[V9EX4] Hunger and Loneliness Are Similar

After the annoying and extremely rude priest had taken the drunken Monica to her room, Cyril remained standing in the same spot for a while.

There was no sign of the priest returning. Perhaps he was lingering in her room.

Hypothetically, if that man was Monica’s lover, then there was nothing strange about this. It was only natural for someone to take care of their lover when they feel unwell.

(…As an outsider, it is not my place to interfere.)

Indeed, he was an outsider. Just a senior student who sometimes guided Monica at school.

Cyril had always acted as the reliable senior, so he had no complaints about this position.

There was nothing to be discontent with, so why did his chest feel prickly? Why did the pit of his stomach feel so empty and unsatisfied?

(I must be hungry.)

Cyril convinced himself of this and returned to the hall.

The hall was beginning to fill up with more people than before. Now that the storm had subsided, the delayed guests began arriving one after another.

The owner of the mansion Elliott was busy greeting them all.

Cyril had already exchanged most of the necessary greetings, so he decided to stay for about an hour or so before finding an opportunity to leave.

However, as there were no familiar faces around, Cyril decided to kill time by eating the pre-prepared food placed on the table.

The dish was a grilled steak giving off a pleasant buttery fragrance. Apparently, many of the local recipes used butter, as there were copious amounts in the drinks and sweets as well.

With stiff, mechanical motions, Cyril brought slices of the meat wrapped in various vegetables to his mouth one by one.

Following that, he took a slice of quail pie and ate it in complete silence.

Finally, he finished a bowl of lamb stew. It was by then that he started feeling signs of indigestion.

Cyril had never been a picky eater, but he had a small appetite. This was the obvious outcome for eating three whole meat dishes that would normally be sufficient for an entire meal.

(My stomach feels queasy…)

This was undoubtedly because he had eaten too much. No other reason came to mind.

Cyril waited for his stomach to settle a bit before leaving the hall.

Once he was outside, he concentrated on commanding Thule and Pikeh to ‘return’.

Contract spells acted like an invisible thread connecting humans to their partnered spirit or dragon. This thread served various roles, such as supplying mana, placing restrictions on actions, or conveying intentions.

While it was impossible for Cyril to communicate actual words through this thread, it was not difficult to convey the intention of ‘return’.

This thread gave both contracted parties a vague understanding of their partner’s location, and Thule and Pikeh already knew that Cyril was in the lord’s mansion. They managed to find each other fairly easily.

That said, Thule and Pikeh did not have the proper attire for entering the lord’s mansion, so Cyril decided to call for them after moving a slight distance away. This turned out to be the right decision.

Cyril found Thule and Pikeh completely soaked and covered in mud, as if they had been rolling around on the ground. Flower petals could be seen all over their skin and hair.

They had the appearance of an adult man and woman, which only made the sight more strange.

“…Did you not take shelter from the rain?” Cyril asked.

“No, we were playing with the flowers because they were so fun. Right, Pikeh?”

“It was beautiful.”

“Yeah, very beautiful and fun. Monica was amazing.”

The moment Thule mentioned Monica’s name, Cyril felt a hollow feeling similar to hunger. Even though he had just eaten enough to cause indigestion.

Cyril held his stomach and glanced between the two.

“So did you find an inn…?”

Both Thule and Pikeh fell silent. Most likely, they had become engrossed in their play and completely forgotten about getting an inn.

Having anticipated this, Cyril let out a quiet sigh.

“Apparently, the lord has reserved a few inns for visiting guests. Both of you, transform into weasels.”

The two responded “Okay” in unison, then moved into the shadows to transform into weasels. Once the transformation was complete, the soaked white and gold weasels jumped onto Cyril’s shoulders.

This made his shoulders feel pretty cold, but Cyril began walking towards the inn regardless, lacking the energy to complain.

＊　＊　＊

The inn Elliott had reserved for guests was a luxurious accommodation suitable for most nobles.

The inn seemed to have a bath, but Cyril thought it would be inappropriate to wash the soaked weasels in a bathtub used by other people. Thus, he asked the staff to prepare a tub of hot water for him to wash Thule and Pikeh.

“Both of you are completely soaked… Aren’t you cold?” Cyril asked.

“I’m an ice spirit,” Pikeh replied.

“And I’m a white dragon who lives on a snowy mountain,” Thule added.

A valid point. Cyril regretted asking the silly question as Thule, who was drying with a cloth, looked up at him with golden eyes.

“What about you Cyril? Are you cold? You look kind of pale.”

“Your fingers were cold too,” Pikeh added.

“Maybe we made you cold by getting your clothes wet? Sorry,” Thule said.

“Sorry,” Pikeh echoed.

Now that they mentioned it, Cyril did feel a little chilly. His fingertips were also icy cold.

“Maybe eating will help you warm up,” Thule suggested.

“…No,” Cyril shook his head.

His heartburn and indigestion had finally started settling down. It would be best if he skipped dinner tonight.

Having come up with a better idea, Cyril left the two weasels in his room.

Most high-end inns had tea salons, and these salons often came with a small kitchen for preparing tea and snacks.

Cyril asked the staff for permission to use that kitchen and began brewing tea.

He had always enjoyed preparing drinks like tea and hot chocolate. Performing tasks with a correct procedure and set times allowed him to regain his calm.

Looking back, Cyril had found himself wanting to move his hands whenever he felt frustrated, downcast, or out of sorts. Sometimes he would sharpen the nib of a quill pen. Other times he smoothed out the wrinkles on old documents, or organized books and papers.

Elliott often teased Cyril for these habits, calling them “commoner-like.” However, this was the main reason that the student council room remained neatly organized during Cyril’s enrollment. In fact, Cyril believed that the messy Elliott should have been grateful to him instead.

(Always be careful when handling tea sets…)

Recalling the teachings of his mother, Cyril gently arranged the teacups.

Tea sets were incredibly delicate. They could easily chip if handled roughly or impatiently. Thus, by reminding himself to handle them with care, his agitated heart would naturally calm itself down.

Cyril turned his attention to the labels on the tea leaves. All of the teas provided by the inn were expensive, as expected of a high-end establishment.

(Honestly, I’d prefer a cheaper tea…)

Although he hadn’t brewed it much since being taken in by Marquis Highown, Cyril genuinely enjoyed the comfort of a simple milk tea made with cheap tea leaves. This was the taste he was most comfortable with, as he had been drinking it since childhood.

After a moment of contemplation, Cyril decided to brew a pot of bergamot tea. Once finished, he placed the pot and cups on a tray, then returned to his room.

Thule and Pikeh were sitting by the window, observing the people outside.

“It’s so lively, even at night,” Thule commented.

“Everyone is singing,” Pikeh added.

“Populia rukah, kalrukah. What a cute song.”

“And smacking snacks together. How weird.”

Cyril placed the tray on the table and looked outside the window.

It was the night after a storm, and people were holding up lanterns as they sang and danced in the streets.

“Must be because Monica brought them flowers and music,” Thule suggested.

Cyril nodded in agreement, feeling genuinely proud that his junior was responsible for these smiles.

After silently enjoying this sensation for a bit, Cyril poured tea for himself, Pikeh, and Thule, then placed the cups on the table.

Thule hopped skillfully onto the table from the window sill, wagging his tail happily.

“Smells good. Oh, Cyril, did you meet with Monica?”

“Ye-… no…”

Cyril almost nodded, before catching himself.

“…We didn’t really get a chance to talk.”

“Then let’s go see her tomorrow. We can thank her for the wonderful flowers and music.”

“I’m afraid not. I have to return to the capital immediately. There’s a gathering for the members of the Library Society.”

Cyril shook his head, as Pikeh jumped onto Cyril’s lap and looked up at him.

“So that’s why you were feeling down.”

“…? Down? Me…?”

“Yes, you. You’ve been down for a while,” Pikeh continued.

“No, I don’t particularly feel…”

Instead of finishing his denial, Cyril put on a wry smile. It seems he was a bit too tired to put on a facade today.

“…Maybe you’re right. I was feeling a little down.”

Cyril quietly faced the budding emotion in his heart. It was a feeling of dissatisfaction, akin to hunger.

But he remembered its true identity. It was a familiar emotion that had been in his heart for a long, long time, ever since his childhood.

——”Mother, please look over here. Praise me.”

Cyril had always swallowed those words, suppressing this emotion——the feeling of loneliness.

“I realized that, to Monica, I was just a senior from the same school. Nothing more than an acquaintance… And that made me feel a bit lonely,” Cyril muttered.

“A senior and acquaintance? Is that bad? Then what do you want to be?” Pikeh asked, seemingly confused.

An icy remark, as expected of the ice spirit. However, her words lacked malice. This seemed to be an honest expression of curiosity.

(…Pikeh makes a good point.)

What did he even want to be? Currently, Cyril was a senior to Monica who sometimes worked with her on the same project. If he was dissatisfied with that, then what did he want?

“Pikeh, Cyril wants to be special to Monica,” Thule interjected.

Cyril widened his eyes and turned to Thule.

The white weasel was wagging his tail beside the cup. Even though weasels could not possibly show the same facial expressions as humans, he somehow looked like he was smiling.

“You care about Monica a lot, right Cyril?”

“Yeah, she’s a precious junior to me.”

A special and precious junior. Those words felt like a perfect match.

Indeed, Cyril considered Monica a ‘special’ junior, so he wanted to be a ‘special’ senior to her.

Finally satisfied with this conclusion, Cyril took a sip from the teacup and…

“…Argh!”

“Too hot?”

“Did you burn your tongue?”

“…”

With tears forming at the corner of his eyes, Cyril silently returned the cup to the saucer.

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