Episode 037: The Empty Spot After Muller Viscountess Leaves
I fiddled with the cold teacup, half-rising from my seat as I side-eyed the table next to mine. The empty spot left after Muller Viscountess took off.
I'd definitely seen it. Our eyes met, and she quickly looked away. Was that laugh from earlier hers too? Nah, it came from a different direction.
...Then who was it?
I turned to check. A woman with plain brown hair, dressed in the typical modest noble lady's outfit. Total stranger. Her getup was unassuming enough for a café in this bustling district—hell, I was the one who didn't fit in here. If anyone's getting suspicious stares, it's gotta be her side, not mine.
But...
...Huh?
The moment I turned back, a wave of wrongness hit my brain. I couldn't remember. Her face from seconds ago, the color of her clothes—they just erased from my mind like someone rubbed them out with an eraser.
Just now... what color was her hair? Brown? Black?
I whipped my head back. Brown. Faced forward again.
...What color was it?
Definite. The facts stuck, but the details vanished. This was 100% magic. A high-end perception interference artifact, no doubt.
Ha, for real.
I was floored. No clue who she was or why me. But usually, when you think "nah, probably not," it is something. I can't stand this blatant, intentional sneakiness.
Pervert much? If you're gonna stalk, at least don't get caught.
I shot up from my chair and marched over, yanking out the seat across from her before plopping down. The chair scraped loudly.
Screeech.
"...!"
She froze mid-sip. I propped my chin on my hand and shoved my face close.
"Hey, if you've got something to say, just spit it out."
"...What's this about?"
She asked calmly. But even her voice was off. I'd heard it clear, yet when I closed my eyes and focused, it turned into buzzing static in my head five seconds later and faded away.
Jackpot. She was dead set on hiding her identity with some trickery.
Couldn't just grab her collar and yell "Who the hell are you?!" I'd end up looking like a lunatic hauled off by the guards.
But I hadn't come over blindly. One solid logic bomb popped into my head.
"If you recognized me and were peeking, you're probably an academy student... so you know whose disciple I am, right?"
"... "
No answer. But her fingers trembled faintly on the teacup. Hooked.
"You didn't think I, the direct disciple of Grand Magus Iris von Evergarden, wouldn't notice some cheap perception block, did you?"
Lie. I wouldn't have. Never will. I don't study!
Just reverse-engineered it from my thick skull getting formatted in real-time. But she didn't know that.
I tapped the table with my index finger—tap, tap—driving it home.
"I could dispel it right here, but that pricey artifact of yours? It'd shatter to bits."
I tsked like it pained me.
"Then we'd both get our feelings hurt and end up on bad terms. What a waste of cash."
She flinched. My tongue, sharpened from dealing with that fox of a Muller Viscountess, struck true. Faced with my bold, shameless threat, she waved the white flag.
She set down her cup with a sigh.
"...I can't drop it here."
"Oh?"
"Too many eyes. Sorry for the rudeness."
But...
...Gotcha.
One tiny tell hit my ears. Beneath the modulated tone: an ultra-refined accent, pitch so narrow it screamed breeding. You don't fake that overnight. Only someone drilled in nobility their whole life, emotions reined in, elegance beaten into them, talks like that. A fingerprint of habit.
Déjà vu turned to certainty.
I crossed my arms and smirked.
"Aren't you the one who farms with me?"
"...!!"
I felt her real eyes—beyond the interference—widen in shock.
"Even with the voice modulation..."
She glanced around in panic.
"Did you just dispel it? The magic?"
Elisia von Rosenberg thought her spell was broken. Makes sense—she'd assume no one could ID her otherwise.
"Nah. Looked expensive; didn't wanna owe you for breaking it."
"Then how..."
"Just recognized the speech pattern."
"...Pardon?"
"How could I not? Sounds exactly like you."
I tossed it out casually.
"The rhythm when you mix in breaths, the way you trail off at the end. No one else at the academy polishes their poise and refinement like that but you."
"... "
Silence. Elisia stared blankly. Her face was blurry from the magic, but the vibe? Crystal clear. Unintended slip-up.
...Wait.
Hold up. That line I just dropped—kinda risky? Replay: stalker vibes. Or lovesick puppy. 'I remember every little quirk of yours, even your breathing.' Perfect setup.
Damn mouth strikes again.
She covered her mouth.
"...I had no idea you watched me that closely."
Her voice held a watery edge. Not sad—tickled amusement.
"Even through the modulated voice."
"No, that's not—!"
I scrambled to fix it. Misunderstanding stacks could kill me.
"Just... I'm perceptive. Or rather, you always tease me in that cultured tone, so it stuck. Nothing else!"
"Hee hee hee."
"And to avoid more mix-ups."
I lowered my voice, dead serious.
"Please don't twist this to your fiancé—that guy. Like, 'He memorized my voice!' Don't."
"... "
"I wanna live long. Got that southern mansion now; gotta milk it till I croak there."
At my desperate plea, Elisia smiled faintly.
"No misunderstandings, no relaying. I'll guard that precious lifeline of yours."
Modulated to robot-speak, but the glee leaked through.
Made me cringe.
"...Thanks. Karma's on your side."
*
Now that I knew who it was, no need for guard up. She wouldn't tail me. Just bumped into me on a walk after dinner with the crown prince left her queasy. Like a wild boar in the city or a zoo monkey at a gamjatang joint. Curious stare.
"So, why were you watching me?"
"Hm."
She fiddled with her cup, hesitating.
"If it's hard to say straight, I'll assume upset stomach, disguised stroll. I'm not clueless."
"...You didn't approach thinking I had shady motives?"
"Only 'cause I didn't peg you as you."
Like I'd grab a duke's daughter's collar? Insane.
"...If you'd known?"
Duh.
"I'd have bolted. Why tangle with someone taken?"
200% truth. My life's precious.
She tilted her head.
"Wasn't the lady you just met taken too? Muller Viscountess."
"... "
This girl now?
"Milady."
"Yes?"
"No age-inappropriate jokes. That married-lady gag, affair drip? Banned under 40."
"...Pfft!"
Elisia choked behind her fan. Shoulders shaking hard.
Good reaction. Strike while hot—gags love repeats.
"Banned."
"Ahahaha!"
She burst. Forgot decorum, clutching her sides. Eyes turned our way, but whatever. She was disguised; I'm always my way.
After ages, she wiped tears.
"Sorry. Embarrassing? I laughed freely 'cause no fallout for me..."
"No apologies. I went for laughs."
I propped my chin, smirking.
"How not to poke someone primed to pop? I'm not that patient."
"...You're impossible."
Even the noise in her voice sounded fun.
"Shall we?"
She stood. I dusted off and rose. Time for real shopping.
"... "
But Elisia stared, unmoving.
What? More to say?
"...No escort?"
"...Pardon?"
"Gentlemen do, right?"
Ah. That damn etiquette.
"Me?"
Hate it. But flat-out no looks rude, so self-dep mode.
"Serious question: you really see me as the type, all this time?"
"... "
She blinked, then nodded.
"True. No."
Quick on the uptake—nice.
* * *
We descended the short terrace stairs to street level. Cool night air.
"I'll head out then."
"Where to?"
"Shopping."
"Shopping?"
Her eyes widened.
"Cosmetics."
"...Cosmetics?"
Her gaze shifted subtly. 1. Cosmetics at night? Hitting up a girl? 2. Axe-murderer vibes—skipping that.
"FYI, not for a young lady. For our head maid. She's pushing fifty. Want her age?"
"No need. Wasn't prying—don't misunderstand."
Whew. No self-axe.
"Then... mind if I tag along? Better at picking gifts."
"Appreciate it, but got one in mind."
"What?"
"'Rubinic Garden' for essence."
"Rubinic Garden? Lots of types. Need skin type."
"The brown bottle."
100% real talk. Legendary brown bottle my sisters nagged for from duty-free every trip. This world had an homage. Korean medieval romance fantasy—complicated hybrid.
"You know cosmetics well?"
"Nah. Overheard maids. Eavesdropping."
"I see. Deep affection for the head maid? Familial, of course."
"Yeah. Mom figure. Raised me from diapers—can't show empty-handed."
"Filial son."
Mom-like, not mom. Don't say it like...
"Better come with me then."
"Huh?"
"Brown bottle alone? Weak effect. Pair with matching line's boosting essence for synergy. Oil or cream mix depends on skin type."
"... "
Ah. Didn't know. Cosmetics this deep? Thought pricey one-and-done. Sisters layered, huh?
I gawked; she giggled.
"You really don't know. That face isn't acting."
Damn. Testing me?