#040 Magic!
Catherine's eyes widened in shock at the word magic. (Of course, she couldn't tell if her eyes were truly round in her dolphin form.)
Magic studies had been a subject she'd wanted to learn consistently since childhood. She'd had plenty of opportunities, but they all vanished into thin air after her mother disappeared.
And now, she could learn it from the great Duke Chezare himself!
'Oh, I love that. I really, really do.' She blurted it out like an idiot, too thrilled to form a proper sentence.
But Chezare wisely understood her subjectless reply.
'I know.'
'So, what do we start with?'
'This is the first time I've seen you so enthusiastic, Miss Catherine.'
'I'm just too excited.'
The surroundings fell silent for a moment.
What was that about? Chezare, who had been as quiet as the dead, finally spoke after a long pause.
'Unfortunately, it seems impossible right now, so let's aim for another chance.'
'Why?'
'It's time to wake up.'
In an instant, the vibrant rainbow-hued coral reefs flickered black. In the pitch darkness where she couldn't see an inch ahead, Catherine held her breath, frozen still. All she could hear were unknown rumbles from the deep sea and her own breathing.
...Breathing?
"Ah."
Catherine opened her eyes. The spacious ceiling glowed brightly in a bluish light. She sat up dazedly and checked the window. Beneath the clear blue sky, waves even bluer churned restlessly.
She had woken from the dream.
"Already?"
"Already. It's 8:30 a.m." Yaong yawned hugely and clambered onto her lap.
Oh no! With limited tickets, she might miss out if she was late!
She rushed to the bathroom, and Yaong scratched at the door, asking, "Is this exhibition that important?"
"Hands down, it's the third most important event in my life."
"What's first and second?"
"First is a secret. Second is meeting you."
"Ahem. Well, second place is fine by me!"
By the time she finished getting ready, it was just past 9 a.m. Not bad at all. Even if it was the highest-grade limited-edition furniture supplied to the imperial family, they wouldn't sell out in just a couple of hours.
As she stepped out of her cabin, Demian, who had been yawning his jaw off, bowed his head.
Good thing he hadn't forgotten their agreement to meet by 9.
"Today's a very important day, Sir Demian."
"It shows."
"Today's shopping will determine the value of our mansion."
"You gonna swap out the bed for a good one?"
"The kind where sleep hits you the moment you lie down."
Demian's enthusiasm reignited.
The line to enter the furniture showroom was as long as expected. She took a number and wandered other stores, indulging in shopping just for the sake of it—carved deer statues from top-grade maple, ashtrays from a fad two hundred years ago...
Demian's tastes were so bizarre that calming his excitement drained a ton of her energy.
And finally, when they entered the furniture showroom—that feeling!
"So many."
"Yeah. Now we can sleep in a great bed and sip tea at a fine table."
"Bowls!"
"If they're there."
Catherine toured the showroom in the happiest mood she'd been in lately. Demian trailed behind, yawning hugely now that his interest had waned, but it didn't faze her one bit.
Her excitement peaked when she stood before the antique bed on the main display.
"This bed..."
"Buy it." Yaong whispered firmly, reading her mind.
'Yeah, I have to buy it!'
Nothing was more vital to life's value than quality sleep. For her, who'd endured a creaky bed since her Orleans days, no furniture was more tempting than a top-grade one.
Catherine shot her hand up to call a staff member.
"Here, I'd like to order..."
"Order!"
...Huh?
She was the one ordering, but a louder voice came from elsewhere.
Catherine turned toward the source. A familiar handsome face sparkled far above her line of sight.
It was that cultist from yesterday. The silk shirt embroidered even more garishly in gold and red, dangling earrings and bracelets, those oddly glowing orange eyes, and his signature leisurely smile. No doubt about it.
'Ugh, of all people...'
The man spotted her too and waved cheerfully.
Catherine lightly ignored him and waited for the staff.
The staff's response wasn't what she wanted.
"I'm sorry, customer. That item has all pre-orders fulfilled; only the display model remains."
"What about reservations?"
"It's made primarily from limited-production wood, so once the quota is met, you'd have to wait a year for the next batch."
What? Wait a whole year just to buy one bed?
Catherine clutched the back of her neck in disbelief. She'd only been two hours later than opening.
And now she couldn't buy a bed? What kind of maniacs had snapped them all up?
While she stood stunned, the cultist man pushed forward.
"That's fine. I wanted the display model anyway. Where do I get the order form?"
...The display model?
The staff answered his question. "Please wait a moment; it'll be ready shortly..."
"Excuse me. Why are you acting like it's a given that you get to order? I wanted the display model too."
If she couldn't get this bed, there was no point in boarding this ship. If asked ten times what her room needed right now, Catherine would answer "a bed" every time.
The man let out a hollow laugh and calmly admonished her. "Miss, even if we arrive at the same time, I got here firs—"
"I got here first."
"First come, first ser—"
"So I just need to order first, right?"
Catherine had already ordered six pieces of furniture, so her order form still had plenty of space.
As she started writing the bed's product name, the man hurriedly slapped his hand over it to stop her.
"Move your hand."
"Hey, miss. Do you even know what kind of bed this is before ordering?"
Anyone hearing that would think it was haunted.
Catherine slowly recited the official name from the specs. "Supreme Ludevang Cheripic."
"...Are you really clueless, or just pretending?"
What kind of answer did he want? She looked up.
Fine, she admitted he was gentlemanly. Aside from the sudden casual speech, his tone and demeanor weren't aggressive at all—quite gentle, even.
But that didn't change the fact he was a cultist. Catherine eyed the man, who kept spouting nonsense just like yesterday, with weary exasperation. She patted Demian's arm as he cautiously stepped forward to protect her.
"It's fine, Demian."
She asked the cultist man, "Is it your late mother's bed or something?"
"As if."
"Then I don't see why I should yield it to you."
"...I feel like I asked you this yesterday too."
The man ruffled his black hair with one hand and said, "Ever thought you might have some secret about your birth you're unaware of, miss?"
What did that have to do with this? Catherine pondered if there was some profound connection she hadn't realized.
But no matter how she thought about it, the answer was 'No connection whatsoever.'
"He seems like a cultist."
Demian whispered, and Catherine nodded vigorously. "Right? Looks like we ran into a weirdo."
"That you never age no matter how much time passes."
No matter what they said, the cultist man's voice remained serene. His long lashes, like a duke's feathers, blinked mildly without a tremor.
"Or that you're an incredible mage."
His gaze was fixed solely on Catherine.
"Or that death isn't certain."
"...How rude."
How should she handle this? Swing a fist like Demian?
Then it happened. Her shoulder suddenly grew heavy. She braced her wobbling legs and turned, finding Demian gritting his teeth and staring at the floor.
"Demian?"
"Ah, damn..."
It was a voice from Demian she'd never heard before—squeezed out with effort. Clutching his head with both hands, he stammered on.
"Run... call... that lord... quick..."
"Demian."
And suddenly, he froze completely. Demian's entire body went rigid. His painfully twisted lips and bloodshot eyes stayed locked that way.
"Demian!"
"Quite the capable knight for an escort. Didn't expect him to hold out this long."
The man's voice dripped with immense leisure.
What was going on? Catherine scanned her surroundings in confusion.
Everything in the showroom had stopped, as if time itself had frozen. Everything except her and the man.
Catherine took a step back from him. The man fiddled awkwardly with his bracelet.
"Let me say upfront, it's not me. I did ask you, didn't I, miss? If you knew what kind of bed this is."
Was the bed stopping time now? Just then, Yaong peeked out from her bag.
Sniff sniff. "Magic that controls time."
"...Like the one Chezare used last time?"
She meant when Chezare had halted time in the mansion with magic.
"Different quality. It's impressive magic, but don't compare it to Chezare."
That was somewhat reassuring. She placed Yaong on her shoulder in case things went south.
Watching him groom himself with his fluffy paw, the man smiled amusedly. "Raising a cute little monster, huh? Does our miss know what it is she's keeping?"
He spoke as if he knew Yaong's true nature.
Catherine grew genuinely curious about the man's identity.
"Who the heck are you, mister?"
The man replied with a peeved look. "First off, not 'mister.' Hey, miss. You're doing this on purpose, right?"
"Call a bald guy bald and he gets mad; call a guy 'mister' and he gets mad too."
Suddenly, a sword appeared in the man's empty hand. A machete as flashy as his shirt, studded with gems that dazzled the eyes.
'Did 'mister' piss him off enough to stab me?'
Thankfully, her worry was unfounded. No hint of negativity showed as he spun the machete playfully.
"Sigh... Can't keep playing word games here."
The man plunged the machete into the bed.
Catherine nearly jumped out of her skin but barely held back.
No! This precious bed!
Sniff sniff.
As Yaong sniffed intently, pitch-black smoke began creeping out from under the bed.
The startled Catherine backed away far.