Chapter 6
"Everett-sama."
"………………, …y-yes!"
It took Monica about twenty heartbeats to manage a reply after Rosalie, Lewis's wife, addressed her that way.
Monica wasn't used to being called Everett-sama, so her response was delayed. When she realized there had been an awkward pause, she no longer knew when she ought to answer. Even so, Rosalie was silently waiting for a reply, so Monica gathered every ounce of courage she had—and this was the result. It was so mortifying that she wanted to die more than ever.
But rather than mock Monica's behavior, Rosalie spoke matter-of-factly.
"Pardon me, but may I ask your age?"
"I-I'm… um… s-se-seventeen…! Mrs. Miller is older than I am, anyway, so you don't have to call someone like me '-sama' or speak so formally… um…"
Rosalie stared intently at the mumbling Monica.
She did not look at Monica the way one rudely stares at a shabby girl. Rather, Rosalie examined her as though she were an object of study, then brushed back Monica's overgrown bangs.
"Then I'll take you up on that… Miss Everett, excuse me for a moment."
With that, Rosalie suddenly pulled Monica's lower eyelid down.
Monica blinked in surprise, prompting Rosalie to say in a quiet voice, "Don't move."
Rosalie went further, instructing her to "Open your mouth" so she could examine the inside, then inspected her entire body thoroughly, all the way down to her hands and nails.
"No abnormalities in your eye movements, and no bleeding gums. However, the insides of your lower eyelids are pale, and your nails are whitish as well. In addition, you have dry skin and are underweight for your age… You're showing signs of malnutrition and anemia. How many hours do you sleep a day?"
At Rosalie's question, Monica lowered her head and nervously twisted her fingers.
Monica had holed up in a mountain cabin and spent her days immersed in calculations, so she had no fixed bedtime.
As one of the Seven Sages, Monica earned a respectable income and had no need to conserve candles or lamp oil. As a result, she often kept working with numbers until her body reached its limit and she lost consciousness.
"Er, um… well… my bedtime… varies."
"How many meals do you eat a day? And roughly how much do you eat?"
"W-when I get hungry, I eat nuts… or biscuits…"
Unless her body was crying out that it had reached its limit, Monica did not go to sleep or eat.
When she did eat, a full stomach made her sleepy, so she always ate only the bare minimum needed to stave off hunger.
After hearing about Monica's condition, Rosalie fired off questions about whether she had ever suffered any major illnesses or whether there were any foods to which she had an adverse reaction.
Monica answered haltingly, Rosalie followed up with more questions, and after repeating this several times, Rosalie finally ended the questioning and called for Lin.
The high-ranking spirit, dressed in a maid's uniform, appeared swiftly at Rosalie's call—far more promptly than when her master, Lewis, had summoned her.
"You called, Rosalie-sama?"
"There's a pot of soup on the stove. Could you heat it up? And warm some milk over low heat and soak torn bread in it."
"Of course."
After Lin bowed and left, Rosalie turned to Monica and rolled up her sleeves.
Monica trembled, wondering what was about to happen, but Rosalie pushed her by the shoulder and led her to the bathing room.
"To make you human again, you need plenty of food and sleep. But first, let's get you bathed. Keeping your body clean is the foundation of hygiene."
With that, Rosalie stripped Monica down without mercy, shoved her into the bathing room, and scrubbed her from head to toe.
She also cut Monica's overgrown hair, saying, "Hair getting in your eyes can cause eye diseases." She wielded the scissors briskly, without the slightest hesitation or restraint.
Once Monica had been tidied up and changed into one of Rosalie's old dresses, Lewis, who had been away for quite some time, finally returned.
"Oh my, you look considerably more human now."
That was quite a thing to say.
As Monica made helpless little motions with her mouth, Rosalie, who had been combing her hair, shot Lewis a piercing glare.
Despite her quiet demeanor, Rosalie's gaze was sharp and filled with a silent intensity.
"How dare you bring such a patient before me, Lewis Miller? I can't possibly leave a girl this needy to fend for herself."
At Rosalie's use of the word "patient," Monica protested in a voice so faint it might vanish, "I'm healthy…"
But Rosalie stated it flatly.
"Anyone can see that you're a walking embodiment of ill health."
Like husband, like wife. They were not a particularly similar couple, but their refusal to mince words was identical.
As Monica opened and closed her mouth, Lewis glanced at her and spoke.
"Rosalie is a physician. You would do well to listen to her, my fellow Sage-dono."
No wonder Rosalie's gaze had seemed so observant: it was the gaze of a doctor examining a patient's condition.
Rosalie was a quiet woman, but she possessed the stubbornness of a doctor who would not let a patient say no. And now Monica had been recognized as her patient.
"The treatment is to improve your diet and sleeping schedule."
Right at that moment, Lin brought food for three and arranged it on the table.
There was bread, salad, roasted duck, and soup—a simple meal. Monica's bread, however, had been stewed in milk, and her meat had been finely chopped.
"I'm not telling you to force yourself to eat everything. Even if you only manage small portions, be mindful of eating everything in a balanced way."
"Y-yes…"
The soup and bread stewed in milk were both mild in flavor, yet simple and delicious. It felt as though it had been a long time since Monica had eaten a warm meal.
Monica tended to forget to eat when she became absorbed in calculations, and the same held true once she started eating. When engrossed in her meal, nothing else registered. She simply devoted herself to eating until the plate in front of her was empty (which was why she usually kept meals simple).
After Monica polished off her plate, completely absorbed in her meal, Rosalie said, "Well done," and placed a small dessert plate in front of her. The dessert was cherry pie.
Lewis did not get any.
"Rosalie, where's mine?"
Lewis complained while glancing at Monica, who was enthusiastically stuffing her cheeks with cherry pie.
Rosalie placed a cup of after-dinner tea in front of Lewis and said:
"You consume too much sugar. You probably dumped jam and sugar into your tea by the spoonful when you were out, didn't you? Cut down on sugar at home."
With that, Rosalie moved the sugar bowl away from Lewis.
Lewis sadly shook his head, then took a small bottle from inside his coat. A label indicating strong alcohol was affixed to it.
When Lewis tried to pour the high-proof liquor into his cup of tea, Rosalie swiftly snatched the bottle away.
"You'll have to cut back on alcohol, too."
"…Oh. Once sugar and alcohol are gone, what am I supposed to live for?"
"Your wife is a physician. You really ought to listen to her, dear husband."
Having his own earlier words thrown right back at him, Lewis fell silent with a sulky little grunt and drank his unsweetened tea with a bitter expression.
It was a rare sight: the arrogant Lewis being bested. Monica, however, was too absorbed in her pie to notice.
And, incidentally, she never did remember Nero, who was growing hungry inside her luggage bag.