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Time to turn back the clock a little.

Winterhome was certainly bustling with employees and guests, living up to its owner’s renown.

However, there were still places that saw fewer visitors.

The Treasure Vault, where entry was tightly restricted.

An aristocrat-level guest room that was only briefly cleaned every morning.

The prison cell at the very top of the tower for confining criminals.

And more rooms whose purposes were both explicit and vague existed in countless numbers.

It was rare to find someone who knew all of them.

Thus, this gathering could be maintained in secrecy.

The history of the gathering was extremely short, too.

It hadn’t even been six months yet.

“Sir Olivier, must we wait longer?”

“Madam, please be patient. It takes considerable effort to avoid the notice of a Grand Wizard with a firm grasp of his own magic.”

“Calm yourself. I shall pour you a mulled wine to help ease your excitement.”

Elizabeth could hardly find solace even amidst the experts’ words.

She had been counting down the days until this unclear moment arrived.

She definitely loved her husband, Alfred.

But that did not mean being a Duchess was an easy position.

The title of the Duke of Iceland, admired by all.

By tradition, the Duchess’s position, equal to that title, erected walls named “limitations” just by its existence.

Of course, Elizabeth was accustomed to such matters; it was the fate of those born into nobility.

Meeting with those she disliked while wearing a mask contrary to her true feelings had become second nature long ago.

However, there was no one in Iceland whom she actually disliked.

Unlike “typical” nobles, who were trained in the art of hiding a viper in their bellies, Icelandic people were embarrassingly straightforward.

But this position could sometimes be…

Very rarely… exhausting.

“Could you perhaps hurry it up?”

“Iona, are you really urging me now? At least you ought to know how complicated and delicate this task is!”

“Oh, I’m just taking it easy.”

Naturally, anyone could see that.

The complicated magic circle spread over a crystal ball the size of a watermelon spun at Olivier’s gesture, constantly altering the shapes and symbols in the dust below.

“That brat of a disciple filled his position with skill but none of the manners. If anything goes a bit off, he’ll track me down right away.”

“But it seems the madam is still quite anxious.”

Of course, Iona was trying to calm Elizabeth down, even while saying that.

It was just that nothing worked.

Excited Elizabeth looked like Alicia in the morning with an empty stomach discovering a custard pudding.

It was only natural.

Women’s general interests could be summarized in three categories.

Fashion, cooking, and love.

But Elizabeth Felwinter was a Duchess.

Beautiful attire fell into her lap without her lifting a finger.

The same went for splendid and precious accessories.

What about cooking, you ask?

The best chefs in Iceland existed, and the most famous one was in Winterhome as well.

Food would be offered without her worrying, naturally shifting Elizabeth’s interest towards love.

More specifically, the parties of the rumors.

The seeds and the owner.

Class differences?

A relationship blocked by death and curses?

The love that would conquer it all, no matter how hard?

No matter the age, a woman cannot stand it.

Her mouth was watering to the point of trembling with eagerness.

Zooooom—

“Ah, finally! Just being skilled at magic won’t cut it!”

The crystal ball lit up.

Finally, the moment she had been waiting for had come.

Olivier finished the final adjustments to the crystal ball and turned his head. Elizabeth, who had been anxious a moment ago, was now eerily calm.

“Why so calm? You seem more composed than I expected.”

“I can’t let the noise disturb others.”

“That is indeed a wise sentiment.”

Olivier couldn’t help but agree with her on that.

Nothing was more annoying than having your important research interrupted.

In addition, could anyone interrupt someone else’s romance?

Let alone, the first date of a bratty disciple.

For later teasing purposes, it was necessary to thoroughly savor, chew, and analyze every detail.

If Catherine found out, she would be enraged and unleash her magic, but Olivier didn’t worry about that at all.

Click, clack—

While Olivier and Elizabeth were absorbed in the figures of two attendants leaving the tower reflected in the crystal ball, Iona retrieved some snacks from the basket she had set down.

“Madam, please munch on something to calm your nerves. We’ve only just stepped outside, after all.”

“Hmm? Iona, when did you prepare this?”

“Who do you think was the first to prepare this room and come in?”

In the meantime, Elizabeth reached for the snacks.

Sweet and salty roasted walnuts and almonds, easy-to-chew pieces of various sausages, assorted cheeses cut into bite-sized pieces, crispy bread that resembled more like snacks, and a selection of fruits prepared for palate cleansing.

Using her dulled senses, she began to calm her excitement while feeding herself the sweet-salty, nutty snacks and glancing at the crystal ball.

“Sir Atanitas steps forth without hesitation, but where is he headed so early in the morning…?”

“Ah, I shared some places suitable for enjoyment in the Inner Castle with him by time slot.”

“You?”

“Yes. I’ve been educating him quietly each time he came to consult.”

For decades, having been involved in guiding fresh young men and women visiting Winterhome.

Coldon’s romantic spots were as clear to him as the palm of his hand.

“That aside…”

Olivier, intrigued, paused mid-bite of his sausage and scratched his beard.

“Is he being dragged away right now?”

At his words, Iona and Elizabeth turned their heads like owls catching sight of prey.

Olivier was right.

The crystal ball was unhinderedly reflecting Catherine striding confidently and Karem nervously following behind her.

“Oh my god. After all that counseling…”

Amidst scouring her mind for all the romantic codex, Iona felt the weight on her chest increase.

She needed a drink.

Swoosh—Thud—

“Did you prepare beer as well?”

“I absolutely cannot endure without drinking.”

Iona, carrying a large barrel on her shoulder, poured herself a glass of beer and downed it in one go.

Gulg—Gulg—Gulg—

The sound of liquid rushing through the narrow opening was refreshing to the ears, cool from head to toe, and brought a sense of clarity deep within the chest.

Gulp—

“Hmm. Make sure to give me one too.”

It was perfect timing, with her mouth already salty.

Olivier swallowed a piece of sausage and held out his glass.

Gulp, gulp, gulp—

Downing it in one go was just as expected.

The cold, light bitterness of the beer washed away the cloying remnants of sausage and nut crumbs, leaving no heaviness behind.

“Gahhhh… It’s no Eisenbalt beer, is it?”

“It’s just plain beer, chilled since the snacks are extenuating.”

“True.”

While it would be all right at a meal, drinking it while chewing snacks would leave one with a full belly and a boring mouth during crucial moments.

Despite discussing and enjoying snacks, their gazes remained fixed on the crystal ball.

Catherine and Karem were still on the move, reflected in the crystal ball.

Where on earth were those two headed?

More accurately, where was Catherine intending to go…?

“Wait, no… could it be—”

“Olivier? Why do you say that?”

“Nothing, it’s just nothing, madam.”

Oh no… Could it be true?

With every passing moment, Olivier’s unease grew.

Then, as the crystal ball reflected Catherine’s direction toward the Tailor Shop, an uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

“…It’s not like she’s trying to get a new outfit before the date… right?”

As Elizabeth attempted to ease the situation, she found herself cut off by the sight of Catherine entering the Tailor Shop followed closely by Karem.

And the same scene played over and over for hours.

Karem being used as a clothing rack by the tailor and seamstress.

Catherine urging him to compare this to that.

Karem standing there with a half-dazed expression.

For nobles, being cautious when purchasing clothes was only natural.

Many things needed to be considered: trends, materials, personal tastes, convenience, current fashions, and the event to attend, along with the personalities of the people you’d meet.

“No matter how you look at it, that wouldn’t fly for a date!”

Let alone if the roles were reversed.

She was even enjoying Karem’s predicament as if teasing him while dragging him to the tailor shop.

If those two weren’t involved, the relationship would be on the verge of collapse.

Iona could hardly bear to witness the tragic situation and scolded Olivier.

“Can’t you manage your disciple properly? If it weren’t for those two, their relationship might have broken down!”

“Why are you questioning me about this? I’m just as wronged!”

“Wronged? Please, you should have taught them properly!”

“Would that brat even listen if I talked to him? Especially since it’s not about magic!”

Olivier jumped up, indignant.

In truth, he couldn’t deny part of it was his fault.

“Is it because I told him to prepare clothing for the Coming-of-Age Ceremony?”

He felt so wronged.

That had just been a pretext.

The original goal was to push those incompetent youngsters outside and make them date.

It should have worked.

It had to work…

“…Where exactly did things go wrong?”

“Olivier? Do you happen to know something?”

“Ha ha ha. How would I? The head of that stubborn Kitty must be a mystery even to the gods.”

While that explanation was a little lengthy, Elizabeth decided to focus on the crystal ball for now.

People grow accustomed to stimuli, whether large or small.

Both taste and circumstances before one’s eyes drew from the same origins of boredom;

to endure that tedium, she munched on snacks, being careful to sip on water and beer to avoid dulling her palate.

“Oh, it’s already lunch time.”

“Mmm, don’t you think we should gather again after lunch? How many hours are they going to take with that clothing?”

“Are you going to eat and drink again afterwards?”

“Are you complaining about that?”

“No, I’ll eat as well. Let’s see—”

Even the undead that ate and died had a fine appearance.

Iona was already feeling peckish after munching on snacks and beer since early morning on an empty stomach.

“Oh, they just left the Tailor Shop.”

At those words, Olivier immediately took a seat again.

Iona refilled the empty plates and cups.

—Sir Atanitas. Just a moment.

—What is it?

—You have sauce on your face.

Awaiting the long-anticipated, first authentic date scene felt like a special relief, akin to rain falling after a drought.

“I’m losing my mind!”

Breaking through a stuffy throat felt freeing, Olivier chuckled wryly, shaking his head.

“Is there anything strange about it?”

“No, I’m simply astonished. Hah!”

Olivier remained silent but Elizabeth and Iona were able to guess what followed.

He had merely wiped the sauce off his face.

Yet, it was enough to cause such a fuss.

What truly troublesome and chewy attendants they were.

Simple yet, the freshness derived from it was truly—

“Oh, they’re at the café I recommended.”

And so the scene reflected in the crystal ball of the two entering the café felt like a reward for all the waiting that had occurred.

Laughing, sharing stories, feeding desserts to each other, engaging in light squabbles over a “near kiss.”

Suppressing their emotions also created a visibly blushing setting.

“…The waiting felt long.”

“Oh, how silly you are! Going shy over just this?”

“Even you are wearing a cheerful smile, Olivier.”

“Cough, cough.”

He cleared his throat, brushing away his beard, clearly feeling caught. Elizabeth giggled softly at that and turned her head back toward the crystal ball.

“Yeah, this time, thankfully my mind is clear—”

—I am just as clear-headed as when I discovered the Fire Witch Finger paired with vanilla.

With Karem’s eyes ablaze, they fell silent.

The ongoing sight completely overturning the sweet and sour atmosphere from just moments ago.

“BAM—!”

“Who the heck made this monstrosity?!”

Karem’s furious voice echoed throughout the room, causing the three who had trusted her due to Catherine’s prior behavior to feel betrayed.

Following the reflection in the crystal ball in front of them, Olivier, Elizabeth, and Iona simultaneously placed their hands on their foreheads as if sharing one soul.

 

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