The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master - Chapter 47

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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 47
“The Caviar Canapé is delicious.”
Cecilia had reached toward the platter when her head snapped up.
A Jeweled Dress that scattered light with every movement, hair as red as the Emperor’s own, lips painted a vivid crimson—a face she’d seen before.
It was the Imperial Princess Regina.
After the Emperor, this unwelcome arrival had extinguished her appetite as quickly as a lie.
The moment Cecilia turned away from the food in disappointment, the Princess thrust out her hand.
“I’m delighted to meet you. Regina Hill Rishatria.”
She spoke with perfect courtesy, as if they’d never met before in their lives.
‘So the Boutique encounter is to be forgotten, then?’
“Cecilia Weverdin.”
Cecilia took her hand lightly, playing along as though the Princess were a stranger.
She had neither the will nor the desire to revisit their first, ungracious meeting. If the Princess meant to avoid provocation, Cecilia was willing to keep up the pretense of harmless civility.
‘Yes—so long as she doesn’t start anything.’
“Your dress doesn’t seem to be in the Southern style. Did you have it made recently?”
“The one from the Monastery was a bit too cold for the season.”
“It suits you beautifully. You must have found an excellent designer. It’s exactly the sort of design I adore.”
The subtext was sharp as broken glass—Melanie’s difficulty finding a designer, the “one designer” she’d finally secured being from the very Boutique favored by the Princess, and the Princess knowing all of this already.
‘Here we go again.’
First the Emperor, now her. Cecilia swallowed a deep sigh.
“I was fortunate.”
“How lucky indeed.”
But the Princess’s attack came from an unexpected quarter. She extended a slender hand, its fingertips tinted a soft red.
“Would you dance with me?”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“You haven’t danced at all yet, have you? Give me the honor of the first dance.”
To refuse a first-dance invitation was considered improper.
Had the Princess not appeared, Cecilia had planned to waltz with Miguel at an appropriate moment, then slip away for the evening.
“But I—”
“Oh, don’t worry. I came here fleeing from the crowd, actually. Surely they won’t chase me all the way into the Dance Hall.”
Cecilia, who’d been blinking in bewilderment, reluctantly accepted the Princess’s hand.
It was no mere jest. The Princess led her toward the center of the hall.
‘She actually means to dance with me? Is this even permitted?’
Cecilia glanced furtively around the room.
Many danced to the beautiful melody, but not a single pair consisted of two women.
“Wait—please. I don’t think this is wise. I’ve only been taught the woman’s steps.”
“It’s fine. I know both parts. My brother is hopeless at anything requiring coordination, so I learned the man’s steps myself and taught them to him.”
“Even so, this—”
Before Cecilia could finish her protest, a new waltz began.
A slow, measured one.
True to her word, the Princess led with easy skill.
Besides, her frame was slight and her height a head taller than Cecilia’s, so the lead looked natural enough.
Cecilia gave in and surrendered to the dance.
‘I never imagined I’d dance the steps Lien taught me so carefully—with the Imperial Princess, of all people.’
Spinning one step back as Lien had instructed, her skirts bloomed and folded like petals.
‘I thought she meant to trip me up, to humiliate me.’
Yet the Princess, unlike in the Boutique, showed no arrogance, nor did she disrupt Cecilia’s steps.
She even guided her smoothly through the passages where Cecilia’s rhythm usually faltered.
And yet something felt different from before—
Cecilia glanced up at the Princess.
Perhaps it was the unsettling blankness of her silent face. Beneath the elaborate dress and cosmetics, there was something worn, something gaunt.
‘Wasn’t there mention of a chronic illness?’
For one meant to sit at the apex of a nation, illness was a catastrophe.
The Princess’s childhood brilliance, her precedence in succession as the Emperor’s sister—all rendered meaningless by such a thing.
As Cecilia caught a glimpse of why the Princess had felt “plagued,” her petty sympathy dissolved.
The Princess, silent until now, suddenly spoke.
“Do you know what I realized? Your throne was supposed to be mine.”
“…What?”
“The Empire was once the Holy Kingdom, after all. The Pope held rank nearly equal to the King, beneath God alone. As his elder daughter, you would have been little different from a princess.”
It was a thought that had never once crossed Cecilia’s mind.
Strictly speaking, the princess’s assumption wasn’t entirely unfounded, but at the same time it held no real meaning either.
What was the intent behind her words?
I was still weighing this when the princess continued.
“Doesn’t it seem wasteful? A Saintess can’t dress herself elaborately, can’t buy whatever jewels she desires. It seems like a role you’d hate—one where you’re bound to nothing but service and consideration.”
“To be honest, I don’t find it appealing either.”
Neither the real Cecilia nor I had ever truly wanted the title of Saintess.
That suffocating position, burdened only with responsibility and threat, was something I’d have gladly abandoned if I could.
But then again……
“I don’t covet that position either. Isn’t yours the same? A place where you must constantly prove yourself and survive doubt.”
As my words ended, my clenched fists grew tighter still.
‘Ah.’
Cecilia’s brow knit slightly, though her expression remained composed. The answer was brutally honest, perhaps, but not untrue.
That’s likely why the princess couldn’t muster a rebuttal and simply stared, eyes fixed and unblinking.
She looked at me as though encountering a stranger for the first time—or perhaps as though witnessing some entirely new form of life.
“You…….”
The music ended at precisely that moment.
Stepping back a few paces, I gathered my skirts and bowed with practiced grace.
Seizing that opening, a maid who had waited for nothing but the dance’s conclusion slipped forward carefully.
“Your Highness, …… is waiting for you.”
“Very well. Go.”
It seemed time had come to face the group I’d sent fleeing earlier.
The princess, having swiftly composed her confusion and surprise, gave a slight nod.
“Then I’ll see you again next time.”
She offered a brief parting and departed, her heels clicking away into the distance.
‘Finally over.’
My shoulders, stiff from tension I hadn’t fully noticed, sagged with relief as I made my way back to my original spot.
At last I had solitude as I’d wished, yet my appetite stubbornly refused to return.
Instead of the tempting Madeleine or the canapé the princess had recommended, I sipped water and listened to a violin’s lovely melody—some unnamed composition—when fragments of hushed conversation reached my ears.
A pair of middle-aged women, who had come to fetch refreshments, were speaking in lowered voices while glancing toward something.
“Isn’t that Duke Dilansche?”
‘Dilansche?’
The name was too familiar to let pass unheeded. I straightened, attention sharpening.
“I heard he doesn’t usually attend these banquets. It must have been by His Majesty’s command?”
“It must be. After all, what a day it’s been. And I heard he brought all his sons with him!”
The women gestured into the hall with their eyes, speaking in hushed tones.
‘No wonder the atmosphere felt peculiarly charged.’
At the Emperor’s and Princess’s side stood a man with dark hair swept neatly back, his expression cool and cutting. Behind him waited several robed figures—all appearing to be mages.
Looking around the banquet hall, I noticed Black Robes and deep Grey Robes mingled throughout the space. The Grey-robed ones wore badges bearing the House Dilansche sigil on their chests, which suggested they were House Dilansche mages, while the Black Robes belonged to the Mage Tower.
‘Goodness…….’
I couldn’t suppress a quiet gasp. What shocked me more than the fact that Duke Dilansche had brought mages was the sight of those robes themselves.
‘What on earth do robes mean to mages.’
That they couldn’t abandon their robes even here, even before the Emperor.
I’d thought it was Lien’s peculiar habit, but it seemed to be a mage’s natural affliction.
In that moment, I found myself thinking of one Black-robed mage—currently buried under mountains of work.
“Could that possibly be the second son?”
“Nonsense! Dilansche’s second son never appears at official events!”
‘Dilansche’s second son?’
I drifted quietly closer to the women, eavesdropping shamelessly on their exchange.
“You haven’t heard the rumor?”
“What rumor?”
“Well, unlike the eldest son, Duke Dilansche keeps his second son locked away, doesn’t he? Apparently it’s because his appearance is so shockingly hideous he simply cannot leave the house. But his magical skill is supposedly quite exceptional, so the Duke couldn’t keep him entirely hidden!”
“Goodness, is that really true?”
“Who can say. He’s been so reclusive that there are even rumors he might not be a real person at all—perhaps the Duke simply adopted a talented mage!”
“Setting aside his appearance, he must be a genuine direct heir. I heard there’s been talk of a marriage proposal with Her Highness the Princess.”
“Then he must have come to meet Her Highness after all!”
I turned my gaze toward the tall, Grey-robed figure standing between Duke Dilansche and the Princess.
‘Is that man the second son?’
The rumors about him seemed as vicious as those that dogged me.
‘Not that I find it regrettable.’
If his magical prowess was indeed exceptional, then Dilansche’s second son could very well be one of the architects behind all this.
In the moment that suspicion took hold.
His eyes met those of the man in the Grey Robe, the one conversing with the Imperial Princess.

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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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