Researching the Potion
Of all people to run into here, it had to be this pink-haired menace.
As I stared at her, dumbfounded by the utterly unexpected encounter, the girl bared her teeth at me and let out a low growl. As if to say, If you've got any excuses, go ahead — flap that high-and-mighty mouth of yours.
What am I even supposed to do with that?
For the life of me, I couldn't understand what her problem was. Had I done something wrong? Why was she acting like this?
Truth be told, I had a fair guess as to the reason. Judging by the jab she'd thrown at me moments ago, she'd probably cleared her precious schedule to tutor me, and here I was — a mere commoner — turning her down and holing up in the library instead. In her eyes, the mountain of books piled in front of us clearly didn't exist.
"You need something?"
"Hmph. Why would I need something from the likes of you?"
I'd asked just in case she actually had business with us, and the answer was exactly what I'd expected. Speaking of which — could she please stop with that insufferable little sniff? That upturned nose of hers, combined with the scoff, made for a sight practically engineered to get under a person's skin. If only I had a spatula handy, I'd have whacked that beak right back into her face. Who did she think she was, a duckling?
"Then get lost. We're busy."
I flapped my hand at her like I was shooing away a street peddler, issuing my formal eviction notice. We were swamped as it was; there was no time to waste bantering with a pink-haired brat. I figured she wouldn't want to keep talking to someone who wasn't even acknowledging her anyway, and turned back to my work.
At which point Marie, from behind me, parroted my own words back — her voice dripping with a chill far colder than before.
"…Excuse me? We're busy?"
What exactly had gotten her so worked up? I wanted to believe she wasn't dense enough to miss that the plural "we" included the person sitting right next to me. Or could she simply not see Tina beside me at all? Whether her head was empty or her eyes were crooked, one thing was certain: something about her was seriously defective.
As another silent standoff kicked off between me and Marie, Tina — who'd been glancing back and forth between the two of us — finally worked up the nerve to address the stranger she'd never met.
"Um… you're Marie Resti, right?"
"Yes. What of it?"
I'd expected another round of commoner-bashing, but surprisingly, aside from her trademark snippiness, the girl answered normally.
"If you don't mind… would you help us with an assignment? Professor Penelinne gave us a group project that's due next week, and…"
"…Professor Penelinne? The herbalism professor?"
The answer seemed to catch her off guard — Marie blinked at us with wide, round eyes. Well, come to think of it, among all the first-years who'd enrolled this year, we were the only ones Professor Penelinne had given an assignment to — let alone a group project. No wonder she found it remarkable.
"Yeah. She gave us our first group project, and it's making Mocher's Prank."
All of the theatrical sniping she'd aimed at me had vanished entirely; Tina continued her explanation in a soft, gentle tone, as if she were imitating Elisha. At that, a slight crease formed between Marie's brows, and she planted a hand on her hip, cocking her posture to one side. For some reason, her expression seemed a touch brighter than before. Or was that just my imagination?
"Mocher's Prank, huh… That's a rather finicky elixir. Do you know the preparation method?"
"No, this is my first time making it, so… what about you, Lady Resti?"
"I wouldn't call myself an expert either. I know roughly what ingredients go into it, but as for the proportions and the actual process…"
Apparently, not knowing everything had bruised her pride, because Marie swallowed the rest of her sentence and quickly averted her gaze. Honestly, the strangest things set off this girl's ego. It's not like anyone can know everything, and for a theory-illiterate dunce like me, knowing even that much would have been impressive. I suppose that's what they call a difference in perspective.
Having no desire to keep watching her squirm and twist in embarrassment, I cut in between the two of them and got straight to the point.
"So, can you help us or not?"
"…Huh?"
Those pink eyes, which had been darting everywhere and nowhere, finally swung around to me.
"You just said you know roughly what ingredients go into it. Since we're on the subject, let's make this today's lesson."
I had no idea why she was so obsessively hung up on a tutoring session that had been forced on her half against her will — but if she had her reasons, I'd decided to leverage them for all they were worth.
"…Are you sure? Like I said, I'm no expert."
"Better than us."
Tina, after all, had experience brewing other elixirs, but her knowledge of Mocher's Prank itself was close to nonexistent. And I didn't even need to say anything about myself. Anyone with even a scrap of relevant knowledge was talent worth welcoming with open arms, so I slid one of the books across the table toward her and offered again.
"W-well, I suppose I don't have a choice. I'll help you. A little."
She brushed the pink hair back from around her neck and spoke with all the haughty grandeur she could muster. But just for today, I honored our soon-to-be information pack mule with a brief round of applause.
For securing one extra pair of hands at this price? A bargain.
Flap. Flap.
The only sound ringing in my ears was the turning of pages. It had been roughly two and a half hours since we'd arrived at the library and cracked open our books. The red glow of sunset had long since faded, and darkness had settled outside — but with the other two showing no sign of wrapping up, I felt oddly guilty about getting up from my seat myself.
Man, this is exhausting.
I stretched lightly, rolled my neck from side to side to work out the stiffness, and turned my eyes back to the page. Marie's joining us had certainly sped up the search for information, but that didn't mean Tina and I had any less work to do. Sifting through these thick herbology tomes and potion references — extracting only the passages that pertained to Mocher's Prank, then cross-checking whether they actually agreed with one another — was grueling work.
Just looking at this, I was reminded all over again how convenient the internet from my past life had been. If someone invented a spell or a machine in this world that could pull exactly the passage you wanted out of a book, it'd be an instant hit. Unfortunately, no such thing seemed to exist.
As I kept flipping pages, an illustration in black and white — and beneath it, the name of an herb — caught my eye.
Nostalgia.
The core ingredient of Mocher's Prank. It hadn't been listed in any of the other herb books, which was why I'd been digging through them one by one — and here, at last, I'd found it.
"Marie. Is this the flower you call Nostalgia?"
"Huh? …Yeah, that's it. Huh, good job finding it."
Thankfully, it was the right one. Well, since I'd found it, might as well read the description.
Nostalgia. A plant found in the vicinity of the Viscania Mountain Range in the southwestern Arcadia Empire, growing primarily on cliff faces and other places rarely touched by human hands. It is distinguished by its yellow petals and long roots, and the scent of Nostalgia is said to be imperceptible to humans.
I couldn't quite grasp what "a scent humans cannot smell" was supposed to mean, but reading on, there was nothing else especially remarkable. The only thing that bothered me was the part about its habitat.
And with good reason — the Viscania Mountain Range sat almost directly on the opposite side of the world from Delos Academy Island. Even by carriage, a week's travel would count as making good time.
They can't seriously expect us to go all the way out there and harvest it ourselves… right?
The moment that anxious thought began circling my head, a chill ran down my spine. No matter how insane this academy was, that would be going a bit too far. Surely.
Tap, tap.
"Hey, Tina. Check this out."
"Hmm? What is it?"
I tapped the shoulder of the girl beside me and opened the book to the passage describing Nostalgia.
"This flower grows near the Viscania Mountain Range. You don't think we'd actually have to go all the way there, do you?"
"W-well…? Normally, no, but I couldn't say for certain."
"…Insane."
No, really — what kind of lunatic treks across half the empire for a school assignment? Wouldn't it be easier to just go out somewhere and buy it from an herb merchant?
Before the thought had even finished forming, Marie's sharp voice cut in from the side.
"I can see exactly what you're thinking, and you'd better wake up from that dream."
"See what?"
"Nostalgia. You were plotting to buy it somewhere, weren't you? It's written all over your face."
"Are you a mind reader now?"
"Hmph. You're just such an idiot that your inner thoughts show plain as day."
I'd never claimed to be a genius, but the fact that my entire inner life could be read off my face — by her, of all people — stung a little. Somehow humiliating. Maybe it felt that way precisely because the opponent was Marie.
"Anyway, that plant can't be obtained on the open market."
"Can't be obtained? Why not? It's not like it's a drug."
"It's because it has a drug-like effect, obviously. Well — not for humans, anyway."
Not for humans. A rather curious way to put it. Come to think of it, the entry I'd just read had made a point of saying humans couldn't smell the flower's scent. It seemed to be a genuinely peculiar plant.
Perhaps sensing my confusion, Marie twirled a pen in her fingers and launched into an explanation of her own.
"That flower gives off a scent only beastfolk can smell — and apparently, it's quite potent. Back when beastfolk were persecuted, nobody cared, so it was sold openly. Not anymore, of course."
"You really do know everything, don't you?"
Maybe the reason it wasn't written in the books was that they'd been compiled back in the days when beastfolk were still oppressed. Whatever the reason, the conclusion was clear: this was a dangerous flower. Not that it mattered to us humans, of course.
"If you really need that flower, why don't you just ask Elisha?"
"Elisha? Why is Elisha coming into this?"
Just as I was deep in my own agonizing over where to procure Nostalgia, Marie offered a solution I'd never considered. When I voiced my confusion at the sudden name-drop, she shook her head with that familiar look of utter pity she always wore around me.
There she went again — willing to lend a hand one moment, then docking all my points with a single sneer the next.
"Because you utter fool, the Crochel family owns half of the Viscania Mountain Range. Duke Balzac defeated the Followers single-handedly in that very range during the Great War thirty years ago, and the land was granted to him as a reward for it. How do you not know basic history?"
Balzac — she'd have to mean Balzac of the Red Sword. In the original story too, he'd been one of the Five Heroes, second only to the Sword Saint Kalon Schweizer, and the current head of House Crochel. It had been quite a while since I'd last heard that name, and part of me felt a flicker of warmth at it — while another part burned with the urge to slug Marie for trying to force-feed me her family's backstory as if it were common knowledge.
Either way, the upshot was simple: all I had to do was ask Elisha. Whether she'd actually say yes was another matter entirely.
"……"
Having decided to seek out Elisha the next day, I was about to pack up my things when I noticed Tina — for some reason, her face had gone dark, and she was staring intently at the book I'd left open.
"Hey, Tina. Let's head out soon. The dorm closes soon."
"Huh? Oh — u-um, yeah."
Her reaction came a beat late, as if her mind had been somewhere far away, but she quickly gathered her bag and rose from her seat. Then, declaring that she was going to check out the very book I'd just been reading, she snatched it up and dashed off toward the librarian.
She knew exactly where the page was — she could easily come back and look at it again tomorrow. Talk about diligent.