The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 7

In the end, Rien was hired as Cecilia’s etiquette tutor.

And then came the long-awaited first lesson.

Cecilia sat at her desk in proper posture, every bit the dutiful student, and raised her hand toward Rien as he stood holding the textbook.

“Teacher, I have a question before we start.”

“T-Teacher…? Rien is fine.”

“All right, Rien. Do you happen to have a sun allergy?”

She asked while coolly eyeing the robe he’d crammed on over what appeared to be a perfectly neat outfit.

During the interview, Cecilia had gone so far as to entertain the possibility that he was a clone, but she’d been forced to accept that the person in front of her was indeed Rien.

Because the man who had conducted the interview so flawlessly had stepped outside and proceeded to rummage through his palm-sized briefcase, fish out a robe, and throw it on.

No — this isn’t even a stereotypical engineering-student flannel shirt. Why can’t you let go of the robe?

She recalled classmates from her university days who’d clung to their flannels and hoodies no matter how anyone tried to coax them out of it, and shuddered.

Apparently oblivious to the fact that she wanted nothing more than to rip that sackcloth off him right then and there, he answered with perfectly sunny innocence.

“No.”

“Then is it some kind of condition where you’ll die if you take the robe off?”

“That’s not it either.”

“Then could you at least take it off indoors? It looks so stifling.”

She’d thought she was being as tactful as possible, phrasing it gently so he wouldn’t get spooked.

But Rien clutched the hem of his robe tight and answered haltingly.

“D-Do I really have to take the robe off? It’s embarrassing to show my face…”

She could not comprehend — not one nanogram’s worth — what was embarrassing about a face worth showing off to the entire neighborhood, but she could hardly strip the man’s clothes off by force.

Swallowing that impulse, Cecilia softened her tone a little more.

“Then at least push the hood back during lessons. A teacher hiding his face that much makes his student anxious, you know.”

The request was purely for the benefit of her own eyeballs, but Rien seemed to take the nonsense rather seriously.

“I had no idea… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cecilia did not correct his misunderstanding.

Because, startled as he was, he did end up pushing the hood back just a little.

Beneath long lashes, jewel-like violet eyes were revealed. The faint blush rising over his cheeks, as though he were genuinely embarrassed, suited them so perfectly.

My eyes have been blessed.

Wasn’t this exactly the kind of benefit a student deserved?

There was no way to know whether he’d worn the robe around the Academy too, but if he hadn’t, she could guarantee that attendance and satisfaction ratings for his lectures had been a solid 100 percent.

At last content, Cecilia openly admired — no, observed him.

Rien couldn’t properly meet the gaze trained squarely on him, flustering about, until finally he gripped the textbook tight.

“Th-Then let’s begin the lesson.”

“Oh, come on — it’s the first day and you’re jumping straight into the lesson?”

Textbook already open in front of her, Cecilia shot one hand into the air and asked impishly.

“Oh, then what would you like to do on the first day…?”

“Tell me about your first love!”

Wasn’t this exactly the kind of question you asked a good-looking student teacher on the first day?

She’d been planning to suss out Rien’s ideal type while she was at it.

His eyes went wide, then began to waver violently.

“I…”

A gaze cast sorrowfully downward. Lips pressed firmly shut. Reddened corners of his eyes.

As the bitterness spread like ink, Cecilia groaned inwardly.

I was expecting something like a puppy crush or unrequited love from his Academy days.

It seemed there was someone whose mere memory made him sad — someone painfully dear to him.

Ah, a male lead with a serious past love is divisive.

She was on the “not a fan” side. But she decided she could look past a prospective lover’s old flame.

She wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life with him here, and if that was the case, she herself might end up being his old flame someday.

Having stepped on an unexpected landmine, Cecilia scrambled to change the subject.

“Actually, now that I think about it, we should get right to the lesson! Shall I open the book?”

“…Yes.”

Rien sluggishly pulled his hood back down and finally began the lesson.

“Um, before that, there’s something I’d like to ask. Is the reason you need to go to the capital to receive the Emperor’s approval of your saintess candidacy?”

“That’s right.”

Though she wasn’t officially one yet, it was common knowledge — even the street urchins knew — that House Weberdin’s eldest daughter was a saintess in all but name.

So it wasn’t particularly strange that he’d deduced the purpose of her trip to the capital.

“About that — could you teach me the basics before we get into etiquette?”

“The basics…?”

“Mm, things like the relationship between the Holy Temple and the Imperial House. I know about it, but I’d like to hear it from a neutral perspective.”

The truth is I’m asking because I don’t really know.

She was aware that the Holy Temple and the Imperial House didn’t get along, but beyond that she was ignorant — even about this whole “approval” issue.

Someone born as Cecilia Weberdin and raised as such would have known all of this, of course, but her excuse seemed plausible enough to Rien.

He began his explanation in a calm, measured tone.

“Then let me start with the history of the Empire. You’re probably aware that in the past, the Empire was a theocratic society where religious and political authority were one. To be precise, a divine proxy governed the Empire.”

According to the founding myth, a god had personally established and ruled the nation — something she’d learned while researching this world.

And the family that served that god throughout all those ages is none other than Weberdin. Melanie was so proud when she told me that.

“Over time, divine authority and imperial authority naturally separated, but because of that history, they remain locked in confrontation to this day.”

Cecilia nodded readily.

With the Holy Temple’s deep-rooted tradition giving it power rivaling the Imperial House, bad blood was inevitable.

“The two factions needed means to keep each other in check. One such mechanism is the ‘blessing’ and ‘approval’ of successors.”

And so, when appointing a saintess the Emperor’s approval was required, and when determining a Crown Prince the Pope’s blessing was needed — Rien added by way of explanation.

This must have been why Nox had deliberately traveled all the way to the capital.

I don’t know why the Emperor insists on summoning the saintess to the capital in person, but…

One thing was certain: her journey to the capital would be far from smooth.

After all, the capital would be thick with the Imperial House’s forces.

House Weberdin, the backbone of the Holy Temple — and a saintess candidate on top of that. I’d be a thorn in their side.

Just imagining all the people who’d be watching her with sharp, hostile eyes — checking her, looking down on her — was enough to drain every ounce of energy from her body.

I don’t want to. I really don’t.

With absolutely zero motivation, Cecilia let her shoulders slump.

It was the hundred-and-forty-fifth time she’d had this thought, but she so desperately, so damnably wanted to go home.

After the first lesson ended.

Rien returned to his manor and crossed an empty corridor.

Trudge, trudge.

Inside the quiet manor where there was not a single servant, not even a trace of human presence.

Only the sound of his footsteps echoed hollowly.

He stopped at a small room at the end of the corridor.

Rien sank heavily into a worn sofa — the only piece of furniture that showed any sign of being lived in.

Then he stared silently at the fireplace, where embers burned despite it being the wrong season.

“I — I told you not to follow me.”

“…”

The moment Rien finished speaking, the flames surged upward and someone emerged from within them.

A young man with long sunset-colored hair swept neatly back and tied.

“My apologies. You weren’t answering any communications, so I thought you’d thrown out the communication orb.”

The man gave a respectful bow, then glanced at the orb sitting perfectly intact on the desk.

“…I forgot.”

When Rien mumbled his answer, the man’s impassive face cracked.

“How long do you intend to keep up that concept… I mean, that appearance? If I may ask.”

“I-Is it strange?”

“Yes. A little — no, profoundly repulsive.”

The man, Hiltein, let his disgust show without the slightest restraint.

If Rien truly dropped the act and reverted to his real self, Hiltein’s insolence would certainly cost him a body part.

But his superior’s performance was revolting enough to be worth that risk.

Unfortunately, his superior seemed to have no intention of abandoning his laughably unconvincing act.

“N-No, I can’t.”

“…Pardon?”

“I have no choice if I want to stay close to that person.”

Son of a —

Hiltein barely swallowed the coarse profanity.

Did his superior have any idea that the murmured addendum was even more revolting than the act itself?

What kind of pathetic innocent-boy impression is he trying to pull off?

A lion would do a better job imitating a herbivore.

Hiltein recalled the moment he first met his superior.

[Get lost.]

The man had lined up the Empire’s most distinguished senior mages like a folding screen and sat there reading for a good long while, and that was all he had to say.

The faces of the senior mages who had come to pay their respects to the new Magic Tower Master turned a blazing red.

[Even for a Magic Tower Master, this kind of attitude—!]

[I dislike inefficiency.]

The only emotion on that terrifyingly exquisite face was sheer boredom. And yet, the moment his gaze landed on them, every one of them had no choice but to fall silent.

A chilling killing intent, as if their throats might be slit at any moment.

These senior mages had always been the powerful ones — yet before him, they were nothing more than prey.

[For example, making me say something twice.]

Watching the man elegantly rephrase Don’t make me repeat myself — now get lost, Hiltein had known instinctively.

Surviving under this superior was going to be truly, excruciatingly grueling.