Considering Sakuya Izayoi's flawless culinary precision, everyone present knew she would never lie about her work.
Therefore, Flandre's stubborn claim that the pastry on her sister's plate tasted better than her own was a completely baseless accusation.
Furthermore, Sakuya always prepared both portions of pastries side by side, ensuring the ingredients, measurements, and baking conditions were strictly identical down to the millimeter. Both plates were baked in the exact same oven, on the exact same tray, at the exact same depth.
Under such controlled conditions, it was physically impossible for the flavors to differ.
So... she simply believed that the food in someone else's dish tasted inherently better!
Realizing this, the group turned their collective gazes toward Flandre.
Remilia's narrow glare toward her younger sister grew dangerously sharp once again.
Patchouli reached out, gently pinching Flandre's soft cheek. "Even so, you can't just snatch things off your sister's plate!"
"I didn't snatch it, I stole it!" Flandre corrected righteously.
Patchouli felt a familiar headache coming on; whether it was snatching or stealing, were they not both inherently bad behaviors?
"Stealing isn't allowed either!" Patchouli sighed, lightly tapping Flandre's forehead with her finger. "You don't want to be chased down the hallways by your sister every single day, do you?"
Hearing those words, Flandre subconsciously covered her bottom and nodded vigorously.
"There you go, then," Patchouli said smoothly.
Flandre smacked her lips with lingering regret. She still firmly believed that her sister's portion smelled and tasted superior. Maybe next time, she should leave her own pastry for her sister first, then swap?
Just as Flandre was seriously pondering the tactical logistics of the pastry swap, Patchouli produced a thick, leather-bound volume—the exact Magic textbook Flandre had been reading over the past few days.
"You cause so much trouble simply because you don't have enough to keep your mind occupied," Patchouli stated, opening the cover. "This is the text you've been reviewing lately, correct? Let me test your comprehension..."
Flandre didn't show a single hint of fear toward the unexpected oral examination. Instead, she sat up straight, entirely composed. "Okay!"
Patchouli's testing method was straightforward. There was no need for written exam papers; she would simply flip to a random page and question Flandre on the theoretical principles or ask her to break down the complex formulas detailed inside.
This style of examination was extremely fluid, but it demanded an exceptionally high level of mastery over the material from both the teacher and the student.
However, Flandre felt zero pressure. After all, this was the exact same testing style Patchouli had used back at the Scarlet Devil Mansion; she had long since grown accustomed to it. Besides, if she couldn't even pass a basic pop quiz of this caliber, how could she dare claim she had thoroughly mastered the book's contents?
Watching Flandre answer every intricate theoretical question with effortless fluency, Remilia couldn't help but offer a subtle, approving nod from the side.
Although her younger sister was mischievous, overly playful, and loved stealing her desserts... her learning capacity and raw intelligence were truly undeniable.
By the time Patchouli concluded the oral exam, dusk had already settled outside the landship's viewing ports. Flandre let out a tiny yawn and trotted back to her assigned quarters to sleep.
When Flandre opened her eyes, it was already the following morning.
As she stretched and prepared to step out the door, Remilia's clear voice drifted over from the desk. "When you go play with Amiya today, play all you like, but do not spout nonsense or lead others astray."
Flandre felt this was a grave, unprovoked slander. She was a model student; how could she possibly lead Amiya astray?
However, since it was her elder sister speaking, she didn't dare talk back directly. She could only silently 'swallow her indignation,' 'endure humiliation for the sake of the mission,' and 'en—'
Just as Flandre's thoughts were wandering into chaotic territory, she caught the sharp glint in Remilia's eyes. Flandre instantly covered her bottom with both hands and bolted out the doorway.
After arriving at the central cafeteria and finishing her breakfast, Flandre didn't rush off to find Amiya right away. Based on what she had observed over the past few days, Amiya had a heavy schedule of administrative and leadership tutoring every morning, making it an unsuitable time for leisure play.
So, what should she do to pass the morning?
The answer was simple: head over to Rhodes Island's onboard school.
According to her conversation with Amiya yesterday, the young leader was scheduled to attend formal academic classes there this morning as well. Besides, there were plenty of children her age in the classroom—perfect for making new playmates.
When she arrived at the educational wing, Amiya was indeed just stepping through the door.
Amiya brightened up upon seeing Flandre, while the other Infected children who had met her yesterday called out enthusiastic greetings one after another.
The first period of the day was mathematics.
For Flandre, this level of basic arithmetic posed absolutely zero challenge. She pulled out a heavy treatise titled The Evocation School: From Small Fireballs to Flying Fire Meteors and flipped through the pages with keen interest, casually sketching complex Magic geometric models on a sheet of scrap paper.
When the instructor walking through the rows noticed that she wasn't following along with the class textbook but was instead reading 'extracurricular material,' he initially intended to offer a gentle reminder.
However, as he stepped closer and caught sight of the utterly incomprehensible, dense diagrams she was drafting on her desk, the teacher's throat tightened, and he swallowed hard.
Much of the theoretical notation on the page was something he could barely parse, while certain advanced structural nodes were difficult for him to even read—yet the young girl before him was tracing them out with fluid, effortless ease.
"Is something wrong, Teacher?"
Noticing the instructor standing silently beside her desk for an extended period, Flandre finally looked up and asked politely.
"No... it's nothing," the teacher replied, adjusting his glasses while staring at the textbook in her hands. "How long have you been studying these advanced Magic models?"
Flandre held up her small fingers and counted. "About two days, I think! Mostly because this book is really interesting and Flandre likes it a lot, so I spent a bit of extra time researching it."
The teacher stared at her, feeling an overwhelming urge to question reality. In two days, an average practitioner would barely manage to skim through the foundational incantations of the basic Fireball series.
Yet what was she mapping out? Explosion.
That was the absolute apex spell of the Evocation discipline—the signature art favored most by high-tier offensive casters. As the devastating capstone of the Fireball tree, the spell was famous across the land for its terrifying destructive output and massive area of effect, but its casting difficulty and Arts stability requirements were notoriously brutal.
Once unleashed upon a battlefield, it was guaranteed to be the single most devastating spectacle in the combat theater.
Although the instructor himself had studied the theoretical framework of the spell during his academic years, he had never successfully executed it in a live combat environment due to its volatility.
Yet the young girl sitting before him was deconstructing the core Magic model with such casual precision that a startling realization struck him—she genuinely possessed the ability to cast it.
However, realizing this did not make him feel relieved. It wasn't out of professional envy that a child so young had mastered high-tier Arts theory, but out of profound worry.
In his eyes, Flandre was far too young.
No matter how brilliant a child genius might be, her emotional maturity and tactical restraint over high-yield Arts would naturally be underdeveloped.
Adult casters possessed environmental awareness and situational judgment; when casting destructive Arts, they calculated collateral damage, personal stamina reserves, and whether such force was appropriate for the surrounding terrain.
Children, however, lacked that foundational concept of situational assessment. In their youthful worldview, more power simply meant more strength. They naturally gravitated toward the biggest, flashiest spells available, entirely unconcerned with whether firing an explosive strike inside a confined corridor or delicate facility was appropriate.
The teacher looked at Flandre with deep concern. This was a classic dilemma—and the more talented a child was, the more dangerous that lack of restraint became. Ordinary children never faced this problem simply because they couldn't grasp spells of that destructive scale in the first place.