These Fools Delight Merely at the Sight of Each Other - 1
The commemorative banquet for the close of the expo proceeded in quite an impressive fashion. Irina, who had been tied up preparing the Gardening Club booth, finally rejoined us after a long while, and with her arrival I had the sheer audacity to enter the banquet hall accompanied by four women.
That alone earned me some rather heated stares. If I drew that kind of attention with four of them, just how intense would the gazes become once all six were gathered? For a moment I even felt a strange respect for the Golden Duke.
Of course, I had long since passed the stage of fretting over other people's eyes. Other people might watch their step around me—not the other way around. So long as I carried myself with confidence, it did not matter how anyone looked at me. I only realized that a little late.
Even so, the banquet was impressive for a reason that no amount of self-assurance could fix.
That idiot.
The memory of yesterday rose again, and I kneaded the back of my neck. Erich, caught between Sera and Countess Horfelt. That was a situation where even confidence was useless. When your little brother is busy digging his own grave, what solution is an older brother supposed to have?
In truth, seeing him sandwiched between those two women nearly triggered a full PTSD flashback to last year's banquet for the Crown Princess's birthday—until I looked at Erich's perfectly serene face and the panic drained away at once. I had spent that night walking on eggshells between two women; this bastard showed not the slightest ripple of unease.
I'm the one who fell off the horse.
Strange. The body that took the fall was mine—so why was it Erich's intelligence and social instincts that got damaged? Do brothers' bodies somehow synchronize?
At any rate: the fierce verbal duel between Sera and Countess Horfelt; the fascinating spectacle of the Audit Department Chief's famous younger brother—himself renowned for his six lovers—standing with two women at his sides; the Baking Club members staring in open horror at Erich's solitary peace. Every bizarre element piled atop the next until the banquet was burned deep into everyone's memory.
Thank heaven he didn't dance.
A dull ache was creeping up into my temples, so I kneaded my neck even harder. Still, it was a mercy Erich refused to dance. If he had, the question of who he danced with first would have started a war.
Whether Enen had lent a hand or not, Erich showed no interest in dancing on the grounds that he was tired, and his firm refusal forced both Sera and Countess Horfelt into silence. Dancing is meant to cultivate goodwill; badgering someone who already said no rather defeats the purpose.
...Was he actually tired, though? Or had he sensed something off and made an excuse?
No.
I considered it for a moment and reached a swift conclusion. Absolutely not. If that guy still had enough brains and social sense for that, things would never have reached this point.
Besides, Erich might be hopelessly dense, but he is not a cruel sort. He is not the type to knowingly ignore someone's feelings for no reason. He has even experienced unrequited love himself—so of course not.
"It's been so long since I prepared the tea myself that it took longer than expected."
While I was still working at the back of my neck, Gerhardt returned with the tea and spoke with a light smile.
"Goodness. You really ought to take on a new assistant teacher soon."
"Haha, I would like nothing better, but history is not a popular field. I suppose I shall simply have to improve my tea-making skills."
I lowered the hand from my neck now that there were eyes on me, and the answer that came back was a little melancholy. It was a reply delivered with a laugh—so why did it leave my chest so heavy?
Still, looking at Gerhardt's expression, he did not seem particularly resentful of having no assistant. Then again, a man who would obsess over a single pair of hands would never have chosen to research history—and the northern nomads at that, a thoroughly minor subject. He might even prefer having no one to look after so he can bury himself in his work.
"And after having Miss Christina as an assistant teacher, I doubt any ordinary colleague would measure up."
Watching Gerhardt shrug, I felt a strange mix of emotions. A professor lavishing praise on a graduated student—it looked a little like a slave owner mourning the loss of a fine slave.
Of course the thought was an insult to both Gerhardt and Christina, so I discarded it at once. Calling people who chose the path of learning and progress "slaves" and "slave owners" would be an affront. They are simply martyrs who chose a harder road than most—never sinners.
"Next time we meet, she will be a full teacher rather than an assistant, I suppose."
When I gently steered the topic, Gerhardt quietly shook his head.
The reaction sent a chill down my spine. What? Was she still an assistant teacher? The thesis deadline had been extended—had she failed the review?
What do I do?
Guilt lifted its head. Even with the extended deadline, Christina had been forced to write a new thesis in a rush. Lower quality was inevitable.
In the end I was the one who had thrown Christina's thesis in the trash and made her fail to escape her master's degree. At this point I would have to plead with the Compilation Bureau if necessary—
"She has finished her term as an assistant teacher, that much is true. But while you remain at the Academy, Chief Inspector, you will not be seeing Miss Christina in her capacity as a teacher."
Relief washed over me at the news that she had at least escaped her master's. I had not, after all, shoved someone's entire life into the gutter. No need to audit the Compilation Bureau.
But that only raised a new question. Newlyweds taking a break was natural enough, yet the Christina I had known had always been full of drive, exhaustion aside. Once the "assistant" label came off, I had expected her to dive straight into teaching.
"I hear Miss Christina recently received a life from Enen. She said she wished to raise the child herself, without a wet nurse."
As if answering my unspoken doubt, Gerhardt explained at once.
Ah. Not a honeymoon—maternity leave and parental leave, both at once.
"That is wonderful news."
You bastard of a Second Division Chief. Keeping your mouth shut about a blessing like this?
Needling a subordinate who fails to report good news is the duty of a superior.
"Congratulations on the second generation."
At the abrupt, stripped-down congratulations, the Second Division Chief let out a hollow laugh.
"What? Where did you hear that?"
"Your wife's old boss."
At that, the Second Division Chief furrowed his brow, then let out a small sound of realization. This idiot had completely forgotten Gerhardt even existed.
In any case, receiving congratulations directly from his superior seemed to move him; he kept giving those hollow little laughs. Happy enough that laughing was all he could do, apparently.
"I was trying to keep it as quiet as possible, and you found out right away."
Happiness or not, I still had to press him where it counted. That last remark had just confirmed he had deliberately hidden the good news.
"No—of all things, you're hiding that you had a kid?"
"I meant to tell you when the time was right. In the early months they say you have to be careful of even the smallest things. If everything got too noisy, it would be a problem."
It sounded like nonsense and yet was strangely persuasive, so I had no good rebuttal. Honestly, never having been pregnant myself, I could not even tell whether he was right.
"And I've heard that during prenatal care you shouldn't look at anything inauspicious."
"You little bastard."
So now I was the inauspicious thing. This guy really had no filter with his superior.
"Why are you upset? Frankly speaking—if the Third Division Chief starts doing somersaults, or the First Division Chief shows up with some bizarre object calling it a gift, is there anything more inauspicious than that?"
This time the argument was so airtight I could not open my mouth. Worse, the images formed naturally in my head.
The Third Division Chief, already a walking disaster, spinning somersaults to celebrate a pregnancy; the First Division Chief arriving with a collection of nightmare objects she insisted were presents. Christina's horrified face was vivid. Even I, in the Second Division Chief's place, would want to avoid that.
As I sat there silent, the Second Division Chief nodded with a look of smug satisfaction, as if to say, Now you understand my profound wisdom.
"So please keep quiet about it for a while as well, Chief."
A husband's desire to show only good things to his wife and the child she carried so carefully. Truly a beautiful, applause-worthy picture.
"I'm sorry."
"...Excuse me?"
But it was already too late.
In the old days, the moment I heard about the Second Division Chief Junior I would have contacted him at once. Then I would have witnessed his paternal instinct and sense of responsibility and shut my mouth—thinking, Even that madman is sincere when it comes to family.
But I had a (prospective) family of my own now. There was someone I called first whenever I heard anything interesting or amusing.
"I already told Erzebet."
"Ah."
At that death-rattle of a sigh from the Second Division Chief, I quietly ended the call.
Was it my imagination? Right before the connection cut, I thought I heard the First Division Chief's voice calling the Second Division Chief's name.
Well, it hardly mattered. Congratulations are more joyful when they come from many people.
That night, the First Division Chief called me first.
"That's just too much. How could he hide that they were having a baby? Is he embarrassed of us?"
Accompanied by a little snort of indignation. I could not bring myself to say no. I knew exactly what kind of feelings had kept the Second Division Chief quiet.
"It's their first child. Of course he's sensitive about it."
I stuck to a reasonable statement and claimed neutrality. Fortunately the First Division Chief did not seem inclined to keep grumbling; she did not challenge me. Or perhaps she had already vented all her disappointment on the Second Division Chief and now felt lighter.
I'm sorry, Second Division Chief. This one was my carelessness. Because of your usual image I assumed you were keeping quiet for some trivial reason.
"I heard it from my senior today too. Is hiding it the fashion these days?"
I almost nodded without thinking—and froze solid. When she said "senior," there was only one person that could mean.
"...Senior?"
"Yep. She got pregnant at the end of last year, but kept it quiet just in case. Now that she's reached the stable period, she says she'll announce it soon."
The First Division Chief said it as casually as if she were reporting that she had eaten steak for dinner, but the content was anything but light.
Until now there had been no children between the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess. Meaning the child this time would be the first imperial grandchild—and, barring some upheaval, the legitimate heir who would one day lead the Empire after next.
So he is human after all.
I was surprised in a different way from when I heard about the Second Division Chief Junior. Given how he behaves, I had begun to doubt he was a human being at all—but if he could produce a child, he was at least a biological human.
I should at least offer my regards.
The joyful occasion of a first imperial grandchild. Had I not known, I could have let it pass—but once I knew, I could not ignore it.
Even if the official announcement had not been made, the fact that the Crown Princess had let the pregnancy slip to the First Division Chief in advance meant she had calculated that it would reach my ears. Offering congratulations before the other nobles kicked up a fuss was only proper.
Tomorrow was the weekend, so I would have time to go up briefly. While I was at it I could see the First Division Chief—and the Fourth Division Chief as well.
Thank goodness he's still in the country.
I had expected the Fourth Division Chief to be dispatched north the moment I left for the Academy, but surprisingly he was still operating domestically. Thanks to that we had been able to speak every day through the communication orb. Had he mentioned going to draw dragon blood before heading north?
In any case, the Fourth Division Chief had it rough too. A dragon-related mission would keep him near the Imperial Capital, so I would make sure to meet him.