A Woman's Intuition
Even though the weekend hadn't exactly been a leisurely one, I had gained plenty from it.
Winning Arden over to my side might well have been the greatest harvest of my entire time at this academy.
Thanks to that, I was able to leave Aslet Hall on Monday morning with a far lighter step than usual.
Perhaps because the last lingering chill of early spring had retreated completely over the weekend, the cadets around me were all dressed a little more lightly than before. Then again, it made sense — just last week this hour had still been greeted by a biting wind, while today there wasn't even a trace of it.
"Ugh, Herbalism."
The moment I reached the classroom and checked my schedule, the words printed next to first period wrung a sigh of despair out of me. Of all things, it had to be Herbalism.
Magic Theory at least had a certain fun to it, something I could pick up hands-on alongside actual practice — but this blasted Herbalism was nothing but theory drilled into your skull, and I simply couldn't warm up to it. Worse still, the professor in charge was a strict old woman; so much as glance away for a second during class and she'd be all over you with a scolding.
"Yes! Herbalism first period today-aa!"
In stark contrast to my despair, Tina — who had checked the same schedule — threw both hands up in the air and let out a whoop of joy. It was honestly fascinating how two people could look at the exact same sight in the exact same room and react so differently. For the life of me, I couldn't see what was so appealing about that textbook example of rote education.
"You actually find Herbalism fun?"
"Of course! And the professor's really sweet, too."
"Uh... hm."
Watching her answer without a single second's hesitation, whatever I'd been about to say retreated right back down my throat.
Well, she wasn't wrong. Strict as Madame Penelinne could be, she was genuinely kind to cadets who worked hard in her class. Unlike me — who'd made a bad first impression by falling asleep at the start of a lesson — this girl participated eagerly, asked questions, and answered well whenever called on, which seemed to have earned her a favorable mark, in the best sense.
Enviable, either way. Over here, I was deflating like a punctured balloon at the thought of Herbalism first thing on a Monday morning, while over there she was practically scurrying around the whole classroom like a squirrel that had found a stash of acorns.
Come to think of it, this is a joint class with Class C.
Glancing at the small-print footnote beneath the schedule, I idly found myself thinking of Rone's face. She'd seemed thoroughly sulky about my not hanging out with her over the weekend — had she gotten over it by now?
When I arrived at the spacious lecture hall where the joint class was held, the professor had yet to appear at the lectern. With Class C and Class E gathered in one place, friends finding one another and striking up conversations, the room grew noisy in no time.
"Haa," I sighed, having taken a seat as far from the professor's line of sight as I could manage. It wasn't just because I dreaded the Herbalism lesson — it was also because the person sitting next to me was radiating an aura that practically screamed do not touch.
"Hey, Rone. You planning on not talking to me all day?"
"......"
I tried speaking to her with a nudge to her shoulder, but no answer came back. Arms crossed, face turned away from me, cheeks puffed out in a pout — it was a masterclass in the sulking heroine, through and through.
Unfortunately for her, I wasn't the protagonist of some story, and she was just a childhood friend I'd known forever.
"You're not a little kid. What's with all the sulking just because I didn't hang out with you over the weekend?"
"...Hmph. That's not why I'm sulking."
Rone's lips, which I'd expected to stay sealed through the entire class, parted — and out came a wholly unexpected answer. If it wasn't about me not hanging out with her, then what on earth was it? Had she ever even had a reason to sulk at me before?
"You told me you were busy with something.... But you stayed cooped up in your dorm all weekend."
Rone glared at me with a huffy voice, lips jutting out. My body flinched involuntarily at the sight. How did she know that?
Granted, I had been busy on Saturday recruiting Arden, and I'd sparred with her again the next day, but the rest of the time I'd honestly spent sprawled on my bed letting the hours waste away. But there was no way Rone, who lived in a different dormitory, could have known that. Had she planted some surveillance crystal somewhere? Or was she running some kind of espionage operation—
"Bell, Rone. So this is where you two were."
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than the prime suspect appeared. Arden came strolling toward us, her handsome face armed with its usual full-battery smile. Any other girl might have felt her heart flutter at that sight; mine felt like my blood vessels were about to burst.
"Arden. It was you, wasn't it?"
"Hm? What was?"
I demanded an answer without so much as laying out the evidence, and Arden put on a befuddled expression.
"Reporting to Rone that I spent the whole weekend shut up in my dorm. Was that you?"
"Oh, yeah. I ran into Rone by chance on the way to class this morning, and when she suddenly asked, I told her.... B-Bell!?"
The moment the culprit confessed, I shot up from my seat as if there was nothing left to discuss. You little punk, caught red-handed. Why did you have to go sticking your nose where it didn't belong and wreck an otherwise peaceful Monday morning? Just as I leaned in, ready to knock some sense into her then and there—
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The wide-open windows of the lecture hall slammed shut with a raucous clamor, untouched by any hand. I instinctively turned toward the strange sight, and through the door beside the lectern I caught the figure of an old woman shuffling in with her trademark unhurried gait.
"Sit down and be quiet, you lot. Class is beginning."
Madame Penelinne — the owner of a hooked nose that looked like a storybook witch lifted straight from the page — rapped her baton against the lectern in a caustic tone. Silence fell over the previously rowdy hall in an instant, and every cadet scrambled back to their seat. I was little different: I gave up on disciplining Arden and quietly sat down, opening my textbook. Truly, that old woman and I do not mix.
Once the joint class began, only Penelinne's rasping voice rang through the silent lecture hall — well, that, and the squeak of chalk grinding against the blackboard as she worked diligently away at it.
Ugh... why did I say that?
Even as the blackboard slowly vanished beneath the white chalk, Rone's mind was elsewhere. Ruing the moment she had pressed Bell, she was mentally pummeling a miniature Rone Elua — a copy of herself — by the back of the head.
Looking back, it was an incomprehensible thing to have done. True, her feelings for Bell had stretched on for over ten years now, but she was neither his lover nor anything of the sort. Just a childhood friend who'd been by his side a long time — she knew perfectly well that was all she was. Which meant she had no right to bind him, and no grounds whatsoever to scold him for turning down her request to hang out and doing whatever he pleased instead. So why had she said those things?
But it felt weird, that's why...
Rone recalled the conversation she'd had with Arden on the way to class that morning, dredging up the emotions of that moment. Nothing about the conversation itself had been strange. She'd asked Arden what Bell had gotten up to over the weekend, and Arden had simply answered that they'd sparred together and then talked in the dormitory afterward.
At first, Rone had accepted the answer with only mild disappointment — he probably just wanted to rest on his own, she'd thought. But then she'd caught the smile etched on Arden's lips as the girl went on and on about Bell, and that was where the problem began.
It made me feel bad.
Something had smoldered up from deep in her chest, and with it came an odd sense of wrongness about Arden's smile. She couldn't put it into words exactly, but if forced, she'd say it felt similar to how she'd felt the first time she'd crossed paths with Marie, back when the girl had come to visit Bell in the infirmary. Hostility, perhaps.
The instant their eyes met, the hair on her whole body had stood on end in reflex, and her slack nerves had drawn taut like bowstrings. At the very least, it was a sensation she'd never once felt talking to Arden before last week.
Why, all of a sudden?
Even asking herself the question returned no satisfactory answer. If it had been Marie, Rone would have shrugged it off as simple jealousy and called it a day. But this was Arden. Not her rival — just a male friend of Bell's, nothing more.
And yet, what was this feeling? It was as if she weren't looking at Bell's close friend at all, but at a woman secretly in love with him.
...In love?
The instant the thought landed, the pen slipped from Rone's fingers and clattered onto her notebook.
Rollll...
The pen rolled feebly across the desk and strayed into Bell's territory beside her; he held it out and tapped her arm.
"Hey, Rone. What are you doing?"
"S-sorry. I was concentrating on the lecture and...."
"Honestly. How do you concentrate on a lecture without even holding your pen?"
That was the best excuse she could cobble together. Thankfully, Bell seemed willing to let it pass without suspicion.
Forcing a smile as she took the pen back, Rone stared steadily at the blue-haired figure seated in front of her. She tried to brush the thought away as absurd, but the fantasy that had taken root refused to be erased. If anything, the more she tried to wipe it away, the larger it grew, encroaching on her mind inch by inch.
No way... does Arden have feelings for Bell?
Clapping a hand over her own mouth at a conjecture she could barely bring herself to imagine, Rone looked at Bell beside her with trembling eyes. She'd heard there were people in this world with such peculiar tastes — but surely, surely no such beast was about to extend its claws toward the man she had set her heart on.
I'll have to keep watch.
Until there was actual proof, she had no choice but to trust the alarm bell ringing in her head and observe how things developed.
Steeling her resolve, Rone fixed her gaze quietly on Bell's profile. Just trust me, Bell.
All while entertaining a delusion that would have made the man himself faint if he'd heard it.