Vol 2 Chapter 11 – Childhood – Spring at Age Twelve ・Part 4

“So, it seems we’ve gotten ourselves into quite a mess again.”

Had I ever heard such a barbed voice from a childhood friend before?

At dusk, Margit and I had visited a small, nearby hill.

Since then, Margit had brought along the head honcho of the manor, and things got completely chaotic.

Not to mention, we had to inform the priest too—with all the noisy squabbling over the master–disciple contract—and by now they’re probably drafting a contract in the chapel with a scribe. I had intended to accompany them, but being a child, I was told to keep away because I’d only get in the way, so that’s where I ended up.

Yes, I was involved, wasn’t I? I thought, “I’m a party to all of this, am I not?” But I figured that throwing a tantrum here would only lead to more trouble, so I kept quiet like a good kid. Perhaps my own apprenticeship contract was being drawn up at the same time. With Mr. Grant the scribe preparing a notarized document and submitting it to the magistrate, it was bound to be a lucrative deal.

But really, how did it come to this? Even if I were to consult my résumé of misfortunes, it’s far worse than a dirigible accident. Who, I wonder, was it that rolled a D6 die against my fate?

I stifled that baseless anger and looked at Margit beside me, who—unusually—wore a blank expression.

She had come to this hill as if fleeing, and after explaining the situation, that was the look she wore. Being stared at with a colorless expression, as if every muscle in her face had abandoned its work, sent a shiver through me unlike any before.

Surely, all the prey who had previously received her glare must have felt this very chill.

“…Well, it isn’t forever. Even I don’t plan to serve as a magician’s apprentice indefinitely.”

“But don’t you mean you can’t quit after just a year or so?”

“Well, of course…”

I have to earn a fortune of fifteen dracmas a year. I haven’t heard that I must earn it all within a single year, but at the very least, I must continue until Eliza deems it safe.

Since fairies are beings of an entirely different nature from us, their aptitude for magic is far superior to that of humans. Yet even for humans, I’ve heard that one must attend the Magical Academy for at least five years before finally receiving a license. Therefore, even if my little sister were a genius, without a system for skipping grades, she’d still have to serve for five years.

What a ridiculous calculation that turned out to be; no matter how you slice it, it just wouldn’t be enough.

I’ve been a college student myself at one time, so I know that being a student is an expensive affair.

I don’t know if there’s a uniform, but one would surely have to have a robe specially tailored for all the magicians, and since this is a school, countless textbooks would also be required.

And in this era, parchment books are so expensive that your eyes might pop out—they cost far more than the mountain-loads of Lulub and Sapuri I used to buy.

It’s normal for a single volume to run two or three dracmas. If it’s adorned with a luxurious binding of metal or leather, it might easily fetch several tens of dracmas—and exceptionally, a rare edition decorated with jewels could be worth as much as an estate.

Imagine if such items were required for every subject; just the thought made me lightheaded.

Then there’s the money needed for everyday living. While my parents would probably cover the head tax, if you add my own living expenses, it’s bound to be a hefty sum. Even though a master is supposed to take care of their disciple, judging from the extremely nonchalant temperament of Agrippina de Staal, it would be best not to expect too much.

One might even, with the mindset of those who live long, remark, “What? You actually eat every day?”

“Ten years? Or twenty? Tell me, how many years do you think it’ll take?”

“…I hope I can finish in around five years.”

I, too, will eventually grow up. Then I’ll be able to pursue a side job legally and use the income to pay for tuition, hastening my repayment. Although in my previous life I attended a national school, I never imagined that at the tender age of twelve in this life, I’d be treated like a private-school student on a scholarship.

Well, there’s no use in lamenting. It all hinges on the “three inches of chest” at my place of service, and then on just how capable my little sister turns out to be.

“Five years… huh. You’re rather optimistic, aren’t you?”

“I plan to do my best—so that I can finish as quickly as possible.”

“Even so, in five years I’ll be nineteen, you know?”

“You’ll be laughed at as being too late,” Margit pouted. Indeed, in the empire, the proper age for marriage is between fifteen and seventeen, with most marrying by eighteen. If you’re still single after that, it’s no wonder you’d be labeled as an old maid.

I deliberately refrained from questioning the true meaning behind her words—after all, that would be rather uncouth.

I already know which way the connections lie; in some parts of Tokyo, they’d undoubtedly be flashing heart marks.

“…I’ll do my best.”

“Will you be back at an age when you can actually go on adventures?”

“I’ll make the effort.”

“I see…”

After murmuring, she shifted her legs in a complex, almost imperceptible way and clambered onto my knee. Then, with her hazel eyes reflecting the setting sun in a menacing glare, she stared at me as if piercing me.

“Can you swear? That once you’ve finished your apprenticeship, you’ll become an adventurer?”

It was a firm, unyielding statement. Whereas her usual words caressed my mind like gentle strokes, these were like a wedge driven into my heart. They weren’t merely a question, but rather a blade meant to draw out my true intentions.

“Ah… I swear. I’ve prepared for this, after all. In that case, I’ll properly become an adventurer. I’ll also see to it that Eliza can leave the Magical Academy so she can make a living. I’ll do both.”

Precisely because of that, I answered earnestly. Without needing to resort to cutting words, I simply drew my response from the depths of my heart.

I had already decided: since I can become anything, I will become what I truly want to be.

I won’t become an adventurer out of inertia. I’ve decided to be one because everyone thinks it’s the right choice.

And I also want to be a good big brother—for Eliza’s sake, so that, as before, she can proudly call me onii-chan.

These are my honest words—the resolve of a person who has lived twelve years as Erich of Königsstuhl Manor.

I must stand by this resolve and sentiment, so that the twelve years in which I was nurtured and loved aren’t wasted, and so that the seven years I’ve truly lived aren’t for nothing.

For that, I’d even offer all the proficiency I’ve painstakingly accumulated without reservation. If need be, I’d devote myself entirely to household duties. Even as I am now, I have enough skill to manage as a swordsman.

It may be a long detour, but I won’t lie to myself.

I will become exactly who I want to be—just like the heroes of those games I once admired and indulged in.

After each session, I always felt a deep satisfaction. There was nothing more delightful than seeing a story take shape and its characters reach their resolution—even if it ended in a bad end, it was still enjoyable because it was something we created together in a shabby club room with our friends.

But truly, the best feeling is when every character achieves their goal and the story reaches a grand finale. For that, we spent countless hours huddled together, pouring our precious youth into discussion.

It’s the same. In living, nothing changes. That’s why I do what must be done and chase after the person I want to become.

And didn’t the Bodhisattva say so?

“Do as you wish.”

It sounds like something some familiar evil god might say, yet there are surely no words from a deity more appreciated than these. Not dictating one’s fate but granting permission to live as one’s soul desires—what a liberating gospel.

Ah, yes. That’s why I’ll become an adventurer.

And a hero for Eliza.

I stared back into Margit’s eyes as if to prove it.

How long did we gaze at each other? The gentle red of dusk faded, shifting into a hazy purple. In that moment when night and day blended, as the stars gathered strength and the moon arced into view…

Ah, that’s the Maturation Moon—the very same as the one of my former family name, waiting to be full. Like that moon, I too hope to shine completely one day.

“Yeah… but that’s so like you,”
she said in plain, natural words—not in courtly speech. She never broke eye contact, and as if recalling lost color, her stiff face softened into a smile.

“Then I’ll believe you. There’s no one else like you, you know? Such a kind childhood friend.”

“Ah, I know. Thank you, Margit.”

Surely, she will keep waiting—the day I set off on my adventure.

For she has never lied to me. Not even once, even as a trivial joke.

Without warning, she lifted herself and slipped her hand around the back of my neck. Shifting into that familiar posture, she brought her face so close that our noses nearly touched.

“Then, I’ll make sure you never forget our promise.”

The sweet, softly whispered words caressed my ear, sending a shiver of unease through me. Her eternally youthful, girlish voice made it feel as if my very brain were being tickled.

“Close your eyes…”

Ah, is this it? That event? Seriously, is this really happening? I never experienced such saccharine moments in my previous life. Is this something to be proud of? Can I boast that I’ve joined the ranks of the fulfilled? Hell yeah—today’s red rice day!

I was rambling in delirium when, suddenly, the breath that had touched my lips drifted left. Before I knew it, heat spread across my cheek, and that breath brushed against my ear.

W-wait a minute—what the hell is…?

“Aaaahhhh!?”

Out of nowhere, searing pain struck my ear. Even as I jolted, Margit clung to my neck, refusing to let go, and her head blocked me from reaching the source of the pain.

Or rather, my earlobe—the source of the agony—was held firmly by her lips, leaving me utterly helpless.

Wha—what is this? What are you doing to me!?

After several agonizing seconds filled with confusion and pain, she finally released my ear. When I touched it, I found it slick with saliva and blood.

Was that small bump under my fingertips… a hole?

I soon discovered that a tiny hole had been pierced right through my left earlobe.

“Thank you for the treat.”

Her lips, which she licked cleanly, were stained with my blood. And in the last remnants of sunlight, her fangs—far longer than any human’s—glimmered.

Apparently, with surprising dexterity, she had pierced a hole in my earlobe using that… method.

Wha—what?! Why did you bite me!?

“Didn’t I say? I’d make sure you never forget our promise.”

With that, she forcefully brushed away the hand covering my earlobe and inserted an object into my still-sore lobe. For a moment, I saw in her hand what could only be the cherry shell earring I had bought earlier that day.

“Don’t take it off, okay? This is proof of our promise… so that every time you see it, you remember.”

I thought, “What the hell is she doing?” Yet, when I saw her satisfied smile, my anger melted away in an instant. Staring at that contented expression, it somehow seemed alright—even if nothing were completely intact.

Yeah, it’s sly—having a good face really is something…

As I pondered the absurdities of life, something else suddenly landed in my hand.

Looking down, I found a slender, long needle—the thick, elongated kind used for leatherwork, not fabric. It had been dampened, perhaps with strong alcohol, and reeked of disinfectant spirit.

“Then, return the favor.”

“Huh?”

She said that as she offered her right ear.

…Huh? Wait a minute—when you say “return the favor,” do you mean you want to pierce my ear too?

No, no—this is way too perverse. What kind of game is this?

“Quickly—get it done, will you? Just as you made sure I wouldn’t forget you, let me make sure I never forget you either.”

She brushed her hair back with one hand, exposing her ear, and with a sidelong, inviting glance, my will to resist vanished in an instant. Even though the invitation bordered on madness, it was irresistibly seductive—cunning, regardless of our differences.

“…Just endure it. It’s probably going to hurt like hell. In fact, it hurt me.”

“Alright, fine. Now, tell me about the pain, won’t you?”

That loaded request made my heart pound like a barrage of alarms—damn it!

Struggling to steady my racing heart, I pressed the needle against her ear. Then, with one swift motion, the needle pierced her soft earlobe, sending vivid scarlet blood flaring into the air.

It caught the mingled light of the sun and moon, creating an indescribably beautiful sight.

“Nnah…”

With another tantalizing sound, Margit let out a pained cry as she tenderly caressed the spot where the needle had been removed. Without even trying to stem the flowing blood, she pressed one half of the earring into my hand.

It must be, one by one.

I had seen a similar ritual last autumn, and even so, it was downright perverse, I tell you.

Well… if my childhood friend is happy, then I suppose it’s alright.

I doubt I’ll ever forget that bloodstained smile, bathed in that ambiguous vermilion hue…