How to Survive as the Second Son of a Mage Family - Chapter 599

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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How to Survive as the Second Son of a Magic Noble Family (599)

“I trust you.”

Madam rested her head on my shoulder. I somehow relaxed my neck muscles to act familiar. My posture was uncomfortable, so I started to put my hand on Madam’s shoulder but hesitated. What I need to think about now is what kind of person Laplace was. What kind of person? How would I know… He was just someone who got bullied. A timid friend who couldn’t speak well. Good. I basically need to act the opposite of myself. Acting is nothing. I’m skilled at erasing myself and doing what needs to be done, and it’s not difficult. It’s from the moments when I need to leave myself behind that sometimes nausea rises.

It’s true that I think this is getting ridiculous. Luca Laplace has built too extensive an independent life, different from both Lucas Everett and Lucas Muller. This bastard became a scholarship student and instead of studying like he should, he got married?

Though I think that, Laplace has already entered the marriageable age according to French civil law, and optimistically thinking, he might not have married yet. Madam. Lucien called this person Madam. Madam who? Not just any madam, but he called someone who is either my wife or my fiancée not by name but Madam. That was somehow concerning, so to speculate, the title Madam might be a code. With just the word Madam, I can’t tell whether Luca Laplace really married this person or is engaged to her.

The problem is that while I roughly know how someone with my personality would date, I don’t know how someone with the opposite nature would date. It wasn’t easy to grasp in principle whether someone who can’t maintain healthy and amicable friendships could also have healthy and amicable romantic relationships. Separate from my disgust with the social atmosphere that emphasizes appearance, in a world where who can and cannot be the protagonist is determined by looks, I’ve only played a role like Laplace once because of my appearance. It was a drama that deliberately aimed for a reversal between appearance and personality. What should I do now? Should I go with how I acted then? To be honest, I thought it would be better to just ignore it and define Laplace myself. From today on, the Laplace I act will be the real Laplace.

Since I don’t keep nonsense in my head for long, I rested my cheek against Madam’s head. Madam murmured.

“We love you.”

I remained silent, then chuckled softly and whispered.

“We?”

This was something I had to say. We? We who? Lucien? Or our homeland France? Or the Bourbons? Not you and me?

Or is the type of love I perceived different? If I think about it this way, I have a strong bond with all the friends I’ve become close to as comrades sharing this era, so I could say I love them all. The heart that wishes for others besides myself to be strong in all things is certainly love. I thought he might have meant it in this sense, and immediately thought he might be Laplace’s wife or fiancée, simultaneously coming up with the rebuttal that it was nonsense, but my intuition said: Your nonsense might be right. These aren’t ordinary people but people trying to put Henri Bourbon on the imperial throne. Madam and Laplace are comrades serving Henri Bourbon before being connected by romantic love between the sexes.

So Madam is unified with Henri Bourbon even when meeting her husband or fiancé. If this is the case, it’s good news for me who wants to return with my head packed full of information. Come on, stop the small talk and let’s talk about French politics. I hope you’ll pass on to me the past circumstances that are hard to find in records.

Soon Madam corrected herself.

“I.”

“That’s better.”

“I know too.”

Madam lifted her head from me and stood up.

“It’s fun. I’m so happy to meet you again. I baked the madeleines you like. Want to eat some?”

“Ah, I don’t feel like it right now.”

“Really…?”

“Just kidding. I want to eat them.”

“Haha. That’s better~”

I picked up the madeleine on the plate he handed me. It was moderately delicious. I can’t leave any other review. If that were possible, I wouldn’t be myself. However, Madam waited for my impression with shining eyes.

“How is it?”

“It’s delicious. Thank you.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me today?”

“Tell you what?”

He pointed at the madeleine. I wanted to close my eyes. Couldn’t this bastard Laplace live moderately? Did he recite long speeches about every food he ate?

Let’s think positively. He was a humane, thoughtful person who knew how to express gratitude. That wasn’t something to criticize. But…

“Um… It’s soft and smooth.”

Madam stares down at me intently.

I’m breaking out in cold sweat. Requests to describe food I’ve eaten are the hardest for me. I was an actor who followed scripts, not a writer who wrote them. My standards for food delicious enough to describe are so high that I can’t say anything. So, to put it coldly, it wasn’t delicious enough to be worth explaining. It just tastes like other ordinary madeleines with no special characteristics. I’m just saying it’s delicious. Why? Because that’s what most madeleines are like. I can’t explain that even this ordinariness was actually a taste from a realm I couldn’t achieve. I couldn’t hurt someone who thought about making it…

There was no other way. I politely raised both hands and gestured to the seat beside me. Madam sat down next to me, giggling like kids our age do. I fed him the madeleine, meaning he should eat it himself without asking. He naturally ate the madeleine he made with an unimpressed face. Since he would look at me with a face asking what to do about this, I kissed his cheek. Then Madam raised his eyebrows and looked at me with round eyes. Soon he clapped his hands while laughing.

“You’re getting by with this?”

“Something like that. Will you let it slide?”

“Hahaha!”

He’s laughing but I can’t laugh. I’m exhausted. When doing things I don’t want to do—or things where I can’t even grasp the direction of what to do, like everyone else, all my energy drains and I wanted to quickly talk about politics. Aren’t I too busy collecting information about what kind of person Laplace was to immerse myself in the acting?

Lucien? I wanted to ask this, but I couldn’t speak because I didn’t know what name Laplace called Lucien by. I’m in the headache-inducing situation where I can’t say I’m going to sleep now, nor can I say I want to have a conversation with you. This Madam’s name was Rosalie Blanchet. Did Laplace call her Rosalie, Rosa, or Rosaliette? I don’t know any of these crucial details.

At this point, it would be good to set up some defense.

“Actually…”

“Yeah.”

“Lately my head has been all mixed up. Like someone cast magic on me.”

Then Rosalie erased her smile and looked at me with concern. She tried to say something to me, but I held her hand to reassure her and requested.

“So if I’ve become strange somehow, tell me. Please.”

“Okay.”

Rosalie answered with difficulty and tried to ask me something more. I smiled slightly and changed the subject.

“Thank you. I should go take a bath now. Then later…”

“Let’s go together!”

“No. Will you leave me alone?”

“Hahaha. Okay. Come down when you’re done washing. Let’s have dinner with Lucien.”

I had to add another weight to the hypothesis that they were married. Or they might be engaged but Rosalie’s personality might be particularly lively and playful. I wish I knew whether they were married or engaged. Disgusted with acting without information, I narrowed my eyes and turned around when something caught my sight. On seated Rosalie’s neck, an ink mark, a faint line presumed to be a picture smaller than a coin, was showing above her clothes. A line faint enough not to be hard to overlook. I slowly raised my hand and caressed the neck behind her collar.

* * *

I brought a mirror to the bathroom. Reflecting two mirrors, I could see a circular mark left at the end of my cervical spine on the back of my neck too. Caritas. Letters were carved along the circle. Inside was an ornately decorated cross. Cross, cross… Caritas. Caritas is a term frequently used in Catholicism rather than Protestantism. Looking at the historical flow, Catholicism and royalists have deep connections in France.

The tattoo the medical student senior mentioned was indeed a tattoo related to Bourbon affairs. Do all of Henri Bourbon’s scholarship students receive such marks? I shook my head, wiped off the moisture, and left the bathroom. I got fully dressed and went down to the first floor. French-style food was laid out.

“You’re here.”

I answered Lucien’s words with a smile. When I tried to pull out a chair, Rosalie’s eyes lit up as she tapped her cheek. Before my instinct to protect personal space could make me wear a cold expression, I extended my hand instead. Rosalie naturally placed her hand on top, and I kissed the ring. She clapped excitedly at the theatrical joke, seemingly moved. Lucien also seemed surprised. I gradually caught on. Typically, this was a signal that I needed to revise my character interpretation. Good. Regardless of their relationship, Laplace wasn’t the type to easily express his feelings. It makes sense since he was originally timid.

Thinking so, as I tried to sit down, Lucien smiled gently and said.

“What about me? I’m your friend too.”

“Ah…”

I want to flick him in the mouth… This is merely a reflexive thought that comes out humanly, not my conclusion as a civilized person. I smiled and shook my head.

“For that, you’d have to get engaged to me.”

“Haha. Then every French person who greets with cheek kisses would have to get engaged. And we’ve already done it often, Luca.”

“Really?”

I only answered that. Ignorant Espers should back off. I thought that while drinking tea.

Nevertheless, I feel familiarity with the thinking that comes from this Esper’s innate ignorance. I was in constant discord with Human society that habitually interprets all intimacy and consideration as one kind of love. I still am. I jokingly—very conservatively—said that you’d have to get engaged to receive my kiss, but that was imitating the Human customs I know. I ate bread dipped in soup while listening to their chatter. Rosalie even changed seats to sit next to me.

I’m between comfort and discomfort.

The lines that people from my world drew as common sense still haven’t become common sense to me. Will you tell me why that’s not allowed? I truly hope you’ll tell me why I shouldn’t act that way toward my friend just because you misunderstand even though my intention isn’t that, since I don’t live the same life as you. I always truly thought that way, but the reasoning that follows “it’s not allowed” is shallow. The only reason is that third parties misunderstand, and that one shouldn’t act in ways that could be misunderstood. They don’t tolerate any physical contact between friends, and in some cases don’t even tolerate sincere encouragement. On the other hand, in this era, that becomes the meaning of true bonds even among Humans. Since I value personal space, I avoided unnecessary physical contact, so I think there weren’t many occasions for misunderstanding, but anyway, I was misunderstood in the end. I still don’t understand why I shouldn’t cross the lines they’ve drawn regarding friendship, and I don’t want to diminish my sincerity because of those lines.

Rosalie hugged my arm.

Those who have experienced death know. Breath is removed at some moment. As if someone pressed a termination button. He had brilliant intelligence until yesterday but no longer does. To the extent that what he built up until now feels futile, the deceased’s life remains deeply with us—such consolations no longer have a place, it’s empty. Before actual death, nothing remains but emptiness. He lived so brilliantly, always causing ripples in my world, but now what remains isn’t the mind that knew how to laugh and get angry at my words, but only the blue-gray flesh that looks at the sky with eyes that won’t close no matter what you say.

After death, eyes take on a gray tint. Without tears, they can’t wash away the dust that accumulates in the open eyes. Have you seen the sight of dust floating in the eyeball when the eyelids sweep away dust when trying to close the eyes? It’s lively enough to briefly mistake it for his eyeball moving with its own will, lively enough to momentarily ignite the filament of hope. Only dust is lively. Even if I transfer my tears, it’s nowhere near enough to wash the eyes. The living’s donation is woefully insufficient for the dead.

So only the countdown to decay remains in that body, and nothing can be conveyed to it. Before breath that will end someday, we must convey intensely.

So I will be more misunderstood today than before coming here. Because I try not to regret before all our deaths, my actions to let my sincerity reach as it is will always be misunderstood as sexually related issues in the eyes of many Humans, and these Espers are the first and last bastion that won’t misunderstand such love of mine. Whether I write long sincere letters, kiss the back of hands, or hug and pat backs… All problems are complex. From the fact that beings like them exist in the world, I feel that humanity was still humanity whether in the 21st century unconsciously rushing toward new eugenics or the 19th century with magic, and I think this 19th century might be the same as some influential possible world’s 22nd century and feel despair. And from the fact that beings like them exist in the world, I feel a glimmer of hope that it’s okay for me to do my best in life with others.

Until the very end, I couldn’t directly become them, and their misunderstandings in inferring my intentions were never truth to me. The narrow meaning of love that they believe is universally possible between the sexes was not mine. Even if I learned it for acting, it’s still not ‘mine.’

Perhaps I don’t need to worry that this acting won’t be natural just because I haven’t fully grasped Laplace. I’ve known Rosalie for a long time, and I just need to express affection for a friend I’ve known for a long time. From then on, the acting was natural. It wasn’t without some burden, but that was when I was collecting information about Laplace while bouncing away from him.

“We could just find a good Arcane Mage.”

When Rosalie grumbled, Lucien answered gently.

“That’s not enough. There’s risk of being caught. He wants abilities more suited for handling people in earnest.”

“But is that possible? Cast a magic formula on Paris?”

Eyes naturally focus on me. Rosalie looked at me and asked affectionately.

“Haven’t you found any special materials during this time?”

Then Lucien scolded her.

“There aren’t any. It was enough to just take on the mission of watching His Highness the Prince.”

“That’s too easy a mission.”

“It won’t be easy if Her Highness Hildegart Wittelsbach finds out.”

At Lucien’s defense, Rosalie shrugged. She nodded as if acknowledging and leaned toward me.

“I’m curious how our Lulu has been doing.”

Lulu, what nonsense. Fortunately, I didn’t voice my thoughts.

“I’ve been doing well, studying and such. There were some problems, but they were bearable.”

I continued, acting Laplace’s weakness.

“More than that, our current French situation is more problematic…”

“That’s true.”

Rosalie looked around at Lucien and me again and spoke slowly.

“At this rate, President Bonaparte might stage a coup on December 2nd. Since the previous Napoleon became emperor on that day, it’s a perfectly symbolic date. That day… What if General Saint-Arnaud betrays us? That person is acting too obviously like a royalist. None of us doesn’t know that person is an opportunist! Since when has he been acting like he has great convictions and stubbornness?”

Rosalie leaned toward Lucien and spoke in a low voice, scratching her throat.

“In other words, General Saint-Arnaud may have already sided with President Bonaparte. Then our goal is finished.”

Then Lucien answered.

“What if not?”

“Let’s say General Saint-Arnaud hasn’t sided with President Bonaparte. Then President Bonaparte is using General Saint-Arnaud as a tool to reassure the Bourbons. After reassuring the Bourbons, what if he replaces the Paris garrison commander on December 1st? All the work we’ve done so far becomes useless. We’re here assuming Saint-Arnaud will be selected as the coup commander.”

“We don’t even know if the coup will really happen, and before that, His Highness Henri’s retainers will find a solution. I know what you’re going to say again, but Luca doesn’t need to step forward.”

“That’s true, but….”

Rosalie’s gaze turns to me. Rosalie secretly hopes I’ll achieve some great feat. It would be nice if her family could advance in status.

And….

Found it. Caught it. Luca Laplace’s mission, that is. And the connection to Terminus Ukairiia, that is. Luca Laplace came to Würzburg himself to search for ‘occult magic formulas.’ He wanted mysterious secrets that could help Henri’s ascension to the throne. Henri felt the same way. They might have heard rumors that related research was being conducted in the Würzburg region. When I visited Würzburg Cathedral, none of the clergy recognized me, which shows that Laplace didn’t know occult research was being conducted at the cathedral. Instead, he must have been convinced there was something to discover in that region through a third route. He probably tried to join the occult club to dig up more information, but was blocked by a senior member.

General Saint-Arnaud will not be replaced. Henri Bourbon strangely suppresses the coup. If mysterious magic formulas were employed in that process.

Then Henri Bourbon will make contact with Würzburg’s ancient document research society in some way within November. It’s possible. Some or all of that ancient document research society’s research results will be transferred to Terminus Ukairiia.

Now, here’s an important question.

Is Henri Bourbon or his party deceiving Würzburg’s ancient document research society?

Or is a member of Würzburg’s ancient document research society supplying information to Henri Bourbon?

This makes a crucial difference.

“Are you done eating?”

Rosalie asked while fidgeting with my arm. I answered with as virtuous an attitude as possible.

“Yeah. I ate well and it was delicious. Thank you.”

“Then look at me.”

“Hm?”

Rosalie grabbed my shoulder and lightly kissed me.

I opened my eyes wide and instantly checked my surroundings. Lucien was also surprised, raising his eyebrows with a laughing face. Rosalie’s gaze was still on me. Something to be expected….

At the same time, hygiene issues emerged as the most important topic in my head, and I felt a strong need to go wash my mouth. Even on film sets, they don’t usually do it this suddenly…. I had no choice but to accept it as karma. Seeing that I appeared flustered, Rosalie grinned.

“Let’s let this one slide too.”

“Haha.”

I smiled and tried to act natural. After all, it wouldn’t be good if this seemed unnatural when we’re at minimum engaged, at maximum married. That said, given Laplace’s personality, I don’t think I need to be more proactive.

Lucien giggled and asked with a kind face.

“What about me, kids~?”

Don’t talk nonsense, you Esper…. I ignored Lucien and headed up to the 2nd floor. Rosalie kissed his cheek and followed behind me. No, you shouldn’t follow me. I was planning to wash my mouth with soap. I said kindly to Rosalie.

“Wait a moment, I need the bathroom.”

“Let’s go together.”

“No, that won’t do.”

Why won’t it do? Because I need to wash my mouth…. I couldn’t say that. Rosalie asked me as I looked troubled.

“Why not between us?”

Well said. I smiled playfully and asked.

“What are we to each other?”

“We’re engaged!”

Ah, right. We’re not married yet? Welcome news, you brats whose blood hasn’t dried in their heads yet. I entered the bathroom and closed the door with a smiling face, locking it. I could hear banging on the door from outside. I carefully washed my mouth with soap, then came out smiling. Rosalie, who had been standing with her hands behind her back, immediately muttered.

“Soap smell.”

“I washed my hands.”

Then she lifted her foot and sniffed near my face. There’s no need for that. She’s a mage, and if she concentrates, she should be able to enhance her senses even slightly. Does she go that far to find out if I really washed my mouth? This is a bit…. I shamelessly answered her signal.

“You should always wash your hands before and after eating. If there’s one big thing I learned from going to medical school, it’s that.”

“No, it’s coming from your face.”

“Don’t like it?”

“Wow.”

“Hmm, I washed my face.”

“Your hair isn’t wet.”

“What should I tell you?”

“You should think about it.”

I didn’t answer and smiled as I entered the room I had been given earlier. I tried to close the door, but she grabbed it.

“We haven’t seen each other in a while, so why are you going in alone? Let’s talk.”

“Ah, right. Come in.”

I let Rosalie into the room and politely pointed to a chair in front of a small table. I also sat across from her. Rosalie smiled brightly at me, then said seriously.

“Why don’t you call my name?”

Hmm, here it comes. Instead of swallowing, I moved my vocal cords gently.

“I did that, didn’t I. You must have been very hurt, I’m sorry. Rosalie.”

“Rooosalie?”

She muttered quietly with a face that said something was strange.

“…You’ve always called me Rosa.”

“That’s true, but….”

I trailed off and shook my head.

“Sorry. I went out to investigate but it seems like I was the one who got hit by something instead. My head is too complicated.”

“I understand. But there’s something I’m worried about….”

Rosalie pressed her forehead with two fingers, then asked in a small voice.

“You haven’t stopped loving me, have you?”

I opened my eyes wide, then said with difficulty.

“What are you talking about? I’m sorry, Rosa.”

“It’s okay. If we stay here for a few days, it’ll come back.”

She raised the corners of her mouth with a sad face and gestured to me. Then she shook her head and got up to sit next to me. As she hugged me, I also tried to put my hand on her back.

“…!”

An instinctive creepiness ran down my back. I tried to push her away, grabbing her arm and pulling hard.

“Ow.”

Rosalie snickered, then opened her eyes wide.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know you’d do this?”

Incomprehensible foreign words flowed rapidly from her mouth. I felt something entering from the back of my neck, then everything went black before my eyes. The sounds of the world scattered.

“How long has it been since I figured out your password?”

* * *

With those words, I opened my eyes some time later. An attic. It’s an attic. Through a small window, I could conveniently see stars and the moon. This scenery is familiar. It’s hard for modern people to consciously look at the sky, but they keep making me see it, so thanks. You fucking bastards…. I roughly understood the situation, and this also solved in one shot the minor doubts I’d been feeling. The question of how they could do this when their favorability was high remains, but since Penthalon, such things haven’t been a problem for me. That can be explained by the twisted state of their minds. Now the question is how much they know. As I blinked, I heard people’s voices.

“…The day has come when I treat that great Luca like this.”

“You can’t say it’s the first time, Rosalie.”

Someone answered leisurely while stroking hair. It’s Lucien.

“When you put it that way, I really seem like a bad person. That’s why we already told you we love you.”

“Is that all then? Hmm.”

“You woke up quickly.”

Rosalie got up from her seat and approached me. I rolled my eyes to look at her.

“I really thought you were going to faint today, Luca. Did you develop feelings about marrying me in the past two months? Or why are you acting like someone who died and came back to life?”

“It was fun, wasn’t it? What are you interrogating me for?”

Lucien snorts. Rosalie’s eyes were still fixed on me. She doesn’t blink once, only moving her mouth.

“Who are you?”

Instead of answering, I glared at her with indifferent eyes. Rosalie has no intention of hearing an answer. She suddenly grabbed me by the collar and lifted me up.

“Luca has this nice quality of really, terribly hating us.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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