15 — Chapter 15

Early summer sunlight filtered faintly through the stained glass, casting soft light into the cathedral.

In this dimly lit space that invited one into a world of meditation even at midday, two people stood.

“Come on. Please, just give me a favorable answer.”

One was a sharp, intrepid young man with a slender, tall frame, rich black hair, and deep indigo eyes.

He wore a simple shirt and trousers, topped with a dark blue vest embroidered with the crest of the knights’ order on the chest.

He was leaning his tall frame forward, peering down at the person he had cornered against the wall.

“Begging your pardon, Your Highness. Your personal space is a bit too close.”

The other person responded flatly.

She was a small figure dressed in a black dress, a white apron, and a brim—the standard maid’s uniform—accented by a pair of thick glasses. She had been answering the young man with dry indifference for some time.

The young man was, of course, the Second Prince of the Luten Kingdom, Lucas, and the maid was Elma.

“Don’t try to dodge the question with words like that. I’m serious. I need you.”

“Please do not try to deceive me with words like those. I have no desire to stray from the righteous path.”

From the way the man whispered while leaning close to the woman, an observer might have mistaken it for a bit of romantic sparring.

However, the reality was—

“Why? What is so ‘wicked’ about belonging to the knights’ order?”

“I am saying that for a woman—especially one of a status that isn’t even commoner—to join the knights’ order is unheard of. In other words, it is not normal.”

It was a headhunting attempt by Lucas.

Ever since Elma had put on a grand performance during the cooking contest—which, in name, was more like a “Tenkaichi Budokai” (the World Martial Arts Tournament from Dragon Ball)—Lucas had taken every opportunity to fervently recruit her.

Currently, his rank in the knights’ order was Company Commander.

It was a significant position for his age, but he hadn’t obtained it because of his royal birth; he had earned it through superior swordsmanship and popularity built over time.

Though he was a bit of a flirt, Lucas’s loyalty to the knights’ order was deep, and he sincerely wished for its development.

And when he thought of that “development,” Elma was a talent he wanted so badly he could practically taste it.

“Who cares if it’s unheard of? If you join, you become the ‘precedent.’ After that, women with martial prowess or those of lower status might find the courage to join one after another. If that happens, you’ll be a perfectly ‘normal’ woman.”

“Would you mind ceasing this display of mysterious logic that doesn’t even qualify as a sophistry?”

Elma was utterly dismissive.

She likely figured her true nature had been somewhat exposed through their repeated interactions. She had even stopped her initial “act of a naive girl showing bashfulness toward a man.”

While he had his thoughts about her lack of cuteness, Lucas was more frustrated by Elma’s stubbornness and furrowed his brows.

“What is this strange obsession you have with being ‘normal’? More importantly, what is the standard? When I took you just to observe, you ended up treating every single member of the order by yourself. You seemed quite motivated back then.”

“…That was a mistake on my part due to misinterpreting my textbook. Please put it out of your mind.”

While her face remained hidden behind her glasses, Elma looked a bit awkward.

According to the “common sense” she was currently absorbing, “watching knights’ training with excitement” and “devotedly tending to injured men” were supposed to be “normal.”

However, as an extension of that, she had accidentally seen through the Vice-Commander’s sword strokes during the observation and had finished all the medical treatments by herself while intending to “tend” to them. For this, Elma was reflecting deeply.

“Textbook?”

“I was told that if I wanted to aim to be a normal girl, I should read these… and was lent a large number of things called ‘romance novels.’”

Lucas felt like looking up to the heavens.

The intent might have been kind, but what an absurd thing to present as a textbook.

“Was it Irene? Give me a break… If you base your actions on those things, we’re all doomed.”

“No, begging your pardon, it was Head Maid Gerda who lent them to me.”

“Gerda…!”

“By the way, Irene apparently prefers the type referred to as ‘thin books’.”¹

“Thin books?”

Faced with Lucas’s puzzled gaze, Elma paused for a moment to choose her words.

“…By the way, Your Highness, what do you think is the antonym for ‘Seme’?”²

“Isn’t it ‘Uke’—I mean, ‘defense’?”

“I see. It seems it is a genre entirely unrelated to your life, Your Highness. Please put our current exchange out of your mind.”

In the end, she brushed him off like that.

Intrigued, Lucas questioned her persistently, but she continued to evade him. Growing annoyed, he grabbed Elma’s arm with a sharp “Hey.”

Elma stared intently at the arm he had grabbed, then suddenly looked up and gazed directly at Lucas.

“……Come to think of it, out of the thirty-five books I’ve read, thirty-three of them featured a knight who treats the heroine harshly but is actually hiding intense romantic feelings. Don’t tell me—”

“Wait, don’t confuse 2D with 3D. Those aren’t even fiction. They’re fantasy.”

Being looked at by a plain maid in glasses with a gaze that said “Ugh…”, Lucas quickly let go of her hand.

Honestly, what was the deal with these glasses? She was supposed to be hiding her face, yet she managed to project a vivid sense of being utterly repulsed; it was something that transcended the realm of mere eyewear.

“Read my micro-expressions right now. Does this look like the face of a man in love with a woman?”

“If I had to say, I would describe it as an expression of a man unable to hide his tension and curiosity when faced with an unknown lifeform.”

“These micro-expressions are something else.”

Lucas was confident in the breadth of his “strike zone” (preferences), but strangely enough, he didn’t feel even a flicker of desire stirred by this girl at the moment.

He was immensely curious, and he thought she was an interesting girl, but he wondered why that was.

It might have been because of her intentionally plain appearance—or perhaps because she didn’t possess a single shred of interest in him as a member of the opposite sex.

Now that he thought about it, this might be the first time a woman had shown absolutely no interest in his status as the Second Prince, his face, or his body and bearing honed as a knight.

A person of the opposite sex he could talk to without games or ulterior motives was a rare find.

“Hey, Elma. Are you sure you won’t join the knights’ order?”

“I fail to see how ‘sure’ applies here.”

Lucas made an even more serious pitch than before, but Elma simply tucked in her chin and, with a fluid movement, evaded his approach to pick up the cleaning tools she had left on the floor.

She had been caught by the prince while carrying out her assigned task of cleaning the cathedral.

“If that is all you wish to discuss, then begging your pardon, may I return to the business of cleaning the cathedral?”

“Are you going to sweep and clean this entire massive cathedral all by yourself?”

Despite his skeptical tone, Elma’s answer remained flat.

“It will only take a moment.”

“…You really should join—”

“Your Highness, please return to your training. While the palace is busy with daily ceremony preparations for the coronation, it is unacceptable for someone of your standing as a Company Commander to be away from their duties like this.”

She shut down his attempt to persist with a sharp dismissal.

However, Lucas responded with a smirk.

“It’s just a parade rehearsal today anyway. Once the armor is on, no one can tell who is who. I took a foolish rookie who tried to mount my horse without permission and made him act as my double as punishment. He’s probably thrilled. Therefore, as of today, I am a free man, fair and square.”

It was a blatant act of slacking off.

Elma was about to offer a well-deserved retort—that he couldn’t call that “fair and square”—when it happened.

“Lord Lucas!”

The cathedral doors swung open hurriedly, and a young boy rushed in.

With beads of sweat on his freckled face, he appeared to be a page of the knights’ order. He wore a dark blue vest with the order’s crest, though the color was lighter than the one Lucas wore.

“Marc? What’s wrong? How did you find me here?”

“Don’t give me ‘How did you find me’! I’ve been looking everywhere for you…! If you’re going to have a secret tryst, please pick a place that actually looks the part, honestly!”

The boy named Marc glared at them with eyes that still held a lingering innocence, then tightened his expression and balled his fists.

“We have a problem. The horse you were supposed to be riding suddenly went wild during the parade rehearsal and threw its rider—Theo, who was acting as your double, had his leg bone crushed. To be blunt… it’s a terrible injury.”

“What did you say?”

Lucas furrowed his brows.

“They’ve scrambled to call a Holy Medical Mentor, but… for now, please come quickly, Lord Lucas. I’m sorry to your partner here, but—wait, ah! Miss Elma!?”

Marc, who had been reporting with a grim face, noticed Elma hiding behind Lucas and cried out.

Despite having called it a “tryst,” he didn’t even suspect a romantic relationship between Lucas and Elma—the pairing was simply too impossible—and his face immediately lit up.

“Miss Elma, would you mind coming with us?! There are various factions among the Holy Medical Mentors, and it seems only a disagreeable rookie from Prince Felix’s side is stationed here today. If Miss Elma can provide first aid before he arrives, the condition might at least—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That is the domain of a Holy Medical Mentor.”

Lucas cut off the pleading Marc.

He spun on his heel, already turning his gaze toward the scene of the incident.

“But Lord Lucas! Miss Elma isn’t like other women; she won’t faint at the sight of blood—”

“Look, I have no intention of arguing over whether she’s a man or a woman. But if the injury is that severe, first aid won’t mean a thing.”

What was needed was recovery magic.

A knight being healed by a princess’s nursing was something that only happened in novels and operas; in reality, what was required now was Holy Power that could unfailingly mend the wound.

Lucas, having spoken with cold logic, prepared to leave the scene, but a flat voice called him to a halt.

“Please wait.”

It was Elma, her glasses reflecting the light.

“You must not confuse 2D with 3D. I was taught by my ‘Big Brother of Greed’ that wounds being healed by magic is not even fiction; it is fantasy.”

“What?”

She pushed up the bridge of her glasses with her index finger and spoke in a tone as if stating common knowledge.

“Ordinarily, when someone has a major injury, what they need more than prayers is—an ‘ope’,³ correct?”

“…Ope?”

Faced with an unfamiliar word, Lucas and Marc exchanged puzzled looks.