[V13C6] Just You Wait, Idiot

Cyril had been suffering from a fever since yesterday’s battle, but he recovered a decent amount by the time it was afternoon. Perhaps he had Raul’s medicine to thank for this.

Compared to the sluggishness he felt yesterday, this was a considerable improvement.

Thule and Pikeh remained with him in their weasel forms, with Pikeh cooling Cyril’s forehead, and Thule keeping his stomach warm.

Their presence initially made Cyril a bit uncomfortable, as he could no longer turn over in bed, but he got used to that pretty quickly.

Above all, the sensation of their fur healed his weakened spirit. Cyril had always enjoyed the presence of small animals.

(Once my fever goes down… I should report to the capital and my adoptive father… No wait, my first priority is to thank him and Monica before departing Sazandol…)

In Cyril’s mind, thanking the people who helped you was a given. Skipping on the formalities was not an option.

However, he had no clue what he was going to say to Isaac and Monica, or how to even face them.

Agonizing over the subject only caused his headache to worsen. Perhaps his fever was acting up again.

Right as Cyril found himself thirsty for water, he heard a gentle knock at the door. This was followed by the sound of the door opening and footsteps entering the room, accompanied by an appetizing aroma.

(Raul…?)

Cyril tried to turn his head towards the door, but Pikeh was still riding his forehead. Through his blocked vision, he could only tell that the person was wearing men’s clothing.

“Can you get me some water…?” Cyril asked, sweeping Pikeh aside and raising himself from the bed.

However, he ended up freezing in an awkward position with his head floating above the pillow.

“Here is your water, Ashley-sama.”

Cyril realized that the young man offering him a glass of water had blond hair and a scar above his right eye. Isaac Walker had entered the room.

“Eh, um… Y-Your High…”

Cyril began stuttering in a hoarse voice, but eventually shut his mouth when he noticed Isaac’s smile turning cold. His intimidating stare conveyed an oppressive aura that ‘Prince Felix’ lacked.

“Drinking in that position must be difficult. Please, allow me to help you up.”

Isaac extended a hand behind Cyril’s back, effortlessly propping him up. Then, he offered the glass of water once again.

“Here you go.”

“I-I-I… I’m so sor…”

“Oh, please do not force yourself to speak. I heard that you are suffering from a sore throat.”

Isaac gestured to the side, where Cyril’s knapsack was lying on a table. This was the luggage that Cyril had left at Monica’s house.

“Lady Melissa informed me of your condition and asked me to deliver your belongings,” Isaac explained. “I also brought food in case you were hungry. Would you like to eat, Ashley-sama?”

“Uh… Your Hi…I-Isaac-san…”

“Yes? Did you need something, Ashley-sama? Please feel free to ask me for anything within my power.”

Isaac’s pressure left Cyril gasping for breath. In contrast to him, Sophocles let out a satisfied grunt from Cyril’s trembling fingers.

“Pie Baker, I commend your change of heart. It seems you have learned how to show the proper respect to your superiors.”

“N-No, Sophocles… He’s not…”

“Muhahaha! Yes, I love it, keep it coming!”

“S-Stop… cough, cough…!”

Cyril hunched over in a fit of coughing. His throat had yet to fully recover, so trying to yell only worsened his condition.

As Cyril struggled with wheezing breaths, Isaac gently patted his back, asking him if he was okay.

To tell the truth, this series of events left Cyril feeling as if a few years had been shaved off his lifespan.

Next, Isaac glanced at the ring on Cyril’s finger, acting as if he had just noticed it.

“Oh? There seems to be a bit of dirt on your ring. Please, let me polish it for you.”

“Ah, you are finally showing me some respect as well. Very well, I give you permission to polish me! Oh, but I would prefer the dainty touch of a young maiden if possible…”

Isaac smiled, removed the ring from Cyril’s finger, and pulled an object out of his pocket. Rather than the expected wiping cloth, it was a rough-looking hand file.

“…Wyeh!?”

Right as Sophocles shouted in surprise, Isaac quickly wrapped the ring in a handkerchief and tossed it into Cyril’s bag. His movements were so fluid that no one had time to react.

Then, a black cat peeked out of the bag that Sophocles had just disappeared into. The sight of the cat’s golden eyes caused Cyril to shudder in tension.

Thule, the white weasel that had been stretched across Cyril’s blanket, sat up and stared at the black cat. In response, the cat put on a strangely human-like grin.

“Yo, White One,” said the cat.

“Hello there, Mr. Black,” Thule replied.

Cyril had gotten chills at Isaac’s earlier behavior, but the chills he felt now were of an entirely different variety.

This was a confrontation between the black dragon, a First-Class Dangerous Species, and its natural enemy, the white dragon.

The black cat leaned out of the bag and began wagging its tail.

“Guess I might as well introduce myself. I’m Monica’s familiar and the Black Dragon of Worgan. You can call me Nero-sama. Bartholomew Alexander-sama would be fine too.”

As Cyril suspected, he was the dragon supposedly defeated by Monica.

“Nice to meet you,” Thule responded in his usual tone. “I’m Thule, Cyril’s contracted dragon and the White Dragon of Mount Kalug.”

“White One. You’ve noticed my presence for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps so, Mr. Black.”

Despite introducing themselves, the two dragons avoided calling each other by name. There was a brief moment of silence as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“You can rest easy,” said the black dragon, breaking the silence. “I won’t come after you guys or anything like that. In the first place, I don’t have much interest in you.”

“That sounds fine to me, as long as you don’t intrude on my territory.” Thule glanced at Cyril and Pikeh with his golden eyes before continuing, “These two are my territory.”

The black cat only meowed out a laugh, as if to say his business here was done, before leaping out the window. It seemed that his lack of interest was no lie.

Cyril held back his urge to pet the cat by stroking Thule on his lap.

Meanwhile, Pikeh stood up on the bed and pointed at Isaac, saying, “No more eyepatch.”

“True,” Thule agreed. “We can’t call him Mr. Eyepatch anymore. What now?”

In response to the weasels, Isaac traced a finger above his right forehead.

Cyril had been startled when he first saw Isaac’s scar, especially considering how painful it looked. It seemed that Isaac no longer intended to hide it──or rather, he no longer had any need to hide it.

Isaac glanced down at the two weasels and introduced himself.

“Call me Ike if you want.”

“Ike.”

“Ike.”

The weasels repeatedly chanted his name.

This only made Cyril even more uncomfortable. It felt like his lifespan was being ground away with a file.

As Cyril could do nothing but tremble, Isaac brought in a bucket of water and soaked a clean cloth in it.

“I have a great deal of experience in nursing others,” Isaac said. “My previous master was very frail, you see.”

Cyril gasped because he understood the meaning behind those words. He knew the previous mater Isaac Walker was referring to.

Right now, Isaac was sharing a precious memory hidden deep in his heart.

That fact only made Cyril feel more guilty.

(I am a dirty liar. I used you for my petty pride…)

Cyril had fallen silent, so Isaac glanced at the tray and asked, “Do you want me to give you a wipe down now, or would you rather have your meal first?”

“I… I beg your forgiveness… Please… please spare me…”

“Perhaps you would prefer it if I fed you the meal?”

Isaac raised the spoon and put on a cold smile. Behind it lay the disdain of a boss firing an incompetent subordinate.

Scared by the glaring discrepancy between Isaac’s expression and actions, Cyril found himself bowing to Isaac on the bed.

“P-Please forgive me…!”

＊　＊　＊

What a stubborn guy, Isaac thought, looking down on Cyril with the spoon in hand.

Even the weasels could call him ‘Ike’, so why couldn’t he do it?

Cyril was lying prostrate on the bed, apologizing in a trembling voice.

“I… I am not worthy of your time…”

This was Cyril’s bad habit. He often lost track of his own worth, which led to him putting all his effort in an unexpected direction.

Isaac considered pointing this out, but he decided to hear Cyril out first.

“I wanted you to be someone out of my league, because that way is more convenient… I could have worth as Cyril Ashley, the man acknowledged by someone truly amazing…”

Cyril ran his trembling fingers across his disheveled silver hair.

“I have no excuse… I cannot even show basic kindness… I am a failure of a human being…”

The two weasels remained silent, only staring at Isaac and waiting for his response.

“You’ve got it completely backwards,” Isaac sighed, returning the spoon to the table. “I was one using you, so why are you apologizing?”

“N-No… I, I used you…”

Cyril suddenly raised his face. The combination of teary blue eyes and disheveled hair left him in a pitiful state. Isaac could easily understand his hesitation and guilt.

“Well, I used you too,” Isaac said. “I manipulated you into giving me your trust and respect.”

“N-No, no! I truly respect you from the bottom of my heart…!”

“I see. In that case, how about we call it even?”

The suggestion left Cyril stunned. Of course it would, as his accumulated guilt over the years was not going to disappear overnight.

Isaac knew that feeling well.

But he was willing to wait a little longer.

“Now that we are friends, can you call me Ike?”

Cyril twisted his face into an awkward smile and replied, “…I will make an earnest effort.”

“If you ever make that mistake again, your cheeks are getting pinched. Keep that in mind.”

“Ergh…”

Isaac sat down on a nearby chair and crossed his legs.

The curtains swayed in the pleasant breeze from the window that Nero had exited through. The sunlight filtered through the curtains caused Cyril’s disheveled silver hair to sparkle.

While observing this sight, Isaac murmured to himself.

“You may think what you will of yourself… but I say you are a kind man, Cyril Ashley.”

Cyril was always strict with others as well as himself. That was probably why he deemed himself unkind.

How could he be so stupid?

If he lacked kindness, then why were so many people drawn to him? Why was Monica always chasing him with her eyes? Why couldn’t Isaac bring himself to hate his rival in love?

Isaac interlaced his fingers above his crossed legs and stared directly at Cyril.

“Are you going to just stand in the same place forever, without facing your feelings head-on? At this rate, I can’t even consider you a rival.”

“M-Me? As your rival? That would be, um, far too presumptuous of me…”

This was not the time for modesty, Cyril Ashley.

Isaac had no intention of giving up on anything, especially not his feelings of love.

“You know, I could be far more unfair if I wanted to… But doing that to you would make me feel like I’ve lost, so I would prefer to keep things clean.”

“…? Um, what do you mean by unfair? I don’t believe your strategies are particularly unfair…”

Cyril seemed confused for a moment, but he eventually came to terms with Isaac’s words. He pursed his lips and placed a hand on his chest.

“Very well… I understand,” Cyril said, slowly raising his head.

He no longer had the face of a man worn down by guilt and internal conflict. There was a determined glint in his eyes, and his slouched back was now perfectly straight.

Cyril Ashley was back to his usual self.

He gazed straight at Isaac with beautiful blue eyes and said…

“I must say that I believe Elliott is better suited for this kind of thing, but…”

Isaac had a bad feeling about this.

“If you desire a rival in chess, then I will do my best to meet your expectations!”

“Who said anything about chess?”

Isaac stood up, rattling his chair, and pinched Cyril’s cheeks without mercy. Both sides, of course.

“Ike, his cheeks are going to stretch out.”

“They might tear off.”

“Ow, ow! It hurts, it hurts!”

Ignoring the weasels and Cyril’s screams, Isaac glared at his rival in love.

“Just you wait, Idiot.”

Finally, he said it out loud.

Note: The file tool Isaac had wasn’t any foreshadowing or anything. He borrowed it from the Mage Association’s toolbox just to intimidate Sophocles.

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