Living Art and Hidden Desires
The guild room on the island. The roof slants precariously, the floor creaks with every step, and sand sifts down endlessly like a shanty from the Great Depression.
Yet among the 'real' dwellings left on this island, it ranks as the best.
"...Congrats~? Getting all pretty for the professor."
Jukaken sneered at his reflection in the mirror. Al Ross's face hardened.
"Cut the crap, you shit."
"Whatever you grumble~ The almighty puppeteer Al Ross finally showed her true face, and Deculein got a good look at it~"
What was it he said~? Something like you're more beautiful than the world's most exquisite artwork~
Grinning ear to ear, Jukaken shaved his mustache and straightened his clothes.
He was probably trying to look good for Deculein, in his own way.
Al Ross shook her head.
"Whatever. Deculein's just the same kind of guy. My skin's still crawling from that hair on end."
Ever since her days as Cynthia, she'd been jaded by appearance-obsessed types.
A life of fending off advances from men and women alike. The reason she'd hidden her 'true form' ever since awakening her specialized Puppetry magic was simple.
It was a hassle.
And dangerous.
That's a big reason she'd teamed up with Gerec and Jukaken. The multiple-personality Gerec had no interest in humans, and Jukaken had none in women.
"...Finally escaping this insane island~"
"Go do your damn job."
Jukaken and Gerec's mission was tunneling. Drawing the 'frame' of the magic circle around the island's outskirts.
Convincing Gerec had been tough, but he'd eventually agreed that they needed to get outside for proper revenge.
"Yeah, yeah. Can't do anything if we wanna get out."
Jukaken combed his hair, slicking it back 2-to-8 style. Finally, he looked like the underworld boss Jukaken from his dark days.
"Right. Where's Deculein? Your job's his escort, yeah?"
"In the village."
"Village? Oh, you mean remotely escorting with that crappy puppet right now?"
Al Ross was currently manipulating a scarecrow. Beyond a shut-in, she was full hikikomori level, avoiding the outside world at all costs.
Plus, inside here, she could dodge Sylvia's magical surveillance.
"Crappy? It's got enough power to kill a worm like you. I ditched the human looks for peak performance. Besides, I didn't wanna hang around the professor anyway. The way he looked at me—"
"Wasn't lecherous."
"..."
She was right—it wasn't lustful or depraved. If anything, it was pure. He'd gazed at her in genuine awe, like beholding a work of art.
A barrage of praise that felt burdensome.
"Well, whatever. Can't complain if I can exploit this shell for my gain... No one bigger than the professor for that."
Al Ross shook her head with a slightly bitter expression.
* * *
Voice's Island. At its center stood a tall, lighthouse-like house, long and peculiar.
I visited Sylvia's residence.
To guard against any threats, I'd stationed Al Ross's scarecrow nearby.
A literal scarecrow. Straw stuffed into clothes.
Knock knock—
The door opened the instant I knocked. Sylvia faced me, grabbing my sleeve with an angry scowl and yanking me inside.
Bam—!
She slammed the door shut.
"Why are you here? To kill Ciel?"
"As if. No need to provoke you rashly."
"Then why."
"Idnik told me you're studying."
"..."
A faint crease formed between Sylvia's brows. She blinked and asked,
"So."
"Ever thought of hiring a personal tutor?"
"...Wha—"
Her voice caught mid-word, flustered. She swallowed and continued.
"What."
"Self-study has its limits."
Sylvia's face was one of utter disbelief. A stupid expression I'd never seen. It was kinda cute, in its way.
"So hire me."
"...No."
She shook her head. I asked innocently,
"Why?"
"How can I trust you? You might be here to kill Ciel."
A clichéd reason. And a mild insult to boot.
"Sylvia. I am Deculein. I speak no deceptions or falsehoods."
"Fake."
"No. I remain Deculein. I swear it. I will not kill Ciel now."
"..."
A vow not to kill.
Sylvia's eyes widened in shock. Seizing the moment, I headed up the stairs to her room.
Frozen at first, Sylvia chased after me belatedly, pattering footsteps echoing.
"Ah, no. Stop. Stop."
She yelled in uncharacteristic panic, grabbing at my back.
"Stop it. Halt. I haven't permitted—"
I opened the door to her room.
"..."
"..."
Silence fell.
"..."
"..."
The room was stuffed with dolls.
Bears, rabbits, puppies, tigers, pandas... Over a dozen crowded the bed in neat rows, while full-body portraits of me—Deculein—plastered the walls like bromides.
Sylvia must have drawn them herself.
Pat pat pat—
Sylvia rushed over and tore down the bromides.
"...Get out."
Head bowed, ears red with shame. But I ignored her eviction order.
I turned to the bookshelf dominating one corner. Among the countless tomes, I read one title aloud.
"Essentru Tak Parhelin."
Not the common tongue, not Yuren, not tribal—not even most of the continent would recognize the language. Yet I pronounced it flawlessly.
"?"
Sylvia perked up her ears and lifted her head.
"A fairy book. I've seen you reading fairy erotica before."
"...I didn't know and read it anyway."
"Anyway, aren't you curious? Fairy grammar and translation. Don't you want to learn the language?"
"..."
Sylvia had hobbies beyond drawing.
No—those were her 'real' ones.
"Literature and languages. Collecting books, learning tongues. You prefer that over painting, don't you?"
"...!"
Sylvia's eyes bulged unnaturally. Her small shoulders heaved like waves.
The bigger reaction than expected gave me pause.
"...How."
Her fragmented words, unable to form a sentence.
That's when I realized. Sylvia's hobby wasn't public knowledge anywhere in this world. Only I—or Ciel—who'd read her secret 'settings' knew.
Of course she'd be baffled.
"How do you know. About me."
Sylvia asked bluntly.
I pondered briefly, then nodded.
"Sylvia."
Deculein does not lie. Well, not that he can't—he's capable. It's not some programmed trait, just a nobleman's ingrained dignity.
"...Why."
But he often speaks truth while concealing it.
I couldn't very well say, 'Because I'm the game designer who knows all your settings—'
"I still have it. I remember."
"What do you mean. Don't dodge—"
"'Zeppelon's Stars and Moon'."
That instant.
Sylvia's eyes flew wide. Her clenched fists loosened, her pursed lips parted in a gasp.
"Long ago, the title of the book you gave me."
* * *
Two hours later.
I returned to the guild room. Jukaken was dirt-covered from digging tunnels, and Al Ross wore some mask.
"...What'd you do there?"
The masked Al Ross asked.
I reached for her face. She jerked her head away, rejecting my touch.
"Don't. Don't. Don't unmask me."
"..."
I nodded wordlessly.
This time, Jukaken asked,
"What'd you do with Sylvia?"
"None of your concern."
"What? That psycho bitch is our enemy. What you did—"
"Take this."
Clang—!
I dumped a heap of copper coins. Jukaken and Al Ross reacted explosively.
"Whoaaa?!"
"What?!"
They lunged for the coins, eyes gleaming. Seizing the chance, I yanked off Al Ross's mask.
"No! Damn it all!"
Mask gone, she covered her face with one hand—but the other scooped coins. She shouldered Jukaken aside, her rival.
Despite the clownish antics, the glimpses of her face were stunningly beautiful. Even her ragged, coin-grubbing frenzy felt like performance art...
"Are these coins still valid?"
"Hell yeah! These are the 'real' deal. 'Perfect currency'!"
"Perfect currency?"
"I'll explain later. Jackpot first! Where'd you get 'em?"
"From Sylvia."
Hiring fee.
Wages, essentially.
"You bastard, quit shoving. You're pushing like crazy."
"Shut your trap, shithead. Mine."
Jukaken and Al Ross didn't care, but to explain:
Sylvia paid me in copper for fairy grammar lessons.
"Oh man. How much is this? Steak time! Okay! I'm out!"
Jukaken stuffed his pockets bulging with coins and bolted. Al Ross trembled as she packed hers into a bundle.
Anyway, now alone with her.
Al Ross eyed me warily, cleared her throat—ahem!—and silently extended her hand.
"Need more coins?"
"No. The mask."
I shook my head.
"Too fine an art to hide."
"...Just give it back. Art wears if too many eyes see it."
"Only my eyes, no?"
"..."
Al Ross lowered her arm. I brushed dirt from the chair opposite her with the mask and sat.
Then gazed intently at her face.
Overwhelmed by my stare, she squirmed before shielding her face with both arms, like a boxer's guard.
"Al Ross."
"...What."
"One thing I want to ask now."
"...Ask?"
"What do you want from the Altar."
"..."
Al Ross was a villain of mystery.
A clear Altar collaborator, yet her motives weren't revealed even in the scenario.
Still guarding, she said,
"What's that got to do with you?"
"Everything. The Altar are the continent's enemies."
"...No reason to tell you my goals."
She glared daggers, then pulled a coin from her bundle. Fiddled with it, blew on it—phoo—
It turned into a potato.
"...That's 'perfect currency.' This coin turns into anything 'real.' Dunno the principle. See? Shitty cost-performance."
Al Ross bit into the potato. I watched intently.
Frowning at my gaze, she offered it.
"...Want some? Take it."
"Even eating is art for you. Just devouring a mere potato."
"Huh?"
Creak— I hooked her chair leg with my foot, pulling her close to face me.
Startled, Al Ross plastered herself to the chair back, but I leaned in.
"The more I look, the less I tire. I see ideals in you. Art. Existence itself. You inspire, provoke thought. Magic conjures before my eyes, wicked tunes haunt my mind."
"Ah, enough praise..."
Al Ross raised her guard again, this time curling up with legs on the chair too.
Then.
Hee-hay hee-hay hee-hay hee-hay...
Al Ross's eyes widened. She whispered tiny,
—Ghosts.
"Isn't it the vigilantes?"
—They call 'em that too. Follow.
Al Ross bit the potato and opened the floor hatch in the guild room.
—Come on. Down.
She gestured to the basement.
The passage was thick with cobwebs, dust swirling filthily—but one presence transformed it. Even a squalid space became part of a masterpiece, painted nobly.
"...Very well."
A basement I'd have ignored as Deculein before.
But I descended with Al Ross.
* * *
...Meanwhile, in the imperial palace's secret chamber.
Here, the anti-Deculein alliance met with Intelligence Agency reps. Compiling evidence, timelines, charges, copies—gearing up for counterattack.
"Quite the pile."
Gawain's words. He set down a thick dossier in disbelief.
"Not one or two cases of framing innocents as Altiegue and executing them."
Deculein's past atrocities, blood-soaked truths emerging one by one.
"Publicize this, and we win. His position crumbles, and above all, it gives Her Majesty grounds."
Julie heard Gawain with her ears, eyes on one evidence file.
"If Her Majesty swings the sword with resolve, Deculein has no choice but retreat. All his excuses boil down to 'for the Emperor...' "
Gawain glanced at Julie.
"Lady Julie. You alright?"
"...Hm? Ah, yes. Fine."
Julie shook her head.
"Just a personal matter."
She was reviewing the Marik incident file—from the day of her accident.
Specifically, the [Initial Evidence List].
"Agent Rocken. Possible to misplace or remove evidence?"
Sure enough, the initial list included a 'bracelet.'
The one her father gave her.
But the next page? Gone.
"Yes. Possible. But Intelligence logs everything. Which item?"
"...This bracelet."
Julie pointed. The agent nodded, rifling a ledger at light speed—flip flip—
"Yes. Officer Bailun, handling the case then. Famously Deculein's father's hunting dog back in the day."
Dikailen.
Flames sparked in Julie's eyes.
"Dikailen?! You mean Yukline's Dikailen?"
"Yes."
"Then show me those files too..."
She practically lunged.
....
Meanwhile, the Emperor's bedchamber.
Sophien was communicating with someone.
—I'm telling you. Know how many items I picked for reporting to Her Majesty? Unsents piling up~
Deculein's sister Yeriel. Her university ties fed her minor but satisfying intel.
"Why not send?"
—Says no reports unless perfect. Drives me nuts.
"Hm."
Sophien crossed her arms, humming idly.
—Anyway, that man's loyalty is unreal. How'd a mage house birth such an imperial kiss-ass? Mage's brain, knight's heart. Fits perfect.
"...So you say."
Then, a sudden question.
Embarrassingly sappy, urge to kill-level curiosity—but worth asking once.
"With loyalty like that, does Deculein truly harbor no feelings for Her Majesty...?"
—Feelings? Like affection? Romance?
"..."
No answer.
Couldn't.
—Dunno? But given his personality, Her Majesty fits his ideal.
"..."
Sophien gave no reply.
Still couldn't.
In her centuries of life, this emotion—and the cringe wriggling in fingers and toes—was a first.
—...Wait. Now I'm suspicious. He crushing on Her Majesty for real?
"..."
—Chewing it over, yeah possible? Wild. Her Majesty's got the caliber even Deculein admires... Ah, today's spying's done. Gotta work.
"I'll relay today's intel properly. Think on it."
—Yeah. I'll ask Deculein direct.
Click—
Crystal orb comms cut. Sophien smacked her lips idly.
Idly started solo Go, idly studied magic.
Idly revised edicts, idly puffed a bear pipe...
"...Kairon, it's certain now."
Suddenly—gazing at Kairon's snow globe—she realized one fact.
"I grow strange."
A week without seeing Deculein.
Some illness she cared not to name gnawed slowly at her body.