Give Me Back My Fairy!
Even things you dread at first become familiar if you keep at them long enough. That is why people say the triangle in your heart eventually wears smooth.
"Mar. I'm here."
"Welcome, Young Master Karl. Good morning."
And that was exactly where I stood now. No matter how carefully we had built the Baking Club room at the Academy, it was never meant to be a place where people actually lived. It was only a temporary space for pastry work.
In that situation I had tasted the comfort of the vice president's office, and I had already grown bored of spending long hours alone in the club room. I had been thinking I ought to stock some books when, just like that, I found myself sharing the space with someone—and the company was quietly welcome.
Margeta seemed fine with me dropping by at any hour, so I had been shameless enough to check in every day.
"I brought some again today."
"I'm always grateful. You really don't have to bring anything."
"I couldn't possibly come empty-handed."
Of course, wearing the permanent title of "grown man who loafs beside a younger lady hard at work" was not ideal. Helping with Margeta's actual duties was out of the question—unlike the expo preparations, this was not my territory.
So after some thought I had started bringing snacks every morning. It was about the only thing I could do. A little sugar mid-thought might help her through the mental work, and cookies were easy to eat on the go.
Even that, Margeta had tried to refuse at first.
"I'm fine, really. Just coming empty-handed and relaxing is enough."
"If I don't do at least this much, I won't feel right. I'd be too ashamed to show my face."
"Well, if you put it that way..."
After my earnest persuasion she had finally begun accepting the cookies. Even a cheap inn expects payment; staying in a room this fine without offering anything felt wrong. The way she now took them naturally, after all that initial hesitation, left me quietly pleased.
I could bring even more.
Today I would ask Luise to make a larger batch than usual.
Karl had brought cookies again today.
He really could come empty-handed...
In truth, the first time Karl offered cookies, an ugly memory had flashed through her mind. That incident in the Baking Club room before the expo. She had tasted something more horrific than anything in her life, and at the same moment she had been terrified he might be trying to push her away.
Learning it had been meant as kindness had calmed her, but the taste itself still lingered in her skull. So she had refused firmly at first—until Karl declared he would not come at all if she would not accept even this.
Between eating the dreadful cookies and staying with Karl, or protecting her palate and staying alone, the choice was obvious. A brief pain in exchange for happiness was something she could endure. And the moment she bit into one, she realized the whole dilemma had been meaningless.
Why are they delicious?
Today she took out one of the freshly given cookies and bit into it. Delicious. She still had no idea why, but they truly were. Not "relatively good after expecting the absolute bottom," but good even by ordinary standards.
The first day she had braced herself for club-room quality and found them tasty instead. That had sent her into a private spiral: why, when he had perfectly normal cookies like these, had he given her those earlier ones? Had he really been trying to drive her off and then, the next day, simply changed his mind and welcomed her?
While her head spun with confusion, the words Karl had spoken remained unforgettable.
"Mar seemed to like them, so I brought plenty."
He had genuinely believed she enjoyed them and had packed them for her. His expression had held no joke.
Thinking she ate them well was understandable—she managed her face carefully in front of him. But to believe she liked them and then bring cookies that tasted completely different? Calling it a simple mistake felt thin when it had gone on for days.
She glanced sideways at Karl stretched out on the sofa. She knew that people who had lived through war sometimes carried strange symptoms; as a member of House Varenti she had heard more than enough. And she could see one of those symptoms in Karl right now.
Oh, you poor thing...
It was heartbreaking. She wanted to pull him into her arms and comfort him that very second. But when the person himself acted as if nothing were wrong and said not a word, did she have the right? What if a clumsy approach only made him hide deeper?
So from the first day until now she had only fretted and never moved. Yet an opportunity would surely come. In time Karl would show her his wounds, and she would be able to soothe them. Yes—it would happen. One day he would be able to speak freely to her, because she would always be at his side.
...So why are these ones delicious?
She understood why Karl had started bringing different cookies, but she still did not understand why those other cookies had ever emerged from the club room. He must always have been bringing the same ones he usually ate—so why the drastic difference in taste?
Near the end of club hours, Luise filled my cookie tin to the brim and handed it over.
"Here you go! I made more than usual!"
"Thanks. Mar likes them a lot."
"Hehe, I'm glad."
Luise beamed, clearly happy that someone other than me was enjoying her cookies. Having her cheerfully accept bulk orders day after day without a single complaint was more gratitude than I could express. Of course, when I first asked for double the amount she had looked puzzled.
"Double is a lot, isn't it? You won't finish them in a day."
"They're a gift for Mar."
At those words her eyes had changed; she set aside the dough she had been working and started fresh. I told her there was no need to go that far, but she was so resolute I could not stop her. Thinking of it as artisan pride made the whole thing rather splendid.
The cookies born of Luise's full passion were being eaten with complete satisfaction by Margeta. Natural enough—cookies she had already liked, now made with even greater care.
"Same again tomorrow."
"Yes!"
Having an excellent deputy made life so easy. This advisor was thoroughly pleased.
The vice president's office was attached to the student council room, so one inevitably had to pass through it. My civil-servant free-pass friendship with the president meant crossing the student council room was never a problem—but today the atmosphere felt off.
I opened the door in a light mood and found all seven pairs of student-council eyes fixed on me at once. What? Why were the kids who usually scattered all gathered together?
"Ah, Inspector."
The president, who had been frowning, smoothed his expression at the sight of me and looked ready to stand; I waved him down.
"Did I come at a bad time? Sorry."
"Not at all. We had just finished the meeting."
"Good to hear."
Finished, my foot. Anyone could see I had walked in midway.
But the look in the president's eyes—clearly aiming for the classic "we've run out of things to say, the meeting isn't progressing, yet we have no excuse to end it, and now a superior has arrived so we can adjourn for hospitality"—was far too familiar, so I let it slide. Displaying that talent already meant he was born for the civil service.
"The Inspector will be with the vice president."
"Understood."
And just like that they handed me over to my actual destination, Margeta. In only a year a child like that would become a civil servant. The empire's future was bright after all.
"I'm sorry, Young Master Karl. We had important business, so the welcome was rather stiff."
"I was the one who interrupted, so I should be apologizing."
"Hehe. Thank you for saying so."
Once we entered the vice president's office Margeta apologized first; I shook my head. Moments ago had been my fault, so the apology was mine to make.
"By the way, Mar—what was that meeting about?"
"Ah. That?"
Margeta let out a small sigh and sat. If a student-council meeting had been scheduled for the morning she would have told me in advance, and after exams there was nothing large enough to gather the whole council. Something unplanned must have erupted.
"Originally the Academy calendar is empty around this time."
"Yes, I know."
Right after the expo and exams there were no proper Academy events—consideration for students who had already burned body and mind. At least, that had been true until last year.
"Then have you heard that the school trip starts this year?"
"Of course."
I knew. The moment my Academy posting was decided I had checked the entire schedule. Seeing the four characters for "school trip," which had never existed until last year, stamped boldly on the calendar had left me speechless.
A school trip? In a European-flavored fantasy? Even for a romance-fantasy built around the protagonists, this was too much. It reeked of "something is about to go wrong."
"Because it was the first school trip, choosing the location took a lot of thought. Originally we planned a modest nearby territory for the inaugural year—"
Margeta trailed off and suddenly checked my expression. What on earth was she about to say?
"There, um, was an incident in the middle. So it's been decided we'll go to Boyar."
"What?"
At Margeta's carefully spoken words my mind froze for a moment. Boyar? The Boyar I knew? Or was there more than one place called Boyar?
"Boyar as in...?"
I asked, pouring the last of my hope into the question. Margeta averted her eyes slightly yet answered with firm resolve.
"It's the Boyar you're thinking of, Young Master Karl."
Damn it.
At that merciless confirmation I closed my eyes. Right—there could never be multiple places called Boyar. Across the entire Kpelleofen Empire, across the whole continent, there was only one Boyar.
Astounding. In a single day I had been seized by the Demon Duke and then faced the Duke of Victory back-to-back. That had been only a few days ago. Just when I thought I was escaping the shock of the duke duo...
Now it's the Golden Duke?
I had achieved the triple. Boyar—officially the Boyar Duchy. The territory ruled by the Golden Duke himself.
I had finally realized the Academy was a fairy, and now not only were we leaving the Academy but we had to go all the way to Boyar on a school trip? That was a joke in the worst taste. Unfortunately Margeta was fine in every other regard; she simply lacked a sense of humor.
Please—just tell me it was a joke. I wasn't living through setup, development, and crisis. I was living through crisis, crisis, and more crisis.