Rachel and the Children (2)

Rachel Campbell's private reception room was a marriage of ivory and the orange that stood for her house. She almost never used it, so the furnishings were as spare as those in her own chambers—and yet not one piece among them was anything less than precious.

Four people who had arrived ahead of her were waiting, the seat of honor left empty. Rachel swept them with a glance and spoke in a thoroughly bored voice.

"So. Do we keep waiting, or do we spar? Sophia?"

"I'll have it ready at once."

"Hey, sis! Don't we even get to talk? You're joking, right? Joking!"

The protest came from Renelit, striking for her fluffy white hair and small stature. Only then did Rachel take the seat of honor and cross her legs.

"To think someone that irresponsible is hosting the Black Bridge Gathering. It rather offends the sensibilities."

She pushed up her angular glasses as she said it, discomfort plain on her face. Her name was Yelich Serge—sole candidate for student council president of the Serdia Imperial Magic Academy, and second daughter of House Serge, which split the empire's east with the Hetaya family.

Sharp as the words were, Rachel only lifted the teacup Sophia offered her, her expression still bored.

"So the time's finally come. Next year's our last."

"Meaning, perhaps you might consider being a little more serious?"

"Don't want to."

Rachel answered without a second thought. Yelich's face hardened. Rachel, if anything, seemed to find it funny, and laughed under her breath.

"Rachel's allowed."

"Brother Rokan always takes only Rachel's side!"

"Have you ever even seen Rachel fight?"

"I have no intention of seeing it."

"That's why."

Rokan was built like a bear, wearing the same Imperial Knight Academy uniform as Rachel. As he muttered, Renelit pounded the meat of his shoulder hard enough to make it sound. Watching the whole display, Rachel pressed her fingers to her temple as if she were already sick of them.

"Ugh. Everyone's so fucking loud."

"Berring's quiet, though."

"Right. Try learning from him."

At that, Berring Ropert, seated at the far end, only shrugged without a word.

"Anyway. You're all coming to Black Bridge, yes?"

"Didn't you tell us you'd kill us if we didn't? I've never seen an invitation quite that uncivilized."

Yelich let out a thin sigh, as if she still couldn't believe it even on a second thought. Rachel stared straight at her.

"Why? Want me to do it now?"

"Go ahead and try."

"You wouldn't beat Rachel."

It came out of Rokan on pure reflex. Irritated, Yelich looked his way. She had nothing in particular to throw back at him, so she merely lifted her teacup.

"Not you lot. Are the others all coming?"

"Us, first of all! Everyone from the magic school says they're going!"

"Those noisy ones?"

"Ah—if you mean our magic school's cat-lovers' club! Yes! And the others besides!"

Renelit, who attended the same school as Yelich, answered Rachel in a fluster. Every time she spoke, her fluffy white hair swayed.

"You head straight back the moment the gathering's over."

"Out of the question! They say the Academia preliminaries are being held in Caipol!"

"So watch them, then go back?"

"Of course! I'll get to see my eldest sister's face while I'm at it!"

"Your sister teaches at that magic school?"

"Yes! She said if I come to Caipol this time, she'll make me cookies."

"How fortunate. Then I won't have to see her face after the gathering."

"That is really too much!"

Even as she said it, Renelit smiled, unbowed. Rachel's gaze moved to Berring, seated farthest away.

"The students of the Imperial Comprehensive School said they are all going as well."

"Okay. Shame there's no one worth beating."

Rachel smiled as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if the answer pleased her. Yelich, facing her, shook her head.

"Hey. What."

"I was just thinking how barbaric it is. Every single word."

"Are you my husband? Why have you been nagging since earlier?"

"Well, even if I'm not your husband, someone still has to catch the bouquet later, don't they? If not me, who else is going to catch Lady Rachel's bouquet?"

"Have Yulia do it."

The moment Yulia's name sounded, the reception room went still. Rachel paid it no mind and sipped her tea.

"Since her name came up—Yelich, you're coming straight back, right? Not staying for the preliminaries."

"What? There's nothing to watch. They're just kids from some Caipol backwater."

"Why? Yulia's pretty good, though. From what I've seen, you and she are about the same."

"Lady Rachel? Do not cross the line."

Yelich pressed each syllable down hard. Rachel only looked at her as if she were cute, then spoke to Sophia standing behind her.

"Yulia told me not to cross the line, too. Why does everyone say that to me? Right, Sophia?"

"Yes."

Displeased with the turn of the conversation, Yelich narrowed her eyes and pushed her glasses higher.

"I really don't understand why you keep bringing Yulia up."

"Get along. You're both mages."

"How could I? With that crybaby?"

"She doesn't cry anymore."

"I heard that after she lost to you at the Serdia Academia, she cried in her hotel the entire time."

"Hey."

Until then Rachel had been smiling with something like indulgence. Her face hardened all at once, and she snapped.

"So what—you lose, and you smile?"

"......"

The air went cold in an instant. Into it, Rokan muttered as if to himself.

"Rachel's got a point."

"You have no sense at all! This brother of mine!"

Renelit brought her hand down on his shoulder again with a smack—then shook it out this way and that, as if her own hand hurt more. Thanks to that, the mood loosened a little. Rachel opened and closed her fist and spoke in a thoroughly indifferent tone.

"Better to cry like Yulia than to play it cool like you, Yelich."

"Since when did you get so close to Yulia?"

"Not long."

"That really is unexpected. You barely used to speak to her. You said she put up a wall against us, and you didn't like it."

"Well. Lately the kid's softened up a bit."

Just then, Blow Deblique's face flickered through Rachel's mind—the one who said everything he meant to say, crisp and complete, leaving nothing out.

"Must be because of that interesting bastard in Caipol."

"Who? Who, who?"

"Yulia's business partner."

"Ehh? A buuusiness partner? That Yulia Edfolk?"

Renelit looked startled and waited for Rachel to explain, but Rachel only smiled at her, unhurried.

"Go and see. You'll know."

"You're so stingy, sis."

Rokan, who had been listening in silence all the while, muttered.

"If Rachel says so, then it's settled."

Time passed quickly. Wednesday, three days before the Black Bridge Gathering.

Rill Cadral, owner of the potion shop by the front gate, was walking toward Blow Deblique's shop and trying to set her thoughts in order. The Branch 2 plan Blow Deblique had proposed to her—at the time, the delivery of mana stones had left her stunned, but she remembered with perfect clarity everything she needed to remember. And on the strength of that, she had been turning the matter over and over, from that day until this one.

Accepting the offer is the right call.

Sales at her own shop, Poison Umbrella, had been cut down to a quarter. It was not her shop alone. The number of students coming out through the front gate itself had dropped by more than half in a matter of weeks. The other potion shops seemed only now to be grasping what on earth was happening. Rill, who had seen the shop twice, knew the reason clearly.

Blow's Red Forest was throwing the whole ecosystem out of joint. A potion shop was a place students had to stop by nearly every day, so it bent their routes hard—and most of them were now drawing those routes with Red Forest as the center.

Having once studied her discipline in depth, Rill recognized at once that this was a paradigm shift: the point where everything changed. In a few months, most potion shops, hers ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠included, would slide into decline and remake themselves after Red Forest, the premium potion shop. Even that word, premium, had not come from the shop's own marketing. The students had stuck it on.

The first time she heard it, Rill had genuinely felt as if she could not breathe. It was no different from being told she had become a relic.

If this was the great current she believed it to be, riding it would be more natural than fighting it. There was only one thing that still snagged: pride. She was Blow Deblique's senior by a wide margin—nearly ten years between their graduating classes. On top of that, the manager running Branch 1 was not Blow, but his retainer. A junior ten years younger she could accept as a noble. Being placed under his retainer was another matter. Her pride could not help but sting.

Would it be better if I just renovated the shop myself? Take out a bank loan for the interior—then maybe I could survive that way?

She was still whipping those thoughts into some kind of order when she arrived in front of Red Forest, and the notice posted in the window stopped her dead.

Rill read it line by careful line, and the strength went out of her all at once. The price was already absurd, and then a washing service, a bottle thrown in for free, and on top of that a subscription—a system she had never once seen in her life. Blow must have built it. Didn't the very idea feel like someone who had lived in another world?

Pride? The dogs can have it.

While she was settling her mind that way, Megan came out of Hills and guided her into the restaurant. Following her in, Rill found Blow Deblique seated with an easy expression, and beside him Jane Foresti, said to be the manager of Branch 1. Her decision already firm, Rill forced a smile and spoke.

"I'd like to hear the terms for Branch 2."

"Ah, here. It doesn't have to be today, so please read it carefully and then tell me what you think."

Blow Deblique held out a pamphlet with the contract terms at once. From the interior costs on down through the supply agreements, everything was set out in detail.

"There are two types?"

"Yes. Since you're a shop owner, Ms. Rill, Type B is the one for you."

"So the interior costs and the stock reserve are mine to cover?"

"Yes. I'll handle the interior myself, and if there's a direction you want, I'll match it as far as I can. In exchange, I'll set your share of the profits as high as sixty-five percent."

Sixty-five percent allocated to her, the rest to Blow. Set against the hundred percent she used to keep, it seemed small—but Red Forest was swallowing the students from the back gate even at this moment, and looking at it, she could not refuse the figure.

"And this."

Blow held out a second contract. This one was to employ her separately as a potion researcher.

"This is..."

"I read a few of your papers. I thought it would be good if you handled potion research for us on the side as well."

"Th-that... when was that?"

"I heard it from Instructor Mnevoir on Monday."

"Ah..."

"She spoke very highly of you. You were originally with the research department of the Imperial Palace Magic Bureau, weren't you?"

"Yes. Not exactly a history worth boasting about."

It was not a good memory. Rill gave a bitter smile as she looked over the contract. The sum written there was ten gold a month, guarantee separate. The disappointment she could not quite hide hardened, just slightly, in her eyes.

"Ten gold is a little small, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry. I thought that without meaning to."

"In exchange, I'll take good care of you on the guarantee. Think of the ten gold as nothing but a stipend to keep up your standing. Research funds will be covered by the company."

"And the profit from the potion shop..."

"Separate. Completely separate. And we're going to keep adding branches from here on."

A running guarantee of five percent—five percent of the net profit, allocated to her every time the goods sold. It looked small. But if Red Forest opened branches all over the continent, and her potions could be sold across the whole of it?

Running the numbers in her head, Rill swallowed without realizing it.

"So long as you keep to the manual, I'll guarantee your autonomy as far as I can. Also, from what I've heard, the potions you make are quite good..."

"Haha. They aren't selling at all these days, though."

"They are. Instructor Mnevoir said that if she had to choose, she'd drink yours. My idea is to take your potion—Lil Made—refine it further, and set it above Foresti Made."

"Ah."

"It's a potion shop, so the lineup ought to be varied. And this is the bottle our shops will be using from now on."

A round bottle, almost like a piece of fruit. Rill examined it closely, then asked.

"It's shaped strangely, isn't it?"

"Better if the moment you see it, you think—that's Red Forest. And it's cute, too."

Rill admired him all over again. The subscription was one thing. He had even thought through the marketing of it: see the bottle, and the shop comes to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mind. He also showed her a dedicated bag, so the bottle could be worn at the waist. On luxurious black leather, the Red Forest logo was stamped in white.

If I don't ride this current, I'm a fool. Even hesitating is a waste of time.

Her mind made up, Rill spoke to Blow with force.

"I'll sign."

"Please look it over carefully..."

"I will. The terms seem plenty good. The truth is, I spent the whole weekend worrying over it..."

Rill looked as if she could hardly wait. Seeing it, Blow crowed victory on the inside, then shrugged and spoke.

"We'll finish the contract with our Branch 1 manager first."

"Pardon? I heard she was your retainer. You do the branch contracts separately?"

"Of course. That's how it should be."

Having said that much, Blow offered Rill his hand.

"Let's do it tomorrow."

"Good. I'll do my very best from here on, Boss."

Rill took his hand. Blow smiled at Jane and gave her a look.

Late that evening, at Hills.

Hervena, Skadi, Yulia, and every member of the staff had taken their seats and were talking of this and that. Today everyone had gathered at once: a welcome for the new hires, and preparations for the Black Bridge Gathering. The rich smell of lobster roasting in butter was spreading thickly through the restaurant, and at that soft fragrance every eye had turned, bright, toward the kitchen.

Blow, just then, had come up to Red Forest on the second floor with Jane, partly to check the sparkling water. He took a sip of what had just been drawn and gave her a thumbs-up. Jane let out a sigh of relief, then spoke as if murmuring.

"Young Master, thirty subscriptions are complete."

"Thirty? In two days?"

"Yes. At this pace, I think we'll close tomorrow or the day after."

"Faster than I thought. And—this."

Pleased, Blow drew a sheet of paper from inside his coat and handed it to Jane.

"This is what you mentioned earlier..."

"Contract or not, I have to do yours first."

A base pay of fifteen gold a month, and a running guarantee of ten percent. Ten percent—twice what Rill would receive. The moment Jane confirmed it, her eyes went wide, and she looked at Blow with a trembling voice.

"Young Master!"

"What."

"This is more than I deserve."

"Jane, we got this far thanks to you. I'm saying let's eat well ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and live well. Together."

"Young Master..."

The corners of Jane's eyes drooped, and they brimmed. Blow patted her shoulder.

"For you, Jane, I want to do at least that much. From here on, too."

"Thank you, truly. I'll work hard."

Jane kept threatening to tear up, and Blow, embarrassed, put on a voice he made exaggeratedly bright.

"Let's go eat lobster! Wonder if Melo did all right!"

With that he went straight down the stairs. Jane, watching him, rubbed once at the corners of her eyes, then hurried down after him.