Anyway, the Days Pass - 3
After Villar left, I absently toyed with the pocket watch.
It was a size that fit neatly in one hand, clearly designed with portability in mind, and its exterior managed to be both splendid and elegant—exactly what one would expect from a gift prepared by the ruler of the continent’s second-strongest nation. Someone had clearly put real thought into it; the watch itself was practically a work of art.
Of course, the moment the Lovens royal crest had been engraved on it, the appearance had become secondary.
Live long enough and you end up receiving all sorts of things.
It wasn’t the sort of thought a man barely in his twenties should be having, but there was no helping it. How often did an imperial noble receive a gift from the King of Armein?
Even a high-ranking diplomat visiting Armein under peaceful circumstances might—just might—receive a gift in the king’s name, and those were usually bolts of silk or jewels. An item bearing the royal crest itself was beyond imagining.
Yet here such a thing sat in my hand. I hadn’t even gone to Armein to receive it; it had been delivered to me while I sat right here.
The gap in national power really has grown wide.
I kept turning the pocket watch over in my fingers and let out a short laugh. The nation second only to the Empire, the Kingdom of Knights, the Empire’s foremost hypothetical enemy—Armein had more epithets than one could count.
And what those glittering titles actually meant was simple: Armein defeating the Empire was all but impossible, yet the Empire would have to steel itself for heavy losses if it ever tried to completely subdue Armein.
For that reason Armein had always conducted diplomacy that mixed deference with pride when dealing with the Empire. Suddenly handing a mere noble a gift engraved with the royal crest was an admission that the disparity between the two countries had become overwhelming.
It would be stranger if they didn’t admit it.
In truth there was nothing to be surprised about. With the North folded into the Empire’s embrace, part of the imperial army that had guarded the northern border had shifted east, and the northern nomads had reinvented themselves as imperial cavalry. Remaining stiff-necked after that would no longer be courage but sheer recklessness. At the very least, the King of Armein was a sovereign who knew the difference between the two.
Good.
I slipped the pocket watch into my coat and took out the communication orb. If the other side acknowledged the hierarchy, that was welcome news for the Empire as well. There would be no need to use force to establish the order of things.
“By the grace of the Great Emperor the North is at peace; I can only hope that true peace and order will settle over the East as well.”
I had heard those words while trailing after the newly crowned Emperor, reduced for a time to his favorite toy. It had been a lament: after grinding the Empire’s strength into the northern campaign, please let the East stay quiet for a while.
I could understand the complaint perfectly well. The northern conquest had been possible because the nomads were treated as stateless, ready to be swallowed whole. The eastern kingdoms, however, possessed clear nationalities and borders. Seize territory and you would spend an age cleaning up the mess; withdraw without taking land and they would come crawling back before long.
Caught in that dilemma, the Emperor wanted a ranking settled without war. Just as the King of Armein had no desire for conflict, the Emperor himself leaned toward the peace faction.
“The King of Armein sent a gift?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
That was why the Emperor smiled at my report. An eastern kingdom—especially the Empire’s foremost hypothetical enemy—knew its place and bowed its head? For a newly enthroned emperor, the news secured both prestige and practical gain at once.
“It seems the minister’s labors moved even the King of Armein. Prince Ryutis must have spoken well of you.”
“This subject merely did what was required of him.”
“And what could be harder than that? There is nothing more important than fulfilling one’s duty.”
The Emperor chuckled softly, then composed his expression and spoke in a low voice.
“I ought to send an envoy to Armein before long.”
“A truly wise judgment, Your Majesty.”
I bowed my head and gave the ceremonial answer.
Yet it was not empty formality. As the Emperor said, there was genuine need to dispatch an envoy to Armein. Armein had not sent an official mission to submit to the Empire, but it had approached the current emperor’s closest confidant and signaled its intention to yield. Therefore the Empire could at least spare the face of the side that had submitted first.
For example, the peace between Empire and Armein would be framed not as Armein bowing first, but as Armein taking the hand the Empire had extended.
That much consideration is only fair.
Leave the other party a little dignity and they will knock their heads against the floor without hesitation.
The sort who thrash about trusting only in their own strength eventually pile up enough karma to destroy themselves. History’s Apels and today’s Leon were proof of that.
“Still, Minister. The King of Armein’s interest in you appears considerable. Perhaps you might—”
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but this subject has many matters that must be handled within the Empire.”
I straightened my face and shook my head at the Emperor who, in the middle of everything, was suggesting I join the envoy. This damn man wasn’t satisfied with sending me around the country—now he wanted to ship me abroad? Not a chance.
“Is that so? A pity.”
Fortunately the Emperor had not been entirely serious; he abandoned the idea at once and withdrew.
Of course I knew why he had proposed it. Simply having me stand among the envoys like a totem would put pressure on Armein, so he had meant for me to go and merely hold a seat. Sparing Armein’s face was one thing; extracting every scrap of practical advantage was another.
But I refused. Diplomacy was clearly not my responsibility, and I was a prospective groom scheduled to marry at the beginning of next year.
Send a prospective groom overseas?
I would never forgive so wicked and shameless a superior.
After the pocket-watch incident I was able to spend peaceful days. Word came that the capital was assembling an envoy to Armein with the Foreign Minister as chief, but that was none of my concern, so I let it pass.
What I needed to worry about now was not distant capital affairs but the romantic problem right in front of me.
“Oppa, I heard you started calling Penelia unnie by a nickname too… is that true?”
During club time Luise’s cautious question made me clamp my mouth shut.
It was true. For some time now I had begun calling Penelia by the nickname Phine. After Mar, Trixie, and Eri, a fourth nickname had been born.
…What do I do.
The problem was that the number of nickname owners now outstripped those without. I was in a position where I had no defense even if the ones left out felt slighted and complained.
Hard to shorten them any further.
It was awkward. Margeta became Mar, Beatrix became Trixie, Erzebet became Eri, Penelia became Phine—names that lent themselves neatly to nicknames.
But how was I supposed to shorten Luise and Irina? Honestly, three syllables already felt short.
Lui and Iri? They sounded like a man’s name and a beast’s name. Then Ize and Rina? Calling them that made Lu and I sound like surnames.
“Oppa?”
“Ah, uh… yeah, that’s right.”
While I desperately spun my thoughts, Luise’s prompting finally forced words out of me.
At once a faint sheen of moisture gathered in Luise’s eyes. Guilt clawed at my chest.
It must have been Eri again.
The guilt swiftly turned into resentment. Eri had clearly been chatting with Luise over the communication orb and somehow brought up nicknames. This was all Eri’s fault—
No.
I cut the thought off in a hurry. I had just tried to shove my own responsibility onto someone else in the ugliest way.
If there was any fault, it was mine for failing to invent nicknames earlier. Eri was blameless.
“I-I’m sorry. I just didn’t know how to shorten three-syllable names.”
After a brief silence I offered an excuse that even I found embarrassing. Even more embarrassing was the fact that the excuse was not a dodge but the truth.
“Oppa.”
“Hm?”
Then Irina, who had been sitting quietly, slipped in.
“My family calls me Rin, so please call me Rin too, Oppa.”
“…Uh, sure…”
Faced with a nickname appeal I had never imagined, I could only nod blankly.
Even Luise had clearly not expected Irina’s gap-attack; she hurriedly turned her gaze on her.
“If you don’t know, you can just tell us.”
Under that look Irina seemed a little embarrassed and protested in a small voice.
Yet her eyes remained oddly confident, as if she felt not the slightest regret for what she had done.
It was impressive. The drive to seize an opportunity and appeal at once—was that a merchant’s virtue?
“Th-then me too!”
In an instant reduced to the sole nickname-less person, Luise rolled her eyes this way and that and worked her mouth.
“Me tooooo…”
But she only worked her mouth; no nickname for Luise managed to emerge.
So she doesn’t have one.
The pitiful sight stirred automatic sympathy. Apparently my third father- and mother-in-law had shared the same dilemma. Otherwise a girl raised with so much love would never have gone without a single nickname.
“Um, Luise?”
In the awkward silence where no one even dared swallow, someone finally spoke.
“You don’t need a nickname for things to be good between you, right? My parents don’t have nicknames either, and they get along just fine.”
It was Sera.
Unlike the other couples who already possessed nicknames and would only sound smug if they opened their mouths, and unlike the club members who had once been rejected by Luise and would only seem clingy if they mentioned nicknames—Sera alone had the free right to speak, and she used it.
I was moved. All the help I had given Sera so her relationship with Erich could progress had returned as grace. Nothing else could explain her intervening like this.
“And since only Luise is called by her real name instead of a nickname, doesn’t that make Luise the special one?”
Unfortunately, grace and eloquence were separate matters.
I was grateful for the attempt at comfort, but telling a child sad about lacking a nickname, “You’re special because you don’t have one!” felt a bit off, didn’t it?
No help for it, I suppose.
Looking at the even more dejected Luise and the flustered Sera, I quietly closed my eyes.
Sera had spent her entire life on the estate and had only begun social life this year; a certain lack of verbal finesse was inevitable. Simply that she had stepped forward to help me was already something to be grateful for.
At the sight of the pink capybara drained of all vitality, an impromptu nickname contest broke out on the spot.
And after heated discussion the nickname “Lu” was born. Fortunately the idea had come from my own head rather than anyone else’s.
That, at least, was a real relief.