Chapter 85
Today, I will absolutely correct Kim Yul’s twisted tastes and lead the little lamb onto the right path.
As a saint who serves the goddess of love,
Roseline steeled herself.
By now winter had set in, and leaves were tumbling along the streets.
Holding a placard that read, 'We denounce sad endings!' she marched solemnly down the street.
Where would Kim Yul be now?
Morning, the time to go submit his manuscript, had already passed,
and before noon, the time to stop by the bakery and buy bread, had passed as well,
so at this point he would most likely be at home.
If it were evening, he’d probably be lingering around the restaurant district near the western plaza with Histoire and Yang, and if it were late at night, he’d be out taking a walk.
...Me.
Why do I know this so well?
For a moment, confusion filled her mind, but fortunately Roseline remembered that Kim Yul was a person under special observation.
Of course.
After the magical play 'Saint of Orléans,' requests for information on Kim Yul had noticeably increased in the Holy Kingdom,
but she did not bother to think about the fact that she was personally fending off all attempts at surveillance, coaxing, and recruitment.
If she thought that far,
it would feel too……
self-serving.
So it was definitely not self-serving,
only the fulfillment of the goddess’s noble will to teach the proper form of love.
“Mm, mm.”
Roseline nodded, satisfied with her own logic.
Her steps, which had slowed for a moment, once again swiftly advanced toward Kim Yul’s mansion.
.
.
.
Roseline had arrived at Kim Yul’s mansion to proclaim that justice still lived in the Holy Kingdom, the Empire, and even in her own pocket of divine power.
She had known the one-room apartment he used to live in, but this was her first time coming all the way here.
“You’ve…… done quite well, huh?”
It wasn’t that large, but looking up at the two-story mansion, Roseline was slightly surprised.
The location was decent, and the building was neat too.
It was a much better—and much pricier—property than the one they had once talked about house-hunting together.
Come to think of it, with that level of popularity as a rising star in the writing world, it had seemed like a place he could afford after all.
For Roseline, who remembered the days before Kim Yul had come up to the imperial capital, it was a strangely touching sight.
Was this how a big sister back home felt when she saw a snot-nosed boy grow into such a fine young man?
He hadn’t been a snot-nosed boy,
nor had he grown up splendidly,
and she wasn’t even an older sister from his hometown,
but still, seeing an acquaintance she knew doing rather well softened Roseline’s heart a little.
Originally, she had planned to drive the placard in her hand straight into his head as a repentance spike,
but now she thought it might be fine to forgive him with just a light smack on the back.
“Are you in there──?”
Still, Roseline was a sensible person.
If he was away, she had no intention of forcibly breaking down the door and going inside, or of climbing up the second-floor railing like some dragon to trespass.
So she politely called out from the front entrance, and before long,
Creeeak──
with the sound of the door opening.
For reasons unknown, Histoire appeared wearing a maid outfit.
“Who── ah, Lady Roseline.”
“It’s been a while, Miss Histoire.”
Histoire’s expression brightened for a moment at the sight of Roseline, then lingered on the placard in her hand.
“Ahaha.”
Roseline awkwardly hid the placard behind her back and forced an awkward smile.
But through that brief observation,
the one and only perfect intellect in this world, the embodiment of overtechnology, the master of key-point strikes, Histoire, confirmed it.
Roseline’s facial-expression analysis results.
Awkwardness 19%.
Pride 20%.
Delight 14%.
Suppressed rage 43%.
Unidentifiable 5%.
Histoire had detected the traces of anger faintly visible in Roseline’s facial muscles, and with rounding included, her accuracy came to a total of 101%.
Her ultra-high-performance reasoning model soon arrived at the correct answer: 'Ah, you’re mad again because of Kim Yul’s novel.'
“Kim Yul is working. If it’s all right with you, may I bring you a cup of tea?”
“Oh my, I’d be grateful for that.”
Histoire’s big data spun rapidly and produced the perfect countermeasure.
How to soothe an aggrieved human woman.
First, stuff something sweet into her mouth.
After guiding Roseline into the reasonably well-appointed reception room,
Histoire placed her hand on the tin that held her secret cookie collection.
She had been saving them carefully herself, too,
but it was better than seeing Kim Yul get beaten to death by the saint, wasn’t it?
With that thought in mind, just as she was piling cookies high onto a plate,
“What, fatty── mmph, mmmph!”
The moment she spotted Kim Yul strolling out, yawning without a hint of tact,
Histoire flew up to him and shoved two cookies into his mouth.
Kim Yul, suddenly reduced to a cookie-stuffed young man, coughed and sputtered.
“Saint Roseline has come to smash Kim Yul’s head in. I’ll buy you a little time, so come out within ten minutes looking as pitiful as possible. Make sure you have a way to appease her, too.”
At her words, Kim Yul snapped to attention and hurriedly backpedaled into the laboratory.
Histoire, as if nothing had happened, poured the cookies neatly onto a tray.
Also.
After adding in the secret coffee mix she had been saving, of which only a few packets came out each day, into the teacup, she returned to the reception room.
“It’s not much, but please have some refreshments.”
“Oh my, oh my. How could I not be grateful? As expected, Miss Histoire, you’re so considerate.”
“Not at all. I’ll also play something to help calm your mind.”
How to soothe an enraged human, regardless of gender.
Second form.
The only drug sanctioned by the state: music.
Seated on the piano stool in one corner of the reception room, Histoire softly flexed her finger joints for a moment.
Roseline, who wasn’t very interested in music, but
still couldn’t possibly refuse the consideration of a live performance, personally given for a visiting guest.
After munching on cookies—crunch, ah, so sweet, delicious—and sipping coffee—oh my, oh my, what kind of flavor is this now? Tasty, teehee, nice—and basically settling into that kind of blissful state,
she took in the calm piano notes softly resonating in her ears.
Sweet cookies.
Warm coffee.
A soft chair.
A cozy room temperature.
And gentle music.
This was by no means Histoire’s intention,
but Roseline had too much to do—saint duties, volunteer work, night watch work, stalking Kim Yul, and all sorts of other things—and was suffering from sleep deprivation.
“Dororong…….”
Before long, she had begun to snore softly.
Histoire quietly closed the piano cover.
Then she fetched the blanket from one corner of the reception room and softly draped it over Roseline’s sleeping body.
And then she grabbed Kim Yul, who was creeping up from down the hallway like a cat, shoved cookies into his mouth again, and put a finger to her lips.
“Shh──”
* * *
A little later, when Roseline slowly opened her eyes,
in her field of vision,
was Kim Yul’s face—someone she had wanted to smack just moments ago, but whose dark circles under his eyes made him strangely pitiful.
“You seem very tired, Saint.”
At the sight of him speaking first with an awkward expression,
“Haaah── hello, Kim Yul.”
Roseline, forgetting the purpose of her visit, greeted Kim Yul with a soft yawn and a gentle smile.
Histoire, peeking her head out from the reception room entrance, read Roseline’s expression.
Had the cookies been the answer? Or the coffee?
Or the piano? Or sleep?
The causes were intertwined too complicatedly to know for sure, but since no further anger could be found on Roseline’s face,
she could relax and go do her own work.
Histoire carefully slipped all the way out of the reception room and headed off to attend today’s illusion magic class.
At this point, they should be able to resolve the issue through sufficiently harmonious communication.
Believing that,
.
.
.
After Histoire had left,
“There are so many heroines…… and yet he doesn’t end up with any of them?”
“Mm, that’s how it turned out. I suppose that Beethoven fellow is a bit of a difficult person…….”
“Repent!”
“Agh!”
In the end, the top of Kim Yul’s head caved in once.
* * *
Just as Kim Yul had spoiled things for Roseline,
unfortunately, Beethoven never met a companion who could understand him and stay by his side for life.
Of course, he too had true love.
To borrow Beethoven’s own phrase, there had been an Unsterbliche Geliebte—an immortal beloved—mentioned in the letters he left behind,
but academic consensus on who she was has yet to be reached.
Of course, Kim Yul could glimpse that fact through his unique ability, the one that let him verify historical authenticity.
“Wow, damn, it’s this person.”
“Amazing.”
Kim Yul had succeeded in finding the missing link, but
unfortunately, this was Fantasy Land.
There was no way his ability—which, if taken to modern academia, would immediately function as a living, breathing missing link that every history professor would obsess over—could be put to use here.
Thus, the story of Beethoven flowing from the tips of his fingers ultimately focused on music and his philosophy
- Napoleon, Napoleon……! He betrayed us! He wasn’t a hero; he was nothing but a vile, filthy dictator!
Although he had torn to shreds the cover of Symphony No. 3, Bonaparte, which he had originally intended to dedicate to Napoleon,
he could not bring himself to deny that music, or the soul he had poured into it.
And so,
with the fierce belief that it would not be Napoleon, but a true hero who could overturn this rotten world and appear riding a white horse,
he gave the piece a new name.
Heroic Eroica.
By the time such philosophical anguish was being force-fed to readers in the form of a frustration-inducing sweet potato,
the two lines at the end of the novel
drove people completely insane.
[I’ll rest for two days…….]
Those who saw the first sentence choked up and let out shrill screams.
[In three days, a Beethoven concert will be held at the Imperial Music Hall. We ask for your interest and support.]
Those who saw the second sentence, especially those who had taken up music through the novel 'Beethoven,' could at last forgive the first sentence.
Just as all world-class creators seem to have a condition that can only be cured by holding a concert,
although he wasn’t world-class yet,
Kim Yul too began to pour his last ounce of effort into the premiere of the first stage he had planned.