Just as intelligence cannot be feigned, so too cannot grace be attained by those who strain or try to affect it.
In accordance with proper etiquette, a delicate hand quietly yet smoothly picked up a spoon arranged precisely and dipped it into the amber-colored soup. The spoon sank silently without a ripple, scooping up droplets of the delectable liquid, a savory concoction brewed from a variety of ingredients that created an indescribable depth of flavor.
Thus, without spilling a single unnecessary drop, the soup was lifted with elegant grace and disappeared into slightly parted lips without a whisper of noise.
Truly impeccable manners, beyond any critique. I had seen them countless times in a variety of settings; indeed, being brought into high society—of course always as a servant—was not an infrequent occurrence for me, and over time it had become second nature.
Well, that is, if not for the fact that my charming younger sister wasn’t the one performing them.
“Is something the matter, Brother?”
“No, nothing at all, Eliza,” I replied.
Did she notice my gaze while I was serving? Eliza turned around and smiled chastely. Now, with autumn in the air and having just turned fourteen, she would be nine by winter’s arrival.
My dear, dear sister had lately grown increasingly refined in her manners, carrying herself with grace. Not too long ago, she struggled just to drink a bowl of soup, and learning to walk with elegance was a laborious task for her.
Now, she exuded an air of nobility befitting a young lady, adorned in the fine casual wear carefully chosen by Lord Raizenitz—so luxurious it eclipsed even the manor’s finest garments. Viewing her now, one might easily believe she was born into silk swaddling clothes after bathing in perfumed waters.
I still marveled at her transformation despite the changing seasons.
It’s not that she had changed entirely. Her memories and preferences remained unaltered.
“Really? Such a strange brother.”
Ah, yes. To put it simply, she was growing up.
Until now, Eliza had been, in a word, youthful—immature even for an eight-year-old, progressing slowly. Now, finally, she was beginning to catch up to her age.
Her speech had grown accustomed to the courtly language of the upper classes, and nuances of her etiquette demonstrated the lessons she had been taught. Having spent over a year away from the manor, under the tutelage of the nobility, her refinement seemed almost inevitable.
In fact, as you might observe walking through the Magic Academy, students around Eliza’s age exuded an ageless grace and wisdom. These were clearly children of noble birth, properly educated and entitled, accepted as listeners from an early age.
Thus, this was undoubtedly my own prejudice. I had always thought of Eliza as perpetually small and adorable—perhaps even a bit dependent.
For all that, people grow. As her brother, it was my duty to accept this.
Eliza was still Eliza. The Eliza I had seen as a cute younger sister was certainly real, but so too was the future image of the person she wanted to become.
I realized I was far more selfish and single-minded than I had thought. The “fear” I felt upon her return that day was not of her transformation but rather my own anxiety at losing the role of the brother she relied on.
Undoubtedly, Eliza was a half-fairy, but more fundamentally, she was simply Eliza. Therefore, it was not something to fear but to embrace. Her growth. And to reconcile the “illusion” I had felt.
Besides, hadn’t many things about her stayed the same? Her fork still gravitates toward her favorite foods, her knife cuts disliked items into tinier pieces to diminish their flavor, and her spoon eagerly fetches too large a scoop of pudding before regret overtakes her.
Even in her more refined courtly language, she still calls me not “onii-sama” but the childish “ani-sama.”
Perhaps this was akin to the loneliness and estrangement parents feel when their child starts calling them “boku” instead of “ore,” grows ashamed to walk alongside them, and even proclaims, “I don’t really like sweets,” while bypassing the 3 PM snacks and the 6 PM animated shows.
Eliza too felt the need to grow up and had aspired to do so. As a half-fairy whose spirit leans more toward the fairy than the human, her growth patterns naturally differ, which caused some dissonance for me, a mere human.
Thus, I resolved to embrace her growth with joy.
Indeed, even as the cute, tongue-tied Eliza who depends on me is endearing, the Eliza who seeks to grow up will surely remain so.
Given that she is my sister, I predict she will inevitably become a beauty that commands attention—a tall and elegant young lady, refined and delicate like a single lily. Perhaps even as beautiful as our mother…
Huh? A beautiful mage, achieving greatness!
A person like Eliza, without a fatal flaw such as those of Lady Agrippina or Lord Raizenitz, might become so popular that I fear unsavory characters might swarm around her in droves…
“Brother, are you really alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Eliza. I was just trying to remember which glove to properly throw during a duel.”
“A duel!? Ah, formally, it should be thrown at one’s feet, not the face…”
Would the face of any who tried to bother my dear sister look any different from the floor? Either way, they would both end up underfoot…
While reassuring my worried sister with a smile, I continued serving.
Since Lady Agrippina wouldn’t be back tonight, and considering Eliza mentioned she had been invited to some large event and would be in the imperial city, I thought I might invite her to a peaceful evening together, perhaps at a guesthouse.
By the way, in the Threefold Empire, while private duels are illegal, officially registered duels conducted within legal boundaries are considered legitimate. The authoritarian state understands well that some grievances can only be resolved by the sword.
There are twenty-five meeting rooms known by various floral names within the white marble palace towering in the Imperial Capital. The room for the grandest events, named the “Red Rose Chamber,” is renowned worldwide, while the “White Lily Room,” adorned with solemn splendor, is famous for hosting solemn assemblies.
Yet, there is one room where the Emperor’s Professorial Assembly convenes—one that is spoken of with awe: the Black Waterlily Chamber.
The amphitheater-shaped room with its vast staircase seating is sometimes colloquially referred to as an “execution chamber” due to the central podium.
Unsurprising, really. This is where the brightest minds in the land gather, a group so intellectually formidable that any out-of-place remark, regardless of one’s status, will result in relentless critique.
History records more than a few bureaucrats who, attempting unconventional requests for magical collaboration, were overwhelmed by critiques and succumbed to frustration in this very chamber.
The assembly convened during a delicate time when nobles, in the midst of the tax-collecting season, were usually busy at their estates. Many of the attendees sensed a storm on the horizon.
With the social season just about to begin, it was unusual to have urgent business at the Magic Academy. Was this some indication of an impending shift in imperial succession?
Among the professors, there were both pure scholars who cared little for politics and others deeply embedded in statecraft—collectors of fuel for the cauldrons of research in their unending pursuit of gold. Hence, they remained sensitive to the trends of high society.
The professors, filled with anticipation of potential conflict, listened to the presentations from newly appointed candidates before proceeding to the main agenda.
These presentations, however, were mostly just final confirmations. All professors had already been distributed and reviewed the papers beforehand, gaining a solid grasp of their content.
This was not without reason. Unlike a musical recital, research findings require meticulous examination, and determining whether an observed magical demonstration is genuine requires more than a single demonstration.
Thus, the professors had already scrutinized the papers exhaustively, ready to deliver what appeared to be fatal critiques, each cloaked in polite phrases such as “Though I am by no means an expert in the field” or “Please forgive me if I missed something in my reading.”
A few presenters succumbed under the weight of these evaluations, but then a member of the long-lived species—Agrippina du Staal—rose to the podium.
Her dazzling silver hair was styled in an elaborate chignon, and her cobalt and pale willow irises glimmered provocatively. Clad in an elegant robe of black brocade, embroidered in intricate geometric patterns with dark silk thread, she also held a staff, an unusual sight for one who usually went without.
Though members of the long-lived species rarely require magical focus tools, they use them either when their innate abilities fail or in ceremonial settings. However, the staff tipped with an ominous, emerald-glowing gemstone was clearly no ceremonial piece. Could this indicate she intended for a serious practical demonstration?
“I shall now begin my presentation.”
Her clear, unwavering voice filled the room, but within the hearts of the professors stirred the excitement of uncovering flaws from their pre-read reviews.
It was well-known that such incomplete yet not outright poor papers could stir their sadistic instincts.
Each professor had ascended to their position through a process of critique and counter-critique.
As her presentation unfolded, one professor tilted their head in thought.
Someone murmured, “Hmm?” flipping through the submitted paper. Another checked their own notes.
Her explanation deviated subtly from the distributed paper.
Not due to lack of preparation or nervousness but rather through an artful patchwork of precise theory, addressing potential critiques in advance. Even more strikingly, new insights redefined previously under-discussed sections.
As her narrative unfolded, reshaping what seemed to be a straightforward paper into a wholly unexpected conclusion, murmurs rippled through the room.
Ordinarily, this complexity would be incomprehensible. A mage’s paper was intentionally written so that only true experts could grasp its essence.
However, this audience was an assembly of experts—elite among experts.
Additionally, what unfolded here was a unique oral presentation, subtly guiding the assembled professors toward revelation.
They understood. They couldn’t help but understand.
This wasn’t a paper on “Efficient Mana Transfer in Non-Geometric Space.”
Borrowing such a title, it was instead an audacious theoretical basis for a power once considered taboo and impossible within the Threefold Empire—negative temporal mana manipulation.
The foundational treatise of time regression magic.
Ignoring the growing commotion, the long-lived mage concluded without a trace of damage.
Her presentation cleverly left the theoretical grounding intact but hinted at high practical feasibility.
Without asking for questions, she delivered her closing statement, laden with subtle poison.
“Truly, I am humbled by your esteemed attention to this lecture. While I fear my juvenile discourse might sound as small and incomplete to your distinguished ears, I shall persist diligently to ensure I do not lose hold of what I have tentatively grasped.”
Her poised smile, seeming like a masterpiece of sculpture to the unaware, was to the perceptive a fearsome demon’s grin. Lord Raizenitz, who had initially smirked but later visibly paled, understood all too well.
“Moreover, I offer my deepest gratitude to my mentor, Professor Magdalene von Raizenitz, for her ‘comprehensive support and editing’ in my research, and to Professor Martin Werner von Ehrstreich for his ‘sturdy sponsorship.'”
She had done it—while hinting at mastery of a once-impossible skill, suggesting even the involvement of a future emperor.
Such technology, monopolized by a single faction, could unleash chaos in the Magic Academy beyond comprehension. The dormant “factional conflicts” seemed poised for resurgence.
Of course, with careful political maneuvering by faction leaders, peace could be preserved and even prestige and status enhanced.
Still, this explosive catalyst could easily morph into a lethal poison if handled incorrectly.
Regrettably, within the systematic bureaucracy of the Threefold Empire, once granted titles could not be revoked on a whim.
Thus, an extraordinary situation had been created—an individual wielding unprecedented power, able to maneuver under the titles of nobility and mage, protected by the emperor.
Nothing could change this. What had been set in motion would proceed as planned.
The empire’s structure demanded it continue even under duress, the mechanism propelling the emperor and faction leaders inexorably toward either ruin or glory.
Toward her mentor, who seemed ashen, Agrippina du Staal, now Lady Agrippina von Ubiorum, Count and Court Mage, smiled alluringly.
“I won’t let you fall into the abyss alone,” was her unspoken message.
Erich interpreted the situation in his favor, and the rogue element declared their readiness to fight back with equal fervor.
After a long break, it’s me again. Though the busy season has passed, the situation remains complicated due to the pandemic.
As of April 25th, I had the honor of seeing my work officially published. Despite being so busy that I haven’t yet seen it displayed in bookstores…
The illustrations are splendid, and there are exclusive developments only in the book edition, so I hope you’ll take a look. At just under 800 yen including tax, consider it buying me a bowl of ramen. In TRPG circles, it’s customary to treat someone to a meal in exchange for writing scenarios. Although, frequently, one might end up requesting a script in an unfamiliar system only to get a favorite system’s content shoved at them instead.
