Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 4.5 - Chapter 3.1

Case 3 - The Tynic's Melancholy - The Musician Playboy and Rumors about the Old Dorm-

“Ah, what beauty graces mine eyes! To you, I dedicate this song.”

Benjamin Mording began to play the violin in his hands.

The piece, originally composed for the piano, had been written as a blessing for lovers everywhere. Performing it on a violin demanded a high level of expertise. Some would play it in a different key so they could use open strings, but Benjamin purposely stuck to the original key.

The graceful, gentle melody drifted through the advanced course second-year classroom. Everyone present stopped their conversations and work to listen to its notes.

When the wondrous performance was over at last, the beauty to whom the song had been dedicated—the second-year student and daughter of Marquess Highown, Claudia Ashley—clapped closed the book she’d been reading. Her head lazily fell to one side, as if it was too heavy for her to hold up.

“Even the finest music is just noise to those who don’t want to listen…,” she said. “You understand, yes?”

The rain was pouring hard that morning as Elliott Howard lay in bed, grimacing and groaning. He hated rainy days. They got his clothes wet, made his hair frizzy, and muffled his violin. There was nothing good about them.

“It’s morning, Lord Elliott.”

He heard his servant speak just before the blanket was yanked off him in one brutal, merciless motion. All the servants of House Howard knew that if you showed Elliott any mercy, he’d never rise in the morning.

Still only half awake, he sat up and mumbled, “Granny, could I get autumn-picked lignum leaves and milk in my tea…?”

“‘Granny’ isn’t here. I’m her son.”

“And put the milk in first…”

“Yes, yes. I must say, you are an impossible young master.”

Such an impossible young master—that was what the old woman known as Granny, who looked after Elliott when he was at home, liked to say. Lately, the phrase seemed to have infected her son. The apple never fell far, did it? The “I must say” he’d added to the front gave it a nice length, too.

“Pull yourself together, now,” the man continued. “You wouldn’t want to be late for class.”

Class. Right. He had classes today.

This wasn’t his bed back home. It was his dorm room at Serendia Academy. His half-awake mind understood that, but unfortunately the other half was still in a dream world. His body, meanwhile, sought out his warm blanket, and his hand reached out to grab hold of it. But the servant quickly snatched it away.

“Come, get changed. You’ll be late for breakfast.”

“…Right.”

“The bazaar is after school today, yes? Aren’t you going?”

“…No.”

As his servant helped him change, he heard Cyril’s piercing voice from out in the hallway.

“Glenn Dudley! No drying fish in communal dorm spaces!”

“But it’s raining! I can’t do it outside. This spot has the best airflow.”

Stupid commoners and their stupid morning energy, thought Elliott idly, yawning.

Elliott had never been a morning person. He just couldn’t get his brain to turn on—or his body to not feel heavy. Nevertheless, by the time he’d cleaned himself up and made his appearance in the dorm cafeteria, he’d woken up a good amount—by his standards anyway. In reality, his droopy eyes were still half closed, and when he moved, it was as though he were wading through mud.

He yawned, tearing his bread into small pieces for no reason, as someone took the seat across from him. It was his old friend Benjamin Mording.

The color of melancholy was all over the boy’s fragile, delicate face as he raised his arms toward the sky and cried out, “I’m in a slump!”

“…Oh,” said Elliott.

“A slump, I say!”

“…Right.”

They went on like that, Benjamin exclaiming he was in a slump and sleepy-eyed Elliott mumbling back. Once they’d repeated the cycle over ten times, the latter finally began to wake up for real.

Elliott washed down his bread—which was now in tiny pieces—with some tea and stared at the boy across from him as he cried out in lamentation. “Why do you have to be so loud in the morning? Anyway, what? A slump? Don’t worry. You’re a genius. All your music sounds sublime.”

“Oh, Elliott, my friend! Imagine, if you will, the delight of awakening amid spring sunlight and the sound of snow melting into water and flowing away! Think of the warmth! The emotion! I couldn’t express any of that with my music… My performance couldn’t conjure a sun to melt the winter snow!”

“…What exactly did you do this time?”

Elliott chose those particular words because he’d known Benjamin for many years. Whenever the boy fell into a slump, it was usually because he’d stirred up trouble with a girl. He was always flitting from one leisured woman to the next; in fact, he’d been with three such women during the school festival.

They probably found out he triple-booked them or something, thought Elliott.

Then Benjamin looked up sorrowfully toward the heavens, his flaxen hair swaying. “I performed for Miss Claudia Ashley to…shall we say less than rave reviews.”

“……”

Elliott immediately looked around. Fortunately, neither Cyril nor Neil were within eyeshot.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Miss Claudia is engaged! Her foster brother is on the student council! You’ve got a lot of nerve, telling me that!”

“But I can’t help it, Elliott… Whenever I see a beautiful woman in love, my musician instincts demand I offer her a performance.”

The problem with Benjamin was that he loved beautiful women who were already in love—and it didn’t matter whether he was the target of their affections.

In the end, he’d fall for a woman who already had someone, make a huge fuss about it all on his own, and get his heart broken. After that, until he found someone or something else to devote himself to, he’d never break out of his slump.

“You’ve heard my case,” said Benjamin. “I’ve come to ask your help in getting out of this slump, my friend! You have a responsibility to come to my aid.”

“I really don’t.” Elliott scowled.

Benjamin brushed back his flaxen hair and flashed Elliott a subtle, meaningful smile. “Heh-heh. You don’t seem to understand, Elliott. The winter recital is next week. The academy’s pride will be riding on it. And I am the solo violinist.”

“You… Why, you…”

Guests from outside the academy would be attending the recital, and the student council sponsored it, so a half-hearted performance would surely embarrass them all.

Watching his friend grimace, Benjamin plucked a grape off Elliott’s plate and winked.

“Don’t you think a student council member has a certain responsibility to ensure the recital’s success?”

How has it come to this? thought Elliott, hanging his head in despair.

“Hey, Monica, when’s your birthday?”

Lana spread open a book as she asked the question. They were on break between classes.

“Um, it’s the first day of the first week of Shelgria…”

Monica’s friend nodded, then flipped through the book’s pages.

It seemed to be a book on astrology, though not a technical manual detailing how to read the stars. It was a book for entertainment, geared toward the masses, purporting to deduce your fortune from your birthday. That was Monica’s perception, at least.

“If you were born on this day, you are a kind person,” read Lana. “But you tend to get swept up in the affairs of others, assigned difficult tasks, and find yourself in a lot of troubling situations.”

Monica—who was only here because she’d been roped into a challenging infiltration mission by her colleague—was dumbstruck. This astrology book is so right it’s scary, she thought.

“Your good luck charms are coffee, white accessories, and violets… That’s what it says.”

Monica’s jaw was on her desk at this point. Lana grinned mischievously.

“This is one of the books that was recently donated to the library,” she explained. “Everyone’s been saying it’s very accurate.”

“Is the author…by any chance…?”

“Lady Mary Harvey. The Starseer Witch herself. You know, of the Seven Sages.”

Monica couldn’t believe it. So it was her. This book had been written by the foremost prophet in the kingdom. No wonder it was so accurate.

If it was donated recently, I wonder if it came from the Haymes… My thesis was donated, too, after all… She smiled bitterly, remembering the failed mission to read it.

“Hey, Monica.” Lana closed the book and looked at her friend. “Did you hear about the bazaar being held after school today and tomorrow?”

“Um, yes.”

A few times every year, Serendia Academy invited merchants and held a bazaar on school grounds. Being a transfer student, Monica hadn’t experienced one yet. But according to Lana, they sold all sorts of things, from clothing and accessories to sundries, books, baked goods, and tea leaves. Apparently, even tailors set up shop there and would measure you on the spot and take orders for clothing.

“I can’t go today, but… Would you like to go together tomorrow?” Lana asked.

Monica’s eyes sparkled at the invitation. There was nothing she particularly wanted to buy, but the idea of going shopping with Lana made her heart leap.

“Yes… I’d love to!”

“Then it’s decided,” Lana said, smiling. “According to this book, my good-luck charm is a pearl. I have a few pearl accessories already, but if I find a really nice one at the bazaar, I’d like to purchase it.”

Monica nodded along excitedly, but part of her mind turned to her mission to guard Felix. Intruders had gotten into the campus posing as merchants before, and the school would be putting more effort into checking those attending the bazaar and bolstering security in general.

Ewan, the man Monica had confronted at the chess competition and again at the school festival who had used body-altering magecraft, had been cursed by the Abyss Shaman, Ray Albright. According to Ray, the curse would last a month, so Ewan wasn’t likely to attack again during that time. Nonetheless, they still had to be careful, and she intended to remain vigilant.

I don’t think the prince was planning to attend the bazaar…

In that case, it shouldn’t be a problem to have Nero and Ryn watch Felix.

“Oh no!” exclaimed Lana. “My next class is in another room, so I’d better get going. I’ll see you later, Monica!”

“Okay,” Monica replied, nodding back.

She picked up her own textbooks and rose. Her next class was one of her electives—chess, which she enjoyed almost as much as math. That and the thought of her plans for the next day put a spring in her step.

I can’t wait for the bazaar… Maybe I’ll take a look at some paper and ink or something.

Her mind racing with ideas about the upcoming event, she opened the door to her next class…

“……”

…only to stop cold right at the entrance.

In the middle of the room stood Benjamin Mording, his right hand at his forehead and his left at his hip. His entire body was twisted so his legs were crossed, and he had his head thrown back so he was looking at the ceiling. He wasn’t moving. Nearby, Elliott was busy lining up pieces on a chessboard, clearly annoyed.

Monica wondered if it was all right to call out to them. She was finding the situation a little awkward.

As she hesitated, Benjamin tilted his head forward. Their eyes met.

“Ah, good day to you, Miss Norton. If you’re wondering why I’m striking such a pose, well, I’m attempting to use my entire body to express my agony. And yes, for a musician such as myself to express his agony using his own body and not his music can only mean one thing—that the music hath dried up!”

“Take a seat, little squirrel,” said Elliott. “Class is starting.”

Professor Boyd had just entered through the other door, so Monica rushed to her desk and sat down. After a glare from the teacher, even Benjamin settled down into a seat next to Elliott.

“A…slump?”

Monica tilted her head in confusion as she rearranged the chess pieces.

Chess class was split into several ranks based on skill. Students from the same rank would play each other, so Monica frequently played against Elliott and Benjamin, who had both taken part in the chess competition with her.

Her first game today had been with Benjamin, and his plays had clearly lacked their usual vitality.

In his own words, his chess represented the “versatility of music itself.” In essence, he wasn’t attached to any specific way of playing. Sometimes he would set up a strong defense, while other times he would boldly go on the attack. His games were, well, varied, just like he claimed.

That day, however, his efforts seemed half-hearted, whether he was taking a defensive position or moving in for an attack. When Monica pointed this out during their post-game review, Elliott—who had watched the game—sighed and explained, “He says he’s in a slump.”

Benjamin shook his flaxen hair wildly, using dramatic motions and gestures to help evoke his distress. “The darkened skies shadowing the music in my heart must have manifested in today’s game. Ahhh, how I would love to express this sadness with my violin—but now even the notes of my performances are as clouds blocking out the sun… Should this state of affairs continue, my next recital shall have me playing even the lightest, cheeriest music lamentabile!”

“Um…” Monica couldn’t understand most of the words pouring rapidly from Benjamin’s lips. All she knew was that he was troubled. Awkwardly, she said, “That must be, um, difficult.”

“Oh, it is, it is! And so I would very much like your assistance in this matter as well, Miss Norton.”

“Huh?” she said, her mouth hanging half-open.

Elliott grinned, looking exhausted. “He claims the student council has a responsibility to make his next recital a success—so you’re in this whether you like it or not, little squirrel.”

“But um, I don’t…I don’t know anything about music… What am I supposed to…to…?”

“Don’t worry. I understand music, but even I have no clue what’s going on with him.”

Didn’t that mean they had no way to help?

As Monica mumbled nonsense through trembling lips, Benjamin placed his hand on his chest and declared, “The way to break out of this slump is love! Yes, love! Butterflies in my heart! It must leap; it must soar! That is the key to breaking free!”

Love was a topic Monica found particularly difficult to understand. In her case, she’d have to start from the very beginning—defining the word itself. What was love, exactly? She folded her arms and thought hard.

Elliott lowered his voice. “Pipe down, Benjamin. Mr. Boyd’s glaring at you.”

“Ah, my mistake.”

Benjamin put a hand to his mouth, then let out a lonely sigh and stared into nothingness. Was he visualizing the one he was in love with?

“Ahhh, Miss Claudia Ashley. Whenever I think of you, my heart cannot help but tremble.”

“Hwah?!” yelped Monica.

Immediately, she covered her mouth with her hands. The stern-faced Professor Boyd was now staring right at her.

Speaking more softly, she asked Benjamin, “Um, the one you’re in love with… It’s, um, Lady Claudia?”

“Insane, right?” Elliot interjected. “I thought so, too.”

Perhaps because of how long he’d known Benjamin, Elliott’s words were even more scathing than usual.

Claudia Ashley, the daughter of Marquess Highown, was considered one of the three most beautiful girls at the academy. Though she was already engaged to Neil, it seemed there was no end to the boys after her hand. Benjamin must have been one of them.

“And why now?” asked Elliott. “You’ve been around her before. You had chess class with her last year, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I’ve always considered her quite charming. She’s a beauty, but even more than that—she’s a beauty in love.”

Benjamin’s statement only confused Monica.

Elliott filled her in. “Benjamin falls for beautiful people who are already in love. And only if they have pretty faces, so you can rest easy.”

He’d meant that as a mean-spirited jab at the plain, unattractive Monica, but she didn’t particularly care about such things, so she just nodded vaguely and said, “Oh.”

Benjamin ignored their exchange, and his expression grew more and more enraptured as he continued. “She has always been charming, but on the day of the school festival, the flower of her love was in full bloom. I could tell. When a woman is in love, her beauty grows. And that beauty blinded me.”

Sudden blindness could point to an eye disease, thought Monica in all seriousness. Shouldn’t he see a doctor about that?

Elliott wearily translated. “In summary, Benjamin is head over heels for Miss Claudia. Without thinking, he dedicated a song to her, and she hated it. That sent him spiraling into this slump.”

“Oh. I, um…think I get it?”

“I can think of three possible solutions.” Elliott held up three fingers in front of Monica as seriously as if he were explaining chess strategy. “One, Miss Claudia returns his feelings. Two, he falls in love with some other girl. Three, he becomes obsessed with something other than love. Frankly, the first would never work out—and would be reckless besides. So we’ll have to go with one of the other two.”

He paused there, then leaned forward a little and lowered his voice again.

“And don’t tell any of this to Cyril or Officer Maywood. If word gets out that Benjamin is in love with Miss Claudia…well, Cyril would go berserk. I can promise you that.”

It was hard to imagine how the congenial Neil might react, but Cyril’s reaction was easy to envision, even for Monica. The ever-serious vice president would probably say something like My sister is engaged, so you must cease courting her immediately. Then, when Benjamin refused to back down, Cyril would grow infuriated and yell at him, scattering cold air in every direction. In the worst case, the whole classroom might wind up covered in frost.

“And if that happens,” Elliott continued, “we’ll have no choice but to get the prince involved.”

“…Yes.”

In other words, they had to get Benjamin out of his slump without letting Cyril or Neil find out. To do that, they needed him either to fall for some other beautiful person in love or to become obsessed with something else entirely.

Monica couldn’t think of any beautiful people in love, so she decided to pursue the other possibility instead.

“Ummm, then why not have him try to find solutions for unsolved problems in mathematics?” she suggested. “When I get focused on something like that, I can stay up for three nights straight! I recommend trying to prove the twin prime conjecture…”

“Look, Miss Norton…” Elliott groaned, narrowing his eyes.

Benjamin brushed back his bangs with a theatrical flair and said, “Heh-heh. Not to brag, but my grades in everything but music and chess are at rock bottom!”

“You’re right, that really is nothing to brag about, so cut it out. You’re embarrassing me as your friend.”

It seemed like it would be pretty difficult for Benjamin to become obsessed with math. If that and magecraft were out of the question, then Monica didn’t have any other suggestions… But just as she was about to give up, something came to mind.

“Oh, I know… There’s, um, a bazaar after school today and tomorrow, right?” she said, remembering how her heart had leaped when Lana invited her. “Maybe if, um, you can find something wonderful there…something you can really become obsessed with…it would help get you out of your slump?” Her last words came out as more of a mumble.

Elliott frowned. “Shopping? He can just have a servant do that.”

“No, that’s a wonderful idea, Miss Norton!” exclaimed Benjamin. “Both of you, meet me at the entrance hall after school today!”

Elliott rose from his seat, flustered at the one-sided proposition. “Wait just a minute, Benjamin. You can’t decide this all on your own.”

“Am…am I going…too…?” asked Monica.

Theatrically, Benjamin spread his arms wide. “Ah, my beloved friend, my underclassman. Pray be not so cold, so unfeeling. Shopping alone would be far too sad. Musicians are fragile creatures. Why, loneliness is lethal to us.”

The self-professed fragile creature then started lining up his chess pieces, gleefully humming to himself.

Elliott put a hand to his forehead and sighed. “Well, crap. Benjamin stops listening when he gets like this… It was your suggestion, so no running away, little squirrel.”

“Aw…”

Elliott’s droopy eyes burned with resolve. He was not going to let her escape.

Had the weather been clear, the bazaar would have been held outside on the school grounds. But it had been raining without pause since morning, so they’d set up in the hall used for ceremonies and balls instead.

Monica arrived at the meeting place a little early and took a peek inside. She widened her eyes at the lively crowd.

There’s more people than I thought…

Students weren’t the only patrons, either—many of those currently shopping were their servants.

The higher a noble’s rank, the less they tended to shop in person. Elliott was one such example. In general, such nobles would either have a servant go in their place, or they would call the merchant to their own home.

But unlike bazaars in the city, Serendia Academy permitted only those affiliated with the school to enter. That removed the worry of getting kidnapped or having things stolen by a pickpocket. And the shops taking part were all handpicked and first-rate, ensuring worry-free shopping. Maybe that was why a few highborn students were visible here and there among the crowd.

“…Huh?”

Suddenly, Monica noticed a white handkerchief lying on the floor nearby. She glanced around, but nobody seemed to be searching for it.

Not wanting someone to step on it and get it dirty, she picked it up. It was made of high-quality linen, but when she unfolded it, she didn’t see any name or initials embroidered into the fabric. Instead, the only embellishments were flowers—lily of the valley.

Monica didn’t know much about embroidery, but the stitches used in the flowers were very intricate, filling a whole section of cloth with lines. The fact that the maker had depicted the pretty lily petals without leaving any gaps spoke to their skilled needlework.

On a whim, Monica turned it over and noticed something strange about the underside.

The backside of embroidery, too, revealed a person’s skill. To an extent, talented embroiderers could keep their threads looking clean even when viewed from underneath.

That was how the handkerchief she’d gotten from Casey had been. While the yellow flower embroidery wasn’t exactly the same on the underside, the threads had been kept neat and near to the intended shape.

The embroidery on the handkerchief Monica had just picked up, though, was pretty rough on the underside. You could see white and blue threads sticking out where the green leaves were.

But it looks so neat from the front…

The perfection of the front made the sloppy work on the underside all the more curious. Monica doubted an artisan had made it—a hobbyist had probably embroidered it. Some noble girl’s practice cloth, perhaps. Embroidery was a common interest among noblewomen; Serendia Academy even had a club for it.

I’ll bring it to the faculty room later…

As she put the handkerchief in her pocket, she heard Elliott and Benjamin behind her. The former’s voice was clearly unhappy, while the latter’s was as fresh and joyful as a clear blue sky.

“Ugh. Why do I have to go out walking on a rainy day…? And to go shopping…”

“We’re not out, my friend, for the hall is indoors. And besides, the sound of rain is a form of music unto itself. A melody played out by nature—why, we should enjoy it to our heart’s content!”

“I don’t know how you’re so enthusiastic when you’re supposed to be in a slump…,” grumbled Elliott, sounding not only displeased but also exhausted.

“Hello,” Monica said, bowing slightly.

Benjamin, seeming to be in a very good mood, spread his arms and exclaimed, “Why, hello, Miss Norton! So good of you to come! Let’s not waste any more time. Shall we go enjoy the bazaar? Oh, is this your first time attending, Miss Norton?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then I shall be your personal guide! Our first port of call simply must be the clothiers. I recommend Magnowah, an old standby. I always have them make my recital wear. If you want more original clothing or accessories, you’ll want the Rottheim Workshop. Their hats are especially divine. They strike a perfect balance between playfulness and the practiced skill of artisans with first-rate knowledge of haberdashery!”

Benjamin practically danced from shop to shop, his footsteps light as a feather. One moment, his eyes sparkled at the sight of a velvet hat, and the next he was absolutely focused on a foreign-made porcelain vase. Then he was at a bookseller’s, eagerly looking through their new releases. They were moving so fast that Monica was beginning to feel dizzy.

“Courtlie’s collected poems are also a must-have. Oh? It’s the new Famed Detective Calvin Alcock book. How wonderful!”

Benjamin had just picked up the detective novel Nero and Ryn were so obsessed with.

Ummm, if I remember right… That’s a story where someone tries really hard to commit a complicated crime, even though it would be easy to do with magecraft or magic items…

As Monica mentally summarized the story in a way sure to earn Nero’s wrath, Benjamin had already moved on. He was holding a gemstone up to the light, gazing at it as if in a trance.

Elliott heaved an exaggerated sigh. “You’ve always been so moody…”

“Heh-heh-heh. With my heart stolen away by such beautiful, radiant gems, I feel myself a butterfly flitting about the fields, kissing each flower in turn…”

“If you’re attracted to shiny things, wouldn’t that make you a moth?” quipped Elliott.

“No! Moths are not beautiful!” cried Benjamin shrilly, bending backward. A moment later, he sprang upright and headed over to a shop dealing in seasonal cards. “Ah yes. I must purchase my Shelgria cards as well!”

“I guess it’s almost that time of year again, huh?”

These days, the word “Shelgria” usually referred to a calendar month, but it came from the name of a mythical ice spirit.

According to legend, there once was a spirit named Shelgria. The King of the Ice Spirits said to Shelgria: “This year, let us call forth winter earlier than usual.”

Shelgria thought about this. If winter came sooner, wouldn’t that cause trouble for humans? They might not be finished harvesting their crops. They might not be done preparing for the cold.

So she decided to write letters to the humans to inform them of winter’s arrival. She gathered lots of autumn leaves and wrote a message on each of them.

“Winter will come early. Please hasten your preparations.”

The humans saw her messages and completed their winter preparations ahead of schedule, allowing them to endure the early onset of winter.

From this myth sprang the tradition of sending message cards from the end of fall to the beginning of winter. People usually wrote messages of gratitude to family or loved ones living far away, perhaps detailing their plans for winter break.

Shelgria cards… I don’t think I’ve ever written one…, thought Monica.

Her eyes were drawn to the pretty cards lined up in one of the shops. Shelgria cards were generally simple with white backgrounds and featured illustrations of seasonal flowers, birds, or small creatures. Some had more elaborate details, such as foil stamps and paper cutouts.

Benjamin chose a card with a daffodil on it and an envelope with a flower watermark, then asked the shopkeeper, “Oh, might you have any blue ink?”

“Yes, we do. Would you like to test it out?” said the shopkeeper, offering him a bottle of ink and a feather pen.

Benjamin took a backing sheet from the man and wrote several musical notes in blue ink with the pen. While it was technically blue, it wasn’t a vivid sapphire color. It was somewhat darker, closer to indigo, and depending on the light, it could appear slightly purple. Blue was one of the most expensive colors of ink available and cost almost ten times what black ink did.

Elliott looked at the bottle and asked, confused, “Why blue ink?”

“Oh, but don’t you know, Elliott? Writing a love letter in blue ink guarantees that one’s love will be returned. It’s a famous charm.”

“That’s weird,” said Elliott. It seemed like he’d never heard of such a thing.

Monica, however, had. Somewhere. Not recently, though. She was pretty sure it had been quite a while ago.

A love letter in blue ink… Where have I heard that before…?

She had only the faintest recollection, which meant she probably wasn’t very interested at the time. In fact, she was impressed she remembered it at all.

“Um, Benjamin,” said Elliott. “Don’t tell me you’re going to use that ink to…”

“Why, of course! I want to pour my feelings onto the page and offer them to Miss Claudia.”

Even after her scathing review of his music, it seemed he still hadn’t given up.

Elliott grimaced and groaned. “She’ll throw it away. Won’t even read it. I would bet money on it.”

Monica agreed. The best he could hope for was that she’d open the envelope. It was more likely, however, that she’d throw it out without even breaking the seal.

“Look, Benjamin,” Elliott continued. “I’m not trying to insult you, but you should give up on her. You know how reckless you’re being, don’t you?”

“Oh, I do. And yet I cannot stop. That’s how love works, Elliott.” Benjamin brushed his bangs up and away with a dramatic motion. Elliott looked ready to scream.

Just then, they heard a voice from behind.

“I don’t usually see the three of you together.”

Elliott groaned despite himself, and Monica inhaled with a squeak. They turned around to find Cyril Ashley standing behind them—the elder brother of the girl Benjamin was in love with.

“Benjamin, please, please don’t say anything unnecessary…,” Elliott whispered like a prayer.

Unfortunately, his prayer went unanswered.

“Hello, my brother!” greeted Benjamin, raising a hand cheerfully.

“…What?” Cyril frowned.

Elliott whispered into Monica’s ear, “Do whatever you need to do to get Cyril away from him. I’ll handle Benjamin.”

“A-all right!”

If Cyril found out Benjamin had eyes for Claudia, it would cause a disaster, for sure.

Monica pattered up to Cyril and stammered out a question. “L-Lord Cyril, a-are you on p-patrol?”

“That’s right. I want to be nearby in case of any trouble…”

“Um, is it okay if I go with you to learn how to do it?!”

Cyril widened his eyes a little in surprise. But then he smiled and nodded. “That’s the spirit. With me, then.”

“Right!”

While Monica spoke to Cyril, Elliott grabbed Benjamin by his collar and dragged him away.

The two of them had just pulled off a miraculous feat of perfect coordination.

No one from the student council had been assigned to patrol the bazaar—Cyril was doing this voluntarily.

“I can’t allow any potential trouble to bother the prince,” he explained, expression sharp and alert.

Monica wondered how he’d react if he knew that she and Elliott were treating him like potential trouble. Not to imply that he was at fault or anything—but if he ran into Benjamin again, they’d end up fighting.

And that’s the one thing we need to avoid, she thought, clenching her sweaty palms.

“Ummm, Lord Cyril,” she said. “Is your foot…doing okay?”

“I have no problems walking on it. I’m forbidden from running, however. And I was ordered to sit out of magic battle practice for a while.”

About a week ago, Cyril had gotten hurt during the incident surrounding the earth spirit Istreah and the lost girl; he’d sprained his left ankle. The following day, he was the same straight-backed, energetic Cyril he always was, but Felix had warned him not to push himself and get hurt again. And so the silver-haired boy had been avoiding running or taking part in magic battles.

Elliott seemed to think Cyril would be moving around like normal if the prince hadn’t told him not to. And if she was being honest, Monica was pretty sure he was right.

“What about your…?” said Cyril, glancing at her gloved hands. “The spirit bit you, right? Are you okay now?”

“Um, it wasn’t really that bad, so… Yes, I-I’m fine.”

At the very end, the spirit—in the form of a rabbit—had gotten out of control and stubbornly chased Monica for some reason she couldn’t guess. It had bitten her a bunch of times on the arms and hands, but the marks had mostly faded away by now.

“…Good,” said Cyril, sounding relieved, before suddenly stopping and looking at something ahead of them.

In their path was a tall male student with yellowish-blond hair and orange eyes.

Isn’t that the president of the magic-battle club…Lord Byron Garrett?

The hot-blooded young man had challenged Cyril to a duel before. But at the moment, his tall frame was bent over as he wandered around, staring at the floor.

“Club President Garrett,” Cyril called out. “Is something troubling you?”

Byron jerked upright in surprise and looked around frantically. “Oh, it’s you, Ashley… Well, I dropped something, and…”

“Then we’ll help you. What did you drop?” asked the vice president. His tone all but implied it was the student council’s utmost responsibility to help students in their time of need.

For some reason, Byron began to stammer uncomfortably. “It’s a h-handkerchief, and… Uh, it’s made of white linen…”

A white linen handkerchief. Hadn’t Monica picked up something like that near the entrance?

Oh, then maybe…

Realizing why Byron was acting so awkwardly, Monica took the handkerchief out of her pocket. Making sure the lily of the valley embroidery was facing down and out of sight, she held it out to him.

“Um, I picked this up at the door… C-can you check to see if it’s yours, please?”

He took the handkerchief and immediately spun around, turning his back. He probably didn’t want Cyril seeing the needlework. After looking at it, though, his expression brightened.

“Yes, it’s mine. Thank you. Uh, you’re Ashley’s underclassman, right?”

“My name is…Monica Norton.” She was nervous, and her voice came out stiff. But she didn’t trip over her words, which brought a little bit of joy to her heart.

As she mentally rejoiced, Byron’s sharp glare softened slightly, and he bowed to her. “Thank you, Miss Norton. This handkerchief is very important to me. You’ve helped me a great deal.”

The boy’s musculature and height suggested he was from a military family. He wouldn’t want anyone to know he was carrying around a cute handkerchief with lilies of the valley embroidered on it. Byron had thanked her so politely because she’d made sure to hide them when handing it over. While he had a rough face that made him hard to approach, he seemed similar to Cyril deep down—earnest and sincere.

“I’m glad…that I could help,” replied Monica.

Byron put a finger to his stern jawline and asked awkwardly, “You’ve already helped me once, but could I ask something else of you? Have you seen a shop selling Shelgria cards around here? I don’t usually come to the bazaars, so I don’t know how these things work.”

Monica had just seen such a shop on her way here. Immediately, she said with gusto, “I can take you there!”

Byron widened his eyes. Cyril smiled a little at Monica’s enthusiasm but then hardened his expression into something more dignified. “I see,” he said. “Then I will leave it to you to be his guide.”

“Okay! Lord Garrett, ummm, over here!”

With a confident huff, Monica took the lead. Secretly, she was proud of being a good student council member. And she hadn’t forgotten about keeping Benjamin away from Cyril, either.

Lord Howard already brought Benjamin away, so it should be fine… Just to be sure, though, she kept one eye on her surroundings as she took the two of them to the seasonal card shop.

Byron gulped, seeming overwhelmed at the sheer number of cards on display there. “I…I didn’t know there were this many kinds…”

He didn’t seem accustomed to this sort of shopping. As if to distract from his trepidation, he changed the topic.

“Have you bought Shelgria cards yet, Ashley?”

“I’ve already sent them,” came the reply.

“…You’re always so quick when it comes to things like this.” Byron frowned, then stared at one of the cards.

They were separated roughly by what plant or animal featured in their design. The boy’s eyes had stopped on one with roses—the most common variety in the flower section. He looked at versions in red, white, and pink, then groaned, ultimately deciding on a plain white card.

“I’m sorry for making you come shopping with me,” he told them. “Anyway, Ashley, when can you duel me?”

“The doctor said it would be all right starting next week. The prince has given his permission as well.”

“I see. In that case, I’ll formally challenge you then!” declared Byron.

Dubious, Cyril asked, “You know I’ll accept, but… Why does it have to be a formal duel?”

They had magic battles in class every week. Byron could simply beat him in one of those. And yet he was awfully hung up on the idea of making it official.

Byron frowned again, seeming to have trouble choosing his words. Eventually, though, he found them. “Because it’s more manly! It means more to win an official duel than an unofficial one.”

Monica stole a glance at Cyril. He seemed a little flustered. He probably didn’t know why Byron was so set on dueling him, either. Nevertheless, when someone approached him with a strong desire, he always responded with sincerity.

“I see,” he replied. “Then I will meet your challenge with all I have.”

“Just you watch. I’m not the same Byron you fought before!”

Last time Monica saw Cyril and Byron having a magic battle, Byron had tried quick-chanting and failed. Maybe he had improved his precision since then.

I still wonder why he’s so insistent about dueling Cyril. Monica didn’t have much interest in the honor and fame to be gained from duels. Cyril evidently intended to meet the request in good faith, but Monica couldn’t get her head around Byron’s feelings on the matter.

Serendia Academy’s bazaar was much more refined than a city market, but its lively energy was also a far cry from the festival ball. The noise of it put Elliott on edge. He couldn’t help but feel that he didn’t belong here.

Benjamin, on the other hand, couldn’t be more different. He’d probably enjoy himself wherever he went, whether that was an elegant ball or a downtown market.

“Oh, my friend, your face. It is as though you are the one in a slump!”

The musician—the one actually in a slump right now—clapped Elliott’s shoulders, meaning to encourage him.

Elliott, face thick with exhaustion, roughly brushed his bangs up and out of the way. “I just can’t get going today,” he said. “Probably because it’s raining.”

“Ah yes,” said Benjamin wistfully. The two had known each other for many years. “You’ve always hated rainy days, haven’t you?”

Elliott shrugged dramatically. “Once, long ago, my father was listening to me play the violin and told me my performance sounded muffled. I told him it was because of the rain—and he slapped me and told me not to make excuses.”

Elliott’s father was stern, and he was especially strict with his son. Whenever Elliott made excuses, he’d slap the boy right across the face.

“Your father is terrifying, indeed,” agreed Benjamin. “His strictness reminds me somewhat of Vice President Ashley, in fact.”

“Nonsense. My father is a hundred times scarier.” Compared to him, Cyril was like a puppy dog who kept whining Prince! Prince! Elliott frowned and sulked.

Benjamin began to wave his right hand as if swinging a conductor’s baton. “Elliott, do you not think the sounds of the rain you so loathe and the muddled notes of your violin on a rainy day are each their own kind of music?”

“And I suppose the noise of this commoner’s bazaar is music, too?”

“Of course!” said Benjamin, starting to hum a tune.

It was a famous piece that even Elliott knew, based on a marketplace in a foreign country. He remembered the melody; in fact, he’d practiced it a lot on the violin when he was young. Benjamin was trying to use the old song to demonstrate that music was present even at this bazaar.

Elliott scowled. “I feel sick to my stomach just being here. A bazaar is no place for a noble.”

“And yet here you are—for my sake.”

Elliott fell silent as his friend looked him straight in the eye. Stop that, he thought. If you’re going to spend all day staring at the sky in some weird rapture, then don’t look at me dead-on only in situations like these.

“Don’t you think of me as a friend?” Benjamin prodded.

“Your father and grandfather both received their titles, and—”

“And yet I am one of those upstarts you so despise. Musicians are meant to be kept by nobles, not become nobles themselves.”

Several excuses came to mind. They’d known each other for as long as Elliott could remember. Their fathers knew each other. But Elliott couldn’t bring himself to say any of these things, and they each sunk back into his heart, unvoiced.

Commoners must act like commoners and nobles like nobles. Try to cross the barrier of social status, and you’ll only make yourself—or someone else—unhappy.

Elliott didn’t intend to revise his thinking. His uncle had been accepting of many people regardless of position before his commoner wife betrayed him, driving him to suicide.

Come to think of it, it was raining that day, too.

The rain had sounded delicate, and somehow clinging, as it came down. He remembered exactly what the stench of death permeating the wet air had smelled like.

Benjamin looked at him with consideration. “Thinking back, there were two incidents that pushed your feelings on status even further, weren’t there? The first was when your uncle passed, and the second was before you enrolled at Serendia Academy—I think you were a little under ten at the time. Something happened, though I’ve no idea what—”

“No more of this, Benjamin. That…that’s the one place I can’t let you go.” For your own sake, he thought inwardly.

He couldn’t let his friend shoulder that second burden he carried in his heart.

Elliott closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he spoke in an especially bright voice, as if to sweep away the soggy air around them. “Anyway, this isn’t about me. It’s about you and your slump. If we don’t do something, we won’t make it in time for the recital.”

Elliott had forced an end to the conversation, and Benjamin’s answering smile held a twinge of loneliness. Nevertheless, he placed a hand on his chest and loudly declared, “When you are troubled, my friend, tell me. I doubt I can lend you any money or strength, but I can perform with everything I have to encourage you.”

“Yeah, well, what’s troubling me now is your slump.” Elliott glared at him.

In return, Benjamin shot him a mischievous wink. The gesture gave Elliott a very bad feeling.

“About that—to tell you the truth, while we were at the clothier earlier, I heard a very interesting rumor from a few other students!”

“…All right, out with it.”

His friend then began to tell him all about the rumor, mixing in plenty of musical terminology and hand gestures. Elliott’s premonition had been right on the money.

That evening, as the bazaar wrapped up, Monica parted ways with Cyril and went to find Elliott and Benjamin.

Did Lord Mording enjoy the bazaar? she wondered. Did he shake off his slump?

At some point, the rain had stopped, and the black clouds had parted to offer a clear view of the evening sky. A reddish-orange glow lit up the entire hall, thickening the shadows.

The merchants would take a little while longer to pack up, so servants were moving around lighting the candlesticks. Monica watched the process as she walked. Eventually, she saw a pair of people coming toward her—the very ones she was looking for.

“Miss Norton! Oh, but you must listen to this. I have the most interesting tidbit for you!”

Benjamin was waving his hands, his eyes sparkling. In contrast, Elliott looked ready to keel over.

Monica straightened her back and looked up at Benjamin. “What is it?”

“You know the old student dormitory? The abandoned building back in the woods… They say the ghost of a beautiful maid wanders it…”

“The ghost of a maid?” repeated Monica.

The musician’s cheeks flushed crimson as he began to regale her with the story. “Many years ago, a boy attending Serendia Academy fell in love with a servant maid. Ah, ’twas a forbidden love transcending social status!”

“The kind I loathe,” muttered Elliott, seeming very displeased.

Benjamin ignored him and continued. “The boy made up his mind to marry the maid, even if he had to throw away his noble status. But when the maid tried to envision a future with her beloved, she realized she would only bring him misfortune, and so she ended her own life… And the boy, having fallen into despair at the death of his dearest love, gulped down poison in order to follow her.”

His flaxen hair fluttering, Benjamin looked toward the sky.

“But alas, the tragedy continues! The deceased maid, worried about her beloved’s happiness, did not go to the goddess’s paradise after death, but instead still wanders this world as a ghost. Unable to reunite even in the afterlife, never have they seen one another again. Ahhh, this tragedy calls desperately for a violin to express it!”

“Sounds like you’re well on your way,” said Elliott. “Should only take one more push to get you out of the rut. Now you just have to compose a piece about this tragedy or whatever and you’re back. Problem solved.”

Elliott, who valued rank more than anything, likely didn’t think a tragic love “transcending social status” was worth listening to. All that mattered was whether it could get Benjamin out of his slump.

Monica found herself agreeing. She neither understood this love between a man and a woman of different stations nor did she care enough to try.

And yet for some reason, Benjamin’s impassioned gaze pressed down on her. “Miss Norton, what are your thoughts on this tragedy?”

Very illogical, she thought—but she caught herself before saying it, deciding to choose her words more carefully. “Ummm, I don’t understand why the maid would kill herself… Couldn’t she have just run away…?”

“Heh-heh-heh. But you see, life was not worth living if she could not be with the one she loved—what passion! What fervent affection!”

“Passion… Affection…,” Monica repeated hollowly, tilting her head to one side. Her only passions were for math and magecraft. She doubted she’d ever understand what he meant. She groaned in thought as though he’d handed her a very difficult equation.

Benjamin took Elliott’s and Monica’s hands in his. “Now that the rain has stopped, what say we go there right now?!”

“You can’t be serious…” Elliott grimaced.

With a smile, Benjamin replied, “Oh, but I am, Elliott. Where else would we go after such a conversation but the old dormitory? The sun happens to be setting as we speak. Don’t you think this is the perfect chance to see the ghost?!”

“We’ll only look around for a few minutes. Otherwise, we’ll miss curfew.”

Elliott issued a stern warning as he took the lead through the dimly lit woods, a lantern in his hand. The foliage was still wet from the rain.

They had some time before curfew, but since the sun set so early at this time of year, the sky was already dark—stars visible through gaps in the black clouds. A flock of crows could be seen passing across the last glow of evening orange.

Why did their cries sound so loud in the dark of the forest? Monica felt her spine tingle as she adjusted her grip on her lantern. The ground was muddy and easy to slip on. Even a momentary loss of balance could ruin their white uniforms.

“Ahhh, the sounds of the forest are so different after the rain,” mused Benjamin. “The damp fallen leaves crunching under our feet, the drip-drop of water from the branches, the rustling of the wind through the moist foliage of the trees—and passing through this forest, the travelers shall finally reach their destination. Awaiting them is a beautiful maid, who has wandered this world since her death… Oh, that’s good, that’s so good. This shall make for excellent music…”

As Benjamin gradually slipped into a musical world of his own, Elliott barked, “Don’t swing the lantern around.”

A short walk later, they could see the shadow of a building through the trees. It stood at three stories tall and was quite a bit smaller than the current student dormitories.

His expression grave, Elliott gave them a final warning. “Again, do not enter under any circumstances. That goes for the west gardens, too. Anywhere you see a no-entry sign, the mana density is high enough to be dangerous.”

These old dorms were abandoned after construction because the mana in the land grew too thick. While creatures that fed off mana, like spirits or dragons, loved to be in areas full of the stuff, too much was harmful to humans. People with a low resistance to mana could contract mana poisoning if they stayed in such places for too long, which could result in physical changes or, at worst, death.

After several warnings from Elliott, they headed for the dormitory’s front entrance. The building itself wasn’t that old, but it had the forlorn look characteristic of such places when people stopped taking care of them. That lent it a certain atmosphere—like a spirit might appear at any moment.

Benjamin held his lantern aloft and shone it into a first-floor window. “According to the rumors, you can see the maid in hallway windows. There have been reports of a ball of fire appearing inside, too. I’m sure that fire is the last remains of a soul—that of the maid’s lover. Even reduced to a mere soul, he still wanders the old dorms, searching for his lost beloved… Ah, tragic love!”

Elliott snorted derisively. “Look a little more closely, Benjamin. There’s a mirror on the wall in the east hallway. See? Over there.”

He walked toward it and held up his lantern. His blurred visage appeared in the large hanging mirror inside.

“I’m sure some eccentric student brought a servant to look at this place. Probably at a similar time—dark outside, low visibility. He used the lantern to see inside the dorm…and saw his own servant reflected in the mirror, then mistook it for a spirit. And the fireball? Probably just the light from his lantern—”

Elliott’s confident speech abruptly cut off. He widened his droopy eyes and, without moving his head, gazed farther back into the east wing.

“Did you…?” he began. “Did you see something light up over there? You did, right?”

“A ball of fire… It must be the spirit!” Benjamin cried out in joy, running over.

“Moron! Don’t go off on your own! Ahhh… Damn it!” Elliott cursed, turning back to Monica and yelling, “Stay there, Miss Norton! Don’t move an inch!”

“O-okay!” She nodded as he ran off to chase Benjamin.

Once he was gone, she disengaged the fireball she’d cast.

“…Miss Ryn, Nero?” she murmured.

A blond-haired maid floated down from the roof of the old dorm. The black cat Nero was with her, too, catching a ride on her head.

“What’re you doin’ here?” the cat asked. “And why the crowd—? Wait, I get it! You’re after our secret base, aren’t you?!”

Monica put a hand to her forehead as if enduring a headache. As soon as she’d heard the story of a maid’s spirit appearing in the old dorms, she’d thought, No. It can’t be… Can it?

Indeed, it could.

“Secret bases tickle boyish fancies,” explained the gorgeous maid in her usual monotone. “And I heard that, at times, fierce battles are waged over them. Should we not do as boys do and hurl mud balls and caterpillars at the invaders?”

Monica was about ready to fall to her knees at this point.

“…There are rumors all over school about the ghost of a maid haunting the old dormitory,” she said, glaring at them.

“Yeah? Well, I ain’t seen one.”

“Nor have I, despite spending a great deal of time here. I cannot recall a single occurrence.”

Monica gritted her teeth against the urge to give up and go back to her room.

“…I think they’re referring to you, Miss Ryn.”

Ryn’s face remained impassive, though she widened her chartreuse eyes slightly. “Oh, dear.”

Spirits love places with high concentrations of mana. Since Ryn was contracted to Louis, she received a steady supply of very pure mana from him, so she was never in danger of expiring. Still, the dense mana in this area had probably naturally drawn her.

While a human would have a difficult time getting into the locked dorms, she could simply take on the form of a small bird and fly in through a tiny gap. Someone had spotted her spending time in the building, and that had resulted in the rumor of the ghostly maid.

“Anyway, I forbid you from using this place as a secret base for—huh?”

Before she could say the rest, something caught Monica’s eye.

She had just seen a light near the hallway in the west wing. It looked like a small ball of fire, appearing suddenly and quickly fading.

It wasn’t Monica’s magecraft. And since Ryn was a wind spirit, she couldn’t produce fire.

Then what was it…?

Once again, something in the west wing hallway lit up and then vanished.

Nero and Ryn seemed to notice it, too. From atop the maid’s head, the cat exclaimed, “The heck was that? You do that, Monica?”

“No,” she answered quickly, before sinking into thought.

That was an incomplete spell. It was probably meant to produce a fireball at a distant location by embedding a remote formula. But the caster couldn’t maintain it, so it fizzled. Remote formulae are very difficult. There can’t be many people at Serendia who can use them.

Once again, something glowed at the back of the hallway and disappeared. That was the third one. And Monica had been counting the amount of time between them.

That was a fast activation time for a remote formula. It must not be normal casting, but quick-chanting. The spell was incomplete because the caster is inexperienced with both quick-chanting and remote formulae…

Having arrived at her answer, Monica held up her lantern and ran to the back of the west wing. Ryn, with Nero on her head, gave chase in almost complete silence.

Nero wailed from atop the maid’s head. “Hey! Monica, where are you going?!”

“The west gardens. I have a hunch that…if I don’t stop this, something bad will happen.”

Distance thirty, power minimal. Good, it’s working… Thanks to the book I borrowed, I’m getting the hang of quick-chanting. It’s down to the remote formula now. If I can master that, then I can attack him from beyond his ice walls…

He focused his mind, carefully constructing the magical formula, but his spell fizzled again.

Magical formulae were like equations. Embedding special extras, like remote controls or multilayered boosts, made them all the more complex. Add quick-chanting into the mix, and it got even more difficult.

The author of the book he’d borrowed—the Silent Witch, one of the Seven Sages—was said to be able to cast advanced spells without even chanting at all, much less quick-chanting. He couldn’t even guess at how she performed such miracles. She was solidly in the realm of geniuses.

But I’m no genius. I’m average. What I need is hard work. Ashley works hard, too, when nobody’s watching, he told himself, then started his quick-chant once again.

But his formula was incomplete, and he felt his mana leaking out. Quite a bit of it had drained from his body. If he had to give an analogy, it felt like losing a large amount of blood. Everything went cold, and your senses and mind steadily dulled. It felt like he was losing what he needed to keep himself alive.

I’m fine. This area has a high concentration of mana. I should be recovering it faster than usual… I can keep going. I can keep on… I can…

Refocusing his mind, he began to weave his mana. But his impatience must have come out in the spell, because it twisted unnaturally and fell apart.

In an instant, a fist-size fireball ballooned to the width of his body

Oh no…!

By the time he realized he was losing control, it was too late. The expanded fireball exploded—or at least, it should have.

“…Huh?”

Rapidly, the fireball shrank like it was being shut in by invisible walls and crushed.

There was no way someone just so happened to activate a sealing barrier to save him. The spell must have coincidentally misfired.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief, then heard feet squishing through mud behind him.

He turned to find a short girl with light-brown hair.

That’s Ashley’s underclassman…

Looking emotionlessly in the direction the fireball had disappeared, Monica Norton spoke to him quietly. “This place is off-limits…Lord Byron Garrett, president of the magic-battle club.”

Past the no-entry sign, in the old dorm’s west gardens, Monica found the culprit. He was a tall boy with yellowish-blond hair and orange eyes—the president of the magic-battle club, Byron Garrett. She’d just seen him at the bazaar earlier that day.

Byron didn’t seem to know what to do in response to her warning, and his stern-looking face drew back in a grimace. He probably hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.

Places with high mana density were more likely to cause mana poisoning, but they also facilitated faster mana recovery and were thus well suited for practicing magecraft. That was likely why Byron had come here in secret to try to master his techniques.

Byron’s specialty was fire-aspected magecraft. People had seen his fireballs from afar and linked it to the ghost-maid rumors. Just like Benjamin, they had assumed it was the soul of a ghost searching for his beloved.

Ryn’s presence in the building combined with Byron’s activities had only served to make the story of the ghost maid more and more believable.

“You shouldn’t practice magecraft in places with high mana concentrations,” she said. “Many people…have contracted mana poisoning doing so.”

Back when she attended Minerva’s, she’d seen several people sent to the infirmary after doing exactly what Byron was doing now.

Byron, his face warped with impatience, begged her. “Miss Norton, please, don’t tell anyone about this. I…I need to beat Ashley in our next duel.”

“Why do you want to duel him so badly?”

Monica had never really felt a desire to best someone. Even in chess, when she lost, she never got frustrated. She’d think about why she’d lost, learn from it, and be satisfied. Magic battles were the same—she had no interest in whatever honor or prestige came from winning them.

And so she couldn’t understand why he was so obsessed with dueling.

Byron looked down, seeming ashamed of himself. Moving his thick lips, he mumbled, “Girls like strong guys better, right?”

“…Huh?” Monica’s expression changed from worry to outright confusion.

Girls like strong guys better? I’m supposed to include myself in the “girls” category here, right? Then do I like strong guys better or no…? But wait. How should I define “strong”?

Monica got the feeling that trying to define something like that would only overheat her brain, so she raised one of her hands a little and said, “Ummm, is this a statistics problem?”

“Statistics? I’m not sure about that, but don’t girls always say they prefer strong guys?”

Finally, Monica understood. This wasn’t a statistics question—it was a biological one. “Oh, I understand… Then yes, I suppose that from the standpoint of the continued survival of the species, mating with powerful males would be most logical.”

“……”

Monica looked completely convinced. Byron coughed, seeming uncomfortable for some reason. “My fiancée says she likes boys like Ashley,” he explained. “He’s the strongest student at this academy when it comes to magic battles.”

“Oh, um, I see…” In other words, Byron wanted to win his fiancée’s attention by beating Cyril. “But um, either way, you shouldn’t be practicing here. I-I’m a student council member, so…so I can’t let this pass!”

“…I guess you’re right. I’m sorry,” said Byron, patting his sweating forehead with a handkerchief.

It was the same handkerchief with the lily of the valley embroidery that Monica had found earlier. The stitching was quite fine on the front, but from the back, you could see all the randomly cut thread ends.

Seeing it made Monica suddenly think of something. “Um, Lord Garrett… Did someone give that handkerchief to you?”

“It’s a gift from my fiancée,” he replied. “She’s in the embroidery club. She’s really good at it, too.”

There was a little pride in his voice as he talked about her. But his face quickly clouded over, and he smiled self-deprecatingly.

“But she loves Ashley, not me, so… I guess she just gave it to me because we’re engaged, and she felt obliged…”

“U-ummm…” Monica was about to say something, but then she closed her mouth.

Seeing that lily of the valley embroidery made her realize something. When you turned it over, you could see white and blue threads on top of the leaves here and there. But Monica couldn’t see any blue threads being used on the front. The lilies of the valley had been done in three colors: white, yellow, and green.

What were the blue ones for?

Maybe it’s a message from his fiancée to him…

She was reminded of something Benjamin had said. Blue ink was a good-luck charm—a love letter written in blue ink ensured the recipient would return your feelings.

Was there a similar meaning to the blue thread underneath the flowers’ leaves?

I don’t have any proof, though… And besides… Monica felt that if she said something to Byron now, she’d be revealing someone else’s private feelings without their permission. And so she kept her mouth shut.

“Miss Norton?” asked Byron dubiously as she went unnaturally quiet.

Just then, she heard Elliott and Benjamin.

“There you are, Miss Norton! I told you not to go anywhere!”

“Ah, I was worried you had been taken by the ghost! To see you safe and sound gladdens my heart.”

The pair came running up to them, then directed their gazes at Byron, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What are you doing here, Club President Garrett?” asked Elliott. “This place is off-limits.”

Monica started to panic. If Byron said he’d been practicing magecraft, they’d realize he’d been coming and going for some time in an area no one was supposed to be.

So instead, she told a lie.

“Um, Lord Garrett said he came to see the ghost maid, too! And um, I thought I saw her over here, and well… Or maybe I didn’t, but…”

Monica was a terrible liar, and she had panic written all over her face. Her eyes were wandering, darting here and there, and she’d begun to play with her thumbs.

Elliott looked at her, clearly suspicious, but then—

“Gyahhh?!”

—all of a sudden, he screamed. His now-wide, droopy eyes were focused on the window behind Monica.

“The maid! She’s there, in that window!” he cried.

Everyone looked at the window. There was no maid there—or any trace of one.

Then Elliott began madly gesticulating and crying out in self-defense. “I’m serious! I saw a maid with blond hair! Just for a moment, then she vanished!” It was very unlike him.

A blond-haired maid… Monica knew exactly who he’d seen. But she couldn’t possibly reveal the truth to the others.

Benjamin put a hand to his chest, full of emotion, and looked up at the night sky. “So the rumors were true, after all… Oh, my heart! How fiercely it moves! A pair of tragic lovers, now ghosts, and the traveler crying out upon witnessing them… How sublime. The perfect music!”

“Wait. By traveler, do you mean me? Why are you working my scream into your music?”

Elliott pressed in upon his friend, but Benjamin was unfazed, swinging his right hand around like a conductor’s baton and speaking in a sonorous voice. “Even screams of terror are music, Elliott! Thank you, my friend. Your cries have completed my masterwork! I must return to the dormitory posthaste and compose this song!”

It seemed Benjamin had recovered from his slump. Behind the lively musician, Elliott sulked, clearly unconvinced. Saved by Monica, Byron managed a wry grin.

She glanced up at him, and he whispered back, “Thanks. And sorry.”

Managing an awkward smile and a nod, Monica prayed the ghost-maid rumors wouldn’t spread any further.

From the old dorm’s roof, Ryn and Nero listened in on the conversation.

The spirit responsible for one half of the ghostly commotion was as impassive as ever, but her softly spoken words contained a hint of pride.

“I must say, I’ve done an excellent job.”

The day after the ghost maid was sighted at the old dorms, the north wind took on a more severe chill—the kind of cold that pierced one’s very core. It seemed the previous day’s rain had brought winter with it.

As Elliott walked to school alone, he scrunched up at the cold air slipping through the gaps in his uniform. He often walked to school with Benjamin, but the musician had been holed up in his room, focused on his latest composition, from the moment they returned. He might even decide to cut classes that day.

Ugh. Yesterday was just awful.

Benjamin had dragged him around from dawn till dusk, and then, worst of all, he’d let out a cowardly shriek at seeing the ghost. And it had happened in front of an underclassman, no less.

The only good thing was that his friend had pulled himself out of his slump.

The winter recital should be safe and sound now, he thought. Just then, he heard frantic footsteps behind him—and a voice said, “Elliott! My friend!”

Struck by a nasty premonition, Elliott turned around and saw Benjamin running toward him, flaxen hair swaying back and forth.

“Elliott!” he cried. “Listen! I’ve completed the first movement based on yesterday’s events! And its greatest highlight is when I evoke your scream with my violin…”

Before Elliott could yell at him not to make his friend’s embarrassment into music, Benjamin’s eyes focused on something beyond Elliott and sparkled.

At the end of his gaze stood a noble girl with long, straight black hair: Claudia.

Elliott’s nasty premonition was only getting worse. Stop! I can’t take anymore, he prayed as he turned to his friend.

“…You got out of your slump, right?” he asked.

“Yes! I have been reborn, and is this not the perfect chance to dedicate my music to the one I so adore?”

“No, it isn’t!” Elliott cried out, practically screaming. “Don’t! If she lambasts you again, you’ll fall back into your slump!”

Then, from right next to him, someone said, “Excuse me…”

Under the newcomer’s gaze, Elliott grimaced. It was a short boy with wavy brown hair—Claudia’s betrothed, Neil. A beautiful noble fiancée and a musician trying to steal her away was never a welcome combination.

“Well, what I mean to say is, Claudia is my fiancée, so…”

Neil seemed to peel away his usual timidity. His face sharpened, and he stared at Benjamin.

“If you so wish, I will accept a request to duel. This is not a matter I can mediate, after all.” This was a rare declaration from Neil, a mediator known for always guiding the way to a peaceful solution.

As Elliott and Benjamin stood there flabbergasted, Neil trotted along after Claudia.

“Good morning, Miss Claudia. Um… Shall we walk together?” He sounded just as timid as usual when he spoke to her.

Benjamin watched him go. “He must have caught wind of my musical dedication to Miss Claudia. Men in conflict, risking it all for one woman… How wonderful. I can make a passionate piece with this!”

Elliott was certain his friend wouldn’t be making any more passes at Claudia. While he frequently sought love from those otherwise engaged and had a passion for writing music, he was not inclined to accept requests for duels. He was a moody musician, and his mind was already on his new piece. In fact, he was even now waving his right hand around like a conductor’s baton and humming to himself.

Suddenly, his hazy, enraptured eyes snapped open. His gaze had fallen on another beautiful girl walking next to Claudia—the student council secretary, Bridget Greyham.

No! thought Elliott, I’ve had enough bad feelings for today!

“Elliott, do you not think my music was always meant for her instead?”

That was it. Elliott wasn’t going to stand by and let this happen. He grabbed Benjamin by the collar and started walking. “How is it possible to be so inconstant?! And I thought you were only into beautiful people who were already in love!”

“Ah, but she is in love, Elliott. I can tell. After all, I’ve professed my feelings for her ten times since we were in the intermediate course and have always been rejected!”

“That’s the first I’m hearing of it… And if you’re going to try an eleventh time, could you do it after the recital?” Elliott grumbled.

Bridget Greyham, he thought. The perfect beauty. If she’s in love with anyone, then it must be… Ugh. I knew I was right all along. Anyone who tries to cross boundaries of social status like that will always make someone unhappy. What a tragedy.

Elliott looked up at the school building, no light in his darkened eyes.