Not that I thought Petralka was that far gone, but if she went on like this, it wouldn’t surprise me if some group coalesced seeking to remove her from the throne. Her own parents’ deaths had been on account of a struggle for the succession. It was very likely that there were still elements within the Eldant Empire set on resisting her rule.

  “It may be ‘just a hobby,’ but it’s still a hobby,” I said to myself. As an otaku, I had heard my own interests derided with the expression “just a hobby” plenty of times, and I hated it. But at the same time, letting a personal pastime take over to the point where it posed a danger to your life was highly questionable. In that sense, Minori-san’s distinction between the real and the fake, fantasy and reality, hit home.

  A breath of fresh air helps because you only take one. Sweets are tasty because you only have a little between meals. Wait... Is that right? No, yeah. I’m sure it is. I think.

  “Ahh...” I let out another long breath.

  Just at that moment, someone knocked on the door of my room.

  “Yes? Come in,” I said, turning.

  I had a pretty good idea who it was—and just as I expected, Myusel poked her head in hesitantly from the hallway.

  “What’s up?”

  It was already pretty late.

  “I saw that the lights were still on in your room, so...” Myusel entered as she spoke. “If you’re having trouble sleeping, I thought... If you like...”

  She was carrying a tray with a mug of some kind of steaming liquid on it. At first I thought it might be tea, but it didn’t smell like it.

  “Thank you,” I said. “But... what’s this?”

  “Warm milk,” she said, placing the mug on my desk. “Minori-san told me it’s good to drink before you go to sleep.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard the same thing.”

  Milk, just slightly warmed, was easy on the stomach and helped alleviate any sense of hunger. Plus, the amino acids it contained prompted the brain to release sleep hormones. That was the story, anyway.

  It was like some kind of super-drink.

  “Thanks, Myusel. Sorry for always putting you to all this trouble.”

  “Not at all.” Her expression, which had been slightly concerned, softened like a blossoming flower. I suppose she had been worried that she had overstepped herself—that’s just the kind of person my maid was.

  But how could I consider this to be any kind of imposition? To have such a beautiful young woman go out of her way to make this drink for me—the thought alone was enough to set my heart dancing with happiness. She could have made me vegetable juice, or tea made from fish wort—let alone hot milk—and I would have gulped it down with a smile on my face!

  I drank the milk in a single swallow, and nodded.

  “Delicious.”

  It was warm, and faintly sweet. She had probably added a little sugar. I could definitely see where this would quiet a growling stomach and help you sleep.

  “That was good. But maybe you could make a little more of it next time.”

  “Oh... Was there not enough?”

  “Not quite. And you’ll need to bring another cup, too.”

  “Another—?”

  “I want you to share it with me. Since you’ve gone to the trouble.”

  “Oh...! But I—I mean, is that all right?” Myusel asked, blushing.

  Gosh, she really does hesitate in everything she does, doesn’t she? What a modest young woman.

  “It tastes really good. Or did you already try some before you brought it to me?” I said teasingly.

  To my surprise, Myusel gave a ginger nod. “I always try what I make, to make sure it tastes all right, and to check for poison.”

  “Poison?!” I said, a little shocked.

  Myusel explained that this was standard procedure for maids working in a noble household (or any household on that level). I had to admit, the most frequent tool I heard about in stories of power struggles was definitely poison. Some claimed that poison had killed more people throughout human history than any other weapon.

  Come to think of it, hadn’t Petralka’s parents died by poison? That just went to show what a common danger it was for nobles and rich people here.

  It wasn’t so different in our world: I heard once that silver was popular for dining utensils in the Middle Ages because it would change color if exposed to poison, thereby alerting the diner to the danger. That’s also supposedly what gave rise to the popular notion that silver could kill monsters.

  But anyway...

  “Wait... So every time, with all our food, you—”

  “Yes, of course,” Myusel said.

  Even though she made the food herself, there was always the possibility that the serving utensils she had been brought could have poison on them, or that some bottle of spices might have been changed out for something much more dangerous. So as a rule, Myusel would taste the food, wait half an hour or so, and if she still felt okay, then she would start cooking for the rest of us.

  What a lot of work!

  “But, Master... What’s the matter?” Myusel fixed me with a probing look.

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, I mean... What’s keeping you awake so late?”

  “Oh, that... Sorry to worry you.”

  “No, not at all.” Myusel shook her head.

  “Maybe I could trouble you to talk with me for a few minutes?”

  “Of course—it would make me, er, very happy if I could serve as your conversation partner.” Myusel looked down shyly.

  We often bottle up our worries, keeping them to ourselves and trying to act as if nothing’s wrong. Frankly, that’s exactly why they’re worrisome. When you share those sorts of concerns with someone else, you can find solutions coming from unexpected places.

  And so I told Myusel all of it: how I had invited Petralka to be part of the filming in hopes that it would make her feel better. How she had gotten so into it that she ended up neglecting her work. How I wanted to honor her feelings, but had the distinct sense that things couldn’t go on like this.

  I’m sure my explanation was awkward. Maybe it didn’t even make complete sense. But Myusel listened quietly to me the entire time.

  Finally...

  “You’re really... very kind, aren’t you, Shinichi-sama?”

  She said it as if it were so simple, so obvious.

  “Huh? I don’t—I don’t really think so, no...”

  I knew Myusel often said that sort of thing about me, but it really wasn’t true. I was just doing what I enjoyed, what seemed good to me.

  “It is true. You think about the people around you, so much that it starts to upset you. I think... I don’t quite know how to put this into words, but I think that’s amazing.”

  She may have stumbled slightly over her words, but Myusel’s eyes were fixed firmly on me.

  I looked away, starting to get embarrassed.

  “But... I also understand how Her Majesty feels,” Myusel said, her face clouding slightly.

  The difference in their social status was so great that it was impossible to say that Myusel and Petralka were friends, exactly—but what with this and that, they had a good relationship. In her own way, Myusel was probably worried about Petralka, too.

  “I’ve enjoyed pretending to be someone else, myself...”

  “You too, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  I doubt there’s anyone anywhere who’s completely satisfied with everything about themselves. To a greater or lesser extent, we all have some kind of inferiority complex.

  That’s why we go head over heels for something different, or discover a work we enjoy, and project ourselves into it. It’s certainly not a bad thing. In fact, it can give us an ideal to work towards, which helps give us hope.

  “Knowing where to draw the line can be tough, huh?” I said.

  “Yes,” Myusel agreed, nodding.

  I still didn’t have any firm idea of what I was going to do, but as I felt the warmth from the milk spread through me, I looked back out the window, up into the night sky.

  An hour or so later.

  Myusel had gone back to her room; she was probably already asleep.

  “I can’t sleep, though...”

  I sat up in bed with a sigh.

  I groped my way along the edge of the bed until I found the chest sitting to one side. I reached out and flicked the bellflower-shaped antique with my finger. The magical object immediately began to emit a soft glow, providing the room with dim illumination.

  “Sorry,” I said, apologizing to the sprites inside for startling them. Then I slowly got down from my bed. I had already done quite a bit of fruitless tossing and turning; I might as well try taking a walk around the mansion to clear my head.

  I left my room, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  “Hm...”

  The hallway wasn’t completely dark, but had lights on the wall at regular intervals. They were oil lamps that were left burning all night—essentially a cousin of the lantern. Naturally, they didn’t give off the bright, bold light of an electric lamp, but only just enough of a glow that you could sort of see where you were going.

  I instinctively leaned forward a little, trying to be careful of what was underfoot. I walked like that, slightly hunched over, through the dim mansion. With many a sigh, I rounded a corner and—

  “Yikes!”

  —ran into something soft.

  Hm? I recognize this feeling...

  “Shinichi-kun?”

  “M-Minori-san?!”

  Despite my surprise, I put the pieces together.

  I get it. It’s Minori-san’s boobs. No wonder it seemed familiar!

  I scrambled backwards even as these one-step-away-from-being-sued-for-sexual-harassment thoughts ran through my mind. Apparently, Minori-san had just happened to be coming around the corner from the other direction at that exact moment.

  “What’s up? It’s awfully late.”

  “Oh, I just couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d take a little walk and—wait, what about you?”

  As the question left my mouth, I noticed something: Minori-san wasn’t in her usual military uniform, but in battle gear. In fact, her entire body was covered in a thin sweat.

  “Same here,” she said and shrugged.

  “Uh... in full combat gear, though?”

  “Oh... It’s just easy to move in. I always dress like this at night.”

  “You mean they’re your pajamas?”

  “No! It’s kind of... instead of a gi.”

  She looked almost shy as she spoke. Wooh! How refreshing is it to see that kind of expression from Minori-san?

  “A gi?”

  “Sure. You know, a martial arts uniform.”

  “A-ha...”

  Given that Minori-san was a member of the JSDF, it made good sense that she might wear a martial arts gi. The incident with the “assembly of patriots” had already alerted me to her considerable fighting abilities.

  “Right after I wake up and right before I go to bed, I always do a little light training. Just a set of basic kata. It’s what I’ve done ever since I was a kid, so it’s like... If I don’t do it, I actually have trouble sleeping.”

  “Since you were a kid?”

  Meaning these fighting skills were something she had acquired before joining the military.

  Minori-san gave me an ambiguous smile, but didn’t say anything else. Maybe it was her way of telling me not to press the subject.

  She put her back to the wall, her smile growing a little bit pained.

  “Stupid me. Maybe I went too far today.”

  “Huh? What are we talking about?” I said, thrown by the sudden change of subject.

  “I actually lectured Her Majesty.”

  “Oh, that...”

  She meant today’s (or was it yesterday’s by now?) audience.

  “Think she’ll have my head cut off tomorrow?”

  “No way. Petralka’s not the type.”

  “Shinichi-kun, you’re always so confident,” she said with a chuckle. “It’s almost like no one could know Petralka better than you.”

  “I don’t— That’s not—”

  “I was just kidding.”

  “Sure... Sure.”

  I leaned against the wall next to her. The lights in the hall shone on her face in profile. I looked vacantly into the middle distance, just like she was doing, and asked, “What do you think we ought to do?”

  “You mean about the empress?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did you ask her to be a part of this anyway, Shinichi-kun?”

  “I was just hoping I could make her feel better. Even a little bit...”

  I had thought of her crying in her sleep, hidden where no one would see her, and I had wanted to lift just a small part of that burden. It had never occurred to me that Petralka might become obsessed with the very thing I was hoping would help her. With pretending to be someone else. Living a different life.

  Yes, that could feel good, but—

  “I agree, cosplaying is a lot of fun,” Minori-san said. “It’s a quick way to feel like you’re somebody other than you are. To be honest, I enjoy that aspect of it. That’s part of why I do it.”

  “I got that feeling somehow,” I answered.

  I didn’t have any cosplay experience, but I had played online games, role-playing things where you took on the identity of a particular character. I thought the attraction was something similar. I enjoyed it even when the character was on a computer screen and the communicating was all done via in-game chat. How much more engaging would it be to put on a costume?

  “Yes, it’s fun,” Minori-san went on. “But I don’t think we should use it as a way to escape.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Cosplay, anything designed to entertain us... In the end, it’s all just fiction. A temporary way to forget about reality. Not a way to spend our lives running.”

  “To spend our lives running...”

  “Yeah. If you’re not careful, you can find your whole life consumed by it.” There was something like conviction in her voice. “I can sure imagine how being an empress wouldn’t be easy. But the fact is, she is an empress, and nothing else. Just like you can’t really be anything but Kanou Shinichi, ultimately, nobody can be anyone but who they are.”

  I stood there, taking it all in.

  “Suppose, just suppose, that she abdicated as empress. Would that let her keep pretending to be that magical girl forever?”

  “No... Of course not.”

  If Petralka gave up her position, even the policies favoring otaku culture—and everything that had come from them—could well disappear. Even this mansion we were living in was really on loan to us from the empress.

  “You’re really... grown-up, Minori-san,” I said.

  There was something persuasive about the way she spoke. I felt like even if I had said the same words, they wouldn’t have sounded the same way. Maybe it was because Minori-san seemed like she was backed up by life experience. This wasn’t empty philosophy or an idea she’d gotten from someone else. She was talking about something she had lived through.

  “I really don’t think so,” she said, her face falling. “I just... don’t want Her Majesty to become like me.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Hmm,” Minori-san said. “Do you really want to know?” She glanced at me.

  “I—I mean, I don’t want to pry or anything...” I shook my head.

  By this point, even I had a vague sense of what was going on. I had noticed Minori-san forcefully changing the subject sometimes, and I could tell that whatever she was talking about now was somehow connected.

  And yes, I wondered about it, but I wasn’t going to interrogate her just to satisfy my curiosity.

  But then Minori-san went “Hmm” again, a pained smile coming over her face. Was it just me, or was there a hint of self-deprecation there?

  “Sorry,” she said, “that was a loaded question. I want to tell you. Will you listen?”

  “S-Sure.” When she put it that way, I had no reason to refuse.

  Minori-san’s eyes half-closed, and she appeared to be looking at something far in the distance as she started talking. “I was— Well, I’m the child my parents finally managed to have after years and years of trying. But my mom died right after she gave birth to me. There’s some danger associated with having kids later in life, you know? So my family was just my dad and me. I didn’t have any siblings, obviously. In fact, I barely had any relatives at all. It was just me and Dad.”

  Her smile grew a little deeper then. And, I thought, a little sadder.

  “But my dad didn’t appreciate me much.”

  It was such an offhanded way of saying it, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “What? But... why?”

  Her mother had given her life to produce this child, the child they had longed and hoped for for so many years. And aren’t fathers supposed to adore daughters? I knew my dad, for one, was a total softie when it came to my younger sister, Shizuki.

  “Because I was a girl.” Minori-san shrugged.

  “What...?”

  “My dad... He wanted an heir.”

  An heir? What was this, a samurai drama?

  “Sounds old-fashioned, huh? But my dad was the head of a famous dojo, and he desperately wanted a son to be his successor. Don’t get me wrong, he was perfectly willing to raise me and everything, but it was... out of duty. Nothing more than that. Forget summer family vacations. He didn’t even come to school visit days.”

  It would have been easy to say, “That’s awful!” But I didn’t actually know Minori-san’s dad, so I wasn’t really in a position to criticize him. And I didn’t get the feeling that Minori-san had told me about this hoping that I would badmouth him.

  “He didn’t show his soft side very often. And he hardly ever drank. But when he was drunk, once in a while, I’d hear him muttering, ‘If only you’d been a boy...’ I don’t think he ever remembered saying it, but when you’re the person who has to hear it... Believe me, it’s not something you forget.”

 

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