[V9C24] Squishy or Fluffy, That is the Question

“Cyril-sama, this is terrible. There are no paw pads.”

Cyril pondered over Monica’s words for a few seconds, trying to comprehend the meaning. But ultimately, he failed to understand anything.

He gave a puzzled stare to Monica, who returned the gaze with hazy eyes covered in a thin layer of tears. Her eyebrows were drooping in an expression of sadness.

This was not the first time Cyril had seen Monica on the verge of tears, but something about her seemed different this time. Perhaps that was because the makeup made her look more mature, or the fact that her hair was tied up.

“Sorry, Monica, I didn’t quite catch that. Could you say it again?”

“…There are no paw pads.”

Monica murmured in a hushed tone, like a child right about to burst into tears. Then, she suddenly grabbed the hand of the nearby Elliott.

“Guh!? Hey, wait, Cyril, stop making that scary face. I’m innocent here, I haven’t done anything,” Elliott shouted, raising both hands in an appeal of his innocence.

What scary face? How rude, Cyril thought to himself.

Meanwhile, Monica desperately pulled at Elliott’s hands.

“Howard-sama, please give me your paw pads.”

“Why would I have paw pads!” Elliott shouted.

“Cyril-sama will surely smile once he gets to squish your paw pads.”

“Look at Cyril’s face right now! He’s the exact opposite of smiling!”

Monica slowly turned her head to Cyril, then started sobbing.

“Oh no, Cyril-sama is angry… because there are no paw pads… because he can’t squish any paw pads…”

Cyril attempted to explain that paw pads had nothing to do with it, and that he wasn’t angry to begin with. But before he could get a word in edgewise, Elliott opened his mouth first.

“Hey, Little Squirrel, listen carefully. Cyril prefers fluffy over squishy.”

Monica gasped in utter shock.

For the record, Cyril did indeed enjoy the fluffy fur of animals, but that was only because he had never experienced paw pads before.

(Well, I’ve never touched a paw pad, so I can’t really compare… No, wait, that’s not the issue. Why are we talking about paw pads in the first place?)

In the midst of this confusion, someone approached the group with an elegant gait. It was the genius musician Benjamin Mordin.

After glancing at Elliott, Monica, and Cyril in turn, Benjamin shrugged and said, “It appears the ‘Buttered’ has worked a bit too well.”

“…Buttered?”

Cyril frowned at the unfamiliar term, so Elliott grimaced and quickly explained.

“Buttered is a local drink, hot milk mixed with a bit of rum and topped with butter. Don’t tell me she seriously got drunk on that!?”

Come to think of it, Monica’s cheeks seemed noticeably red, even given her makeup.

Being drunk would explain her nonsensical behavior, but not the reason she came to Elliott. Even now, Monica was constantly staring at the palms of Elliott’s hands, like a cat eyeing its prey.

“Monica, humans don’t have paw pads,” Cyril explained in a completely serious tone.

Monica ceased her attempts to snatch Elliott’s hands, then stared up at Cyril in complete silence. This felt incredibly awkward, so Cyril reached for a glass of juice on the table.

“First things first, you should drink something non-alcoholic…”

“No… paw pads…?”

Monica drooped her head, as if suffering from inescapable despair.

Why on earth was she so fixated on paw pads?

But then, Monica grabbed the collar of her robe and whispered in a hush tone.

“I want to be a cat…”

With that, she removed her robe in one fell swoop and discarded it to the ground. It was a lightning-fast move, leaving Elliott, Cyril, and Benjamin no time to react.

However, the moment her skin was exposed, the visions of the three were dyed in white. Someone had rushed to the scene and swiftly covered her in a tablecloth from a nearby table.

“Very stylish, if I do say so myself… Pardon me, Silent Witch-dono.”

The holder of the tablecloth was a blond young man wearing priestly robes. He swiftly wrapped Monica in the tablecloth and lifted her into his hands.

“I will take her to the guest room.”

“R-Right, thanks…” Elliott said with a nod.

The young priest performed an elegant bow while still holding Monica, picked up her fallen robe, then departed the hall.

“Was he someone from the temple?” Cyril questioned Elliott regarding the man’s identity.

However, this put Elliott Howard in quite the predicament.

The mysterious young priest responsible for the splendid tablecloth pull was actually a spirit, who was for some reason hiding his/her true identity. But Elliott couldn’t just casually reveal this secret to Cyril.

That said, jokingly saying “That’s just my Gramps/Nanny” to the clearly irritated Cyril would only result in furthering his anger.

Thus, Elliott reached the conclusion that exploiting Cyril’s misunderstanding was the best option. He nodded with an awkward smile.

“Y-Yeah, he’s from the temple…”

“…”

Elliott had intended to reassure Cyril that everything was alright, but Cyril immediately chased after Ryn and Monica with the same scary expression as before.

Elliott turned at Benjamin.

“Hey, Benjamin. Want to follow them and see what happens?”

“Unfortunately, Your Lordship, you have little choice but to cover up for their absence by distracting them with greetings. Perhaps I shall play the piano to lighten the mood? New pieces are welling up one after another, and my heart is currently brimming with joy! Let me share my ecstasy with everyone in the form of splendid music!”

＊　＊　＊

Cyril caught up with the priest in the corridor, right before the staircase.

“Excuse me, Priest-dono.”

Cyril called out to the priest, causing him to turn his neck toward Cyril.

“Priest? Are you perhaps referring to me?”

“The lady you are carrying is an acquaintance of mine. Allow me to accompany you in taking her to her room.”

“…?”

The priest turned his entire body toward Cyril instead of just his neck, then replied.

“Is it not generally considered inappropriate for a male acquaintance to enter the room of an unconscious woman?”

This was completely true, but what about the priest himself? Cyril started getting irritated.

Meanwhile, Monica was mumbling in her sleep as she rubbed her head against the priest’s shoulder, like a cat seeking affection.

Though he did not understand why, Cyril felt the rage boiling within him.

Observing Cyril’s change in expression, the priest somehow clapped his hands while still holding Monica firmly in place.

“Could this be…? I see. I have grasped the situation.”

The priest nodded with an air of self-satisfaction, then looked straight at Cyril and continued…

“This must be a love triangle.”

“What?”

“A very thrilling development.”

“What?”

Cyril could not comprehend a word that the priest was saying.

However, one thing was certain. The discomfort in his stomach had definitely increased.

“Do you think this is some sort of joke?!” Cyril shouted.

“Then, following the usual pattern, allow me to offer these words.”

The priest adjusted Monica in his arms, then delivered the message in a flat tone.

“Do not lay a hand on my woman, I daresay.”

Before he could even think, Cyril found himself grabbing the priest’s arm.

(Dammit, dammit, dammit!)

The priest simply stared down at Cyril’s hand digging into his arm, all without raising an eyebrow. The silent standoff lasted for what seemed like an eternity.

Eventually, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence. A middle-aged maid and an elderly maid arrived at the scene. Both looked like seasoned professionals.

The maids bowed apologetically to the priest.

“I am deeply sorry for our late response. We heard that Silent Witch-sama has collapsed.”

“Surely, it must be fatigue from the ceremony. She worked so very hard!”

Without a word, the priest glanced back at Cyril. Once Cyril grimaced and finally let go, the priest addressed the two maids.

“In that case, please accompany me as I take her to the guest room. I would appreciate the presence of two female attendants. Is this acceptable, Cyril Ashley-dono?”

Cyril said nothing. He couldn’t open his mouth in this situation.

There was no good reason for him, someone was nothing more than a male acquaintance, to accompany Monica to her room.

With dark eyes, Cyril merely watched as the priest left with the two maids.

(Dammit, dammit, dammit!)

Cyril attributed the burning fury in his head to the ridiculous behavior and words of that priest.

The priest was mocking him, so that’s why he felt so unpleasant. He had been insulted, so this anger was justified, legitimate, and righteous.

Cyril tightly clenched his fists, as if trying to crush the anger with no outlet.

(Come to think of it…)

Yet amidst the intense fury clouding his mind, a small doubt formed in his head.

(Why did that priest know my name?)

In this story, “Buttered” is a shorthand for “Hot Buttered Rum”. This naming likely isn’t common, so I recommend not trying to order a “Buttered” in real life.

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