The Girl's World (1)
Capall Municipal Magic School. Even after night had fallen, Whittaker Hall—the school's research building, gray as its name—poured light from every window.
"Aigoo."
Worn thin by assignments that had started in the afternoon and never let up, Herbena had stepped outside for a breath of air.
No getting around it. I'll be up all night. Madam said she'd be coming up.
Helping out at Blow's shop yesterday had left her pulling an all-nighter, and she raked her fingers through her hair until it stood in a wild tangle. If anything still comforted her, it was that Melo's cooking yesterday had been absurdly good—and that her friend Megan would be coming up as well.
At least I'll get to eat Melo's cooking one more time.
The thought put a little strength back into her. She let out a long breath and rose, and in that very instant the voice she hated most in the world reached her ears.
"Hey there, Herbena!"
Greig Campbell. Youngest of House Campbell, one of the four great families of the Imperial Capital, he was an easy character to read: the only student who bothered wearing a student council armband, and he wore it with all his heart.
"Good day, young master."
"Have you thought about what I said before?"
What he had said before was the retainer contract he had pushed into her hands. The sum and the terms written there were nearly unbelievable. Even so, Herbena had not the slightest intention of placing herself beneath Greig, a man who looked down on everyone. Her own young master was in better shape than she had expected, besides.
"I'm still considering it."
"I told you, you can drop the formal speech. We're going to be seeing a lot of each other..."
The corner of his mouth lifted as his oily gaze swept over her. Herbena flinched and took a quiet step back.
"...This is more comfortable for me."
"Fine, we'll leave that for next time. How soon can you give me an answer on the contract? Don't tell me you're dragging your feet while you weigh us against House Mertios."
"......"
"Even so, Julbert couldn't possibly have offered you better terms than we did."
Spittle flew as Greig talked, and Herbena's eyes narrowed to slits.
"You should ask Senior Julbert about that yourself."
"Don't tell me—is this because that scoundrel Blow Deblique woke up?"
"...Who can say."
"Of course not. A sensible girl like you would never stick with that penniless little bastard of a scoundrel who can't even summon a spirit."
Haa. What am I supposed to do with this asshole?
She had been managing her expression somehow until then, but her glare went completely hard. Greig, as if he hadn't noticed a thing, smiled a sly smile and went on.
"Herbena. You know about Laura's Death, don't you?"
At that, she could not hide her discomfort.
Laura's Death. A grand painting of the tragic end of Laura, the legendary diplomat who had rendered distinguished service in the unification of the Serdia Empire. The trouble was that it had been one of the pieces in the collection Luce Deblique had sold while weeping blood. Blow might not have known, but Herbena still carried her loyalty to the baroness. She bit down on her lower lip and shot a cold glare at Greig and his lingering, unpleasant stare.
"I know it."
"It's hanging in my room right now. Sign a contract with me, and I'll give you the painting as a gift."
"Young master. Do you know who its previous owner was?"
"Of course. It used to belong to House Deblique, didn't it?"
"You know that, and you're still saying this to me?"
Her voice had sharpened. Greig only seemed more amused.
"Herbena, you're more sentimental than you look. Still some loyalty left for that house? That's a bit inconvenient for me."
"......"
"Or is it the opposite? Maybe it's good for me. Means you've got loyalty."
"Haa..."
"So there is loyalty left, right? I'm right, aren't I?"
"...This is uncomfortable. I'll be going."
Her patience had reached its limit. Herbena swallowed her anger and turned toward the building. Greig, convinced that a mere commoner was ignoring him, let out a rough breath and seized her wrist.
"You're not leaving without an answer!"
"Ha—fuck, seriously...!"
Something in Herbena's head snapped. A violet magic circle bloomed at her left side and began to pour out a fierce light.
"Wh-what do you think you're doing!"
His frightened voice rang out. She was weighing which spell would wreck him best when a bright voice, utterly out of place in the moment, cut through.
"Well, look who it is! Greig! Herbena!"
At the sound, Herbena quickly scattered the circle. She turned her head. Julbert Mertios stood there with his aide, James, both of them with their mouths pressed firmly shut.
"Having a sparring match, are you? Rather fierce."
"...I'll be going in."
"Busy, I see."
"Yes. My assignments have piled up. I'll see you next time."
With that, Herbena passed them by. Greig, sprawled on the ground, shouted after her in a voice thick with rage.
"Th-that insolent bitch just used magic on me...!"
Julbert let out a hollow laugh as he watched, then set a hand on Greig's shoulder with a faint smile.
"Greig. Mind your dignity. As a noble, and as a member of the student council."
"Didn't you see just now? A commoner, and she clearly—"
"What do you suppose your father would think if he saw this?"
Julbert murmured it low. Greig snapped back to himself, cleared his throat, and offered a proper courtesy.
"I let my emotions get ahead of me. I apologize, senior."
"Seeing that you know how to reflect on your own conduct, you'll make a fine example for the other students after all."
Blatant flattery. Even so, the corner of Greig's mouth lifted, pleased.
"Go find Herbena later and apologize properly, and she'll let it go. In any case, we ought to keep this a friendly competition, shouldn't we?"
"True enough. What could she do? She's only a commoner, when it comes down to it."
"Exactly. So—shall we go have a cup of tea?"
"Gladly. I know a fine teahouse that just opened."
With that, Greig waddled off at once. Watching that unsteady gait, Julbert shared a sneer with James.
A very late night, the moon already sinking.
Melo slipped out of her room on tiptoe and went down to the kitchen on the first floor.
I played sick so well, I can stay a few more days!
That was the whole of Melo's very short thought. Jane, worried for her, had cast healing magic, and Hans had somehow even procured medicine. Receiving that kindness made Melo feel terribly guilty, but she was desperate enough to stoop to a trick that thin. Whether they believed she was truly ill, or saw through the act and scolded her until the tears ran out of her—she wanted to drag the time out, even a little. She wanted even one more day in a kitchen in this city. For the girl, it was a hunger too fierce to set aside.
The countless rare ingredients she had seen while passing the market. Good smells she had never once breathed. The chorus of delicious that rose from the tables whenever a dish she had made went out. Guests who came all the way into the kitchen just to pat her head before they left. Hans and Jane, who respected her words more than anyone, and Blow as well. Only after coming here had the girl truly felt that she was alive. And so her world had opened, here.
Before stepping into that world, Melo glanced once up the stairs she had come down. Hans's snoring drifted out of the dark. Reassured, she let out a sigh of relief and finally stepped into her world.
Apron on and arms folded, she tried to call back the taste of the sausage stir-fry she had made yesterday. Before she knew it, her face had twisted without mercy. That sausage stir-fry had not tasted right in her mouth at all. No matter how the others praised it, to her palate it was only half a dish. So when she had set it before them yesterday, she had had no confidence. Sure enough, the subtle change in Blow's expression after he ate it kept coming back to her, enough to ruin her sleep.
The undercooked tomato sauce had been sour rather than sweet, and the eye-wateringly expensive pepper had gone in too heavily to harmonize with the rest. Even the fine sausage Blow had given her and told her to be generous with had been underdone, and the raw gaminess of the ham had lingered on her tongue. It hadn't even satisfied Melo herself. There was no possible way it had suited Blow, who had eaten far more delicious things than she ever had—Blow, who had smashed hundreds more plates of her mother's cooking than this. If he had still been the man he once was, he would certainly have shattered yesterday's sausage, plate and all.
When the thought ran its course, fire lit again in Melo's heart and in her eyes.
Thinking of it as the last time—just once more...
She opened the jar of tomato sauce with care and swirled oil into the pan again. The moment the oil began to whisper, she drew the pan back from the flame and started with the onions. Melo watched the food cook, utterly focused.
That's where I went wrong—I put the sauce in before the ham was cooked. First sauté the ham and onions properly, then add the sauce and let it cook all the way through...
The finished sausage-and-vegetable stir-fry smelled different from yesterday's from the very first breath.
"This is... fun."
Could this sausage stir-fry belong in her world? To decide, she drew a deep breath, speared a steaming sausage with her fork, and lifted it.
"All done?"
Clang—
At a sound that should never have come, Melo startled and dropped the fork. There stood the person the girl feared most: Blow, hair a sleep-mussed mess, looking down at her.
"Y-young master!"
"Faking sick, even."
"I-I wasn't faking. I really was sick..."
"Sorry to say, I'm something of an expert in that department."
Melo swallowed hard and dropped her gaze.
"I didn't hear you come down... How on earth..."
"Because I never went up."
Her mouth fell open at how thoroughly he had planned it. She couldn't get a word out. All she could do was stand there quietly, hands clasped. An instant that felt like an eternity passed, and what came after was nothing she had expected.
"Mind if I try a bite?"
"What?"
Blow didn't wait for the girl's answer. He wiped the fallen fork once on a nearby napkin, speared a sausage, and brought it to his mouth. He bit into it—the texture firm, almost as if it had been seared. Bursting meat juices met the scent of onion and the sweet-tart of tomato, and they came together perfectly. A taste wholly unlike yesterday's, unmistakably softer. A sound of admiration slipped from Blow.
"...It's good."
"R-really?"
"Impressive, that there was still room to improve on yesterday's."
Hearing that much, Melo hurried a bite of her own cooking to her mouth. Just as he had said, the parts she had thought lacking were clearly better—a flavor anyone would have called delicious. But.
The onions...
As she chewed, the corners of Melo's eyes grew strangely wet.
"Melo?"
"I'm glad. At least it's better than yesterday."
"I told you yesterday was excellent, too."
"Yesterday was bad. And today the onions are too soft."
"......"
"The onions died."
At that, Blow went blank. He stopped chewing, and could only look at Melo, whose hands were trembling. From his point of view it was nothing but one dish. For her, it clearly wasn't. Since things had come to this, he decided comfort would serve better than a scolding, and opened his mouth in a calm voice.
"Then you just make it again. You can do it after you go back down. I'll tell Hans what you're short on, so head down and—"
"I could have done better."
For the first time, she cut him off. A single tear fell from her eye. She didn't wipe it. She only looked at him, and at the sight of it Blow lost whatever he had meant to say.
Melo really is a perfectionist. Greedy as anything, too. And she's only twelve.
A chill ran down his spine.
"...Melo."
"I could have done better, hic... and I wanted to make the other dishes, too..."
As if the regret would not leave her, Melo scrubbed at her eyes with her palms. Blow forgot even to speak, and watched her for a long while. She was crying, and still a flame was rising in her eyes. That flame was so clear it stirred a heart that would not otherwise have moved.
This won't do. I'll have to keep her by my side.
The moment he admitted what he had felt since he first met her, Blow found his heart growing easier instead. He stepped closer, bent one knee, and met her eyes.