When a Woman Nurses a Grudge, Frost Falls Even in Midsummer (3)
“….”
When Elia greeted me, I looked up — and for a moment, I couldn't manage a single word. I just stared at her.
“Good afternoon, Professor Niger.”
“Ah…, yes. Good afternoon, Professor Elia.”
Shall I say I stood there gaping until she greeted me a second time?
Her outfit was always the same.
She'd worn a skirt on opening day as a rare exception, but as the Academy's swordsmanship professor, Elia always wore trousers.
Which was exactly why I couldn't help but stare — today, she looked different.
A white blouse and a long black skirt, chosen almost as if to mirror my own attire. Light makeup, and her hair worn down instead of tied back as it usually was.
She was beautiful.
And, well —
I really do love a long skirt.
Beauty, after all, is an aesthetic born of concealment. I'd always believed that someone as lovely as her, hidden away as much as possible, was bound to look beautiful no matter what she wore.
“Ahem. Professor Niger, you're being rather blatant with that stare. I take it this kind of outfit is to your taste?”
“Uh, um…. Yes. Different looks suit you just as well, Professor.”
Lost in thought, I must have been gawking. Elia smiled sweetly, mischief dancing across her face.
“Ahaha, I appreciate the compliment, but are you sure that's appropriate for a faithful priest of Elohim? Won't Elohim be disappointed in you?”
“Hardly. I'm certain Elohim would call you beautiful as well. Besides, I've never received any teaching that commands me to treat a weekend date coldly, so I'm in the clear.”
Annoyed by how determined she seemed to tease me over the fact that I'd been staring, I fired back a compliment without a shred of subtlety.
The face of Elia — who had been watching me with such bravado — slowly turned red.
“Ah…. Using that face like this is honestly cheating….”
“I'm flattered.”
I smiled and looked at her, and she, her face glowing crimson, pointed down the street.
“Ugh, honestly! Enough — let's go get lunch…!”
Elia took my hand and pulled me along without a hint of hesitation. Her hand was surprisingly warm, and it was damp, as if she were nervous.
For all that she'd been the one to grab my hand, she kept fidgeting with her fingers — and the sight of it made me laugh.
The place she led me to was a restaurant called Cordelia.
And as far as I knew…
“Professor Elia, doesn't this place only take reserved guests? Last I heard, a reservation the day before was out of the question.”
If memory served, you needed to book months in advance just to get a table.
“Ah…, well. When I tried to reserve yesterday, as it happened — by pure chance — a-a table just opened up!”
Professor, anyone can see that's a lie.
Elia wore a strained smile and hammered on the word coincidence as if her life depended on it. Watching the corners of her mouth tremble violently, I let it slide.
She'd apparently managed to secure a seat one way or another, so the least a quiet bystander could do was nod along.
Later, I heard that she'd actually muscled in on a reservation her father had made.
No, really.
My deepest apologies, Count. It was never intentional.
Anyway, I followed Elia into the restaurant.
Both my real-world self and the priest Niger had no history with establishments this fancy, so I was walking along, craning my neck at the interior like a tourist — and the woman leading the way snorted with laughter.
“Pfft, aren't you laying it on a little thick about it being your first time?”
“Well, I mean…. Where exactly would a priest of Elohim find the time or money to visit a place like this?”
That was the honest truth. Niger truly had no money.
It was one of the first things I'd checked after taking over his body: whether out of disinterest in anything but murder or sheer madness, Niger had possessed almost nothing to his name.
Worse, it turned out the house he lived in had been arranged by the Church, and nearly all of his Academy salary was automatically tithed to the denomination, leaving only enough for living expenses.
Ah, seriously.
A lunatic obsessed with nothing but murder….
A bastard who figured he could get by without a single coin so long as he could kill….
A bastard who thought donations could wash away his sins….
Which is why, since taking over his body, I'd never once indulged in any personal luxuries. Even if I'd wanted to splurge, there was no money for it — and my days were far too busy to go coveting such things in the first place.
“Oh, I hadn't thought of that. Then today it's my treat. How's that? A little dashing of me, no?”
“Yes. The most dashing you've looked out of everything I've seen so far.”
“Hehe…, no, wait. Isn't it a bit strange that buying you lunch is the most dashing thing you've seen from me?”
“What does it matter? If I think it's dashing, that's all there is to it.”
A mysterious older woman, rich and beautiful.
She's insane.
We sat down with Elia and fell into conversation, and before long the food arrived. I hadn't known — this place specialized in seafood — so the table soon filled with every kind of shell and fin the kitchen could offer.
Oh.
“Oh….”
“Pfft, go on, eat. Of everything here, that dish was my favorite.”
“Ah, please, Professor Elia, you eat too.”
Quit looking at me like I'm a toddler and eat your own food already.
It's perfectly normal for a person to marvel at dishes they've never seen before. Come on, you're embarrassing me.
I fixed her with a long, pointed look, hoping to convey exactly that, and Elia — catching my meaning — nodded with a sheepish grin.
For the next several minutes, we devoted ourselves to the meal.
Then Elia looked at me with the expression of someone who'd been nursing a burning question. She set down her fork and knife, which had been working away diligently, and spoke up.
“Oh, by the way, Professor Niger — there was something I was curious about. May I ask?”
“…Mm, yes. Go ahead.”
I swallowed what was in my mouth and answered, then popped another shrimp in —
“I heard priests can't marry. Is that true?”
Hack—
Why did I even put that in my mouth.
“Oh — sorry. That was probably an awkward question, wasn't it?”
“Ah, hack. No, not at all. Our doctrine doesn't… hack, doctrine doesn't actually forbid it. It's just that… hack…. most of us abstain of our own accord in order to devote ourselves fully to Elohim's teachings. Several of the past Popes were married men, after all.”
“Hm~ so it wasn't forbidden after all. Hehe…, ahem! Ah, go on and finish eating. Order more if that isn't enough. Just so you know, I'm rich. Rich enough to buy you this kind of thing for the rest of your life.”
Elia said all this while bobbing her head, a satisfied smile spreading across her face — as if she'd gotten exactly the answer she'd been hoping for.
At some point she'd abandoned her fork and knife entirely, and now she kept breaking into dreamy little smiles, as if imagining something.
I thought I might choke.
When the meal was over, we moved on to a café — and naturally, the café we ended up at was Café de Flore, 21 Crescent Street.
When she said she wanted coffee and I pointed at the first place in sight, Elia narrowed her eyes like a cat eyeing prey and said:
“You won't go to Café de Flore with me? Perhaps out of nostalgia for a certain princess?”
That expression was terrifying enough that I marched straight to Café de Flore without another word.
Even over our tea at the café, Elia kept the questions coming — apparently she had a whole storehouse of things she wanted to ask me. And every time, I listened with my heart in my throat.
Understandably so — that very first question had been more than a little flustering.
In the original story, Niger falls in love with no one. And the same was true for Professor Elia.
Niger ran headlong toward his end as a murderer consumed by killing, and Elia met her death before ever experiencing love done right.
Maybe that was why.
Even as I found myself genuinely enjoying this time with Elia, a worry nagged at me — was it really all right to tangle the plot this badly?
As I'd said before, Elia was written to be Lutz's first love, a catalyst for his awakening, and nothing more.
“Professor Niger, what are you thinking about?”
“Ah…. Just thinking about the future for a moment.”
“The future? Ah, ahem…. Thinking about the future is a good thing, hehe.”
No, Professor — not a pink future.
A blood-red one.
I gave an awkward smile and looked at Elia.
In a sense, she was the very reason I'd been pulled into this novel's world. Someone had asked why Elia had to die, I'd slammed down a magnificent curse in reply — and here I was, transmigrated.
Frankly? I didn't want to leave her to die.
Her death was my doing, and now, at this point, I regretted it. I hated that because of me, a person like this was fated to die.
The novel itself had been wrong from the start — so surely bending it this much was forgivable.
That was what I believed.
“Professor Niger, do you remember? What we saw together, walking home from work this week….”
Elia's smile was truly beautiful.
I undid the buttons of my blouse.
The stifling breath loosened, and the emotions swelling up inside me came pouring out.
“Haaahh…, I'm so happy….”
The sigh escaped me the moment I flopped onto the bed. A happy sigh — what a wonderful phrase that was.
Ah.
Truly, it had been a happy day.
The meeting itself had been perfect.
Noon, with the sunlight falling warm and bright.
Half on a hunch, I'd stuffed all the outfits I'd laid out since the night before back into the closet, then pulled out a blouse and long skirt that matched his own clothing almost perfectly.
When I thought it over, I'd chosen them because Professor Niger, being a priest, probably owned nothing but his vestments and formal suits — but still.
Anyway, it was a start that made the corners of my mouth ache from smiling, seeing him in a different outfit for the very first time.
And then, at Cordelia…, honestly.
I never would have imagined he had a side like that.
I'd thought he was simply handsome and refined, but there he was, eyes going wide at a sight he'd never seen before, glancing around the room in wonder. There he was, smacking his lips softly when the food arrived.
Every moment of it was something I wanted to keep for the rest of my life.
And that was probably why.
The question slipped out of me before I could stop it.
“I heard priests can't marry. Is that true?”
Words I should never have said under normal circumstances. Even though anyone could have read the truth beneath them, he flustered and coughed again and again.
And then he, too, seemed to catch the meaning behind my words, answering haltingly, hesitantly. The way his eyes wavered as he insisted that doctrine didn't forbid it — honestly, it was adorable.
He was usually so composed, so grown-up, that I'd never noticed these parts of him. Come to think of it, I'm the older one here.
The café was wonderful too.
From the way his shoulders flinched when I mentioned Café de Flore, to the way he scrambled to talk his way out of it when I let a little jealousy color my voice.
My heart kept tingling.
He looked so handsome, gazing out at the street over his tea. I loved the way he'd bow his head now and then, lost in thought.
And the way he would look up and meet my eyes the moment I called his name — that, too, kept making my heart go soft and warm.
When the sky finally darkened and the hour of parting came at last, it was he, for once, who walked me home.
We strolled side by side, matching steps, and when we reached my front door and faced each other, he smiled with something like regret. That expression still flickered before my eyes.
His words — that he'd had a wonderful time today, that we should spend time together again soon — kept echoing in my head.
“Kyaaaaah…!”
I called the scenes back to mind one by one and beat my fists into a plush toy. The puppy doll crumpled pitifully with every blow, as if begging for its life, but there was nothing to be done — I had to pour these feelings out somewhere.
Just bear with it a little longer.
If I keep holding all of this in, I'm going to go pop.
“Nngh…, I'm too happy. What do I do…, uuu…!”
The emotions kept welling up, and right up until I drifted off to sleep, I went on sighing just like that.