Disciple Accepted, Gift of the Homunculus
"Passed."
The first words out of Eclair au Chocolat's mouth when we returned to the mansion were exactly that.
"...Pardon?"
"I said you passed. What, don't want to be my disciple? If not, fine by me."
"No, that's not it..."
I was flustered. To blurt out "passed" the moment we arrived? Had I really gotten that close to Urtic Mirhane? Her attitude had softened noticeably, sure... but I still thought things were a bit awkward.
"So... you'll take me as your disciple?"
"Yeah. Taking on a new apprentice before sending off the old one—first time in my life. But a promise is a promise." Whatever. The important thing was that I'd finally become Eclair au Chocolat's disciple. For all her nitpicking and constant complaints about everything, this witch was surprisingly soft on those she cared for. In the original story, she'd call her former disciple Urtic lazy every chance she got, yet rush over the second she heard she was sick.
"Tch, stupid girl. Couldn't hold out and turned herself into a lab rat. No wonder she got sick."
"A lab rat... on herself?"
"Yep. Was experimenting with a new potion mix and injected it straight into her body. Of course she'd get sick shoving untested crap like that in there."
So that's why she'd come down with a sudden fever out of nowhere the day before yesterday. From a potion she'd made herself.
"...Urtic's a dangerous one, huh."
"Born frail enough to nearly die as a baby, and she doesn't even value her own life. Anyway..."
Letting out a sigh laced with anger and worry for her foolish disciple, Eclair shook her head.
"I said I'd take you on, but not right away."
"Pardon?"
"Still got a ton to sort out, and didn't I tell you? I'm leaving this mansion soon."
Come to think of it, she hadn't specified when exactly she'd take me on, had she, this witch?
"Not gonna make you wait fifty years like some petty grudge, though. We'll start lessons early next year."
"Understood."
That was fine by me. Eclair was headed to École Berger, and I was planning to enroll there too.
"Not exactly 'in return,' but I'll help you with the entrance exam. I've spent enough time stuck in this godforsaken Orléans with you—should be worth hearing."
I nodded without hesitation at Eclair's offer. Her knowledge alone would be a huge boost for passing the exam.
"Eight to ten every morning, two hours a day. That work?"
"Yes, that's manageable..."
Two hours a day, fourteen a week. If I stayed focused, it was plenty. ...Still...
"Speaking of... there's something I've been meaning to ask since earlier."
"What."
We'd table the disciple talk for now—something else had piqued my curiosity.
"Who's the kid trailing behind you?"
Why was this witch, who preferred solitude, not alone today? Why bring along a girl I'd never seen before—one who actually looked like a child, unlike Eclair?
"Oh, this."
Calling the girl with a term that felt a bit too harsh for a person, Eclair...
"A gift."
And shoved her right in front of me out of nowhere.
"...A gift?"
"Yeah, a gift."
"Looks more like you're dumping her on me."
Where on earth did she pick up a kid, and why foist her on me? She was a minor, technically—noble lady or not.
"Raise her as a maid. Look, even dressed her up."
"You make it sound so easy."
"It is. The original did maid work. Briefly."
A maid's duties were way more than people thought—exhausting, every one. Basically handling all the housework: cooking, cleaning, laundry, odds and ends. Not alone, sure, but even split, it was grueling. No job for a child like this... wait.
"...Original?"
"Think I'd drag a normal human kid here?"
Now that she mentioned it, the girl was eerily calm for an ignorant child. Not calm, exactly—expressionless. Cute enough, but with no expressions, she felt like a doll. Staring at her, doubts bubbled up.
"What's she, then?"
"Told you. A gift. You just didn't want it."
Only then did the true meaning of Eclair's "gift" hit me. Not giving her to me—she'd accepted her and was calling her a gift.
"Know what a homunculus is?"
"Little person... dwarf in a flask?"
"Not wrong, but more precisely, an artificial lifeform."
Medieval European alchemists believed tiny humans already existed in sperm, and could be grown not in a womb but elsewhere. Nonsense born of ignorance, but it made homunculi inseparable from fantasy alchemy. And this game's setting? Pure fantasy.
"World's got more witches than just me. Too damn many, if anything."
"So she's..."
"One of 'em made her. Using my foster son's hair, nails, blood."
With multiple witches around, some specialized differently from Eclair.
"Wanted praise or gratitude, maybe—or just to mess with me. Made that."
Eclair's expression was more complicated than I'd ever seen. Her eyes, usually steady, darted restlessly, unable to settle on the girl.
"...I can't raise her. Just can't."
For the first time, I felt the weight of centuries from this woman who'd always seemed like an ageless child.
"Not twice..."
The burden of an immortal, numb to births and deaths, weary of letting go.
"...Got it. I'll take her."
Worst case, rope in Urtic and Schuett for help. Or handle it myself—I had experience from raising my little sister back home. This one seemed far more docile than that spoiled brat, at least.
"So, what's her name?"
"You name her. No talent for it myself."
Name her? Myself?
"Hm..."
What to pick? Should I crack open a dictionary?
"...Hyacinth?"
Mulling it over, my eyes landed on the purple flowers blooming in a nearby pot.
"Bit ambiguous as a name, no?"
"Shorten it when calling her. Hia or something."
Naming's hard for me too. Need something around to spark ideas. Felt a tad lazy... but if she didn't like it, we could change it later.
"Do what you want. I'm heading back to the study... oh, right."
Eclair paused on her way out, leaving Hia behind, and turned to me.
"Servants said the young mistress is coming today."
"...Young mistress?"
The term felt strangely off, alien. The servants' master was the viscount abroad on diplomatic duty—a man, obviously. Calling his wife "young miss" was odd too; married women weren't usually "misses," especially not the lady of the house.
"Who else? The eldest daughter of the family."
"...Ah."
Her explanation cleared it up. The woman managing the mansion and staff in the absent viscount's place—practically the master herself. Yet still the lady they served: the young miss.
"Frederica..."
Frederica Mirhane. She was coming.
――
Once upon a time, the man had managed Orléans' largest casino. In the western capital Hyperion, in the port city of Ardèche, stood a massive hotel. Its basement housed the grand casino—his, until one woman stepped in.
"Fancy chair."
Eying the seat infused with his tastes, the woman sat and gazed down at the man kneeling before her. Not kneeling willingly, but forced—did it matter now?
"A casino's where desires clash at their fiercest."
"Urk...!!"
She crossed her legs, propping her chin as she regarded him.
"Its owner pockets the wealth from those crashing desires."
The man thought: How'd it come to this? She shouldn't be here. Couldn't be.
"Where'd all that money go? Doesn't look stuffed in your greedy gut—and that toned body says otherwise."
"I... don't know."
"Everyone says that. At first."
Leak? A spy in the organization? No other way they'd catch on. Especially not her and her crew.
"But they all spill eventually."
Imperial Intelligence Bureau.
Corneille Noire
The Mirhane family's eldest lady. Frederica Mirhane.
"In pain? Raise your hand."
"Won't change a thing, though."
The crow's gaze turned to its prey.