Special Because You're Incompetent (2)
He'd shouted it with real emotion, precisely because she was so utterly incompetent, but there was no way the elf would stop. If there was any chance to get herself verbally abused, she'd do anything to make it happen—that was the elf right in front of him. As proof, even after he'd told her to stop, she just trembled her hands with a look of utter confusion.
"M-Master... I-I d-didn't m-mean... nyaaang...."
It was so infuriating he couldn't even speak. Just move the research journal aside—what's so hard about that? Why make excuses! But he couldn't provoke the elf. With the research journal held hostage, any rash move would only hurt him. Taking a deep breath to calm himself again, he glared at her steadily.
"Put out the candle and move the research journal aside. Now."
"I-I w-want to... b-but I d-drew so m-many pictures y-yesterday that m-my hands h-have no s-strength left... nyaa...."
What bullshit! If your hands have no strength, how did you even carry the research journal over the candle? He wanted to scream it out, but that might make her flinch and drop it on purpose. If the candle ignited the journal, it would be a total disaster.
...Think.
How could he rescue the research journal from the elf's clutches? He stared at the flickering candle and the journal precariously hovering above it, lost in thought.
Lie and say I have a copy? Tell her the one she's holding is just a copy and the original is safe elsewhere—maybe that would sap her motivation. But that was too risky. If she thought, "Oh, there's an original? Then I can burn this one," it'd be a fatal self-own.
Get even angrier here? Emphasize that he was furious even without her burning it—maybe appeal to her. After all, her goal was to get abused by him, not actually burn the journal.
No. That was just as dangerous. Realizing how precious the journal was to him, she might decide to burn it just to make him more angry. Disaster.
Be nice instead? Act lenient, like he didn't mind if she burned it—maybe she'd hesitate. Buy a few seconds, then rush over and snatch it away. A candle like that wouldn't burn the whole journal instantly; he just needed to stall her briefly.
Yeah. The last option it is.
No matter how he thought about it, the final choice was the most rational. Whatever happened after didn't matter. Saving the research journal right now was priority one.
"Good job."
Changing his expression into a kindly smile, he watched question marks practically pop up on her face.
"Master?"
"I said good job. I was planning to pull it out and burn it anyway, but you found it for me first."
"Huh?"
Wait, not that?
Confusion spread across the elf's face. His sudden shift had thrown her off, apparently. Perfect—time to push forward. He stepped leisurely toward her, beaming with paternal benevolence.
"Even a sow like you has a thing or two worth praising, it seems. As thanks for saving me the trouble, come here—I'll pat your head."
"W-What...?"
The elf raised her arms in horror. He didn't miss the moment, kicking off the floor and lunging. She startled back a step.
"Insolent wretch!"
He snatched the research journal, shoved her aside, and retreated. "Eek," she yelped, pushed away, giving him a meaningful look—but he had no time for that. He hurriedly flipped through the journal, inspecting the first and last pages closely. Thankfully, no scorch marks or damage.
"Haa...."
Tension drained from him in a wave of relief, an exhausted sigh escaping. At the same time, a certain anger toward the elf began simmering in his chest.
...You don't care about me at all, do you?
This research journal was more precious to him than anything. When he first started writing it, his father was still alive—he'd conducted countless experiments, filling the pages, and gotten his father's corrections each time. It wasn't just his alone; it was one of the few things holding memories of his father.
And this elf had tried to burn it for her own amusement. Like he didn't matter at all.
I really, really hate you.
He could tolerate her interfering with his relationship with Esilly, even forcing him to verbally abuse her. But trying to burn something steeped in his father's memories without hesitation? He couldn't hide the rising disgust.
"M-Master...."
And yet. Despite doing something so awful, the elf was putting on her pitiful act right in front of him, all innocent.
"I'm sorry. I made a mistake...."
His teeth ground together. Without thinking, he raised his hand and slapped her cheek.
Slap—
Her head snapped to the side, a brief silence falling. Before she could turn back, he pointed at the door and bellowed.
"I can't even look at you! Get out! Now!"
But the elf didn't move. After standing frozen for a moment, she tilted her head up to gaze at him. Her ruby eyes, like polished garnets, fixed on his face. She parted her lips slightly, then closed them, bowing her head.
"I'm sorry, Master...."
Her voice was limp as she turned and walked out. The door closed, her footsteps fading away.
"Damn it."
Biting his lip, he set the research journal on the desk and pressed a hand to his forehead. With the elf out of sight, his anger naturally diluted.
"What the hell am I doing...."
That hadn't been fake anger for the abuse play. He'd genuinely slapped her cheek and spat words he shouldn't have. He'd succeeded in kicking her out of the study, but it left no satisfaction. An inexplicable unease tangled in his heart like a knot.
Should I go after her and apologize...?
He shook his head, rubbing his face. She'd see it as part of the abuse game—no need for apologies. She might even get mad if he did.
It worked out fine. Perfect, even.
He'd bought time, and she'd gotten her abuse—they were both winners. With a deep sigh, he sat at the desk and skimmed the research journal. No time to waste on needless worries.
Three days ahead. To meet Count Leoberg and Princess Benelia's expectations, he had to compile the research records into a report fit for the imperial court. Somehow.
*
Three days passed.
For those three days, Theorad holed up in the study without stepping out once. The fastidious man hadn't changed clothes, bathed, or even eaten anywhere but at his desk.
The elf didn't like it.
A mere toy.
When he'd yelled at her with real anger, she'd been so shocked she'd fled the study. But thinking back, it infuriated her.
A mere toy...!
She wasn't one to bottle up her irritation. Planning to snap if he didn't emerge today, she poked her head into the study as if it were the most natural thing.
"Master. I b-broke three of y-your favorite p-plates... nyaa...."
But the Theorad who might play along was fast asleep, sprawled face-down on the desk, looking annoyingly carefree.
"...."
Frowning, the elf shut the door and approached. Crossing the black velvet carpet embroidered with phoenixes, she gazed down at him coldly. His left ring finger bore a sparkling diamond ring, visible as he lay with his arm as a pillow.
"Just for show," huh?
When she'd first heard that from his mouth, she'd nearly crushed his finger. But there was a chance it wasn't an engagement ring, so she held back.
Still, why did it keep crawling up her skin lately? She considered breaking his arm here as an example but dismissed it.
Not yet.
As a toy, he still had value—she didn't want to kill him on a whim. After staring at him a moment, she conjured a chair with magic and sat. His face, shadowed by dark circles from sleepless research binges, was plain to see.
Research, was it?
The research journal. She remembered him raging when she'd tried to burn it. What could it be? Curiosity piqued, she used telekinesis to slide out the large sheaf of magical paper under him. Unfurling it in the air revealed a rather sloppy magic circle.
This is supposed to be a magic circle?
It was so amateurish it was frustrating. The 378 circuits included frequent phantom loops that didn't connect properly, failing their functions. The catalyst symbols were flashy but empty, and three of the seventeen propulsion runes clashed, causing errors.
Incompetent.
Yet the relentless effort to improve was etched across it. Traces of trial and error, head-scratching for better ways—she saw every one without fail.
Whimsically, the elf closed her eyes. She imagined the world when this magic was complete. The one Theorad sought to create.
....
Rain falls on drought-stricken farmers; parched lips curve in smiles praising the gods. Thirsty children leap up, joyful; worried mothers fetch jars with bright faces. Life stirs in the dying village. A vagrant on the brink of suicide finds hope. Peasants' rage at water-hoarding nobles ebbs; greedy merchants' faces darken as their profits dry up. Truly, flowers bloom in a withering world.
If this magic spread across the empire, countless conflicts would vanish.
You.
Opening her eyes, the elf looked at the sleeping Theorad. Distant yet close memories flickered in hers.
Still pathetically kind.
In an era where exploiting each other for selfish gain was normal, fragile things like him broke easily. Clicking her tongue, she turned to the circle and began correcting errors one by one. A spell that would take him a decade at his skill level—she'd perfect it before noon.
If he started avoiding her using the completion as an excuse, it'd be a headache.
I'll tolerate your rebellion just this once, Theorad.
So this was merely repairing a toy. Nothing more.