[V1EX] Exciting Sleepover

That evening, upon returning home, Marquis Highown received a report from his butler in the entrance hall.

Apparently, they would have two guests staying the night. These guests were none other than the Thorn Witch and the Silent Witch, two members of the Seven Sages, the most powerful mages in the country.

Marquis Highown had invested in their joint research, providing the necessary land and materials for their studies. The management and coordination of these matters were generally entrusted to his son, Cyril.

Cyril seemed to be acquainted with these two individuals. He had met them about two years ago during a New Year’s ceremony held at the castle. Perhaps their close ages made it easier for them to approach each other.

(But still… I wonder if this is how a parent feels when their child brings a friend home for the first time.)

Of course, the guests were Sages who came for business. They hadn’t come for a casual visit, and their overnight stay was likely due to an extended discussion related to their collaborative research.

Thus, there was not really any reason for excitement… However, it might be permissible to show his face for a while, have some tea, and casually ask how his son was always doing. He pondered whether such actions would be acceptable.

As he contemplated these thoughts, his son’s voice echoed loudly from upstairs.

“I’ve been telling you it’s time for a meal, Monica Everett! How long are you going to bury your nose in books? And put back the book you read in its original position! How on earth did the arrangement of the bookshelves become such a mess in such a short time!?”

“Eek, s-sorry… The magic formula I’m working on in this book has a different deployment method starting from Chapter Eleven, so…”

“Arrange the books in alphabetical order by the author’s last name! Don’t bring in your nonsensical rules! And Raul Roseberg! If you’ve been in the flower bed, dust off the soil before entering the mansion! Why on earth are you going back to the flower bed right after taking a bath!?”

“Because there’s a flower bed there!”

“Another incomprehensible excuse… Do something about that mud before Father returns!”

As Marquis Highown silently gazed at the staircase, he saw his son descending from the second floor.

Cyril, with a book in his right hand and dragging the mud-covered Thorn Witch in his left, noticed the presence of Marquis Highown and hastily straightened his posture on the landing.

“Welcome home, Father. Um, there’s a reason for this, and, uh…”

Observing his stuttering son, Marquis Highown thought that in this situation, he might be allowed to feel a bit excited.

＊　＊　＊

After the fierce battle with the peas, Monica was told to stay overnight at the Ashley residence. She was submerged in a bath by the servants, had the mud washed off her, and was made to change into one of Claudia’s old dresses.

Since the lady of the house had passed away early, and Claudia had married into another family, there was no female member of the Ashley household. Perhaps due to this, the servants were remarkably enthusiastic about taking care of a woman after such a long time.

The dress put on Monica was made of elegant blue velvet with large pearl buttons.

Despite its luxurious feel, Monica was extremely nervous just knowing that she was wearing Claudia’s clothes. This was something she absolutely couldn’t soil.

During dinner, Marquis Highown said with an ambiguous tone, “If you like, you can just keep that on when you go home.” However, Monica politely declined, unsure of how serious he was.

After dinner, Monica, Cyril, and Raul gathered in the room they usually used for meetings to discuss the day’s events.

The points for reflection today were self-evident.

“Next time, I’ll be sure not to misread decimal points!!”

The man who had made the mistake in the fertilizer recipe didn’t seem to be reflecting at all, displaying an unrepentant cheerfulness.

Cyril furrowed his brow and sighed.

“…Please do. Also, about the disposal of those pea and rose remnants…”

As Cyril began to open some documents, Raul firmly grasped Cyril’s hand with a serious expression.

“Hey, Cyril. I think we have something more important than that right now.”

Cyril pondered for a moment and nodded.

“I see. About dealing with the magically contaminated land?”

“No, it’s the night of the sleepover; let’s decide what to do for fun!”

A sharp coldness emanated from Cyril.

Monica turned to Raul and nervously moved her hands. She attempted to gesture, “Cyril-sama is cold and angry right now,” and Raul winked as if he understood everything.

“Of course, Monica, you’re playing with us too!”

Nothing got through to him.

As Cyril exuded coldness and Monica fretted, Raul Roseberg took prompt action. He stood up, opened the door leading to the corridor, and called out to the servants.

“Hey, excuse me! Do you have board games or cards?”

“Listen to what I am saying! There’s no way we have…”

“We have them.”

Silently appearing from the shadows behind the door was none other than the owner of the mansion, Marquis Highown himself.

The way he appeared was quite startling, reminiscent of his daughter Claudia.

As Monica and Cyril were taken aback, Marquis Highown looked at Monica and Cyril in turn. His gaze was intelligent, as if seeing through everything.

“Is there anything in particular you desire?”

Marquis Highown asked in a solemn tone, and Raul, scratching his head, replied with his usual attitude.

“Well, actually, I’m not very familiar with such games… Oh, Cyril, what do you usually play? Tell me if you have any recommendations!”

Even though he proposed the idea of playing, Raul declared that he wasn’t knowledgeable about the subject and deferred to Cyril.

If it were the usual Cyril, he might have snapped at Raul, but now he seemed terribly troubled.

“Well… I…”

His usually raised eyebrows were drooping, and his gaze wandered at his feet.

The troubled Cyril muttered a few quiet words to himself.

“…Dad said… I shouldn’t play such vulgar things…”

His murmurs were fragmented and barely audible, as if he was trying to remind himself of something.

After observing Cyril’s state, Marquis Highown spoke expressionlessly.

“Board games are the heritage of humanity, with a long history. By the way, I was the president of the board game club during my student days. I actually have many collections. Are you interested?”

Upon hearing the words of Marquis Highown, Cyril looked up with a start.

“Please, let me see them, Father!”

Though respectful, Cyril seemed almost relieved, as if someone had helped him out of a pinch.

＊　＊　＊

With Marquis Highown joining the game, Monica found herself in the most troublesome situation of all.

Monica was exceptionally skilled at calculations, and usually won easily in games involving memory or probability calculations. When Monica apologized for this, Marquis Highown nodded and spread another board game on the table.

“In that case, how about something with an element of luck? Let’s start with a simple game to get used to it.”

The game suggested by Marquis Highown was a simple one where players advanced their pieces based on the roll of the dice, and the first to reach the goal won. It lacked strategic depth, making it almost impossible for Monica’s calculation skills to come into play.

Although it was a simple game even children could play, Monica found it intriguing that tiny stories were written in small letters on the board squares.

For example: “advance two squares because you bought a horse”, or “skip one turn because you fell ill”.

The game pieces represented each player’s alter ego, encountering small stories on the board. It was a refreshing experience.

“I’ll take this piece. Cyril, you can have the blue one.”

“I told you to wait! Listen to Father’s explanation first…”

Cyril complained about Raul’s laid-back attitude, while staring intently at the piece he received.

Monica received the orange piece from Raul, awkwardly placing it on the starting square.

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Monica quietly, and Marquis Highown nodded with a dignified expression, placing his black piece on the board.

“In a way, this game might be similar to reading, as it allows you to experience a psuedo-life different from your own.”

Marquis Highown’s voice had a profound depth that made the listener think, “I see.”

Beside Monica, the impressed Cyril nodded and said, “Indeed, as expected of Father.”

“At times, the results may be unpredictable. But such is also a part of life.”

“Yes Father, I will engrave your words in my heart and give my all in this game.”

In response to Cyril’s unwavering seriousness, Marquis Highown displayed a slightly gentler look.

“Good, games become truly enjoyable when you give it your all.”

＊　＊　＊

And so, Monica’s pseudo-life began…

“Um, the roll is three… ‘Forgot your wallet, go back four squares’… W-why! I forgot it earlier too! Why meee!”

Having repeatedly forgotten her wallet and going back to get it, Monica was on her third round of this misadventure.

Raul, who had already reached the goal, spoke with a serious expression seldom seen, even during the Seven Sages meetings.

“Maybe Monica forgot her wallet, went back home to get it, got engrossed in something else, and left without her wallet again.”

“Ugh… I might do that…”

While Monica was holding her head in dismay, Cyril rolled the dice.

The result was one. He had been consistently rolling small numbers.

“Fell off the horse skip a turn…? Didn’t I just lose a turn after being kicked by a horse! Why did I get on a horse in the first place…!”

Raul had secured first place, and Marquis Highown reached the goal and attained second place. Meanwhile, Monica and Cyril were competing for last place.

Yet, these two, astonishingly, kept rolling bad numbers and had not even progressed halfway across the board.

Monica continued to forget her wallet endlessly, and Cyril struggled with horse-related troubles.

It was Monica’s turn next.

Eager to go out with her wallet this time, Monica put strength into the hand holding the die and rolled it with a spirited cry. The result was two.

“Um, ‘Outing with friends. Move one square forward’… hehe.”

Imagining herself going out with Lana, Monica felt a brief moment of happiness and, skipping Cyril’s turn, rolled the die again.

The result was one.

On the square she landed, the text read, ‘Forgot your wallet, go back four squares.’

Raul playfully tapped Monica’s shoulder.

“You went out with friends but forgot your wallet again!”

“Wallet, where are you! Come back…!”

The imaginary Lana inside Monica’s head placed her hands on her hips, looking at Monica with a bewildered expression, saying, “Really?”

While Monica covered her face with both hands in embarrassment, Cyril picked up the die.

“Next time… next time…”

Cyril rolled the die with slightly bloodshot eyes.

The result was six. Having finally rolled a number higher than four, Cyril exclaimed, “Yes!” and moved his piece ahead, surpassing Monica.

” ‘Fell into a pitfall, skip a turn’…?”

“Cyril, isn’t that a bit too much misfortune?”

“Why… what did I do to deserve this…”

As Cyril muttered to himself, Monica gripped the die firmly.

This time, she would go out with her wallet for sure.

(Wallet, wallet, wallet! I’ll make sure to bring it…!)

Imagining herself putting the wallet into her bag, Monica rolled the die.

The result was five. With this, she escaped the endless cycle of going back to retrieve her wallet. However, she landed on the same square as Cyril.

Namely, ‘Fell into a pitfall, skip a turn.’

“Oh no! Monica fell on top of Cyril! He’s gonna get crushed!”

“Cyril-sama! Please forgive me!”

“I won’t get crushed! I could easily catch Monica!”

As Cyril shouted with a red face, Raul moved his own piece, which had already reached the goal, next to Cyril and Monica’s pieces.

“Wait for me, both of you! I’m coming to rescue you now!”

“Stop, don’t start some strange minigame! You stay quiet at the goal! I’ll catch up soon… Ugh, another one.”

Advancing his piece by one square, Cyril stared at the board in despair. His face turned pale.

” ‘The carriage you rode went out of control. Return to the start’… Coming this far, only to go back to square one…”

Cyril covered his face with both hands, bowing his head like a philosopher agonizing over life.

“…I can’t see the end point of my life.”

Raul burst into laughter.

＊　＊　＊

Observing the intense battle for last place, Marquis Highown silently stroked his mustache.

There was no need to ask how his son was doing. The enjoyable exchange in front of him made everything evident.

(He has made good friends.)

Marquis Highown nodded approvingly at the Silent Witch securing third place. Nevertheless, Cyril continued to earnestly roll the die, still silently struggling to reach the goal.

Afterwards, they all cheered until Cyril finally got to the finish.

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