The Accumulating Effects

Bright sunlight streamed into the counseling office on a warm morning.

Lady Chloe Levantia of House Levantia was buried deep in the sofa, fast asleep, oblivious to the world.

Snooore—

The guaranteed 15 minutes of deep sleep from my special perk.

Normally, this would be the moment I'd hurry to loosen up her body, but...

"...What the hell is this?"

My eyes were glued to the unfamiliar message.

Nothing was different from usual.

A light chat, then hypnosis, confirming the activation phrase, waiting for the client to fall into deep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sleep—just like always.

But suddenly, this appeared. An item that had never existed before.

"Why'd it pop up now?"

This was only Chloe Levantia's second visit to my counseling office.

But counting from last time, this made four hypnosis sessions already.

Numerically, she had the most out of any client so far.

Was that why?

I carefully reread the message.

Still no clue.

So what exactly accumulates?

The effects?

Side effects?

Or both?

"Haa..."

While I stared blankly into space, Lady Levantia let out a soft sigh from her spot slumped on the sofa.

Her face looked relaxed, muscles loosening.

She lay there defenselessly, as if urging me to hurry up and work out the kinks.

I gazed down at her for a moment, then murmured quietly.

"Gotta do what I've gotta do."

No point agonizing over something with no answers.

There was only one way to figure this out, after all.

Heh heh—

Keep up the steady massages... er, counseling.

In the days that followed, I deliberately prioritized repeat clients.

Nothing too dramatic—just noting how many hypnosis sessions each had in my notebook and casually probing for anything unusual after the session.

"Huh? You're asking how this session felt?"

Marie blinked her round eyes, repeating my question.

Her cheeks were still flushed right after the session.

"I'm asking if it felt any different from usual."

"Well, um!"

Marie opened her mouth energetically, propped her chin on her hand, pondered for a bit, then tilted her head.

"Dunno? Just... my shoulders don't hurt, my head doesn't ache... uh, and also..."

"Yeah, that's enough."

I cut her off quick when the familiar ramble started.

Lize had testified to the agony of letting her go on—she could babble for a hundred times if you let her.

Marie cocked her head, clearly puzzled about why I was asking.

"But why? D-Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Just checking if you felt any different from usual—self-review purposes."

"Aha..."

She looked ridiculously relieved at my vague dodge.

No idea what she was worried about, but whatever.

"If you mean a different feeling, what kind exactly?"

Helen closed her eyes calmly at my question.

After a simple explanation like with Marie, she cracked her eyes open.

Our gazes met, and she looked away.

"Well. I simply engrave your words in my heart, sir."

"No other changes?"

"Changes..."

She turned her head slightly.

The tip of her cheek was pink.

"...I don't think so."

"Anything different from usual...? That's an unusual question."

Lady Levantia blinked once at my query, then leisurely crossed her legs.

"Hmm. If I had to pick, it's that the counselor asks if it felt different from usual at the end?"

"Besides that."

"Ah, then nothing comes to mind."

A subtle, playing-dumb glint in her eyes.

Was she clueless, or pretending?

"Really nothing else?"

"Nothing."

Her lip corners twitched up faintly, like she was teasing, but I still couldn't read her intent.

...Come to think of it, a probe or two wouldn't reveal anything.

If they didn't notice, it was meaningless—and even if they did, they might not say.

No way for me to confirm.

Long-term observation was key.

That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠meant changing how I took clients.

Not first-come, first-served—I'd pick from the line myself.

Sorry to those waiting, but for the records, it was necessary.

Fortunately—or not—the clients took it well.

Or rather, they started competing to get picked.

"Teacher! Cookies I baked last night!"

Marie was stuffing her pockets full of them now, habitually.

"They'll spoil if you wait—eat them now."

Helen brought overflowing fruit baskets every time.

Even Lady Levantia couldn't resist my "picking fairly" system.

"Didn't expect you still hadn't bought a single cup."

She presented a fancy-looking tea set.

Definitely expensive, whatever it was.

"It was mine, but if you need it..."

No way that silk-lined box set was "hers," but...

"I'll be drinking here too. It's like improving my own environment."

...Hard to refuse when she put it like that.

She had a point—I hadn't bought a single cup yet.

A few more days of prioritizing repeats built up a decent log.

I opened my nightly-sorted notebook.

That time, Marie handed them over saying, "Just checking the taste," then proceeded to devour them.

She did give me the last one, insisting it was for me... but...

"Marie. Bragging about one cookie is kinda pathetic."

Couldn't help saying it.

That time, when I picked up an apple, Helen whipped out a fruit knife: "Eating with the skin will upset your stomach."

Her skilled peeling was impressive, but the problem was shoving the slices right to my mouth instead of a plate.

"Ah."

"...Pardon?"

"Say 'ah.'"

"I'll eat it myself."

How untrustworthy did I look to get babyed like that?

Remembering it made ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my stomach hurt.

That was a novel experience.

She wrapped both hands around my right one: "Index here. Middle supports the cup. Pinky inward."

She positioned each finger meticulously.

Especially fixating my pinky—she was intensely focused.

Almost entranced.

"...Milady?"

"Yes?"

I called out since she was so absorbed; she snapped to.

Pulled her hands away lightning-fast.

Probably just got carried away teaching.

I set aside my thoughts and closed the notebook.

All minor changes.

Not enough for meaningful data.

Well, no changes meant keep doing what works—no harm there.

Ting-a-ling—

The door opened then.

"My turn now, I presume?"

Lady Levantia, waiting outside.

But different from usual.

Her outfit first.

No modest white dress—instead, something lighter... off-shoulder.

And in her hands, a small metal box with a padlock.

Engraved with what looked like her family crest—definitely not cheap.

"...What's that?"

"Hee hee."

A smile instead of words.

Her fingers tapped the box leisurely.

Tap, tap.

No answer.

No sitting.

Just standing, tapping away.

Even I could tell.

'Ask more nicely.'

Why make a simple gift such a hassle?

I grumbled inwardly but played along.

"Lady Levantia, may I inquire what box you've brought? And if I may, what's inside?"

"?"

She blinked at my wordy question, then smirked.

"Curious, are you? No helping it, then."

She pulled a tiny key from her bosom.

Click—

Unlocked.

Inside: tea leaves.

Dark brown, perfectly dried.

Just opening released a subtle aroma—clearly premium.

...But what reaction did she want?

I glanced at her.

Chin lifted.

Eyes sharp, missing nothing.

Expectant gaze—she was waiting for something specific...

Honestly, no clue.

What to say about tea leaves?

'But I usually do teabags.'

The gap between romance-fantasy natives and me hit again.

Values, etiquette—all different.

Go safe.

"...Tea leaves."

"Tea leaves, yes."

My bland response cracked her smile.

'That's all?' her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eyes said.

But really, no idea.

She sighed softly, took out leaves.

Then fetched the tea set she'd gifted, brewing.

Graceful motions.

Hot water, leaves in, shoulders shrugged while waiting.

Clear crimson brew in seconds, aroma filling the office.

Rich black tea notes with fruity undertones.

Premium leaves, no doubt.

She gestured first as I sniffed.

One sip: warm comfort sliding down.

'Tastes like black tea.'

I peeked at Lady Levantia.

Sipping elegantly.

Perfect posture, pinky angled just as she'd lectured—textbook.

Eyes met.

She beamed.

Another sip under her gaze.

Warmth was nice, but...

...Still no words.

Silence stretched.

Steam rising from cups brought invisible pressure.

Eyes met again.

Smiling, but icy eyes screaming: Say something already!

Tea tastes good?

Nice pouring form?

If that sufficed, I'd have said it.

Then I recalled her past words.

'I just praised the leaves or set to brush it off.'

...!

This!

"These tea leaves are excellent."

Checked her reaction.

Chill leaked from her deep blue eyes.

Lips paused over cup, lids drooping slowly.

'That's it?'

Not this!

"Maybe because Lady Levantia brought them."

Late add-on.

Just swapping subject—and she thawed.

Chill gone, wrist tension eased visibly.

"Exactly, right?"

Got it!

"Tastes even better from the cup Lady Levantia brought."

"Well, naturally."

Once I cracked it, smooth sailing.

"More aromatic since Lady Levantia brewed it herself."

"Heh."

Short huff from her nose.

Shoulders perked, fingers happily gripping cup.

Watching her, I thought:

'Note this later.'

After that intense exchange, counseling finally began.

Her issues, even lighter now.

Today's: didn't like the breakfast her maid prepared.

...Shouldn't that go to Helen, not here?

Anyway, listened, activated ability.

Eyes drooped smoothly. Body familiarly sank into sofa cushions.

Squish squish.

Heh heh—

Now just pressing shoulders got that pathetic sound instantly. Effects accumulating? Seemed legit...

Saved pondering for the notebook later—focused on work.

Squish.

Heh heee—

Session over.

Lady Levantia opened her eyes, stared blankly at the ceiling a while, then composed herself.

"Not bad today either."

What she remembered of the session? Still a mystery.

As she prepared to leave, she scanned the office slowly.

Then placed the metal box of leaves on a visible shelf.

So it was a gift for me. But.

Click—

"You locked it."

She'd relocked it, pocketed the key.

Asked her retreating back:

"Counselor..."

She stopped.

"Do you, Teacher, happen to enjoy tea?"

"No."

"Do you know how to brew it?"

"No."

"Then."

Didn't turn.

Just head slightly aside.

Profile revealed. Red flush to her ear tips. Lip curled faintly.

"I'll have to brew it for you."

No eye contact through it all—turned and left.

Ting-a-ling—

Door shut.

Locked box remained.

"..."

...Was she worried I'd waste the leaves?

That I'd butcher the expensive stuff.

Riches and stinginess—a combo.

Last client gone, tidied up.

Logged today's notes, washed cups, swept cookie crumbs.

Then a thought struck.

During those 15 hypnotized minutes, what memories did they keep?

Bodies this relaxed—had to think we talked a ton for "counseling" alone.

"Well..."

Set down the pen.

"Not like I can know."

Not fretting unknowns was one of my few strengths.

But this message? Couldn't brush off.

My perk had never lied.

So they were all accumulating.

From first sessions to these experiments—all to uncover its meaning.