Nanatsu no Maken ga Shihai suru - Volume 13 - Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Tear

It was the morning after the tumultuous nighttime faculty meeting. Ted and Dustin were in the school building bright and early, awaiting a colleague’s arrival.

“Ah, good morning, gentlemen.”

Shortly before the real tide of students arrived—neither especially early nor late—Farquois strode in, hand raised to greet them. The great sage had raised their right hand, but the left—the one severed the day before—was back to normal, as if it had never been gone.

“…Too fast to rebuild an arm,” Ted said, seeing through it. “That one’s false?”

“Well, yes. Even here, the students would be shocked to see a teacher down a limb. Though, several spotted me on the way out.”

They showed off their new arm, so well-made that the difference was not discernible at a glance. From the movement of the fingers, it was clear the limb was fully functional. There was no doubt that high-level golem techniques had been applied—but to the great sage, that was merely an exercise.

Seeing both Ted and Dusting sporting grim visages, Farquois flashed a smile.

“I caused you some concern, yes? But honestly, I did not expect you to defend me to such an extent. Especially you, Williams—why go out on a limb like that? You’ve been more guarded than anyone.”

“…Even if I have, that doesn’t mean we should go sowing the seeds of strife with the Gnostic Hunters. Do try to restrain yourself. She was not kidding about taking your head next time.”

Ted issued this warning despite knowing it was likely futile.

“…Do those big shots at HQ want her gone that bad?” Dustin chimed in, scratching the back of his head.

“Ha-ha. Is it that obvious? Still, this is nothing new. Esmeralda’s position has been too strong for too long, and if anything, she’s only growing more powerful by the day. They’d love to pull the rug out from under her. Before she puts a stop to all such plans.”

Farquois wasn’t bothering to hide what lay behind their stay at Kimberly. Dustin hadn’t expected them to be quite this forthcoming but was aware there was little use being secretive after that meeting. The great sage would likely commit themself to that role now, and thus, they had no reason to conceal a thing.

“Also, they harbor a deep-seated distrust toward her. And she does have a considerable appetite for tír research, yes?” Farquois offered. “The hurdles are high, but in no way has she forbidden students from tackling the subject. Just two years back, a student researching Luftmarz was quite dramatically consumed by the spell. And the fastest witch perished serving as his Final Visitor. Such a crying shame. If both had lived, they could have done much more.”

Those events were still vivid in Dustin’s mind. Ted had helped pull him out of his funk, but Ashbury’s and Morgan’s ends weighed heavily on him. Was there really no way to have avoided those deaths? The question haunted him. Farquois had called that a crying shame, which made it sound as if they themself could have saved both. That implication certainly ruffled Dustin, but the great sage did not dig that hole any deeper.

“The Five Rods are all about ostracism, so that subject rankles them. Studies within the Gnostic Hunters’ headquarters are one thing, but they cannot abide an educational institute like Kimberly having free rein,” said Farquois. “Still…Esmeralda has enough power to force the issue. It’s the three faculty disappearances that painted a target on her back. Put the idea in their head that this is the time to drag her from her seat.”

“…Do you agree with them? Since as you’re here at the Five Rods’ behest?”

Ted voiced the big question. Fully expecting it to be a mere confirmation. Instead…

“Do I?” Farquois asked, crooking their head. “I’m certainly against the school style, but to be frank, I really have no interest in such political shenanigans. I’ve taken the job—I’ll perform it to their expectations. But I haven’t really given much thought to anything beyond that. And I doubt Esmeralda’s going to take their attempts lying down.”

Irritated by this, Ted offered a rebuke. “…If that’s no deception, then it’s simply irresponsible. You’ve voluntarily stepped into a vortex that could shift the very power balance of the magical world. Yet, you care little for the outcome? I’ll be honest, I find that highly doubtful. Hardly the words of a great sage.”

Farquois shrugged. “That’s the thing, isn’t it?” they said. “I’m the great sage; I view these matters from an entirely different perspective. I do not expect to be understood. That hope, I abandoned long ago—but the reminder of it does bring a pang to my heart.”

With that, their stalled feet moved again, signaling an end to the chat. Taking the hint, Ted and Dustin stepped aside, letting Farquois pass.

Then Farquois whispered, half to themself, “But perhaps someday, you’ll catch up with me. Rest assured, I will pave a path in that direction.”

“……?”

This was a different shade from any other utterance, underpinned by an uncanny gravitas. Ted could not tear his eyes off the great sage’s back as they vanished around the bend. His impression of the mage was growing yet more enigmatic.

“…Can’t get a read on them,” he said, frowning. “What am I supposed to make of that remark?”

“Don’t overthink it,” Dustin advised. “That’s what they want. Still—they may mean it when they claim to have no real interest. They were never the political type. If they were so inclined, they would’ve long since been a member of the Five Rods.”

Dustin refused to overcomplicate the issue. Just knowing that Farquois was acting on behalf of the Five Rods meant speculating on the mage’s own motives was likely a fool’s errand. Let the great sage’s mind remain opaque—Dustin hailed from the Gnostic fronts and knew the Five Rods all too well.

“…Whose scenario is this? Hundred or Hook Nose are prone to such schemes, but this doesn’t feel like their handiwork,” said Dustin. “Arachne feels most likely… Alphonse? Lord, that man never changes.”

“Mr. Walch? He once requested a potion from me. He seemed to be suffering. Unable to sleep, phantom pains from his missing half.”

“Yeah, luck was against him, and the etheric body got torn away. No healing on earth will make it grow back. Still, ain’t no reason to go crazy with it and add spider legs. Can’t even walk down the street like that.”

Dustin sighed, remembering his old war comrade.

Not just ordinary folk—most mages would find it hard to tell the difference between Gnostic Hunters and the monsters they fought. But spend time fighting alongside them, and that perspective changed forever. Dustin definitely knew what those people had thrown away to reach that state—and the painful void they could barely perceive.

“…The Five Rods are all like that. But I’ve risked my life in the field with every one of them. I’d rather not butt heads. Glad you spoke up, Ted.”

“No, I feel much the same way. I got you and Isko mixed up in this alliance, so it’s my role to put myself in the line of fire. At least, as long as my head remains on my shoulders.”

“That’s the spirit. The headmistress’s blade moves at different speeds—whether it’s your head or Farquois’s doesn’t matter. We gotta focus on getting through their term here. I’m far less concerned about what they get up to than whether the headmistress decides to take them down.”

Dustin shifted gears to forthcoming prospects.

It seemed very likely that Farquois baiting Esmeralda into attacking them was all part of the Five Rods’ plan. An awfully big piece to use as a sacrificial pawn, but if the great sage themself had fallen out of favor, it wasn’t out of the question. Either way, the two of them need not dance to that tune.

“If nothing happens this year, I bet the Five Rods’ll just claim dispatching Farquois ended the teacher disappearances. Let ’em. We can assume Instructor Theodore already has plenty of ammo ready to fight that sort of claim. We don’t need to fuss about it.”

“Appreciate you paring this mess down. Basically, all we have to do is ensure the great sage leaves here alive. That’s our primary goal for the foreseeable future.”

Dustin nodded at Ted’s summation. He certainly had concerns about other factors that could worsen things, including whether the teacher killers would continue to target faculty under these conditions.

Turning back the clock to the night before—the Sherwoods had joined the Kimberly faculty by day, but in their hidden workshop in the labyrinth’s first layer, they still held sway over their assembled comrades.

“Thank you for coming,” Gwyn began. “Let’s begin with news: We’ve figured out the general gist of why Farquois is here. This appears to be an attempt by the Gnostic Hunters to unseat the headmistress.”

Gwyn got right down to business. Some were convinced, some confused. He elaborated:

“This is not merely circumstantial evidence; our comrades in the Gnostic Hunters backed it up. They’ve been plotting this for a while, and the teacher disappearances merely encouraged them to act. Clearly, the Five Rods loathe Esmeralda’s influence more than we’d imagined.”

“I figured as much.”

“Not many other explanations.”

Several comrades nodded. It went without speaking that anyone hoping to foster good relations with the headmistress would hardly send the great sage after her. Given the Gnostic Hunters’ motivations, Gwyn turned his comments to how this affected their own actions.

“This is hardly as simple as ‘the enemy of our enemy is our friend.’ But we can look at it as a wind in our favor. Should they actually succeed in unseating Esmeralda, there’d be staff changes to follow—and that might give us the opportunity we seek. And we can take advantage of the chaos leading up to it. But it may also put avenging Lady Chloe further out of reach.”

This last sentence was largely a consideration directed as his cousin, and Oliver expressed no dissatisfaction. When vengeance and their mission aligned, they would do anything to achieve it, but if the two purposes diverged, the latter was the natural priority. This was clear for all comrades, not just Oliver—a core belief that never wavered.

“That’s sounding pretty optimistic. You think the headmistress is gonna let that happen? I’m betting we see a whole new set of Five Rods instead,” said one comrade.

“But we’re talking about how we should proceed,” offered another. “Forget who’ll win this political struggle—if the Gnostic Hunters thin our enemy’s numbers, that’s great for us. They already got Instructors Vanessa and Baldia pulled off campus. If we can count on that in the future, no harm backing them.”

Opinions flew fast and furious, and Gwyn’s eyes swept the table.

“Here’s where I’m hoping for more perspectives. Our moles claim the Five Rods are dead set on the idea the disappearances are caused by an internal rift in the faculty. They’re going after the headmistress for failing to mediate that. Farquois’s purpose is to find evidence of the conflict or make it seem like their posting put an end to it.”

Everyone crossed their arms, thinking. The Five Rods’ take was wrong, but they knew exactly why. Three great mages slain—most would assume whoever achieved that was of equal or greater strength. Their own efforts to disguise the truth had directly led to that conclusion.

“If they’re convinced it’s a falling-out, they would take that approach. Everyone knows the great sage has the Gnostic Hunters’ backing; them wandering around campus alone would make anyone think twice. If nothing else happens for a full year, people would give them credit for it. Which naturally lowers confidence in the headmistress and makes it easier to pin this on her.”

“And if she beheads Farquois, all the better. The Gnostic Hunters sent them here to perform an inspection—their death would be justification for exacting payback. But the great sage ain’t exactly suicidal. Not that you’d know it looking at the shit they’ve pulled since they got here.”

“The way they’re prancing, it’s a wonder they aren’t dead already. Hard to get a read on them, but I get the sense they’re planning on garnering as much student-body support as they can while they’re here? The Farquois faction’s rising fast in the lower forms. Partially our fault for spending three years making this place feel even more dangerous.”

There was a touch of self-rebuke in those words.

Once the stream of opinions died away, Gwyn moved things along.

“Either way, Farquois’s behavior largely plays into our plans. I’m thinking we leave them alone for a while. We can always target a fourth afterward.”

A concrete suggestion, and unsurprisingly, no one argued the point.

“Instructors Vanessa and Baldia are off at the front. Instructor Baldia might pop back in every now and then, but on her own terms; we can’t plan for it. If we targeted anyone this year…”

“It would be Instructor Gilchrist or the headmistress herself. Honestly, I don’t think we’ve got the forces for either. We haven’t even filled in the losses from the Instructor Demitrio fight, and we’ve got a wild card like Farquois in the mix. Things might improve in the back half of this year, but—I still say we should take a full year off.”

Silence signaled consensus; the final decision fell to their lord, Oliver. His comrades’ eyes turned to him, and he took a moment to think before nodding gravely.

“…Very well. I agree it’s too early to discuss plans for a fourth target. But if we are going to pin our hopes on Farquois, we will need a better grasp of their character. A pawn of the Five Rods meant to discredit Esmeralda—is that really all they are?”

He accepted the direction but focused on a doubt that was lodged deep in his mind. His comrades exchanged glances. This had clearly bothered them, too.

“They’re a complete enigma,” one comrade said. “It’s been bugging me like crazy how unrelated their expressed views are to the Gnostic Hunter ethos. They’re out here openly criticizing Kimberly’s style, arguing in favor of prioritizing student safety… Isn’t that, like…?”

“Civil rights movement thinking?” someone cut in, jumping ahead.

And that put identical grimaces on every face.

“Rod Farquois, the great sage? If that was true, it’d be wild. Put a tear in the eye of everyone at Featherston.”

“It’s a sick joke. Gotta be a performance designed to attract student support.”

“But they’re putting their neck out there, which is fascinating. You heard they came out of the meeting room down an arm. Rumor has it the headmistress called that punishment for their transgressions. They’re way out on a limb—would not have surprised anyone if that had been their head instead.”

Oliver’s comrades seemed equally impressed and appalled. He was as well.

And that’s what bugged him. If the great sage was just here to topple the headmistress per the Five Rods’ plans, there was no need to attract this much attention. They’d be better off dutifully sticking to a substitute teacher’s role. If the headmistress did cut them down, the Gnostic Hunters would use that as an excuse for retribution, but that was hardly the outcome Farquois themself was gunning for. In which case, this behavior must be to a purpose unrelated to that of the Five Rods.

“You believe we should step closer and attempt a deeper analysis, Noll?” Gwyn asked.

“Yes, Brother. Watching them unsettles me. But I cannot yet tell if that is good or bad.”

A vague sensation at best. However, the most vivid image in his mind was how the great sage had held Lombardi’s corpse in the lava tree mold trunk. If that had merely been a performance, it would not have stuck with him. And if was no act, then—

“Observations from a distance are getting us nowhere. Mindful of the risks of their charm, I’m going to attempt a face-to-face conversation with them,” said Oliver. “I don’t think that’ll let me see what they’re really thinking, but if I strike them from a new angle, I may catch a different ring.”

Better to shun subterfuge, Oliver thought. Farquois was likely far better at that sort of thing—and it wasn’t as if Oliver lacked excuses for a chat. As long as they were a teacher and he a student, interactions were a given.

“May I ask for some Wall Walking pointers, Instructor Farquois?”

Astrology class had ended, and he’d followed them into the hall.

At Oliver’s call, the great sage glanced back at him. “Yes, certainly. Follow me.”

With that, they walked off. Faintly surprised, Oliver followed.

“Now? If it’s not a good time, I can wait…”

“No need. At your level, I’m confident this will not take long.”

As they spoke, Farquois put a leg on a nearby windowsill, walking straight up the wall outside. Realizing the lesson had already begun, Oliver took his wand in hand, gathering himself—and stepped through the window as well. The great sage stopped a few steps above, looking down at Oliver’s approach.

“At your age, merely standing and stopping on a wall is more than enough. Though clearly, that’s hardly unusual at Kimberly.”

“Yes, all the upperclassmen can do that much. If I can ask, when did you acquire the skill?”

“Me? When I emerged from my mother’s womb. I stood right up and walked onto the ceiling—and only then did I let out my birthing cry.”

Farquois spun around, walking off across the wall. Oliver tagged along, matching their pace, suppressing a sigh. Part of him would not be the least surprised, but he could tell that had been a joke. Perhaps sensing his displeasure, the great sage continued:

“Seriously, I doubt it was much different from yourself. I wasn’t in any particular rush to acquire the skill, but Kimberly places undue emphasis on combat ability to begin with. Even though there is so much else worth learning.”

“…Instructor Gilchrist often makes that argument.”

“On that point alone, I agree with her. Despite disagreeing on plenty else.”

As they spoke, they were getting higher up. Farquois was not breaking a sweat, but Oliver definitely was—the more he fought gravity, the more it wore him out, and his breath was growing ragged.

“…Ngh…”

“Getting hard for you? Walking is much more difficult than running, yes?”

“…I’ve been working on slowly improving my time. But that alone…will not get me where you or Instructor Theodore are.”

“You plan to match us? Well, the difference in years is not easily overcome, but the goal itself is a fine one. Try jumping,” Farquois said, pulling ahead and turning to face him.

This order made Oliver’s eyes widen. Jumping while standing on a wall—in his mind, that might as well be throwing yourself off it. They’d left through a third-story window, so they were now very high up.

Eyeing the ground below, Oliver asked, “You want me to fall headfirst?”

“Lord, no. I’m not like your other teachers. I want you to jump and land right where you stand now. Like so.”

Farquois demonstrated a few quick hops. An absurd sight—Oliver’s head hurt just watching them. Still, he took close observations, analyzing the technique.

The wall was providing no gravitation pull to their feet. If they were returning to the same location, that must have meant some force was filling in for gravity. Arguably, just standing here like this employed the same thing, but with this mage, that force was strong enough to pull them back when contact was severed. In other words…

“…You’ve strengthened the suction properties… No, you’ve optimized them.”

“See, you’re quick on the uptake. It’s simply an advanced version of what you’re already doing. You’re adjusting the handling of your mana to match the general composition of the wall, yes? McFarlane and I carry that to its logical extreme. Always aware of the compositional variation, even the ravages of time, and tweaking the suction property to compensate. That minimizes the fatigue.”

Farquois offered a ready explanation, but just imagining how hard that was made Oliver dizzy. Constantly factoring the qualities and condition of the wall, constantly adapting the mana in your feet to match them precisely, and maintaining a false pull between the two—that was the gist of it. Logically sound, but you could find that in the dictionary under the term armchair theory.

“Naturally, your five senses won’t suffice,” said Farquois. “This requires mastery of spatial magic, but you meet that prerequisite. That’s why I said this wouldn’t take much time. If this was somewhere unknown, it would be another matter—however, you’ve long since been familiar with Kimberly’s walls. You need merely take a closer look. And you will soon realize how slapdash your previous walks have been.”

Internally, he was screaming, but here, Oliver’s natural obstinance kicked in.

Certainly, he knew how to employ spatial magic to grasp the condition of his footing. There was a delay while his mind processed that, but they were standing still—he only had to focus on a single point. In that light, the order to jump made sense. He was not being given an insurmountable task, and so he buried himself in his spatial senses. Based on that deepened grasp of his footing, he adjusted the mana of his Wall Walk, and his body felt far lighter.

“……!”

“You got it. Now jump.”

Farquois gave him no further rope. Feeling like he could now, Oliver kicked right off the wall. He felt the pull on his body from the wall and the ground below, but he strengthened his magical output, prioritizing the artificial pull from the wall. He felt it dragging him back, and both feet landed against it.

“…I did it—?!”

Just as he thought he’d succeeded, his feet slipped—and real gravity got its vengeance. Losing all support, Oliver started to fall, but Farquois had already circled around him and caught him in both arms. As Oliver stared up at the sky, stunned, the great sage smiled.

“You relaxed as your feet made contact, yes? Your landing itself made the wall’s properties waver. If you don’t compensate for that, this happens.”

“…Thanks a lot.”

“It was nothing. If you’d fallen, you’d have done something—and I didn’t warn you out of sheer whimsy. I did the same thing my first time. If you actually pulled it off, that would have been most vexing.”

With that, they set Oliver back on the wall’s surface. They shot him a look, demanding another attempt, so he caught his breath and tried again. This time, he made adjustments based on his failure and wavered—but was successful.

Farquois flashed him a grin. “Got it this time. Mm, very good,” they said. “Yes, you’ll be fine. Doesn’t matter how many failures you rack up—you’ll all learn to do it. You’re my students.”

An off-the-cuff remark, and it jogged a memory from Oliver’s mind. Words his mother said when he’d been little, and marveling at the sight of her standing on air. He sensed the same warmth from this mage; his mind filled with fluster and confusion, and before he knew it, he started to speak.

“Are you—?”

“Mm?”

Farquois turned his way, gentle smile unwavering. Oliver managed to swallow his next words.

He could not ask, Did you know Chloe Halford? For that subject to come out of nowhere would be far too incautious—and it terrified him that he’d gotten that close to letting his guard down. Was this mage’s charm responsible?

“…No, never mind,” Oliver said.

“Oh? Then let’s head back. Try to get used to the sensation on the way.”

Farquois seemed unbothered by it and turned to go. Oliver followed without another word, unable to decide what he should make of what he’d felt there.

His conversation with Farquois echoing in his mind, he finished the day’s classes, and evening arrived. As planned, he met Katie in the hall. They’d submitted the paperwork the other day, and now they were both stepping into a new field.

“…Welp, today’s the day, Katie.”

“…Mm.”

She nodded, a bit stiff, and Oliver studied her closely. It was their first day as members of the seminar, so it was natural to be stressed—but she seemed a bit more cornered than anything. Wondering if Guy’s separation was behind it, Oliver prodded the point.

“Seems like you’re feeling kind of down. You’re not wearing yourself out, are you? We could go another day…”

“N-no, no need! I am hunky-dory! Thinking about all the new things we can learn has me too worked up for my own good!”

She was waving her arms, insistent. Oliver put a hand to his temple, sighing.

“You’re clearly forcing it. You don’t need to fake it around me. If you don’t want to put it off, let’s at least walk slowly and settle down.”

He reached out and caught her wandering hand. He gave it a tug, prompting her to walk—and a moment later, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“…Huh? Hands? W-w-we’re gonna hold hands?”

“Yeah, you seemed so unsteady on your feet, I couldn’t help myself. Do you object?”

“No! No objections whatsoever! I’m sorry!”

“Then good. But why the apology?”

Baffled by her reaction, he pulled Katie along. She shot him a sideways glance as she fought off the urge to check a mirror and see if her face was flushed.

“…I feel like…you’re kinda worn-out, too,” she managed.

“Yeah… Physically, no problems, but…kind of a lot’s happened. I’ve sorted it out inside, so no need to worry. At the least, I can act like myself.”

There, he broke off. They’d been about to round a corner, and Rita Appleton came around it the other direction.

“…Oh…”

“……”

All three stopped. An awkward silence followed. Rita’s gaze went to Katie, then Oliver, then their clasped hands. Realizing that, he let go of Katie and broke the silence.

“Hello, Ms. Appleton. You had a rough time of it in the lava tree mold. Any trouble with the penalty President Linton doled out?”

“…No, sorry, I did what I did—don’t let it get to you.”

“Not at all. I’m sure you’ve had enough lectures for now, so I’m not about to pile on. And I know you were worried about Guy. On that point, I’m rather grateful.”

“…I did nothing to earn that. I just forced my way in at the end and accomplished nothing else.”

Rita shifted her gaze awkwardly. She seemed stiffer than usual, which bothered Oliver. He didn’t know her as well as Guy did, but they’d been friendly for a while. She usually met them in higher spirits. But that cheer had sunk below the surface. He made to speak, hoping further conversation would dig up the cause, but she bowed before he could.

“I’d better get going. I envy your wonderful friendship, Ms. Aalto.”

With that remark, Rita slipped past and headed down the hall. Katie hadn’t said a word; she watched the younger girl go, stunned. Then she doubled over, clutching her head.

“…Augh…”

“Relax, Katie. That was a bit barbed. Guess she’s got thoughts of her own on Guy.”

He figured therein lay the cause. Katie had been thinking along similar lines and was kicking herself.

“I must seem so awful…in her eyes…”

“Because you’re with me while Guy’s gone? Out of context, I can see how it would look bad, but we’ve got our reasons. And they’re not for anyone else to criticize.”

Firm on that point, he held his hand out again. Oliver had let go, imagining how Katie would feel around their junior—but now that Rita was gone, there was no need.

“Come on, Katie,” he urged with a smile. “Guy left you in my care. I take pride in that fact, and there’s nothing we need to feel guilty about. If I can comfort you in his stead, then that’s an honor, and a sign of my respect for him.”

Katie gasped, hung her head, then took his hand without looking up. They walked off that way and did not let go until they reached the seminar room.

They announced their arrival and were swiftly escorted to the center of the room. Six other seminar members joined the upperclassman who’d recruited them.

The upperclassman smiled at them across a table covered in documents. “Welcome to our humble seminar,” he said. “I didn’t expect a decision so soon! Such good news.”

With that warm greeting, he began making introductions. Oliver and Katie gave their own names and shook hands with each member in turn. With those pleasantries out of the way, they were led to the document table.

“Ordinarily, we’d love to hold a party and get to know each other, but from what I saw last time, you’d much rather learn,” the upperclassman said. “We’ve prepared accordingly. I thought we’d bury your heads in these books—unless you have any objections?”

“N-none! Exactly what I want!” Katie hopped into her seat, thirsty for knowledge, and Oliver settled in next to her. Their uncontained appetite earned them smiles.

“Most promising. Tír creatures themselves are highly dangerous, and credentials and permissions for handling anything in this field are a snarled mess. If you don’t have a grasp of those, you can’t even reach the start line, but at this stage, nobody wants to waste a bunch of time on technicalities. In other words, we’re about to cram.”

The upperclassman glanced at the other members, and they brought in massive wooden boxes, plopping them down on the table flanking the new arrivals. Wands waved to open the lids; inside were rows of potions. Oliver let out a squeak—this was clearly a test of his mettle.

“Focus potions are on the house. Classic perk of almost any seminar, nothing to get worked up about. Let’s get going—if I move too fast for you, just say the word. Until you do, I’m going flat out. If it’s any comfort, I haven’t slept in three days just to prep this curriculum for you.”

That quiet smile spoke volumes.

From then until very late that night, Oliver and Katie would have the term cram redefined.

Meanwhile, in another part of the school, Guy was grappling with a new field of his own.

“…Ngh…!”

In a darkened, closed-off interior, he was passing curse energy to the receptacle before him. Curse energy fundamentally preferred animate hosts, but it was possible to magically doctor objects like dolls and trick the energy into believing that receptacle was alive. It did not take long for the curse to corrupt and disintegrate such receptacles, so they could not be used to store the energy, but for wrangling exercise, they sufficed. Working with living things was a closer match to practical applications—but improving his craft did not seem like a fair trade for the consequences of that. It was an approach ill-suited for Guy’s character.

The assignment complete, he paused and turned around.

“…How’s that? Switched up the conduit and channel. Like you said.”

“…Hmm…” Eyes on the crumbling receptacles behind him, the substitute curse instructor, Zelma, folded her arms. “…Exceptional. You sailed past nearly each place I imagined you’d stumble. You should know the work you’ve completed this week is a training regime that would take the average budding wrangler an entire month. I’ve had my share of promising students, but few as good as you.”

“Don’t blow too much air up my ass. I don’t need it going to my head.”

He shrugged it off, exasperated. Zelma rather enjoyed his discomfort.

“Keeping yourself in check is hardly a bad thing. But clearly, you’re still highly resistant to the idea of being a wrangler. Not enjoying living with that in you?”

“Find me anyone who does. I’m here learning because I know this can be a powerful weapon—nothing more, nothing less. Maybe I oughtta ask: Is it good for anything else?”

A blunt question, and Zelma laughed out loud.

“You sure don’t hold back. You’re one of those boys who back off the more enthusiastically you’re invited?”

“I dunno. But Instructor David just said to ‘think carefully.’”

“How like him. To me, however, that’s a bit too hands-off. I’m more inclined to guide a troubled student.”

She moved to the back of the desk, facing Guy across it. Zelma put both arms down, leaning toward him. Each gesture and movement beguiling, which was exactly why Guy could not let himself fully trust her, nor did he try to curry her favor. Like Baldia, she was undoubtedly cursed.

“It’s true that curse energy, by its nature, corrupts life. But this is exactly why our world requires wranglers. What would we do without anyone who can manage something that dangerous? I’d argue our contributions to the public good are far more obvious than your average mage. Just living with these curses benefits the world of man—you could think of it in those terms.”

Zelma closed her eyes, keeping her tone unruffled. She spoke obvious truths about the nature of curse energy—but Guy did find it rather novel hearing this from the mouth of a wrangler. In hindsight, Baldia had nearly never addressed that side of things. She’d been more inclined to treat herself as the embodiment of loathing and despair, sparing no words to who might be saved by her nature. Guy frowned, considering this. In light of what he’d just heard, Baldia’s behavior was rather pitiable.

“In those terms, we can very much call Baldia the savior of our world. If all the curses she harbors were still out there, how many more would have fallen victim to them? As warped as my junior is, I have no end of respect for her. What she carries has only warped her insides—she has retained a human shape. And that is a veritable feat.”

“……”

A weighty silence. Sensing her words had resonated with him, Zelma flashed a cheery smile.

“You’re impressionable. This speech alone seems to have changed your perspective on wranglers! Consider it the price for my personal instruction. Like Instructor David, I will respect your ultimate decision. The only thing you need to do is avoid letting me tempt you,” she told Guy. “That’s it for today’s lesson—come back in three days’ time. I shall tempt you all the more.”

With that, she released her student. Guy bowed his head, turned, and left the realm of the curse wrangler, certain he’d be there again.

Even when Guy was back in the hall, Zelma’s speech continued spinning in his head. He knew that’s exactly what she wanted, but he couldn’t stop himself. Every aspect of a wrangler’s behavior had meaning—and he was learning that just by example.

“…Can’t let my guard down,” he muttered, scratching his head. “Damn, every last wrangler is—”

At this point, hands clapped down on both shoulders.

“Huh?”

“We’ve been waiting for you, Guy!”

“Join us for tea. And don’t refuse.”

It was the Barthé twins, sporting identically wicked grins. As Guy blinked, a third student trudged up behind them, an exhausted, derisive smile on her lips.

“You heard ’em. Come along. I’ve already thrown in the towel,” Mackley said.

The twins led them down the hall, through a door, and outside the school building. Guy blinked at this and asked the same question he’d been voicing over and over.

“Outside? What kinda tea party is this?”

“You’ll find out,” Lélia told him. “See, they’re in sight.”

Her eyes were on the gardens up ahead. A red cloth was laid out on the grass, and the invited guests were sitting directly on it. At the far end was a friend of Guy’s—dressed in a Yamatsu kimono, boiling water in an iron kettle. She looked up with a smile.

“Oh, Guy! You’ve availed us of your presence?”

“Nanao…?! You’re in on this? What’s going on?”

He blinked, and his gaze shifted to the girl seated opposite Nanao. The girl’s back was to him, and her head alone turned, shooting him a grumpy side-eye. There were very few students in his year quite as consistently hostile as this one. The combat league finales had certainly ensured he’d remember her face forever.

“Valois?!”

“…What? Am I not allowed to be here?”

The pure Koutz practitioner Ursule Valois, already bracing for a fight. Guy just blinked at her, and the Barthés offered supplemental information.

“It’s an Azian-style tea party. A nice change of pace, yes?”

“She’s been inviting Lady Ursule from time to time, and we’re tagging along. Since Hibiya’s the host, we can rope you in without triggering Reston.”

“…You sure are tenacious. I mean, I’m in, but…”

Caught up with their scheme, Guy settled down. Sitting on a cloth without chairs made it seem less like a tea party and more like a mid-hike picnic, but he’d always been the outdoorsy type and felt right at home. Sweet treats on a pottery plate were deposited before him; it seemed Nanao was personally preparing each cup of tea. Figuring that would be worth waiting for, he turned his gaze from Lélia to Gui to Mackley.

“Guess I’d better say sorry. A friend of mine went off on you a bit—my bad. I went down first thing, didn’t manage to stop him.”

“Don’t worry about it. We were careless,” Lélia replied. “We bear no grudge against Reston. It’s entirely true that, out of context, what we said sounded like we were trying to pry you away.”

“Easy for you to say. His damn golem stabbed me in the back of the neck!” Mackley griped.

“Let it go,” said Gui. “We healed you up. And that could easily have been me or my sister. You just had the bad luck to be standing against the wall.”

“Show me one person who’d be convinced by that argument!” Mackley fumed, her cry echoing across the blue sky, loud enough that Nanao and Valois heard her.

“I can’t settle down with you yelliiing? The wind keeps bringing in bits of grass. Whyyy can’t we do this inside?”

“We certainly could, but a change of scene will do us wonders. There are pleasures in a boisterous assembly as well as a quiet one.”

As she answered, Nanao busied herself with the tea, putting leaves in a prewarmed cup, adding water heated to the ideal temperature, and stirring it with a kind of dampened whisk.

Valois took a seat, watching this process unfold. Despite her barbed words, she was sitting bolt upright on her knees—not a posture present in Union culture, so this showed she’d arrived with prior knowledge. Grateful for that, Nanao put the thought into words.

“Your seiza is elegant and beautiful. I appreciate the effort to match the occasion. But pray, relax and enjoy yourself. Tea can be a ceremonial occasion, but I barely remember the manners myself. I will spare not one word to what is proper, and you need not concern yourself with errors.”

This just served to deepen Valois’s frown. Her grandmother had drilled the importance of etiquette into her from an early age; attempting to emulate the formalities of the occasion was now unconscious, instinctive. Yet, this girl claimed that was of no importance—and that left Valois unsure how to comport herself.

Nanao finished the tea and placed it softly before Valois.

“Enjoy. Do not let the involved process stay your tongue. If you like it, splendid; if you do not, so be it. Give me your unvarnished opinion.”

Valois gingerly lifted the cup with both hands. It was perhaps a third full of a frothing green liquid. Remembering the manners she’d read about beforehand, she made to turn the cup three times but soon realized Nanao had no interest in such formalities. For that reason, she moved it directly to her lips. The foreign flavors spread across her tongue, and she slowly drank.

After allowing herself some time to process it, she spoke.

“…It’s very…bitter…? Buuut it goes down easier than I thought. Does adding air to it aid with the mouthfeel? I suppooose that would serve the same function as our milk?”

“Ah, you picked up on that? I was quite surprised by the local custom of adding cow’s milk to tea. Once I adjusted to that, I realized the similarities. Perhaps adding milk is even more expedient.”

Nanao was preparing cups for the other guests as she spoke. The process seemed far too inefficient given each was the same—it would have been much quicker if she had used a spell or prepared some magic tool. But Nanao deliberately brewed one cup at a time, carrying each to their seats on her own two feet. When everyone was served, she returned to Valois, facing her once more.

“Yet, I believe there is meaning in these procedures, too. I see you have noticed that yourself.”

“…Weeell, I guess? If I watch you painstakingly make it, I am naturally inclined to savor the taaaste… These are tea sweets?”

“Indeed. You may slice them with a pick or grasp them in your hands—eat however you wish.”

Valois reached for the little treat on the tray. Theodore had brought some red beans back for Nanao, which she had used to make her own paste for kintsuba. Valois prodded her kintsuba with the pick and found it soft and yielding; she sliced a quarter off it, poked it with the pick, and carried it to her mouth.

It had a richer sweetness than she’d expected; it was almost too much for her, but then she blinked and took another sip of tea. The bitterness of the beverage balanced out the sweetness lingering on her tongue—and felt like a revelation. This was a flavor experience that required both tea and sweets to be complete.

“…Mind if I move off my feet?” she asked properly.

“By all means. You may lay down on your back if you see fit,” Nanao replied serenely.

Valois shifted her weight off her lower legs, relaxing on the cloth, her eyes drifting to the clear skies above. While her mind was preoccupied with ritual, she hadn’t noticed how freeing that sight was—and before she knew it, she was speaking to that.

“…Is thiiis what you meant…?” Valois wondered.

“Oh, is that an epiphany?”

“…Loosely, yes? I thiiink I see the concept of your tea party. The tension’s draining from my shoulders… I don’t care about the fuss over there anymore. Even this wind…at this time of year, it’s just pleasant. Aaand…the sunlight and grass…the smell of the soil…”

She closed her eyes, soaking it in.

Once, she’d been confined to a basement room. Cornered while she went half mad, swearing to take her little friend out of there—a goal that was not meant to be. That had stolen a piece of her heart away, but now even that gap felt comfortable.

Nanao finished preparing her own tea last and sat sipping on it, gazing at Valois’s face. She’d caught glimpses of Valois’s history on that blood-soaked stage, and now as Valois relaxed, defenseless, Nanao perceived it once again.

“There is sadness in your eyes. I thought as much. I ventured you would prefer this to the confines of a tearoom,” said Nanao. “…I feel as if I have been away from this too long. Below the heavens, my own feet upon the ground—a fundamental delight allowed to all those who live.”

As Valois’s heart thawed, her painful past came into view. Her gaze left the sky, dancing back to Nanao’s face—and a tear ran down her cheek.

“Covell.”

Nanao smoothly drew her wand, drawing a blackout veil between Valois and the other guests. A gesture of kindness—and Valois wiped the tumbling tears with her sleeve, her voice trembling.

“…Howww could you tell?” she asked.

“We have fought in earnest once. You may shed as many tears as you see fit. I imagine you have been storing them for quite a while.”

Nanao dropped her gaze to her tea, taking a sip.

Across the veil, all that could be seen of their exchange was a hazy silhouette. But the glimpse they’d caught before it was drawn had been enough for both Barthés to glean their mistress’s state.

“…Can’t believe it,” Gui muttered. “Did you see—?”

“Keep your voice down, fool,” Lélia hissed. “Do not disturb them with needless commotion. This a vital moment for Lady Ursule.”

She looked grateful—but also repentant.

“Would that Hibiya mentor me? Our minds are linked directly, yet she is closer to Lady Ursule’s heart than we have ever been. No, perhaps it’s the other way around. Why can we not do the same? That is our shame.”

“Don’t overthink it,” Guy said, munching on a kintsuba in his bare hand. “I’ve seen with my own eyes how unique she is. Ain’t something you can just imitate. You’ll just have to slowly work on getting closer. Not by force like that link between minds—just the way everyone else does.”

He took a gulp of tea to wash the sweet down and turned to face the twins.

“I ain’t one to reap all the benefits, so lemme give some advice. You two spending any time with Valois? Since you got back to campus, you seem…stabler…”

Aware of the delicate situation, he prodded that issue carefully. But Lélia caught the nuance beneath his words. Her cheeks stiffened, and she gave her brother a look.

“Gui…”

“Sorry, I told him. I was pretty, uh, far gone at the time.”

Lélia buried her face in her hands.

“Huh? What’re we talking about?” Mackley asked, lost.

Not about to explain the whole thing over again, Lélia paid her no attention.

“…Much as I’d love to dig a hole and crawl into it,” she managed, “I guess we’re past carrying about appearances. And Guy—we owe you a lot, so if you’re offering, I’ll swallow my shame and take you up on it. You’re right, we’re better. Lady Ursule’s not distancing herself from us anymore. She’s making a point of keeping us around. And we’re grateful for it.”

“If you choke up there, we won’t get anywhere, Lélia. What we gotta talk about is what’s next,” Gui said, one hand on his sister’s quivering shoulders.

“Uh, don’t overthink things, either,” Guy added. “If going with the flow takes you places, that’s totally fine. Just… I got thoughts on what you shared before. Like—I got options, and you kinda don’t.”

“Seriously, someone clue me in,” said Mackley.

“Yeah, but that’s a servant’s lot in life. Might be hard for you to wrap your head around, but from the moment we were born, we were meant to serve her. When that relationship was on the rocks, it was a living hell, but thanks to you, we’re back to normal—and frankly, far better than before. I’m not about to call that good enough, but for now—no need to worry. And I got my dumbass little brother with me.”

“Yep, yep, with you to the end, O wise sister. See? She’s kinda cute when she’s down, but the second she perks up, she’s gotta lord it over everyone. Even though we’re twins and the age difference is negligible.”

“That negligible difference set our fates in stone. Wallow in regret, Little Brother. Repent being too lazy to race me out the womb.”

The more they talked, the more Lélia got her groove back; she and her brother were trading barbs. Guy was relieved to see it, but Mackley just smiled brightly and drew her wand.

“…Frag—”

“Don’t, Mackley! Sorry we left you hanging! Put the wand away!”

“Hear me out! I’ll ignore whoever I want, but if you ignore me—well, I’d rather be surrounded by slugs. Try it again, and I’ll blow you all up and fuck off home.”

Mackley was so pissed, her voice had gone flat, and everyone rushed to placate her.

Sensing the commotion across the blackout veil, Valois was still shedding tears; Nanao was preparing a second cup of tea for her. By the time she finished it, she’d likely work things out. The sky above would never change, and even now, she was still free to run about the land beneath it.

“Mm, a fine day,” Nanao whispered, satisfied.

She stayed seated beside a wounded heart, offering comfort as the tea party continued on.

Six hours of ultra-compressed leaning at the very limit of their processing power, and it struck Oliver that going further without pausing to collect themselves would be actively harmful. He voiced that concern, and the upperclassman teaching them accepted it with a grin—and stood up, only to swoon and collapse. Only half awake, he was carried out by the other seminar members. The preparation fatigue had clearly caught up with him.

“…Transport requires supervision by four or more mages, including the one granted express permission. Am I right, Katie?” Oliver asked.

“…Wait, there might be another restriction. There was an example…”

Oliver and Katie were left behind, with only one older member to keep an eye on them.

For a long time, they busied themselves reviewing what they’d been taught, making sure it was all steeped into their heads. Oliver was keen on the daily acquisition of new knowledge, but it had been a long time since he tried to force quite this much in at once. Alone, he’d have suffered, but with Katie at his side, it went down easy. He’d always admired her passion for her studies, and the desire to keep up gave him boundless energy. The empty focus potion bottles continued to mount.

Ultimately, they hit the time limit before their concentration petered out. The corner of his eye saw the clock at midnight, and he closed the file with a thump.

“…It’s awfully late. Katie, let’s call it a day. The others are waiting for us at the base.”

“…Oh, is it that time?” she asked, looking up. “It is! I’ve gotta prep for tomorrow…”

She vaulted from her seat and started putting the documents away. Oliver helped her get it done quickly. They bowed their heads to the upperclassman on monitoring duty and left the seminar room. They’d agreed to spend the night in their workshop, not the dorms—and so they raced down the corridors, the threat of encroachment present but no longer posing any danger.

“The moment the lecture began, you got your stride back. Nobody focuses like you. It was all I could do to keep up.”

“Th-that’s hardly true. I just keep racing on ahead, heedless, and you forcing us to turn back and take in the big picture really helped.”

“Oh? Then maybe we’re a good match as research partners. Maybe that’s why he said we had synergy.”

He hadn’t paid that comment much attention in their first visit but was nodding at it now. Katie watched his profile, feeling emotions welling up inside. As they lined up by the painting to the labyrinth, her lips parted.

“…Um…”

“Mm?”

“…Maybe a bit late for this, but I’m really glad you joined the seminar with me. If it was just me today…I bet I’d have been there till dawn.”

She knew just what she’d been like during the cram session. She knew that was a bad habit but had never been able to stop herself. Once she got her head buried in something, both pain and time disappeared. Pete had similar propensities, but he was nowhere near as bad as Katie got on certain subjects. More than once, a magical beast had torn her arm off, and all she’d done was stop the bleeding and go right back to making observations.

“And the whole time I was reading tír documents, I felt secure. When I’m studying on my own, I get lost in it, but with someone I can trust, like you or Guy, I know you’ll pull me back. S-sorry, that’s so weirdly dependent. I shouldn’t—”

Shame got the better of her, and she tried to walk it back, but Oliver shook his head, looking deeply relieved.

“There’s nothing strange about it. I’m glad I can play that role for you. Yeah, that works. While Guy’s gone, let me be your anchor.”

He smiled at her, like this thought filled him with joy. And when she saw that—the emotions swelling up inside Katie shot way over a threshold, trying to race off without her consent. Barely keeping them in check, she yelped his name.

“…Oliver!”

This was quite loud. He looked surprised, and she squeaked the next words out. As if she could barely stand to wait for them.

“…C-can I get…a hug?”

“…? Uh, sure…”

A modest request, and he spread his arms. As he did, Katie pulled him into an embrace. Feeling his warmth against the length of her. His scent, his weight. Something that hovered right there at her side, but with which she dared not make contact. Only allowing herself to accept the occasional overflow, desperately waiting for it like a desert waited for rain.

“…I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

“What for? We’ve had this free-hug policy for ages. If anything, you’ve held off on it for too long.”

He mussed up her hair as he spoke. Ordinarily, Oliver didn’t do this to her, even when they were hugging. A habit of his that Guy had unsuccessfully warned him of—but he knew Katie had always rather liked it. Now that he was filling in for Guy, he gave himself free reign.

“ ”

And in this moment alone, that unfettered expression of affection melted Katie’s restraints with terrifying ease. Appalling thoughts flooded her mind.

He would probably agree to anything she asked of him. An act akin to helping yourself to water from a well dug by your neighbor, diving into the communal spring waters with dirty boots on and scooping handfuls to your lips. But the boy before her would likely allow it all.

“…Haah! …Haah…”

“…You okay there, Katie? Your breathing’s kinda…”

Maddening—this impulse, this thirst. To her disgust, she was barely holding herself a half step away from acting upon it. Adoration, longing, and carnal desire melded into a single need, haloed by the inherently dicey instincts of a mage. A rejected part of her mind was screaming at her: Don’t you dare let him go. No matter the consequences, you must make him yours. You can’t let him get away. This is something you cannot live without.

It would get the best of her. That warning bell rang before her rationality slipped away, and Katie bit down hard on the flesh of her cheek.

Pain and blood followed, a harsh cure that woke her sanity up—this was little different from what Valois had done in the combat league. But it worked. While the pain distracted her, she freed herself from the embrace, prying her body from the warmth that tempted her heart astray.

She knew better than to let the blood escape her lips. She swallowed it all—and did her very best to plaster on a smile.

“…Thanks. I’m okay now,” Katie said. “Let’s go! They’re waiting for us at the base!”

With that, Katie spun around and leaped into the painting. Sensing something highly unstable in her act, Oliver followed, spurred by his own anxieties.

Once in the labyrinth, things were blessedly uneventful; they followed the shortest route to their workshop. Nanao, Pete, and Chela were already there; Oliver and Katie had lingered in that seminar far too long. As they stepped in, Chela gave them a warm smile.

“Welcome home! We’re all here at last.”

Oliver knew she’d stopped herself from adding except for Guy. She turned and started prepping tea, appearing for all the world as if she cared only about easing their fatigue.

“You’ve had a lot on your plates,” she told Oliver and Katie. “Once you’re ready for tomorrow, sit down and relax a moment. Of course, if you wish to go straight to bed, don’t let me stop you. Your beds are made and ready for you.”

“Oh, thanks, Chela. We’ll take you up on that.” Oliver smiled back, then glanced at Katie.

She’d babbled the whole time they were in the labyrinth, not letting him get a word in edgewise, but she’d clammed up the moment they’d stepped into the base. Something was clearly off. She was standing perfectly still just inside the door, eyes unfocused and aimed at empty space.

“Hrm—”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Nanao and Pete soon spotted it and put down their work. Chela broke away from her tea prep, swiftly running to Katie’s side.

“Katie? Are you okay? You don’t seem…”

“…Huh? N-no, I’m fine…”

She shook her head slowly, clearly unaware of her own condition.

Chela grabbed her hand. “I find that hard to believe. Let me have a look at you. This way.”

She pulled her into the back room. Katie didn’t resist, and the others watched them go with concern.

Chela sat Katie down on a bed and made to give her a thorough exam. The curly-haired girl’s answer a moment ago had felt off, so Chela started there.

“You have a cut inside your mouth? Open wide—let me see.”

Katie dithered a moment but soon opened her mouth. Chela was not surprised to see a lengthy cut on the right cheek. Natural mage healing had stopped the bleeding, but the cause of the wound was all too obvious.

“You…bit yourself?” Chela asked, frowning. “And rather forcefully. Why would you…?”

As she spoke, she drew her wand, healing the wound. This took no time at all, but Katie’s gaze remained unfocused, her condition unimproved. Surmising the root cause lay elsewhere, Chela looked the rest of her over.

“…Hmm. Your mana circulation’s a tad rapid and uneven. Your heart’s beating fast, your eyes dilated. But why, I wonder? These seem less like symptoms and more like a state of excitement that refuses to go away.”

Voicing her best diagnosis, Chela crooked her head. Katie appeared to be only half listening.

“Any clue why?” Chela asked. “Did you drink any potions?”

“…Potions? Oh… We downed a lot of focus potions at the seminar… Maybe that’s why…”

“At your seminar? Oh, I see. Upperclassmen likely brew them strong, reformulating them for extra effectiveness. If you went through a lot, I’d see why that would unsettle your physique. Still…”

That seemed a likely cause but did not fully explain her condition. Chela’s friends had suffered adverse effects from standard-issue potions before, but she had no memories of symptoms presenting like this. It was always possible an upperclassman had simply provided really potent potions, but in that case, Oliver should be suffering similarly. Leaving antidotes and bloodletting off the table for now, Chela probed further.

“…You seem to be suffering more than that. Your physical symptoms aren’t that strong, so I have to assume your mentality is a factor. Was there some strong stimulus? Something that rocked your emotions one way or the other?”

She had a hunch this was primarily emotional—and Katie visibly flinched. It took her a long time to speak.

“…Well…I’ve been with Oliver all this time…and…near the end…we hugged…”

“…Oh.”

Chela closed her eyes, nodding as the last piece fell into place.

Excessive focus potion intake had been merely the foundation. Close contact with Oliver in that condition had proved a trigger, putting her nervous system in a state of excitement that refused to subside. All spurred on by her recent mental instability and the brakes coming off her self-control. In other words, excitement and exhaustion had left her dazed and confused. With that diagnosis reached, Chela gave her a hug.

“Understood. I’m sorry for prying,” Chela offered. “But if we don’t do anything, you won’t be able to sleep tonight. And you’ve got an early morning tomorrow, right? If we use spells or potions to force you asleep, that’ll take its toll on you…”

Knowing the cause led to other concerns. Katie’s nerves were already so wound up. Antidotes or bloodletting would not have much effect. Knocking her out with a spell—she might as well just faint, meaning that was out of the question. So what would be effective against the symptoms?

Chela ran through her options and latched on to one.

“…Hmm…”

Not bad on the face of it. Arguably the ideal solution. It would help Katie recover and help Chela advance things toward her own goal—two birds with one stone. Convinced of that, Chela moved to put it into action. She let go of Katie, stood up, and spoke, keeping her voice ever so pleasant.

“I have an idea. Can you wait here a minute, Katie?”

“……?”

Katie managed a vague nod and watched Chela leave. Clueless as to what her friend’s idea might be or what it would involve.

The door opened softly, and Chela stepped out. All eyes converged on her.

“Well, Chela? How is she?” Oliver asked.

“Oliver, Nanao, join me a moment?”

She beckoned them toward the door to the other bedroom. This was the men’s side, used for sleeping and changing. Oliver and Nanao exchanged a glance, then went in ahead of her.

Chela shot Pete a meaningful look; catching her drift, he returned a slight nod. With that, Chela closed the door behind her, took a breath, and faced her friends.

“First, Katie’s condition. She was emotionally unstable to begin with, then overindulged in focus potions—she’s temporarily in a state of nervous excitement. That itself is no real concern. Her body will naturally restore itself if we wait—but she won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

The results of her examination left Oliver looking grim. Mages were accustomed to using focus potions when cramming, but he’d been aware of Katie’s condition—he should have stopped her from consuming that many. Sensing his regrets, Chela kept calm.

“With lingering fatigue, her recovery will be slow, and if she uses more potions to compensate for that, it could compound the issue. For that reason, I’d like to free her from the state and let her rest. Are we in agreement there?”

“Mm, naturally,” said Nanao.

“Oh yeah, of course, but…”

Oliver was slightly more hesitant than Nanao. He could tell this was leading up to something—which meant it was a proposition that would be difficult to accept without the preamble. Keeping a close eye on Oliver’s reactions, Chela proceeded with caution.

“That would be your healing, Oliver. There’s no better means of easing her excited nerves without burdening her physically. But I’m concerned that ordinary approaches would have little effect on a condition this extreme. I’d recommend a stronger tactic.”

Her loaded phrasing made a chill run down his spine. He hoped he was reading too much into it. He desperately hoped she did not mean what he thought she did.

Praying internally that he had leaped to a foolish conclusion, he had to ask, “…And…what do you mean by that, Chela?”

“Ideally, you will bring her to climax. If you’ll allow me to be blunt.”

Exactly the answer he’d feared, and it hit him like a brick. Nanao blinked, not immediately catching on. Reeling, Oliver took several steps sideways.

“…You want me…to get her off?”

“That is why I called Nanao in as well. Even I realize this will require you both to agree. What do you say, Nanao? Let me know your honest thoughts on Oliver handling Katie that way.”

By this point, Nanao had worked out what Chela was proposing. A privilege only she had enjoyed—would she allow Katie to join in on it? She got exactly why this question came to her. Oliver was staring at her profile, hoping she would protest—but she hesitated a long moment, then smiled.

“By all means. How could I object? If this is what Katie requires…”

“ !”

Oliver’s heart leaped to his throat. He was well aware one path to escape had been cut off.

“Understood,” Chela said, nodding. She turned to face him. “We have Nanao’s permission. The choice is yours, Oliver.”

He could not run from this question. His extremities went numb, and his throat was instantly parched, like he was breathing hot air. His mind was sluggish, but he forced it to form words.

“…Listen, Chela,” he faltered. “Guy…left Katie in my hands…”

“I am aware. That is why maintaining her condition falls to you. Am I out of line?”

“…You are not, in principle. Just—there are means we should avail ourselves of and means we should not. So that I may hold my head high and return her to Guy when he comes back. And you’re acting in full knowledge of that, right?”

His voice broke, unable to bottle up his emotions. Anger on his face, lashing back to a degree far beyond mere reluctance. Chela met this head-on, unwavering.

“Naturally. And in light of that, I believe this is a means we should take. And an act that is permitted within our ranks,” she said. “Take a step back from that. Why do you think Guy has been dutifully taking care of Katie all this time? Because he’s her friend and he loves her? That’s a given. But, Oliver, it was also meant to reduce the burden on you. So that Katie did not ask too much of you, to keep her from becoming unbalanced—he’s taken on that role this whole time, asking for no help from anyone.”

That was a gut punch. He knew all too well he could not refute it. Guy maintained his easygoing act but was always trying to help Oliver out, shouldering anything he possibly could. And inarguably, the biggest baggage he’d picked up was Katie. This should have fallen to Oliver. He’d admired the way she chose to come to Kimberly with views that were a minority here—and he’d been the first to push her along that path. But with large chunks of his attention diverted to Nanao and Pete, he lacked the capacity to properly look after her from close at hand. Guy had taken care of her for him all this time. No one had asked him to; he’d simply decided that was his role.

“If I could shoulder that burden, I would have long ago,” Chela added. “This is not because Katie and I are the same gender—rather, I am simply not you or Guy. Even within the Sword Roses, only the two of you have forged a relationship where this treatment would be possible. And with one option gone, only you can fill in. I trust you see the logic in this.”

Mercilessly making sense, she was pinning him down. And he knew this had been a chess gambit designed to corner him. She’d come in with a path to checkmate—and unless she made a false move, the outcome would not change. Naturally, she was laying the foundation to that end.

“And I’ll add this is not just tonight. Katie will remain unstable until Guy returns, and it’s highly possible she’ll need similar handling. Debating the merits of it each time would be fruitless—let us chart our course here, tonight. If we do this now, we will continue to do so. If we reject the idea, then we will not entertain it again. Which decision will you make, Oliver?”

That question was checkmate. She’d said everything she had to say and made the final choice his—objectively a fair approach. But Chela herself knew the reality was quite the opposite. Oliver could not say no here. He was not the kind of man who could let a friend suffer simply because he did not want to.

This lay deeper inside him than his own self-loathing, the nature that drove Oliver Horn. Chela did not know the specifics of what lay beneath that, but she knew what type of man her friend was. So she’d brought up his obligations to Guy, filled in the moat around Castle Oliver. She did not need to collapse the keep itself. He’d never had a resistance marshaled there.

With all arguments taken from him, Oliver stood in silence. Nanao put her arms around his shoulders.

“Oliver, let me join you,” she whispered.

“…Nana…o…?”

“I shall accompany you both. ’Tis an extension of what we’ve done so many times. My arms around Katie from behind as you hug us both. Thus, Katie will stop herself from asking anything of you.”

He gaped at her. Naturally, Nanao knew exactly what was going through his mind. But she was equally aware of how much Katie was suffering. Her friend’s desire had long been thwarted—and Nanao had grown enough in her time here to realize that it was she who had robbed Katie of that opportunity.

She did not believe that was justified. A furor yet simmered deep within Nanao’s heart. No matter how often their trysts, no matter how much she succumbed to them—to this day, a portion of her wanted nothing more than to lay her life against the one she loved. She was only too conscious of her inhumanity. Thus, she entertained no hopes. And deemed herself unfit to deny a friend her burning need.

It was downright ironic. If either one of them had been in their right mind, they’d have dismissed the proposition out of hand. But right here and now, in a merciless twist of fate, two warped souls each accepted Chela’s suggestion. Thus, it was checkmate. The ploy dreamed up by Chela—the witch named Michela McFarlane—proved a success.

“I think that’s a grand idea,” Chela said. “With Nanao nearby, expressing approval, Katie’s reluctance to accept treatment will fade away. If you’re in, we should handle this quickly. The longer we stand here, the less time Katie has to sleep.”

The victorious witch urged action, using logic as a shield. Already out of words to fight her, with Nanao’s eyes boring into him, Oliver listlessly nodded. Together, they set out. But as they left the room, he directed one last barb back at his friend.

“…Is this really the right choice, Chela?”

“Undoubtedly. I swear it upon my name.”

Her smile was free of any shadows. Much like Miligan’s when they first met.

The face of a true mage, Oliver thought as he shriveled up inside.

Katie had been waiting in the other bedroom, and two friends came to see her. Too dazed to pick up on the grim mood, she simply looked up at them.

“…Mm? Oliver and Nanao? Why are you both…? Where’s Chela?”

“…Katie, I know you’re in rough shape, but we need to talk.”

Oliver knelt down before her. Head down, not meeting her eyes. He was afraid to do so.

“You’re upset by Guy’s absence, and the focus potions compounded that—your nervous system’s all wired up and won’t settle down. Given the cause, spells and potions won’t be effective, and we’ve concluded the best solution would be healing arts. If you’re open to it, I’ll be taking care of that.”

It took a while for this explanation to filter down. His words echoed in her mind, and as she worked out what that meant, her pulse began to race. She addressed the top of Oliver’s head.

“You…treating me? Um, like…on my back?”

“Focusing there. Avoiding sensitive areas as much as possible. But…no matter where I touch you, the results will be much the same. We’ll be quelling your excitement by first raising it to the brink. In other words…bringing you to climax.”

Again, it took a while for this to sink in. Climax? To what? Her thoughts were worryingly dull. But she was not young enough to remain clueless forever. The context eventually led to her parsing the meaning behind the phrase. She stiffened up, then burst out laughing.

“…Ah-ha-ha-ha…! Oh, I must be dreaming. I knew something was wrong! You’d never talk about this with Nanao here.”

“’Tis no dream, Katie. Alas, I have made you suffer greatly.”

Nanao sat down on the bed next to her, pulling her close. And catching the fragrance steeped into her uniform, Katie was forced to admit this was really happening. Her smile froze, and her voice shook.

“…Y-you’ve gotta be kidding. If this isn’t a dream, then is it some sort of prank? Th-that’s a bit mean, really. Does it end when I agree? Will everyone come out and laugh…?”

“Not a single one of your friends would ever dream of doing anything that cruel to you. I don’t mean to rush you—take your time and choose. I’ll add that if you wait the night out, this should subside on its own. You likely won’t get a wink of sleep, but if you’d rather take that approach, that’s fine. I’ll stay up with you—to make up for this proposal.”

Oliver’s voice was tense. However, he would not let himself phrase that option as if he preferred it. He knew that would make her dig in and endure. But the grim tone he took was turning the screws on Katie—only now did she realized that this would happen if she wanted it.

“…N-no sleep would be rough, ah-ha-ha. I’ve got an early morning… J-just…? That doesn’t mean…”

“Enough, Katie,” Nanao said when Katie tried laughing it off. “You need not hold yourself back.”

Nanao tightened her embrace. Seeing Katie like this was sad and painful and made her want to cry. Feeling her heat against her, Nanao thought, How many trials has she endured for the sake of a friend as inhumane as I?

“I should have told you long ago—Oliver is not my possession. I never had a right to demand that of him, nor did I ever wish to take him from you. Thus…”

“…Eep…?!”

Nanao had run her fingers down Katie’s sides. Not her usual impish jab, but a tender caress, with foreplay as the intent. The stimulus made Katie shiver, and in her ear, Nanao breathed the last words to topple her fortress.

“…Myself included, tonight, we indulge. Should you care to join us.”

Too many thoughts and feelings were spinning in Katie’s head. This was so far beyond her understanding—and she’d long since run out of rope to restrain herself with. She should stop thinking and give herself over to this. There was nothing here to be afraid of. Just two close friends, thinking of her, loving her, and trying to comfort her. Whatever happened next, she need not worry about the outcome. On that one point, she was very clear.

Yet, another part of her was yelling that this could not be. There were a lot of reasons for that.

All that time you’ve spent with Guy, and the moment he leaves, you’re gonna turn right to Oliver and let him administer to your basest needs? How will you ever face Guy when he comes back after something that shameless? Why are you so unprincipled? Can you not just grin and bear it? Why can you not simply last out the night?

Another part of her whispered, Well, can you?

Can you refuse and wait out the night? Laying with Oliver, his touch spurned, Nanao offering you comfort? Wondering the whole night long what it would have been like to feel his hands on you? Or will you insist you can’t handle that and hole up in bed alone? The covers pulled over your head, unable to sleep, tormented by those exact same fantasies? Well aware Oliver lies asleep in the room next door? Imagining his sleeping face, his breath, his warmth? Wondering if he’d still touch you if you asked, though you’ve already chosen not to?

You can’t.

You’d never last the night. It’d drive you mad.

“…Ah…”

She had her answer. Not one riding the crest of her endlessly swelling urge, but a conclusion reached by her rational mind, even as the desire threatened to snuff it out. She realized that, from the start, she’d been laboring under a misapprehension. This had never been a choice. She was past that point already. She knew for a fact she could not refuse.

She heard Guy’s voice. Don’t push yourself. One hand on his hip, scoffing. Matching pace with her like a brother, with tender care—just like he always did.

Her eyes filled with tears. Was this a vision designed to comfort her, or was it how he really felt? Katie could no longer tell.

“……Please…touch me……”

“…Okay,” Oliver acknowledged with a metallic tone.

He drew his wand and cast a sound dampening spell on the door. Nanao slipped around behind Katie, not letting go of her. Oliver glanced at Katie—and began moving like a precision machine.

He knew just what to do. His hands knew all too well how to take care of this.

“I get why you thought that was the time, but actually putting that in action?” Pete said.

He and Chela were waiting in the living room while Katie’s treatment was underway. Pete sounded like he’d heard every word the trio had spoken, and Chela frowned at him. Then she saw the cicada-sized golem resting on his fingertip.

“…Will you stop that?” she said with a sigh. “Listening in on your friends’ conversations with golems! You knew I’d relay the contents to you afterward.”

“I could’ve waited but was a little worried—and I was right to be.”

He turned a page in the book he was reading. Chela pulled her wand and put a sound dampening spell on the door just in case, then moved over near him, arms folded.

“And what was wrong with it? My core stance is exactly like yours, Pete. Increase the bonds among the Sword Roses any way we can, make them as strong as possible, until our group cannot be broken. This moment was ripe to do just that, so I acted on it.” She put a hand to her chest, smiling. “Oliver and Nanao’s bond, Guy and Katie’s—each glad tidings. But two pairs in isolation is hardly enough. That alone still carries the threat of Oliver and Nanao fighting to the death, or Guy and Katie getting consumed by the spell together. That is why we need further chains connecting them laterally. Having multiple partners presents no issues here.”

Chela was quite firm on that. The idealization of monogamy was for ordinaries. Mages did not see things that way, and the Sword Roses need not be bound to it. Pete had long been in agreement there and nodded.

“I’m acting on that idea myself. Just be ready for the consequences,” he cautioned.

“…Namely?”

“You don’t know, huh? I thought as much. When you’ve got tunnel vision, you lose track of where the line is. Way worse than I do. Given your background, I imagined you would.”

He sighed and closed the book, putting it down. Then he stood up and faced Chela, looking right into her eyes, like he was persuading a child.

“Listen close. You talked Oliver into this not as a friend, but as a mage. You spun a web of logic and bent his will. That process is a bigger problem than the outcome. I did the same thing myself, so I’m not one to talk.”

Pete made a face, remembering his blunder. Chela shifted her gaze, at least somewhat aware.

“…If I didn’t, Oliver and Katie would never get any closer,” she countered. “They’ve been drawn to each other all this time, but neither one will let themselves act on the attraction. If we don’t push them across that line…”

“I know. Free hugs alone didn’t do the trick. Sounds like poly relationships are pretty common in mage circles, and boosting our physical intimacy sets the stage—or so you thought, but that proved optimistic, right?”

Her past actions revealed her motives.

“But it was partially effective!” Chela insisted. “Routine hugs normalized healing one another, and that lowered the hurdle to what they’re doing now. Without that foundation, the argument I just made would never have worked. I could push them here because we were already at the stage where this was normal—I only acted because I decided they were ready. I’m not rushing things!”

“I get where you’re coming from. But Oliver’s a tough customer. He’s got his own hang-ups.”

Pete shrugged, perfectly aware he’d not picked up on those until it was too late—so why would she? All he could do was prepare her for it. And when things did not go the way she expected, he would help her through it.

“You’ve blown past those this time. That’s why there’ll be consequences. You’ll soon see if I’m worried about nothing.”

With that, he sat back down and resumed his reading. It still didn’t make sense to Chela, but she took a seat herself, sipping her now-cold tea.

“…Hyaaaaa…!”

Katie let out a yelp. Nothing had even happened yet; Oliver’s fingers had just barely touched her sides.

That alone provoked a marked change in her current state. Like a balloon inflated to the bursting point, Oliver thought. This treatment would require delicacy. Even with his technical expertise, it would be no small task to let the air out without having her burst.

“…Mm…! Ah… Haah… Wahhh…!”

He began by lightly brushing her skin through her shirt. Getting her used to the sensation, then letting trace amounts of mana flow—intentionally in less effective locations. His hands went around her narrow waist, from her sides to her back, gradually expanding the range of his caresses. Nothing on the front yet. He was taking great care not to burden her weary body, just gently, easily stacking on the layers of pleasure.

“…How sweet, Katie. To hear you moan like this…”

“…Don’t…whisper in my ear, Nanao…! You’re driving me nuts…”

Nanao was backing Oliver from a different vector. They were in sync, even now, and Oliver had no idea how he was meant to feel about that. He chose not to think about it, focusing on the movement of his hands. He could drown in self-recriminations later—right now, he had to heal his friend. If this ended without achieving that goal, then he’d be useless. Calling him a filthy animal would far too mild.

“…Are you…crying, Oliver…?” Katie asked.

The last words he’d expected. It took a moment for him to even absorb what she’d said, then he felt a drop land on his arm—and realized tears were falling. His self-loathing threatened to overwhelm him.

What gives you the right to such tears? Or are these drops composed of the same stuff that goes in a golem? Axle grease or antifreeze? Perhaps you’ve truly broken down, a hole yawning open in your exoskeleton.

“Don’t mind me. I’m going a bit…nuts myself.”

He moved to the next stage of treatment. Trusting he need no longer keep her clothing in the way, he undid the buttons on her shirt and slid his hands inside.

This is nothing new. When was I last sane? That ended the night I harbored my mother’s soul. The path I’ve followed since is as twisted as my heart’s become—maybe this outcome was inevitable. Like with my mother, this moment is a turning point. The last night that I can be purely a good friend to Katie or Guy.

“…Ah… AH…… Aughhh…!”

Having built a stimulus foundation on her sides and back, he now moved his hands to the untouched frontiers in front. A finger slid beneath her skirt, down her lower abdomen, and tracing the top of her shorts. He need not invade those. However, from here on out, it was all erogenous zones. His right fingers pressed against her womb, injecting mana hard, while his left fingertip spun within her navel.

“……~~~~~~~~!!!!!!!!”

The dams burst, and a wave of pleasure coursed through Katie like an electric current. A single orgasm was not the end—leaving gaps timed to the second, he repeatedly stimulated both womb and navel. A chain of crests built upon a careful foundation.

As her body bucked, Nanao gently cradled her. Katie was tensed up for the better part of a minute before it all drained away. Feeling certain he’d brought her to a flawless finish, Oliver moved his gaze up her limp body to Nanao, who was smiling down at Katie.

“That was a big one,” she said. “How did you like it, Katie?”

“ ……”

No answer came. Katie basked in the afterglow, her mind lost in that light. A sign the treatment had worked, overcoming any resistances. Her nervous condition had been neatly resolved; by the time her mind returned, she’d feel far better, as if born anew. That may not arrive until after a good night’s sleep.

Oliver pulled his hands back out of her clothing and stood up. A wave of fatigue hit him, like his shoulders were made of lead. It almost crushed him, and he could barely speak.

“…My part here is done. Sorry, Nanao…can you…?”

“I can. I’ll join you when it is finished. Clear your mind as best as you can and wait for me, Oliver.”

In response to her kindness, he turned his back and walked away, almost crawling out of the room. When he stepped through the door, Chela and Pete both rose to greet him.

“…All done? Good,” said Pete.

“How is Katie faring?” Chela asked.

The obvious question. Not looking up, Oliver managed an answer.

“She’s recovered. Just like you wanted.”

Without meeting Chela’s eye, Oliver turned and headed for the other bedroom. He did not want to exchange another word. His stiffened shoulders made that clear, and yet she tried to follow.

“Wait, Oliver. Can we talk—?”

“Don’t touch me!”

A vehement rejection. He had never directed anything this harsh her way, and Chela froze—but before she could recover, Oliver was through the door. Her outreached hand caught only air. Sighing, Pete moved to her side; this was exactly what he’d feared would happen.

“Yep, he’s pissed… Can you handle it, Chela?”

“…How could I?”

Tears were spilling down her cheeks. Without another word, Pete wrapped his arms around her.

In hindsight, this was the only possible outcome. She’d achieved her goal as a mage—and, in return, deeply scarred a friend.