An Uninvited Guest
The secret nation of the demons, Regensraum. A short distance from its capital stood a single mansion wrapped in a tranquil atmosphere. Its owner was seated at his desk, attending to official business. At a glance, the old man appeared benevolent. Yet the two horns sprouting from his head and the thick demonic energy swirling around them made it clear he was anything but ordinary. This was Erich von Müsel, the current spokesperson for Regensraum. He was one of the busiest demons alive right now.
Processing the aftermath of the truce. Beyond his duties as spokesperson, he had a mountain of other responsibilities. Today was no exception; the paperwork towered before him like an avalanche. He frowned, glaring at the documents.
“…. Not just one or two, I see.”
He nudged his glasses up with a finger. Several demons who should have filed their return reports long ago had yet to come back. These were the ones who had slipped into allied territory. The moment the truce was declared, the Demon King had summoned them all home. What the ruler of Regensraum desired was a literal, complete cessation of hostilities—no schemes, no deception, nothing but pure peace. Yet some demons had struggled to accept the abrupt order.
Erich understood their confusion. The command had come without warning, almost whimsically. Every previous truce had carried clear reasons behind it, but this one seemed unnecessary. The war had dragged on for a long time, true, but the exhaustion it caused was still within tolerable limits. Even to Erich, the Demon King’s reasoning was difficult to grasp. Still, an order from the Demon King was absolute. Erich had obeyed at once. Not everyone shared his discipline.
“Insolent fools.”
It had already been several weeks since the truce began. Erich had generously given them time, understanding how disorienting the sudden command must have felt. For them to still not have returned was crossing every line.
‘This can only be called defiance.’
His patience was wearing dangerously thin. And if they caused an incident—especially that one among them—it would spell disaster.
‘Of all the rotten luck…’
The troublesome one was powerful. If he truly set his mind to causing chaos, the resulting casualties could be severe. Such an outcome had to be prevented at all costs.
“I’ll be going now, Master.”
The girl who had just stepped out of the dormitory looked up at the sky and offered a polite farewell. Her hair, a vivid shade closer to lavender than pure violet, sparkled beneath the morning sun. A few rebellious strands poked wildly from her ponytail, but somehow the imperfection only made her look fresher and more endearing. Rilke Termore, seventeen years old. Barely 150 centimeters tall, with a youthful, almost cute face. It was hard to believe at first glance, but across every grade in swordsmanship, very few could truly rival her.
For someone like her, life at Delphiana Academy had proven far more satisfying than expected. She hadn’t held high hopes, yet there was plenty to learn. At first she had resented attending any class that wasn’t swordsmanship, viewing them as a waste of time. But the more she attended, the more she realized every subject might prove useful in its own way. Most importantly, the swordsmanship lessons themselves exceeded her expectations.
She had assumed no professor could match her master’s instruction. Then she met Altair Auvergne. Her teachings were different. They carried the weight of something refined through countless battles and bitter experience—exactly like her master’s lessons.
‘No matter how I look at it, that kind of experience doesn’t seem possible at her age.’
Of course, Altair was older than Rilke, but she didn’t look more than ten years her senior. How was that even possible? Had she also encountered an extraordinary teacher of her own?
‘The world really is vast.’
The other professors’ lectures were decent too. They couldn’t match the sheer quality of Altair’s classes, but absorbing different perspectives rapidly broadened her thinking. Still, not every part of academy life pleased her. One particular woman stood in her way like an immovable wall.
Ditrua. The third princess of the Solentia Kingdom. Rilke harbored deep distrust toward the privileged, and Ditrua was no exception.
‘I can’t stand her.’
That crazy woman who had resorted to a mutual-destruction tactic during a simple class placement match. The only reason she could pull such a stunt was obviously her status.
‘In a normal spar, I would win.’
That had been her immediate thought after the test. Her skill held a slight edge. If the fight dragged on, that tiny gap would widen and secure her victory—she had been certain. Yet even without the suicide tactic, Ditrua remained a formidable opponent. Their current win-loss record sat at exactly fifty-fifty. Rilke had no choice but to acknowledge her as a true rival.
‘Tch.’
It didn’t sit well with her at all. A pampered princess who had lived her entire life in the palace possessed skill equal to someone who had clawed her way up through hardship. The world was unfair. That was why her faith had always been different from everyone else’s.
The thirty students who had tried to register for Marius’s class only to fail were later reevaluated as the final victors. On the evening of the day Altair’s first lecture ended, one of those thirty was carving into a steak with an arrogant smirk.
“Ahem! As expected, applying Instructor Altair’s teachings makes even steak-cutting feel effortless!”
His friend watched him and asked, “So? How was it?”
“Hm? What are you referring to?”
“Obviously Instructor Altair’s class, what else?”
“What is there even to say? It was utterly magnificent. Her teachings encompass every sword movement engraved throughout the universe…”
Of course it wasn’t that profound. Altair’s lessons were excellent, but not to the level that deserved such grandiose praise. Still, what did it matter? His mood was excellent. To go from Marius to Altair—what a dramatic reversal!
“What about that ominous aura? Any trouble sitting through the lecture?”
“We are swordsmen, Werner. To gain something, one must be willing to lose something. You know this.”
“…. Yes, you’re right.”
Variations of this conversation repeated among the other students several times that day. Completely unaware of any of it, Altair was currently in an exceptionally good mood. She hummed while digging at her ear with a finger.
Today’s haul had been excellent. While my official appointment as professor wouldn’t begin until next semester, I had signed a new contract. Seizing the chance, I asked for an advance on my salary and received a nice sum. With that money I bought five bottles of Francdeamiz. Not only did I get a special discount, but I also picked up some expert tips on brewing the perfect cup. Thanks to that, I’ll be surviving on torn pieces of baguette for a while, but I have zero regrets.
I am the Tea Pourer. Yes, the Tea Pourer indeed.
I brewed the tea exactly as instructed, then carefully brought the cup to my lips.
“Mmm. This is what life is all about.”
As expected, it was on another level. Professionals really were different.
Knock, knock.
Someone’s knock rudely interrupted my blissful moment. Who the hell had the nerve?
“It’s Asia.”
Damn it. I still felt awkward around her. I hadn’t done anything wrong, so why should I be the one feeling uncomfortable? The world really was full of things that made no sense. I cracked the door open slightly and spoke through the gap.
“Nice to see you. Now get lost.”
A lie. I wasn’t happy at all.
“….Pardon?”
“I said get lost.”
“I brought it! The method to suppress the curse!”
Oh. She was faster than Ditrua. As expected, this sort of thing really was the clergy’s specialty.
“Tell me from there.”
“Can’t I come inside? It’s cold out here.”
“Cold? It’s already spring.”
“But there’s still the spring chill…”
Spring chill my ass.
“Fine, I’ll be honest. I just don’t want to look at your face, so can’t you just say it from there?”
“No!”
Her voice rose. It seemed she had realized she held the upper hand. I opened the door with a thoroughly sour expression. She stared at me, puzzled.
“Why do you look like that? Did something bad happen?”
“I saw your face.”
“That’s too cruel!”
“Your face is what’s cruel. Hurry up and talk. Every second I spend with you is pure torture.”
“I even apologized!”
“You didn’t.”
“Last time we met, I said sorry for attacking you without warning…”
Tears welled in her eyes.
‘Where do you get off acting pitiful?’
Setting that aside, she still hadn’t apologized for kicking me out of the hero party, you bitch. But I couldn’t say that out loud. With no other choice, I reluctantly invited Asia inside.
“Drink this.”
I handed her a glass of water just like last time.
“Thank you.”
Even as she thanked me, she ignored the water and eyed my teacup with open longing instead.
“Tsk!”
“I felt this way last time too, but the aroma of your tea is truly exceptional.”
“No matter how much you butter me up, I’m not giving you any, so drop the act. Buy it with your own money.”
“What’s it called?”
“Secret.”
“…Yes?”
“Don’t misunderstand. The tea leaves are literally named Secret. Beneath the complex aroma, its unique flavor hides secretly—that’s why it earned the name.”
“…. Ah, really? I thought you were teasing me.”
“They sell it at Café Azure down the street. Just ask for it there.”
“Thank you for telling me. I’ll stop by later.”
Imagining the conversation between the café owner and Asia nearly made me burst out laughing. Can I buy some tea leaves? What kind would you like, miss? Secret. Excuse me? Puhahahaha!
“Is something wrong with your facial muscles?”
“Yes. This is also because of the curse.”
“Oh dear…”
Asia put on a sympathetic face.
“Enough. Tell me quickly—the method to suppress the curse.”
“All right. First, the initial method is…”