Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 1 - Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Eyelash Mechanics

“Argh, I swear… What is the prince thinking?” muttered Cyril Ashley as he looked over the documents from the reference room.

Felix hadn’t ordered him to carry out a review. The other student council members had already returned to their dorms. Cyril had taken it upon himself to stay and look through them because he couldn’t bring himself to trust Monica Norton.

The prince had said she’d reviewed all past documents, but there was no way she could have done that in the few hours between lunch break and the end of classes. It must have been a mistake—and so Cyril was in a frenzy, searching for any signs that Monica had done a sloppy job.

Unfortunately, the more he reviewed, the more he came to realize that Monica’s review had been perfect. She’d pointed out very minor numerical mistakes that even Cyril would have overlooked. At this point, he had to acknowledge her ability for calculations was incredible, but…

“…I still don’t like it.”

How dare that girl ignore Felix—the second prince himself—when he was speaking to her and look at documents instead! It was a slight against royalty!

He grew irritated, recalling the scene. But as he was cleaning up the papers, he suddenly noticed something.

…The numbers, they’re written like…

All those imperfections Monica had discovered—he got the feeling they’d increased after a certain year.

And Cyril had an idea as to whose handwriting it was on the added lines. The numbers were written with a rightward slant—very common for a left-handed person.

…Could it be? No, but wait, that’s not…

Cyril checked the documents several more times, then stood up without a word. He needed an answer to this question. With the documents in hand, he left the student council room and headed for…

“……?”

In front of the student council room door, Cyril came back to his senses. What had he just been doing?

Oh, right. I needed to lock up and go return the council room key to Mr. Thornlee. The key was in his hand. But as he looked down at it, he felt something was off.

He hadn’t been holding a key but some sort of documents. Then he remembered—yes, something about the documents had caught his eye, and so he’d…

“……”

Suddenly, his head started to sting. Cyril put a hand to his temple and leaned against the wall. He must have been tired. He’d probably zoned out because of that.

…Maybe I should go to sleep early tonight.

Still holding his throbbing head, he started walking toward the faculty room.

* * *

“What is the meaning of this?! How could you, the shame of our family, become a student council member?! I want the truth right now! How did you manage to ingratiate yourself to the prince?!”

The one shouting was Isabelle Norton, noble daughter of Count Kerbeck. Her voice resounded both through the room and down the hallway. Then she threw her teacup to the floor. The sound of the porcelain shattering made Monica gasp in fear.

Isabelle then picked up a stuffed animal at her bedside, swung it around, and slammed it into the wall. Bumph, bumph came the muffled noises.

“And just what is that defiant expression?! I see you don’t understand your position here! In that case, I’ll have to remind you of your place!” said Isabelle, slamming the stuffed animal into the wall with all her strength.

Then, with a refreshed expression, she wiped the sweat off her brow. Her face was filled with accomplishment, like a craftsman who had just finished a job.

“How was that for a villainess?” she asked.

“Um, u-um…,” stammered Monica.

Then Isabelle’s maid Agatha, who had been cleaning up the broken teacup, smiled and nodded. “That was wonderful, Lady Isabelle! You played the part to perfection!”

“Didn’t I? Didn’t I?! That last line—‘I’ll have to remind you of your place’—that was from the latest book!”

“Eee! Yes, I remember that! The count’s daughter lifts her fork, intending to injure the heroine’s face, and then the prince swoops in and saves her!”

“That’s the scene! It was just so, so wonderful!”

Monica, who couldn’t keep up with the excited chatter between Isabelle and her maid, took a tiny sip of the black tea they’d prepared for her. “U-um… Actually breaking the teacup, it seemed…like a little much…,” she stammered, glancing at the remaining fragments.

Isabelle puffed out her chest. “That’s no problem at all. In fact, it was already cracked! I stocked up on defective dinnerware for this exact purpose!”

“I… I see…”

“The key is to get the sound to echo, so instead of using a rug, I have to throw it onto a hard floor!”

As Isabelle detailed her pointlessly elaborate performance, Agatha gave a full smile and clapped her hands. “Simply wonderful, my lady! You’re a true performer!”

The night of her appointment as student council accountant, Monica had gone to her coconspirator Isabelle’s room and filled her in on the development. She had figured since they were on this mission together, it would be best to share information.

But as soon as she had shared the news, Isabelle practically jumped into the air, as excited as if she’d been appointed herself, and quickly invited Monica to a tea party in celebration.

The affluent Isabelle not only had her own private room but three maids with her. The youngest was Agatha, who was apparently her reading buddy. She was happily cooperating with Isabelle’s pretend villainess act, as well.

I-is she really fine with her own mistress playing the villain?

Monica could not understand how they were both having so much fun with this.

Anyone who happened to pass by this room would get the mistaken impression that Isabelle was chastising or punishing her. Wouldn’t that lower Isabelle’s reputation?

Paying this no mind, Isabelle returned the stuffed animal to its original location, then sat herself back down in an extremely elegant manner.

“Now then,” she began. “Monica, my sister, congratulations on your new post as student council accountant. To be chosen for the council within just two days of enrolling is… Oh, I knew you were special!”

As Isabelle put a hand to her cheek and chattered excitedly, Agatha shot a glance toward the hallway and put her finger to her lips. “My lady, shh! They’ll hear you out in the hallway if you’re too loud.”

“Oh! Yes, that’s right. Then please excuse my whispering… Really, though, congratulations. I am as happy as if it had happened to me.”

Monica, pointlessly toying with her cup, said in a weak voice, “Thank you…”

Isabelle gracefully brought her cup to her lips and took another sip of black tea before offering an elegant smile. Her behavior now, and her tasteful smile, seemed to belong to a completely different person than the one who had just been swinging that stuffed animal around.

“My sister, should anything at all trouble you during your time here at the academy, you need only tell me. While I may be acting as the villainess and doing a magnificent job at impeding you, I will always be supporting you from the shadows.”

Impeding me but supporting me? What is that supposed to mean…? thought Monica, nodding vaguely. Isabelle’s reaction to the news had already given her a headache, but her classmates would be a much more serious issue. If they learned that she had joined the student council, what would they do to her? She started trembling, even though it wasn’t cold, and sipped more of her tea.

Isabelle’s eyes stopped on Monica’s head. “Come to think of it, your hair… It’s different from when I saw you before.”

“Um, this is… A girl in my class, um, did it for me…”

“Well, it’s very cute. And it suits you well! …Agatha, please style my hair to match!”

“We can’t do that,” chided Agatha with a smile at Isabelle’s plea. “The villainess can’t match her hairstyle to that of the girl she torments, as if they were friends.”

Isabelle groaned, disappointed. “Well then, in that case, let’s do it on a holiday, when nobody is watching!”

“Yes, my lady. When the time comes, I shall do my utmost to give both of you adorable matching hairstyles.”

Excited, Isabelle exclaimed, “Then it’s a promise!”

As she watched their exchange, Monica thought about Lana. Isabelle had been overjoyed at her appointment as accountant, but that was because Isabelle was her coconspirator. Most people would think she was acting far above her station, wouldn’t they? Even Lana, who had braided her hair—if she found out about the appointment, would she come to hate Monica for showing off?

…I don’t want that.

From the perspective of her mission, Monica should have been overjoyed at becoming a council member. She kept telling herself that. But when she imagined Lana glaring at her with cold eyes, she didn’t feel happy in the slightest.

* * *

Just as she had expected, the day after she was appointed student council accountant, Monica was showered with curious looks from the moment she left her dorm room. Eyes followed her from the hallway into the classroom—it seemed the news had already made the rounds.

As she sat down in her seat and started pointlessly rearranging her writing utensils, she thought back to the events of the previous day.

Yesterday had been tumultuous to say the least. Elliott had summoned her, then ordered her to find the culprit behind the flowerpot incident. While on that mission, she’d fallen down the stairs and met a beautiful girl in the music room. And then, once she’d figured out who had dropped the flowerpot and joyfully reviewed the student council’s accounting records, she had somehow wound up being named the council’s new accountant.

As the one charged with Felix’s protection, becoming accountant had been an amazing stroke of luck. But with how much she hated standing out, Monica just couldn’t be happy about it.

Up until today, her classmates had seen her as a country bumpkin, and their stares had been ones of derision. But now she could plainly see the shift to envy and malice. The hatred stabbed into her skin like knives. Whispered voices were colored by irritation and ridicule.

I want to go home…, she thought, half crying, until all of a sudden, someone tapped her shoulder. Monica nearly jumped out of her skin and started trembling. She was too scared to turn around. She was probably being called out. Whoever it was would ask to speak with her behind the school building and then pour water all over her… She’d almost started crying when the person gave a yank on her braid.

“Hey. So it’s back to your old hairstyle again?”

It was Lana, glaring at her with discontent. She had all her makeup on today, as always, with intricately styled hair and colorful hair ornaments.

Monica, on the other hand, had been so depressed about coming to school that morning that she’d had no motivation at all to practice the new hairstyle. At times like this, she got even sloppier about her appearance, and her braids were more disheveled than usual.

Seeing Lana frown in displeasure, Monica immediately apologized. “I’m—I’m sorry, I just… I couldn’t practice like I, um, wanted to, and…”

“Does it have to do with getting taken to the student council room yesterday?”

“……”

“I heard a rumor that you’d become a student council member. That’s a joke, right?”

Monica had removed the pin signifying her status as a council member and put it in her pocket. Her hand unconsciously moved to press against it through the cloth.

Lana puffed up her lips in a pout. “What? Don’t want to talk to me anymore?”

“N-no… No! It’s… I, well…”

As Monica mumbled, eyes downcast, Lana continued to stare at her. Monica was certain she’d made her unhappy, and she sat there in quiet depression.

Then Lana suddenly spoke up. “…I, well, yesterday…”

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t the one who pushed you or anything, but I was the one who provoked Caroline, so… I’m, er… You’re not…hurt, are you?”

Oh, right. Monica remembered. She’d been caught up in an argument between Caroline and Lana yesterday and had ended up falling down the stairs. To be honest, between investigating crimes and reviewing all those accounting books, she’d completely forgotten about it. But it seemed to have been on Lana’s mind the entire time.

“…Thank…thank you. Um, I’m not…hurt. I’m just fine.”

Lana gave a “hmph.” Her cheeks were just a little red. As if to distract from it, she pushed up her flaxen hair and took out a comb. “Well, we can’t leave you looking like this. I’ll have to fix your hair again.”

“…Heh-heh.”

“What are you laughing about?! Hurry up and learn for yourself!”

“…Yes. I will.” Monica nodded, feeling oddly happy.

“Oh? So your friend did your hair yesterday, huh?”

The voice was soft and sweet, and Monica had heard quite enough of it yesterday.

Lana froze in surprise. And it wasn’t just her—everyone else in the classroom was focused on the newcomer as well.

Monica finally turned around, face stricken, and locked eyes with Felix, who stood there smiling. His soft blond hair glittered in the morning sun, and his blue eyes seemed filled with mystery. The girls in class all started squealing over his handsome features.

The more discriminating among them didn’t make any noise but still looked at him with enraptured, passionate gazes. Lana was no exception—though she was shocked, Felix’s beauty had charmed her as well.

“Morning.”

“Good…g-good mrowning—mph!”

“Sorry for barging in so early like this. I wanted to give you a copy of the student council member schedule.”

Felix’s words sent a stir through their surroundings. Even Lana looked at Monica, eyes wide.

…I want to disappear.

Monica’s face resembled that of a corpse as Felix handed her a piece of paper with the schedule written on it, then took his finger and ran it along her collar. “Oh? Where is your pin? Did you take it off?”

“Oh, um, uh…”

Monica turned her head to the side to avoid the question, but he took her chin and forced her to look straight ahead. “Why not take it out?”

Terrified, she took out her council member pin. He plucked it from her hand, then personally affixed it to her collar. “You have to keep it on, all right? You’re a member of the prestigious student council, so you must always look the part.”

Ah, I don’t want to be on the student council. But for this bodyguard mission, I have to.

Still, the stares from those around her were so painful.

…I’m scared!

And now Felix was right next to her—way too close. To try and escape from reality, she started counting his eyelashes. One, two, three, four… His eyelashes were a slightly deeper color than his hair and startlingly long. How many matchsticks could sit across them? Two… No, you might even be able to get three on there.

As she counted the eyelashes, she simultaneously started thinking about how many lashes would be needed to support the weight of a matchstick. The strength of each individual lash, their relative density, and their angle were all important.

As she became lost in her escapist fantasy, the long eyelashes in front of her lifted, and those blue eyes flashed mischievously. “You’re staring quite a lot. Why is that?”

“…M-m-m-matchsticks…”

“Hmm?”

“I was thinking about the optimal eyelash angle for supporting a matchstick!”

Every one of her classmates, who had been watching the scene with bated breath, suddenly froze. Lana paled and began stammering, “Wait, n-no… You—you foolish…”

But Felix only chuckled, his shoulders bobbing, and released Monica’s collar. “You should have your friend do your hair—it was very cute yesterday. The ribbon suited you well.” He lightly stroked her hair with a finger, then gave her a wink. “I’ll see you after school. In the student council room.”

Leaving her with that, Felix exited the classroom. Monica looked down and let out a long breath. She was tired. It was only morning, and she was already so tired. She wanted to go back to her room right now and hide under the covers…

As Monica was thinking that, Lana took out various combs and hairpins and laid them on the desk. Her eyes were practically sparkling.

“U-um…?” said Monica, frightened, looking up at Lana.

Huffing excitedly, Lana readied her combs. “My skills have been acknowledged by the prince… I can’t send you to him with anything less than a masterpiece… Prepare yourself, for I am about to give you the number one cutest hairstyle trending in the capital!”

Monica was honestly overjoyed that Lana didn’t hate her now that she was a student council member—but she was also a little scared of the fire blazing in her eyes as she held those combs.

“I’ll take the one from yesterday, please!” exclaimed Monica as their teacher, Mr. Victor Thornlee, entered the classroom.

For a moment, she thought she saw him glare at her from behind his glasses. Monica was especially sensitive to the malice of others, and her shoulders shook at the feeling. Mr. Thornlee averted his eyes, then fussily tapped on the lectern.

“Everyone, take your seats,” he said. “I have an announcement. A student from our class, Lady Selma Karsh, has returned home due to a sudden illness.”

The classroom began to murmur. It was still fresh in everyone’s memories how Aaron, Selma’s fiancé, had left school for the same reason. A few girls particularly prone to gossip began speculating with abandon:

“Wasn’t she really depressed about what happened to Aaron?”

“It couldn’t have been attempted suicide, right?”

“Oh no, how terrifying!”

Mr. Thornlee cleared his throat. After looking around at the students, he continued. “As such, I will be selecting a new class health officer to take her place.”

While she listened to Mr. Thornlee, Monica was thinking to herself. So they really are keeping the truth a secret from her classmates… But then, why…?

A little question bloomed in her mind. Their goal was to bury the academy’s scandal so that none of the students, save the council, would ever know about it.

Then why had Selma Karsh known about Aaron O’Brien being convicted for his misdeeds?

Aaron O’Brien had been out of his mind when they’d taken him away, and Selma Karsh had been in a similar state when she’d insisted on Aaron’s innocence. Their actions simply didn’t add up, and it made Monica awfully curious.

* * *

Classes had ended for the day, and Monica was standing in front of the door to the student council room. Once again, she checked over her appearance. Her uniform was fine, her gloves were fine, and her hair had been properly re-braided by Lana.

She took a deep breath, in and out, then raised her hand to knock on the door…and lowered it back to her side again. She’d been doing the same thing over and over for some time now. That was the tenth deep breath she’d taken so far.

Standing in front of the door, taking deep breath after deep breath—she was the very image of a “suspicious person.” It was her mission to eliminate all suspicious people near the second prince, but sadly, the most suspicious one was her.

Okay. This time. This time…, she thought, firming up her resolve and raising her hand again.

“Ummm, are you all right?” came a voice from behind her.

Monica was so startled that she leaped forward, smacking her forehead against the door. Owww, she thought, holding her forehead and shaking.

The owner of the voice bowed apologetically. “Oops! I’m sorry for surprising you like that. Um, you were standing there for a long time, just breathing, so I thought maybe you weren’t feeling well…”

The speaker was a boy with light-brown hair. He was a little on the short side and seemed young, but his scarf’s color indicated he was in the same year as Monica. And like her, he wore a student council pin on his lapel.

…He’s a council member, too?

Come to think of it, she did remember several people in the reference room the day before. However, she’d been so absorbed in the numbers that she’d barely looked at anything else. She started to fidget.

The boy gave an elegant bow befitting a noble. “You’re Monica Norton—our new accountant, right? I’m Neil Clay Maywood, the officer of general affairs. Pleased to meet you. We’re the only second-years on the council, so I hope we can get along.”

Neil followed up with a bashful smile—clearly, he was a good-natured person. That’s a relief, thought Monica, quietly breathing a sigh. Deep down, she’d been terrified the other council members would hate her, but here was someone nice already. Maybe I’ll be able to do this after all…, she thought, relieved.

At that exact moment, they heard an angry exclamation from behind them. “How long are you going to be talking in front of the door?!”

Monica’s shoulders jerked. She turned around and saw the silver-haired Cyril Ashley, vice president of the student council, crossing his arms and glaring at her. He tipped his slender chin up into the air, stared, then said bitterly, “Monica Norton. Have you noticed that your prolonged nonsense is keeping me from getting inside?”

Apparently, Cyril had seen her taking all those deep breaths in front of the door.

“Um, Vice President…,” ventured Neil. “Were you watching this whole time?”

Cyril turned his glare on Neil, and the boy, who seemed weak-willed, quickly shut his mouth. The vice president gave a derisive snort, then looked back to Monica. “I don’t know what you did to butter up the prince, but I, for one, do not acknowledge you as a council member,” he growled, opening the door.

Neil beckoned Monica inside, and she nervously followed after them.

Three people were already seated in the room. Felix, the president, sat at the desk in the middle. A droopy-eyed young man was at a separate conference table—Elliott, one of the secretaries. Also at the conference table was a beautiful girl with blond hair doing clerical work.

O-oh, she’s… That intense beauty was unforgettable—it was the girl who had been playing the piano in the music room. I guess she’s a council member, too…

The beautiful girl didn’t even glance in Monica’s direction; she simply kept her feather pen moving in silence. As Monica was wondering whether to say something, Felix spoke up, voice calm. “Looks like we’re all here.”

At that, everyone naturally gravitated toward the conference table—leaving open the seats at the head and foot of the table. The seat next to Neil, the foot, was probably Monica’s. Felix gestured for her to take it, as he himself took his seat at the head.

“Now then. As I explained yesterday, I have appointed Lady Monica Norton as our new accountant to replace Aaron O’Brien. We’ll do self-introductions; I’ll start. I am Felix Arc Ridill, student council president.”

Once Felix had given his name, the others had to follow suit. Cyril’s face scrunched up bitterly as he spoke. “…I’m Cyril Ashley, the vice president.”

The hostility in his voice was directed straight at Monica. She cowered as Elliott casually raised a hand.

“I already introduced myself yesterday, but I’m Elliott Howard, one of the secretaries.”

At a glance, his attitude seemed approachable and familiar, but his droopy eyes were observing her coolly.

Once Elliott was done, the beautiful girl Monica had met in the music room the previous day took her turn. “I’m Bridget Greyham, the other secretary,” she said flatly, not turning to look at Monica. Finished with her brief self-introduction, she put her folding fan up to her mouth and fell silent.

Finally, Neil made his introduction, a little embarrassed, from where he sat beside her. “I’m Neil Clay Maywood, officer of general affairs…even though I just introduced myself, ah-ha-ha.” Neil’s feigned laughter did nothing to loosen the tension in the room.

As if to improve the mood, Felix continued. “Then the last one is Lady Monica Norton. Please introduce yourself.”

Oh, why did she keep having to introduce herself lately? She was so bad at it. She wanted to get up right now and run away. But if I did that, Louis would scold me. Louis would scold me…and he’s scary, really scary…

She envisioned Louis Miller in her mind. What’s this, my fellow Sage? Can you not even say your own name properly? Ha-ha-ha. Your voice is like the cry of a cicada on the verge of death. Whenever did a cicada join the Sages? If you are too incompetent, they will think I am incompetent as well. If you understand, then straighten up and be a human, Cicada Girl.

Just imagining it almost made her want to cry. She sniffled. Then, with a weak voice, she introduced herself.

“…I’m…M-Monica Norton…”

She’d said it. She’d said it! She’d stammered a little, but she had done much better than usual.

But someone at the table didn’t seem to agree.

“How unsightly.”

It was Bridget, the secretary. She set her amber eyes on Monica and, keeping her fan covering her mouth, continued. “I have never heard of a student council member who couldn’t even say her name properly.” As Monica’s shoulders trembled, Bridget turned her cold stare to Felix. “Your Royal Highness, I question this girl’s qualification to stand before others. I ask that you reconsider before it damages the reputation of this council.”

As always, Felix’s smile was gentle—his eyes narrowed somewhat, almost amused. “Does my selection not satisfy you?”

“It does not.” Bridget nodded. She was firm, apparently seeing no need for fear or flattery toward the prince. “Are there not others here who think the same?”

Cyril was the first one to react. He stood from his seat, clenched his fist, and pleaded his case. “Sir, I am of the same opinion as Secretary Greyham. Please reconsider! To put someone at your side who has disrespected you is simply…”

Elliott watched Cyril’s emphatic speech with amusement, while Neil seemed to be at a loss for what to do. Through it all, however, Felix’s calm smile never faltered. But though his lips smiled, his blue eyes shone coldly.

“If Lady Norton has committed some sort of misconduct,” said Felix, “then the responsibility for it falls upon me for appointing her. If that ever happens, you have my word that I will step down as student council president.”

That remark shocked the other council members, but the most surprised of all was doubtlessly Monica.

Wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wait! Wait, wait, wait! To be honest, she couldn’t see herself not messing up. She would definitely mess up. She knew she would. Outside of numbers, she was hopeless. A failure—worse than mediocre.

As she sat there and started to shake, Felix lightly clapped his hands. “I think that about wraps it up. Cyril, I’d like you to show Lady Norton the ropes of the accounting job right away,” he instructed.

Cyril opened his mouth to speak—dissatisfaction plain on his face. But he swallowed his objection down and reluctantly nodded. “…As you say, sir.” As he raised his head, he leveled a glare at Monica. His eyes glistened with hostility.

Of all people, why is it him teaching me my job?! Trembling madly, Monica looked up at Felix. “E-e-e-excuse, excuse me… Why—why the vice president?”

“Cyril was the accountant before he assumed his current role.” Felix paused, peering at Monica’s face in what seemed like amusement. “Did you perhaps want me to teach you instead?”

“No, I was just, um, thinking maybe someone, um, closer in age…”

In other words, Neil—the one who seemed most pleasant and harmless.

“I see,” said Felix, giving a gentle smile. “Cyril will keep you from slacking.”

Monica whimpered.

* * *

“The beginning and end of the month are the busiest times for an accountant,” said Cyril. “I’ve made a list of all your responsibilities, so you’d better memorize it.”

Cyril Ashley’s attitude toward Monica was blatantly aggressive, but he did a good job of explaining her tasks. She was curious about one thing, though—he’d placed a large glass on the table. Between parts of his explanation, he would chant a short incantation and drop one or two pieces of ice into the empty glass.

She was understandably curious about this, so once Cyril’s description had reached a break, she nervously asked, “U-um… That ice… What do…you use it for?”

“It’s for shoving into your mouth every time you make a mistake.”

“Eep.”

Cyril fiddled with his broach—maybe a nervous habit—and dropped another piece of ice into the vessel.

Suddenly, Monica noticed something. She could feel a chill from around Cyril—the kind of chill that came with ice mana. But the chill was suppressed while he created the ice pieces.

Wait… Could that be why he’s doing it?

After finishing his explanation of the basics, Cyril shook the ice-filled glass a bit and snorted, sounding displeased. “Hmph. If you had been slow to learn, I would have jammed these right into your mouth…but it seems that won’t be necessary.”

Was that Cyril’s version of a passing grade?

“If you have time to be distracted, spend it looking at the documents instead.”

“Y-yes, sir, I’m sorry…!”

Flustered, Monica began skimming the papers. Her task itself wasn’t actually very complicated. Before coming here, she’d worked with things like financial records, revenue and expenditure records, product sales changes, and population reports—if it had to do with numbers, she’d had a hand in it. Compared with all that, this wasn’t much work.

As she read through the documents, she stole a glance at Cyril. During his explanation, he’d been collecting the old accounting records.

“Um, are those…the records that, um, I reviewed?” she asked nervously.

Cyril sniffed. “Yes. I’m getting them all together for Mr. Thornlee to review tonight. He agreed to look them over while he was on the night shift.”

“I-I’m sorry!” apologized Monica reflexively.

He scowled at her, confused. “What are you apologizing for?”

“You h-have more, um, unnecessary work to do because, um, I reviewed…all the old records…don’t you?”

The day before, Monica had been so thrilled to work with numbers again that she’d gone through every past document. Because of that, she now felt bad for giving Cyril and Mr. Thornlee more work.

Cyril glared at her. “This isn’t unnecessary work. It’s quite necessary. Why are you so timid all the time anyway?”

“U-um, um… I, well…”

“You’ve already won the prince’s trust, you know. You can be proud of that. Why do you insist on being so overly humble?”

Those were words that Monica was used to hearing.

Why do you humble yourself so much?

You should be proud of your talents.

If you put yourself down, what are those even less skilled supposed to think?

Every person Monica knew had told her something like that. And their expressions made it clear they struggled to understand—just like Cyril now.

“The prince has chosen you. Acknowledged your talents. Why aren’t you proud of it?”

Don’t be overly modest. Don’t put yourself down. Have confidence. You’re talented… When she’d learned to use magecraft without chanting, she’d been told such things endlessly.

But Monica could never, ever nod and go along with it.

She wasn’t rejecting those who did have pride in themselves—having pride in something was good. It was wonderful to be able to have confidence in your own talents. If that was something Monica could do, she would have done it.

But it wasn’t, and she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry…,” she muttered, shaking her head slowly. “I just can’t…can’t have pride in myself…no matter what. I just…can’t.”

Back when she’d gone to Minerva’s, there had been only one person she was able to call her friend. A young man who was always trying to help the shy Monica. He would practice chanting with her since she couldn’t speak well in front of others. It had made Monica happy.

…But when she learned how to cast spells without chanting and began to be lauded as a genius, that friendship had broken apart.

You’ve been looking down on me this whole time, haven’t you?

No, she had said. No—but her words hadn’t reached him.

Monica had graduated from Minerva’s and become one of the Seven Sages without ever making up with him. Even now, it remained a bitter memory, a lump in her heart.

As she hung her head, Cyril’s face tightened into a scowl, and his lips turned down in displeasure. “I hate the word can’t.”

“…I’m sorry.” Monica could only look down and apologize in response to Cyril’s denunciation.

Someone once said talent could be a curse. That was the case for Monica. It took everything she wanted away from her—both her father and her friend.

“…Oh, and as for another matter,” remarked Cyril casually as Monica tensed up, afraid of what might come next.

“This is about how you fell from the landing on the stairs yesterday.”

“…Ah, that’s, um…”

Caroline and Lana had gotten into an argument, and Caroline had pushed Lana into Monica. But Monica had thought the matter was resolved after she claimed to have fallen accidentally. Perhaps Cyril intended to scold her for her carelessness. She shuddered.

Cyril’s expression turned severe. “I questioned students who had been nearby at the time, and I got a grasp on the situation. I’ve ordered Caroline Simmons, the assailant, to submit a letter of apology and gave her a stern warning.”

“…Huh?”

Monica’s eyes went wide—she didn’t understand what Cyril was talking about. Caroline was the noble daughter of an elite family. That was why she’d been so confident at the time. She knew her social status made her impervious to criticism. If Monica tried to accuse Caroline, Lana would end up taking the blame. That was why Monica had given up on telling the truth and had instead attempted to resolve the situation by saying the fall was her own fault.

“…You questioned…them?”

“How else would I get an accurate and objective understanding of the situation?” Cyril was acting like she’d just asked him what two plus two was. “Anyway, you need to give a truthful and accurate account next time something like that happens! Your poor attempt at a lie made more work for me! No more false reports!”

Monica’s mouth hung open as she blankly stared at Cyril. She hadn’t thought anyone would listen to her, no matter what she’d said. That was why she’d given up right away and stayed silent.

So people like this do exist… Surprised and refreshed, she looked up at Cyril.

He raised his eyebrows as he continued to glare at her. “Are you listening to me, Monica Norton?!”

“Oh, um, yes… I, w-well…” As she twiddled her thumbs and tried to stammer out the next words, someone tapped Monica on the shoulder.

“How are things going here?”

She looked back to see Felix smiling pleasantly at her.

Cyril answered immediately and succinctly. “I’ve explained all the usual tasks, including those at the beginning and end of the month. All that remains is to explain school events.”

“Ah yes. We do have the chess tournament and the school festival before winter break. You can explain those to her gradually.”

“Yes, sir.” Cyril nodded.

Felix glanced at the glass on the desk and casually picked it up. The ice pieces clunked against one another. After a moment, he said, “Are you not feeling well, Cyril?”

“No problems here, sir.”

“Oh? Well, that’s fine… Don’t overdo it, though.”

What were they talking about?

When Lord Ashley creates ice, does that mean he’s not feeling well? she mused. The chill he naturally emanated, the ice he’d gone to the trouble of creating and dropping in the glass, the broach he toyed with like a nervous habit…

Actually, Monica had an idea that made sense of all of it. Wait, could he…?

As she gazed at Cyril’s broach, fingers reached in from the side and poked her in the face. She looked over; Felix was squishing her cheek, apparently enjoying himself. “Don’t look just at Cyril. Look at me, too.”

“I… I-I-I’m so-sor…”

“How dare you! Your attitude besmirches His Royal Highness’s honor!”

“I’m s-s-s-sorr…,” stammered Monica, half crying.

Cyril pounded the desk with a fist. “Speak clearly!”

“I! I’m! I’m—I’m…sorr…”

“I don’t remember asking you to add staccato!”

“Cyril, please don’t bully her too much, all right?” chided Felix as Cyril shouted angrily.

The latter’s face sharpened. “I am not bullying her, sir! This is discipline!”

“Discipline is the pet owner’s job, right? Which means it’s my job.”

Monica felt like he’d just casually stripped her of her human rights. For now, she decided to escape from reality by counting the number of Felix’s eyelashes.