The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master - Chapter 42

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 42
By a mercy or a curse, Lien fell ill for exactly two days, then recovered as if he’d never been sick at all.
Now that his body seemed well again, Cecilia pressed a hand to her hip and fixed him with a sharp look.
“So what were you doing that you exhausted yourself with Magic to the point of collapse?”
“Well, I was helping one of my subordinates with research, and an accident occurred, and I… I needed quite a lot of magical power to handle the aftermath.”
He fidgeted with his fingertips as he stammered out the reply.
“Then what about all those cuts covering your body?”
“Pardon? Those were… Ah! The accident was a small explosion, you see. I must have been caught by debris and sustained injuries that way.”
It was a preposterous excuse.
No trace remained now, but the wounds she had seen with her own eyes at the time—they were not the sort of random scratches from being buffeted by objects, but rather cuts that looked as though they’d been made by a blade.
Even as she held this memory clearly in mind, Cecilia chose not to press the point.
His lies were not a first or second offense, and she had little faith that pressing further would coax the truth from him.
She does not ask after his movements anymore. And he does not mention her changed demeanor or that confession from days past.
In that subtle evasion and silence, the two of them moved through their days with plain equanimity, as though nothing had changed, nothing had happened.
At least on the surface.
Bright sunlight, so warm it dazzled the eye, flooded the room in the early afternoon.
Cecilia laid out invitations across the polished wooden table in front of the sofa.
Then, pointing to a black letter envelope, she addressed Lien, who sat somewhat awkwardly on the opposite sofa.
“So there’s no real need to send a reply to the Crown Princess’s invitation?”
“Correct. She’s naturally quite curious by temperament. I doubt she sent the invitation with any particular purpose. Besides, just as the Pope does not answer to the Emperor, there’s no reason why the Saint chosen by the Pope should bow and submit to the Emperor’s heir.”
He answered from beneath a thick quilt, perspiration beading on his skin.
The physician had declared him nearly recovered, yet Cecilia could not quite be assured, and so she had tucked that quilt around him herself.
For that reason alone, Lien could offer not a single word of protest and was melting away.
‘How pitiable he is.’
Cecilia sighed inwardly and was reaching to remove the quilt when the door shook with sound.
Knock! Knock!
The knocking came in urgent bursts.
“Come in.”
Melanie appeared through the doorway, having been out since early morning. The normally composed woman’s face was flushed an unusual red.
“Disaster, Miss!”
“What? Has something serious happened?”
“Yes! I’ve been to every major boutique in the Monastery all morning, and I cannot find a single designer willing to make a dress!”
Cecilia had been bracing herself for news of deaths, assassination warnings, some genuine calamity. A dress problem hardly registered.
She answered with little interest.
“Then I’ll just wear one of the ones I brought.”
“But the Imperial City is supposed to be so magnificent—you can’t possibly wear something so plain!”
‘I see.’
In truth, perhaps because of the title “Saint,” the dresses Cecilia owned were notably sparse in gemstones and modest in color and design.
“And that’s not all! The style is completely different from what’s fashionable here in the Monastery, and the fabric itself is thinner than what we have—you might be cold when evening falls.”
Melanie explained with studied gravity why a new dress was an absolute necessity.
“There’s hardly any time before the Grand Ball, and while I expected the Monastery folk to give us the cold shoulder, I never thought they’d shut us out so brazenly!”
“Mm, perhaps it’s simply that everyone’s busy with the season?”
“No, Miss! When I offered to pay more, they all showed interest—but the moment they heard your name, they all came up with excuses: their schedules were full, they weren’t confident, all sorts of nonsense to refuse!”
‘Ah.’
She let out a wordless sound of realization at Weberdine’s pervasive negative influence throughout the Monastery.
‘I thought I only had to watch for the noble families here.’
Now even commoners who deferred to those nobles required careful navigation.
“This would never happen in Weberdine! To treat the Saint this way!”
Melanie fumed as though she herself were the one being persecuted.
‘I’m not even a formal Saint yet.’
Rather than state this truth, Cecilia offered an awkward smile.
In reality, she was indifferent to clothes—ready-made pieces that could be altered would do, or even something from an unknown designer, as long as it could be worn.
‘The Temple lent me formal vestments too. Maybe I should just wear those?’
She considered it briefly, but she’d already draw attention enough; standing alone in vestments among all those dresses would only give them more ammunition to criticize.
It was just as the two women’s worries deepened that it happened.
Still buried under his quilt, Lien had been listening in silence when he carefully raised his hand.
“I think I might be able to help with that problem.”
* * *
Outside the building Lien had led them to.
Cecilia and Melanie came to a speechless halt.
The Atelier boasted a scale as broad as three ordinary shops combined, with an exterior so refined that one hesitated to enter without permission.
“Miss, is it… is it all right for us to enter here? You don’t think this is restricted to the Imperial Family, or… there’s no entrance fee, is there?”
“The Princess does favor this establishment, but it’s not exclusive to the Imperial Family.”
There’s no admission charge either.
Lien shrugged with studied indifference.
A dress shop favored by the Princess, no less. Of course the Imperial Family kept their own private tailors, but Melanie knew well enough that ordinary people didn’t dare set foot in such a place.
She eyed him suspiciously—how did a mere etiquette instructor of his drab reputation know of such establishments?
But her doubt melted away the moment the shop attendant emerged to greet them.
“We received word and have been waiting! We’ve prepared some light refreshments—please, do come inside rather than lingering out here!”
“Goodness! Miss, do go in!”
A murmur of assent.
Following Melanie through the threshold, Cecilia found herself stepping into another world entirely.
The garments displayed near the windows gleamed with elaborate embroidery and lace, yet the dress hung at the center of the shop bore hundreds of gemstones strung from its fabric without exaggeration.
‘Even if Lien wore something like that, it would still look like just a dress.’
Beyond the visual spectacle lay the even more daunting question of price.
Yet the attendant, interpreting Cecilia’s shock as admiration or pleasant surprise, proceeded to rattle off her prepared praise without pause.
“What excellent taste! That dress was crafted using gemstones the Princess herself provided specifically for this Grand Ball. Isn’t it exquisite?”
“Yes, of course…”
“Hehe, I shall fashion a dress for the Saint that is no less beautiful and magnificent in design!”
Cecilia, who had been nodding listlessly, suddenly furrowed her brow.
‘Now that I think of it—this shop takes commissions from the Imperial Family, and yet it’s offering to dress the Saint, who stands opposed to them?’
Shouldn’t such a shop be even more cautious than others, if only to avoid offending the Imperial will?
Yet whether the title of Mage Tower Master carried more weight than she’d imagined, or whether some threat had been issued beforehand, the attendant knew exactly who Cecilia was—and remained unfailingly courteous.
“From the photographs of the knights, I thought white would suit the Saint wonderfully. Shall we settle on a rough design before we take your measurements?”
The attendant led them to a prepared table and set down a thick catalogue with a soft thud.
What followed was an animated discussion about fabrics and neckline designs. Between the attendant and Melanie, of course.
Cecilia, who had grown thoroughly sick of clothes since the Relief Festival, sipped her tea with the bored patience of a boyfriend dragged along on a shopping excursion.
Ding.
A cheerful bell chimed as the door swung open before any attendant could move to greet the newcomer.
A woman in a striking crimson dress, wearing a wide-brimmed black bucket hat pulled low, strode in with several attendants and knights in her wake, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
“Oh my, I heard there was an urgent appointment. How hastily it was booked.”
Beneath the brim of her hat, lips painted a vivid red curved smoothly upward.
“I do wish I’d been informed about ‘this sort’ of clientele.”
Cecilia looked up at the woman who had approached her desk.
The woman with striking red hair appeared to be her age, and her features were as striking as the elaborate gown she wore.
Yet Cecilia, having been sufficiently schooled in beauty through Lien, rose calmly to her feet.
‘This is far too private an establishment to make the mistake of booking two clients in a single time slot.’
Only someone of such considerable standing could refuse entry even to a ‘Saint’ visiting as a guest.
That dismissive tone—as if the woman knew full well that Cecilia was the Saint, and had come to provoke her regardless.
And then there was the fact that the Imperial bloodline had carried red hair for generations.
‘This must be the Princess.’
Cecilia exhaled silently as the simple deduction settled into place.
First the Archbishop, now her—why did they all appear precisely when she was being fitted for clothes? And without so much as an attempt to hide their identities, at that.
‘I suppose I could just pretend not to know.’
The resolve was born more from irritation than courtesy.
Unfortunately, the woman’s skill at needling proved rather sharper than Cecilia had anticipated.
“Hmm, I had no idea this shop entertained rustics from the Southern Region. How disappointing.”
“Indeed. Had I known this was a regular haunt for customers without even a shred of propriety, I wouldn’t have set foot inside.”

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