The Good Kid Who Isn't Picky vs. a Crowd of Picky Eaters (9)

Monica put on an apron, rolled up her sleeves, and let out a determined huff.

She was fired up to have the stew and bread warmed to perfection by the time Isaac got back.

Isaac had done most of the prep for the stew before setting out to hunt water dragons, and after returning home, he'd nearly finished cooking while preparing drinks for Claudia and Monica. His efficiency was simply incredible.

Monica gazed dreamily at the appetizing aroma rising from the pot as she stirred the stew in circles.

"Monica."

Turning at the call, Monica saw Cyril standing in the kitchen doorway, looking awkward.

Cyril was usually confident and proud, but today he'd been downcast the whole time.

Even now, his face was terribly haggard, yet he was watching Monica's hands with concern.

"Is your right hand all right now?"

During the incident in the snowy mountains, Monica had injured her hand by gripping a rose vine.

Monica switched the ladle to her left hand and opened her right hand to show Cyril.

"I'm fine. Um, the medicine Melissa gave me worked really well... Look, the mark's already faded this much."

Cyril looked a little relieved, then stepped into the kitchen and rolled up his sleeves beside Monica.

"Let me help."

"N-no, you can't! You're our guest, Cyril-sama!"

As Monica insisted, still stirring the stew in circles, Cyril replied awkwardly.

"It may be rude of me to say this when I'm the one being hosted, but..."

"...Yes?"

"At that rate, you'll crush the vegetables."

"Huh?!"

Now that he mentioned it, some of the turnips and carrots had indeed been crushed and broken apart because she'd stirred too vigorously with the ladle.

As Monica fussed, Cyril swiftly took the ladle from her and lightly scraped it along the bottom of the pot. He didn't stir in circles like Monica did.

"You're very good at this, Cyril-sama..."

"I only helped my mother out a little when I was a child."

For a moment, Monica thought, Huh? Then she remembered that Cyril had been adopted.

To Monica, Cyril Ashley was first and foremost the son of Marquis Hioone. She sometimes nearly forgot that he was adopted and that he and Claudia weren't siblings by blood.

(Cyril-sama, before he was adopted by Marquis Hioone...)

Watching Cyril stir the pot, Monica found herself imagining what he had been like back then.

He must have been a diligent, good child who eagerly helped his mother.

(Was Cyril-sama like he is now, even back then?)

Had he always spoken in that haughty, stiff manner? Marquis Hioone didn't speak that way, so perhaps his birth father had.

As Monica imagined Cyril as a little boy, he glanced toward the oven.

"Shouldn't you turn off the oven too? If you're only warming the bread, the residual heat should be enough."

"…………!"

Cyril-sama knows how to use residual heat, too... Monica was sincerely impressed.

To Monica, making use of residual heat was an advanced cooking technique.

＊　＊　＊

Isaac didn't say a word when he saw the stew, with about half the vegetables crushed.

"Cyril, do you like carrots?"

At Isaac's question, Cyril answered in the liveliest voice he'd managed all day.

"Yes! I love them!"

"That's good."

Isaac deftly served the stew into bowls, then set the one with the most carrots in front of Cyril.

"Your Highness, you've given me so much of my favorite food... Thank you for your consideration."

Cyril's eyes glistened with emotion. Somehow, exchanges like this felt nostalgic, too.

At Cyril's feet, Ture and Pike were still in their weasel forms, gobbling up the meat from the stew. Neither of them seemed to like hot meat, and they kept blowing on it. It was adorable.

Monica tore off a piece of bread that had been warmed just right and murmured,

"This is the first time the three of us have eaten together, isn't it?"

Back at Serendia Academy, the three of them had seen each other almost every day in the student council room. They sometimes drank tea during breaks, but they had rarely had a chance to eat together.

"That's true," Isaac replied gently.

"I usually ate in my dorm room... Come to think of it, Cyril, you used the dining hall, didn't you?"

"Yes. I generally preferred eating alone in peace, but sometimes I would discuss things with Elliot or Neil over a meal."

Cyril lowered his eyes as if reminiscing, then furrowed his brow and looked troubled.

"But Elliot would say, 'I'll give you these,' then keep plopping foods he disliked onto my plate... He'd say he hated pickled turnips, wouldn't eat beans unless they were puréed, and disliked bone-in meat because it was difficult to eat..."

It seemed that Elliot Howard, the student council secretary, had been an exceptionally picky eater.

It was easy to picture him narrowing his droopy eyes and grinning as he said, 'I'll give you these.'

"And sometimes Glen Dudley would say I ought to eat more meat and pile some onto my plate without asking... Then he'd sneak on carrots, which he didn't like himself. They were all so childish. They should have taken a page from Your Highness..."

"Cyril, your stew is getting cold."

"Please forgive me for speaking during the meal."

At Isaac's words, Cyril straightened up and ate his stew, which was piled high with carrots.

Suddenly, Monica asked about something she'd been curious about.

"Did Lord Raul send carrots to you, too, Cyril-sama?"

"Hm? Ah, come to think of it, he did send a huge amount a little while ago. I gave them to the staff, and they were delighted."

Monica thought she heard Isaac mutter, "So that's what I should've done." Was it her imagination?

When Monica looked over, Isaac was smiling as he asked Cyril,

"Cyril, did you like the stew?"

"Yes, it's delicious!"

"That's good. There's cake for dessert, too. Don't hesitate to have some."

Saying that, Isaac elegantly finished the stew, which had very few carrots in it.

＊　＊　＊

After the meal, Cyril offered to help clean up, but Isaac firmly told him, "No."

"What you need right now is rest. We can think about how to persuade the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 tomorrow."

"But..."

Cyril glanced repeatedly at the box on the table, his brows lowered.

Ancient magical artifacts were irreplaceable, practically national treasures. He'd kept the one he'd borrowed from his father on his finger at all times, so it was probably unsettling not to have it with him.

It wasn't hard to imagine that he'd been subjected to a barrage of abuse from the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 and lost sleep as a result.

"I'll take responsibility for looking after the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉. Don't you trust me?"

"No, no! It's not that at all!"

Cyril's expression changed, and he hurriedly shook his head.

"Ah, and one more thing." Isaac pointed to the travel bag beside Cyril.

"May I check what's inside?"

Cyril opened the bag as asked. Inside were a change of clothes, what looked like work documents, and several books.

Isaac took the documents and books out of the bag and stacked them on the table.

"Um, Your Highness...?"

"I'll keep these, too, until morning."

"Then, at least let me keep the book on the Old Library Act... I need to memorize it if I want the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 to recognize me."

Isaac picked up the book on the Old Library Act and flipped through it.

Then he gave a faint smile, his eyes cool.

"The Old Library Act. It was repealed seventy-three years ago. It isn't divided into sections, and it has plenty of pointless laws. I don't see any need to memorize it. If you need it, you can just look it up."

"But if I don't learn it... it won't accept me the way it accepted Claudia..."

"Cyril," Isaac said in a gently admonishing voice.

His voice wasn't loud or stern, and yet somehow it went straight to the heart of whoever heard it.

"I didn't make you vice president because you're from a family of scholars. I value your ability to organize vast amounts of information and present it in a way that's easy to understand. I needed an aide, not a walking library."

Just as Isaac said, Cyril was good at organizing information.

Monica couldn't relax unless she had all the detailed data, so she tended to create too many documents. But Cyril could read through every one, select the necessary information, and turn it into a clear report.

She often saw that for herself, even now, while they were working together on their research.

(Come to think of it, Glen praised Cyril-sama's handover notes when the student council changed over...)

The handover notes had been concise and easy to understand, just right for Glen, who wasn't fond of reading detailed explanations.

Glen had kept saying, "The vice president is amazing!"

Cyril couldn't match Claudia, who was called a walking library, when it came to knowledge and memory.

But Isaac understood and appreciated Cyril's own abilities.

"Did Marquis Hioone tell you to be like Claudia?"

"No! He never said anything like that..."

Cyril shook his head vigorously. His silver hair, tied back in a single ponytail, swayed from side to side.

Isaac smiled gently and spoke with confidence.

"You're Marquis Hioone's heir, Cyril Ashley. Trust your adoptive father—and trust my judgment, too."

"…………!"

Cyril's face crumpled as though he were about to cry. He started to speak, then closed his mouth again.

Then he bowed deeply to Isaac.

"...I'll retire for the night."

"All right. Good night. Get some rest."

"Yes."

Cyril stood up from the sofa and called to Ture and Pike.

The two weasels hopped onto Cyril's shoulders.

Monica, who hadn't been able to get a word in until then, hurriedly called after him.

"Ah, um, Cyril-sama... G-good night!"

Cyril stopped and turned around. "Ah, good night," he replied.

His face was haggard, but he looked peaceful, as if some of the weight on his shoulders had lifted. Monica felt relieved.

After Cyril and the weasels left the room, Isaac sat down across from Monica and picked up the small box wrapped in cloth.

"Aike?"

When Monica spoke to him, Isaac answered with a smile instead of words.

Then he lifted the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key Sophocles〉 out of the small box that had been keeping it shut away, holding it up to eye level.

"Now then, let's have a little chat, 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key Sophocles〉."

The smile on his face was different from the warm, familiar one he gave Monica.

It was a beautiful, elegant, and utterly merciless smile.