Truly, Mountains Upon Mountains
The night had grown deep.
By the time I had managed to clear only about half of that mountain of documents, I was already completely spent.
...Aigoo. I'm dying. I really am.
My eyes swam, and a dull ache pulsed through my wrists. In the end I never so much as showed my face at the market, and still ahead of me waited the final peak of the evening—night patrol.
It was truly mountains upon mountains.
The mere thought of Her Highness Victoria sent a chill down my spine, yet I no longer even had the strength left to worry about that. I simply slumped over the desk, listlessly dragging my brush across the page.
It was right then.
"...Commander. You have been working so hard."
A soft, gentle voice drifted from beside me.
I lifted my head and found Celine standing there. She set a teacup before me, steam curling gently from its surface.
"...The night looks as though it will be long, so I brought you some warm tea. Please have some of this as well."
She followed it with a modest late-night snack, carefully arranging it on the desk.
My stomach had been empty, and the savory aroma that brushed my nose made my mouth water of its own accord.
...Huh?
Yet all I could feel was bewilderment.
What on earth was this?
Only moments ago she had been the one pinning me to this seat with that cool, unyielding gaze. And now she was fussing over me with tea and a midnight meal?
If anything, it made me more uneasy.
...W-wait. Don't tell me.
A chilling thought flashed through my mind.
What if this was the condemned man's last supper? Once I finished the tea and the snack, something truly terrifying would be waiting for me...
Or perhaps she was simply lulling me into a false sense of security, only to spring some scheme once my guard was down.
...No, no. What kind of wicked idea is that?
I hurriedly shook my head.
Thinking it over, Celine was not that sort of person. On the contrary, she had only ever quietly helped and looked after my clumsy self all this time.
With that thought I carefully lifted the cup and took a sip.
It was warm.
The heat spread gently through my exhausted body. As the mild fragrance of the tea wrapped around my nose, the nerves that had been stretched taut began, somehow, to loosen and melt away.
"...Thank you, Deputy Commander. I feel a little more alive already."
When I offered the courtesy, Celine answered with a soft, almost shy smile.
"...Not at all. Even on an all-night shift, one must keep one's strength up. Please do not overdo it—take your time."
Her voice was so gentle and warm. The woman who only a short while ago had seemed nothing but cool and distant now looked, somehow, completely different.
...Hmm. Well, when I think about it, she doesn't seem like a bad person at all.
Perhaps all this time I had simply been fretting over nothing and misunderstanding her. Looked at properly, she had stayed late into the night just to help me, even going so far as to bring me tea. How could I not be grateful?
The realization settled something in my chest.
I filled myself with the warm tea and the snack, then took up my brush once more. Strangely enough, the work began to go far more smoothly than before.
"Here—this matter can be handled this way."
"...Ah, yes. Like this?"
"Yes. Well done."
With Celine's guidance I worked through the mountain of documents one by one. By the time those interminable tasks finally came to an end, the night had grown quite late.
"...You truly worked hard today, Commander."
"Aigoo. Deputy Commander, you're the one who stayed until this hour. I'm the one who should be thanking you."
The thought that I had never made it to the market still left a faint ache in one corner of my heart, yet somehow this rough day was drawing to a close without complete disaster.
That was enough. For now, I decided to leave it at that.
After finishing night patrol as well and returning to my quarters, the hour was truly deep.
...Aigoo. Now I finally feel like I can live.
My whole body felt as heavy as waterlogged cotton. I wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and sleep.
Yet for some reason my stomach kept protesting that it was empty.
...Well, I had eaten nothing since the snack Celine had brought me earlier. Of course I was hungry.
...Hmm. Maybe I should just have something light and then sleep.
I quietly made my way toward the kitchen.
I had no intention of cooking anything grand. Just something simple and light enough to soothe a growling stomach before bed would do.
...What to make at this hour.
I glanced around the kitchen, pondering for a moment, until my eyes fell on a few eggs resting in a basket.
...Right. I'll just fry up an omelet.
Nothing else was quite so perfect for something simple yet filling. I rolled up my sleeves at once.
...Even if it was only a late-night snack, there was no way I could half-ass it. After all, this body had once belonged to a Michelin chef in a previous life.
First I cracked three eggs into a bowl, sprinkled in a pinch of salt, and whisked with chopsticks until the yolks and whites became one smooth mixture.
Ideally I would have strained it once for an even silkier texture, but there was no need to go that far in the middle of the night.
Next I set a pan over the heat and let a generous knob of butter melt across it.
...Sizzle.
As the butter melted, a rich aroma filled the kitchen. The moment the butter began to foam and just started to take on a golden hue, I poured the beaten eggs into the pan in one smooth stream.
Sizzle!
With a lively crackle the eggs began to puff and swell. Without missing a beat I worked the chopsticks, stirring them swiftly.
...This was the critical moment.
Overcook them and they turned dry and tough; undercook them and they stayed runny.
Soft on the outside, moist within.
Catching that exquisite balance was the entirety of a good omelet.
When the eggs had half set into a soft, half-cooked state, I immediately lowered the heat. Then, tilting the pan gently, I carefully rolled the tender eggs to one side.
Roll...
The eggs folded neatly into a smooth half-moon shape.
At last I tipped it gently onto a plate and rubbed a small piece of butter over the top. A delicious sheen immediately spread across the omelet's glossy surface.
...Heh. Yes. This is it.
A single plate of midnight omelet—golden, plump, and gleaming—was complete.
For a late-night snack it looked rather impressive, and I allowed myself a satisfied smile.
When I parted it lightly with a fork, the moist, soft half-cooked eggs within the smooth exterior released curling steam.
My mouth watered of its own accord.
...Right then. Let's see how it tastes.
A humble late-night snack enjoyed alone at the end of an exhausting day.
With a flutter of anticipation I picked up the fork. And just as I was about to lift a steaming bite of omelet to my mouth—
...Tap. Tap-tap.
Suddenly, from somewhere, came the quiet sound of someone knocking on the door.
...Huh?
Fork still in hand, I froze solid.
...At this ungodly hour, who on earth could be calling?
I set the fork down and cautiously approached the entrance.
I could think of no one who would visit at such a late hour. Perhaps an urgent message? Or maybe something had happened during patrol?
With those thoughts tumbling through my head, I slowly opened the door.
And in that instant I froze right where I stood.
Standing outside was the last person I expected.
A woman with hair as black as night and eyes of vivid crimson, looking up at me under the faint moonlight.
Victoria.
"...Y-Your Highness?!"
I nearly stumbled backward in shock.
Why, at this deep hour of the night, would Her Highness Victoria be here?
Then, abruptly, a chill raced down my spine.
This evening. Th-that's right.
The market.
We had agreed to meet at the market this evening, had we not?
And I had failed to keep that promise. And now the princess I had stood up had come in person, in the middle of the night, to find me.
...I-it's over.
My mind went blank.
Sure enough, Victoria said nothing at all. She merely fixed those crimson eyes on me in silence.
How deep and unreadable that gaze was.
Whether she was angry or harboring some other intent entirely, I could not begin to tell.
And the very fact that I could not tell only tightened the noose around me further.
For a moment the woman from the original story overlapped with the princess standing before me—the razor-edged presence that had ultimately driven this man named Kyle to ruin.
And that presence now stood before the man who had broken his word, silent in the dead of night.
...D-don't tell me. Is she really going to do something tonight—
I swallowed hard without meaning to.
Cold sweat slid down my back, and my heart began to hammer like a mad thing.
"...Y-Your Highness. Th-that is... about this evening, I also had circumstances beyond my control—"
I opened my mouth in a desperate rush to offer some excuse—anything to break through this razor-edged silence.
Yet Victoria still gave no reply.
She simply continued to regard me with those crimson eyes, and then, as if reaching some decision, she slowly parted her lips.