PDTM 03

chapter 03

An innocent potato was being mercilessly diced.

Even while lost in thought, habits die hard—each piece sliced at perfect right angles by Kyriel’s hand. Ezekiel swept all those neatly cut pieces onto his own plate and lightly tapped her arm.

Kyriel lifted her head, subtly turning her face away so the guest seated across from her wouldn’t see. Then she mouthed a curse.

Ezekiel, one eye half-closed, tilted his head slightly backward.

That movement made Kyriel’s gaze meet her mother, Rowena. She promptly shut her mouth.

Instead, she stomped hard on Ezekiel’s foot and fixed her eyes back on her plate. A low, composed voice reached her ears.

“I didn’t expect to be invited to a luncheon like this. I hope I’m not imposing on your family’s time together.”

It was a deep, resonant, and intelligent voice—each word clearly enunciated and firm.

Kyriel, now cutting up asparagus instead of the potatoes Ezekiel had stolen, thought to herself:

That voice suits a reporting adjutant more than a sorcerer.

A pointless impression, but one that came to mind anyway.

“Not at all. I’m grateful you accepted such a sudden invitation.”

Her father’s unusually cheerful tone made Kyriel rub her eyes for no reason.

Galliano looked extremely pleased.

Both Galliano, chuckling heartily, and Rowena, smiling faintly at her husband, turned their gaze to Kyriel at the same time.

They signaled her.

Blinking, Kyriel glanced cautiously at her father before briefly pondering what to say—something appropriate for the occasion.

“…You’ve likely heard this many times already, but thank you for making the long journey. I understand the headquarters of the Order of the Clockflower is quite far away.”

The refined upbringing of a ducal household allowed her to speak without thinking.

Even though she spoke while looking somewhere between her plate and the table, in a flat tone, the man’s expression remained calm.

He took a sip of wine and let out a soft chuckle.

“I happened to be staying in the capital for a while. It wasn’t particularly difficult or troublesome.”

“It seems even sorcerers leave their headquarters.”

“Do you think the Clockflower only has duties within its headquarters? It’s only natural you wouldn’t know, since there has been no exchange with Alteion.”

Kyriel raised her eyes and looked at his attire.

The silver embroidery on his black jacket matched the emblem of the Order of the Clockflower she had seen in sacred texts.

On the hand holding the wine glass stem was a ring set with a large purple gemstone.

To think I’d see a sorcerer in person.

He didn’t look that old—yet he had become a master. He must be quite talented.

Shaking her head, Kyriel felt tired of herself for instinctively assessing the strength of the person in front of her.

She had trained all night and was already exhausted, but she couldn’t show it.

“I’ve never interacted with a sorcerer before, so this is my first time meeting one in person. If my question seemed rude, I apologize.”

“Not at all. A man should have at least one talent, don’t you think? I understand why you asked, so there’s no need to worry.”

“It’s fine if you’re not good at many things. But if you’re a man, you should at least have one title—like being the best in the Empire. Something admirable.”

Just how much did that tactless father of mine say?

Kyriel snapped her head to the side and stomped on Ezekiel’s foot again.

Ezekiel remained perfectly cheerful despite it.

Glancing under the table, Kyriel froze in horror and quickly withdrew her foot.

The one she had been stepping on… was the man across from her.

Grabbing Ezekiel’s wrist, she whispered:

“You should’ve said something…”

“About what?”

“That I wasn’t stepping on your foot.”

“How would I know it wasn’t mine?”

“…Fair point.”

Her ears flushed red. Kyriel let out a deep sigh and gave a silent bow.

It was the best apology she could offer in this situation.

If she apologized out loud, her timid father would surely make a fuss about her stepping on the guest’s foot.

The man looked slightly surprised, then accepted her apology with a faint smile.

It didn’t hurt much. It’s fine.

He conveyed it with his lips.

Kyriel had to admit—

The man’s face, speaking such gentle words with thin lips, was quite pleasing to look at.

His deep, refreshing eyes curved as if smiling whenever he spoke. His sharp nose contrasted with his strong jawline, giving him an elegant appearance. His green eyes, like early summer foliage, shimmered with a subtle clarity.

The broad shoulders that shattered her prejudice that sorcerers were frail, and the solid build visible even beneath his jacket—he matched her ideal type surprisingly well.

Of course—

If he were really my ideal type, I’d be dancing with joy right now. Acting this stiff would just look strange.

That beautiful, almost perfectly crafted man—who seemed born to match her ideal—wasn’t actually her ideal type.

Kyriel forced an awkward smile.

This time, she stepped on Ezekiel’s foot properly.

Suppressing a groan, Ezekiel endured as she ground her foot into his.

And Kyriel traced back to the root cause of this entire situation.

* * *

“…There’s no one I like.”

“Oh my, this is the most popular fairy tale these days, my lady. Ever since it came out, it completely changed prince stories.”

“Still not my type.”

From children’s fairy tales to romance novels a bit too mature for a ten-year-old, Kyriel shook her head amid piles of books.

Irein, arms crossed, sat in front of her. The library keeper stood nearby, placing a blanket over Irein’s prosthetic leg with a soft clatter.

“If none of these suit your taste, I have nothing more to recommend.”

“When you say no one suits your taste… do you mean there’s no one who fully meets your standards?”

Kyriel nodded, running her small hand along the spines of the books.

“This protagonist is kind, but too indecisive. This one is mysterious, which is fine, but hides too much until the very end. And this one is nice, but too transparent—people keep trying to take advantage of him, which is frustrating. Oh, and this one…”

As her critique seemed endless, Irein tilted her head, then clapped her hands.

“Then why not gather only the traits you like?”

Kyriel blinked.

“Well… wouldn’t that make an unrealistic person? Gentle in speech, full of secrets, somewhat unreadable… and handsome with that kind of aura… But even then, it doesn’t really feel appealing.”

“That’s exactly it.”

Both Kyriel and the librarian turned their heads.

Irein grinned.

“If it’s unrealistic, it means such a person doesn’t exist.”

“…Right?”

“If you describe an ideal that doesn’t exist, the Duke won’t be able to find such a man.”

“…Right…?”

“So without saying you won’t marry, you can avoid marriage altogether. Since he’ll try his best to find your ideal—and when he can’t, he’ll understand it’s simply impossible.”

“Oh…!”

Irein was a capable strategist.

But only on the battlefield.

She forgot two things:

That Duke Galliano was fiercely determined when it came to his children—

And that Kyriel was only ten years old.

Still growing, unpredictable, and impressionable.

But Irein was serious—and so was Kyriel.

That’s it. I’ll come up with an impossible ideal and tell Father.

But how do you create something impossible?

After thinking hard, Kyriel suddenly stood up, grabbed paper and pen, and returned.

She called the librarian solemnly:

“Emelda.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Tell me your ideal type.”

“…Pardon?”

If it’s hard to create one, I’ll just combine everything.

Recalling her arithmetic lessons, Kyriel began writing.

To make a difficult problem, you simply add more elements.

Watching her scribble eagerly, Irein silently applauded.

“Silver hair like moonlight… sensual…?”

“Sir Mark, your ideal.”

“…A man should speak little!”

“I disagree! A man should be gentle and attentive!”

“Chef Guillaume, your ideal man.”

“Sharp, elegant eyes… Wait, you said man?”

“Dicky, your ideal?”

“A man should have a dangerous, languid aura!”

And so on…

Eventually, Duke Galliano looked down at the long list and pressed his forehead.

“My youngest.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I didn’t know your standards were so… detailed.”

He gently cleaned her ink- and dirt-covered hands.

Then, in a firm voice:

“I swear.”

“Swear?”

“I will find a man who fulfills your ideal.”

“…But you’re not a knight. Can you swear?”

He didn’t hear her.

For the first time in a while, his soft reddish eyes shone with determination.

Kyriel looked at her messy list.

Even to her, it made no sense.

Only a legendary wizard could match this.

She chuckled secretly, playing with the stag beetle in her pocket.

He’ll never find one. We can stay together forever.

If only she had known—

Ten years later, her father would actually try to keep that promise.

She would have torn that paper to shreds and swallowed it.

The asparagus under Kyriel’s fork crunched as it was crushed.

Unaware—

That a pair of elegant, dark green eyes were watching her.