Bitter vs Sweet (3)

About two and a half hours before Yulia arrived at Hills, in the underground training room of Hotel Edfolk, Yulia Edfolk was buried in preparation for the Academia preliminaries. To give herself wholly to it this week, she had cleared her schedule and barred anyone else from the room.

With the chant, an indigo wave the color of her hair poured from her magic circle. The spell crashed outward in a tremendous roar, as if it meant to shatter even a high-grade mana stone—yet Yulia only let out a deep sigh and bit her lower lip.

Hah... This still isn't enough.

A duel was a relative measure. However strong you were in absolute terms, fall short of the person standing across from you and you were the loser. Just now, Yulia was turning over the magic Hervena had shown her. Void Scythe, the spell that had finally erased Blow's sphere, and the performance at the Black Bridge Gathering had been shocking in their own right. The level she had confirmed in Hervena that day had blown straight past her expectations—enough to take the wind out of even that haughty Yelich of the Imperial Capital.

From the moment the Black Bridge Gathering ended until they climbed into their carriages, Yelich had scratched at her like that without pause.

I'm not going to lose that badly either...

Most students, weighing the two of them against each other, put the odds at even, or perhaps six to four in Hervena's favor. But if they had stood in the arena during the Blow incident—or seen the cherry blossoms Hervena had bloomed from the Mana Bead—those odds would have dropped to something like one in ten. Perhaps one in twenty. Perhaps even one in thirty.

Feeling as if her breath had caught in her throat, Yulia sighed and sank into a crouch against the wall.

What am I supposed to do... Should I just go to Hills?

There was a meeting today anyway. She had already burned through her mana, and if she went to Hills, both the corn cheese she loved and Blow would be there. But the instant she pictured Blow's smiling face, the words he had once said to her rose with it.

For some reason, his tone had carried certainty.

"All right. I'll work hard enough not to shame you, young master, and then I'll go."

Murmuring that, Yulia exhaled, rose, and steadied herself. She drove herself all the way to her limit, then wiped the sweat from her brow and stepped out of the training room.

Marchen, her retainer, was waiting there bolt upright. She ought to have been handling the hotel's affairs, so unease swept over Yulia, and she asked in a trembling voice.

"Marchen, what's wrong? Why are you waiting outside the training room of all places?"

"My lady, I am told Lord Deschamps is at Hills at this very moment."

"What? Since when!"

"Well... the message came about an hour ago..."

"You should have told me! Marchen!"

Yulia's face hardened and her steps quickened. Marchen hurried after her and bowed at the waist.

"I am sorry, my lady."

Yulia, her expression pinched tight, squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again, and spoke on a deep sigh.

"Marchen, I'm sorry. I was the one who told you not to come in, and then I spoke to you like that."

"Not at all, my lady. I believe I failed to judge the matter correctly."

"...The carriage?"

"It has been prepared."

"Hah. Why did Father go to the young master first? I definitely told him."

"I did convey it. Last time, by communication..."

A short while later, once Yulia had finished preparing and boarded, the carriage wheels rolled faster than usual. Scenery blurred past the window. She closed her eyes, drew deep breaths, and tried to find her composure.

But.

Shoved aside by Deschamps's sudden appearance, the dark, murky memories surfaced in her mind. Without realizing it, Yulia clenched her dress in a white-knuckled fist. Unable to hide her worry, Marchen carefully opened her mouth.

"My lady, even so, the Marquis hasn't said anything particular—"

"Marchen."

"Yes, my lady."

"I don't have the room for it right now. Please don't speak to me."

Seeing those trembling eyes, Marchen realized her mistake and bowed her head once more.

"My lady, I am truly sorry. For me to..."

"It's all right. Thank you."

The Campbell carriage came into view. Impatient, Yulia climbed down and went inside Hills, and every gaze in the room turned to her at once.

Jane Foresti and Linne stood rigid with tension. Before them, Skadi and Rachel were listening to a presentation. Blow, a potion bottle in hand, smiled at her as if he had been waiting. Every one of them was someone before whom she did not want to show weakness.

And her father, Deschamps Edfolk, unaware of what was churning inside her, greeted her in a deliberately bright voice.

"Yulia! My daughter! You're here!"

Nearly a year had passed since she had last seen him, yet Yulia could not even force a false smile.

How far is he going to ruin things this time... how much...

Far from joy, her ears went dull and her vision blurred. All she could think was that she wanted to take him outside Hills as soon as possible. Swept up in that feeling, by the time she came back to herself she was already saying words the usual her would never have let past her lips.

"Why do you always ignore what I—"

"Lady Yulia. Marquis Deschamps. What would you like to drink? Shall I bring coffee?"

Forced to stop mid-sentence, Yulia looked at Blow. She gazed at him steadily—at those deep eyes of his. Catching herself, she barely swallowed a sigh, nodded to him, and spoke in a voice that shrank.

"...Black tea, please, young master."

A moment ago, in the awkward way Deschamps received Yulia's words—his expression, his voice—Blow had found himself, strangely, thinking of Grandpa. Whenever Blow had said something, Grandpa had simply stood and taken it, like a man without an umbrella in the rain. In truth, Blow had cut into their conversation because he found it harder to hear than they did. It wasn't for Yulia's sake. It was only because he felt as if he were looking in a mirror at the way he himself had once treated Grandpa.

"And for you as well, Marquis?"

"I'll have black tea too."

A brief silence followed. Yulia glanced around, forced a smile, and spoke to Blow.

"Young master, I'm a partner too, so I'll give the presentation with you."

"Please do. And the rest of you—would it be all right if I, Blow Deblique, offered each of you a cup?"

Hoping to clear the air as well, he addressed them all in a bright voice. Skadi, who had been watching his mood, shot her hand up.

"I'll drink! Dad, you have a cup too!"

"Yes. I suppose I should have one as well."

"Shall I bring black tea?"

"No! I'll just have coffee! Put in lots of sugar."

"Give me the same as Skadi."

While Blow was earnestly memorizing their orders, Rachel, seated beside Skadi, raised her hand.

"Blow, I'll have what I always have."

"And what is that?"

"Of course you wouldn't know. I've never told you."

"What are you doing right now?"

A faint ripple of laughter spread through Hills.

"Lemon tea for me. Whenever I come to Caipol, that's what comes to mind. Isn't that right, Yulia?"

"Last time you said it tasted bad."

"Tastes change."

Thanks to Skadi and Rachel, the mood loosened a little, and before long a cup rested in each of their hands. Even so, Deschamps and Yulia sat awkwardly in that slightly eased air—while, in true contrast, Skadi and Bjorn were gazing at each other with open affection.

"Skadi, you're not short on money, are you?"

"You give me so much there's always some left. I'm fine!"

"How much are you planning to invest?"

"If it were up to my heart, I'd want to put in a lot."

"Hmm. I'll put in the base amount, but after that, how about you invest with your own strength, Skadi? Even if it means saving your allowance."

"I-I'll do that!"

"Good. This father of yours is simply pleased whenever you're doing something, Skadi."

While the two of them talked, Yulia had come forward at some point. She stood beside ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Blow and spoke in a shrinking voice.

"I'm sorry, young master. I think I showed you an unpleasant side of myself."

"Hm? When?"

He smiled at her as he asked, as if he truly wanted to know. At those words—pretending not to notice, for her sake—Yulia's lips trembled.

"Thank you. Every time. I mean it."

"I'll hear your thanks after we're finished."

"Yes. I'll do my best, young master."

Standing at his side, her composure fully restored, she smiled at him. Watching that, her father Deschamps looked somehow hurt, and somehow gloomy.

Yulia, smiling that brightly...

As he let out a faint sigh, Yulia took Blow's place and began in a clear voice.

"I, Yulia Edfolk, will explain Hills."

From there she laid it out with perfect clarity: the Nyx Inn, where Hills had begun; Cheese Corn Cheese; then the monastery and Roten; and everything that had happened at the Black Bridge Gathering.

"You bought two years' worth of tomatoes in advance?"

"Yes, Lady Rachel."

"Isn't that too bold?"

"No. It's the result of calculation. Within a few years, tomatoes will probably be an ingredient on everyone's table."

"Tomatoes? To that extent?"

"Even if they aren't, I'll make them so."

"Well. Confidence looks good on you, I suppose."

The presentation that followed, though given on the spot, was clean and logical. Once the explanations of both Hills and Red Forest were finished, Bjorn briefly raised a palm.

"Lady Yulia, I have a question."

"Please, Duke Bjorn."

"Why that Blow Deblique?"

So long as she partnered with Blow, it was a question she would have to face again and again. She had always thought about it, so she could answer at once.

"The sugar, the carbonated water, the tomatoes, and the new menu items in the explanation just now—there isn't one of them that didn't pass through Young Master Blow's hands."

"Hmm..."

"If anything, I'm the supporting role. Young Master Blow is the lead."

"If even you say so, Yulia."

"If anything, I'm learning a great deal from the young master. Going forward, Young Master Blow and I intend to broaden the business into cosmetics and the like."

Hearing that, Blow didn't know what to do with himself; his mouth pressed shut. Bjorn, who had been gazing at him steadily, let out a faint sigh and added, almost as an afterthought:

"Skadi's already decided, so I have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no choice but to trust her and leave it in her hands."

...He hadn't seemed that way at all.

But Blow didn't have the courage to say it aloud.

"However..."

"Yes, Grand Duke."

"If you, Blow, do anything that harms our Skadi, I will—"

At a tone that sent a chill all the way to the marrow, Blow swallowed dryly. Seeing it, Skadi seized Bjorn's hand tight.

"Dad, why are you doing that to Blow?"

"Haha, daughter. This father is only worried..."

"I'll explain everything over dinner. You have no idea how good Blow is to me!!"

"...Good to you?"

"And I rely on him so much!"

"You rely on him?"

"Yes!"

"Skadi, don't tell me—more than me, that boy..."

"You're always stuck in the territory, Dad!"

"Daughter..."

Bjorn Hetaya looked as if he had lost the world. Linne and Jane fought hard to hold in their laughter. For a moment it had seemed the whole thing might pass quietly. Blow wanted nothing more than to drag a dry hand down his face, but Skadi was stopping her father in a worried tone—and because of that, the look Bjorn turned on him grew a shade more menacing.

"So please don't scold Blow too much."

"All right, all right."

Still, as there is no parent who can win against their child, Bjorn left it there. Deschamps, who had watched the whole exchange in silence, gave a nod so slight it was barely there.

"That was a good discussion."

"Thank you."

With that, Yulia quietly looked down. Just as silence threatened to fill Hills again, Bjorn rose first and offered Deschamps a bow of courtesy.

"Marquis, I'll take my leave first."

"Yes, do."

"I'll be in touch again through a servant. I'll be in Caipol for a few days."

"Very well."

And so Bjorn Hetaya left, Skadi's hand held tight in his. The silence he had briefly postponed settled over Hills.

At the very time Yulia was in the middle of explaining Hills—Angus Coffee House, the Blue Rose Gallery.

Before Julbert, Redprine lay slumped, limp.

"What are you doing, Redprine Blueos?"

"These days I just don't have the energy. Young. Mas. Ter."

"I see. You haven't been putting out articles lately, have you? Why?"

At that, Redprine shot upright and shouted at him.

"What's the point of putting them out! Those brats in Dusk Block snatch up every last one, and the second I post a bulletin, those Publicity Bureau bastards rip it right down!"

"Heh heh. That's why you should have written quality articles."

"Hey, I'm telling you my one joy in life is gone!"

"I imagine so. Still, to think that Blow brat would use his head like that..."

"I'm telling you to do something about those brats!"

At Redprine throwing a tantrum, Julbert narrowed his eyes and snapped back.

"There's a line you don't cross, Redprine Blueos. Are you telling me to threaten children?"

"Tch."

"And that, too—telling them not to pick up scrap paper?"

"Scrap paper?! Scrap paper?! Do you know how hard I work on those!!"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

As she flailed in a rage, Julbert shrugged and asked back.

"Isn't paper no one needs scrap paper?"

"Did you call me here just to mock me? Young. Mas. Ter?"

When Redprine said it, her hands shaking, James let out a soft, heavy breath.

"Of course not. Still, it's about time you wrote articles again, isn't it, Redprine Blueos?"

"I'm telling you, even if I write them, they disappear!"

"It's fine. Even so, one or two people read them, don't they? That's enough."

"Hmm?"

"The press still has to do its job, doesn't it? If we want to stir up something amusing."

"Hmm...? Hmm? Hmmmm?"

Interest stirred, and Redprine tilted her head.

"Sounds like you've got something...? What is it, exactly?"

"I told you I'd make it fun, didn't I?"

Wearing a thin, unpleasant smile, Julbert handed her a document. The moment Redprine checked it, her pupils blew wide, and she began to giggle.