Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 4 - Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

More than Equations or Magic Formulae…

Entrusted with the role of kitchen liaison, Monica left the ballroom and headed for the grand hall’s attached kitchen. Because it was used only during large-scale events like these, it wasn’t as well furnished or stocked as the school’s main kitchen, and some of the food was cooked there and brought over.

When Monica peered through the open kitchen door, she could see cooks rushing around busily. It was even more exciting here than in the ballroom.

Sh-should I do the proper thing and say hello? If I go right in dressed like this, they’ll wonder what I’m here for. I should introduce myself… But everyone looks so busy…

Interrupting someone hard at work was an extremely tall order for someone as shy as Monica. But as she fretted, a burly cook spotted her and called out. “What do you need, miss? Lost your way?”

“N-n-n-n-n-no,” she said weakly. “Um, I, uh, I’m with the student council, um, and they told me to serve as liaison…”

The chef’s face lit up. “Perfect timing! Good weather today, right?”

“Y-yes…”

“Well, one of our younger cooks left all the ice meant to chill the frozen desserts outside. And since it was so sunny today, it all melted. Could you get the vice president to make some new ice for us?”

Cyril had told her to simply stand by and wait if they didn’t need anything, but apparently her job wouldn’t be quite so easy. The cook handed her a large tub; it was big enough for a good-size adult to just barely wrap their arms around.

“We need enough ice to fill this container. Thanks!”

He’d already thanked her—there was no way out of it now. Monica reached her arms as far as they would go around the tub and waddled to one corner of the hallway.

If they’re okay with using ice made from magecraft, then it’s not meant for consumption, just for chilling food. Since ice produced with magecraft contained mana, it wasn’t fit to eat. People naturally lacked resistance to mana, and ingesting too much of it would result in mana poisoning. But if the cooks were only packing the ice around containers of frozen dessert to chill them, then that sort of ice was fine to use.

The cook had planned to ask Cyril to do it, since ice magecraft was his specialty, but the vice president was a busy man. Monica didn’t want to add to his workload if she could help it.

Blowing a puff of air through her nose, she brought the tub to the back of the hallway, away from everyone else, and used unchanted magecraft to create ice. They’ll probably want clear ice with most of the impurities gone, right? And with her skills, it didn’t even take ten seconds to fill the whole tub.

“I did it…”

Sighing in satisfaction, Monica put her hands back on the tub and heaved.

“Urrrgh, phew, uuurrrgh…”

A bit late, she realized that the tub was too heavy for her to lift. It was such a silly mistake that she began to wonder how she ever became a Sage.

She struggled valiantly but, in the end, gave up on lifting it. Instead, she bent over and pushed on it with both hands. While she could have lifted it using wind magecraft, if anyone saw, they’d know she was a mage. So instead, she pushed on it alone, in silence.

I don’t want to…bother anyone else with something like this…

Felix and Cyril had taken some of the work off Monica’s plate so that she could have a good time at her first school festival. They were being so considerate of her. She couldn’t bother such kind people with her silly blunder. She didn’t want to inconvenience them and cause them to dislike her. She didn’t want to disappoint them. She’d taken on this task of her own volition. I have to do it right, she told herself.

Especially since not too long ago, she’d let a couple of assassins escape due to a lapse in judgment. Now she was even more afraid of failing or causing trouble for others.

“Hoo… Hoo… Urrrgh…”

Thankfully, it wasn’t very far to the kitchen. If she really tried, she’d get there.

Her breathing growing ragged, she kept pushing the tub until eventually she felt a sudden pain in her head. A powerful bout of dizziness washed over her, causing her vision to lurch.

…Oh, wait.

She’d spent the day running around, fighting, and breathing poison. She was exhausted, and her body hadn’t recovered enough to do something so taxing.

And the headache didn’t go away—in fact, it only got worse. All of a sudden, her vision went white, and the next moment, everything was pitch-black.

No… No, I can’t… I haven’t…

Her fingers slid from the tub. Her small body fell limp, crumpling to the floor. She felt herself going pale and her consciousness fading.

I still haven’t…done anything for them…

After resolving the disagreement at the reception desk, Cyril hurried to the kitchen. From a cursory glance, it didn’t seem like any other issues had cropped up. But the bigger an event was, the more tiny problems lurked just out of sight. If he ignored them, they would only grow until they became major issues. That’s why it was his responsibility as Felix’s right hand to continue settling them before that could happen—that way, he wouldn’t have to bother the prince.

I managed to scrounge up the time for Officer Maywood to dance with Claudia…but once the band’s performance is finished, things will get busier again.

As he mulled over what else needed to be done, he turned a corner and saw a ring of people standing just outside the kitchen door. They were surrounding someone. He glimpsed a green skirt and felt his blood run cold.

“What’s going on?!” he demanded, running up and quickly confirming his hunch. Monica was lying on the floor, supported by a member of the kitchen staff.

A cook looked at her with concern and said, “Vice President, this girl collapsed in the hallway, and…”

Cyril got down on his knees, removed one of Monica’s gloves, and checked her pulse. It was present but weak. And the tips of her fingers were freezing.

I couldn’t tell how pale she was because of her makeup…, he thought. Exhaustion, tension—and anemia, perhaps. Whatever the case, he couldn’t simply leave her lying here. The second floor of the grand hall included several small rooms meant for taking breaks. They’d have plenty of blankets up there.

“I’ll take her to a resting room. Everyone else, please return to your posts.”

He issued instructions to the kitchen staff as he scooped Monica up. He wasn’t too confident in his strength, but he could probably get her to a second-floor room by himself.

As he rose with the girl in his arms, he spotted a bucket on the floor. It was full of exceptionally pure, clear ice. It must have been created with magecraft.

“…What’s that?” he asked.

A burly cook picked up the tub and said, “The ice we were using in the kitchen melted, so we asked her to fetch some more. You made it with your magecraft, right? It’s a huge help. With this much, chilling those desserts will be no problem.”

Cyril hadn’t made the ice. But in that case, where did Monica get it? Did she bring it over from the kitchen in the school building? It doesn’t look nearly melted enough to have been carried all that way…

He looked down at the sleeping Monica. Her arms had bent as he’d picked her up; they now rested limp on her stomach. Her right arm—from which he’d removed the glove when measuring her pulse—was skinny as a twig. Her hand was far smaller than Cyril’s, and she had a callous on her middle finger. It was the hand of someone who held a pen for several hours each day.

Cyril stared at her hand for a few more moments, then made his way up to the second floor.

From far away, she could make out the soft sounds of music.

The song I heard in dance class… The ternary system of waltzes…

“It’s called three-part time.”

Casey had said that, hadn’t she? With an awkward grin on her face.

As she recalled the days spent practicing dancing with her friends, Monica slowly opened her eyes. Two blue irises appeared in her still-hazy vision. They were peering at her with worry.

“…Lord…Cyril?” she murmured, almost getting her tongue in a twist. Cyril sighed in relief.

Monica slowly sat up and got a grasp on her current situation. She was wrapped in a blanket and lying on a sofa. A short distance away, Cyril was watching her.

“Are you cold?”

That brief question was all it took for Monica to realize why he was so far away from her. His mana hyperabsorption caused him to constantly emit cold air. He must be worried that being next to her would make her cold.

“Um, Lord Cyril, I, ummm…”

She looked around the room, recognizing it. This was one of the resting rooms on the grand hall’s second floor. Why had she been brought here?

I was trying to carry the ice…

“You were on the floor in front of the kitchen. Do you not remember?”

“…!”

Monica’s mouth flapped opened and closed. Then she buried her pallid face in her hands. She’d thought she was fine—she could still move. But apparently, she’d been more exhausted than she thought. She’d overestimated her own abilities and caused trouble for someone else.

“I’m, I’m sorry… Sorry for bothering you with…with…”

She’d intended to carry out the job he’d entrusted her with on her own. And this was the result. The cause of her failure was clear—pushing herself too hard and not asking for help because she didn’t want to inconvenience anyone and make them dislike her.

Monica was shy and always hesitant to seek assistance. Rather than getting sour looks from whoever she asked, she’d much prefer to manage things on her own.

She’d tried to do just that—and failed. I didn’t help at all. In fact, I caused more problems… Tears fell from her eyes, wetting the petals of the white rose at her breast.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” She looked down, stifling her sobs, and heard a sigh from Cyril. She shook. He was probably fed up with her now.

“Were you not feeling well?” he asked.

Monica just hung her head, sniffling, not answering.

“The cooks were thankful for the ice,” he mentioned.

She looked up at him in surprise. He wasn’t angry—he seemed more troubled than anything else.

“I knew you weren’t a good fit for liaison duty where you might have to negotiate. But you decided to help anyway, and I think highly of that.”

“…Mmgh… Huh?”

“You hadn’t taken proper care of yourself this time, and it didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped, but you did fulfill the task’s minimum requirements.”

As Monica’s tear-soaked lashes moved up and down, Cyril’s eyebrows rose in a familiar expression.

“Of course, if this continues, it will be a problem. I’ll make you into a negotiator yet! The next time you’re feeling ill, report it to me at once! And if you need extra help, ask those around you!”

“Y-yes, sir!”

“The prince wants Officer Maywood to be the student council president next year. And he will likely appoint you to join him, since you have experience.”

Monica and Neil were the only two second-year students on the council. Everyone else was in their third year. If Felix and the others graduated and Neil became president, it seemed natural to assume he’d ask Monica to stay on as a member.

“Once Officer Maywood is president, you’ll be his right hand. By then, you’ll need to know your stuff when it comes to communication. Remember that and continue to devote yourself.”

Cyril spoke as though it was obvious Monica would be at the academy next year.

But there wouldn’t be a next year—not for Monica Norton.

She was here to protect Felix. Once the prince graduated, she’d have no reason to stay. His graduation would mean Monica leaving school and going back to her life as Monica Everett, the Silent Witch and one of the Seven Sages.

That’s why I was so desperate to help out at this year’s ball…

When he saw Monica looking depressed, Cyril cleared his throat awkwardly. “Also, leaving aside your job as a student council member… Well.”

“…?”

She looked up at Cyril as he hesitated over his words.

He glanced at her floral decoration. “You were looking forward to the dance, right? …Sorry for making you help out with all this.”

“Huh?” Monica stared at him blankly. She hadn’t expected that. Had she mentioned looking forward to the dance?

Oh, right. This morning in the student council room… Finally, she remembered. Early that morning, Bridget had spotted her sneaking out of the girls’ dorm, and she’d said in front of everyone she had been secretly practicing her dancing.

Wait, has that been on Lord Cyril’s mind this whole time…?! Her face went pale with guilt. She hadn’t wanted to dance at the ball in the first place. She’d just wanted to make herself useful as Monica Norton, student council accountant—though she’d failed in the end.

“Um, actually, I think I’ll sit this one out,” she said, smiling clumsily. “…I’m, well, not very good, so I’d just embarrass whoever I was with…”

Cyril looked a little put off by that. Why? wondered Monica.

He walked over to her sofa. Then he got down on his knee in front of her and extended a hand. “Nobody will be watching us here, so there’s no need for embarrassment.”

His pretty blue eyes reflected Monica’s stunned expression.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

Pierced by his gaze, she placed her hand in his.

Cyril guided her along in time with the band’s performance, which they could hear from somewhere in the distance. She hadn’t danced with him since the time they practiced for her class. As ever, Cyril was a good lead, naturally guiding the clumsy Monica.

She twirled, sending her lace-adorned skirt fluttering into the air. Cyril gently supported her as she staggered on her way back, and they resumed the proper steps.

Monica wasn’t great when it came to moving around. But right now, she was genuinely enjoying it.

Eventually, before the song ended, Cyril stopped and brought their dance to an end. Monica figured he was still concerned about her condition, but instead, he narrowed his eyes and frowned.

“Why are you worse at this than before?” he murmured aloud, his voice low. His dubious stare was a far cry from proper dancing etiquette—but it was classic Cyril Ashley.

Feeling weirdly relieved by his familiar attitude, Monica started muttering and making excuses. “I-I’m sorry. If I had cleared my mind and focused on numerical equations, I could have done a little better. But…”

That was how she’d passed the retest in ballroom dancing class. For her, it was much easier to dance if she thought of nothing but equations, letting the other person lead. But she hadn’t done that this time.

“It just seemed…kind of a waste to fill my head with numbers, so…”

The world of numbers was the most beautiful thing Monica could imagine. She didn’t know of anything that absorbed or obsessed her more than equations and magic formulae.

But just for this moment, more than either of those things, she wanted to make sure she never, ever forgot this time spent as Monica Norton.

As her brows lowered awkwardly, Cyril’s gaze wandered. Eventually, he said gruffly, “Make sure you can dance a little better by next year’s ball.”

Monica carefully hid the emotions threatening to make her cry and offered him a vague smile.

I’m sorry, Lord Cyril. Next year, I…I won’t be here.

That was why, more than equations, more than magic formulae, Monica wanted memories.

Memories that glittered like all the treasures in her drawer.