I Was Summoned as the Academy’s Janitor… But I Accidentally Became the Most Overpowered Harem Protagonist?!
Chapter 41: Tournament’s End and the Rising Storm — When Friend and Foe Collide

‎Scene: Grand Arena Feast Hall (Early Evening)

‎The Grand Arena’s marble walls, still gleaming with residual starlight, had been repurposed for tonight’s celebration. Lanterns hung from arched struts overhead, their golden light dancing on polished floors inscribed with ancient custodial runes—silent reminders of the countless broom trials and mop tournaments held here. Banners bearing the Academy’s crest fluttered along the perimeter balconies: a mop crossed with a quill, symbolizing the union of action and knowledge. The scent of freshly roasted pheasant mingled with spiced wine and the tang of iron—relics of last week’s dungeon purge, mopped clean and still faintly present.

‎‎At the Crescent Table, specially raised near the judges’ pavilion, Zephyr Arclight sat beside Rosalia de Glorieux, their co-champion trophies resting on embroidered velvet cushions at their elbows. Zephyr’s posture, relaxed yet alert, contrasted with the elaborate finery he wore—a teal and silver brocade coat embroidered with stylized broom bristles, paired with simple leather gloves bearing faint scorch marks from his duel with Drakynia. He lifted a silver goblet to his lips, swirling wine in delicate circles and surveying the gathered crowd: academy staff, visiting nobles, and guild representatives talking in hushed awe about the Custodial Champions. Each face reflected a mixture of reverence and curiosity—after all, a janitor had just triumphed over the realm’s elite.

‎‎Rosalia, radiant in her white-and-gold gown threaded with phoenix motifs (symbols of rebirth and purification), leaned close so her voice wouldn’t carry beyond their chairs. “Mother would have been proud,” she murmured. The rose crest pinned to her chest glowed faintly as she brushed a loose lock of golden hair behind her ear. Her sapphire eyes flickered with both exhaustion and elation.

‎‎Zephyr offered her a gentle smile, feeling an unexpected warmth in his chest. “You did all of that,” he whispered, gesturing to her trophy. “You helped save the academy.” Yet he knew it went deeper—her unwavering faith in the prophecy had rallied everyone. Her divine light had turned tides in ways mere broom magic could not.

‎‎Rosalia reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “And you kept us all alive. Tonight, I wanted to celebrate—just us.” Her gaze drifted to Arwen Galehart, who stood a few steps away beside Drakynia Flameheart. Arwen’s silver hair caught the lantern light, creating a halo against the dark banners. She wore an alabaster gown edged with frost motifs, sleeves woven from enchanted silk that swirled with a pale, icy mist. Her eyes—once so rigid—now held a softness reserved only for Zephyr. Drakynia, in contrast, was clad in crimson leather and blackened scale, a braided knot of platinum hair revealing feral amber eyes that softened at the sight of her companions. Both women, though balked by their warrior pride, had given everything to support Zephyr’s cause.

‎Zephyr released Rosalia’s hand, rising to address the assembly. At his signal, the orchestra—a dozen bards and archmages from the Music Club—began a gentle fanfare, their strings weaving a melody that rose like steam over a still lake. The room quieted.

‎‎“I…never intended to be celebrated,” Zephyr began, voice firm yet humble. “But your faith has shown me a truth I’ve only recently understood: that even a humble mop can become a beacon of hope when wielded with compassion.” He paused, scanning the faces—each one marked by candlelight and academic robes. “Tonight, I stand not for myself, but for the bonds we’ve forged: bonds of friendship, loyalty, and love. I accept this honor in gratitude to all of you.”

‎‎A hush fell as he lifted his bronze-and-silver trophy—the Custodial Champion’s scepter carved into its handle gleamed. A flush of pride passed through Rosalia’s eyes, while Arwen’s breath caught as she noted the way his fingers closed around the base. Drakynia tapped her cup against the table, a low rumble of respect. And amidst them all, Selena Frostveil studied Zephyr with a mixture of admiration and something deeper—her usual measured calm giving way to a gentle tremor in her grip of the goblet.

‎‎Before the applause could swell, a tremor vibrated beneath their chairs—the first rumble of unease. Servants paused in their deliveries of roasted pheasant and sweet custard, their wide eyes drifting toward the thick oak doors at the far end of the hall. A sudden hush rippled as a crack sounded, like ice fracturing under immense weight. The crowd’s chatter dissolved into whispers of alarm.

‎‎Zephyr’s gaze sharpened; the trophies faded from his mind. He lent closer to Rosalia. “Something’s wrong—this isn’t structural failure.” Underfoot, the stones hummed as if infused with a dark heartbeat.

‎‎A messenger in battered white robes burst into the hall, crimson-stained and breathless. “Champions! The Frosted Court—there is a rupture in the ice wards! Dark mana coalesces beneath the Frosted Fountain! The Recall Seal… they’ve activated it!” His eyes flicked to Zephyr’s mop carved on the academy crest at his belt. “They intend to resurrect the Mopnarch’s corrupted image and plunge us all into chaos!”

‎Gasps filled the chamber; noblewomen clutched their pearls, and armored knights rose to their feet in tension. Drakynia leapt from her seat, her crimson gown sweeping like embers. “They dare—? We go now!”

‎‎Arwen slid toward Zephyr, her fingers trembling slightly on the hilt of her ice bow. “You must be prepared—no more feasting.”

‎‎Rosalia rose gracefully, the phoenix motifs on her gown seeming to glow. “We stand with you—always.”

‎‎Zephyr nodded, the calm resolve in his dark eyes settling into place. “Gather the Council—Selena, you lead our wards. Arwen, bind the ice runes. Drakynia, I need a firewall around Seraphina’s flank. Rosalia, lend me your divine light.” His voice carried the collected strength of their shared victories.

‎In that moment, the Grand Arena’s feast hall shifted from triumphant celebration to the war room’s threshold. Servants scurried to secure doors behind the messenger, as Zephyr and his companions—six strong—stepped through the hall’s northern archway into the brisk evening air. Lantern light gave way to the silver glare of a rising moon, and the night felt suddenly vast.

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‎Scene: Frosted Court Garden (Late Evening)

‎‎The Frosted Court’s marble walls loomed ahead, pale against a night sky streaked with northern lights. Each spire and arch was carved from glacier-blue stone, the surface etched with runic patterns that glowed faintly with internal magic. Snowdrifts, soft as powder, lined the crystalline walkways, reflecting moonbeams like shards of glass. In the center rose the Frosted Fountain—a majestic basin of carved ice shaped like a lotus in perpetual bloom. Normally, water flowed from its petals in a crystalline cascade, but tonight it lay silent, its surface cracked and veined with swirling silver dust. Beneath that frozen surface, a dark vortex of mana churned.

‎‎Zephyr moved onto frost-speckled cobblestones, his breath steaming in the cold air. He wrapped his cloak tighter, revealing the silver filigree of enchantment woven into its edges—gifts from Queen Caterina for just such an emergency. Arwen followed, her gown leaving trails of frost where she stepped, as if her very shadow carried winter itself. Her expression—once composed—now reflected concern: blue eyes darting to the runic carvings on each wall.

‎‎“Those runes are weakening,” Arwen murmured, voice low enough only for Zephyr. “Someone has twisted the court’s ancient wards to force the Recall Seal.” She raised her ice bow, frost swirling around the string as she prepared a warding arrow.

‎‎Zephyr nodded. “Then we’ll break their hold—together.” He brushed his fingers along the enchanted handle of his mop. The bristles, faintly luminescent, pulsed with a soft white glow. With each beat, he felt the presence of the Phoenix soul within—its warmth steadied his heartbeat.

‎‎Behind them, Drakynia and Rosalia planted themselves by the fountain’s rim. Drakynia’s leather boots crunched on frost; her dragon-scale armor gleamed dimly. “Ignis Veylor’s teaching in flames and strife won’t sway me,” she growled, eyes flaring amber. In her hands, she kindled a flame the color of molten magma, a shield of fire to keep approaching dark tendrils at bay.

‎‎Rosalia knelt, placing the tip of Purity’s Light against a crack in the basin. As golden runes flared around her spear, she began a solemn hymn: a rolling cadence of notes that resonated through the ice and sky, stirring the fountain’s still surface into gentle ripples. “By the light of Arventia, I banish this corruption,” her voice rang, echoing in the vaulted garden.

‎‎Selena knelt next to them, unfurling a scroll of ice-etched runes. Her fingers traced each symbol with precision—glyphs of containment drawn from her Frostbrand Grimoire. “This dome will suppress the Seal—if Zephyr can channel Purification Surge through the basin.” She glanced at him, eyes equal parts hope and determination.

‎Zephyr stepped forward, sandals crunching on frost. The silver dust swirled upward in choking eddies. The cracked ice beneath him groaned, as if protesting his presence. He raised his mop—bristles ablaze with white flame—and spoke the ancient custodial invocation he had silently repeated each night before bed:

‎‎ “By bristle and binding, I draw the dark away;

‎By heart and by hammer, I sweep the corruption unless it stay;

‎Let purity’s flame rend shadow opaque,

‎Let hope’s bright ember pierce the void we make.”

‎‎At his words, the mop’s glow intensified to a blinding white. A ripple of radiant energy surged outward, washing over the group. Arwen’s frost arrow flared and struck a weakening runic panel—shattering the carved glyphs into shards of ice. Drakynia’s fire clashed with emerging shadow tendrils, vaporizing them into harmless steam. Rosalia’s hymn crescendoed, golden light flooding the basin and cracking the surface ice. Selena’s containment ward solidified into a shimmering dome of silver-blue magic.

‎‎The Recall Seal, an intricate web of shadow and ice binding the fountain’s core, trembled. Its central sigil—a spiraling vortex of obsidian lines—flickered as Zephyr’s Purification Surge collided with it. At that moment, a figure fell from the shadows above: Lord Ignis Veylor—cloak billowing, staff raised high. His voice rang with icy contempt: “You dare defy the Abyssal Codex? The Mopnarch will rise, and light shall crumble before true power!”

‎‎He slammed his staff into the cracked edge of the fountain. Darkness bled from the impact, twisting into a massive shadow wraith that roared in fury. Ignis raised both hands, summoning swirling shards of corrupted ice to strike at Zephyr.

‎‎Zephyr, unflinching, planted his mop into the basin’s center. The white flame flared to its zenith. The Phoenix within his broom coalesced, forming wings of molten light that spread across the fountain’s entire surface. As shadows swirled upward, he thrust the mop forward, releasing Purification Surge in one thunderous burst. The wave of radiant energy rippled outward, meeting Ignis’s corrupted ice in midair like clashing tides. Where they collided, a blinding explosion echoed through the garden, shaking the marble walls.

‎‎When the dust settled, the dark vortex lay shattered—silver dust swirling harmlessly down cathedral-like steps of broken ice. Ignis, reeling from the backlash, collapsed to one knee; his staff, once crackling with Abyssal Codex energy, now lay inert at his side. The giant shape of the shadow wraith dissolved into motes of darkness, leaving only the hush of falling snow.

‎‎Arwen stepped toward Ignis, bow still drawn. Frost crept along her arrow as she raised it. But Zephyr’s voice, calm and resolute, stopped her. “No more bloodshed.” His mop’s glow subsided, returning to its soft white glow. “He’s struck once—let this be the end.”

‎‎Ignis’s obsidian eyes flickered to Zephyr, respect mingling with defeat. He slowly rose, his cloak trailing ice-scorched runes. “You… have bested me,” he rasped. “Perhaps… there is more to this ‘custodian’ than I believed.” He turned, melting into the swirling snow as silently as he had arrived.

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‎Epilogue: Requiem Beneath the Moon

‎‎The moon, now high above the Frosted Court, cast a serene light across the shattered fountain. Zephyr kneeled by Rosalia’s side, helping her gather stray shards of ice. Each piece glowed briefly before dissolving into harmless mist. The golden glow around Purity’s Light dimmed but remained steady—an emblem of their victory.

‎‎Arwen joined them, lowering her bow and exhaling a soft breath. “The wards hold,” she murmured. “But we must repair them before dawn.” Her fingers traced the repaired runic patterns on the garden’s floor—now faintly etched with both ice and flame symbols, representing their united strengths.

‎‎Drakynia knelt opposite Rosalia, extinguishing her molten embers with a careful splash of snowwater. “Ignis will regroup,” she said, tension still coiling in her voice. “But this… this is our victory tonight.”

‎‎Selena emerged from her containment circle, removing her ice-lensed glasses. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion; fatigue weighed on her shoulders, but her eyes sparkled with relief. “The Recall Seal is broken,” she confirmed, checking her scroll. “No residual corruption remains. We may yet live in a world where custodial magic is honored as a force for unity.”

‎‎Zephyr rose, mop set aside. The group assembled in a loose circle around the fountain’s basin. Each member—Arwen, Drakynia, Rosalia, Selena—rested a hand upon the cool marble rim. When Zephyr placed his own hand in the center, the fountain’s surface rippled, as though acknowledging their vow to protect this place and the bonds they’d forged.

‎‎A hush fell over them; even the swirling snow seemed to pause as if holding its breath. In that quiet moment, Zephyr spoke softly but with unwavering certainty: “No matter what storms arise, we stand together. We will sweep away corruption, bind our hearts in unity, and protect all that is precious in this world.” His gaze swept across their faces—the fierce protectiveness in Arwen’s eyes, the unwavering faith in Rosalia’s smile, the tempered logic in Selena’s nod, and the steady confidence in Drakynia’s stance.

‎‎Beyond Frosted Court’s walls, the distant lights of Lumina Town still burned brightly. Somewhere beneath those lights, students and townsfolk alike slept, unaware that their safety hinged on this circle of friends.

‎‎As the moon slipped behind the drifting aurora, a final flurry of snowflakes drifted down, settling atop the broken shards of the Recall Seal. The Frosted Fountain, now free of corruption, glowed faintly with shards of violet light—an ethereal promise that purity, love, and loyalty can prevail even against the darkest storms.