TNKBP~08

Chapter 8

“The weather is absolutely perfect for hanging out with Martin today.”

The sun was shining brilliantly overhead.

The kind of weather that practically begged for ice cream.

Money? Packed.

Lucas? Already informed I’d be home late.

Bill? Had given me a detailed breakdown of today’s schedule.

“Now all I need is for Martin to say yes.”

And even if he said no, I could always schedule something in advance for another day.

With that thought in mind, I headed to school, clutching my excitement.

But the moment I entered the classroom, disappointment washed over me.

Martin’s golden hair was nowhere to be seen.

Even after morning homeroom ended, he didn’t appear.

First period passed.

Then second period.

Still no Martin.

…Did something happen?

He didn’t get kidnapped or anything, did he?

I shook my head immediately.

Don’t be ridiculous.

Three days.

Three entire days passed while I kept reassuring myself.

And Martin still hadn’t shown his face once.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore and headed for the faculty office.

“Lindsey? Is something wrong?”

“Hello, Miss Margaret. I was wondering… Martin hasn’t been at school for several days. Nothing happened to him, right?!”

At my immediate panic, Miss Margaret blinked in surprise before breaking into laughter.

“What? Haha, Lindsey. I heard you and Martin ended up in the same group, but I didn’t realize you’d become this close already.”

She smiled warmly.

“Martin caught a summer cold. Apparently they’re quite nasty this year. I’m not sure how he’s doing, though.”

Good grief.

A summer cold.

The kind people always said even dogs didn’t catch.

I let out a small sigh and nodded.

“I see. I was worried because nobody told me anything.”

Miss Margaret assured me that he’d probably be fine.

I thanked her and turned to leave.

Just then—

“Lindsey, come here for a moment.”

A familiar voice called out.

From behind the divider opposite Miss Margaret’s desk, Mr. Schuler suddenly appeared.

“Mr. Schuler?”

“Haha. This is actually my desk. Come sit for a moment.”

As I approached, he pulled out a chair for me.

“How is the mathematics assessment going? When I looked over the grades transferred from your previous academy, I thought you might need to put in a bit more effort.”

He adjusted his glasses.

“But the worksheet and report you submitted this time were excellent. It seems I worried for nothing.”

I gave him an awkward smile.

“That’s because Martin helped me a lot. He’s really good at explaining things.”

Then I sighed.

“But since I haven’t been able to study with him lately, there are quite a few problems on the second and third assessments that I can’t solve.”

“That’s partly because I increased the difficulty level,” Mr. Schuler replied. “There’s no need to be discouraged.”

Then he seemed to remember something.

“Speaking of Martin, I haven’t been able to give him next week’s assessment packet. Would you mind delivering it to him for me?”

Before I could answer, Miss Margaret suddenly stood up.

“Oh my! I’ve been wondering how Martin is doing myself.”

She looked at me expectantly.

“Lindsey, since you’ll already be bringing him the assessment packet, would you mind checking on him for us? His address is—”

“Oh, I already know where he lives!”

The words escaped before I could stop them.

Then inspiration struck.

“In that case, Miss Margaret, I can’t possibly visit someone’s house empty-handed. Would it be alright if I skipped extracurricular activities today? I’d like to buy him something he likes first.”

I added that arriving too late would be rude.

Combined with my sparkling eyes, it seemed impossible to refuse.

Miss Margaret sighed dramatically and shrugged.

“Only this once. Extracurricular activities are recorded in your school file, you know. If you miss too many, it could affect future opportunities.”

She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“And these days, noble ladies apparently request copies of a prospective daughter-in-law’s school records before approving a marriage.”

“This is the first and last time! I promise!”

Miss Margaret burst out laughing.

Even Mr. Schuler couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

He slipped the assessment papers and report forms into a neat document envelope before handing it over.

“Get along well with Martin. As you know, he’s a genuinely good child.”

His expression softened.

“I’m certain the two of you can become friends who help each other grow.”

“Yes, sir! I’ll tell you how he’s doing when I come back!”

As I waved enthusiastically, both teachers simply shook their heads as though I was hopeless.

“Should I stop by the fountain pen shop first?”

Or maybe buy macarons?

No.

The filling would probably melt in this heat.

Thanks to my perfectly legitimate excuse to visit Martin’s house, I practically skipped down the hallway, swinging the document envelope back and forth.

Yes!

I get to see Martin!

* * *

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

After stepping out of the carriage with all the determination of a soldier heading into battle, I waved goodbye to Bill.

“I told him I’d only need about an hour…”

I paused.

“Though… can I actually pick one within an hour?”

Muttering to myself, I wandered through a shopping district filled with elegant signs and curling script.

Meister.

Meister.

Meister…

“Ah! There it is!”

The shop practically screamed luxury.

Through the display windows, rows of exquisite fountain pens gleamed beneath carefully arranged lighting.

As I approached the entrance, a well-dressed man in a crisp suit bowed politely.

“Welcome to Meister Fountain Pens. May I ask what brings you here today, my lady?”

Now I understood why Martin had said they were expensive.

The building itself looked expensive.

The employees looked expensive.

Even the way they talked sounded expensive.

It was oddly intimidating.

Don’t chicken out.

You’re not some random passerby.

You’re Lindsey Ritberg.

Straightening my back, I lifted my chin.

“I’ve come to buy a gift.”

“A gift?”

“For a friend.”

“Ah, I see.”

The man discreetly looked me over before stepping aside and allowing me inside.

He probably recognized the Saint Gartain Academy uniform.

This is already harder than I expected.

Inside, gleaming glass display cases showcased fountain pens from every imaginable brand.

I froze immediately.

There were too many.

And to my untrained eyes, they all looked exactly the same.

As I hesitated, one of the store managers suddenly narrowed his eyes.

Then he nearly sprinted toward me.

“M-My goodness! Are you not Lady Lindsey of House Ritberg?!”

The intensity of his greeting startled me enough that I simply stared.

The bespectacled manager hurriedly bowed.

“In this Empire, there is only one noble family blessed with black hair and red eyes. Your father is also a devoted user of Meister fountain pens.”

Noticing my suspicious stare, he immediately began explaining himself.

I nodded slowly.

Then got straight to the point.

“I don’t have much time. I’d like to buy a black fountain pen…”

I trailed off.

Wait.

What did Martin’s pen even look like?

Every pen in front of me was black.

And honestly?

They all looked identical.

The manager waited patiently.

Panicking, I pointed at the first pen I saw.

“Could you show me that one?”

“Ah, this model?”

He carefully lifted it from the display.

“This fountain pen is particularly popular among customers who experience wrist strain. The writing experience is exceptionally smooth, which makes it a favorite among people who write frequently.”

Martin’s words about practicing calligraphy came back to me.

If he used fountain pens all the time, then a smooth-writing one would probably be best.

After gathering enough information to vaguely understand what I should be looking for, I nodded.

“In that case, could you recommend a black fountain pen with excellent writing quality? Something reasonably expensive, perhaps. My friend uses fountain pens often.”

“Certainly.”

The manager began pulling out pen after pen.

One by one.

I examined each carefully, trying to imagine which would suit Martin best.

Then the manager hesitated.

“Lady Lindsey… might I ask what type of nib your friend normally uses? It’s possible he may not prefer the nib attached to whichever model you choose.”

“N-nib?”

Disaster.

I had never touched a fountain pen in my previous life.

How was I supposed to know something like that?

As I stood there making distressed noises and desperately thinking, a rich woody fragrance suddenly drifted toward me.

Then a warm voice spoke beside me.

“If he writes frequently, a slightly broader nib would probably suit him best.”

The voice was gentle.

Soft.

Comforting.

Like sun-dried laundry warmed by afternoon sunlight.

“Lady, if you don’t mind, would you like to consider a fountain pen that I recommend?”

Without thinking, I turned.

Standing beside me was a man with brown hair reminiscent of an ancient forest tree.

And eyes.

The exact same emerald-green eyes as Martin’s.

The man smiled warmly as he looked at me.