Chapter 24
“I’m a Mother-in-Law, But I Hate In-Law Conflicts”
The quarterfinals and semifinals ended in a flash.
Now, only two contestants stood in the arena for the final match. Cheers erupted as they made their entrance, but it was clear who the crowd favored—the Pie Fairy had far more popularity than their opponent.
Nata had presented a thoroughly entertaining performance in their three previous matches.
They had comforted an opponent who had dropped their sword, picked it up, and encouraged them to try again.
They had repeatedly used the same attack to help an opponent recognize their own weaknesses.
They had even agreed to a rematch when a defeated opponent objected to the result, ending with a handshake and the phrase, “That was a fine dish.”
‘When I think about it, it’s kind of cringey.’
Still, the crowd seemed to have loved it.
That’s the power of the arena. What might be dismissed as theatrics in another context becomes a legendary moment when everyone’s caught up in the excitement.
Thanks to this, the Pie Fairy had become, in the eyes of the crowd, a fairy upholding knightly virtues from another world, a chef who would go into battle with a broken ladle if that’s what it took for the sake of cooking.
…Even saying it out loud, it didn’t really make sense.
“And now, the final match! We have the Black Horse Knight of the Flaming Fist, and the Pie-Covered Fairy Knight! The fierce Black Horse Knight who’s crushed every opponent in their path, and the whimsical Fairy Knight who’s brought us laughter and fun! Who will take the crown?!”
When I raised my voice, the crowd clapped and cheered in unison.
Nata stepped onto the arena with their opponent—the knight wearing the black horse mask.
It was a horse mask with eye holes, crimson gloves, and an oversized top meant to obscure their body type—this knight made quite an impression.
‘The Flaming Fist of the Black Horse… that’s Derrick.’
Somehow, the final opponent turned out to be Derrick. Since I hadn’t designed the tournament brackets, it was purely coincidence.
‘Talk about lucky.’
Derrick was a skilled fighter, but not someone you’d expect to reach the finals. The duck knight Nata beat in the early rounds was actually stronger than him.
In other words, Derrick had made it this far thanks to sheer bracket luck.
‘But the matchup works out better this way.’
Considering Derrick had been subtly stirring public sentiment, he was a fitting final opponent.
I glanced at the two knights, preparing to announce the start of the match—
Then Derrick suddenly raised his hand.
“Since this is the final round, why don’t we both remove our masks?”
“…What?”
What nonsense was that? I glared at him, but he turned to the crowd with his usual sly tone.
“My identity’s more or less exposed at this point… What’s left is only the Fairy Knight’s. Isn’t it better to fight openly, face to face, with honor?”
Thanks to his unique swordsmanship, more than half the audience had already figured out who Derrick was.
And with only one masked knight remaining, it was obvious who he was talking about.
Derrick wanted to settle things with their identities revealed.
‘Always scheming.’
There was no real reason for Nata to take off the mask.
But the crowd, now fully riled up, didn’t see it that way. They had been dying to know the Fairy Knight’s identity, and Derrick’s suggestion struck a chord.
Now, revealing the Fairy Knight’s identity was more important than the meaning of the tournament itself. Derrick was manipulating the crowd with expert precision.
‘No. If Nata removes the mask now, it’ll give him the excuse he needs not to fight seriously.’
Derrick—and a good number of the knights—still didn’t consider Nata a real knight because she was a woman.
Even if she won after unmasking, they’d make excuses like, “I couldn’t bear to raise a sword against a woman.” This world still accepted those outdated notions.
Fairy magic or not, reason wouldn’t reach people like that.
Just as I was about to shut down Derrick’s petty ploy—
“Sorry, but I can’t do that.”
The Fairy Knight stepped forward.
He pressed the pie-shaped helmet firmly down on his head and greeted the audience with an exaggerated bow, just like a real fairy.
“This costume was made for me by a child named Tirina. She lives in the southern Bake household.”
The usually playful Fairy Knight now spoke seriously, drawing everyone’s attention.
“That child once told me her greatest wish was to taste a pie. But to a girl who lived off stale bread and potatoes, pie was nothing more than a luxury. That dream gave birth to this Pie Fairy outfit.”
“What a touching story…”
“Right… Didn’t they say the costumes were made by children from the slums?”
Some people started murmuring in sympathy.
“…But how does he know all that?” someone whispered, raising a valid question.
But the crowd, swept up in emotion, paid it no mind.
“That child will soon get paid for making this costume and buy her first pie. I promised her I would win. She may not be able to watch the match, but wherever she is, she’ll be rooting for me. Because…”
The Fairy Knight raised a finger and cutely pointed to their pie-shaped helmet.
“Pie is the most delicious thing in the world. And if I’m wearing a pie, I must be the strongest knight.”
“Ahahaha!”
“He really loves pie!”
The crowd burst into laughter and applause. The Pie Fairy gave them a grateful bow and finished.
“And that’s why I can’t take off this helmet, Black Horse Knight. But if you can’t fight properly because of your own mask, you’re welcome to remove it first. I suppose one little boy’s dream of riding a black horse will be dashed.”
“……”
Though lighthearted, the underlying message was sharp. The tide of the arena had completely turned in the Fairy Knight’s favor.
Watching the scene unfold, I set down my megaphone and quietly asked the border duke beside me:
“Is he usually that good at talking?”
“…No. He’s actually pretty quiet.”
“He was like a master orator just now.”
“Must be fairy magic.”
Was it the magic of fairykind—or just pie magic?
Whatever the case, thanks to Nata’s clever reply, I no longer needed to intervene. The audience, amused by the Pie Fairy’s quip, seemed to lose interest in their curiosity over the identity.
“…Tch.”
In the end, Derrick had no choice but to proceed. He didn’t respond—just drew his sword.
Nata also drew a weapon, a blunt knife about half the length of a standard blade.
No one questioned whether such a weapon was fit for a final match.
The only thing the crowd cared about was what kind of performance the Fairy Knight would give this time.
The two clashed swords.
“Black Horse Knight charges! But the Pie Fairy Knight dodges smoothly!”
My eyes hadn’t been wrong.
The fight quickly tilted in Nata’s favor.
She could have ended it at any moment, but instead slowly pushed Derrick into a corner.
‘There’s emotion in it this time.’
Anyone observant would notice.
Unlike previous matches where Nata showed respect to her opponents, this time her movements showed an absolute refusal to make any mistakes.
Whenever Derrick tried a powerful strike, Nata would break his stance. When he retreated, she tripped him.
‘She’s making Derrick look ridiculous.’
Most of the audience already knew who Derrick was, so seeing him so helpless shocked them.
“This Fairy Knight is insanely strong.”
“Then who the heck is he? Derrick’s not even playing around anymore…”
The soldiers began guessing various names, but none guessed Nata.
That meant they had no idea how skilled she really was.
‘I guess they never imagined she’d even enter.’
All the more reason her unmasking later would come as a bigger shock.
Just as I was getting into the rhythm of commentary, the momentum suddenly shifted.
Derrick’s sword, which had been missing all this time, started to land blows on Nata.
‘What? He’s suddenly faster?’
His movements didn’t seem too different, but his speed had clearly increased. Both offense and defense gradually sharpened.
It was a subtle change—hard to catch if you weren’t paying close attention.
“…That bastard is using mana.”
The border duke muttered, his voice low and angry.
I moved the megaphone away from my mouth and asked in a voice only he could hear.
“Mana? You mean his sword is faster because of that?”
“Yes. In sparring matches using practice swords, it’s a tradition not to use mana. But he’s enhancing his body with it.”
“Isn’t that cheating?”
“There’s no official rule against it…”
That was my mistake. I hadn’t known about that tradition and had set the rules like a normal martial arts tournament.
Eliminations were only determined by ring-outs or surrender.
“Won’t others criticize him? It feels dishonorable.”
“Derrick is a magic swordsman who’s trained in dual blades, spears, bows—you name it. His control over mana is excellent. Few will even notice. …But how did you realize it, my lady?”
