Chapter 13
“I thought I could reach it if I just tried a bit harder…”
“There’s a ladder right there, and a step stool just beside it! Instead of hanging off the bookshelf and grunting like a fool, use the tools! What’s the point of them being there if you won’t use them?!”
“I’m sorry…”
I shrank back and lowered my head. Then I picked up the Comprehensive Herbology Codex that Tessarion had kicked with his muddy boots and brushed off the dust. I already had books on ingredient science, spell application, and the practical magic dictionary. All that was left was—
Tessarion bit his lip and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Give them to me.”
He snatched the books I’d carefully selected. Blue aura simmered around him like shimmering heat, scorching the air. Was he planning to burn these precious, expensive books? Or would he storm back to his bedroom and scold me again for being reckless? Would I be banned from the library altogether?
Tears welled in my eyes as I desperately pleaded.
“Y-Your Grace… I’m truly sorry. I’ll be more careful next time, so please calm down…”
“Move these damned books to my chamber. Who’s the idiot who shelved heavy, thick books that high? That one? You’re fired. Get out. The rest of you, reorganize the books. Don’t put anything heavy where he can’t reach it. And get rid of that ladder—it’s dangerous. Actually, just build stairs and a railing around the shelves.”
Tessarion ended up ordering a full-scale renovation of the library.
And I’d probably be banned until it was done.
Sigh… I drooped my shoulders and let out a deep breath. I regretted wasting four years drinking and partying in a previous life. The magic research from my 5th through 7th regressions was all fuzzy. Could I really seduce Altair without any reference materials?
Researching magic without Altair was like showing up to a construction site with just a spoon.
I sighed again and dragged my reluctant feet when Tessarion asked,
“What are you doing? Aren’t you picking the last book?”
Huh?
“Oh! No, I mean yes! I will!”
Panic hit again.
What should I pick? A book on proper disciplinary dialogue? A psychology thesis collection? Neurological science journals?
I rose to my tiptoes, scanning the shelves, when I heard a loud grinding sound. Tessarion was scowling at me like he wanted to burn a hole through my skull.
“I-I’ll be quick—no, careful and safe!”
“Good.”
“Thank you…”
I bowed deeply.
“Also… thank you for saving me.”
“……”
Tessarion tapped the floor with the tip of his boot, then stepped closer.
“What kind of book are you looking for?”
“Research on the development and resolution of romantic relationships.”
“Romantic relationships…?”
“Studies on increasing attraction between the sexes, how people become captivated by others, whether it’s a physiological reaction, if it’s influenced by mana compatibility, or if environmental factors raise mutual interest. Stuff like that.”
“Ah, I see.”
“People always talk about ‘love at first sight,’ right? I’m curious how that works in real cases.”
“……?”
Tessarion stared at me like he couldn’t fathom why anyone would care about that. Then he chuckled derisively.
“This older friend of yours must be very knowledgeable about romance.”
Uh…
Altair wasn’t some playboy like Helliot—he was a shut-in researcher. I couldn’t imagine him flirting with women at all.
From what I’d seen, Altair was basically married to his field. He had zero interest in romance. Even with the female lead, it was Berieta who had unrequited feelings for him from a young age. Altair treated her more like a little sister than anything else.
I pouted and rolled my eyes.
“Well, I have to make him interested!”
Ahem. I cleared my throat and returned my gaze to the shelves. Tessarion narrowed his eyes and tilted his head suspiciously.
“How?”
“Well, he’s a healthy man, after all. Surely he has some curiosity about love and attraction research!”
“…Nah. He’s probably impotent.”
“What?!”
I stared at him in disbelief. Tessarion leaned casually against the bookshelf and smirked.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
Then, standing beside me, he casually pulled books from the shelf—commenting that this one was worth a look, or that the author of that one was famous. His unexpected kindness made me uneasy, but I couldn’t exactly refuse.
“Five books. That’s enough, right?”
“Thank you. I’ll carry—huh? Your Grace?”
Tessarion took the five carefully chosen books and strode straight out of the library. I scrambled to catch up to his shadow.
“Your Grace.”
Commander Winston approached at the entrance, wearing an awkward expression.
Now what?
“What is it?”
Tessarion’s brows creased in irritation. I tilted my head too—did something happen to Princess Berieta?
“That young man is still waiting at the front gate. We’ve driven him off several times over the past ten days, but he just won’t give up.”
“……”
“He refuses to leave until he gets a reply from Your Grace. What shall we do?”
If someone was willing to wait for ten days straight, they must be desperate.
Sir Winston handed over a chestnut-colored letter with a silver goose insignia stamped in the center.
“…Oh?”
I blinked. The plain but elegant stationery clearly wasn’t cheap. And the silver goose emblem belonged to…
“……”
Tessarion didn’t even look at the letter. He just glared daggers at it.
“Tch. Persistent.”
His quiet mutter gave me chills. A cold aura surged down my spine.
“If he’s so eager to work for me, give him a shovel and send him to the Archervolt Reservoir. Tell him to reinforce the embankment before the snow melts.”
Oof.
The poor guy, waiting so earnestly… only to get stuck doing manual labor.
“And don’t forget to tell him how very grateful I am for his service.”
You really didn’t want to be on Tessarion’s bad side. I wasn’t sure who it was from the Oswally family, but someone definitely pissed him off.
But… why would someone from House Oswally come north at this time of year? Especially from the far southern island, in this freezing early spring?
Hmm. I had no idea.
“Let’s go, Roy.”
Tessarion wrapped an arm tightly around my shoulder and pulled me close.
“Yes, sir.”
Something felt off, but I kept my mouth shut. With Tessarion burning with murderous rage, I’d be digging ditches next if I said the wrong thing.
❖ ❖ ❖
The next morning, just before dawn, I finished the letter I was writing to Altair.
I stayed up all night reading, taking notes, and asking if a magical solution could be developed to scientifically or magically stimulate love or attraction—what form it should take, how effective it might be, and so on.
I folded the long, tightly written letter and sealed it in an envelope. Then I approached the birdcage in Tessarion’s room. I pulled back the black cloth covering the cage and reached for the messenger bird—only to freeze.
“…Is there a problem?”
Tessarion’s voice rang out, unusually chipper for someone talking to a person who hadn’t slept.
I lifted the bird from its perch.
“Your Grace…”
“Yeah?”
“Can… can this bird actually carry a letter?”
The trembling baby bird in my hand was smaller than my palm—and lighter than my envelope.
When did the Claremont family’s messenger birds turn into titmice? I thought they were owls or mountain doves. So why, why…?
Tessarion glanced between the bird and me, then beamed.
“If you only write what’s necessary, it’ll manage. It may look small and cute, but it’s smart. It’s quick and dodges hunters’ arrows easily.”
“……”
Once upon a time, even a bluebird could carry 140 characters.
But this tiny, fluffy thing didn’t look capable of handling even 20 letters…
A tear fell from my bloodshot, sleep-deprived eyes.
