified as low-grade war weapons, would balloon shooting really be a popular game?
And in a world with real magic, what would be special about a magic show...? Most magic tricks could be replaced with mana in this world.
While Ivan was tilting his head in thought, Isabelle's eyes were sparkling.
"Whatever it is! It's a festival! Let's go see it together, okay? Um, escort duty. Yes, there could be emergencies!"
"Hmm."
She wasn't wrong. And that was surprising. That a resident of this primitive pre-modern medieval fantasy world would offer a sensible opinion.
Generally, when a festival occurs at an academy, one of the following disaster scenarios inevitably happens:
Enemy attacks, professor deaths, bombings, dragons or equivalent major monsters rampaging, rebel declarations of war.
As recalled before, academies suffer more invasions than front-line battlefields. At this point in May, there have already been three major incidents at the academy.
Ivan looked at Isabelle with serious eyes and nodded.
"Let's do that."
"Wow!! Really!!? Did this man actually listen to me...?! Q-quickly, pinch my cheek. I can't believe this is reality."
"Stop being dramatic and finish your training."
"So it is reality."
Ivan brought his wooden sword down toward the grumbling Isabelle.
Elves don't need to be described as arrogant and self-righteous. That would be redundant.
However, even among such elves, or rather, especially among such elves, there existed firm class distinctions.
This is no different from how England and Japan have built cultural systems around being "gentlemen (England: practiced piracy)" and "people of harmony (Japan: practiced piracy)" since ancient times.
It's a transcendent commonality among island peoples. In countries where the only escape route is the sea, if mutual assured destruction isn't an option, their culture demands courtesy.
Therefore, elves, like most islanders, are peaceful, harmonious citizens who respect each other and conform to class distinctions.
"Um... Miss Grikenkos?"
"Yes?"
"Have you been... um, upset about something?"
"My, upset? Whatever do you mean?"
"No! Nothing! I apologize for my rudeness!!"
An elf hurried away in fear. Elfihera sighed as she watched the frail elf's retreating figure.
Every single one of them was pathetically hopeless. The girls were scheming, and the boys were spineless.
Ah, where could one find a strong, robust man?
At this rate, they'd have no choice but to import masculinity from "humans." The future of elves looked so bleak.
"Why do you keep scaring people?"
"What."
"You, right now. Your killing intent is completely uncontrollable."
The woman who pulled up a chair in front of her was one of the few people Elfihera couldn't drive away by force.
Evelyn Rustfitz, daughter of Chancellor Rustfitz.
She had formed the largest faction among the university's elves. Normally, Elfihera might have responded with a smile, but the timing wasn't good.
"Let's talk later, Miss Rustfitz. I have a headache right now."
"Oh my, shall I call a priest for you?"
"Mind your own business."
Leaving the surprised Evelyn behind, Elfihera responded coldly and left. She hadn't been able to meet Ivan for a full ten days.
An extremely low-pressure state, and what made it worse was that she couldn't even blame others. There had been many opportunities to meet, she had sought him out many times, and had even prepared gifts.
The problem was that she couldn't approach within the range where facial features could be recognized.
"Urgh..."
Elfihera gripped her sleeve tightly and gritted her teeth.
Being a magic prodigy was fine. Not just fine, but rather expected! Who could argue against the daughter of Beolgreen being a magic prodigy?
But the problem was that the effect was too powerful.
Creating an original spell, a unique incantation, at just 20 years old was something to be admired even among elves.
Although the spell's effects were limited to herself and belonged to the mental category, how remarkable was it to create a powerful spell that distorted perception itself, and without side effects?
The only problem was that it was too remarkable.
"I can't... look at his face directly...!!"
She gritted her teeth as she looked down from the window at Ivan, who was chatting amicably with a worthless human woman in the courtyard below.
That woman was actively rubbing her useless chest fat against Ivan's arm as she clung to him.
Even though that man was a madman who couldn't function without aphrodisiacs... still, she couldn't tolerate a stray dog trying to mark what belonged to her.
But... but!
"I can't... approach him!!"
Using the Fantasy Shaving spell allowed her to see Ivan's bare face.
But seeing Ivan's bare face made it impossible to approach him...!!
What a paradox. On the first day she completed the spell, she had confidently gone to find Ivan, only to turn around and flee.
That husky voice that seemed to rise from deep within, those deep and solemn eyes, those smooth lips that occasionally smiled faintly.... And the memories between her and the man that others wouldn't know.
It was too powerful a combination.
Because he was exactly her type.
And because he looked much, much younger than she had thought. Almost to the point of feeling familiar. So... so.
"This won't do...!"
To gain an advantage between the stupid human woman who wanted to shave off his beard and the vulgar human woman who even liked his beard, she needed a greater means.
Fortunately, she knew something that the other stupid humans (a redundant error) didn't know.
The vision of happiness shown by the ancient evil god. Ivan's preferences that she had confirmed within it. She had thoroughly grasped Ivan's secret preferences that other humans couldn't even imagine.
A comb and dog treats.
With those two things, she could secure an unrivaled position among those inferior creatures who only knew how to launch physical attacks.
Elfihera made a firm decision and stood up.