The Mage Milia (4)
I'm honestly exhausted. So exhausted I'm about to burst into tears.
And then the Hero and the Saintess went and stopped Milia from touching her own chest. Which made me feel even worse. The absolute gall of these infuriating bastards! If you're going to block it like that, the least you could do is let me touch yours!
That's what I wanted to scream, but since I was rather fond of being alive, I decided to keep my mouth firmly shut.
It had been a while since Milia left to answer the Magic Tower's summons.
"Whew... Wearing formalwear for the first time. Not bad, actually."
I was clad in a suit borrowed from the Magic Tower. Anyone could guess from the dress Milia had worn when she appeared before us — Glacies Magic Tower was apparently hosting a party right now. Thanks to that, we'd all been treated as guests and outfitted head to toe, clothes and shoes included, and were now in the middle of changing into them.
Once I'd draped the unfamiliar suit over myself and buttoned up the cuffs, I looked in the mirror and thought,
"Dressed like this, I actually look kind of handsome. No wonder they're all so hopelessly obsessed with me. Haha."
Even as I said it, I got sad. Seriously, I'm going to die one of these days.
Just as I left my room, feeling joy and sorrow in equal measure, I happened to see the Hero, Esmeralda, stepping out of hers.
"Oh... You look quite pretty, Hero, all dressed up like that."
"You think so?"
Pleased by the compliment, Esmeralda smiled bashfully and twirled around. She was wearing a pure white dress that accentuated every line of her figure.
She'd spent all her time fighting with a sword in hand, so there wasn't an ounce of excess on her. Just tracing the lines of the outfit with my eyes was enough to make me swallow involuntarily.
"......"
I looked her up and down like that, and then our eyes met. Her gaze, empty somewhere deep down, was hollow beyond description. Now that I thought about it, maybe the white dress was meant to represent that snow-white head of hers, completely devoid of anything at all?
It really suited her.
Smack!
I was still thinking that when the Hero clubbed me on the arm. Why? Why did I get hit? Did I stare too blatantly?
But she was beaming at me, so apparently not.
"That outfit really suits you too, Jim. Clothes make the man, huh? You usually dress like a beggar. Haha."
So it had just been a joke. Apparently me raking my eyes over her body wasn't an issue at all.
I'll have to keep doing that diligently from now on, then.
No wait, why does it hurt so much? Seriously, it really hurts. It feels like she slapped the flesh clean off my arm. Has she gotten even stronger since last time?
"Why are you glaring like that? Anyone would think you have a complaint. Do you have a problem with me, by any chance?"
"No..."
"Good. Let's do our best going forward."
When I'd given her a covert glare out of sheer pain, the Hero had threatened me. How does someone like this qualify as a Hero? Her personality is rotten to the core. This violent party really does need to be escaped from as soon as possible.
"Ah, was I a little late?"
Just then the Saintess, Irina, returned, having changed her clothes like the Hero. This one, in contrast to the Hero, wore a dress in pure black. With her shoulders bared all the way from the collarbone down, the design was just as audacious as the one Milia had worn.
"Ooooh..."
I nodded without meaning to. Looking at that, I started to think that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to infiltrate the Hero's party a little longer. After all, if I went back to the Demon King's army, I'd be surrounded by nothing but men — no chests, just massive pectorals everywhere I looked.
Still, I do have to go back. If I stayed here, I had a feeling I'd die before I ever accomplished my goal.
"What do you think, Jim? Does it suit me?"
"Yes, Saintess. The way my eyes keep drifting to those snow-white shoulders peeking through the black dress — it feels like the clothes found their rightful owner."
"Oh, I..."
Privately, I'd always assumed the chest was the most important thing, but seeing this, I was starting to think it was the overall silhouette that mattered. I mean, back when I shook the Hero awake and merely touched her shoulder, something in me felt satisfied enough—
Wham!
"It's rude to stare at Irina so openly like that, Jim."
"Gah!"
This time she hit me in the back. A voice packed with barely suppressed fury. Truly demonic timing.
More than that — she called clothes my wings earlier, and apparently she meant it literally. My back felt hot and agonizing where she'd struck; it really did feel like wings might sprout from it.
Aargh!AAARGH! It hurts, but I can't reach my back!
"Don't overdo it, Hero. Jim, you can look all you want."
"Irina? If you keep that up, he'll develop bad habits."
"It's fine. It's not like he'll wear out."
What am I, a child? Well, I suppose it's fine, seeing as I've officially received permission to stare.
Baebae, me baby Jim.
From now on, I'm looking freely.
"Ahem."
First, the nape. Her snow-white nape was truly lovely. If vampires existed, they'd probably sink their fangs in without caring that their target was the Saintess herself.
I could see the nape flushing red.
Then the shoulders. I'd already seen them, but the way those snow-white shoulders traced such a gentle curve felt like art. And the single strap of the dress precariously perched between them — that was lovely too.
I could see her shoulders flinch and tremble.
And then the chest.
And then the chest.
And then the chest.
No — so the chest really was supreme after all? Staring long enough had brought me to this universal truth. I couldn't see anything else anymore.
"Ugh... u-um, Jim?"
"...You really are staring without a shred of hesitation, Jim. Let's stop here and head to the party. Irina says that, but she's clearly mortified too."
"Ah, right."
I didn't feel disappointed. I could look again later.
In that brief moment, Esmeralda — who had simultaneously suffered sexual harassment and an insult at Jim's hands — was not in a good mood.
Her bad mood had to do with Irina as well. That woman was constantly lying in wait, trying to seduce Jim and spirit him away, so she could never let her guard down. Yet the moment Jim actually strode up to her, she'd panic and be completely unable to do anything.
Fine, whatever. But why did she have to be the one smoothing everything over?
'Why, you ask? Because the moment I slip up, the party falls apart, that's why.'
Esmeralda found her own answer. Not that there was much to find — if she didn't handle it, she'd be the one who suffered.
'Every last one of them...'
The party was running just great.
"Still, I had no idea there was a space this vast inside the Magic Tower..."
Esmeralda clicked her tongue as she surveyed the party venue. The Magic Tower's wealth was truly palpable. She'd already been wary after witnessing the firepower Milia could unleash — she'd wondered just how powerful a Tower that wanted to use her as a lab specimen might be, and frankly, the results didn't paint a pretty picture.
"Oh, Hero! There you are."
"You must be head-over-heels for Jim to keep coming to find me. What do you want now?"
Esmeralda waved her hand in obvious annoyance. Irina suppressed a wry smile at her sulky expression.
Whatever else you could say about them, the two had grown fairly close. Probably because they'd literally fought each other hair-pull to hair-pull — their mutual understanding seemed to have deepened.
Musing on this, Esmeralda picked at the party food.
"So? Why did you come looking for me?"
"...Jim won't meet my eyes."
"Ah..."
Even without a detailed explanation, Esmeralda understood perfectly. Won't meet her eyes. Anyone else might assume he'd done something wrong and felt guilty about it —
'That bastard has never done anything BUT wrong.'
Jim was hardly the type to suddenly develop a conscience at this point. So if he was avoiding eye contact in that situation, it meant one thing.
'That little... he seriously only has eyes for her chest, doesn't he...'
Esmeralda stared absently at Irina's chest, then let her gaze drift down to her own. Even though they were similar, Irina's was unmistakably a touch more voluminous.
'Well, it's not a huge difference.'
Having reached this conclusion entirely on her own, Esmeralda nodded.
"So you're saying he fled because you were too much to handle. Are you sure it's fine to leave him alone? What if he runs off?"
"Oh, that's fine. Look over there..."
Esmeralda looked in the direction Irina pointed and — for the second time that day — understood everything at a glance.
"Honestly, seeing that, anyone would take him for a country bumpkin with zero breeding."
Jim, apparently overcome by gluttony as much as lust, was sweeping the party buffet clean. The question of how to solve that particular problem remained unanswered.
"As someone from the same kind of countryside, I suppose I understand where he's coming from."
"...Irina, I didn't say this earlier, but that black dress — now that I think about your true nature, it really, really suits you."
"Thank you. Your white dress suits your head quite well too, Hero."
"Hahahahaha."
"Hehehehehe."
Irina and Esmeralda bit and tore into each other instead of the party food. What a loving, close-knit party they were.
"So what's this party for, anyway?"
"Oh, you didn't know? Really?"
At Esmeralda's sudden question, asked as though it had only just occurred to her, Irina was aghast with disbelief.
"This is Milia's birthday party. Honestly, how can a person be like this? Haah, comrades in name only."
"Well..."
Esmeralda could have argued back. But she knew that arguing would only make her sadder.
And it made sense —
'THIS is the scale of a birthday party?'
She was from the countryside. Extravagant displays of wealth like this were something she couldn't even have imagined, let alone witnessed.