MCFPM 49

…Should I just hit him once?

Sherylott immediately put that thought into action.

“You jerk! You scared me!”
“Argh!”

Pow-pow-pow! Like a cat digging into dirt, her tightly clenched fists rained down on Eonian’s back. He yelped in pain, but she didn’t stop. What was meant to be one punch turned into four or five.

Eonian, curled up like a pill bug, finally grabbed her wrists with both hands to stop her assault.

“You shouldn’t hit people with hands meant for delicate tools.”
“Then don’t do stupid things!”
“What stupid things?”
“…”

When Eonian grinned and asked that, Sherylott found herself speechless.

That brat… don’t tell me he lowered his head on purpose to remind me of that incident?

She shook her head in irritation and snapped,

“Just don’t do anything worth getting hit for.”
“Then stop acting like such a shy maiden, Sheryl. Why make a big deal out of something so small?”
“Ah!”

This is why people call him the chairman who treats women “specially.”

Before Eonian could say another word, Sherylott kicked his shin and jumped down from the chair. While he hopped around on one leg, she rubbed her shoulder and shot back,

“Anyway, we’re done now, right?”
“I think you could still cut off a bit more.”

That shameless tone made her blood boil all over again. She took a deep breath to cool off and then gestured toward the door.

“Fine. I’ll leave the dress to you and the tailor.”
“Now? You should at least check it again before deciding.”
“I need to get back soon. I’m working on something.”

Eonian, still hopping in place, froze.

“What are you working on?”
“A rift prediction model.”
“…What?”

The sudden scientific term blinked Eonian’s humanities-oriented brain into confusion—but only for a moment. Understanding dawned, and he dropped his arms.

“Ah, because the North has a lot of rifts, you want to predict where and how they’ll appear?”
“Exactly. I want to prevent people like you from happening again. I’ve been maintaining the model since my time at the Academy, but now it’s time to apply it for real.”
“…”

When Sherylott reemerged in her regular clothes, she added quietly,

“And you said it yourself—the inside of a rift might have regions like our world.”
“…Yeah, so?”
“So I might have to go in someday.”

Eonian’s expression turned cold in an instant—pale, then almost bluish. Sherylott waved her hand.

“Not right now. But you know I’ll have to go eventually.”
“Because your parents are in there?”
“Yeah.”

She nodded. Gazing out at the faint smoke rising from the residential district, she murmured,

“…I’ll find them. Their bodies, or at least something.”

Eonian spoke up then, unexpectedly.

“What if your parents are still alive?”
“What?”

The slim chance of that made her laugh without meaning to.

Ah, no, stop it. Not that thought again. She barely caught herself before muttering something cynical. With a small shrug, she said,

“Well… if they’re alive, then that’s that.”
“That’s it?”
“…”

She gave Eonian a sharp look.

Easy for you to ask—you still have both your parents.

The childish thought came and went, quelled by a whisper of reason reminding her he’d had his share of hardship too.

Finally, Sherylott shrugged again, expression flat.

“I don’t know.”
“…”
“If they’re weak, I’ll bring them to the Grand Castle. Odellia will throw a fit, but I’ll deal with her somehow.”

After hanging the dress back on the mannequin, she tousled her hair.

“But this feels premature, doesn’t it? Talking about my parents as if they might still be alive…”
“They are alive.”
“Heh, you sound awfully sure.”

With a raised brow, she gestured toward the door.

“Anyway, let’s go get the tailor. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

Eonian nodded silently and opened the door. There was a commotion outside, and then Cecil poked her head in—behind her, lined up like a string of candy, were all the people who had supposedly left earlier.

“Ah, hello?”
“…Were you all standing out here this whole time?”
“…No? Of course not.”

That pause between their words was suspiciously long.

Just as Sherylott narrowed her eyes at her subordinates, Rodier raised a hand with an eager sparkle in his eyes.

“So… are you two finally dating?”

A vein popped in Sherylott’s temple. Her fist slammed into Eonian once more.

“Everyone, please, our Grand Duke is just a bit shy! Don’t tease her too much—”

After saying that, Eonian earned several more punches he didn’t need to.

When her patience finally snapped, Sherylott locked herself in her office and refused to open the door, no matter how long Eonian pleaded outside.

Eventually, he came back dressed neatly in his formal uniform, saying he’d finished writing all the wedding invitations on her behalf.

“…Whoa, what are all these papers?”
“The prediction model.”

That was enough to make her finally open the door for him.

“These documents come up to my shoulder. Are you sure this is okay?”
“The artifact itself is the size of a cube toy. Rodier and Liam will collect the data later. We reserved a workshop space in the craftsman district—they’ll finish it there.”

Since it was a project she’d started back at the Academy, not much remained. The prototype was done; all that was left was feeding the Northern rift data into the model to refine its precision and improve how the predictions were visualized.

The only problem is, there aren’t many assistant mages in the castle…

Unlike priests, the castle’s mages were a bit better off—some talented knights could handle fairly complex spells.

But those were for combat. Among the new workers Alise had brought, a few could assist the knights and Sherylott, but none were experts in statistics or magical machine learning.

So, in the end, I’ll have to finish this alone.

That could take a long time.

Sighing, Sherylott glanced down at the list of invitation recipients Eonian had prepared.

Professors and colleagues from the Academy’s Department of Magical Engineering.
Archbishop Feliceri and the clergy.
Nobles from the South and Central regions.
Minor vassals from the North.

And even high-ranking nobles from the East, including the Grand Duke of Freyieu.

“…Hmm, nicely done. Your handwriting’s better than mine. Let’s have Ren send them out.”
“You already sent one to my uncle, right?”
“Yeah. No need to send it twice.”

At that, Eonian rang the servant’s bell, and in marched a line of maids who immediately began preparing Sherylott for departure.

“…Eonian.”
“What.”
“You’re not assuming the Pope has already arrived, are you?”
“It never hurts to be prepared.”

After brushing a loose thread from his epaulette, he took her hand. Sherylott gripped her short cloak and walked beside him.

“You know, at this point, maybe you should tell me why you’re marrying me.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“…”

After a pause, she said,

“Because I need to know your goal to judge how much our marriage will actually accomplish.”
“Ah, so it’s about efficiency.”

It wasn’t just about efficiency.

If I knew your real reason, maybe I could give something back to you, idiot.

Eonian’s behavior had always been predictable—giving everything he had for her, treating her problems as his own.

But what’s his real goal? Sure, marrying me helps him escape the Pope’s control, but then what does he gain?

Their marriage contract lasted five years. After that, she assumed he planned to take up the title of Grand Duke of Baskalia.

But both of his parents are still alive.

By law, Eonian couldn’t inherit until his father either passed away or voluntarily transferred the title.

So is he planning to convince his father to step down?

She shot him a sidelong glance, but Eonian stayed silent. They reached the balcony overlooking Lavre Avenue, sunlight glinting off the rooftops.

“…You’re trying to become the Grand Duke of Baskalia, aren’t you?”

At her quiet question, he tilted his head slightly.

“Do you think I could be a naval admiral instead?”
“Well, every southerner’s good at sailing, aren’t they?”

The Baskalia family had long produced naval officers and high-ranking clergy. The title of Admiral, once honorary under the Empire, had become hereditary after its fall.

Eonian looked at her for a long moment. When the breeze tousled both their hair, he finally spoke.

“I just didn’t want to lose you.”
“…What?”

She thought she’d misheard him through the wind, but his calm nod said otherwise.

“When I came here, I decided—I wouldn’t let you suffer because of me.”
“…Ha.”

Sherylott let out a disbelieving laugh. This guy… honestly…

Just as she was about to retort, she saw a white procession approaching from afar. It looked modest at first, but the faint golden filigree on the carriage betrayed its grandeur.

“…Hey.”
“What?”
“Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Eonian blinked, confused. Sherylott raised her finger and tapped it lightly against his forehead.

“If I scared easily, I wouldn’t have accepted you in the first place.”

The large carriage approaching—big enough to hold ten Sherylott-sized people—bore a silver cross on its side.

When it stopped at the drawbridge, Sherylott gave the guards her command through the comm tube.

“Lower the bridge.”

And then, as a pure white flag fluttered in the wind—announcing the arrival of the First Servant of the Divine—

“The Holy Father has arrived.”