Getting the Anniversary Right - 4
I'd bought a gift I was satisfied with. Even if I'd agonized over it longer, I doubted I would have found anything better.
Right. I'd been overthinking it. It wasn't as if this were a once-in-a-lifetime present. For a first birthday gift, something appropriate was enough.
This is the one.
I looked down at the case in my hand—more precisely, at the ring carefully nestled inside it.
I'd briefly debated whether to go with a ruby to match Margeta's hair or an emerald to match her eyes, but in the end I settled on a diamond. Even in this world, diamonds were treated as the finest of gems.
Of course, knowing Margeta, she could have played jacks with diamonds if she wanted to—but a ring wasn't about the price. It was about what it symbolized. Something whose value only existed because you received it from someone else, not because you bought it yourself.
Perfect.
Relief and pride welled up from deep in my chest. The best gift I could give to soothe Margeta's unease.
It truly was perfect. The best choice I could make with the New Year's Audience approaching. Margeta would be genuinely delighted.
"The ring adjusts its size to fit the wearer's finger."
"Oh."
And then there was the one thing that had still been bothering me: the size. I'd held Margeta's hand often enough that I could have guesstimated it, but the power of magic was magnificent. Whatever you bought, they said, would adjust itself.
So on top of the hush money to keep my visit a secret, I added a little tip. A merchant who leaves a customer this pleased deserves to make good money. Obviously.
Three days from now.
I turned my gaze to the calendar. The day I'd circled in red again and again, just in case—just in the slightest, remotest case—I might forget.
In exactly three days, it would be Margeta's birthday. I'd keep it completely hidden until then and give her the gift on the day itself. For that reason, I hadn't gone to the vice president's office today. If I showed up and failed to keep my expression in check, the whole thing would be ruined.
Not even managing to let her know I couldn't come still sat poorly with me, but I'd just say I'd been too busy to get in touch. My head had been a mess from picking out a gift, so it wasn't even a lie.
The next day, when I went to the vice president's office, its usual occupant wasn't there.
What?
I wondered if she might be out, but that wasn't it.
"She's absent?"
"Yes. Word came this morning. She said it was a cold and that we needn't worry too much, but…"
I nodded at the student council president and left quickly. If Margeta wasn't there, I had no reason to be in the student council room. I'd only get in the way of their work.
Still, it left a bitter taste. If I'd known I wouldn't see her today, I would have just come yesterday. At the very least, I would have sent word.
A cold, huh.
And I didn't trust the "don't worry" part. Not because I distrusted the president—because I knew Margeta too well to believe it.
Margeta, who valued appearances so highly, had gone as far as to miss class. If it were the kind of cold that only meant a few coughs, she would have shown up as if nothing were wrong.
It definitely wasn't a light cold. The weather was turning colder—could she have caught the flu?
Illness is one of the few things magic doesn't touch.
Regrettably, the healing arts of this continent were all-in on wound treatment. You could lose a limb and put your organs on display and they'd fix you in the blink of an eye—but they were weak against minor ailments like colds and headaches.
Thankfully they weren't quite at the level of "Where does a headache come from? The head! Destroy it!"—but they still weren't something that vanished overnight. Even in the world I'd come from before the possession, that had been impossible.
Of all days.
Imagining Margeta lying in bed, weak and miserable, guilt washed over me.
It would have hurt on any other day, but of all times, this had to happen the day after I'd stood her up for a surprise. I couldn't help thinking it might somehow be my fault.
Of course I wasn't some plague god who controlled colds, so it was pure self-importance—but I couldn't help fretting over it all the same.
I should contact her first.
Holding back a sigh, I took out my communication orb. I'd ask if she was all right, and if she said she was fine, I'd go visit her.
Heading into the women's dormitory was a little awkward, but when Margeta was sick, what did awkwardness matter? If I had to dress as a woman to get in, so be it.
…And my call never reached her.
Damn it all.
It felt like my blood was running dry. Was this really just a cold? She hadn't passed out or something, had she?
I'd spent the entire day in bed. Blinking weakly, I stared up at the ceiling.
I need to get up…
This wouldn't do. I was a member of the Varenti ducal house, vice president of the student council of the Empire's storied Academy.
I had to live up to the names I carried on my shoulders. Always composed, always responsible. That was what people expected of me—the face I had to show if I was to live as myself.
But my body, unlike my head, had no intention of rising.
How dramatic of me.
A bitter smile came. Crying alone, growing listless alone, lying here alone—I was pathetic and ashamed of myself.
I'd cried alone even knowing Karl still carried wounds in his heart. Even knowing I'd asked far too much of him. Even knowing I should have been the first to hold him close.
Pathetic. Would Karl's wounds settle if I stayed like this? Would my greed vanish as if it had never been?
He'll only worry more.
Karl was that kind of man. He spoke of the wounds that had torn open his own chest as if they were nothing, yet fretted over other people's hurts as though they were mortal.
The more I was like this, the harder it would be for him. I knew that. I knew it too well.
…No. Could I even say I knew Karl well?
I didn't. I knew nothing. If I had truly understood him, I would never have left him alone long enough for him to seek out a grave.
And still I had preened, claiming I knew him, claiming he and I were bound by destiny.
Destiny…
Now that word itself was strangling my heart.
Yes, I had thought it was destiny. Thanks to Father, who doted so fiercely on his youngest, the conditions for my future husband had only grown more exacting by the day, and I had assumed I would marry a little later than most.
Then Karl had appeared like a comet. A fated man who met Father's exacting standards and slipped perfectly into my own heart as well.
That was why I had called it destiny. That this man was my fate. That our meeting was our destiny.
It can't be destiny.
If our meeting was destiny, was Karl losing his first love destiny as well? Was the indelible wound he carried, the suffering he endured, destiny too?
It must not be. It could not be. If Karl's sorrow had been the destiny required for him to meet me—if he had to suffer so that I could be happy—
I could not bear a destiny like that. The version of myself who had so happily called it fate now felt monstrous and despicable.
"I'm sorry…"
I buried my face in the pillow and whispered. It was an apology no one would hear, but I opened my mouth again and again.
I'm sorry I said I loved you and still failed to see your pain.
I'm sorry I only thought of how hard things were for me.
"I'm sorry…"
I'm sorry I thought your death was destiny.
I'm sorry I failed to embrace the pain of the man you loved—
—knock knock
An apology meant for Karl. An apology meant for the person Karl had first loved.
But I couldn't even finish that properly. A sudden sound cut my thoughts short.
How pathetic. I couldn't even apologize.
"Huh…?"
I lifted my head a fraction toward the sound and let out a dazed noise.
It wasn't the door being knocked on—it was the window. And beyond the glass was a familiar face.
Karl?
Seeing him wave, my mind went blank.
Why was Karl at the women's dormitory? And if he'd come, why was he outside instead of in?
No—my room was on the third floor to begin with.
…A ghost?
Right after the Second Prince's faction fell—or, to put it differently, while they were still refusing to admit they'd been thoroughly ruined and were digging in their heels.
Back then, even when the Audit Department tried to carry out a lawful execution of its duties, there were bastards who locked their manor gates and held out. All that did was pile more charges on them. Lunatics, the lot of them.
Anyway, while they stalled, the subjects of the audit might burn important documents. We needed a fast, unconventional means of entry.
"…What are you doing?"
"Practicing walking on water. If I put the other foot down before I sink, it should work, right?"
That was when Walter came to mind. The man in the grave had helped this immature friend of mine out.
I'd watched that whole saga of nonsense in real time—him declaring he would walk on water, and then, against all odds, actually succeeding. Thanks to that, I knew how it worked.
I adapted the principle and used it to climb walls. As long as my feet touched the wall, I could go up as many floors as I wanted.
So I smashed a window and went in. Those bastards—their faces at the time had been a sight to behold.
"So I'm not a ghost or anything of the sort. What kind of ghost wanders around in broad daylight in the first place?"
Apparently, to a gently raised young lady, the sight had been enough to scare her half to death. The moment Margeta's eyes met mine through the window, her face went deathly pale and she tumbled off the bed in a rolling heap.
"I-I'm sorry. I thought maybe Karl had… done something drastic…"
She bit her lip hard and hiccuped through the rest.
A ridiculous misunderstanding. I intended to live a long time. A ridiculously, absurdly long time. Dying before the minister would be too unfair, and someday I needed to retire and enjoy a peaceful life as a freeloader.
Still, I understood why Margeta would leap to that conclusion, so I quietly patted her back.
How far has that story spread?
Of all things, the sleeping-outdoors incident had reached Margeta's ears. I'd known it would get to her eventually, but I hadn't expected it this fast.
Don't tell me that Section Chief of the Second Division was deliberately spreading rumors about me while claiming he was covering for the First Division Chief.
"Don't worry, Mar. Where would I go and leave you behind?"
At that, Margeta cried even harder, as if the words only made her more wretched. This was a problem. Ordinarily that line worked just fine.
Was it because I hadn't shown my face yesterday? It was true enough that a man who'd been stumbling around drunk and then failed to appear at all would make anyone think the worst. She probably took my comfort as forced as well.
Damn it. If I'd known it would come to this, I would have put off buying the gift a little longer. It was a present for her birthday anyway—I didn't need to buy it early.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
"What?"
The sudden apology left me without a proper answer. Given the atmosphere, I was the one who ought to be apologizing.
But Margeta only clung to me and repeated that she was sorry. If she'd at least sulked about why I hadn't come yesterday, I would have understood.
"I'm sorry. I… I don't know anything about you, Karl…"
The words Then we can learn going forward, can't we? died at the tip of my tongue. The expression on Margeta's face when she lifted her head was far too devastated for that.
Nothing I said would get through right now. Even if I acted as if nothing were wrong, she wouldn't allow it.
"I only showed off beside you, only got jealous…"
Margeta went on with a face full of guilt, but I couldn't understand what she meant.
Showed off? Got jealous?
Did she?
I was beginning to grasp that Margeta's standards and mine were rather different.
"I said I'd wait until you opened your heart, and then I really did nothing but wait. I should have helped, even a little…"
I couldn't understand this either. I'd asked her to wait, so what was so wrong about waiting?
If anything, if Margeta had actively tried to nurse my mental state, it would have been mortifying. The person I'd pushed away for personal reasons, turning around to cradle those same personal reasons—it would have been too much.
"Karl… it's late, truly late, but… do you think I could still be of help to you?"
My head spun. Margeta was already a tremendous help just by being at my side.
And the ring case nestled against my chest felt unbearably heavy.
Two days left.
Only two days until her birthday.
And in those two days, I had managed to commit a spectacular disaster—making the birthday girl cry.