Chapter 64
At first, even the most daunting tasks can become familiar with practice. That’s why people say that the triangles of the heart inevitably wear down.
“Mar, I’m here.”
“Welcome, Carl. Good morning!”
And that’s how I feel now. Despite the fact that the pastry club room was painstakingly created by the Academy, fundamentally, it’s not a place for people to linger. It is merely a temporary space for baking.
In such a situation, I found myself savoring the comfort of the Vice President’s office, especially when I was starting to feel bored from spending too long alone in the club room. I was contemplating whether to stock up on some books, but it turns out having someone around made me unexpectedly happy.
Marghetta seemed perfectly fine with me dropping by any time, so I’ve taken the liberty of checking in every day despite the rudeness it might entail.
“I brought some today as well.”
“Thanks as always! You really don’t need to come empty-handed.”
“How could I possibly do that?”
Of course, it’s troublesome to maintain the title of “the useless adult who plays around while a younger lady works.” However, unlike during the fair preparations, helping Marghetta isn’t exactly my area, so it’s tricky.
After much deliberation, I decided to bring snacks every morning. That’s about all I can do right now. While using my brain, filling up on snacks every now and then should help boost us. Plus, cookies are so easy to munch on!
But Marghetta even turned that down.
“I’m fine. Just coming here empty-handed is enough.”
“If I don’t do at least this much, I won’t feel at ease. I’d feel too guilty to show my face again.”
“If that’s the case…”
It took my earnest persuasion before she finally started accepting the cookies. Even staying in a budget lodging requires some payment, so it felt wrong to be in such a luxurious room without contributing anything. Marghetta, who was hesitant at first, now eats them naturally, which makes me quite proud.
“I should bring even more.”
Today, I ask Louise to make more than usual.
*
Carl brought cookies again today.
“Really, it’s totally fine if he comes empty-handed.”
When Carl first brought cookies, unwanted memories crossed my mind. The horrific taste I experienced before the club fair. A flavor so vile I had never encountered in my life, combined with the fear of Carl potentially trying to shove me away.
Fortunately, I was relieved to find out it was given with good intentions, yet that distasteful flavor still lingered on my mind. So, I initially turned it down outright. But then Carl insisted he wouldn’t come unless I accepted some of these cookies.
Choosing between enduring that wretched cookie or spending time with Carl while protecting my taste buds, I naturally went with the former. If I could just bear a moment of discomfort, happiness was sure to follow. And once I tasted the cookie, I realized how pointless my worries had been.
“Why are they so tasty?”
Once again, I pulled out a cookie from Carl and took a bite. Delicious! It wasn’t just that my expectations set a low bar; these cookies surpassed anything else!
On the first day of receiving them, I was bracing myself for bland horror akin to what I’d eaten in the clubroom, but they were delightful. Here I was, pondering why he had given me that horrid cookie while normal ones abound. Did he genuinely want to push me away at that moment, only to change his mind the next day?
Amidst the swirling confusion, I can’t forget what Carl had said.
“I brought a lot since it seemed like Mar liked them.”
He just assumed I liked them after seeing me eat? From the expression on his face, it didn’t seem like a joke.
It’s possible he thought that since I tried to control my reactions around him. But how could he bring cookies clearly tasting different while thinking I enjoyed them? It wasn’t a simple mistake—it had happened multiple times!
I subtly turned my gaze to Carl, who was lying around on the sofa. I’m aware that those who have endured wartime often exhibit unusual symptoms. Certainly, I’ve been exposed to enough tales as part of the Valenti family. And I can clearly see some of those symptoms in Carl’s demeanor now.
“What do I do…?”
It’s a heartbreaking situation. I wish I could just give him a hug and comfort him right away. But how could I? The party in question seems perfectly fine. So does that give me the right to intervene? Would clumsily approaching him only make him retreat further?
In the end, from day one until now, I’ve been merely worrying without taking any action. But I know an opportunity will arise. Time will pass, and Carl will eventually reveal his scars. I’ll get a chance to soothe them. Yes, it will definitely happen. Someday, he will confide in me easily because I’ll always be there beside him.
“…But why is it so delicious?”
I understand why Carl brought that new cookie, but the mystery of why that other cookie emerged from the clubroom remains unsolved. Surely he brought what he regularly eats; what could be the reason behind this flavor shift?
*
As the club period was nearing its end, Louise cheerfully handed me my cookie jar, filled to the brim.
“Here! I made even more than usual!”
“Thanks! Mar really enjoyed them, too.”
“Yay! I’m glad!”
Louise’s bright smile indicated her joy in sharing her cookies with someone besides me. I’m immensely grateful that she doesn’t show any signs of discontent toward my repeated requests for increased production. Of course, she looked puzzled when I first asked for double the amount.
“Isn’t that way too much? You wouldn’t be able to finish it in a day.”
“I’m giving them to Mar as a gift.”
Her eyes lit up at that! She instantly cleaned up her mixing bowl and started anew. I told her she didn’t need to do that, but she was so resolute I couldn’t let it go. It felt kind of cool to think of it as craftsmanship.
Those cookies, made with Louise’s enthusiasm, were being happily devoured by Marghetta. It’s only natural since the already well-made cookies were given even more attention!
“I’ll be counting on you again tomorrow.”
“Yes!”
Having a capable club president is so convenient. I, the advisor, am thoroughly satisfied.
The Vice President’s office is inevitably connected to the Student Council room. Given my buddy-buddy relationship with the president, going through the Student Council room doesn’t pose an issue. But today, the atmosphere felt a bit off.
As I opened the door to the Student Council room, all seven pairs of eyes zeroed in on me simultaneously. What’s going on? Why is everyone gathered when they’re usually scattered?
“Ah, Prosecutor.”
The president, who had been frowning, relaxed his expression upon seeing me. He seemed like he was about to rise from his seat, so I gestured for him to remain seated.
“Did I come at a bad time? My apologies.”
“Not at all. We were just finishing up the meeting.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
Finishing up? It was obvious I had interrupted right in the middle of things.
But given how familiar I am with the president’s expression, it seemed he was fishing for an opportunity to close the meeting, claiming, “We didn’t have much to discuss, but since a superior has arrived, let’s wrap things up for refreshments.” I decided to overlook it. If he’s already pulling that card, he’s destined for a great career as a civil servant.
“Vice President, please take care of the Prosecutor.”
“Understood.”
And just like that, he naturally connected me with Marghetta—the reason I was here in the first place. Just a year from now, someone like this will become a civil servant? The empire’s future is indeed looking bright!
“I’m sorry for the stiff greeting, Carl. We had an important matter to discuss.”
Once in the Vice President’s office, Marghetta was the first to apologize, so I shook my head. It had been my interruption, so I ought to be the one apologizing.
“Since I’m the one who barged in, I should be apologizing.”
“Fufu, thank you for saying that.”
“But, Mar, what was that meeting all about?”
“Oh, that?”
Marghetta let out a small sigh at my question and settled into her chair. There’s no way she wouldn’t have informed me beforehand if there had been a student council meeting scheduled for the morning. Besides, now that exams are over, there shouldn’t be any critical matters requiring a student council. So something unexpected must have popped up.
“The Academy’s schedule was generally clear around this time.”
“Yes, I know.”
After the fair and exams, not much usually goes on at school. It’s an effort to allow students to recuperate after burning out physically and mentally. At least, that was the case until last year.
“Have you heard that school trips are being reinstated this year?”
“Of course, I have.”
Yes, I know. Once my dispatch to the Academy was confirmed, I checked the schedule right away. It was ridiculous to find school trips listed on a schedule where they hadn’t existed before.
School trips? In a fantasy setting reminiscent of Europe? As lovely as it may be for the protagonists, this is a ridiculous stretch. The atmosphere practically screams that something’s going to happen.
“There was a lot of deliberation for this first school trip. Initially, it was thought we’d go to a nearby territory, but—”
Marghetta paused suddenly and seemed to check if I had any prior knowledge. What was she trying to say?
“Well, an incident occurred, and we settled on Boyar as the destination.”
“Wait what?”
Just like that, my mind went blank for a brief moment. Boyar? Was she referring to that Boyar? No, perhaps there was more than one Boyar out there?
“By Boyar, do you mean…?”
Clinging to my last shred of hope, I asked, but Marghetta glanced away and gave me a firm answer.
“Yep, it’s the Boyar that Carl’s thinking about.”
Damn it.
At that dreadful confirmation, I couldn’t help but close my eyes. Of course, there can’t be multiple places named Boyar. In the entire continent, there is only one location known as Boyar.
It’s astonishing. Captured by the Mage Duchess in just one day, then facing the Invincible Duke immediately after. It’s all happened within just a few days, and I was just starting to escape the shock of that infamous duo’s presence.
“Now it’s the Gold Duke’s turn.”
I successfully enrolled in the triple threat club. Boyar, officially called the Duchy of Boyar. Yes, the territory where the Duke, known as the Golden Duke, resides.
Just when I finally realized the Academy was a paradise, they wanted to drag me out to Boyar for a school trip. It’s not even a funny joke. Sadly, while Marghetta handles many things well, her sense of humor seems to be slightly lacking.
I just wish this were a joke. It’s like we’re just skipping over the build-up and diving into crisis after crisis after crisis!
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