Chapter 56
"Now, for our next unveiling, we present Flux Trading Company's latest robe!"
At the emcee's words, a man appeared onstage.
The robe was touted as easy to move in and functional, yet refined. Its sleeves were slim, giving the entire garment a sleek finish.
The velvet fabric was an elegant purple-black that shifted subtly in the light. The gold-thread embroidery on the chest and cuffs used several different colors, creating an understated three-dimensional effect.
The young man walking across the stage in that beautiful robe had his distinctive black hair cut short and even.
His exotic features were sharply defined, and his eyes, with their rainbow-colored irises, were so mysterious that they irresistibly drew the gaze of everyone who saw them.
The man strode to the center of the stage, then spun around in place. The hem of the robe billowed lightly, and the gold-thread embroidery sparkled as it reflected the stage lights.
When everyone's eyes were riveted to the stage, the man curved his lips upward, narrowed his eyes—and smiled seductively.
At that moment, the loudest cheer of the day erupted.
＊ ＊ ＊
After making a circuit of the stage, Clifford withdrew backstage, where Lana was waiting for him with her arms crossed.
Once backstage, Clifford spoke with his usual expressionless face.
"Isn't this something you should be watching from the audience?"
"Oh, but it's a trading-company president's duty to reward her employees."
"I see. Then reward me to your heart's content. I feel like I've used a lifetime's worth of facial muscles."
As he spoke, Clifford vigorously rubbed his cheek with the pad of his thumb.
The seductive smile he had shown onstage was an exact imitation of his mother's smile. For today's performance, he had practiced everything from lifting the corners of his mouth to narrowing his eyes while watching himself in a mirror.
Even so, putting on a false expression was exhausting.
If he changed expressions as often as Lana did, his facial muscles would surely end up sore.
As Clifford watched Lana and thought this, she lowered her head with a troubled expression.
"Why do you look like that? The show was a success. Normally, you'd be getting carried away and making a ridiculous fuss, wouldn't you?"
"I'm sorry for being ridiculous."
Her reply still lacked its usual sharpness.
As Clifford wondered what she was worrying about, Lana spoke in a small voice.
"I do feel a little bad. Because Cliff... well... you don't like being made a spectacle of."
Clifford was surprised by Lana's words, despite his expression remaining blank. Then he thought:
"Lana really is an idiot."
"W-what!? Don't make fun of me again! I've been thinking about all sorts of things..."
"You're mistaken, Lana."
Cutting Lana off, Clifford declared firmly:
"There's not much I dislike. To put it simply, I don't care about most things."
"..."
"So being treated as a spectacle doesn't really matter to me either."
For Clifford, who didn't care about most things, Lana was the one person he did care about.
So becoming a spectacle for Lana's sake was hardly a hardship. His facial muscles were tired, though.
"Cliff's glasses are meant to hide your face, aren't they?"
"I'm nearsighted."
"But you're wearing glasses that are obviously the wrong size! And you deliberately wear weird combinations of clothes, too!"
It was true that the glasses covering half his face could hardly be called a proper fit. In Lana's words, they were tacky. The same went for his clothes.
Lana had apparently always believed that he dressed that way to hide his conspicuously foreign appearance.
"I see. Lana really is an idiot."
"Hey! Haven't you been calling me an idiot a little too much!?"
As Clifford watched Lana raise her eyebrows angrily, he murmured inwardly:
(Because if I wear something that isn't Lana's taste, she'll fuss over me.)
──There, see? Doesn't this look even cooler!
Clifford loved Lana most when she fussed over him and smiled proudly as she said that.
＊ ＊ ＊
The exhibition of various magical tools, jointly hosted by several trading companies, ended in great success. Afterward, a party was held at the same venue as a gathering for the participants.
The attendees were primarily people from trading companies dealing in magical tools and fashion, officers of the Mages' Guild, and high-ranking mages such as professors from Minerva.
As a result, quite a few attendees were wearing robes rather than formal attire. For a mage, a robe that met the requirements for ceremonial wear was perfectly respectable formal attire.
That day, the young Count Ambard, Bernie Jones, attended the party in a brand-new black robe, gripping a mage's staff instead of a cane.
Ambard was famous for possessing more workshops for industrial magical tools than any other family in the Ridill Kingdom. The young count himself had also graduated from Minerva, an institution for training mages, and held an advanced mage certification.
Given that, there was nothing strange about him attending in a robe.
The black robe he wore had no hood, and both the sleeves and the body were cut relatively slim.
The robe's sleek silhouette made its decorations stand out. It was a new winter design from Flux Trading Company, with which he did business. In other words, he was advertising for one of his business partners.
(Well, it's not a bad design, and the fabric has a firm, luxurious feel.)
Although Lana Collet, the president of Flux Trading Company, was an old adversary of his, she was quite competent as a business partner.
She could be careless about the final details, but she was more flexible than an established workshop, and as a small trading company, she acted quickly. She also had a good eye for fashion trends.
Even after inheriting his title, Bernie was still treated as a youngster. Lana, a trading-company president his own age, was therefore someone he could surprisingly easily interact with. Of course, he did have a thing or two to say about the incident involving his glasses.
Anyway, Bernie looked around, intending to go greet the aforementioned Miss Collet, when a familiar voice reached his ears.
The voice was as faint as the whisper of a wind spirit, but it was one Bernie could never fail to recognize.
"Bernie... Bernie... Help meeeee!"
When he looked toward the voice, Monica was, as expected, standing by the wall at the edge of the venue.
Today, she was wearing not the robe reserved for the Seven Sages, but a dark-green robe. It was a highly decorative dress robe, with a cinched waist and sleeves made of large frills.
This was probably another Flux Trading Company design. Lana's robes were easy to recognize because their designs allowed them to blend naturally into social gatherings alongside nobles wearing dresses and formal attire.
"Oh my, good day, Mage Count Everett. I suppose, knowing you, you'll say that you're frightened of people's gaze again. What a troublesome Seven Sage you are. Still, since I have no choice, this Count Ambard could deign to keep you company..."
As Bernie began chattering away, Monica's face lit up—but she looked not at Bernie, but at his staff.
"Bernie, Bernie. Um, could I borrow your staff?"
"...What did you say?"
"Um, the staff I use as one of the Seven Sages is conspicuous, so I left it behind, but then I twisted my ankle in these unfamiliar shoes..."
She wanted to return to the dressing room somehow, but her foot hurt too much to move. Just when she was wishing for something—anything—that could serve as a staff, Bernie had come into view.
To a mage, a staff was a symbol of dignity. To Monica, however, its role as a walking aid apparently took priority.
With a sigh, Bernie lightly raised his left arm and held it out to Monica.
Even after going so far as to offer his arm, Monica merely stared up at Bernie with a blank, bewildered expression. Bernie opened his mouth in irritation.
"Didn't they teach you at Serendia Academy how to be escorted?"
"Oh, um... Then, excuse me."
"Yes, go ahead. The dressing room, then?"
After confirming that Monica's head had bobbed up and down, Bernie began walking slowly.
"Honestly, this is what happens when you come to a place like this alone. Rumor has it you have a servant and an apprentice, don't you? Why not bring them along as your escorts?"
Bernie was secretly thinking that he would personally size them up when the opportunity arose, but Monica inexplicably let out an awkward laugh and shifted her gaze about.
"Um... my servant and apprentice... well... I couldn't bring them somewhere like this..."
Unaware that one was a black dragon and the other was the Second Prince, Bernie assumed they must be servants and apprentices with questionable behavior. In a sense, he wasn't wrong.
"Knowing you, they probably look down on you, don't they? Bring them before me sometime. I'll give them a stern talking-to..."
"Oh, my! Why, if it isn't Count Ambard! And could the person beside you possibly be Mage Count Everett?"
The loud voice cutting Bernie off belonged to a large middle-aged man approaching them: Viscount Daryl.
Viscount Daryl owned one of the country's foremost mines. Every ore extracted there was first-rate material for magical tools, making him impossible for anyone involved in the magical-tool industry to ignore.
Unfortunately, Viscount Daryl was somewhat overbearing, and on top of that, he was a large man with a loud voice. He was exactly the sort of person Monica found most difficult to deal with.
Monica's hand gripping Bernie's arm tightened.
Just as Bernie was thinking that they should quickly end the conversation and leave, Monica opened her mouth, astonishing him.
"Yes, pleased to meet you. I am the Silent Witch, Monica Everett."
Bernie stared at Monica in shock.
Monica did not lower her head or let her gaze wander. She looked straight up at Viscount Daryl. Her profile was stiff with tension, but to anyone unfamiliar with her personality, it might have appeared simply composed and resolute.
Viscount Daryl rattled on with his smooth tongue, alternating between flattery and boasts about his territory. Monica responded with few words, but she nodded along appropriately.
Coming to his senses, Bernie hurriedly joined the conversation.
"Viscount Daryl, thank you for the high-quality gold the other day. Thanks to it, our research into new industrial magical tools has progressed even further."
"Oh, that's good to hear! The gold from my mine is overwhelmingly superior in quality compared with foreign gold..."
"Yes, I hope we can continue to build a good relationship."
After exchanging another word or two with Viscount Daryl, Bernie brought the conversation to a close and moved away from him.
Beside Bernie, Monica let out a long breath. Relieved to be free of the tension and delighted as though she had accomplished something, her lips twitched restlessly.
Monica had not exactly held a clever conversation, but she had looked him in the eye and nodded along properly. In the past, she would have lowered her head and frozen, or fled the scene in tears.
"You've improved considerably."
"D-did I do it properly?"
"Passable."
The only reason Monica had not started acting awkwardly was surely that he was escorting her.
Monica must have realized that having an escort as capable as himself made all the difference.
...Or so Bernie thought as he nodded to himself, until Monica lifted her robe's sleeve slightly.
"Lana made this for me. The concept is apparently 'a cute and cool witch'..."
The large, fluttering frills on the sleeves were lined with a bright floral pattern.
The robe itself was a subdued dark green, but whenever Monica moved her sleeves, the vivid floral pattern peeked in and out of sight. It was like a flower garden glimpsed between the trees of a forest.
"Since Lana made it for me, there's no doubt it's cute... But Lana said the 'cool' part depends on how I carry myself."
The robe was feminine and adorable, but its high collar and sleek, narrow bodice gave it a dignified appearance. That was why its appearance depended so heavily on the wearer's posture.
In short, this robe looked extremely awkward when worn with a hunched back.
And now, Monica was standing with her back properly straight. Even when speaking with Viscount Daryl, she had not hunched over once.
Monica looked up at Bernie and gave him a weak smile.
"I hope I looked... even a little cool."
That smile was far from cool, but it was unmistakably Monica.
Bernie snorted, adjusted his glasses by the frame, and laughed.
"Who was it that twisted their ankle and nearly burst into tears in such an undignified manner?"
"Eep!"
"Next time, you'll wear shoes you're more used to walking in, won't you?"
"Ugh... I will."
Monica had no way of knowing it, but Bernie Jones, who secretly worried that he had not grown very tall, strongly wanted to recommend low-heeled shoes to Monica.