The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 5

Never mind the real Cecilia’s mannerisms or anything else — she let fly the sort of language she’d always lobbed at her bratty younger sibling without a second thought.

Apparently the coarse language didn’t even faze him. Only then did Nox release her hair and step back.

“Ta-da! All better now. See? Nobody takes care of you like your big brother, right?”

Spouting drivel like that.

Judging by his complete lack of surprise, the original Cecilia must have acted pretty much the way I do now.

Siblings were siblings, it seemed.

Romance-novel older brother, my ass.

Siblings being tender with each other? Nothing could be creepier.

“If you’re going to keep running your mouth, get out of the way.”

Flipping her attitude like a switch, Cecilia swept past him and into the dining room.

At the head of the unnecessarily long table sat Patrick, head of House Weberdin, his blond hair a perfect match for the siblings’.

The moment Cecilia took the empty seat to his right, the marquis spoke as though he’d been waiting.

“You and your brother exchanged quite the lengthy greeting.”

Apparently he’d heard every bit of the nonsense she and Nox had traded.

“I’m sorry. He — I mean, Brother wouldn’t let go of my hair.”

“…Your hair?”

The marquis cleared his throat quietly and asked after her well-being.

“Ahem! In any case, I hear you’ve been taking frequent walks lately. Are you feeling better? No unusual symptoms?”

The fever must have been truly dreadful; every time the marquis happened to cross paths with Cecilia in the vast estate, he checked on her health like this.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine.”

Cecilia’s body was perfectly fine, so it wasn’t a lie.

“How regret — ah, how fortunate that you’ve recovered with such vigor.”

Nox, having followed her in, settled into the seat on the left and added that with perfect nonchalance.

“Nox.”

The marquis shot a look at his son, who merely shrugged, then turned back to Cecilia.

“I’m glad.”

Beneath the even tone lay a deep, heavy affection for his daughter.

Ah.

A gritty feeling scraped her mouth, as if she’d swallowed sand.

Because the person sitting before him wasn’t his beloved daughter — just a stranger from another world.

At first, all she’d felt was the raw terror of being found out.

Since she had no idea what the original Cecilia’s personality was like, she’d had no choice but to keep her distance and fumble her way through every interaction.

And yet no one had suspected a thing, which only made a strange discomfort grow inside her.

It might have been something close to guilt.

I’ll find a way out of your daughter’s body as fast as I can.

She swallowed an apology she could never speak aloud.

Head bowed, Cecilia took out her complicated feelings on the appetizer greens, mashing them to a merciless pulp, while the marquis continued his conversation with Nox.

“Is the capital the same as ever?”

“Yes. Still blood flying everywhere.”

“And the approval?”

Whatever this approval was, Nox furrowed his brow faintly for the first time.

“I submitted the request, but it was denied. His Majesty says that if we want the approval, the person in question must come to the imperial capital in person.”

“Ha. His Majesty must be itching for a pointless power struggle. Just thinking about the Dillanché lot running amok already gives me a headache.”

His appetite apparently killed, Patrick set down his knife and fork and clicked his tongue in displeasure.

Dillanché? And approval… Could they mean approval related to the heir?

Cecilia, who had been quietly eavesdropping, froze mid-fork.

She still didn’t know much about this world, but from the various things she’d investigated while searching for a way back, the Imperial House and the Holy Temple were currently in opposition.

And so it naturally followed that House Weberdin, being a holy family, did not get along with the Imperial House.

Which means the Imperial House shouldn’t be able to interfere with Weberdin’s choice of heir, right?

Just then, the marquis, who had been pressing his temples as if nursing a headache, spoke.

“Cecilia.”

“Yes?”

Cecilia, lost in thought, snapped her head up.

Two pairs of eyes were already fixed on her.

“Less than a month remains until this year’s Relief Festival… You’ll need to attend under the Weberdin name.”

“Pardon?”

The Relief Festival was an annual event hosted by the Holy Temple: the Temple opened its storehouses to feed the hungry, and its clerics personally treated the sick — a kind of massive charitable undertaking.

Considered the second-largest event after the Founding Festival, the attendance of the saintess — who was essentially the face of the Temple — was mandatory.

She understood that she’d have to participate now that she’d recovered her health, but she couldn’t fathom why the topic had come up so suddenly.

Above all…

“Not as the saintess?”

Not as the saintess, but under the Weberdin name.

When she echoed the question in confusion, Nox let out a thin sigh.

“I just told you — I couldn’t get the approval.”

“The approval?”

“Cecilia, what it means is that for you to be formally approved as saintess, you must go to the imperial capital and present yourself before His Majesty.”

What?

Cecilia couldn’t believe her ears.

“For you to be formally approved as saintess” — didn’t that sound exactly as though she wasn’t one right now?

“S-so what you’re saying is… technically, I’m not the saintess?”

Stammering out the question in shock, the marquis nodded at once, as if she’d asked the most obvious thing in the world.

“It is irksome, but for the time being, that’s the situation.”

Clang!

The fork finally slipped from Cecilia’s hand.

What in the world are you saying, Lord Marquis?! I’m a fake saintess?!

“A fake…”

After the meal stumbled to an end, Cecilia trudged through the garden like someone who’d lost something irreplaceable.

Her walking companion Charles rubbed against her ankles in consolation, but none of it reached her.

It wasn’t that she had any attachment to the authority or status of the saintess, but…

Then what was the point of being cooped up all this time?!

More than anything, the sheer fact that Cecilia was a “fake saintess” was a considerable shock in itself.

Then maybe everyone should’ve stopped calling me saintess from the start!

She had first learned she was the saintess right after going through Plans B and C.

For reference, Plan B was refusing to leave her bed and going back to sleep over and over until she woke up from this absurdly long nightmare. Plan C was delivering a sharp blow to her own head.

After progressing from Plan B through Plan C, a cleric had naturally been summoned to her side.

[The saintess injured her head?]

[Yes, quite severely.]

[Hmm, the skin is torn, but the wound itself isn’t serious. As expected of one under divine protection — even after an accident like this…]

[She struck her own head with a rock.]

[Oh, merciful gods!]

All so they could treat both the outside and the inside of her head.

[If the saintess’s precious body were to scar, the divine would grieve deeply.]

A parade of clerics had come and gone, delivering a thorough round of scolding.

So of course I assumed I was the real saintess.

If the novel-transmigration theory was correct, her certainty that the genre was romance-fantasy had been grounded precisely in this title.

And yet here I am — a fake all along.

When she pressed Melanie for answers, the maid explained that if no individual of outstanding divine power appeared, the title of “saintess” was bestowed upon the eldest daughter of House Weberdin, the holy family that had supported the Temple for generations.

After that, formal appointment as saintess required the Emperor’s approval.

[No one surpassing House Weberdin’s divine power has appeared for three generations, so this time too, Lady Cecilia is certain to become the saintess!]

Melanie had declared it with confidence, but Cecilia was skeptical.

In novels with setups like this, a real saintess always showed up later!

“Then is the real saintess the protagonist?”

Cecilia, deep in thought, realized something and let out a short, sardonic laugh.

“Ha. So I am the protagonist after all.”

Weren’t villainess-transmigration stories all the rage these days?

This might be one of those stories where the transmigrated fake saintess scrambles for her own survival before the real saintess appears, eventually becoming the true protagonist.

In any case, if this really is a novel transmigration, maybe I can go back once I see the ending.

The confusion passed quickly. Cecilia soon formed a new hypothesis — Plan E.

Plan D had always been about enjoying herself until she found a way back.

In other words, the more plans for getting home she had, the better.

But Plan E — seeing the story through to its conclusion — came with a massive wall of its own.

The problem is my completely empty head.

If only Cecilia’s memories had been patched in the way the language had been.

Going to the capital was absolutely essential to advance the story, but the problem was that she was a complete novice in etiquette and dance.

A prince who perfectly leads a clumsy heroine through the steps was the stuff of fairy tales. In reality, she’d shuffle along awkwardly and inevitably be looked down on by her partner and every noble watching.

The most useless knowledge I’ll ever acquire since the folk dance I learned for a kindergarten talent show, but there’s no other choice.

She’d have to ask the marquis to find her a tutor.

“Having to study even in this world…”

And noble greetings and ballroom dancing, of all things — knowledge that would be utterly worthless once she returned to reality.

She was in the middle of this pointless, meaningless lament when—

“Mrow!”

Charles, trotting a step ahead, let out a small cry to get her attention.

“Charles?”

Then, as if to make a point, he turned his body toward a familiar direction.

Cecilia guessed where those little paw prints were heading and belatedly reached out.

“Charles! We are not going over there today!”

The giddy mood of picnics and whatnot had evaporated long ago.

More than anything, having just been hit with the reality she’d have to fight through, she was in no mood for shenanigans.

But Charles, flaunting his needlessly impressive intelligence, swished his tail and vanished.

Right toward the gap in the wall.