Magicity

Kimberly was a boarding school, and everything students needed could be

found on campus. The cafeterias served an endless variety of meals, and the

many shops were constantly rotating in fresh stock. Ask an embroidifairy,

and you could get any clothing you liked, custom made. Students had every

liberty they needed to go about their lives.

But Kimberly was dangerous. The risks of campus life were high

enough to undermine all those perks. Their first year had been more than

enough to hammer that point home, and that was time enough for most

students to get pretty strung out, longing for a breath of fresh air.

And when that happened, one place called to them. Few could resist.

"…Hup…!"

Spotting the landing zone beneath them, Guy steered his broom down,

reaching the ground first. His feet hit solid earth—but the momentum was

too strong, and he reeled forward. As the others landed behind him, he

staggered several steps, narrowly avoiding a face-plant.

"Ahhhhh! Sweet freedom!" Guy yelled.

The view before them was certainly a sight for sore eyes.

First, the sky—partitioned off by a latticed dome. Below that was the

sprawling town with throngs moving about the street by the landing. Shops

and homes of all shapes and sizes lined the roads, and if you looked up,

there were a number of other shops suspended, bagworm-like, from the

dome's frames. These were accessible only via flight.

Countless brooms and magic carpets were carrying people and cargo to

and fro, following paths marked by light. In the square nearby, a magicraft

fountain was writing letters in the air—and over the rush of its waters, they

could hear merchants hawking their wares.

"…I know it's been a while, but I don't remember this place being so

loud," Katie mumbled.

Meanwhile, Guy looked ready to rush off on his own—but Chela put a

hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Cool heads, Guy. It's a thrill for us all, but if you start yelling, you'll

startle the locals."

"Actually…they don't look the least bit startled," Pete said as he

surveyed the area. "Seems like they get this a lot…"

Both the mages landing around them and the ordinary folk walking past

were doing little more than flashing smiles of recognition.

"Well, yeah," Oliver said with a smirk. "They get a lot of Kimberly

students cutting loose here."

"…Fair," Katie muttered. "I'm struggling not to lose my head, too…"

She was positively vibrating.

Meanwhile, Nanao was still soaking in the view.

"It has been a while. I spent a few months here before school began,"

she explained.

"Oh, when you were learning Yelglish, right?" said Oliver. "Nice place

to live?"

"Entirely. I merely had to explain that I would soon be a Kimberly

student, and everyone around bent over backward to assist me."

"They would." Oliver nodded and glanced up ahead. "Most people here

have a high opinion of Kimberly and anyone connected to it. The whole

town is reaping the benefits of having a famous magic school nearby.

Definitely a mutually beneficial relationship… It's a bit remote, but it

basically functions like a college town. And among the town's benefits is a

financial payment from the school. Essentially…reparations."

"But that in turn makes it a popular destination for students on their day

off," Chela added. "The whole town is so welcoming that…it just feels

right."

She glanced back, noticing several other students landing and racing off

into town. Seeing her own group itching to follow suit, she turned to face

them.

"…However! Make your hearts like dragons and remember always the

words I am about to say—"

But Guy was quicker. "Don't do anything to harm the rep of our school

or its student body, right? We know already!"

The wind fell from Chela's sails, but Katie and Pete were both frowning.

"What does that even mean…?"

"I thought the same thing."

Neither of them had any clue how outsiders expected Kimberly students

to act. Sensing the source of their confusion, Oliver stepped in.

"Think of it the other way around. Take anything that's typically

Kimberly and put it away in the back of your mind. Don't go for your

athame without very good reason. Assume no real trouble will arise, and

even if we do get in some, remember that a fight here is not usually fatal.

Even against another mage, you don't want to blast a spell the moment you

say hello."

A year in that hellscape had warped all their sensibilities.

"…Oh, right," Katie said, grimacing. "That's…usually a bad thing,

huh… You see that all the time on campus, but…that's actually wrong…"

"Don't you start crying on us, Katie. I might have to join you."

Guy was already dabbing at his eyes. The shock of being dragged back

to earth really drove home just how nuts their school was.

"Chin up, you two," Chela declared. "Today is a respite from all that

bloodshed. Come! Follow me!"

She led the way, and everyone else trailed behind. They joined the

throngs on the main street and took care to stick together.

"So many people! Mages and otherwise…!" said Katie.

"Yeah," said Oliver. "Eighty percent of the town's population are

nonmagical, yet they live hand in hand with magic in nearly every way. It's

a quintessential magicity."

"Oh, a panini shop!"

That caught Guy's interest, and he darted off. The others slipped to the

side of the road, waiting, and he soon came back with a paper-wrapped

bundle.

"Wow, that's massive…"

"Guy, are you sure you should be eating all that? They have food where

we're going, you know," said Chela.

"Farmer's sons can pack it away, lemme tell ya. I grew up on five meals

a day! And in my experience, ordinary folk make the best food."

Guy peeled open the wrapper. The panini had been sliced neatly, and

there was steam rising off it. He pulled out a piece and bit into it, and his

eyes went wide.

"Maaan, that's good. You gotta try a bite!"

That certainly got everyone's attention. Hand after hand reached out for

a piece. Everyone looked astounded when they took their first bites.

"Oh my gosh, that's amazing! What's in this sauce?" Katie asked.

"I've never had anything like this before, myself," said Chela.

"Lemme go ask! Hold this!"

Guy shoved the bundle at Katie and rushed off back to the stall. They

watched as he spoke to the shopkeeper, then slipped back through the

crowds to them.

"He said it's a Ytallian technique involving fermented tomatoes.

Apparently, it's starting to take off over here, too!"

"Aha," said Oliver. "That makes sense. I've heard Ytalli has a big foodie

culture."

"This is delicious! I must have another."

"…Wait—it's gone?! Nanao! You ate mine, too?!"

Guy had left the group for mere seconds and came back to find nothing

but toast crumbs. Nanao happily polished off her third piece, ignoring

Guy's fury. The others laughed. It was Guy's fault for leaving food

unclaimed in front of her.

"Kimberly mages, take a gander," called a voice behind them. "We've

got all manner of study aids in stock."

Their spot outside the flow of foot traffic was in front of a shop, and an

old woman was waving them inside. The shelves were covered in all sorts

of things—far more than you'd ever expect a shop of this size to carry.

"Whoa, that's a tenfold memory tonic!" Guy cried. "Never seen a real

one before! Supposedly, you drink one of these, and for the next hour you

can even remember the cracks in the floorboards."

"Wait, really? If they're that good, I oughtta get—"

"Don't you dare, Pete. Sure, they work, but they force you to remember

all sorts of unnecessary stuff, too, so it's a net loss. It's one thing if you're

cramming for exams, but for daily use, you'd want something a little

milder. I can brew one for you."

"O-oh. Got it."

Pete pulled his hand back, minding Oliver's warning. Chela laughed at

this—Pete would likely have argued with anyone other than Oliver.

"Oh, the decoration on this pen is amazing! So detailed! What mage did

this?"

"Ha-ha-ha! Little lady, that's by a nonmagical artisan."

"It is?! Wow, you can do this without magic? How?!"

Katie had found a fountain pen in the shop window with a unicorn

motif. She was clearly captivated; her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets

when the shopkeeper said who had made it. Chela peered over her shoulder.

"If mages make it, they call it rodmade, but this is handmade," the

ringlet girl explained. "We may rely on magic for everything, but that

means we've lost any number of crafting techniques. Including this sort of

nonmagical metalwork."

"That approach was commonplace in my country as well. Though I saw

nothing of this artistry in the markets. It must be the work of a true artisan."

Now Nanao was peering at the fountain pen. Katie stared at it a moment

in thought, then asked the shopkeeper, "Um…h-how much is it?"

"That pen would be eight thousand belc. You want it, little lady?"

The price tag took Katie aback. She slumped her shoulders. "Th-that's a

lot…! I could buy two treatises with that much…"

"It's a fair price considering the craftsmanship involved," said Chela.

"They do have cheaper rodmade products over here."

"…They're cheap, sure, but…clearly mass produced…"

"That's what makes them affordable. I'd say they're likely made by

familiars."

As Chela evaluated the quality, Katie worked her way down the heap of

pens. Ultimately, her budget forced her to narrow her purchase down to two

pens. Everyone else was just window shopping, so they all left together.

Guy was in a very good mood, having feasted his eyes on all sorts of

trinkets.

"They had real magic tools just sittin' there with the normal stuff. Do

nonmagical folks buy those, too?"

"Memory tonics could well be poison, so I doubt the shop would let

them," Oliver said, looking at the passing shop windows. "But otherwise,

I'm sure if the need arises, they do. There's a whole field of magic tools

designed for ordinary use."

"…The boundaries are fuzzier than I'd assumed, then," Nanao said.

"The tales of Western magicians passed down among my people involved

toiling over a cauldron in the depths of the woods. Nothing like the reality I

see before me."

"Wow, that's hilarious! You thought we lived like elves?" Katie asked.

"Well, it's not entirely baseless," Oliver said, stroking his chin. He

imagined how these stories might have spread overseas. "What Nanao

describes is how magic was practiced before the magic industrial

revolution. Before mages became the ruling class of human society, they

either rejected contact with ordinary folk and formed small communes or

lived in isolation like hermits. That's probably where Nanao's ideas came

from."

"Pre-Union—or while there were still only a handful of members.

Naturally, even then there were rulers who took mages in and valued them,

but that was the minority," Chela explained. "Clearly, we've since formed

healthy relations with the ordinaries, but that was not always the case. I've

heard there were times when betrayals were common and persecution

rampant. Now it's downright unthinkable."

Katie had been listening to Chela's passionate lecture with great interest,

but then her attention was caught by a big carpet on the side of the road.

People had been waiting for it, and they started climbing aboard. Her eyes

gleamed.

"Oh, a carpetpool! I love those! Can we take a ride?"

"What? Don't be a weirdo," Guy teased. "We've got brooms."

"Carpetpools are a part of the magicity spectacle, though. We can take a

ride if you like, Katie," said Oliver.

Ultimately, they all agreed—and took up seats on the carpet. Once the

stop had emptied, the cross-legged rider up front patted the surface, and the

carpet lifted up, carrying its twenty passengers into the sky.

"Flying carpets… You often see the little ones from the Rug order, but

creatures this large are only seen in magicities. It's quite a comfortable

ride," said Chela.

"Hrm. I find it rather unsettling. So floaty!"

"..."

"Pete? Why are you scowling?"

"…I once stepped on a wild carpet, and it flipped over on me. Brings

back bad memories."

"Ha-ha-ha, I know the feeling!" Guy said. "I got punched in the crotch

by a wild broom once."

Oliver had similar childhood memories. Flying magical fauna were so

integral to people's lives that no matter where you grew up, you likely had a

story to tell.

Gazing down at the streets of Galatea, Katie gave the carpet a pat on its

back.

"Your fur's a bit mussy. I know it's hard to keep you groomed with

everyone you carry around, but… Oh, I wish I had a brush."

"You're such a kind soul, Katie," Chela said. "Perhaps some other time,

though. Our stop's coming up."

It wasn't long before the carpet began descending. When it reached

street level, all six friends hopped off. Oliver got his bearings—according to

his mental map, they were a good mile from the previous stop. At that

speed, it was clear why nonmagical people valued carpetpools.

"Well, we've done some sightseeing—shall we get lunch?" Chela

suggested. "I have a reservation at a favorite, unless anyone objects?"

"That's what I wanna hear! I'm starving!"

"The very words I awaited!"

The group's biggest eaters were the first to chime in, and Chela escorted

them to their lunch destination.

Not surprisingly, the Lily of the Valley was crowded—Chela had been right

to place a reservation.

Wooden tables were packed in, with customers rubbing elbows at them;

soot-stained lamps hung from the rafters. Bottles of alcohol with labels in

various languages lined the windowsills, as if insisting this was a pub, not a

restaurant.

The six of them gathered around a table in the corner, and the staff

boomed a welcome. Menus flew toward them, alighting at the center of the

table. Clearly a prompt to decide their orders before a server got there. A

brusque approach to customer service, even for a pub—but somehow that

felt right.

"This place is hoppin'!"

"Chela, what's good here?"

"This establishment specializes in traditional Yelglish cuisine. The

Kimberly cafeteria menu is impressively international, but I do feel it's

somewhat lacking in anything explicitly Yelglish. I thought we could make

up for it here."

"Especially for our two overseas students," said Oliver. "Nanao, Katie,

let me warn you: Our food might not be as fancy looking as Ytallian or

Lantshirian food, but they make up for it in heartiness… At least, I think

so."

"No need to get defensive before we even order, man! Should we start

with fish and chips?"

"Yes, and shepherd's pie is obviously a must. Perhaps some sausages

—?"

"Oh, I want this! The jellied eels!" Katie said, pointing at the edge of the

menu.

A shudder ran over the table.

"...You're really going there, huh, Katie?" said Guy.

"...It is on the menu," added Chela. "I just…unconsciously put it out

of mind…"

"Er…wh-what? It's a famous dish, right? Is it not good?"

"I've always found eel delightful," Nanao said, blinking.

Guy crossed his arms pensively. "…Your thoughts, Chela?"

"…Flavor is a subjective concept. My father delights in this dish and

regularly polishes off entire bowls."

"…I'm staying out of this one," said Pete.

The four of them settled into an uncomfortable silence, but this seemed

to pique Katie's curiosity further, and she decided she was definitely getting

the jellied eels. A server soon swung by, took their order, and retreated to

the kitchen. The group chatted away while they waited, when…

"Pardon me, young mages. Could I trouble you for a moment?"

…a voice came from the aisle. They turned to find an old woman—she

looked nonmagical—with a younger woman in tow. Certain she was talking

to them, Oliver responded.

"Yes, madam? Can we help you…?"

"Just a small favor. Nothing that'll put you out. Could you cast a spell

on my daughter here? She's seven months pregnant, you see."

The younger woman's belly was visibly swollen. Seeing this register

with all of them, the old woman continued.

"All of us want nothing more than for the baby to be born healthy and

sound, and if the child has a knack for magic—well, that would be a

delight. I hoped you might indulge us there."

The mages looked at one another. Oliver was soon appointed

spokesman.

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do that would turn an unborn child

into a mage. We can certainly say a charm for safe delivery, if that would

suffice…?"

"Oh, oh, absolutely. I'm sure she'll love it!"

A smile appeared on her wrinkly face, and she pushed the other woman

forward. Oliver aimed his white wand at her belly and whispered a spell…

but to ensure it had no negative influence on mother or fetus, he kept the

health boost at nigh placebo levels.

"…Th-thank you!"

"Isn't that nice, dear? I'm sure your child will be a fine mage one day!

Then everyone will be happy."

Oblivious to Oliver's reluctance, they bowed repeatedly and went back

to their table. Oliver turned back to his friends with a sigh.

"…That superstition isn't going anywhere fast," he said. "With few

exceptions, it's impossible to predict the magical aptitude of a child from

ordinary parents, and there's nothing we can do to influence it."

"No, there isn't," Chela agreed. "But I sympathize with the urge to do

anything you can, no matter how low the odds. Having a mage born from a

nonmagical family is simply that big a deal. It changes the entire family's

future, not just the child's."

"…It's not always celebrated," Pete muttered.

"? Pete, what was that?"

"Nothing."

Katie blinked at him, but he just shook her off, and then their food

arrived: fresh fried fish and potatoes, pie oozing juices from the cuts, and an

array of beautifully browned sausages. Guy had knife and fork at the ready,

eager to dig in.

"Ooh, here it is! Mind if I put vinegar on the fish and chips?"

"Better save that for your own plate, Guy. Oh…this came, too."

Oliver pushed one particular dish away from him—a grisly-looking

horror amid all the tantalizing gastronomic delights. It was a yellowish

gelatin in the shape of a pudding, with chopped-up fish meat suspended in

it. A kinder person might call the visual arresting, but most would go

straight to gross.

Oliver took a spoon, scooped out a portion, and handed it to the curlyhaired girl.

"Your jellied eels, Katie. Let's hear your unvarnished opinion."

"…H-here goes nothing." She gulped.

A hush settled over the table. Clearly sweating it, Katie raised the spoon

to her lips. A mass of jellied eels landed on her tongue—and she gingerly

bit in.

"...…"

"How's our local delicacy treating you, Katie?" Chela asked.

"…Man," said Guy, "that face just screams uncomfortable."

"Looks like she's racking her brain for the right phrase," said Pete.

"Hmm? I must sample this for myself."

Nanao scooped a serving of the jelly onto her own plate and took a bite.

They heard her swallow, but only silence followed.

"...Nanao...?"

"...…"

The Azian girl was mechanically working her way through the portion,

saying not a word. Two bites, three bites, four—like a duty had befallen her,

not a single variance in the motion. Her friends quickly grew perturbed.

"…Uh, wait. I've never seen Nanao eat without a smile!"

"Consider carefully, Nanao! If you don't like it, you're under no

obligation to finish!"

"…Your concern is unfounded. All foods are a gift from the land, and it

would never do to waste—"

"Okay, we'll all eat a share! Even split! Just…stop, please!"

Oliver pulled the plate away from her. Chela, Guy, and Pete each grimly

forced a portion into their mouths. Once the plate was safely emptied,

Oliver put his spoon down, sighing.

"It's been years since I last ate this, but the experience…hasn't

improved," he said. "Here, Nanao, maybe some cider will wash the taste

away."

"Much appreciated."

Nanao took the drink and chugged it, then put the glass down with a

sigh. A long silence followed before she slowly turned to Oliver, who sat

next to her.

"…Oliver, might I ask you to place your face closer to mine own?"

"Mm? …Is there something on it?"

Blinking, he leaned toward her. She put her hands on his cheeks,

examining him closely.

"..."

"...?"

Oliver had no idea what this meant. Then—her hands reached around

his head, and something soft pressed against his face, blocking his line of

sight.

It took him a moment. Then he realized what she'd done, and his whole

body quivered.

"…Wha—?!"

"Huh?!"

"My."

"H-hey!"

"Wow, bold move."

Nanao had just thrown her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

Each of their companions reacted in their own way, not that Oliver himself

was in any state to notice. The gentle scent invading his nostrils, the warmth

of her breath on his nape, and the soft, supple yield of her flesh pressed

against his face—each of these alone would be downright dangerous, and

all three of them were hitting him at once, without any warning.

His rational mind flailed, struggling against the shocking onslaught. This

made no sense, it concluded. Nanao was certainly touchy-feely, but never

had she demanded such forceful contact out of the blue.

There must be some other factor involved. Armed with that supposition,

Oliver's suspicions turned to the glass she'd been holding. He twisted,

freeing one hand from her embrace—she didn't let go, so he was left

fending her off with the other—and sniffed the glass. It smelled exactly like

he'd feared, and he glared at his friends.

"Why is there booze at the table? Who ordered this?!"

"Huh? I only ordered cider," Guy said, blinking at him.

Chela quickly took a sip from her own glass.

"Oh. This is definitely hard cider," she said. "Made almost the same

way, but they don't stop the fermentation as early. With this much alcohol

in it, it absolutely will get you drunk."

"Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-hehhh… Oliverrrrr…!"

As if confirming Chela's analysis, Nanao leaned her whole body against

Oliver, cheeks visibly flushed. He hung his head, convinced. No doubt

about it—Nanao was plastered.

But then he realized they had a solution. It was a bit forceful, but there

were ways to sober her up. He reached for his white wand…

" !"

…but before he could, a shock hit his nether regions like a hammer to

the groin, and a heat shot up his spine so fast it made him dizzy. The rest of

him went cold—this was bad.

He quickly shoved Nanao away and got up with such a start that his

knees bumped the table. As everyone gaped at him, he wheeled around and

headed for the back of the restaurant.

"Er—where are you going, Oliver?" Katie asked.

"…Bathroom. Might be a while," he managed and then moved as

quickly as his trembling legs would allow. Nanao tried to follow him, but

Chela grabbed her collar.

Casting a spell to sober her friend up, the ringlet girl narrowed her eyes

at Oliver's retreating figure.

"..."

Perhaps because of the sheer crowds, the bathrooms in the restaurant

weren't enough for all the customers—and there was an overflow set in the

building next door. Oliver followed the signs to those, going out the

restaurant's back door and into the door opposite.

"…Shit."

There was no one else here, thankfully. He stopped trying to keep

himself together and braced both hands on the mirror. The sensation of

Nanao against him would not stop looping through his mind, and the heat

shooting up from his groin was only getting worse. Trying to get his ragged

breath under control, he spoke aloud, chastising himself.

"…Simmer down… It's been months…!"

He gritted his teeth. This was a disaster. Two months had passed since

he last had symptoms. He'd been handling contact with girls just fine. So

he'd just assumed it was out of his system. Did Nanao just matter more than

other girls, or was it the intensity of the contact combined with the surprise

factor—or all of the above?

"…Aftereffects?"

"?!"

A voice came from behind, and he jumped, spinning around. The ringlet

girl was standing there, carefully monitoring his reaction.

"Chela…?! Why are you—? This is the men's room!"

"No matter. It's you I'm here for."

She stepped closer, examining him. His elevated breath, the sweat on his

brow, his fists clenched tight, the nails digging in. She even checked the

disruptions in his mana circulation—all without actually touching him.

"I'll ask once more. Is this a lingering effect from the Ophelia incident?"

Her tone didn't suggest she was going to let him dodge the question. He

couldn't meet her eye.

Panic rising, he muttered, "…It's no big deal. Just a little Perfume left

over."

"After four months? That's a very big deal!"

She angrily shot his protestations down, then took another step closer,

grilling him.

"I know you may not want to talk about it, but you have to. Have you

had any contact with the opposite sex since then? Not an accident like just

now, but…the real thing?"

"..."

"…I thought not. No, I knew better."

Taking his silence as denial, Chela sighed. Still very grim, she caught his

eye and held it.

"I could see Guy or Pete being ignorant of it, but you—I'm confident

you're well aware of the simplest and most effective means of removing

any remnant Perfume influence: Satisfy the urge. And not alone, but with

someone."

"...!"

"You inhaled a considerable amount of Perfume after we reached the

third layer. That alone would have a critical effect on anyone, but the

density went through the roof once the Grand Aria deployed. From the very

start, I knew it would be a problem. There's no way you could remain

impervious to the effects."

Chela bit her lip—mad at herself. Oliver shook his head.

"…There are other means," he insisted. "Appropriate potion dosage,

exercising self-control, aligning mana circulation with the rest of your

systems—it's manageable. It takes a while, but—"

"Four months is not 'a while.' Stop being so stubborn and admit it. Your

approach was clearly not enough to rid you of this much Perfume. You

made the wrong choice."

Chela was not letting him weasel out of this one. Oliver scowled at the

floor, clenching his jaw. He couldn't argue with her point. But…

"…Even so…it's not your problem."

His voice was a growl. A clear rejection. He almost never talked like

this.

"This is my body—it's a personal problem. You've got no right to be

telling me—"

But even as he tried to draw the line, she reached out and grabbed his

wrist, pulling him close. They glared at each other, noses almost touching.

Her eyes shimmered.

"Say that again," she hissed.

" !"

"It's not my problem? …We've explored the labyrinth depths together,

fought side by side, faced mortal peril, our hearts as one. And something

that happened to you as a result isn't my problem? Are you honestly saying

I don't have a right to be concerned when you're suffering?"

Her voice shook. Anger—but mostly hurt. They fought together and

survived—and he'd rejected the bond that fostered. That wounded Michela

McFarlane to the quick.

"If you really think that, deep down…then shake me off. Reject me,

push me away, tear up my feelings with your own hands. Along with any

bonds we forged in that battle!"

She was forcing a choice—well aware it was hardly reasonable. But she

had to.

Because she knew he'd been suffering ever since that day—hiding that,

acting as if nothing was wrong—and she was the only one who'd noticed.

More than once, she'd considered doing something. But he never asked

for help, never even grumbled, just kept his dire discomfort to himself…and

she read that as a conscious choice, one that mattered to him. So she'd done

nothing, not wanting to stomp into a friend's inner sanctum.

But she could only bear it so long. This moment was the end of the line

for her—and Oliver got that. He realized how much she'd been worried

about him, how much it had pained her to let him be…and how keenly she

felt for him.

"...!"

And—that just made Oliver feel responsible. He'd been about to reject

her, his arms raised to push her away, but they fell limp to his side, and he

instead lashed out at his own failings. Chela picked up on that, too—and

felt a massive wave of relief.

"...Good. You're not going to shake me off."

"...…"

Oliver didn't speak, didn't look up. Her hand still on his wrist, she led

him, unresisting, into a stall. This surprised him, but before he could

protest, she closed the door.

"Chela?! What are—?"

"You're suffering, and I'm here with you… There's only one thing for

us to do."

Face-to-face with him in the narrow stall, her eyes didn't waver. She'd

picked a course, eliminated the obstacles, and was now carrying it out as

best she could. That's how witches did things.

"Hardly the best locale, but at least they've cleaned it. Nothing ruins a

mood like filth."

She chuckled softly, then took a step closer. He tried to back away but

came up against the door, and as if to brush aside his last shred of

resistance, she leaned in, whispering in his ear.

"Don't worry. We're not doing the deed here… You know as well as I

do. At times like these, mages often take care of things without resorting to

intercourse."

She slowly reached a hand toward him, tracing his side with her fingers

—a sensation that sent a tingle through his entire body.

"...! ...Ah...!"

"A variation on healing arts… Caresses use the same principles. Just

relax. Leave all of this to me."

Making it clear she knew what she was doing, Chela slid her hand

slowly up his body. Rubbing his skin, touching the muscle beneath,

tampering with the flow of mana. A wave of irrefutable pleasure ran up the

boy's spine, like cold water sliding down a parched throat. Sensual contact

with the opposite sex—regardless of what his reason dictated, that was what

his Perfumed body desperately craved.

"No one's ever touched you like this, have they? …Goodness knows

how much you've trained. There's not a part of you not honed. Not a

muscle, not a drop of manaflow that isn't polished to perfection. Like a

handmade craft: detailed, yet nothing wasted…"

"...Wait, Chela—don't…!"

As her exploratory caresses continued, Oliver tried to resist, his arms

lacking all strength—but they were both mages, and she had more mana

than him, which made her stronger. She easily overcame his feeble

resistance, whispering in his ear again.

"...Would you rather ask Nanao, if you're dead set against me

handling it?"

"...!"

"If you promise you'll ask her, I'll stop. But if you can't do that…then

I'm finishing things up here."

Then she put her lips on his earlobe. Oliver's sight instantly whited out.

This stimulus was far beyond the caresses. His blood and magic all flowed

to his groin, forcibly activating the biological phenomenon he'd been

struggling to control. He tried to pull his crotch away, but Chela went

against that, wrapping her hands around his waist to pull him close.

"Don't pull back. No need to hide it. That's exactly what we're doing

here. And feeling your excitement makes me feel secure."

As she whispered, her eyes glanced down. His pants bulged outward.

The stiffness of it pressed against Chela. She felt not only the tension but

the heat of it, despite the fabric between. Reflexively, she started to reach

for it—but he grabbed her wrist.

"…Unh…"

"…Sorry. We're not ready for that yet, are we?"

She moved her hand back to his torso. She had things running at her

speed, but he was still deeply resistant. Going too fast would provoke

further rejection.

"…I'm getting a feel for this. Right here, isn't it? Your weakness. I can't

just prod it hard. I need to stroke softly, coming in waves…like this."

"...!"

She was carefully working out where he wouldn't fight her and focusing

her caresses. Where to push, how to stroke, how hard to prod—not just

looping but trying new patterns, teasing out his vulnerabilities. She was

good at this sort of trial and error—and soon got results. The sensual

intensity had Oliver's eyes unfocused, a heat on his breath.

"You're getting more responsive. Then…shall we go a little harder?"

Deciding it was time, Chela stuck the middle finger of her right hand

into her mouth. Moistened with her spit, she brought it to his belly and

slipped it into the center—his navel. His hips jerked instantly.

" Ah ?!"

"Ripples through you, doesn't it? The belly button once linked you to

the womb, so it's always been a channel for mana. And it's very sensitive to

stimuli and close to your genitalia…but of course, you know all that."

Even as she spoke, her finger was digging around inside his navel. A

wet squelching sound echoed through the stall. The boy closed his eyes,

trying to endure the heightening pleasure.

Caressing him, Chela thought, Hearing nothing in return certainly

makes this a bit lonely.

Since they'd first met, she'd always been herself with him. They were

equally well educated, commanded a wealth of spells, readily looked after

their friends… Having so many points in common was part of why they got

along so well. But it was more than that.

Their shadows lay equally deep. This boy was a mage of her caliber.

She'd felt as much since they first met, and much more clearly than with

Katie, Guy, or Pete. They still had the brightness of youth, their heads held

high above the waters of the magic world—but Oliver Horn was watching

that from deep below the surface.

"..."

She'd plunged those depths countless times herself. The McFarlanes

were one of the five oldest families in Yelgland. Everyone involved

shouldered some of that shadow. In that sense, she'd even sensed a kinship

with Ophelia Salvadori—descendant of a succubus, born to an ancient

lineage.

And she felt something similar from Oliver. Deep in their hearts, she felt

sure they understood each other and empathized. That was why he always

understood when she made a mage's choice—she almost never had to

explain. That made her happy, comfortable—and sad.

"...Mm..."

Still stimulating his navel, she put her lips to his cheek. In a sense, what

they were doing here only worked because they had that understanding.

A mage would do this when it was necessary. Both of them knew that,

which made it possible—barely—for this to register as treatment. It allowed

them to reduce a physical act of love to a medical procedure.

"...Your self-control is still holding strong. If you just accept this,

you'll feel much better."

"...Unh...!"

No, she was the only one reducing anything. Even as she whispered

sweet words to accompany her touches, she kicked herself for it. He might

not be stopping her, but he had definitely not wanted this. This was sex

without mutual attraction, a heartless exchange demanded only by sorcery

—and Oliver loathed that more than anything. Their year together had made

that very clear.

He was trapped in a contradiction. As deep in the darkness of magic as

any ancient family heir, yet stubbornly resisting the corruption that darkness

demanded. Two things that could not coexist.

"Being on the receiving end too much for you? …You can touch me, if

you like."

She took his hand and pulled it to her, echoing the thought in her mind.

This contact had heart. She felt for his suffering and yearned to free him

from it. That was why she was doing this…even if she'd used their

friendship to force him into it.

"Hahh, hah...hah...!"

Their guilt hiding beneath the pleasure, her petting went on. Oliver's

arousal had been rising steadily—but it reached a pitch it would not move

past.

She didn't need to ask why. He was holding himself back. She was

impressed despite herself—the lust and stimulation of this act and the

Perfume could easily have overwhelmed him. She was prepared to grant

him what indulgence that drove him to, within reason. But he had yet to lay

a finger on her of his own accord.

This was a true feat of endurance. She genuinely respected the effort.

But more than that—as a witch, she was frustrated. She was doing all this

for him—and couldn't push him over the edge.

"..."

Then, what? Keep massaging until all logic failed him? Touch him

somewhere more direct? Chela considered both options, then ruled them

out.

They didn't have much time to spend on this. And if she pushed her luck

and he rejected it, the setback would be costly. She needed a third angle of

attack.

"All right, then… Let me tell you a secret."

"...?"

Oliver looked perplexed. She changed up the pattern of the finger in his

navel, putting her lips to his ear.

"Do you remember our conversation before we headed into the

labyrinth? …I didn't plan on involving you or Nanao. I was going to make

contact with the upperclassmen and plunge into those depths all on my

own… But you stopped me. You took my arm and swore you wouldn't let

me go alone…and with such strength it felt like you would never let me

go," she told him. "…That felt so good. I was…overjoyed. I almost burst

into tears, right then and there."

Those emotions had stayed with her, lingering. And Chela was no longer

hiding them. Stimulating his carnal desires alone would never break

through this boy's self-control. Breaching those defenses required an

emotion he couldn't push away: genuine affection.

"...Che…la...," Oliver stammered.

The ringlet girl spoke plainly, with a warmth he could not refute. She

felt his mental walls crumble ever so slightly and did not let that pass. She

stepped in through the gap, whispering the words—nay, the spell—that

would seal the deal.

"I still remember it. The look on your face, the warmth of your palm on

my wrist," she said softly. "Sometimes, when I think about it…I touch

myself—in bed, stifling my breath…"

" !"

Vivid images filled his mind: her breath as ragged as his was now, her

cheeks flushed, indulging herself under cover of darkness. The covers

slipping aside, the curve of her shoulders peeking out. Sweat glistening on

her breast, slim fingers sliding between her legs. And that imagery all

connected to the waves of pleasure rushing through his navel…

" Auhhh...ah...!"

A shock ran up his spine, and everything went white.

The pleasure robbed him of all thought, his resistance rocking like a

dinghy on the waves of a storm. And at the height of that ecstasy—like

clutching for the last shred of self, his nails dug into Chela's back.

"...!"

She accepted that pain head-on, embracing him as he did her—and

seeing it through. Watching Oliver's body convulse with the ultimate

pleasure, releasing a fraction of his mana to the world, feeling the

corruption he'd been harboring pass out of his system. A faint, sweet odor

of Perfume teased her nostrils.

"…Good. We got there."

Chela smiled and brushed his hair. Not yet recovered from the climax,

there was no strength in his limbs, and he clung to her like a child. As a

witch, she felt pride; as a friend, she felt guilt.

"Any mess down there? I tried to lead you to a dry orgasm, but I'm

afraid I don't have much experience with these things… If I got it wrong,

please let me know."

She spoke tenderly, supporting him in her arms. At length, he recovered

enough to shake his head and pull away. With his head still down, she could

not read his face.

"Okay. I'd love to linger in the afterglow, but if we take too long, our

friends will start to ask questions."

She spoke with regret, then stepped in close, pulling his head to her

chest once more. Then she kissed his brow three times. Like making

excuses, she thought. Like insisting this was not an act of lust but one born

of genuine concern for him.

"I'm going to head back first. You'll follow a few minutes later. Once

we're all back at the table, it'll be just like always. No need to dwell on this

further."

She left him with that and tore herself away. Once he was sure Chela

had left the bathroom, Oliver leaned back against the wall, sliding down to

the floor.

He buried his face in his hands and let out a sigh so long it was as if he

were trying to expel his internal organs.

"…This again…"

Meanwhile, Chela made sure the coast was clear and slipped out of the

men's room. She headed straight for the women's restroom next door and

into the furthermost stall, where she locked the door. And like the boy

across the hall—buried her face in her hands.

" ~~~~~~~~~!"

A voiceless scream escaped her fingers. Never before had she been so

ready to die of shame. It felt like every inch of her skin was being pricked

from within by an infinite number of needles, her skin crawling, mingled

with pain—a sensation the likes of which she'd never experienced.

"…What…what am I even doing…?" she croaked, her voice shaking.

She couldn't believe her own actions. Doing that, with a friend… It was

all too much.

That had not been the plan at all. She'd only followed him into the

bathroom to tell him she knew what was wrong with him; aware he couldn't

talk to anyone about it, she couldn't let him suffer alone. And she'd thought

that would be the end of it.

"…I have so much more to learn than I ever realized…"

She bit down on her lip, well aware of what had lit a fire under her.

Oliver's words—"It's not your problem." Nothing that followed had been a

measured response. She had to prove him wrong. Had to take his suffering

on, even if it cost her their friendship.

And once she'd made that choice, she'd acted without a moment's

hesitation. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she wasn't

behaving rationally but led him to the heights of pleasure anyway. You

could say she'd acted like a proper mage. If you like someone—take them.

Whatever her feelings for the boy, that instinct had definitely been a part of

it.

Had she hurt him? A whole storm of emotions was raging inside her,

and that single fear rose to the surface. What transpired between them had

not been entirely consensual. In hindsight, she'd definitely forced him into

it. He hadn't stopped her, but that was because she'd used their friendship

as a cudgel. Had she simply let her selfish impulse take control and

molested him?

And that wasn't all. The final step she'd taken was clearly too much.

"Sometimes, when I think about it…I touch myself—in bed, stifling my

breath…"

Her own words echoed in her ears. When she'd voiced them, she'd been

so sure it was the best way to reach him. And it had worked. His stubborn

refusal to climax had melted, and she'd brought him to orgasm. She could

still feel the triumph and exaltation of that moment.

But once it was all over? Now that she'd calmed down and remembered

what she'd actually said? She could never do that again. She'd bite her own

tongue off first. That was unlikely to prove fatal in her case, but it would at

least prevent her speaking.

"…Even if the treatment was a viable argument…I didn't need to go

there…!"

She let out a soft moan. No matter who it was or what their connection

—some things were best kept to oneself. No friend should ever have to

know something like that. It had been completely inexcusable. She'd lost

count of how many inexcusable things she'd done today.

"…I've got to head back before Oliver does," she muttered.

She had no end of regrets, but she couldn't sit here scolding herself

forever. She slapped her cheeks a few times, getting it together—and made

her way back to her friends.

Oliver returned five minutes later and found everyone sitting at the table,

just as he'd left them. Guy looked up from the sausage he was cutting and

yelled, "That took forever, Oliver! You got the runs?"

"Guyyy! We're eating! …But seriously, are you okay? We saved some

food for you if you can still eat."

As Oliver took a seat, Katie gave him a worried look. Next to her, Chela

did the same.

"I've got some stomach medicine if you need it, Oliver. Would you like

some?" she asked, pulling a little bottle from her pocket.

She made this seem perfectly natural, acting just like she always did,

and that helped Oliver get himself back under control. Chela was right. It

was better for everyone if they both acted like nothing had happened.

"…No, thanks. It's just been a while since I left school, so it got the best

of me. All better now."

Oliver waved off the medicine and gave Katie an awkward smile. Back

to normal—but as he let himself relax, Nanao leaned closer. He blinked in

surprise, and she studied his face for a long moment.

"Indeed, you seem far more hale than you did earlier… Like an ill spirit

has left you, perhaps…"

" !"

His heart skipped a beat. She had keen eyes—exactly how much did

they know?

He was worried she knew everything, but a fresh wave of guilt quickly

drowned that out. Still, he bottled both emotions up tight, responding with a

veneer of aplomb.

"…I see you're no longer drunk, Nanao. We would've had a rough time

exploring the town if you'd stayed that plastered."

"Ha-ha-ha! A disgrace, for sure. I have sampled spirits during New

Year's celebrations but am hardly an old hand with them. I had no idea they

induce a state of such euphoria!"

"Glad you're over it!" said Katie. "And since it's Guy's fault for

ordering that stuff, he's gotta pay your portion of the tab."

"?! Wait, since when?! Augh, there goes my shopping budget…"

Guy's punishment left him white as a sheet, and as Oliver chuckled at

that, someone tugged his right sleeve.

"…You're not forcing it, right?"

He turned toward the voice and found Pete leaning in, looking up at him

with concern. Oliver felt the last shred of tension leave his shoulders. He

smiled for real and put his hand on the bespectacled boy's head.

"Not at all," he said. "Thanks for worrying, though."

He mussed his friend's hair, and Pete snorted, pulling away. They were

always like this in their room, and that really came as a comfort now.

With lunch finished and their check paid, they headed out into the bustling

crowds once more. Guy looked both ways, then turned back to his friends.

"So? What's the plan?"

"Katie wanted to stop by a magical creature shop," said Chela.

"Ms. Miligan asked me to pick up some supplies while we were in

Galatea. It won't take long, I promise!"

"Just don't keep us stuck there until dark," Pete insisted. "I've got places

I want to go, too."

"I—I wouldn't do that! I'm not buying any animals today. Just running

Ms. Miligan's errand, then looking around real quick…probably…I

think…"

Katie's eyes started shifting back and forth. Everyone steeled themselves

for the long haul—but followed her lead to the magical fauna shop. A fiveminute walk from the pub, they found a big sign with wings on it.

"Oh, this one! Müller's Magical Creatures! Let's go in!"

Katie was already in the door. The others filed after and were met with a

zoological musk. The shop itself was spotless, with high ceilings and

magical creatures of all shapes and sizes huffing about in their cages. Some

were highly active, while others curled up asleep; still others had their tails

dangling, eyes on the intruders. Katie was already making the rounds,

clearly enchanted.

"Wow—this place is huge. Guess it ain't the closest shop to Kimberly

for nothin'."

"They can even get oversized creatures in on special order," said Chela.

"Though they aren't regularly in stock."

"We get enough of those at school… Does this place have any, like…

cute creatures? Something more wholesome?"

"They've got lots! Pete, come look with me!"

Katie pounced on Pete's shred of interest and began pulling him around

the store. He'd had a year to know just how animal-obsessed she was, and

he was long past trying to fight it. The rest of the group followed.

"Aw, warg pups!" Katie said, stopping. "Look, it's drinking milk! So

cute!"

"Those things from the welcome parade? They were a little larger, but I

guess ones this young aren't much different from ordinary dogs."

"Wargs are man-made magical beasts—basically, regular animals altered

with magic," Oliver explained. "Just as loyal as regular dogs but with

heightened senses and strength. Of course, it depends on the owner, but

they're usually just as affectionate, too."

The warg pups were all wagging their tails. They were already as big as

a midsize dog but clearly still very young. Katie reached into the cage, and

one of them licked her fingers.

"Hee-hee-hee! You're a friendly one! Maybe two months old? The fur

on the tail's still not all grown in."

"Only two months? Why, a full-grown creature must be the size of a

foal!"

Seeing their interest, a clerk came over.

"You Kimberly students interested in a warg pup today? These ones are

bred for nonmagical homes, so I think you'd find them a bit lacking. We've

got tougher breeds in back, if you'd care to have a look."

"Oh, no—I'm not buying any animals today. They're just super-cute!"

They all turned toward the clerk; a young man in his early twenties, he

wore a short-sleeve shirt with the store name embroidered on it and plain

cotton slacks. But the athame and white wand at his hips made it clear he

was a mage.

He seemed quite approachable, so Pete glanced once more at the cage,

then asked, "Um…I'd read about it before, but do ordinaries really keep

wargs? Isn't it dangerous for nonmages?"

"Mm? Oh, that depends on the breed. Anything you find at Kimberly is

gonna be a lot more aggressive and retain its prey drive," the clerk replied.

"But the majority of breeds wouldn't pose a problem. In fact, wargs were

originally bred largely as guards for nonmagical households. For most of

their history, people wanted them as fierce as they are loyal. In those days,

kobold attacks were a lot more common, you see."

He spoke with practiced ease—he probably had to rattle this speech off a

lot, working here.

He glanced around the nearby cages, adding, "Of course, that's not all

they're prized for. There are hunting wargs, tracking wargs, or wargs that

are best kept as pets. They're bred for all types of owner needs. Our shop's

got a motto, 'A warg at home, and you're ready for anything.' Which is a

bit exaggerated, but they are great value for the price. Smart, obedient,

don't eat too much, don't demand too much of your time. The life

expectancy's just shy of six years, which is a bit short, but that's because

they've been bred to mature faster and not linger on into old age. A pup

today is fully grown before you know it, and they go out just as quick, too

—never a burden on you. You can just buy a replacement!"

He seemed quite proud of that, but Katie's brows were twitching. "…

Not even six years?"

"Mm? You wanted a longer life expectancy? There are special breeds

for that."

He seemed to think that would be reassuring, but Katie's friends knew

better. She took a long look at the tail-wagging pups and shook her head.

"No, not today. Um…do you have diagnostic equipment for trolls? It's for a

purebred Gasney."

"Oh, sure. The demi-human corner's over here. You're keeping a troll in

your second year? Unusual!"

"Um, yeah. It's a collaborative research project with a fifth-year named

Miligan…"

She intended that as a simple statement of fact, but the clerk spun

around like he'd been shot. His cheery smile entirely gone, he was eyeing

her sternly.

"…That explains it," he said. "You're Katie Aalto, right?"

"Y-yes, I am…"

She took a step back, a little freaked out. The clerk rubbed his temples,

sighing dramatically.

"You should've said so. I'll take twenty percent—no, thirty percent off

your order."

"...Huh?! Wh-why?"

"Show of support…or condolences. Either way, with her snake eye

stuck on you, I've got no end of sympathy. Just accept it—please."

With that, he turned on his heel. As they followed, he called over his

shoulder.

"And fair warning—don't turn your back on her. She's got a screw loose

and will pop your head open like it's a box of candy. And the fact that she

doesn't mean any harm makes it worse. She genuinely doesn't get why it's

a big deal."

That hit way too close to home. For all Miligan had helped her, Katie

was not inclined to argue. But the clerk had one last final blow.

"Also, send her a message from me. 'Your stunt has the civil rights

crowd after our shop! Customers are scared, and we're losing sources! How

you gonna make up for that, huh? How?!' Give her that verbatim!"

Contrary to expectations, they wound up spending very little time at

Müller's Magical Creatures. They bought what Miligan had asked for, and

Katie immediately said, "Time to go." No one argued.

"...…"

Outside, Katie was clearly taking it hard. Her shoulders slumped, her

whole frame visibly smaller.

Guy was searching in vain for a way to cheer her up, but all he managed

was a spluttered, "Uh, so…well…"

"L-let's go somewhere a little more cheery, shall we? I know just the

place!" Chela suggested, unable to bear watching. She quickly led them

away.

Up ahead, they saw a particularly gaudy sign. On it was a glowing wand

striking down a silhouetted magical beast. In the bottom right corner was a

note saying MAGES ONLY.

"A shooting range," Oliver said, nodding. "That would get our minds off

things…"

"…The targets aren't alive, right?" Katie asked, peering over his

shoulder.

Chela put a hand on her hip, wheeling around to face her. "Don't worry,"

she said. "This place only uses dummies. There are shops out there that use

live targets, but given the cost of managing and keeping the creatures,

they're very expensive. And the civil rights people have been up in arms, so

they've been closing down."

Katie looked relieved. Guy proceeded to roll up his sleeves.

"Then we can go all out, work up an appetite for dinner! C'mon, Katie!"

"Eep…!"

He'd put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her right in the shop.

Maybe a bit rough, but it was clearly his stab at cheering her up. The others

were right on their heels.

Inside, they could hear incantations echoing. There was a counter right

by the door, and beyond that, a series of lanes—rather like the ordinary folk

game called bowling. Several lanes were already occupied, and mages were

firing spells at the targets in back. Cheers went up on a successful hit, and

feet were stomped on a miss.

"Welcome! First timers? Confident of your skills?" the man at the

counter asked.

They inched closer, eyes moving to the blackboard with the rules.

"Looks like we can set the difficulty… Easy, normal, hard, and very

hard, huh?" Pete had to think about that one.

"If you can clear very hard, there's a luxurious prize!" the middle-aged

clerk said. "Nobody's managed it yet this month, but will you try your

hand?"

He pointed his thumb at the board behind. There was a row of brandnew magic tools, prizes given out for set difficulty clears. Guy and Katie

were both moaning. Given how much these cost in shops, the price of an

attempt might well be worth it.

"…Fascinating. Care to test our mettle, Oliver?"

He blinked. Guy was prone to that sort of challenge, but this one came

from Chela. She'd seemed more like the type to accept a challenge, not

make one.

"…You…don't have to," she added, suddenly looking worried.

That explained it; she was still worried about the incident at lunch.

He knew exactly why—and what she'd be most concerned about. She'd

challenged him to gauge his reaction, to see how he felt. Was he holding the

earlier incident against her? Did he hate her now? Had she hurt him?

"..."

It pained him to know he was making her feel that way. It was his fault

she'd done that for him and his fault she was feeling anxious.

He could never hate her. He knew this was all his fault. Letting the

Perfume problem linger, not being able to hide it properly—all of this was

because he'd failed to take care of things himself.

It did hurt—but that was an old wound he'd carried for some time. Not

one Chela had made. None of this was her doing.

If that wound was still festering, still bleeding—that was all his sin.

"I don't mind. But if I'm up against you, I've gotta go all out."

He smiled, accepting his friend's challenge. She looked both pleased and

relieved. Good, he thought. He didn't want to drag her into his own feelings

or cause any unwarranted anxiety or guilt.

"We won't be able to keep up with them, so why don't we stick to

normal? Let's see which of us is better, Nanao!"

"Challenge accepted, Katie! I have been practicing my skills."

"I'm no slouch in marksmanship, either. Pete, what'll you do? Gonna try

out easy mode all by yourself?"

"Obviously not. And I'll make you eat those words." The bespectacled

boy glared back at Guy, clearly fired up.

The clerk grinned. "Two for very hard, and four for normal! Very hard

pair, come right this way."

He led the group into the main shop and waved Oliver and Chela to the

far left. It was much larger than the other lanes, with several piles of parts

and a twenty-yard-wide magic circle on the floor. He directed them to its

center.

"…Does this mean there'll be targets all around us?" Oliver asked.

"This mode is all about realism! And they're not just targets. These

dummies fight back."

"That's certainly not what I imagined…," said Chela.

But nonetheless, they took their positions. The clerk stepped out of the

circle, drew his white wand, and tapped the tip to the floor.

"Two players…and you're both Kimberly students, so: Begin Kimberly

Mode."

""Kimberly Mode?!""

That sounded incredibly ominous. But the magic circle was already live.

The heaps of parts were putting themselves together. Oliver and Chela

braced themselves as the beasts moved in for the kill.

The battle raged for thirty minutes, and their spells echoed the entire time.

Finally Chela's magic crumbled the last of them, and the glow at their feet

died away. "All done!" the clerk boomed, and a roar went up from the

gallery.

"Great job! Wow, I can't believe you actually beat it!"

"Those numbers were nuts! I was freaking out the whole time!"

"...…"

"...…"

"That didn't seem like a game at all… Here, drink these. You need a

break."

They stepped out of the circle and took the drinks from Pete without a

word. Both chugged the contents and slammed them down on the nearest

table.

"So many enemies! So long! And those dummies are stupidly efficient!"

"It demands curved shots, piercing and broadsides, and you've got to

vary the elements?! Any dummies that slip through are brutal! How was

that a game? This is essentially combat training!"

Oliver and Chela were basically shrieking, their friends nodding along.

They both collapsed onto the table, and the clerk came over, beaming.

"Amazing victory! Can't believe you're both in year two. We don't

usually get any victories until at least year four!"

He jabbed his thumb at the counter. They looked up at the shelves lined

with prizes—being packed up by another staff member.

"There's a bunch of extra prizes, so we'll have them delivered by carpet

later. But the real prize is this! The two-player trophy!"

He grinned and set it down between them: a weighty brass trophy

depicting two mages, wands at the ready.

Chela took it, and the clerk started clapping.

"Great fight. You're today's best couple! Survivors of a battle that fierce

are bound to be together for years to come!"

With that blessing, he slapped them on the backs and returned to the

counter. They gaped after him for a long moment, then their eyes went to

the trophy.

"…It seems a bit late for that," Chela said. "We've been fighting side by

side all year."

"True. But nothing wrong with a belated acknowledgment."

They both pulled out their white wands and tapped them together above

the trophy. They'd won this prize together. And this gesture was their little

celebration.

But when she saw that, the Azian girl clutched a hand to her chest.

"...?"

"...Nanao, what's up? …Stomachache?" Katie whispered, pulling her

aside. Nanao's hand never left her heart, clearly at a total loss.

"I know not what this means. My chest just…clenched up."

Her eyes drifted over her shoulder, to where Oliver and Chela were

chatting happily. Nanao might be confused…but not Katie.

Oh…I knew it.

After that, they all stuck to regular lanes, giving one another handicaps

where needed and thoroughly enjoying their matches. A year's experience

made a big difference; Nanao had barely been able to launch a spell at first,

but now she was shooting down dummies like the rest of them. Pete

unveiled a curve shot he'd been secretly practicing, and the uproar never

subsided.

After a solid four hours of fun, the light outside turned crimson, and they

settled the tab for all that bonus time. Outside the shop, they breathed in the

fresh air, savoring the evening chill.

"Woo, I had a blast!" Guy said, stretching. "Already sundown? Time

sure flies when you're having fun."

"You sound ready to go back in," Chela said with a laugh. Then she

tapped her pocket watch. "But it's high time we head to our dinner

reservation—once again, it's a popular destination, so I took the liberty."

With the sun setting and dinnertime approaching, the streets were

somehow even more packed. Sticking to the main drags would be a hassle,

so they quickly stepped onto a side street. It might be a little out of their

way, but it was much easier to stay together.

They headed out, keeping a safe distance from the maddening crowd,

with Chela leading—until she suddenly stopped in her tracks. The others

looked up ahead and saw three small figures, maybe half their height,

seated on the side of the road and looking exhausted. They wore gray

coveralls and hats, but beneath that, green skin and long, hooked noses were

visible.

Recognizing those traits, Katie leaned forward. "They're…"

"Goblins? Don't see them in town often," Guy said.

Green-skinned goblins were, like trolls, one of the more common types

of demi-human. The six friends watched as the goblins passed through a

gate into the building beyond; it seemed like someone had called them in.

A few seconds later, Katie stood where they'd rested, gazing at what

they'd left behind.

"…They dropped this."

"A hat?" said Pete. "Given the size, it must belong to one of those

goblins."

Katie picked it up, examining it. "Goblins don't usually wear hats," she

said. "Is this a factory…? I'm gonna ask inside!"

As soon as the idea struck her, Katie was inside the gates. She reached

an unadorned iron door and knocked.

"Hello? You dropped something!"

"…No answer," said Oliver. "But I can hear sounds…"

"It doesn't appear to be locked. And we have a fine excuse to intrude.

Shall we step through and inquire within?"

At Chela's suggestion, Katie nodded and pushed through the door. The

interior did not seem to be well ventilated; they could smell the dust in the

air.

Behind the door was a wide-open space with a low ceiling and several

long, narrow tables. The place was packed with over a hundred goblins,

each of them silently trimming or polishing bits and pieces, parts for

something. When work was completed, the pieces were placed on carts

pushed around by roaming goblins, then replaced with a new batch. Aside

from the odd confirmation, no words were exchanged. Just tiny bodies,

laboring away in matching uniforms, and eerie silence.

"…This is…"

"…A workroom. These goblins are employed here," Oliver said.

As he did, someone came down the stairs next to them. A nonmagical

man, wearing the same uniform as the goblins (save for the size). He

frowned at them.

"…Mm? What brings Kimberly students here? This isn't open to the

public, you know."

"Oh, we just found this outside…," Katie said, holding up the hat.

He came over and took it from her, nodding.

"Ah, yeah. This is one of ours, all right. You shouldn't have." He turned

toward the floor. "Yo! Who dropped their hat? These kids picked it up for

you!"

A hundred pairs of goblin eyes turned toward them, and Katie flinched

despite herself. A moment later, one goblin left their desk, plodding over to

the group.

"You again?" The man sighed. "No matter how many times I explain it,

you just won't keep the uniform on. How thick can one goblin be? …Go on,

thank her."

He held out the hat, and the goblin took it with both hands. The demihuman looked up at Katie and said, "Tanks," but before she could react at

all, they were already headed back to their station.

"Ugh, sorry. They're not much for manners. They are just goblins, after

all—they're like that with everybody."

"Th-that's fine, but…aren't these clothes uncomfortable? Snow goblins

might be okay, but these are forest goblins, right? They don't usually wear

long sleeves like this."

"Mm? Sure, that's true, but there are rules for them living in human

towns. They roam the streets with that green skin showing, they'll scare

people. Covering it up makes a big difference."

He made a face, but not out of any guilt. Clearly, this was just a fact of

life to him.

When Katie fell silent, he added, "They do good work, though. Little

hands are good for the details. They don't complain, and we don't have to

pay 'em much. If we hired humans to do the same work, it'd cost us five

times as much, so a little rudeness is well worth it."

This just made it worse, and Katie was left entirely speechless.

"So…anything else?" the man asked. "If you've got business, we do

have a reception room."

"...…N-no," Katie said after a long, strained silence.

She turned on her heel, and the others followed her out.

"I dunno if this helps any, but…that's probably one of the better places,

y'know. They get treated way worse out in the boonies. The civil rights

people probably put the pressure on."

They were walking through the sunset-drenched side streets once more.

Guy wasn't the only one worried about Katie's mood; Chela also chimed in.

"…All I know is that demi labor is the foundation of modern magical

society. And that knowledge makes it hard to call this situation 'wrong.'"

Katie stopped in her tracks, spinning to face Chela.

"You think that was right, Chela? …Honestly?"

"..."

"Stuffed into that cramped space, forced to wear constrictive clothing,

paid a fifth of what humans get—and that's all okay just because they're

goblins? You think that's right? You think that's acceptable? They've got

feelings! They should be living the way they always have!"

Everything she'd been holding back tore out of her. Faced with this

tirade, Chela kept her face blank, merely lowering her eyes.

"Easy, Katie," Oliver said. "Before this town was founded, this whole

area belonged to the demis, goblins included. We're living on stolen

ground. Insisting they still have to live the old way is…pretty

presumptuous."

"Presumptuous how?! It's obviously better if everyone's happy!"

"Even if your pens cost five times as much?"

He glanced toward the bag in her hand, and she froze up completely.

Oliver nodded. What they'd just seen directly affected their lives.

"You knew already, didn't you?" he said. "This problem isn't simple

enough to discuss in black-and-white terms. Our country—the entire Union

—is built on the backs of the demi-human working class. The two pillars of

the industrial revolution were magic-based technology and their labor. And

the result is a human population that's grown to a point where life is

unsustainable without it."

"...!"

"I sympathize with your frustration. And that's why I want the

discussion to be specific and constructive. Chela was speaking the truth

from her position. Lashing out at her for it won't accomplish anything."

Oliver's placating tones gradually got through, and Katie turned toward

the ringlet girl. Seeing how sad her friend looked, she threw her arms

around her, tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Chela… I shouldn't have gone after you like that…"

"You've got nothing to apologize for. It's a friend's role to face these

feelings head-on."

Without a word of reproach, Chela hugged her back. That seemed to

settle things, and they started moving again. It was another ten minutes

before they spotted the lights of their restaurant destination.

"That's the place, right?" Oliver said. "Let's hope some food'll lighten

the mood."

Inside, they looked around. This place, too, was packed—but unlike the

lunchtime pub, everyone was keeping their voices low. There was more

space between tables, and the ambience was more suited to enjoying a

relaxing meal.

"Reservation for McFarlane, party of six, if you're ready for us."

"Ms. McFarlane, we've been expecting you. Your table is in back."

The waiter bowed his head politely and led them to the far right table.

Chela explained that she'd signed them all up for the course dinner, and

they need merely wait for their food to arrive—but then they heard voices at

the next table.

"…Hey, aren't those uniforms…?"

"Yep…"

Getting an ominous vibe from this whispering, Oliver perked up his

ears. He found an excuse to glance behind him and saw a group of eight

mages, boys and girls alike, in dark green robes seated around a nearby

table.

He kept an eye on them, and soon enough, one of them got up and

headed their way.

"You're all from Kimberly Magic Academy, right?" the mage boy said,

stopping by their table.

"We are. And you would be…?" Oliver asked, picking his words

carefully.