10. Demon in a Bottle (4)
10. Demon in a Bottle (4)
Last Saturday, Maya had momentarily lost control of her magic.
The instant she saw Wonderstein and Reina embracing onstage, her telekinesis had lashed out on its own.
The cake decoration the two of them had made went crashing to the floor, ruined.
Watching their hard work get scraped up with a mop, Reina's face crumpled.
A petty thrill curled through a corner of Maya's chest.
It was a shameful way to treat the teacher she respected, of course.
And the scene she'd caused had stolen yet another chance to kiss his cheek, right before her eyes.
She was disgusted with herself.
The fear that Wonderstein might reproach her and the anxiety of having briefly lost command of her power hit her at the same time.
Something was wrong with her, and she knew it.
She analyzed what she'd done that day with clinical detachment.
The diagnosis was clear: she'd fallen into a shallow case of Papilax.
Papilax was also called the Whisper of the Demon God Sinepekus.
It was also known as a Heart Demon.
The Demon God Sinepekus was said to appear to ascetics and scholars on the verge of enlightenment, breathing insidious whispers into their ears to obstruct their breakthrough.
That phenomenon was named Papilax.
He was a god who adored gossip, rumor, and renown.
He savored unproductive, emotional, blind, irrational murmuring and chatter.
He reveled in wallowing in a flood of filthy words, yet was simultaneously ashamed of that very impulse.
Still, he couldn't escape it.
It was his fundamental nature as the Demon God Sinepekus — his inescapable limitation.
So he grew envious of those who sought to transcend their own boundaries.
His targets were the faithful striving for revelation and the scholars pushing toward new truths.
He'd sidle up and murmur seductions meant to trap them in delusion.
Idle hearsay.
Groundless suspicion.
Irresponsible nonsense.
Beguiling encouragement.
A mind fixed single-mindedly on its pursuit offered no gaps for such things to seep into.
The religious could break it with meditation; scholars, with logic.
But it was no simple feat.
The scattered reports of scholars driven mad while grappling with intractable problems — those, too, were Papilax at work.
Maya traced the roots of the Heart Demon that had sprouted within her.
It didn't take long.
The answer was obvious.
All she had to do was revisit the moment her telekinesis had surged out of control.
Wonderstein.
He was the key.
She had found a way to fill the blank canvas of her mind.
The one who had held out a lamp when she was lost in the dark.
Opening her heart to him had let her manifest Wally.
Entrusting even more of herself to him might open a wider path.
But that road was littered with obstacles she wasn't sure she could bear.
She couldn't stand him paying attention to other women.
She hated when he ignored her.
Watching him smile at someone else was unbearable.
The feelings she had to endure as part of filling her mind's canvas were agonizing.
To someone who pursued perfect logic, they were a grating, unbearable discord.
'I'd rather just not have a heart like this at all.'
Why had she abandoned the Mystic in the first place?
Wasn't it exactly because of what logic couldn't grasp?
Emotions that were trivial to ordinary people were poison to her.
They could manifest as a Heart Demon, just as they had now.
"The demon envies the chick breaking through its shell. It whispers to the bird: The outside world is terrifying. You'll never fly. The shell is precious. The demon who tricks the hatchling back inside its egg — his name is Sinepekus."
The sage's counsel echoed back to her: Do not fear the demon's whispers; advance always toward truth.
But Maya chose to retrace her steps rather than recklessly challenge a new frontier.
The new world that had opened before her was too alien, too dangerous.
Fine. Let go of the Mystery of Image.
Toss Wally's illusions aside, too.
I don't need any of that.
I'll walk forward on pure logic alone.
-Mreooow!
She shoved the mewling cat deep, deep into her chest.
Yet within hours of making that resolution, it nearly shattered.
The day after the pastry factory visit, she resolved to leave the villa early in the morning.
The riddle of Tetromino Square's paving.
A logical task suited to her — perfect for steadying her heart.
As usual, she went to the Troupe Leader's bedroom to greet him.
"You're heading out a bit early today, aren't you?"
"I have something that needs resolving quickly. Are you alright, Troupe Leader? You slept late today."
Wonderstein was sitting on the bed, clutching the covers as if he'd just woken.
"Yes. No problem. I was just a bit tired from yesterday's events. So, you're going to Tetromino Plaza again today?"
"Yes."
Maya studied his bed closely.
The air around him was different from usual.
He always waited for her, impeccably dressed in his suit. Now he was in his sleepwear, still tangled in the sheets.
Her eye for three-dimensional form surpassed anyone else's.
The shape of the blanket over him was wrong.
It traced curves his body alone could never form.
Maya had memorized Wonderstein's contours every chance she got. She spotted the discrepancy instantly.
She also caught the barest twitch beneath the blanket.
Something inside seemed to be moving — something large, almost feral.
But she couldn't keep staring.
"Heh-heh, I see. Take care, then."
He was dismissing her.
Maya, still eyeing the blanket, gave a small nod.
It was none of her business anyway.
She'd given up on chasing mysteries.
Resolved to empty the canvas of her heart.
She was going back.
To the old, logical version of herself.
But one corner of her brain kept chattering on, utterly beyond her control.
Maybe... that thing moving under his blanket... is just a normal male morning phenomenon, biologically speaking.
I've never seen it myself. Is it really supposed to writhe around that much?
Enough movement to shift the bedding.
Could the Troupe Leader's... be reacting to seeing me...?
Maya nearly let out a mortified sound.
Desperate to hide the collapse of her expression, she barked out a farewell.
"I'll be off, then."
She stepped out and shut the door.
A few deep breaths to settle her hammering heart.
She gathered herself and took one step —
— and lightning struck inside her skull.
It was an uninvited flight of outrageous imagination.
Maybe it was the shock from yesterday, but the image burst into her head unbidden.
-Dad, I love you!
Reina Magier.
Arms around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist, shouting that she loved him while cradled in his arms.
And then her lips touching his cheek.
Then another scene surfaced.
-Naturally. She has a very promising future. After another seven years or so, she'll mature nicely... Heh.
The Troupe Leader, smiling as his gaze swept over Reina's body.
Her head swam.
The three-dimensional space beneath that blanket reconstructed itself in her mind.
Reina's body layered atop his.
The contours matched the blanket she'd just seen exactly.
Forget it. Forget it.
Stop fabricating ridiculous scenarios.
Don't get tangled up in emotions.
That's exactly how the Heart Demon gets you.
But her head ignored her heart's protests and kept painting the image of two bodies tangled together on the bed, lips meeting.
Before she knew it, her hands were opening the lid of the Transparent Paint.
Name: Transparent Paint
Target: Surface of an object
Effect: Produces paint that renders the target invisible. Duration scales with mana density.
Requirements: Maya's Affection level 30, mana
Her new Magic Tool, received from Wonderstein back in Dvalchev.
This was definitely not what he'd given it to her for.
Still, she coated her entire body with telekinetically controlled pigment.
This is purely for the pursuit of truth.
To shake off this gnawing suspicion.
Fully invisible, she crept back to the door.
Two voices filtered through.
"Hah... hah..."
"That must have been rather stifling. If we'd been caught, though, it would've led to serious misunderstandings."
It was clear who had been under those covers.
Her intuition was dead-on.
That voice belonged to Reina.
But what grated on her even more was the Troupe Leader's way of speaking.
He always used formal speech with everyone, even someone so much younger than himself.
It had stung a little that he addressed her the same way, even as his self-proclaimed disciple — but she'd accepted it as his manner.
And now he was speaking casually with someone else.
She'd never heard him drop the polite register like that before. That familiarity.
"I-I know that... I'm... I'm going to my room."
"Go on."
Reina slipped out.
Her pajamas were soaked through with sweat.
Maya stared blankly as she retreated down the hall.
How?
They've barely even met.
Why was she in his bed?
Drenched in sweat.
A man and a woman.
Why?
In her nightclothes.
Isn't it obvious?
No way.
No way.
No way.
They were together all night?
They slept together?
She shook her head, hard.
Impossible.
Hadn't the Troupe Leader just said so himself?
It could cause a misunderstanding.
Right. A misunderstanding.
She must have come to see him early in the morning, gotten startled when Maya walked in, and dove under the covers to hide.
But once doubt is lodged in the mind, it isn't so easily evicted.
She spent the entire day at the plaza staring vacantly at the tiles.
No patterns, no logic would stick in her head.
Only the scene she'd witnessed that morning, embroidered by her imagination, kept looping behind her eyes.
The image of two naked bodies tangled in bed, whispering endearments to each other.
"What troubles could a young lady like you possibly have?"
The elderly café owner had the perceptiveness and hospitality befitting his years.
He read the shift even through Maya's dispassionate mask.
He pressed a light, vodka-spiked drink on her, and she sat there, sipping and staring into the distance for hours.
That night, she returned to the villa, coated herself with Transparent Paint, and planted herself in front of Wonderstein's door.
I just saw it wrong.
I must have.
I'll prove it.
Prove the Troupe Leader's innocence — or whatever it is.
She kept watch in front of his door all night.
The next morning, she was feverish and swaying with exhaustion — but satisfied.
That girl hadn't come anywhere near his room.
She was relieved.
She'd clearly misunderstood their relationship.
Good. That's a relief.
It was just a misunderstanding.
She'll be gone by tomorrow.
Nothing will happen.
She slept in the villa the whole day.
Overtaxed, mentally and physically, by the previous night's vigil.
When her eyes finally opened, it was past eleven at night.
She dressed on instinct and stepped out.
For one final confirmation.
She made her way to the Troupe Leader's room.
And she heard a whisper far more awful than anything of Sinepekus.
Undeniably, it was Reina's voice coming from inside Wonderstein's room.
She pressed her ear closer, but couldn't make out the words.
It was late; they'd probably lowered their voices.
What the hell are you doing.
You little brat.
Maya coated herself in Transparent Paint and flew out of the building with telekinesis.
She re-entered through the bathroom window.
Reina had just finished speaking and was bowing her head low before the Troupe Leader.
Silently, Maya crept closer.
He leaned in, bringing his mouth to Reina's ear.
What will he say?
Stop yammering and go back to your room at this hour?
Then, one word that shook her entire world.
"Strip."