The Leaflet Collection
The street children shouted their thanks at the top of their lungs.
"Young master, thank you!!"
Blow had nothing to say to children who understood none of it, so he gave them a modest nod. Then he moved with the others to Hills, where the signboard had only just gone up.
The moment he sat, Hans, Megan, and Melo lined up before him. Hands folded politely at their waists, they stared at the floor, thoroughly deflated.
Blow was still deciding where to begin when Hans spoke first.
"I'm sorry! Young master... I meant to tell you..."
"So you gave potatoes to the kids in Dusk Block?"
"Yes. That's right."
"Since when?"
"About ten days now."
"Ten days?"
"Yes... that's right."
Arms folded, Blow let out a long breath.
"Where did the potatoes they're holding come from? Don't tell me you..."
"I—I absolutely didn't skim any! I swear, I didn't!"
"Then?"
"They were potatoes we were going to throw away."
"Discard stock?"
"Yes. The ones that looked utterly useless, or were in bad shape—I sorted those out and tossed them at night. The children waited just for that hour and took them, so I started setting some aside, and..."
Hans was surely telling the truth. From what Blow had seen, the man simply didn't have the temperament to set out to deceive anyone. Most likely, it had just ended up this way.
Even so, some things had to be nailed down properly, and Blow's face stayed hard.
"So you handed them out out of the goodness of your heart?"
"Yes."
"While I was run off my feet with the potion shop and the booth, I had no idea the lot of you were pulling this behind my back."
"I'm sorry."
"Young master... I'm sorry..."
Melo had thought that a good deed might pass without much comment. The chill in his voice frightened her into silence.
Seeing that, Skadi felt a pointless guilt, as if this had happened because of her, and spoke to Blow in a voice that shrank in on itself.
"Still, the kids meant well..."
"Skadi. I'd like you to be quiet for a moment."
His cold tone stung. She was about to answer him when Jane, beside her, shook her head, and Skadi clamped her mouth shut.
"Megan. When did you find out?"
"The day before the booth, sir. I should have reported it the moment I knew. I apologize."
"So it hasn't been long."
"You looked so busy, young master. I meant to tell you once the booth was over... I'm sorry."
"Melo. You?"
"I found out a week ago."
"......"
"I'm sorry..."
Thoughts piled up behind Blow's eyes until, at last, they settled on Hans.
"Hans."
"Yes, young master..."
"What were you going to do if those kids got sick to their stomachs from eating that? Were you planning to take the blame?"
"Th... that's..."
Startled, Hans and Melo had nowhere to put their eyes.
Back in his days as Han Ji-hoo, there had been discarded food enough to fill his stomach and still leave plenty over. He had never given the extra to anyone. He ate it, or he threw it out. Hand discards to a customer out of goodwill, and if something went wrong, the responsibility was his.
There was a plain gap in common sense between the world he had lived in and this place, which felt as if it had only just stepped out of the Middle Ages. That did not, in Blow's mind, turn a wrong thing right. And there was something else nagging at him besides.
"So all of you gave them to the children with good intentions. Right?"
"...Yes."
"And with those potatoes, some of those kids filled empty stomachs."
"Yes..."
"Then I'll let the giving itself pass. I have one question."
"Please, ask."
Blow lowered his voice and leaned toward him.
"So what did you take from those children?"
"Nothing."
"Hans. Do you know why Paulos Monastery goes out of its way to put children to work?"
"As I understand it, so they can feel the sanctity of labor."
"That too. It's also so they don't take receiving for granted."
"Ah..."
"So why didn't you at least have them sweep the ground in front of the inn? That would have been better than giving it away for nothing."
Blow was remembering Grandpa's face from his Han Ji-hoo days. Even now, looking back, Grandpa had poured love on him to a degree that seemed almost irrational—and yet he had never carelessly pressed a single thing into his hands. The first thing Grandpa had ever said to him was, How about trying work at the convenience store? Back then, Grandpa must have been thinking something very close to what Abbot Francis thought.
"And if those children keep loitering around our restaurant until the customers start avoiding us, what will you do?"
"Th... that's..."
"And if the place goes under because of it, and there's no one left to give those children potatoes—what then? Are you going to come up from Blanya every single time?"
Only then did Hans catch what Blow was driving at. He couldn't get a word out. His head dropped.
Melo and Megan followed him down, offering their remorse.
"I'm sorry... young master..."
"I'm sorry..."
"Next time... I'll be sure to ask you first. I was shortsighted."
Blow took a sip of water and looked past them, through the window. Out there, the children of Dusk Block were watching with thoroughly frightened faces.
Kids are sharp about things like this. They probably think they're the reason someone's getting scolded.
Deciding this was far enough, he clicked his tongue and spoke.
"The first mistake you make after coming up here is handing potatoes out to those kids? Even I'm embarrassed to be the one doing the scolding."
His softened tone loosened the air. Hans bowed once more.
"I'm sorry. I should have just told you..."
"Don't turn something that could have been brushed off into a big deal. Next time, talk to me. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Y-young master... you're forgiving us?"
Melo asked it with a sniffle. Blow shrugged.
"What else am I supposed to do? Making any more of a fuss just because you gave the kids potatoes would be strange too."
"I'm sorry..."
"If Melo makes me something good, I think my mood might improve."
"Hiiing..."
She clung to him carefully, and he stroked her head. Skadi's voice reached his ear, threaded with a sigh of relief.
"And here I thought you were going to yell at them for using the potatoes however they pleased."
"What exactly do you take me for?"
"I just wondered."
While Blow and Skadi were trading that idle talk, he caught sight of the children farther off, hands pressed to their chests in relief. Thinking he might as well finish it now, he walked to the door and beckoned.
About ten of them came running, none waiting to see who would go first.
"Young Master Blow!"
"The young noble of Blanya!"
The title embarrassed him enough that he glanced back. Hans hastily looked away, which was as good as a confession that the title was his doing.
"Were the potatoes good?"
"Yes!"
"They were so, so good!!"
The children smiled, gaps showing where teeth were missing, and Blow took them in one by one.
"Then that's enough."
"Did Brother Hans get scolded because of us...?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"I don't like people doing things behind my back."
"I'm sorry, young master!"
Hans's voice came from behind him. Hearing it, the children murmured among themselves and seemed to come around to understanding Blow. He watched them with a quiet satisfaction, then clapped once to draw their eyes.
"Anyway, I'm done with Hans. I have a favor to ask of you."
"Yes, sir!"
"Taking the potatoes is fine. But I'd like to set a few rules."
"Uh... what kind..."
"I'd like you to come for them at dawn. Or late at night."
Even being allowed to keep receiving potatoes had already been more thanks than they knew what to do with. Their faces brightened all at once.
"Thank you, young master!"
"And second. I still won't take money. But you'll have to do a good deed to get them."
"What?!"
"Uh... what kind..."
A good deed didn't quite land. Their eyes went round. Blow himself hadn't decided what he meant by it, and for a moment he sank into thought.
Then the red papers scattering that morning flickered through his mind, and with them Yulia's dead-tired face. The corners of his mouth lifted. Fighting down a laugh that wanted out, he said,
"For starters, the leaflets. No—waste-paper collection?"
"Waste paper?"
"Right. Waste paper. The very red kind."
At that, the children's eyes sparkled.
Jane, listening from inside, understood in an instant and let out a snort of laughter. Skadi, who had no idea what was going on, looked at her, and Jane whispered it into her ear.
"He is seriously out of his mind."
Skadi stared outside, shaking her head. There stood Blow, more delighted than she had ever seen him, facing them all.
The library of Capall Municipal Magic School was famous not only for mana stones on a tremendous scale, but for the sheer size of its collection. Students from every nearby academy and university came here to borrow books.
Early on, there had been talk of limiting borrowing to the school's own students. Chairman Whitaker had dismissed it out of hand: knowledge, he said, multiplies the more it is shared.
All of that, however, applied only to the reading rooms aboveground, which were open to everyone. The underground stacks were closed to all but a few.
That was why Hervena, wielding her rank as first in the class, had worn Aurora down until she secured permission to enter. Her attention, of course, was not on attribute magic. It was somewhere else entirely.
Lately she went down every day, and every day, before she stepped inside, she drew several long breaths. No light reached the stacks. They were gloomy as a place could be.
Once her breathing steadied, she summoned a spirit and had it give off a modest glow, about as bright as a lamp. Only then did the single-level archive come into view: tall shelves packed tight, row upon row.
Creepy...
Feeling as if she had walked into a labyrinth, she moved forward slowly. She wound deeper and deeper until she stopped before one of the shelves in the innermost reaches and carefully drew out a single volume.
Its title was A Memoir for the Understanding of Pain.
The shelf held the writings of some nameless mage. As if someone had tried to erase the author from existence, the name was blotted out or torn away. Hervena paid that no mind. She reached out, brushed the dust off once, and turned to the first page.
Is pain something that can be extinguished?
The moment she saw the first sentence, she knew this was the one. She read on, fast.
Even a pain as slight as a hand cut on paper, blood welling from the wound—a human feels that hurt.
...Can this thing called pain, born of the unknowable mechanisms of the body, be offset by mana that exists on another layer?
...The history of mana and magic, up to now, has evolved toward laying a barrier over the body so that pain cannot invade it. Without those barriers, a mage's existence becomes no different from an ordinary person's.
...Research suggests that, so long as the body itself is undamaged, extinguishing pain is all but impossible. Pain in a human life seems as inseparable as a soul bound to flesh. The examples below confirm it.
What followed was general knowledge she already knew, so Hervena flipped toward the back of the book.
...Thus it has been established that pain cannot be extinguished. And yet... through continued research, I was at last able to construct a single spell.
The extinction of pain is impossible. But if one applies a portion of healing magic, it seems possible to make another's pain one's own.
The next page was covered in tremendous formulae. Hervena's mouth fell open as she read them.
Beneath the array, in a rough hand plainly charged with feeling, someone had written:
She read no further. She held her breath and closed the book. The sound of her swallowing seemed to thunder through the underground stacks.
She steadied herself, shoved the volume into her bag, and started for the way out.
Friday morning at Capall Municipal Magic School.
Redprine Blueos was at it again, her bag crammed to bursting with copies of Magic Inside as she climbed the school wall. She had to. She was suspended, and if she ran into a teacher now, she would lose the one thing that counted as her hobby, her life, and her pleasure: scattering articles.
"All this misery because of that navy-haired bitch Yulia!"
Grumbling that she would have peeled the girl's scalp clean off if Yulia hadn't been a noble, she hurried along, scanning the pages as she went. They carried not only the follow-up on Rosaline, but the claim that Rosaline had sworn to hunt her down—Redprine Blueos herself—and tear her to pieces.
"Running her mouth about something she won't even do. Cute."
She swept her tongue across her lips, checked the time, and readied her flight magic.
"Shit. It was better back in the old magic workshop class..."
Björn Arena was open to the sky, and every year attended, so scattering the articles the moment that class ended let her watch every face. That had been the good part. Last time especially, when she dropped the piece on Blow and Greig, the way Skadi's and Hervena's expressions froze for an instant had been a real treat. A genuine one.
Thinking of it, Redprine flushed with excitement and broke into stifled little laughs.
"Well then. Shall we?"
She cut up through the air, and behind her a red rain began to fall. She didn't forget to watch the ground. She couldn't afford to miss their faces, and she had to check whether any bastards, out of sheer competitiveness, snatched up more than one. If they did, she would keep printing until they signaled surrender—stuck right on them, going through them one by one from dusk until dawn.
Riding that thrill, she circled the school and settled atop the spire of Petrus Hall, where the whole campus came into view best. She set her farsight magic, laid out the cookies she loved and the coffee she would die without, and settled in to watch them one by one at her leisure.
"Now, when is our cute little Lady Rosaline going to show?"
She was giggling like that, looking back and forth between the front gate and the rear, when something she hadn't planned on happened.
The articles she had scattered last, over by the rear gate, were vanishing clean—like discs flipping on an Othello board.
"Hmm? Hmmmm? What! What is this!! Who the hell!!"
She adjusted the magnification and looked.
What she saw was not something she could easily believe. Not students. Ragged little brats, looking like beggars and delighted about it, were picking up her articles.
"Wh... what are they doing..."
The students who saw it burst out laughing and started handing her articles over.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!! You sons of bitches!!"
Emptiness, rage, irritation, helplessness—a wave of feelings she had never known. At a loss inside it, Redprine began tearing at her own hair without mercy.