The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 42

For better or worse, Rien was bedridden for a full two days before recovering as if he’d never been sick at all.

Now that he was well again, Cecilia planted her hands on her hips and interrogated him.

[So what exactly were you doing that made you use magic until you collapsed?]

[Well, I was helping a subordinate with their research when an accident occurred, and… it took quite a lot of mana to contain it.]

He fidgeted with his fingertips as he stammered out his answer.

[Then what about the wounds all over your body?]

[Pardon? Those… Ah! The accident involved a small explosion. I must have been caught up in the debris and gotten injured.]

It was a ridiculous excuse.

The marks were gone now without a trace, but the wounds she’d seen with her own eyes at the time hadn’t been random scratches from unidentified objects. They’d been closer to cuts from a bladed weapon.

She remembered the difference precisely, yet chose not to press the point.

This was hardly his first lie, and digging deeper wasn’t going to make him cough up the truth.

She doesn’t ask further about his activities. And he doesn’t bring up the change in her demeanor, or the confession from that day.

Within that delicate avoidance and silence, the two carried on as though nothing had changed, as though nothing had happened.

On the surface, at least.

Early afternoon, when light so warm it was blinding flooded the room.

Cecilia spread a collection of invitations across the rectangular wooden table in front of the sofa.

Then, pointing to a black envelope, she addressed Rien, who sat alone on the opposite sofa.

“So you’re saying I don’t need to bother replying to the Princess’s invitation?”

“Correct. She’s someone with an insatiable curiosity. She likely didn’t send the invitation with any particular purpose. Besides, just as the Pope is not subject to the Emperor’s rule, there’s no reason for the Saintess chosen by the Pope to bow to the Emperor’s heir.”

He answered while sweating profusely, buried in a thick blanket.

Even after the physician’s assessment that he was nearly fully recovered, she hadn’t been entirely reassured, so she’d tucked him in herself.

For that reason alone, Rien couldn’t bring himself to utter a single complaint and was melting where he sat.

‘…What a fool.’

Cecilia sighed inwardly and moved to pull the blanket off him.

Knock-knock! Knock-knock!

A rather urgent rapping interrupted her.

“Come in.”

The figure that appeared through the door was Melanie, who had gone out early that morning. Uncharacteristically flushed, she cried out.

“We have a problem, my lady!”

“What? Did something serious happen?”

“Yes! I spent the entire morning going to every reputable boutique in the capital, and not a single designer will take our commission!”

Cecilia had been bracing for something dire — someone dead, an assassination threat delivered — and it was just a dress issue.

Deflated, she answered casually.

“Oh, is that all? I’ll just wear something I brought.”

“The imperial palace is supposed to be incredibly glamorous — a plain dress like that won’t do!”

‘…Is that so?’

Fair point. Perhaps because of the title ‘Saintess,’ the dresses Cecilia owned had virtually no gemstones and were quite modest in color and embellishment.

“And that’s not all! The designs are completely different from what’s fashionable in the capital, and the fabric itself is thinner than what they use here, so it might be cold once the sun goes down.”

Melanie explained the necessity of purchasing new clothes with a dead-serious expression.

“The banquet is just around the corner… I expected dirty looks from the capital crowd, but I never thought they’d shut us out this openly!”

“Hmm, maybe everyone’s just busy since it’s the season?”

“No! The moment I offered to pay more, they’d look tempted — but the second they heard the Saintess’s name, suddenly they were fully booked, or they lacked confidence, or some other pathetic excuse!”

‘Oh.’

She let out a dry, unadmiring sound of admiration at the negative influence of ‘Weberdin’ that permeated the capital.

‘I thought I only had to worry about the capital’s nobility.’

She hadn’t anticipated having to account for the commoners who watched those nobles for cues.

“This would never happen in Weberdin! How dare they treat the Saintess this way!”

Melanie fumed as if she herself were the aggrieved party.

‘I’m not even officially the Saintess yet.’

Rather than point out that truth, Cecilia offered an awkward smile.

Honestly, she didn’t care what she wore as long as she could alter something off the rack, or throw on anything wearable even if it wasn’t from a famous designer.

‘The Holy Temple did lend me ceremonial robes. Should I just wear those?’

She considered it briefly, but she was already going to stand out — being the lone person in ceremonial robes amid a sea of dresses would only be handing her critics ammunition.

Just as the two women’s worries deepened.

Rien, still buried in the blanket and listening in silence, quietly raised his hand.

“Um, I believe I can help with that.”

In front of the building Rien led them to.

Cecilia and Melanie stood frozen, lost for words.

The atelier boasted a scale as wide as three ordinary shops combined and an exterior so luxurious it was intimidating to simply walk in.

“My lady, a-are we really allowed in here? It’s not, like, exclusive to royalty, or they charge an entrance fee or something?”

“The Princess does frequent this shop, but it isn’t exclusive to royalty.”

No entrance fee, either.

Rien shrugged as if it were nothing.

An atelier favored by the Princess. The imperial family undoubtedly had their own dedicated tailors, but this was clearly a place ordinary people couldn’t set foot in.

Melanie seemed suspicious of how a mere creepy etiquette tutor could possibly know about a place like this.

But her suspicion melted away the moment a shop attendant came out to greet them.

“We received word and have been expecting you! We’ve prepared light tea and refreshments, so please don’t stand out here — come inside!”

“Goodness! My lady, let’s go in!”

“Mm-hm.”

Following the excitement-over-suspicion-and-surprise Melanie inside, an even more extraordinary world unfolded.

The garments displayed by the windows were already lavish with embroidery and lace, but the dress hanging at the center of the shop was — without exaggeration — dripping with hundreds of gemstones.

‘Even if Rien wore that, all you’d see is the dress, not him.’

And then there was the price, which she couldn’t even begin to estimate.

But the attendant apparently interpreted her shock as admiration or pleasant surprise, and launched into unsolicited boasting.

“You have a wonderful eye! That dress was crafted using gemstones personally provided by the Princess for the upcoming banquet. Stunning, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes…”

“Hoho, I promise we’ll make the Saintess’s dress every bit as beautiful and magnificent!”

Cecilia had been nodding half-heartedly when her brow suddenly furrowed.

‘Wait — this shop takes commissions from the Imperial House. And they’re willing to make a dress for the Saintess, who stands on the opposite side?’

Wouldn’t they need to be even more cautious than the other shops, not less, to avoid offending the Imperial House?

Yet whether the title of Magic Tower Master carried more weight than she’d imagined, or Rien had said something terrifying in advance, the attendant was nothing but sweet despite knowing exactly who her client was.

“Judging from news photographs, white seems to suit you beautifully, Saintess. Shall we settle on a general design before we take measurements?”

The attendant guided them to a prepared table and set down a hefty catalogue.

Soon, a spirited discussion erupted about fabrics and neckline designs. Between the attendant and Melanie, of course.

Cecilia, who’d been sick of clothes ever since the Relief Festival, was sipping her tea in boredom like a boyfriend dragged along on a shopping trip.

Ding.

A cheerful bell rang, and before another attendant could react, the door swung open.

A woman in a striking red dress, a wide-brimmed black bucket hat pulled low, strode in with several ladies-in-waiting and knights in tow.

“Oh my, I heard there was a last-minute reservation.”

Beneath the hat, red-painted lips curved smoothly.

“If you were going to accept ‘this sort’ of client, you should have given me a heads-up.”

Cecilia looked up calmly at the woman who had appeared before her.

The woman’s red hair was striking; she looked about Cecilia’s age and possessed features as vivid as the dress she wore.

But Cecilia, well-trained in beauty through Rien, rose to her feet without a flicker of reaction.

‘A place this private wouldn’t make the mistake of booking two clients in the same slot.’

A status high enough to gain entry even with the ‘Saintess’ already present as a client.

Completely unbothered by Cecilia’s unmistakable appearance — one that loudly proclaimed Saintess — and a manner of speaking that suggested she’d come precisely because she knew.

And finally, the fact that the imperial family was known for their red hair.

‘This must be the Princess.’

Having completed her simple deduction, Cecilia sighed inwardly.

First the archbishop, and now this. Why did they always show up when she was getting fitted? And without even trying to hide their identity, while supposedly being incognito.

‘Should I just pretend I don’t know?’

It was a decision weighted more toward can’t-be-bothered than consideration.

Unfortunately, her counterpart’s skill at getting under one’s skin was better than expected.

“Hmm, I didn’t realize this was the sort of shop that lets southern country bumpkins waltz in and out. How disappointing.”

“I know what you mean. If I’d known this place catered to clients without a shred of manners, I’d never have set foot inside.”