Chapter 84
Trisha tossed and turned under the covers while chatting with me before finally falling asleep.
I wrote a letter to Silveryn.
In my room, only Trisha's breathing and the friction of my pen nib filled the air.
Her soft breathing gave me an oddly calming sense of peace.
I paused writing my letter and looked back at the bed.
Though I had been flustered when she insisted on coming to the mansion, now I thought it was good that I brought her.
Perhaps because my mind was at ease, my worry about Silveryn being angry about not receiving my letters also subsided.
If I put myself in her position, I could easily guess.
If Silveryn didn't send replies to my letters for a while, I would worry but also think “That could happen” and handle it stoically. Silveryn would probably feel similarly.
Just looking at how she designated the letter box by the fireplace showed this. Silveryn wasn't someone who would burst into anger or fall sick over not receiving letters. Such things... didn't suit her.
I went to sit on the edge of the bed. And absently watched the sleeping Trisha.
I still hadn't gotten used to her pure white hair.
I unconsciously reached out to stroke that hair before stopping myself.
Realizing I still had my old habits, I smiled bitterly.
When I used to stroke silver hair, my fingernails and palms were stained with black grease that wouldn't wash off no matter how much I scrubbed. My hands were now remarkably clean.
So many things had changed. My appearance, my memories.
Sometimes I even forgot that Lisa was at Eternia. This was... probably good for me.
Lisa must be building her own new memories too. I was also, albeit belatedly, walking my own path. I had once hoped Lisa would think of and miss me, but now I no longer wanted that.
I didn't want to go back to the past anymore. Because the new things I'd encountered after parting with Lisa had become precious to me.
I planned to go to the Art Club and leave paintings one by one of my memories with Silveryn, Trisha, and new people.
As I painted over memories with my brush, and as those paintings accumulated, the venom, anger, and pain from the past that still faintly remained would no longer be visible.
Someday, Lisa's role in my life would finally come to an end just as mine had for hers.
***
A light drizzle fell at dawn. By the time we came out the rain had stopped, but the morning fog hadn't yet lifted from the surroundings.
I boarded the carriage heading to Eternia with Trisha.
She was brushing her hair while watching the daybreak through the gradually lifting fog.
The strange thing was that she had removed all her disguise artifacts in the carriage.
Trisha hummed a tune while brushing her pure white hair, occasionally glancing sideways at my face.
When our eyes met, she turned back to the window.
"What are you doing?"
"What?"
"Why did you return to your original appearance in the carriage?"
She could change back by wearing the artifacts, so was there any reason to brush her hair?
"...It's my choice."
"..."
Trisha primly threw out a comment.
"You like this appearance too, don't you?"
After rolling my eyes briefly and searching my memory, I said, “I do?"
When I questioned as if I'd never said such a thing, she stopped brushing and fell silent.
"...Hmph."
Had I made some verbal mistake? Trisha suddenly showed a slightly sulky attitude.
After traveling silently for a while, Trisha put her artifacts back on when the carriage reached Eternia's main gate.
"I'll get off here."
"Get off further ahead. You'll have to walk quite a way."
"No. I'm getting off."
"..."
When Trisha insisted, I finally stopped the carriage.
She got out of the carriage and looked at me with a pouty face, saying, "Come pick me up at six in the afternoon."
"...You want to go to the mansion together again?"
"Of course."
"Alright, then let's meet at the main gate then."
Trisha suddenly shouted in a voice full of irritation, "No! Come pick me up at the Drama Club!!"
She slammed the carriage door shut. She walked away from the carriage, huffing as if very angry.
"..."
I pressed my forehead with my hand as it suddenly started throbbing.
Why was she acting like this suddenly? What was she upset about now? Everything had been fine until we left the mansion this morning. I didn't understand why her mood swings were so severe.
Her personality was just like a tropical climate. Bright sunshine one moment, pouring rain the next in the blink of an eye.
I put aside Trisha's matter until evening and started the carriage again.
The immediate task was meeting the Art Club advisory professor.
***
After asking around among the seniors, I learned who the Art Club advisor was.
The person I needed to meet was an Alchemy Department herbology professor named "Georgia Pelene”. She was in charge of advising the Art Club.
She warmly welcomed me when I visited her early in the morning while she was trimming plants in the Alchemy Department's greenhouse, where the walls and ceiling were all made of glass.
She appeared to be in her mid to late thirties with an unassuming impression.
"Come in, come in. Sit here."
Professor Georgia seated me at a small table set up in the greenhouse and brought over some herbal tea.
She sat across from me, crossing her legs.
"Drink."
"...Thank you."
She stared at my face intently for a while, as if examining a circus animal.
"Um, Professor?"
"Ah! Well, so, you want to join the Art Club?"
"Yes, that's right."
She twitched an eyebrow and nodded.
"Good. But you see... hmm."
Georgia hesitated for a moment as if something bothered her.
"Have we met somewhere before?"
"No, I'm quite sure this is our first meeting..."
"Hmm, is that so? Last year I'm sure... oh right, you're a new student? Oh my, look at my mind."
"..."
"Sorry, sorry, I've been so busy lately I'm scattered. Well, so, um... do you have some interest in art?"
"Yes."
"Good. But there's something you should know. We're not here to train people to paint portraits for self-absorbed nobles. Nor are we here to perfect techniques for copying objects exactly as they are."
"I understand."
Georgia spoke without pause, "And well... though you might seem more suited for theater or dance on the outside, you'll fit in well here too. Because this is a place to explore beauty. There are quite a few lovely senior students too, so you can look forward to that."
"...Pretty seniors?"
"Why, does that interest you? Noble ladies and beautiful young women tend to prefer art and social balls. They're proper and classical, aren't they? It's no different here. There are lots of women, very many. Keep that in mind."
"...How many men are there?"
"Well, maybe 20 percent? There are many male applicants, but most are impure fellows targeting women... we screen those out in advance through interviews. They spoil the atmosphere and the girls don't like them. You know what I mean?"
"Do you think I came with impure intentions?"
"After dealing with hundreds of people, you can tell after just a few words. I'm quite skilled at mind reading now. Some try to join to get on my good side because of my herbology class, and there are perverts who only want to study the human body. We send all those types away. Hmm... you seem free of impure intentions. You're clean."
She had just subtly advertised that there were many pretty women, but had judged me safe?
The professor took a sip of tea and added, "And if I turned you away, the girls would surely criticize me."
"...Why?"
She waved her hands as if she had accidentally let something slip.
"Never mind. Pretend you didn't hear that last part."
"..."
"No, rather, I wonder why you came here instead of the Drama or Dance Club. Surely something must have happened there."
There had been an offer, but that was the end of it.
"No. I'm not sure what you're referring to, but nothing happened."
"Did you look into other club activities? I'm not saying we don't want you, just wondering if this might be an impulsive choice. If you get other offers, don't cut them off too sharply—show some consideration. You might make seniors dislike you otherwise."
"I have no intention of changing my decision."
She tilted her head as if something still bothered her, then said, "Well anyway. So, you're in the Combat Department?"
"Yes."
She nodded repeatedly with a satisfied expression.
"That's good. Excellent. Honestly, all our Art Club boys are tasteless. There's something I tell our male members every day—that they're all 'pearl-wearing girls.' No bold flavor. We need men who can handle thick, strong lines like sword dancing."
"I don't have that level of skill... your expectations seem too high."
The professor shook her head and spoke with a somewhat entranced expression.
"It's fine if you can't draw well. That has its own charm. Though art has no magic or magical tools, just paint and brushwork, we can see human souls in it. That's the greatness of art."
"..."
A difficult philosophy. I wondered if I could adapt here.
***
Even in the Holy City, where institutions establishing doctrine and law and exploring divinity were concentrated, it wasn't completely divorced from worldly principles.
Money flowed through the Holy City, and honor and power were concentrated there. This was because humans ultimately used faith as a tool to fulfill their desires, going round and round.
To merchants, mages, knights, and believers who had flooded into the Holy City to realize their worldly desires, Silveryn was the focus of most interest.
This was because she was a flawless figure from a worldly perspective.
Transcendent magical ability, great achievements, and above all what most stimulated their curiosity was her beauty. People's footsteps never ceased around her lodgings as they tried to verify the circulating rumor that "just looking at her is enchanting."
But despite numerous requests, no one actually met her. This was because Silveryn blocked all visitors and stayed secluded in her room.
Her room had curtains drawn to block outside views, and only a single candle barely lit the spacious room.
Letters piled up at her door were all left untouched after only checking the sender.
Though Silveryn had a body that didn't catch colds or fevers, her condition resembled that of a typical fever patient.
She had no appetite and hadn't eaten anything since the previous day. The green grapes, veal ribeye steak, and 27-year Luton wine said to be favored by the Principality's Duke Gainax all remained untouched as they had been left by the servant in the morning.
She had no motivation either. She just laid in bed, killing time without falling asleep.
All she did was listlessly fiddle with the vial containing the cube all day.
Her mind was endlessly filled with thoughts of her disciple, one after another.
Though his heart was clearly beating fine, why weren't his letters coming? The previous evening his heart had pounded as if about to burst. Was he rolling around with some girl his age? Or had he been training? He had time to train but not to write to me?
She wasn't even angry anymore. Her hurt feelings had turned to grief. Thinking of her disciple made her chest ache as if run over by a carriage wheel. Deep breaths didn't help her troubled heart.
"This bad disciple is deliberately making me suffer..."
She just wanted any word, any news at all to reach her.
Damian wasn't at fault.
If there was fault, she blamed herself as the teacher who had provided inadequate education.
She bit her lip and violently beat her pillow with the hand holding the vial.
"I need to educate him... more... more..."
Silveryn was sensing it. That her relationship with her disciple was severely tilted to one side.
So she needed to educate him again.
Until her disciple yearned for and missed his teacher's scent and warmth so much he couldn't grasp anything else.
Only then... would their relationship's axis align horizontally.
***
Professor Georgia finished Damian's admission procedures and sent him away. After sending him off, she felt continuously uneasy, as if something unresolved remained.
What had she missed? Though it was clearly their first meeting, why did the boy named Damian's face seem familiar?
Georgia suddenly stood up from trimming plants in the greenhouse and headed somewhere.
If something was caught in her memory, there was one most likely possibility.
She went to the Art Club storage room, unlocked it, and entered.
Inside, paintings left behind by students who had passed through the Art Club were densely displayed.
She walked past the displayed paintings with her hands behind her back, quickly scanning them. Some had cracked paint or were covered in dust from long neglect, and some near windows had faded from sunlight.
Portraits, landscapes, still lifes, abstract paintings—as she quickly scanned hundreds of pieces, she suddenly stopped at something in a corner.
She approached an easel covered with a black tent cloth.
The cloth was crisp and soft as if freshly laundered. It was well maintained without common stains or even a speck of dust.
She removed the cloth to check the painting hidden inside.
"..."
An image that seemed to have briefly passed by long ago.
Georgia's intuition had been exactly right. She hadn't seen Damian, but rather a painting.
Two paintings sat there alone. One was a portrait of the boy named Damian whom she had met that morning.
Beside it was a landscape painted in warm colors like a fairy tale book illustration.
In that background, a brown-haired boy and a gray-haired girl, having fallen into a fountain, faced each other.
The gray-haired girl was touching the boy's cheek while smiling brightly.
It was a beautiful yet wistful painting that could captivate even an art novice.
However, Georgia couldn't remember who had painted it.
Though it was certainly someone connected to the boy named Damian, the gray-haired girl she might have guessed at hadn't entered the Art Club in recent years.
The paintings bore no signature to hint at the artist. While looking for any marks left behind, she narrowed her eyes upon discovering a tag attached to the fountain painting.
Georgia fell into strange contemplation after confirming the meaningful title.
Written on the tag was:
[My Reason to Live]