Chapter 21
Listen carefully. And don't tell a soul. The Nine Towers. The masterminds who sparked the magic revolution, paving the way for cars rolling down streets, skyscrapers piercing the sky, and highways stretching across the land. They're a gathering of the era's intellectual elite—and at the same time, a forge for strategic weapons capable of wiping out armies single-handedly. Naturally, in the Empire, a mage affiliated with the Nine Towers was treated like nobility at minimum. And the lord of one such tower? That was equivalent to a marquis or even a duke among the aristocracy.
Yet one of these towering figures had sought me out in secret, expressing a desire to meet? What could be the reason? But before that—what if I couldn't handle a client like him?
"May I ask why he's seeking me out?"
"He didn't say. But he did emphasize one thing: he demands absolute secrecy."
Consulting with someone who had plenty to hide, overflowing with power and wealth. Mom had once warned me that taking on just anyone recklessly could twist your life into knots.
"Those high-and-mighty types asking for a fortune reading? Screen their attendants first. If they treat them like disposable tools, don't meet. But if they look after their own, go ahead and read their fate. Remember: always test for the bare minimum safety first."
Mom's advice had saved my skin more times than I could count already. Thanks, Mom. I really mean it.
"Count."
"Speak."
"I have a condition before any consultation."
"What is it?"
"I'd like to meet one of the Tower Lord's close aides first."
"A close aide?"
"Family, or perhaps a personal secretary or staff member. Anyone close. If he wants a reading first, send someone near to him my way. That's my condition. Otherwise, no meeting."
The Count pondered my words for a moment, then broke into a smile.
"So, you're putting up the bare minimum safety measures, eh?"
He wasn't a top-tier like a Tower Lord, duke, or imperial, but the Count was a seasoned noble who'd seen it all. He caught my drift immediately.
"Could you convey that condition to the Tower Lord in a way that doesn't offend?"
"Shouldn't be hard. I'll handle it. In any case, for the test, you should clear your schedule this weekend."
"Of course."
The very dawn after the Count relayed my condition to the Tower Lord:
"Word came back: he'll send a close aide this weekend immediately. For someone with such overflowing leisure to respond this fast... He says it's urgent. Aide on Saturday, and if possible, you the next day—Sunday."
The reply had shot back like a bullet.
"I'll meet the aide Saturday and decide then."
"I get your position, but... From the magical comms that flew in, whatever the Tower Lord's deal, he seems awfully pressed. Looked pretty anxious. Don't keep him waiting too long. If the Tower Lord gets upset, it won't be good for Yurtel either."
I nodded.
"I understand. But principles are principles. The aide first."
"Alright. I'll pass that on."
And so, that Saturday, a sleek limousine glided discreetly into the underground parking of the hotel where I was staying. A weary-looking mage was then escorted to my room.
"I'm Roca. Pleased to meet you, Great Sage of Yurtel."
"I'm Aiden, running a fortune-telling shop. Pleased to meet you. Long trip—care for some tea?"
"Haha! Sounds good. Been buried in papers; it'll be nice to relax for once."
We settled at the tea table, enjoying some leisurely bites and brew.
"Nice room. Yurtel's famous for its hot springs, huh? Haha, great vibe."
A relaxed smile. Fine, elegant clothes. From across the table, I focused intently on reading Roca's past and future.
It didn't take long to reach a conclusion.
"So, how's my fate? I hear you're incredible."
I smiled back at the polite Roca.
"You'll live a life free of major issues. No big twists in your past, none ahead—a smooth, quiet path. And that's exactly what you want, isn't it?"
"Haha! Spot on! Impressive!"
"Just one thing. Watch out for the single sharp spike in that even life of yours. You should break up with your current girlfriend."
Roca's easy smile vanished.
"My girlfriend?"
"Your lover, Miss Hailey—she's quite something. She's cheating on you with four other men besides yourself."
His face paled as he stared at me, but I pressed on.
"How was dinner last night? Medium-rare steak from veal tenderloin, soup from lobster innards. After you parted, Hailey headed straight to a hotel with another man. Even without my prophecy, it'll come out in three months. You'll catch her."
"W-wait. Hailey... she wouldn't..."
"Didn't she demand an expensive gift on your anniversary? But on your birthday, she gave you a handmade scarf—or so she said. It was cheap store-bought. Figured a bookworm like you wouldn't notice. Red scarf with a star embroidery. Five runes at a sundries shop."
Roca's face drained of color. His hands trembled.
"Don't lie. Hailey wouldn't..."
"Check Deep Aroma, the members-only bar near the Nine Towers. A kind of hunting ground. Hailey's been meeting men there. You know invisibility or stealth spells—slip in next Wednesday. You'll see I'm right."
Roca sat speechless for a long while, then tears welled up. I understood what those tears meant.
"You're crying not because I'm lying, but because deep down, you'd sensed it. You loved her, so you pushed it aside. That was the only snag in your smooth life. Dodge it, and you'll coast peacefully."
Like a dam breaking, Roca sobbed uncontrollably. I quietly fetched tissues and handed them over, sitting beside him to pat his shoulder.
"You've had no experience with women. Makes sense—academy star since childhood, all study, no play. Your love was pure. The problem? Some women tally that purity in coin."
"Hailey used me... sob!"
"You've lived without shame toward anyone. I know. So don't cry—overcome it. Don't crumble over one pebble when your road ahead is so straight and solid. Love will come again."
Roca wept through over ten tissues before finally calming. Then, hesitantly:
"Can I love again?"
"You're blinded by the rose, missing the wildflowers nearby."
"Pardon?"
"Karla. Your cohort, witch colleague of over ten years?"
"Yes. Friend from academy days."
"She's been pining for you."
"K-Karla? For me?"
"You're attractive and wonderful, Roca—not for your background or skills, but for you. Find someone who sees the man. A broken heart mends stronger."
His eyes wavered, thoughts churning. At last, he stood and bowed.
"Thank you, Great Sage Aiden."
"Tell the Tower Lord to come tomorrow."
"You'll meet him?"
I nodded.
"Good man. The kind you'd take as a life mentor. Fine character, top skills. I want to meet him. Haven't read his fate yet, so I don't know his worry, but I want to help."
Roca nodded, washed up in the bathroom, took a deep breath.
"Thanks again. I'll relay to the Tower Lord."
"Please do."
Roca left. That evening:
"The Tower Lord says he'll visit secretly tomorrow evening. Coming straight to your room via teleport—don't be startled, he said."
"Understood."
"What on earth did you tell that aide to get such an explosive reaction?"
"You know from experience, Count."
"Heh... yeah. See you tomorrow."
"No worries."
From Roca's past, I knew the Tower Lord wasn't the type to flip out over bad news and blur lines.
That evening:
"Mirien."
"Speak."
"Don't come tomorrow evening."
"Why?"
"The Nine Towers' Tower Lord is visiting for a consultation."
"Hm? A Tower Lord?"
"Yes. So I'll be alone tomorrow. You could sleep in the palace bedchamber for one night, right?"
I plated the simple meal I'd made and handed it to her.
Mirien pouted, full of complaint. Like a giant cat when she's like this. A brown one.
"Why take clients on weekends? You said weekends off."
"Urgent request. No choice. Seemed desperate, whatever it is."
"I can't sleep without your head pats anymore."
"Come during the week; I'll pat then."
"I want weekends too."
"Guest coming."
"I'll hide well. Tuck me in after he leaves."
"Just don't come... Never mind. Do as you like."
She wouldn't listen anyway. And I'd seen firsthand how masterful dark elf shadow stealth was—her guards vanishing without a trace.
"I'll be quiet. Won't disrupt your work. Do you think I lack that much tact?"
"Fine. Thanks."
With that settled. Next evening, Mirien ate my dinner, slipped into the shadows, and vanished. I washed dishes, tidied a bit, then waited.
After a quiet wait, space rippled near the living room, splitting open. Out stepped an old man with a classic mage look: long beard, neat robe, mithril staff, pointed hat.
"Welcome, Tower Lord. I'm Aiden, fortune-teller in Yurtel."
I rose politely to greet him, but he offered no reply. He seemed... jittery.
"Right, right. Heard the story. You gave Roca some vital advice?"
"Yes. I prepared tea—shall we...?"
"No time. Just... read me quick."
I nodded, slowly scanning his info window. The more I read...
"Ah..."
A sigh escaped despite myself. Once finished, I looked at him with pity.
His anxiety faded.
"Seen it?"
I nodded. He wore a strange mix of relief and gloom.
"You've learned my secret anyway, so I'll remove the hat. Hidden it my whole life... At least here, I want to go bare."
"Go ahead."
With trembling hands, he gripped his hat.
"Look closely. And... don't tell a soul."
The hat came off. Brilliant light swirled through the room.
Bald. Shiny dome. Gleaming pate.
"...I've researched hair loss cures for over ten years. No breakthrough in sight, success uncertain. Driving me mad. Please—tell me. Does my cure ever get made? Can I see it complete before I die?"
That was why the Tower Lord sought a secret consultation.