Chapter 4: A Genius Mage Thinks Anything Other Than 100 Points is a Failure

“This is not a group session.”

When I raised my voice slightly, Lise’s shoulders gave a start and she took her hand off her sword, while Fran smoothly extinguished the light at the tip of her staff.

It helps that they’re obedient. It helps, but why are sparks flying this much when they’ve only just met?

“…My apologies. I was a little on edge.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Good.”

I swallowed a sigh and turned back to Fran.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. A consultation, right? Right this way.”

“Yes.”

As I tried to guide her to the small room next to the counter, light footsteps followed right behind me.

Pitter-patter.

I turned around. Lise was following along as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I silently held up my palm toward her.

“…Ugh.”

“Standby right there.”

“Okay…”

Looking as dejected as a large dog, Lise returned to her designated seat. She still looked dissatisfied, but she was a good girl just for stopping. I feel like my standards are already getting weird.

I closed the door to the small room halfway and offered Fran a chair.

She perched on the edge of the seat, her back perfectly straight. She was the type whose good upbringing was obvious just from her posture. There was no doubt she was from a prestigious family.

“Let me introduce myself again. I’m Nagi, the receptionist and counselor.”

“I am Fran. After graduating from the Royal Magic Academy, I am currently acting as a Court Mage Candidate.”

Her title is heavy. There’s pride in the way she introduces herself — she must have lived a life where exactly that much was expected of her.

“So, what would you like to consult about?”

“Lately, my magic output has significantly decreased.”

Fran cut straight to the chase without any preamble.

“Compound spell formulas that I could previously deploy without an incantation now require chants of three verses or more. My control precision has also dropped. My power is at about eighty percent of my prime.”

“Eighty percent.”

“It’s fatal.”

She declared it.

I felt like half the answer was already contained in the way she said it.

“I was examined at the temple, but they said there are no abnormalities in my mana circuits or my body. It’s not a curse, either. If so, the cause must be mental, correct?”

“What made you think that?”

“Because this is the ‘Mental Health Consultation Counter’.”

Fran was dead serious.

“I don’t care if it’s a special meditation technique, a concentration method, or emotional control arts. I will pay a hefty reward if necessary. So, tell me how to return to my original output.”

Her tone of voice was calm. But I could tell she was fabricating that calmness.

There were faint dark circles under her eyes. She was putting too much strength into her fingertips, making her knuckles white. The color of her cheeks wasn’t very good, either. And above all, the moment she definitively labeled “eighty percent” as “fatal,” she was already in quite a bit of danger.

“Fran.”

“What is it?”

“Have you been sleeping properly lately?”

“…Huh?”

For the first time, her expression crumbled slightly.

“I am securing time to sleep. Four hours every day.”

“That’s very little.”

“It is appropriate if I am to balance research, training, and requests.”

“What about meals?”

“I supplement with nutrition potions and preserved foods. Spending time on meals is irrational.”

I see. It was a spectacularly perfect path to overwork.

“Fran.”

“What?”

“What you need isn’t secret arts or special training. First and foremost, you need rest.”

“…You must be joking.”

Her voice instantly froze over.

“I am not ‘tired,’ my ‘output has dropped.’ I am talking about symptoms.”

“And I’m telling you the cause of those symptoms is fatigue.”

“Impossible.”

Fran snapped back decisively.

“I have always subjected myself to the same, or even greater, burdens up until now. There is no way I would collapse from mere fatigue at this point.”

“Since when have you been in this state?”

“Slightly, since about three months ago.”

“Any days off during that time?”

“They were unnecessary.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

An immediate answer. And the very speed of that immediate answer is dangerous.

“…Fran. I’m going to sound a bit harsh.”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s not that ‘they were unnecessary’ — it’s that you ‘refused to admit they were necessary,’ isn’t it?”

Fran’s eyelashes gave a twitch.

“You think anything other than a hundred points is a failure, right?”

“…”

“Even eighty points is a sufficiently high standard. Normally.”

“It bothers me when you bring up ‘normal’.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

I clasped my hands on the desk.

“For you, even ninety-nine points isn’t enough. The slightest drop is a defect. Resting is indulgent. Complaining is a degradation of your worth.”

“…”

“If you operate yourself under those standards, your mind is going to burn out first.”

Fran’s gaze grew sharp.

“I did not come here to listen to theories on willpower.”

“It’s not a theory on willpower. It’s an observation.”

“An observation?”

“Yes. Right now, you are trying to sprint at full speed while completely out of gas.”

“I am running.”

“At eighty percent?”

“…Kh.”

She choked on her reply.

“The fact that you perceive eighty percent as ‘broken’ rather than ‘still functioning’ proves your standards are far too strict.”

“What is wrong with that?”

“I won’t go so far as to say it’s wrong. But it’s painful, isn’t it?”

At that, Fran fell silent for the first time.

The quality of the silence changed. It wasn’t a silence meant for a rebuttal, but the silence of someone who had too many things come to mind and could no longer choose her words.

“…I…”

Fran murmured, her voice small.

“I cannot fail.”

“Yeah.”

“It has been that way since I was young. It was expected that I could do it. Expected that I excel. Expected that I meet expectations.”

“Right.”

“Therefore, I cannot allow myself to fall. If I dull even the slightest bit, everyone around me will immediately start saying, ‘So this is all a genius amounts to.'”

She’s speaking logically. But that logic looked like it was stacked up less to protect herself, and more to back herself into a corner.

“Fran.”

“…What.”

“In this room right now, I am not evaluating your pedigree or your titles.”

“…”

“All I see is a single client who is pushing herself way too hard.”

Her eyes widened greatly.

“I don’t think your mana circuits are broken. In fact, it’s a miracle they haven’t broken yet.”

“That way of speaking is…”

“Has anyone ever told you that you look tired?”

“…No.”

“I figured.”

Genius, prodigy, the expectations of a prestigious family. Labels like those are convenient when praising someone, but they usually only get in the way when that person starts to weaken.

“Please go home for today.”

“…”

“Eat something warm and sleep for at least eight hours. Close your grimoires. Don’t do any training.”

“That’s…”

“It’s a treatment.”

When I declared it flatly, Fran looked at me as if she were looking at something unbelievable.

“Resting is…?”

“For you, I think it’s an incredibly advanced treatment.”

“…Kh.”

For a moment, she looked like she was about to laugh. But she immediately suppressed it. It was the face of someone who wasn’t even used to laughing.

“…How strange.”

“What is?”

“Even though both priests and mages told me there was ‘no problem’ with me.”

“There probably wasn’t a problem with your body.”

“Yes.”

“But that didn’t put you at ease.”

“…It didn’t.”

She admitted it.

“It’s not that you found my ‘abnormality,’ is it.”

“Right. It’s actually the opposite.”

“The opposite?”

“For you, ‘normal’ is an ‘abnormal situation’.”

Fran stared at me for a while.

Her eyes are strong-willed. She’s smart, too. Normally, she probably wouldn’t show weakness to others so easily.

That same girl lowered her gaze just slightly.

“…That’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me.”

“I’m honored.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Being a receptionist is not a profession for delivering sarcasm.”

“You seemed to be delivering plenty of it at the appraisal counter earlier.”

“That is part of my regular duties.”

Just barely, the corners of Fran’s mouth relaxed.

Thank goodness. The tension has finally deflated a little.

“I understand.”

“Yes.”

“For today, I will return home and rest.”

“That’s for the best.”

“However.”

Fran raised her head. This time, a different kind of heat resided in her blue eyes.

“I will come back tomorrow.”

“…Come again?”

“Follow-up observation is necessary, isn’t it?”

“Well, it is necessary, but…”

“Then it’s decided.”

That was fast.

“Drawing a conclusion from a single piece of advice today is irrational. In order to track changes in my condition, I require your evaluation from tomorrow onward.”

“I understand the logic, but…”

“In addition, you deduced my symptoms in the shortest possible time.”

“It was a coincidence.”

“The accuracy is too high to be dismissed as mere coincidence.”

She’s the type to block off all your escape routes using pure logic.

“Then, I shall see you at this same time tomorrow.”

“No, wait, don’t just decide the time on your own—”

“Is there a problem?”

“…I want to say there’s a massive problem, but as a consultation counter, it’s hard to refuse.”

“Excellent.”

Fran nodded in satisfaction.

“I have determined that your observation and advice are logically indispensable to me.”

“Isn’t that conclusion a bit too fast?”

“No.”

An immediate answer. Scary.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Nagi.”

“…Thank you for your hard work.”

Fran stood up quietly and left the small room, staff in hand.

I returned to the main hall a few seconds later.

When I did, Lise, who had been on standby in her designated seat in front of the counter, looked at me with an incredibly easy-to-read face. She practically had “I’m in a bad mood” written across her forehead.

“Nagi.”

“Yes.”

“That woman said she’s coming back tomorrow.”

“You’ve got good ears.”

“Because I’m a swordswoman.”

Like I said, I wish you’d use those observational skills in a different direction.

“Why is there a next time?”

“Follow-up consultations are completely normal.”

“But, Nagi is in charge of me, isn’t he?”

“Incorrect. This is the guild’s consultation counter.”

“I’ve been coming here since yesterday.”

“That’s true.”

“Then I’m the first customer.”

“Please do not bring a first-come, first-served territorial concept to a consultation counter.”

Lise puffed out her cheeks and lightly smacked the counter.

“Even though you found me first.”

“That wording is heavy.”

“It’s not heavy.”

“No, it’s pretty heavy.”

“It’s really not.”

Insisting it isn’t doesn’t make it any less true.

At that moment, Fran, who had just exited the small room, stopped and looked back this way.

“Just to confirm, I would like you to keep this time open tomorrow.”

“No, like I said, deciding the time—”

“Regular observation is important in a follow-up consultation, is it not?”

“Please do not try to bulldoze me with logic.”

“I am simply speaking of rationality.”

At that, Lise stood up.

“That time is a no-go. Nagi has my follow-up observation from the morning.”

“In that case, wouldn’t it be fine to create an appointment system?”

“An appointment…?”

“Whoever books it first has priority, right?”

Stop. Do not establish a culture of consultation counter appointment bloodbaths in this world.

“Both of you.”

“Yes.”

“Please do not fight over the counter right in front of me.”

“But.”

“However.”

“This is neither a group session, nor is it a nomination system.”

Lise pursed her lips in dissatisfaction, and Fran narrowed her eyes with an unconvinced look.

Ah, this is bad.

This has probably already begun.

An A-rank swordswoman who doesn’t want to be abandoned, and a genius mage who views anything other than a hundred points as a failure. One using emotion, the other using logic — both of them are starting to recognize me as a “partner they continually need.”

Day four since the opening of the Mental Health Consultation Counter.

Even though the “(Provisional)” part of the counter’s sign hasn’t even been removed yet, it looks like a bloodbath named “reservation warfare” is about to become an official feature.