Chapter 324: Tea Time (1)
Chapter 324: Tea Time (1)
“The tea has grown cold. You should have said something.”
Macbeth spoke as he lifted his teacup once more, then gave a light wave of his hand.
“I figured you were making me drink cold tea as a penalty for being five minutes late,” I replied, watching intently as tiny embers flickered into existence in midair, clinging to our respective cups and the teapot.
“Nonsense. I invited you for tea. Even if my guest lacks manners, I must maintain mine.”
Macbeth spoke with a face devoid of emotion.
It felt like he was implying I was the one lacking manners.
Feeling a bit self-conscious, I adjusted my posture and corrected the angle of my teacup. I didn’t exactly know the proper etiquette for a tea party, but in any culture, moving quietly and tidily usually gets you halfway there.
“If you run out of scones or tea, do let me know. I’ve prepared a large quantity to suit your gluttony.”
“Gee, thanks.”
His tone was as kind as an ice pick to the chest.
I pulled my slightly splayed legs together. I’m not usually the type to fret over manners, but I always end up like this in front of this man.
To summarize Macbeth in one word:
He is a soldier.
He’s the kind of soldier whose name you’d expect to find as a synonym if you looked up 'soldier' in the dictionary. And he wasn't the stubborn, bellicose, macho type, either.
He followed regulations to the letter on a personal level, yet he knew how to protest to his superiors when necessary. He was the type of leader who could overlook minor infractions or mistakes from his subordinates as long as they weren't catastrophic, and then reorganize The System to ensure such things didn't happen again.
What people usually call a true officer.
That’s the kind of man he was.
Since I owed him a lot, I tended to suppress my usual temperament when I was around him.
In addition to Macbeth’s own presence, the atmosphere of the room helped keep me in check. It felt as if someone had cut out a piece of a century-old study—one soaked in the scent of tobacco and ink—and pasted it right here.
This was supposed to be a part of the Geneva Magic Society, yet it exuded such a profound sense of history. Knowing this man, he probably did just move an entire room here...
Regardless of the room's actual origin.
The combination of the room’s ambiance and Macbeth’s presence turned even me into a polite guest. Of course, while my posture was straight, the buttered scones were still disappearing into my mouth at a steady clip.
Perhaps Macbeth really did consider me a guest, because the scones I was eating were firmer than the ones I was used to. They were still just bread, but they had a nice, slight crunch to them.
So, I kept tossing them into my mouth like popcorn.
Macbeth, having known me for a long time, didn't seem particularly bothered by my behavior. He simply sipped his tea without showing much emotion.
We continued like this for about five minutes.
Despite him being the one who asked to talk, not a single word regarding the matter had been exchanged. Neither I nor Macbeth opened our mouths.
In that silence, tea and scones were consumed pointlessly until the teapot finally began to show its bottom.
Clink.
The sound of Macbeth calmly setting his teacup back onto its saucer broke the silence.
“I heard the story from Park Hyun-seok, the Seoul Branch Manager. I also confirmed how the negotiations proceeded at the Martial Alliance.”
I see.
“So, what does the Commander think?”
“Stop with the title 'Commander.' We are not at war, and you, Lee Ha-ram, are not my subordinate.”
How stiff.
But I’d called him 'Commander' so much that no other title felt right.
“...Old Man Macbeth?”
I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“...Hmm.”
With a strange sound from his throat, Macbeth’s body—which had been moving with perfect precision until now—stiffened for a moment. At the same time, the wrinkles on his face seemed to deepen.
Ah, so he is human after all.
Macbeth’s actions always seemed as solid as steel, but it appeared that even he couldn't help but be conscious of aging.
Thinking that, I compared the Macbeth of the past to the Macbeth of now. His nasolabial folds seemed a bit deeper, and his gray hair had turned a bit whiter. I couldn't tell if he had truly aged that much or if it was just my imagination, but since he seemed to care about it...
“...I’ll just call you Commander.”
I retracted my previous suggestion and decided to stick with what was comfortable.
“I suppose it can't be helped. I will allow it this time. I hope you think of a new title by our next meeting.”
Macbeth, perhaps realizing what I was getting at, relaxed his expression slightly as he answered.
Well, that went over well enough.
By the way, a new title? I’ll probably forget. I’ll just keep calling him Commander. It’s less of a hassle.
“Anyway, the conversation got a bit sidetracked. What do you think, Commander?”
“Keep your questions narrow and clear.”
So picky. As always.
“The martial artists swallowed their pride and agreed to open up to civilians. I’m asking what the mages—who were supposedly more open to begin with—think about it.”
Of course, being 'open' with magic was a separate issue from the fact that mages were a bunch of lunatics, even more so than the martial artists. They spent so much time cooped up in their labs that they’d clearly lost all social skills.
It was the ultimate irony. The secretive martial artists had deep interactions with other Heroes, while the mages—who published everything in papers except for the most dangerous or problematic theories—were all mad terrorists.
A few years ago, they were more like a gang than terrorists, but now they seemed to have become a full-blown secret armed organization.
“Magic itself, unlike the cultivation methods of martial artists, is already open to the public.”
“True.”
“Then, what do you think we should do?”
In the middle of our casual conversation, Macbeth suddenly threw that question at me and shifted his sitting posture. He tilted his head slightly, rested his chin on his hand, and fixed his gaze on me.
He was waiting for my answer.
Macbeth’s bad habit was acting up again. He was always like this. Every time he was about to teach me something, he’d ask for my opinion first, like a schoolteacher.
I knew from experience that in this situation, no matter what I said, it wouldn't matter.
“Whew...”
I let out a sigh and began to piece together the answer I had prepared in my head.
My experiences in the Otherworld, my experiences on Earth, the magic systems I knew, and magicology. It was a question I had already answered once, but I reviewed it again just in case there were any flaws.
Soon, I opened my mouth to answer Macbeth’s question.
“Mandatory magicology education.”
“Starting from which stage?”
“I don't know since every country has a different curriculum, but based on what I know, starting from elementary school.”
“Six or seven years old? Isn't that quite young?”
The back-and-forth continued. However, I didn't hesitate and kept pouring out my answers.
“It’s important to learn magic when you’re young. The fewer preconceptions you have, the faster belief takes root.”
“That increases the waste of time accordingly. Not everyone can become a mage. Is that not so?”
“Since when were the subjects in the basic curriculum included only because they were absolutely necessary?”
“A painful point. However, it is not a completely correct answer. There is great significance in what is learned, especially at the elementary level. Basic numeracy, language skills, science, logical thinking, and the morality that maintains society. These are maintained because they are considered fundamental qualities everyone should possess. So, does magicology possess that much value?”
Macbeth gave a long evaluation of my answer, followed by a new question.
Unable to immediately refute him, I fell into thought.
Hmm. Middle school and onward is one thing, but maybe he’s right about the elementary years...
While I was branching out into new lines of thought, Macbeth waited in silence.
He was quiet and gentle, making sure not to make a sound—not even the sound of his teacup being lifted, the tea sliding down his throat, or even a tiny breath.
He waited without a hint of noise so that I could focus on my dilemma.
Soon, I reached a conclusion.
“Even if one doesn't become a mage, basic magicology education is necessary to create a society where magic is taken for granted.”
It was an incredibly obvious answer. It was the same answer I had given to Han A-bin and Baek Si-hyun. I just had to present it again.
“I see. That is a valid point. To cultivate the mages of the future, that is indeed the most efficient method.”
Macbeth nodded as if he were quite satisfied with my answer.
That’s a relief.
Now that the Q&A was over, I let out a sigh of mental exhaustion and downed a cup of warm tea. I let my throat rest for a moment.
Clink.
As my teacup hit the saucer, Macbeth suddenly interjected. A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“However, I have one question.”
“What is it?”
“It is nothing major. I simply wish to ask one thing.”
Macbeth paused, staring at me intently for a moment before speaking again.
“I simply wish to know what you experienced in the Otherworld that led you to such a conclusion.”
Is that all?
“I thought I told Hyun-seok the gist of it?”
Did I tell the Librarian and Oxymoron too? The Librarian probably organized my words and registered them in the Management Bureau’s database.
“I have already committed those details to memory. The Magic Kingdom... it was an interesting world. Though it was a pity the data was full of holes, as the provider was not a professional.”
Well, excuse me. To be blunt, I didn't go there for that purpose, so of course there would be gaps in the information. You should just be glad I got any new info at all.
I thought that, but I kept it to myself and waited for Macbeth to continue.
“However, what I want is your story. I simply wanted to know what you, Lee Ha-ram, thought when you saw the Magic Kingdom, what you felt, and how you reached that conclusion.”
“...Do I really have to say it?”
My thoughts should have been clear enough from the data I already provided. That was the intent behind my question, but...
“You do not have to. However, my support might decrease slightly. Perhaps I might remain neutral instead of in favor.”
Macbeth was half-forcing me. He wanted me to say my thoughts with my own mouth.
...I guess I have no choice.
And so, I began to speak.
* * *
It didn't take very long.
Why I reached that conclusion, why I gave that answer, and why I made such a request.
It was a story I had told several times, but this time the perspective was a bit different. It wasn't about the profit and efficiency to be gained, nor was it a foresight of a real world’s future.
It was about the emotions and thoughts I had gained.
Thanks to Macbeth’s questions interspersed throughout my story, it became a narrative centered on those feelings.
When the story finally came to an end...
“I see. That was quite interesting.”
Macbeth seemed satisfied as he lifted his teacup to moisten his throat.
What a relief.
I also picked up my teacup to soothe my dry throat.
Macbeth took a sip. I took a sip.
We both set our cups down almost simultaneously.
Tap.
Silence followed.
I had said everything I could say. Macbeth was lost in quiet contemplation.
His gaze was still fixed on me, but I didn't feel like he was actually focusing on me. My image was likely just reflecting in his eyes while his mind was elsewhere.
Not wanting to disturb his concentration, I left the crunchy scones on the plate and sat still, waiting for Macbeth to move.
About three minutes passed.
Macbeth finally returned his focus to me, his lips parting. I straightened my posture to catch his words.
“Lee Ha-ram. Your way of thinking has changed slightly.”
“What do you mean?”
Macbeth’s calm voice carried a sentence I hadn't expected at all.
“The sacrifice of the few for the many. And the few being, as much as possible, yourself.”
“....”
“I am not saying whether it is right or wrong. It is simply an observation of your Principle of Action. And that is why I became interested.”
“....”
“I wondered why you were trying to shift the burden of the many onto the many.”
Macbeth smirked. He was smiling.