A Date and an Omen
Where am I?
And who is this?
"Hmm, but this is an important occasion—a coming-of-age ceremony. Wouldn't something more splendid be better? This is far too—"
"...Lady Atanitas?"
"Even so, too plain—you might get pricked. Hold still."
At the tailor's words, Karem's head obediently returned to its original position. After all, the man was holding a needle; moving carelessly would only get him stabbed.
Yet... somehow... Karem felt a familiar sensation.
Yes, déjà vu. That was it. This exact thing had happened before.
Specifically, when he was being examined for self-defense magical tools.
Standing there like a scarecrow, just as he was now.
Honestly, Karem had been looking forward to this.
And why not? He had received a date invitation, after all.
Of course, some might scold him for not being manly enough, or claim they were merely going shopping for clothes, but Karem stood firm.
No matter how it started, a date was a date.
Whatever the rich noona said was always right.
And since he held the cooking side of things tightly in his grip, he felt no guilt whatsoever.
But the higher the expectations, the greater the betrayal.
Far from a leisurely stroll, Catherine strode off without the slightest hesitation.
Wondering where they were headed, he found their destination was none other than a clothing shop in the inner castle.
Caught off guard by her momentum, he ended up trailing after her inside before he knew it.
And so, here he was, in this sorry state.
"Hmm... well, if everything else is flashy, that's one thing. But if you're the only one dressed like this, it would certainly ruin the atmosphere."
"Um... may I ask just one thing?"
"Go ahead."
"Then... when is this going to end?"
Of course Karem already knew the answer.
Still, clinging to a sliver of hope, he asked while glancing around.
True to its nature as a clothing shop, countless women's and men's garments adorned the display stands or hung densely along the walls. Even now the tailor bustled back and forth, holding up garments for comparison before stitching them onto the sample clothes draped over Karem's body.
Catherine, arms crossed, tilted her head with a look that said he was asking the most obvious question in the world.
"Until the expert says this is the one, of course."
"I feel like we've already compared dozens of men's outfits."
"That's because you've been far too steeped in Mary's influence. When buying even a single cloak, you're supposed to examine dozens."
Of course the number he had actually tried on was fewer than that—like hell it was.
They had long since passed a dozen, and hours had already slipped by.
Mentally exhausted past the point of mere weariness, his body felt as heavy as lead. Staying up all night would probably leave him less tired than this.
"We still have a long way to go!"
The tailor grumbled in a cheerful voice, spouting utter nonsense.
"What on earth do you mean by that?"
"I mean all the clothes the young master still has to try on."
"They all look the same to me."
"Men always say that!"
You're a man yourself, though. But as if such a protest would work, the male tailor approached holding two plain yet stylish outfits that Karem could barely tell apart.
"Well, since it's come to this, just give up."
When Karem stared at her with the eyes of a dead fish, Catherine smirked openly for all to see.
"You've had a similar experience before, so get used to it."
Is that even something you say out loud... The words never left his mouth.
She's enjoying herself so much—how am I supposed to refuse?
For today at least, Karem decided to quietly accept this suffering.
After all, if he thought of it as a gift from the person he liked, it shouldn't be that hard to endure—
"In that case, shall we compare every fabric on this wall as well!"
"No please spare me that really there's a limit to what a person can take damn it there must be hundreds of fabrics hanging over there just cut it out—"
Karem begged.
He was completely drained.
It certainly hadn't been like this when they left Winterhome.
It had been early morning; the sun hadn't even risen yet.
The surroundings had been bathed in a pale blue light.
By the time they stepped out of the clothing shop, the sun was just about to reach its zenith.
"All that for a single set of clothes."
Catherine casually turned her head, looking Karem up and down before shaking her head as if he were hopeless.
"Why do you look like some mage who's been locked in a laboratory for over a week, pouring every night into research?"
"I'm pretty sure every man feels the same way I do right now."
Suddenly he recalled being dragged along on his parents' shopping trips in his previous life.
The times his mother would press some money into his hand and tell him to go play at the game center.
And behind her, his father's desperately pleading eyes.
Now he understood that feeling all too well.
The constraint of being unable to move of one's own free will.
The endless succession of processes that seemed to have no end in sight.
"Useless talk. Since we're already out, heading straight back would be a waste—hm? What's that smell?"
Catherine trailed off mid-sentence and turned her head this way and that.
Smell? Ah.
Indeed, a sweet-and-spicy aroma was drifting on the air.
The source of the scent was...
"Over there."
As if possessed, he walked toward it. In front of a small alley in the inner castle, a red-faced dwarf was grilling sweet-and-spicy marinated skewers over a charcoal grill at a tiny street stall.
"Young folks! It's cold out—buy yourself some of these sweet-and-spicy chicken skewers. They'll warm you right up! *Cough!* Damn smoke!"
The red marinade, blackened where it had touched the charcoal directly. Rising from it, a faintly burnt scent mingled with that sweet-and-spicy aroma.
By the time he came to his senses, Karem found himself walking along with Catherine after paying the dwarf and buying two skewers.
"Mmm. Mmm. Haah, this deep sweet-and-salty marinade with that spicy kick on top. I could really go for a beer right now."
"Daytime's fine, but we're outside—please hold off for a bit."
Carefully feeding Catherine a bite so the sauce wouldn't smear around her mouth, Karem then plucked a piece for himself. A lingering, rich aftertaste... sweet and spicy...
"This tastes similar to what I made at the forge before..."
"Hm? The forge?"
"When I ordered the mold for the salmon bread. Back then I made it with wyvern tail."
"So you secretly made and ate something like this with others, is that what you're saying...?"
"I'll be honest. I was curious what wyvern tail tasted like."
"And?"
"It just tasted like chicken with a bit more fat."
"Hmm... then I'll let it slide this time. Skewer."
Yes, ma'am. Karem politely offered Catherine the last piece of her skewer. Because it had been pushed deep onto the stick, sauce smeared right onto the corner of her mouth.
"Lady Atanitas. A moment."
"What is it?"
"You've got sauce on you."
Catherine tilted her head slightly toward him.
Holding his own skewer in his mouth, Karem pulled a handkerchief from his coat and carefully wiped the sauce away so it wouldn't spread.
"By the way, this is unexpected."
"What is?"
"I didn't think you'd eat skewers."
Karem shifted his skewer out of the way of Catherine's greedy gaze as he spoke.
"Especially street food like this."
And he wasn't wrong. Just looking at Catherine's appearance and presence, she seemed like the type who would never touch food from a street stall.
"You know, the kind of person who'd only eat at some refined establishment to keep up aristocratic appearances."
"Hah."
Catherine had been listening in silence, then let out a short, incredulous sigh.
"Kid. Who exactly do you think I am?"
"Uh, my beloved employer, Catherine Marigold—"
"Aish. Not my name—my position, my title."
"Um, genius archmage, youngest Sage, the Blizzard—"
"Tsk."
At the openly threatening sound of warning, Karem cut himself off and jumped straight to the next option.
"Former S-rank adventurer?"
"That's right. Kid. Do you think I started out as S-rank?"
"...Hmm. About half of me did?"
"I became S-rank after I was already an adventurer, you fool."
Not S-rank from the start. Logically that made sense, but emotionally it was still too strange to accept.
"A freshly independent mage naturally has more than an ordinary adventurer. And just as much more to spend. Offerings, reagents, materials, a staff, robes, potions, and so on."
Catherine listed them off casually, folding her fingers one by one.
"I rolled around in the dirt and slept in warehouses just like any ordinary adventurer more than a few times. Not something I'd care to repeat."
"And filling your stomach with street food?"
"Yes."
When Catherine smacked her lips while eyeing the skewer, Karem hurriedly finished off the last of his own and tossed the stick onto the street.
"I'm giving you a look, and you still go and eat every last bite?"
"The last bite is something you never hand over—"
"Oh?"
"No, please cut me some slack. Really. I've been feeding you all this time and I haven't had a single bite myself."
It was only one skipped meal, but because it happened to be breakfast—and because of the grueling mental torment and labor he'd endured—his brain and stomach had joined forces in demanding calories.
Just standing still, how could that be labor and torment?
Only someone who'd never been dragged along shopping would say that.
"Well, it is about lunchtime anyway."
Catherine casually lifted her head and looked up at the sky.
Above the snowflakes drifting down, the sun had reached its peak.
"Since we're already out, heading straight back would be a waste. As it happens, there's a café the Madam recommended nearby. Let's try it."
"Yes. As long as I can fill my stomach with something—"
Wait. He'd just heard something strange. The 'Madam'?
This was Catherine, who spoke casually even to a royal prince, let alone an earl.
The only people she used honorifics with were at least of ducal rank.
At least from everything Karem had seen so far.
And if there was a 'Madam' she would address that way, Karem had only ever met one.
Duchess Elizabeth Felwinter?
As if reading his mind, Catherine gave a light nod.
"Yes. She recommended it after slipping out privately with the Duke—said it was quite nice. The desserts are excellent, apparently."
"They went out in secret?"
"What do you think would happen if the two of them just walked out as they are?"
What would happen was obvious even without seeing it.
With every step the couple took to enjoy their date, people would never stop offering thanks, bowing, and trying to snatch a share of the glory.
"It'd be like the king himself making a personal visit, wouldn't it?"
"Which is why they go incognito."
Magic-stone lamps illuminating living hedges and fresh flowers, and an interior decorated in bright pastel tones that felt completely out of place in Coldon.
On top of that, the air inside was filled with a fragrance that was somehow sharp yet soft, sweet, and laced with the scent of milk.
An atmosphere so thoroughly prepared for women that any man would grimace just looking at it from outside—so-called pink-pink to the extreme.
Yet in this atmosphere, Karem felt something unexpected.
Nostalgia.
Cake buffets...
It wasn't as if men disliked sweet desserts.
No—given how men latched onto things once they got hooked, if they had a reason they would happily devour an entire tray.
Back when he was Garam in his previous life, Karem had been the same.
A women's-only domain?
An atmosphere that rejected men?
A teenage boy's brain and stomach—always short on fuel even after six meals and snacks a day—didn't care about such trivialities.
When you could eat unlimited cakes piled high with fresh cream for a limited time, what else mattered?
Catherine, seated across from him, did not look pleased with this side of Karem.
"This isn't what I expected."
"I've stopped by places like this before, you know. Maybe that's why it feels familiar. Seeing it again after so long just makes me miss it."
"Past experience?"
"Yes."
"Boring."
Catherine shifted her disappointed gaze around the bright café interior.
Women alone, or what looked like couples.
But that wasn't where Catherine's eyes were fixed.
"Damn it, that crazy fanatic of a wife. If she's going to come, she should come alone—why does she always have to drag us along...!"
"Coming alone feels a bit awkward."
"Oh, really? Then you could've come with that arrogant knife-ear over there."
"Now, now. We're already here, so what can we do? Let's just order—"
She had wanted the sort of reaction you heard from noisy adventurer parties, the kind of discomfort men felt in a space that did not welcome them.
Catherine wrinkled her nose and frowned in open dissatisfaction, but Karem had no attention to spare for her reaction.
Sniff, sniff—
...This smell is—
Mixed into the sweet air was a refreshing sensation that stretched from the mouth into the nasal passages and throat. A powerful fragrance different from the subtle scent of phytoncides.
There was no mistaking it.
Mint.
The unmistakable smell of that vicious plant.