Two Guests -3-: Wheels of Trial and Triumph
Right after the lady collapsed, I started crafting medical aids to serve as her legs. Things like walkers to help with rehab, or assistive devices spread out on the table like blueprints—anything that might help Olivia. She hated them, calling them embarrassing, but I kept making them relentlessly.
This world wasn't kind to the physically impaired. There were crutches and such, but nothing like walkers or wheelchairs had been invented yet. There was something similar to a wheelchair, but without proper brakes, it caused big and small accidents left and right, earning a bad reputation. Even high nobles had gotten hurt, so among the aristocracy, it was branded as useless junk. That's why Olivia hated wheelchairs too.
"It's ugly."
"...The packaging hasn't even been opened yet."
"It's just ugly-looking."
I'd covered it with a blanket for a surprise reveal: Pexri No.1. Made of wood with an old-fashioned design and hand-operated brakes for speed control—a invention that could upend this era's history. But Olivia rejected it before even unwrapping the packaging.
"Just try sitting in it; the feel's different."
"No. It's ugly."
"It doesn't look like something you wouldn't want to sit in...!"
"Ricardo's back is faster and more comfy."
"...Oh."
Swept away by the lady's sweet talk, I scrapped No.1. It absolutely wasn't because I enjoyed her chest pressing against my back or any impure motives like that. She said she liked my back—how could I argue? I liked it too. She liked it. But as a first attempt, it had plenty of flaws: the danger of stopping the wheels by hand, poor ride comfort, clunky design. I admitted it wasn't fit as Olivia's first ride.
She was nobility, after all. Doesn't riding something flashy feel better? That's why coupes exist. To turn Olivia into a coupe girl, I tossed No.1 into the mansion warehouse and started on No.2.
And so Pexri No.2 was born. Fixing the flaws of the previous model—design and brake safety—No.2 featured dignified black paint, an iron frame for stability and security, the essence of dwarven craftsmanship distilled into a masterpiece. I couldn't forget the dwarf's refreshing smile as he wiped sweat from his brow after hammering away.
"This should... be able to kill orcs."
"Excellent...!"
No.2 ended up three times bigger than the blueprint. I hadn't noticed in the heat of creation, but finished, it looked like a siege weapon. I'd gotten carried away adding this and that.
"Don't you need to hunt orcs, lad?"
"Orcs? If it just rolls..."
"Hey now! In this harsh world where you might run into orcs on the road, you can't be so complacent!"
"Fair point..."
Fueled by the artisan's unnecessary passion, No.2 turned out even more ferocious than requested and ended up shelved in the warehouse without even Olivia's test ride. It would've suited her perfectly... but I held back, fearing I'd get chased off if I showed her.
No.3 was delayed by trial-and-error and funding issues. I thought it'd vanish into the dustbin of history, but Malik's help brought it to light.
Malik eyed the blueprints with interest, zeroing in on the wheelchair handle.
"Rubber pads for the brakes... Never would've thought of that."
It was obvious. With magic as a convenient alternative to engineering in this world, why bother?
Malik muttered to himself, gazing at the modern knowledge.
"This could apply to carriages too. Orc leather brake pads, wire-linked handles for deceleration... This'll make money. Cuts magic stone costs, boosts convenience..."
His face lit up at thoughts of expanding his business.
Malik asked me,
"Are you a genius?"
"Yes, a handsome genius too..."
"Skip that."
"Jealous? Reincarnate next time."
Malik shot me an annoyed look.
The blueprints spanned five sheets now. He frowned at the text—not my handwriting, but reborn through an interpreter's hand—marveling, brainstorming new ventures on repeat.
Looked every bit the businessman, yet here he was swinging a sword. Baffling client.
Time flew. Malik pointed out flaws with his pen; I applauded his insights.
It started as a simple wheelchair, but blending noble fashion sense and possessed soul ideas, it began straying from the plans.
From Pexri to Porshe.
Within an hour, the margins filled with dense notes. We'd started vowing to make something people could ride, but with two knights together, we lost sight of the goal.
Pen in hand, Malik said,
"How about adding a magic stone power source here?"
"A power source?"
"Yeah. For a villainess—no, Lady Olivia's ride, wouldn't it be dull like this? She'd hate it."
Malik spouted nonsense with a serious face. A magic stone-powered wheelchair.
I asked gravely,
"Is that possible?"
"Nothing's impossible with money."
Not the words of an imperial knight, but profound truth. I respected him.
I cautiously built on it.
"Then how about protective magic? Falling would be disastrous."
"Hm... True. Then we could up the output? Safe with protection. Lightweight mithril over iron—faster than a carriage."
"Indeed... And on the handle, her favorite fireball..."
"Then this too..."
"Oh...! Perfect."
Men's dreams and knightly extremism birthed Porshe No.1. Malik rubbed his nose with a satisfied grin; I smiled thinking Olivia would love it. Spirits high, aiming for the best.
Malik roughed out costs and showed a number with many zeros in the margin.
One. Ten. Hundred. Thousand. Ten thousand... Hundred thousand? Million?
He chuckled softly.
"Three million gold should cover it."
A bad feeling I'd be eating rice gruel for a while.
She'd love it, but I couldn't afford it. Awkward smile, I said to Malik,
"Could we cut the estimate? Just with protection magic..."
"Why?"
"The price is burdensome... haha."
Awkward laugh escaped. Three million for a wheelchair? Didn't want to bet my life on it.
Wanted her first ride to be a luxury import, but a plane was too much. As the masterpiece teetered on failure,
Malik frowned.
"Money?"
"Yes..."
Three million gold isn't some dog's name. The storied Histania family could handle it, but for a young head of household like me, it was crushing. I even thought,
If it were 500k...
Awkward smile to Malik twirling his pen.
"I'll transfer the deposit..."
Malik's face hardened, like scolding a buddy dodging the bill after dinner.
"Why're you paying upfront?"
"Huh...?"
"I said I came to say thanks."
"Didn't you already? Gave me ten meal vouchers too."
He scoffed in disbelief.
"That was courtesy."
Pocketing the blueprints,
"This is my thanks."
I said earnestly,
"Can I call you bro?"
Malik scowled.
"Creepy."
In the dark room, Olivia sat on the bed chatting with Hanna. About how they'd been, how the academy was faring. Hanna answered her curiosities; Olivia responded, listening intently.
Under the dim lantern light, Hanna grinned, recounting Mikhail.
"So I dodged Senior Mikhail's sword and pop—right at his chin...!"
Olivia's expression soured. Mikhail's name used to thrill her, but now it felt off. The heart-fluttering blush was fainter than before. Too long apart? After glimpsing the past, her feelings for him had faded.
She still liked him—or thought she did. Yet her chest felt stuffy. She vividly recalled him saving her from the pond... but her heart seemed to mutter uncertainty.
Hanna kept gushing, beaming about beating Mikhail.
"He was glaring at me from the floor—what a rush! Know what I mean, milady...? You listening?"
Olivia asked,
"You... don't like Mikhail?"
It was weird. The Hanna she knew was a girl crushing on Mikhail, but this Hanna, thrilled at defeating her crush, didn't look lovesick. More like relief after a toothache. With lingering feelings for Mikhail, Olivia found Hanna strange.
So she asked: You like Mikhail, right?
Hanna stared, surprised by the unexpected question. She cleared her throat awkwardly.
"I used to..."
Hanna smiled awkwardly, fiddling with the blanket. Olivia, finding her bashfulness odd, waited silently. Why so shy?
Hanna confessed,
"Someone I like more showed up."
"Not Mikhail?"
Hanna shook her head.
"No..."
She glanced downstairs, cheeks flushing.
"Someone even cooler."
As Olivia opened her mouth to ask who, Hanna—sensing the tough question—redirected.
"What about you, milady?"
Erasing her embarrassment, serious now,
"Don't you like Senior Mikhail?"