101

“It seems you’ve taken a liking to our food.”

In the end I asked for seconds, and Number Six actually came over just to say that line.

I’d been a little nervous, wondering, “Do I seem shameless?” but she smiled, so it was probably fine.

From the Natural Harmony Committee’s perspective, this could even be seen as a discovery that might become a foothold for coexistence between a monster like me and them, so there’d be no reason for hard feelings.

Still, between the fruit and the meals, I wondered if they were getting the impression that I often demanded food.

I worried, “Will they think I’m the glutton character?” but if that happened I could use it for camouflage in various ways; even so, image mattered.

(A monster that looks like a vicious horror-game boss but is secretly a glutton… no, if I rebrand it as being a “gourmet,” that might sound more like a strong, refined type.)

Even without that, the gap with my appearance could add approachability, and if things went well, it might even open a route to cultural exchange.

Both approaches had merits, and I struggled to decide how to handle this going forward.

I sipped the slightly larger helping of soup, and mushrooms far too small for my body went down my throat without much chewing.

I had a new thought: ingredients weren’t enjoyable unless they were large enough.

Then came a much bigger loaf of bread than before as my seconds.

I tore off half of it and stuffed it into my mouth, savoring the gentle sweetness that spread and the pleasantly chewy texture.

That texture only existed when a human hand had been involved.

“This texture is fun. I could get addicted to it.”

I wrote something like that on a slip of paper and showed it to Number Six, and she nodded as if to say, “I see.”

Frankly, after a life of mostly meat and fish, having a staple like bread was quietly precious.

I liked it enough to suggest bartering my catches for more.

“It changes this much just by changing the size,” I thought, and felt my cheeks loosen a little at the discovery.

Now that breakfast was over, it was time to talk with Number Six.

Losing my base would honestly hurt, but I had nodded for unavoidable reasons.

Still, this matter was, in short, a “favor” I was doing.

Even with conditions, I had accepted the elves’ proposal.

So next it was their turn to accept mine.

That said, it was still early to make the ask, but thinking “nothing ventured, nothing gained,” I let my pen run across the memo.

“…You want to use magic?”

Reading the memo, Number Six pretended to think for a moment.

No matter her personal principles, I didn’t expect this to be accepted this time.

By proposing it in advance, I’d earn the trust to match and obtain magical know-how.

If it didn’t work, so be it — but if an elven magic expert taught me, there should be a chance.

“Understood. If you’re fine with me as your teacher.”

I froze for a moment at the unexpected consent.

(…From a positional standpoint, that seemed impossible. Does Number Six harbor rather dangerous ideas? Or does she simply think there’s no chance I’ll succeed?)

A bit surprised, I quickly wrote “Are you sure?” on the memo and showed it, and she nodded casually with a simple, “It’s fine.”

Fundamentally, there was still the possibility that “I can’t use magic,” so I asked about that; by elven standards there were no cases of being unable to use it, so honestly she couldn’t say.

So whether I could use it or not would only be known by trying, and it sounded like Number Six had accepted half out of curiosity.

“Since it’s a rare opportunity, may I record the process of you learning to use magic?”

I had no reason to object, so I agreed immediately.

If anything, objectively checking the progress might speed up my mastery.

Compared to the benefit of being able to use magic, a little information leakage was trivial.

Having it on record wouldn’t hurt me, and since there were no others of my kind, problems were unlikely.

For a final check, I showed a paper asking, “No issue with your position?” and she tilted her head as if to say, “Why would that matter?”

I’d overthought it; apparently it was just my needless worry.

Buoyed by the possibility that I might be able to use magic, I hurried through the rest of breakfast and, in high spirits, headed toward the dojo.

I figured, “If we’re gonna practice, it should be over there,” but Number Six stopped me, saying here was fine too.

Apparently I’d gotten carried away.

She went to fetch teaching materials; I pretended not to hear her murmur, “Sooner or later, anyway,” and waited quietly on the spot.

So I waited an hour — which felt a bit long, but perhaps that was the time sense of a long-lived race.

Number Six still didn’t appear, but then, she was a big shot here.

She couldn’t spend all her time on me.

Just then, a man came over carrying a book.

“Here,” he said, and when he got close enough, tossed it to me.

“She says to read that first.”

With only that, he left.

It was clear no one besides Number Six welcomed me.

(Or rather, that was normal…)

The Harmony Committee really was an exception.

More importantly — the magic book.

I didn’t expect to “snap” into being able to use magic, but I wanted to at least get the basics in shape before she returned.

At least that much should be doable — or so I thought.

(No, really — writing about “feel it intuitively” doesn’t help.)

It was definitely an introductory book.

But the part about “sensing magic power” was fatally nonsensical.

Especially the line, “When you feel X in your body, that is mana,” made my brain refuse to comprehend.

It felt like being scammed by some spiritualist con.

(I’m completely stuck at the door. And I can’t see any path forward.)

I recalled a line from an action movie: “Don’t think. Feel.”

“Even if you tell me to feel what can’t be seen…” I grumbled, then tried to psych myself up and focus — but I couldn’t sense this mana at all.

Meditating as the text instructed, same result, of course.

And since it ended like that, I started trying my own methods.

Clearly, I needed someone who could use magic to teach me hands-on.

Hands-on enough to press close until I could feel that so-called mana — maybe even some skin-to-skin contact?

(As a former Imperial with no ties to magic, getting through this wall alone seemed difficult.)

With no moves left, I decided to wait quietly for Number Six.

As I looked forward to being tormented by the forbidden teacher-student dynamic, I realized something.

(Oh — it’s about time to head to the river… so what happens now?)

Would we have a classroom session by the river with the kids?

It wouldn’t look great for an adult (monster) to take lessons among children, but I wasn’t in a position to complain.

When it came to magic, I was a novice below grade school level.

“Learning among the kids suits me,” I mocked myself — and then a revelation descended on me.

(Classes with the kids at the river — which means I can team up with those little punks… I mean, my allies!)

In other words, it would be possible to legally get Number Six out of her undergarments.

The moment I arrived at that truth, I stood up from the nonexistent seat.