Perfect Maid
Booth's eyes fluttered open. As if sensing it instantly, a pair of blue eyes met his gaze, their beauty striking him anew.
"...Bell?"
"Yes, Young Master."
"What time is it?"
"7:42."
7 o'clock? Wait, the practical exam started around 1:20 after lunch. And I was first up.
"Gah!"
He bolted upright in shock. No wonder the nightmare hadn't left him drained.
"Bell, you okay? Don't tell me you stayed like that for over six hours?"
Panicking at the thought of torturing Isabella without meaning to, he stammered the question. He'd figured she'd set him down after a few minutes!
"I'm fine. But."
"But?"
"It wasn't six hours."
"...Huh?"
Wasn't that about right? Puzzled, he stared at her, and she gestured toward the window.
With that motion, a thread of cold mana extended, yanking aside the heavy curtains. Spring sunlight poured lazily into the room.
...Sunlight?
"...Bell."
"Yes, Young Master."
"That 7:42—was that morning?"
"Yes."
Creak, creak. Forcing his stiff neck to turn, he gaped at Isabella.
"And you kept up the lap pillow the whole time I was out?"
"Of course, Young Master."
"Of course my ass!"
No way. That meant she'd been like this for hours? Over eighteen?
"As I said, I'm fine, Young Master."
"No, even a dragon would tap out after eighteen hours!"
"Then that makes me a perfect maid who surpasses even dragons. Thank you."
Of course, only for you, Young Master. A hollow laugh escaped him at her deadpan addition.
"Don't do it again. What if you get hurt?"
"I'll remember that."
She didn't look like she meant it one bit.
"Now, shall I attend to your morning routine?"
"Rest first. You probably didn't sleep a wink."
"I'm fine... Oh."
She wobbled as she rose from the bed. He caught her instinctively, heart skipping.
"See? You're gonna get seriously hurt!"
"Hee hee..."
Hee hee? Looking down, her face buried in his chest, he saw her blue eyes curving with amusement.
"...Bell?"
"My apologies, Young Master."
The self-proclaimed perfect maid pulled away with shameless poise, her posture impeccable as ever. It was absurd how unruffled she seemed after an all-nighter.
How could she not look the least bit disheveled?
Ignoring his thoughts, she reached out with her usual blank expression.
Watching curiously, he felt her slender, pale fingers gently press around his eyes.
"What's this, a massage?"
"Your eyes are a bit puffy. With your speech in three days, I thought it'd be best to reduce the swelling now."
Damn, must've cried in my sleep again. Embarrassing, but hardly new. What caught him was something else.
"Speech? Me?"
"Yes. Shall I explain while I massage?"
"Yeah, but sit. Your shoulders must be killing you."
"I'm fine, but I appreciate your concern."
He perched on the bed's edge; she dragged over a chair and sat before him. Her pale pink lips parted, continuing smoothly.
"You were accepted while you slept. Your written score was a bit low."
"Mm."
Cramming lifetimes ago's forgotten studies wasn't easy. But Isabella brushed it off like it was nothing.
"You took first in practicals, as expected. Since that's the main event, they've asked you, as top freshman, to give the speech."
Practicals as the main event. Fair enough—in this world, card games were serious business. Theory could lag; battles decided it all.
Fast work, too. With hundreds admitted, results already? Saved a carriage trip, at least.
"Because of the Nautilus... dragon-type summon?"
"Partly. But they also praised your effective use of a niche card like that cursed wooden doll."
Really. He'd braced for flak over packing four of those.
Top spot anyway—nice. It'd draw eyes, but summoning [Nautilus] had sealed that fate.
Wait—speech meant...
"So I need to write one up..."
Trouble. His only experience was kindergarten recitals.
"No need to worry, Young Master."
"Huh?"
"I've already written it."
Calm as ever, she handed over a single sheet.
Stunned, he took it. Her elegant script filled the page densely.
"You wrote this yesterday?"
"No. Yesterday was mostly spent watching you sleep, so I lacked time."
"...Then?"
He swallowed a retort and asked.
"Rough draft a week ago; finalized three days back."
"A week ago?"
"Yes. I assumed your skill would net top honors."
"Sigh."
Fair, with cards like [Nautilus]. But pre-writing amid unknowns?
"...Thanks anyway, Bell. I owe you, always."
"Think nothing of it. Use me as you wish—I'm yours."
"Ahem."
She only called him "master" now. He averted his eyes, flustered.
"Swelling's down. Time for your bath."
"Nah, I can wash myself. Go rest."
Morning wood made sharing a shower impossible. Who knew what'd emerge—three instead of two.
...Not that he lacked desire. He knew that much.
But before crossing that line, he wanted to be a proper man. Not haunted by the past, unstable—but one who'd truly closed that chapter, ready to move forward. He wouldn't spread his old fears, rage, despair to those he cherished.
So, suppress it for now.
"I'll shower quick... Oh, Bell—waterproof this? I'll read in there."
"Understood."
"No pouting."
"I'm not. How could a maid act so improperly? I assure you, I've never harbored such petty thoughts."
Liar, Bell. You talk more when you're sulking...
§
Time flew to Federico Academy's welcome hall.
The principal's address ended, filling the hall with buzzing silence—an irony that fit perfectly.
Everyone knew, from the printed program: next, the top freshman's speech.
Precisely, the practical topper—the owner of the dragon-type [Nautilus], unseen for 150 years. They awaited Ricardo Bardi.
"Now, freshman representative Ricardo Bardi's welcome address."
Click. Click. Click.
Shoe heels echoed sharply as the announcement ended.
Students and professors alike held their breath, eyes on the man ascending the podium.
Slightly wavy platinum hair, pale skin. His lean frame in a wrinkle-free black suit exuded solemnity.
But those were footnotes.
What seared into minds were his eyes.
Red like aged wine, deep and inescapable. Meeting them felt like being a fly trapped in a web.
"Hello."
Ricardo scanned the hall once, then spoke plainly, sans fluff.
"Freshman representative, Ricardo Bardi."
As if etching the name anew in their heads.