[V15C24] Kaboom!

Monica played with her friends in the detached workshop of the Roseberg estate, but she was also given a guest room in the main estate.

Naturally, she was permitted to use the main estate’s bathtub as well. After a lively dinner in the workshop, Monica had a quick soak in there.

(The bath smelled so nice…)

A bath sachet had been placed into the clawfoot tub, giving it a truly wonderful scent.

Monica walked down the hallway, fresh out of the bath. She lifted an arm and sniffed at it. The refreshing fragrance was more than just roses. It seemed to be a blend of several flowers.

Enchanted by the scent, she failed to notice the arrival of someone blocking her path.

“Little One.”

“Oh, Melissa-oneesan. Good eveni—”

Before Monica could even finish her greeting, Melissa grabbed her by the wrist and, without a word, dragged her into a nearby room.

Apparently, this was Melissa’s personal room. All of the furniture was exquisite and the floor was covered in a rose-patterned carpet.

Her room in the workshop had been a chaotic mess of research equipment, clothes, accessories, and cosmetics, but it seems her room in the main house was neatly organized.

Melissa slammed the door shut, cornered Monica against the wall, and glared at her.

“Little One, I’m going to ask you a question, and you will answer me honestly.”

Melissa scanned Monica from head to toe while radiating an aura of displeasure and irritation. Monica could only tremble, wondering what she did wrong.

“You didn’t put anything on after the bath, did you?”

Apparently, she was asking about cosmetics.

Monica pulled out a tiny bottle from the pocket of her robe, just small enough to fit in her palm.

“I-I did put something on!”

Monica had always been pretty indifferent to cosmetics, but her goal of becoming a proper lady led to a bit of growth.

She held up the bottle with a proud huff.

“This is the lip balm I used!”

“Unacceptable.”

Melissa promptly squished both of Monica’s cheeks.

“Mgyabuh!?”

“If your skin had been nice and smooth, I might scream in jealousy and say ‘Don’t get cocky just because you’re young!’ But this? This is just unhealthy skin. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

After another glance at Monica’s skin, Melissa scoffed in exasperation. Her eyes were full of contempt and disbelief.

“Get over here and sit down!”

“O-Okay…”

Once Monica sat in front of the mirror, Melissa slapped lotion all over her face.

“The most important part is moisturizing!”

“…B-But my skin is smoother than usual today! I think it’s because the bath had something special in it…”

“That was my homemade bath sachet. It has flaxseed, almond, and all sorts of other stuff.”

After the lotion, Melissa smeared a cream on Monica’s face, making sure to rub her cheeks mercilessly. The clear irritation behind the action forced Monica into silence.

To tell the truth, she felt like a piece of meat on a chopping board.

“See, feel how smooth your skin is now. You better be grateful.”

“O-Okay…”

Monica hesitantly touched her cheeks.

Indeed, they felt different from usual. A little more supple, even. As she marveled at the unexpectedly smooth skin, Melissa grinned at her through the mirror.

“If this lotion and cream could make your unhealthy skin this smooth… then everyone would be dying to get their hands on these, right?”

Melissa shoved the bottles of lotion and cream into Monica’s hands.

“I’m currently in the middle of developing these products. Use them every day and write a report for me.”

“E-Every day!?”

“It’s just like potion experiments. You have to record the results of repeated use, right? Except these are luxury cosmetics, so you should thank me for the chance to try them. I’ll even throw in a bunch of bath sachets for free. There’s plenty, so pass some to Miss Colette and get her impressions too.”

Apparently, Melissa had great respect for Lana’s opinion on beauty products. Monica understood that feeling.

Knowing Melissa, she was probably thinking of using Lana’s network to advertise the finalized product.

Before Monica could voice any protest, Melissa had already packed the sachets into a paper bag.

“I’ll make sure your sachet has a strong rose fragrance. I can’t wait to see the face that damn mutt makes.”

“…?”

“Nothing. Just talking to myself. Ohohohoho…”

Melissa laughed with a truly wicked smile.

＊　＊　＊

Monica returned to her guest room with the cosmetics and bath sachets from Melissa. While reflecting on how difficult it was to become a proper lady, she flopped onto the bed.

(The sleepover was so much fun.)

Harvesting vegetables together, making jam, playing board games, eating Isaac’s delicious cooking, and cheering Raul for his study abroad…

Time had passed in the blink of an eye. It had truly been a fulfilling day.

Monica turned on the bed to look at the clock.

She would normally be awake at this hour, but they had to leave early tomorrow morning. It was better to sleep soon.

Tomorrow was the conference at the Mage Association. In other words, Isaac’s debut.

Of course, she wasn’t going to declare, “This is my disciple!” in front of a crowd or anything like that. At most, she’d introduce him to a few acquaintances in between meetings.

Still, it was the debut of her precious disciple. She wanted to carry herself like a proper master.

“…Oh wait, my staff…”

Monica suddenly remembered something.

She had left her Sage staff in the detached workshop, and it was probably still lying on the ground.

Monica had never cared much about the proper placement of her staff, but that changed after the incident yesterday.

Leaving your staff on the floor was very dangerous. It would be a disaster if someone tripped and hit their head on it.

With the bloody accident in the Forbidden Archives still fresh in her mind, Monica sprang up in a panic.

(I need to go get my staff!)

She threw a robe over her nightgown, grabbed a lantern, and made her way to the detached workshop.

＊　＊　＊

“I… I still have yet to reach a conclusion.”

Cyril confessed with an expression of intense turmoil.

Seated across from him was Isaac, resting his cheek on one hand as he swirled a glass with the other.

“Should the fur of Thule and Pikeh be described as fuzzy or fluffy?” Cyril asked, covering his face with both hands.

“Does it matter?” Isaac replied.

“If I bury my face in them, I feel the fluff followed by a soft fuzziness. However, when I stroke them gently, the fuzziness comes first, followed by fluff. Does it depend on the manner you pet them…? Thule, what do you think?”

“That’s not Thule. It’s your friend Raul.”

Raul had passed out on the table, and Cyril was stroking a lock of his red hair. Apparently, it looked like the tail of a weasel to him.

Suddenly struck with an idea, Isaac rolled a bundle of cloth into the shape of a cat and placed it in front of Cyril.

Then, Cyril started talking to the cloth cat with complete seriousness.

“What is your opinion, Nero-dono?”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t know the first thing about fuzzy and fluffy,” Isaac muttered.

“May I pet you, Nero-dono?”

Perhaps his ears heard the meowing of a cat, as he embraced the bundle of cloth and tenderly stroked its head.

The reason for Cyril’s odd behavior was obvious if you looked at his flushed cheeks. He was clearly drunk.




Isaac believed that drinking was the fastest way to break the ice and start a conversation. Even without that, he had always loved alcohol.

That said, he also understood that Cyril and Raul were not strong drinkers. That’s why he diluted the drinks with peach syrup to make them more palatable.

Isaac invited the two for a light drink before bed, figuring they wouldn’t get too drunk off something with less alcohol than wine. He quickly realized how naive he’d been.

First there was Raul. The man knocked back glass after glass, saying, “This is sweet and easy to drink!” Less than an hour later, he mumbled, “Sleepy…” and promptly passed out on the table. Apparently, he was the type to sleep early, so that didn’t help.

Then there was Cyril. Isaac had heard he was a lightweight, but not to this extent.

He started spacing out after two sips of the diluted drink. By the time Raul nodded off, Cyril was already sleepwalking in search of fluff.

Unfortunately for him, all of the fluff—Thule, Pikeh, and Nero—had gone out for a nighttime stroll. The Roseberg Forest had a high mana concentration, so the moonbathing here was apparently very enjoyable.

And so, the fluff-starved Cyril started stroking his friend’s head and nuzzling a cloth cat.

(That explains it…)

Isaac rested his chin on a hand and swirled his glass, recalling a memory from years prior.

Back when he attended Serendia Academy under the name Felix Arc Ridill, there had been a time when he was away on official duties. The school festival took place during that period, and one of the events included wine tasting.

When Isaac returned and asked how it went, Cyril looked extremely flustered, and Elliott watched with a wicked grin. In addition, the mild-tempered Neil had silently averted his eyes from Cyril.

(How dare you keep this a secret from me, Elliott Howard.)

Isaac decided to place all of the blame on Elliott, the droopy-eyed spoiled rich brat who constantly bullied Felix.

Knowing him, he probably kept quiet about Cyril’s weakness to alcohol out of anticipation that Isaac would be inconvenienced by it one day.

And it worked like a charm. Isaac would have never given Cyril a drink if he knew it was this bad.

“Your cousin must have worked hard to ensure you never embarrassed yourself in public,” Isaac said. “He seems to have done a very good job.”

“Yes! Curtis-niisan is amazing!”

The man who had been nuzzling his cheek against a bundle of cloth lifted his face with a sparkle in his eyes. Given such behavior, it’s hard to believe he had once been called the Ice Scion.

Not that Isaac had ever thought of him that way.

From the moment they met, Cyril Ashley had always been Cyril Ashley. An impulsive, and seemingly easy to handle man. But then he’d charge off in a bizarre direction the moment you looked away, tumbling headfirst into disaster. A guy as troublesome as he was entertaining.

“Curtis-niisan is so sociable, down-to-earth, cheerful, intelligent… I was so clueless when I first entered high society, and he taught me everything…”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, and Curtis-niisan has a dog. I got to pet it the other day, and it was so fluffy, friendly, and cute…”

“Yeah.”

Isaac gave a half-hearted response while biting into a sausage.

Grilled or boiled. Glenn preferred sausages that were grilled to perfection, and Isaac agreed. However, he suspected that Cyril would prefer boiled sausages. Perhaps this could be the next topic of the Meat Cuisine Club.

Isaac continued thinking about sausages as Cyril’s words went in one ear and out the other.

That lasted until he heard a pair of footsteps at the door. They were too light to be Nero in human form. In addition, he sensed Wildianu’s presence nearby.

Isaac had instructed Wildianu to watch over Monica at the main estate, ensuring that no one from House Roseberg attempted to harm or drug her.

If he was here, then the footsteps must belong to Monica.

“Um, I’m sorry to disturb you at night. I came to get my staff…”

Monica spoke while peeking out from behind the door. Her hair was down, and she wore a robe over light clothing.

Since Isaac had just stuffed a sausage in his mouth, he hurried to chew it down.

At the same time, the guy who had been stroking his friend’s head stood up on unsteady feet.

＊　＊　＊

(So they were drinking.)

Monica was a bit jealous. She couldn’t drink, but having an adult conversation over drinks seemed special to her.

Perhaps her mind would change if she learned that 90% of the conversations had been about fluff.

“Um, sorry to intrude!”

Monica picked up her staff from the floor and turned to leave… but then she froze.

She found Cyril standing right behind her.

The candlelight cast a shadow over his face, making it difficult to read his expression.

“Cyril-sama?”

Cyril bent down to peer into her face. His usually fair cheeks flushed red, and his blue eyes shimmered as if slightly wet.

His long eyelashes moved up and down as he let out a sigh of admiration.

With his slender fingers, Cyril brushed a strand of Monica’s light brown hair off her cheek, only to continue the gesture until he was stroking her cheek.

His usually stiff face was now relaxed, and his lips formed a smile.

Then, he whispered in a voice filled with affection.

“…Cute.”

——She had been called “cute” by the man she liked.

And in that moment, the image of someone completely irrelevant flashed into Monica’s head. The Artillery Mage, Bradford Firestone.

The lovestruck maiden imagined a middle-aged guy with a beard shouting “Kaboom!” and launching an enormous fireball at her. This was the most powerful spell in the entire nation, utilizing a sixfold reinforcement formula.

Her mental barrier was vaporized into dust, and the real Monica Everett froze like a startled cat.

“…”

No words would come out.

As Monica stood as still as a statue, Cyril was suddenly lifted into the air.

Isaac had finished his sausage, rushed over, and slung Cyril over his shoulder.

“Sorry about that. Apparently, this drunkard sees everything as a fluffy animal.”

Even while being carried by Isaac, Cyril mumbled incoherently while waving his right hand in search of something.

“I’ll put him to sleep upstairs. Good night, Monica.”

“Oh, um, yes, good night.”

Isaac carried Cyril out of the room.

Monica continued staring into space for a while, but eventually, she snapped back to reality. Clutching her staff, she dashed out of the workshop.

As she ran, she noticed a heat on the spot Cyril touched her cheek.

Her heart was pounding fast, and it wasn’t just from running.

“Wah, wah, wah, wah…!”

While mumbling gibberish, Monica burst into her guest room in the main estate, then collapsed against the door.

The decorations on the staff she held to her chest jingled a bit.

“Waaaah…!”

Monica curled into a ball. It felt like everything in her chest would burst out if she didn’t.

This flood of emotions had been far too intense for her.

(But…)

Could she brush it aside and pretend it never happened? Perhaps, but Monica didn’t want to do that.

She had grown greedy, so she wanted it all.

——That smile of affection, that gentle voice…

She didn’t want to hear it directed at some imagined animal. She wanted it for herself.

Monica took a few deep breaths and pondered what happened.

If she encountered the “Kaboom!” again, she couldn’t afford to be caught off guard. In that case, what should she do?

Monica was one of the Seven Sages, the pinnacle of Ridill’s mages, and she put all of her talents into finding a solution.

Then, she realized it. She had been surprised because Cyril hardly ever used the word “cute”. In that case, perhaps she could build up a resistance by having someone else call her “cute”.

Lana and Isaac were kind enough to call her “cute” often, so they wouldn’t work. It needed to be someone who didn’t usually compliment her.

“Nyeh? You’re still up?”

Right as Monica reached this conclusion, Nero entered through the window in black cat form.

Monica quickly stood up and rushed to the window.

“Nero, um, I have a favor to ask!”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

Monica hugged her staff to her chest and fidgeted with her fingers.

Only now did she realize how embarrassing it was to make this request. But her partner Nero was the only person she could rely on.

With red cheeks and quivering lips, Monica made her plea.

“Could you call me, um… c-cute… just once?”

This was for training. She needed to build up a resistance to surprise compliments.

In response to her embarrassing request, Nero gave her a few light pats from his paw.

“Monica.”

“Y-Yeah?”

As Monica leaned forward in anticipation, Nero spoke with the gravitas of revealing a universal truth…

“No can do. I’m way cuter than you.”

“…”

Monica tossed her staff to the floor, dove into the bed, and sulked herself to sleep.

＊　＊　＊

Isaac carried Cyril up the stairs and into Raul’s room on the second floor. This was the only bed, so everyone else generally slept on the floor.

As Isaac dropped Cyril onto the bed, Cyril looked up at him with hazy eyes.

“Ike…”

“What is it, you drunkard?”

“Was Monica here…?”

Isaac almost gasped.

Meanwhile, Cyril closed his eyes with a gentle smile. He was already fast asleep.

“…This blockhead.”

Isaac sat down in a nearby chair and recalled Monica’s expression.

She had been frozen in shock. Rather than a maiden in love, she looked more like a startled cat. Perhaps she was simply taken aback by how different Cyril was acting.

(Does Monica realize her feelings?)

Isaac glared down at his rival in love, sleeping without a care in the world. The sight made him feel like a child crying about something he can’t have.

(That’s not fair, Cyril.)

Calling her cute in a voice full of unconcealed affection…

“…Why can you never say that while sober?”

Isaac grumbled as he left the room.

This seemed like the perfect time to drink alone, drowning out his heartbreak and frustration. But Isaac did not feel like being sentimental.

He headed to the shared space used by Raul and Melissa and grabbed whatever he could of Melissa’s belongings. Then, he marched straight back to his rival in love.

The guy was murmuring, “fluffy… fuzzy…” in his sleep while absentmindedly stroking the air with his right hand.

Isaac approached the bed and undid the string tying Cyril’s hair.

“This is just harmless fun between friends, right?”

When someone’s heart overflows with affection, they can’t help but touch the hair of the one they love.

And when someone’s heart overflows with the feeling of “Damn this blockhead,” they can’t help but bring out their fists… or a comb.

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