Environmental Beautification
Her mind felt unusually sharp today—so sharp she could almost feel her thoughts spinning freely, racing ahead of themselves.
The confidence surging through her had gone beyond mere self-assurance and tipped into something close to omnipotence.
In a condition like this, she felt she could take on a true dragon if one happened to show up.
"Yerna, you're overflowing with energy today. Feeling good, are we?"
"Oh? Do I look it?"
At Daphne's question, Yerna smiled faintly and thought to herself.
It really works wonders. I stayed up the entire night and still don't feel a trace of fatigue.
It was a little embarrassing to admit, but… was this the power of motherhood?
The fact that Luke had brewed tea just for her filled Yerna with both pride and fondness so intense she simply could not keep it to herself.
"The tea Luke made me this morning was incredibly effective. I don't feel tired at all."
"Tea? Luke can brew tea?"
Daphne asked, voice laced with curiosity.
"Apparently so. Maybe she picked it up from watching me."
"That could be. You do drink an awful lot of tea, after all."
Forest keepers were forbidden from smoking on principle, so tea was about the only way they had to recover from fatigue.
Yerna had a workaholic streak and normally drank a great deal of it.
The fact that the tea had pleased her so thoroughly meant Luke's brewing skill had already reached a high level.
Daphne licked her lips lightly and said,
"I'd like to try that tea myself."
"Then why don't you ask her to brew some for you later? She really is good at it. Maybe even better than me."
"Should I?"
Hearing Yerna herself claim Luke brewed better tea only raised Daphne's expectations further.
Whether a ten-year-old could truly outdo someone who had been steeping tea for forty years remained to be seen, but if Luke personally prepared a cup for her, it would certainly give her strength.
"Well then—shall we give it our all again today?"
Yerna declared cheerfully, strapping on her staff and the rest of her gear.
Already she was thinking about where she might take Luke once the wave was over.
After the tea party ended and she stepped outside, Luke slung her now-lightened bag over her shoulder and looked up at the sky.
One o'clock. The sun still hung high.
The heavy thermos was empty, every last cookie eaten; by rights she ought to have felt a little hollow, yet Luke was thoroughly satisfied.
Simply replaying her conversation with Gerard and organizing the knowledge she had gained was more than enough to leave her content.
Intellectual conversation was food for the mind, and right now Luke was enjoying a pleasant intellectual fullness.
She was also, as it happened, experiencing actual physical fullness.
Before she left for home at lunchtime she had been treated to a meal.
It had been in the nearby staff cafeteria—soup, hamburger steak, and salad.
That, too, had been delicious.
It was buffet-style, so she could take as much as she liked, which pleased her even more.
She almost regretted having filled up on snacks beforehand.
If circumstances allowed, she would have liked to take a job there herself.
To do the most mage-like work imaginable and receive satisfying meals on top of it…
And if she could earn money as well, how perfect would that be?
When she asked whether employment was actually possible, however, she was told a mage's degree was mandatory.
Luke could only blame herself for still lacking that degree.
One more reason to graduate quickly, she told herself, steeling her resolve.
The weather was so fine that Luke decided to walk home.
Rushing back would only mean being greeted by books she had already finished reading.
There was no new knowledge left inside Yerna's house.
So it was only natural that she found herself wandering outside.
At first everything had been so novel that Yerna's home had seemed marvelous in every way; but after experiencing various modern conveniences and beginning to compare it, little by little, with other people's houses, she had come to think of Yerna's place as rather bare—almost bleak.
Well, if there had at least been a television it might have been different, but Yerna's house did not even have a TV.
"Hmm. Why hasn't Yerna ever brought a television in?"
There had to be some reason.
I wonder how Yerna used to spend her time when I wasn't around.
Come to think of it, she realized she had never paid the slightest attention to the things Yerna liked or how she usually lived.
Having lived alone for so long, she had simply never learned to care deeply about another person.
Had she seemed selfish all this time?
Suddenly Luke realized that Yerna had never once scolded her harshly.
Why was that?
Other people's feelings truly were hard to understand.
Her own philosophy had always been that it was enough simply not to make anyone angry.
In her youth she had believed that petty emotions mattered far less than her research, her achievements, her own curiosity—and she had called that "cool-headed."
Luke had adhered to that belief almost completely.
Arrogant, self-righteous, indifferent to others…
She had thought that mindset was the essential foundation a mage needed, and she had believed it genuinely helped.
Only after growing old had she finally realized it was not the only way.
When I get back, I'd like to do something for her…
What could she actually do that would be of direct help to Yerna right now?
Lately she felt she had caused nothing but worry, and she was sorry for that.
Most of it was worry Yerna had fretted over on her own, of course.
Come to think of it, the elixirs had quite a good reputation.
Besides the fatigue-recovery elixir, there were plenty of recipes useful in everyday life.
Recipes came to mind even now, but… well.
"Mana-herbs are hard to come by."
Luke rummaged in her pocket and pulled out the money she had.
Five thousand gil, neatly tucked into her wallet.
Enough to ride the bus ten times over.
It was not a small sum, yet according to Daphne a single Manello cost nine thousand gil.
That was nearly twice the funds she currently had available.
Other mana-herbs would hardly be cheaper.
Even if one could cultivate mana-herbs, this was an age when mana itself had become a paid resource.
The mana cost of blooming and maintaining the flowers was certainly factored into the price.
If she searched she might find mana-herbs that could be bought for around five thousand gil…
But even if she could buy them for five thousand, the price would still be far too high.
And she could not simply walk into the forest and gather them herself. So what was she supposed to do?
She was walking along, deep in thought, when a single discarded cigarette on the ground caught her eye.
Cigarettes… cigarettes…
"Ah."
Weren't they made from mana-herbs?
Luke looked down at the ground as she walked, picked up the long butt she had spotted, and considered.
"If I collect these and refine them…"
She might be able to produce excellent elixirs without ever buying mana-herbs.
The mana-herb commonly used in modern cigarettes was Pillus, a variety whose advantage was that the mana it had absorbed did not easily dissipate even after drying.
The amount of mana it could hold, however, was small, so a great many were required.
And so Luke spent the entire day wandering the streets, picking up cigarette butts.
With her Mana Sight she could spot the mana-herbs at once.
Yet no matter how many she gathered, she never seemed to have a truly satisfying amount.
"Strange. I could have sworn I used to see plenty of them."
In the past and now alike.
Why was it that the moment you needed a material, it vanished from sight?
A truly puzzling phenomenon.
Puff, puff.
Fwoooo…
A middle-aged man stood at the bus stop, drawing on a cigarette.
Plenty of people wrinkled their noses at the smoke, yet almost no one went out of their way to scold him simply because they found it unpleasant.
No one wanted to waste time on a pointless argument, after all.
There was also a resigned sense that if talking about it would have made him quit, he would never have started in the first place.
So the man simply smoked the way he always did, without a second thought.
Until someone called out to him.
Tap-tap.
A light touch on the back of his hand.
He lowered his gaze to see what had brushed against him.
"Huh? What?"
It was a child who looked like a platinum-blond beastkin hybrid.
Cat ears and horns, heterochromatic eyes, and clothing far too mature for a little girl.
Even in a modern world where beastkin hybrids were common, she had the kind of face you did not forget after seeing once.
The child asked in a pure, clear voice,
"How long do you intend to smoke that cigarette?"
"Huh? Why d'you ask?"
"I was merely curious."
The man thought,
What kind of kid walks up to a smoker and asks how long he's going to keep smoking?
Was she telling him to put it out?
Flustered, he glanced around.
The child's lovely voice must have drawn attention; quite a few eyes were on him now.
"Urgh…"
He was not thick-skinned enough to keep smoking under those stares.
His face burned with embarrassment.
"Fine, fine. I'll stop."
He flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed the ember under his heel.
The child smiled with her eyes and said,
"Oh, how very kind of you."
"…Yeah."
What else could he do when a child told him to put it out?
Still, it was a waste.
He had barely smoked any of it…
The citizens who had been watching, however, each looked rather satisfied.
The hostility in the sidelong glances directed his way seemed to ease a little.
But those same glances flared up again the moment the child bent down, picked up the cigarette butt, and tucked it into her bag.
Th-this is…
It felt exactly as if he himself had become trash.
Or was he?
Was he trash?
With ordinary courage it was impossible to endure those stares.
Cold sweat beaded on his skin; his heart pounded.
Fidgeting, he spoke to the child.
"I-I can pick it up myself…"
But the child only beamed, answered, and turned away.
"No need! Thank you for your cooperation. Have a pleasant day!"
"W-wait…!"
He stammered in confusion and called after the child's retreating back, but… already she was humming softly to herself as she walked off into the distance.
In that moment the bus stop became a prison of frozen time, and he its sole inmate.
It felt as though something deep in his chest was commanding him that he absolutely had to say the words right now.
"…I'm sorry."
Whether that was sufficient atonement or not, the stares seemed to soften a little.
Or perhaps he was only imagining it.
He thought to himself,
From now on, he would not smoke in public places.