Unedited
There was a rumor going around that the devil had appeared at Fitzsimmons Academy. The source was Rosemary Blossom’s best friend, Mikayla Maynard. She was in the theater club and was staying up late rehearsing a play to be presented during the Harvest Month Banquet when she ran into it, she said.
It looked similar to a human at first glance, but it was entirely covered in black scales and had sharp thorns on its wings. The thick fingers were connected by something webbed, and the fingernails looked like they could tear through anything.
The horns that protruded from both sides of the head had a ferocious appearance, and the tail was so large and long that Maynard repeatedly described the dust that arose when it hit the ground with its tail.
As with most interesting but absurd stories, the more people talked about the unidentified monster, the more terrifying it became. A full day and a half had passed since the initial ignition, and students claiming to have been harmed by it began to come in one after another.
Most of them were reported to have tripped due to the power of the devil while out walking, so after much deliberation, Professor Humphreys issued a special order. She had magic dolls flatten the paths and remove any sinister stones.
Finally, some lower-grade students began sending letters to their worried parents, prompting the student council to take action. Marquise Bolton posted notices on the bulletin board whenever classes weren’t in session. In it was written that the rumors of a devil prevalent within the academy were completely false and that what Maynard had seen was a gargoyle living in the forest near the academy.
“Bullshit! Gargoyles are barely as tall as I am, no matter how much they stretch their back!”
“Maynard is shorter than you, Dalton.”
Bolton retorted irritably. He didn’t seem to be amused. I stuffed the harpy poop firecracker I was about to shoot at him back into my pocket.
“So, you still haven’t confessed to Blossom, huh?”
“Are you here to mock me or comfort me?”
“Both. Do you want some creepy candy?”
“I don’t eat sour things.”
“So picky.”
We walked to the square, exchanging trivial words. In celebration of the Harvest Month Banquet, the space under the gold and blue awning decorated with the Academy’s signature colors was so crowded that it seemed difficult to have a private conversation. After thinking about it, we settled down on the corner of the stairs, and Bolton took off his jacket with a straight face and threw it on my lap.
“This instructor of yours was impressed again.”
“I’ve done this without prompting before, you know?”
“If you say so.”
I laid down my handkerchief on the steps and motioned to Bolton. He scowled at me, maybe wondering what thoughts about him I’m having, but still placed his butt on the handkerchief. His attitude was coy.
Bolton’s legs were so long that his legs stuck out awkwardly. Out of consideration for him, I sat back down a little higher. So did Bolton and my handkerchief.
“The story about the devil is interesting. I heard something similar during vacation.”
“In Milua?”
It was a topic I raised in moderation because I didn’t really want anyone to get involved, but the response I got back was quite serious. At my absent-minded nod, Bolton hooked the strap of his glasses around his finger and pulled lightly, lost in thought.
If you think about it, Judith’s devil and Maynard’s devil were similar in many ways. Things like color, wings, scales, etc. The voice that entered my head and the rough texture that touched my fingertips were still vivid.
Of course, the person I met at the Spencer Mansion may be a monster, but he could never be a devil. At least that was the case for me. Still, Bolton’s tone was strange. When I pressed him on the matter, he dodged the question.
During the Harvest Month Banquet, several of Fitzsimmons’ various after-school clubs would set up stalls and stages to earn credit and cover operating expenses. Since the student council was in charge of the banquet, there was no need for them to prepare anything else, but Bolton seemed to find the Gryphon cricket club’s ‘punching booth’ quite fun.
It was certainly a crowd-pleaser. All of the Harvest Month banquets held since Fitzsimmons was founded would not be able to compare to the operating expenses that the Gryphon Cricket Department will generate this year. Looking back over the past nine months, I alone had spent a considerable amount of gold on Kyle’s ‘punching booth’.
“It would be nice if Jaden could participate too.”
“You want to punch him? Your fists would probably break first.”
It was clear that the thin fists of a boy as thin as Bolton would crumble if Jaden even applied strength to his muscles. When I said that, Bolton got annoyed and said that there would be no one in the world who would disrespect the Holy Knight of Illestia more than Ariel Dalton.
I covered my ears with one hand and shoved a creepy candy into his noisy snout with my free hand. His shoulders trembled slightly at the horrifyingly sour taste.
“Why don’t you try growing your body too? These days, girls prefer the type with big chests and biceps rather than the slim and pretty type. You never know; maybe Blossom will pay you interest too.”
“Do you think Rose’s tastes are as vulgar as yours? Beside’s she… .”
Bolton, who had barely regained his composure after biting into the round candy as if it were my head, went silent after the barrage of accusations. It seemed like he was thinking of Blossom.
Whatever it was, he ended up bowing down to this ‘vulgar’ girl because he wanted to do well with Blossom. As someone who knew how much effort he had put in while giving up his high self-esteem, I felt sympathy for him.
To cheer him up, I handed Bolton the opportunity to shoot a harpy poop firecracker. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he popped it in my face.
While I was distracted by the smell of harpy poop in my nostrils, Bolton seemed to be feeling much better. Even though it wasn’t in the direction I had intended, I think I did make him aware of the need for good jokes.
“Dalton, won’t you marry me?”
After laughing in a not-so-elegant way, Bolton spoke up. It was unimaginable bullshit, and it caught me so off guard that I almost choked on the creepy candy that was rolling on my tongue.
“Keugh, uek, w-what did you just say?”
“I’m saying I’m better than Villard in terms of conditions.”
“You called me vulgar!”
“You may be vulgar, but you’re a pretty good girl.”
His tone was light, neither too shallow nor too serious, as if he were stating simple facts, like the sky being blue or leaves being green. Feeling a little embarrassed, I fidgeted and touched the empty wrapper of the creepy candy. Then I replied; my voice came out grumpy.
“Where did everything I’ve taught you so far go? Are you calling this a marriage proposal?”
“If I make it grand, will you accept it?”
“No, of course not! Marry you? No way!”
“Right… .”
Bolton rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger, adopting a serious expression. After a long pause, he continued,
“Give up on his highness.”
“So suddenly?”
“I’m giving you advice because it’s clear you can’t handle it. Even Rose… Someone like you won’t be able to beat them.”
I was curious about what he meant by ‘someone like you’ and who ‘them’. But Bolton didn’t seem to have any desire to explain.
In an instant, he shrugged off all the question marks that filled my mind and stood up resolutely. It was funny to watch him waddle around for a while, then come back with a grunt, realizing he’d left his jacket.
I started running in the opposite direction of Bolton. It was always sweet to hear Bolton shouting my name.
***
His brother, pretending to be Edgar Ramos, took me to the coffeehouse I once stopped by with Edgar. Perhaps because Edgar’s impression was so strong at that time, I could see the store owner making a fuss when she spotted us through the window.
The door opened before I even got close to the entrance. Soon, the top of the head of the store owner, who was deeply bowed, came into view. The tips of her ears, exposed through her flowing hair, were quite pointed.
“Elf?”
“Just half. Doesn’t the fact that they serve ham sandwiches make it obvious?”
When Nadon muttered in confusion, she smiled brightly and led us to the table we had previously sat at.
“Been here with Edgar, huh?”
“So what if I have?”
“Oh, cheeky. Show some respect to a prince.”
“Technically, you’re not a prince right now—you’re a duke.”
“That mouth, really.”
I pretended not to notice the sharp gaze being shot at my cheek and chose the drink with the longest name. I wanted to try a menu item I had never tried before.
Nadon ordered a ham sandwich with a drink. He said he was curious about what was different about the meat carefully selected by an elf. I advised him not to expect too much from the elves, reminiscing about the time my father, Rohan Dalton, nearly went bankrupt because of the elves’ horrendous taste in decor.
While I was disparaging her race, the owner showed up with two drinks and a ham sandwich. Embarrassed, I fell silent, but she waved it off with a laugh and said, Don’t worry. I actually enjoy elf jokes.’
“My favorite story is the adventure of Ragnar, who went out into the purified forest without protective clothing and contracted every disease except syphilis. Every time I hear it, it makes me question my existence. ‘How on earth did my father do ‘that’ with my mother without dying?’”
The store owner and I discussed for a moment the interspecies mating of elves, which are weaker than dandelion seeds. She theorized that her father’s “miracle” might have been due to a curious hole with a plug on his protective trousers, which shouldn’t have been necessary since, due to magical measures, elves wearing protective suits wouldn’t have the need to defecate at all.
I couldn’t agree with the owner’s argument. If her father had let anything out of that suspicious hole, she would not have been born. In fact, Ingrid, an elf whom I met when Dalton Guild decided to trade printed fabrics, broke every bone in her fingers when she took off the gloves of her protective clothing to stamp her seal on the contract.
“You haven’t forgotten I’m here, have you?”
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