Life As a Receptionist, Year Two: Part One

“As an Associate Sorcerer, I think these three jobs might be best suited for you.”

I put three light brown sheets of paper down in front of the man sitting across from me at my desk.

“For this one, you’ll be reading books to a family of five children before bed. It seems as though the clients, their parents, have something to do at that time that requires them to leave the house, so it’ll be kind of like babysitting. If no sorcerer accepts the job within three days, it’ll be canceled, so perhaps—”

“That job has nothing to do with magic! Shouldn’t they be asking a professional caregiver to do something like that?!”

“Mr. Makdei, please. We first need to get you used to the idea of ‘working’ a ‘job’ since you’re a new sorcerer. After the children fall asleep, they also want you to walk their carnivorous pet banpi. They said it tends to get wild and tries to escape by flying off into the sky, so they suggested a Wind mage would be suited for the job. And, pardon me for saying this, but as far as I can tell, you’re a very kind, gentle man, and so you’re suited for a job like this one, more so than other, more bloodthirsty sorcerers. I know I can trust you to do the right thing with this job—or so I’d thought... If that’s not the case, then we can move on to this job—”

“No, I, uh, it’s not—”

The sorcerer, who had been downcast as I spoke, lifts his eyes to meet mine.

“Take care!” I say, smiling at the sorcerer as he makes his way out the door.

The Season of Flowers is past. It was over all so quickly, and just when I thought the Season of Distant Skies had begun, that too is speeding right on by.

During the Season of Distant Skies I’ve turned nineteen years old, but I haven’t felt as though I can point to a specific thing that I’ve done or a way in which I’ve grown over the past year. I’ve never been one to look myself in the mirror and say things like, “You’ve grown up, haven’t you!” The reason for that was, I suppose, the fact that I simply wasn’t very good at evaluating myself in any way, really. “Self-reflecting” is a lot harder than it sounds.

From what I’ve heard, Director Locktiss will be giving us a bonus at the start of the Season of Light, following her formal evaluation of our performance at work. I’ve no idea what that evaluation might entail, or how much extra money I might get, but I am still managing to find the whole thing rather exciting.

Please, let me be average, if not above average. Nothing less than average. If I were a sorcerer, I’d be somewhere between an Expert and a Master, right? The sorcerers at Harré have their ranks: “Associate” for beginner sorcerers without much experience, “Expert” for those who do a good job and have completed a certain number of demon exorcisms. Beyond them, of course, are the “Masters,” who had completed at least two hundred standard jobs and an additional two hundred exorcisms, who could take on any job no matter how dangerous. All sorcerers dreamed of having the title of “Master” here at Harré.

“That request—they didn’t ask for a woman to do it, did they?” said Ms. Harris.

“No, actually. All five of the children are girls, and they simply won’t listen to anyone outside the family who isn’t a handsome young man, or so they said. Setting the ‘handsome’ part aside, they’d told me any young man would do just fine. The five girls came right in here and told me themselves just the other day, in fact.”

“What demanding little brats!”

Ms. Harris, sitting next to me, had overheard the whole conversation I’d had with the sorcerer. She has one hand over her mouth as she looks over the request form.

“Considering it’s his first job as a sorcerer, I thought it would be good to recommend something simple, so he can learn the whole process of taking on and completing a job here at Harré—that’s good, right? Babysitting may be simple, I suppose, but I wouldn’t call it ‘easy,’ so hopefully it gives him a bit of a challenge—the other two requests were just cleaning, after all. Anyway, according to what he wrote on his Sorcerer’s Profile, he has little brothers and sisters, and is well-liked in his neighborhood. He has that nice, older brother feel to him, don’t you think?”

“Oh goodness, Nanalie, certainly, but with a face like that he’s perfect for the job, I would say.”

“Do you like that type of guy, Ms. Harris? Fresh-faced and all?”

“Well, I’ll just say that I’d let him invade my personal space, if you catch my drift.”

It’s been a whole year since I started working at the Guild, and this is the beginning of my second.

After all my experience with doing reception for clients, I’ve successfully moved on to doing reception for sorcerers, which I’ve been doing for about half a year now. In that time, I’ve learned that you can’t do everything this job requires by simply being kind, considerate, or persistent.

In addition to kindness, consideration, and persistence, you also need to be severe, stubborn, and immovably strict, in some instances.

“I’m telling you that this is too dangerous for you. You think we classed this as a ‘Master’-rank job as a joke?”

“Whoa there, you’re just a dumb receptionist! The hell are you doing, taking that sort of tone with me?”

“I’ll have you know that inside Harré, we are all equals. You ever hear of something called ‘supply and demand’? Oh no, you haven’t? Goodness me, it’s a wonder you ever became a sorcerer with a mind like that. Congrats.”

“You better watch how far you keep running your mouth with me, lady. You’re just some freaking receptionist.”

Two reception desks away, I can hear Zozo and a sorcerer getting into a heated argument.

There are a lot of sorcerers who get dissatisfied with the types of jobs we offer to them. Masters, of course, don’t cause such a scene, but newly-minted Experts, as well as Experts who are champing at the bit to become Masters, well—both of those types of sorcerers, novices and plateaued intermediates alike, tend to take this sort of attitude with us receptionists at one point or another in their careers.

“Who the hell do you think I am?” is usually the line they use when they get like this, but every time they say that, it just makes me want to say, “Hey, buddy, who the hell do you think I am?” There’s certainly been a couple of times when I’ve caught myself about to launch into it, saying “hey”— but I just swallow my words. I don’t intend to ever say anything like that, but it does worry me how many times I’ve gotten close to that point.

Zozo, however, is on an entirely different level than the rest of us. She’s just “that type of person,” it seems. The Director and the other receptionists don’t criticize her for it at all. They seem positively glowing with looks of admiration as they watch this latest argument, as if to say, “Thank you! Finally, someone’s calling that idiot out on his bullshit!”

“—Hmph. I may have spoken harshly, but I was not trying to insult you, you know. Clients have approved of your work, and we receptionists are aware of how well you’re doing. You’re definitely on your way to becoming a Master, and I’m just trying to help you do that.”

“Wh-What’s this, all of a sudden? Are you complimenting me?” The man is confused.

“I’m just saying, you have what it takes to become a Master. Still, it’s dangerous to try to speed your way through the promotion process. You’ve come so far—you really want to get all panicked about your rank now? Surely you don’t, right?”

Here it is, Zozo’s secret, one-hit K.O. technique: the “bait and switch.”

The Expert sorcerer, who’d just been completely beside himself in a frenzy to get a Master-rank job, has now calmed down completely upon seeing the kind generosity in Zozo’s eyes.

“That thing she does—it’s something, alright.” Ms. Harris looks on with approval as she watches the whole situation unfold.

“I’d never be able to do something like that,” I say, shaking my head.

“Everyone’s got their own style, so don’t feel like you have to. Getting that type of sorcerer back on track, in that way, must be pretty tough to pull off, anyway.”

This is one of those things that wasn’t written in the reference manuals I’d feverishly looked through so many times during my last year as a student in magic school: part of our job is to guide sorcerers through their careers, especially those novices who don’t know left from right when it comes to “working” a “job.” My senior colleagues have told me the most important thing to remember is to be steadfast, resolute, and reliable, so that all of the sorcerers trust us to take care of them.

Still, what Zozo’s doing over there certainly goes beyond all that. I need to get on her level. I need to stop complaining about my sorcerers and work on negotiating calmly and firmly with them, so that we’re both satisfied with the jobs that get accepted and who takes them on. That’s my goal for now. Or rather, my goal for as long as I’m working this job.

“Hel, take care of this, would you?”

Someone passes me another request form with a job ready to be offered to the right sorcerer.

“Yes, sir!”

Another day, another pegalo. Let’s get to work!

＊　＊　＊　＊

In the Year 3667 by Arland’s Reckoning, on the Tenth Day of the First Month of the Season of Light.

This year, yet again, Harré only has one new employee.

“Things are not looking good for the Guild!”

“Alright now, Director, please calm down.”

Cheeks and nose all aflame with a red flush of frustration, the Director stabs the bibi roast with her knife. Her action shakes the table enough that a little water spills out from my wooden cup where I’m sitting at the table across from her.

“What in the world do they think is wrong with us?! We do a pretty good job at the Guild, don’t we? Obviously our work isn’t very flashy, and we ourselves don’t actually solve the problems our clients come to us with, and sorcerers do tend to whine and complain about this, that, and the other way that we’re not meeting their demands—but we pay better salaries than everywhere else! That has to count for something, right?!”

The surrounding employees try to comfort her.

“Director, you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Don’t get all worked up over the Order of Knights. They’re not worth it!”

Director Locktiss, who’s sipping on the rather strong manas liquor she’s holding in her left hand while stabbing the roast with her right, has tears in her eyes, and her cheeks and nose are beet-red. I check to make sure I have a dose of the hangover medicine I get from Mr. Petros stashed in my shirt pocket, so that I can whip it out whenever it’s needed.

“Berryweather! Put on some clothes!”

“Nnnnnooooo—! It’s so hooooooot—!”

Ms. Bell had started undressing the instant she’d begun drinking alcohol, complaining of “the heat.” Zozo panics as she sees her state of undress and keeps her from removing more layers.

Today we’re having a welcome party for our new employee, but the person who’s supposed to be doing the welcoming (our lovely Director Locktiss) is drowning her sorrows in liquor. And that’s despite the fact she’d been all cheerful and positive at the beginning of the night, toasting the Guild’s new hire with “Thank you for joining us! Let’s get some good work done together!”

The conversation after that, however, had turned to the hire’s time at school, and she told us a lot of her classmates in her grade had gone on to join the Order of Knights. Hearing this had just driven the Director to despair.

Ms. Harris had whispered her concerns to me, the moment the topic of “school” had come up, that we really ought to change the subject before “something happened”—and, of course, something had happened: our Director had turned into a crying mess. We really should’ve talked about something else.

“Miss Hel, what is that you’ve got there?”

“This? Oh, it’s hangover medicine.”

“Do you always have that on you?”

“No, but when we go out drinking like tonight, I do try to keep some in my pocket.”

“That’s such great thinking!” She claps her hands together in admiration and her adorable flared hairstyle bounces up and down.

The sole new hire of this year is a young woman by the name of Cheena Kasar. She tends to heap praise on literally everyone all the time. I can’t stand flattery, so I really hope she stops over-complimenting me in front of everyone.

“Pleased to meet you! I look forward to working with you all!”

On her first day at Harré, Cheena’s job consisted of going around to greet all the other employees one by one. It would have been more convenient for her to greet everyone at the same time, but at the Guild we didn’t really have the time to gather all together like that during the day. She said that meeting people one by one made it easier to remember their names, anyway. I think I thought the same thing when I arrived here last year, didn’t I?

“Miss Hel!”

As someone who doesn’t particularly like surprises, I’d been quite taken aback when she gripped my outstretched hand with both of hers and shook it quite vigorously, breathing heavily with excitement all the while. I’d thought a lot about how I should greet her, if I should give her some cookies or something as a welcome gift, even, but had not imagined that sort of introduction. Then there was her insistent use of the word “Miss” every time she said my name. I didn’t care for it, to be honest.

“Miss Hel! At first I wanted to become a sorcerer or a knight, but when I heard you got a job here at Harré, I simply had to apply here as well!”

“O-Oh...? Is that so?”

Backbone straight as a ruler, she always has such excellent posture. Forthright and direct, that’s Cheena. Not that I’d ever spoken to her at school. The only time I’d ever interacted with students from the lower grades had been during our magic-type breakout lessons, and as an Ice-type, that had only been about five other students.

“You were my role model! You always got along so well with all the other noble students in your grade. You always seemed like the life of the party! You were my shining star, a fellow commoner, smart as a whip, cute and pretty and really really—”

I covered her cute little mouth with my hand before she could sing more saccharine praises of my character.

“A-Alright, okay?! I got it! Actually, everything you just said was wrong, so I don’t ‘get it,’ but I’ve had enough already, so just—”

Before I thought to be embarrassed, I’d racked my memories to try and remember if any of those things she said had ever been true. Yes, the noble kids had eventually stopped being so mean to me, and while I’m not sure I ever got along “so well” with them, I did have better relationships with them than most other commoners in my grade. That said, I certainly don’t recall ever being the “life of the party.”

The other noble students had crowded around Rockmann and me during our quarrels, so I suppose I had been the life of their party, from a certain point of view. From Cheena’s perspective, it might have seemed quite lovely to be the center of attention, but I distinctly recall the cheers (jeers) my classmates had been shouting as we fought, things like: “Sir Alois! Please don’t lose to that blockhead Hel!”

I wasn’t sure whether she’d seen me as the “life of the party” because I was simply older than her and she didn’t understand the situation, or she’d been mistakenly informed by someone else, or what—but anyhow, I didn’t want to explain the whole embarrassing reality of my life back at school, so I simply said: “I’m not pretty, I’m not cute, I was only second in the class rankings, and while I wasn’t quite the ‘life of the party,’ I am happy that you think so.”

She’d interpreted my whole situation as something quite different from reality, but I couldn’t help but smile when she called me her “role model.” It made me at least as happy as I felt when I had just bought a new hairpin and was eagerly anticipating wearing it the next day.

...How many times do I have to tell her I don’t like it when she flatters me like this?

“Miss Hel, I have a question about something Miss Zozo taught me today, do you mind?”

“What is it? Let me take a look.”

“I was just a little worried that I hadn’t quite understood this one part of the form.”

“Oh, this part? This is where the client’s...”

She is, of course, a superbly gifted young woman, well suited to working at Harré, and passionate about her work.

“Everyone, think of a plan to increase the number of new hires next year before we go out drinking again!”

“Sure...”

“There are more and more demons and sorcerers we have to deal with every year, but we aren’t hiring enough new employees to deal with them all!”

And so it was that as the party was ending, while we were all at a party to welcome our new employee, we were given homework to figure out how to increase the number of new hires the following year.

＊　＊　＊　＊

“Hey! Crazy hair!”

The sky is clear as can be this morning. On the other side of my reception desk, his tiny hand outstretched, stands a little black-haired boy standing on his tippy-toes to get a look at me.

“Hello there. Here again today with your father?”

I glance to my left to see his father discussing some potential jobs with Ms. Harris.

“He made me bring him along!” the boy said. “Who cares about him! Hurry up and show me some jobs right now, just for me!”

“Hm, maybe next time! I’ll be here waiting,” I said.

“Y-Y-You just watch me, you weird witch! I’m gonna be the best sorcerer ever!”

“I’m sure!”

This boy often accompanies his father on his jobs. At first the boy had reminded me a lot of myself, but unlike me, this boy also goes with his father on demon exorcisms. Impressive, really. His father’s ranked Master, so I’m not too worried he’ll get injured, but I do wonder if he’ll come back unscathed every time I see them off.

From what I understand, he’s a student at the village schoolhouse, and in three more years they’re planning on him attending school on the Royal Isle.

“I bet you’re looking forward to that,” I’d said, to which he’d told me to “shut up!” so I’ve refrained from making any more small talk with him. Still, he brings me rocks he’s picked up while out in the field with his father, so I know he doesn’t hate me too much. Or so I tell myself. I like kids, but if someone were to ask me if I was “good with kids,” I’d have to say “no.” I don’t have any siblings, so I never got used to that whole dynamic growing up. Well, maybe that’s just the excuse I give myself, but I do really think little kids are cute.

“Later!”

The boy, Beck, runs out the door after his father.

He’s really just a stranger to me, but I’m looking forward to seeing him grow up. A good mage you shall become, young man.

One of the other receptionists had apparently overheard him flinging insults at me. “What’d you ever do to him?”

“Well, the boy, Beck, really just wants me to give him a job, so he can prove he’s a ‘real’ sorcerer to this girl he likes, or so his father told me. Cute, right?”

“Don’t you think that the ‘girl he likes’ might be—”

“Ms. Receptionist, whatcha got for me?”

The sorcerer who appears at my desk is one of my regulars. As I look down to find some jobs fit for him, I find myself biting back a yawn. My eyes tear up a bit from the effort. Jeez, am I sleepy today or what? Come on, Nanalie, no sleeping on the job.

I quickly blink away the tears and hurriedly straighten my posture so it’s not obvious I was just yawning. I zoom through the details of the jobs I’ve picked out for him, and after he’s stamped the ones he likes, I wave to him as he heads out, back into the field.

That was way too close. If someone saw me yawning on the job, I’d be finished as a receptionist. Goodbye, The End.

“Alright Nanalie, time to switch!”

“Thanks! I’m heading out on break, everyone!”

I quickly get up from my seat. The receptionist who’s taking over for me sees how fast I’m rushing away. “Do you need to use the ladies room?” she whispers, concerned.

With a smile, I say, “Nope! Just taking a break!” and then scamper off to the guild employees’ library.

As I’m moving past the desks, I pass by Zozo and give her a little nod of greeting.

“Ah!” she says, and I stop in surprise. “I saw you, I saw you,” she sings in a little gloat, “you just yawned, didn’t you?”

“Eeep!”

“You’ve gotten to be just like me,” she laughs, as if it’s the most amusing idea in the world. What kind of person finds it funny to catch other people yawning?

“Not getting enough sleep lately?”

“I’m going on a trip with my friends in a few days, and I’m so excited I can hardly sleep! I just keep imagining all the fun we’re going to have.”

“That’s a bit of an unexpected answer, I must say.”

Yes, I’m traveling out of the country with Nikeh and Benjamine in a few days. Our destination is a country along the shore, so I’m not just excited about traveling, I’m thrilled at the idea of seeing the sea for the first time in my life, for real, not just in a painting or in a book.

“It’s my first time going on ‘vacation’ anywhere, so I’m pretty excited, to be honest.”

It’ll be my first real “trip.” I never went on vacation with my family growing up, and for that matter I’ve never even left Doran. Nobles and other rich folk probably travel abroad all the time, but for a household like ours, which couldn’t at all be considered “wealthy,” traveling had been an unobtainable luxury.

“I thought for sure you’d been pulling all-nighters trying to draw magic circles, studying new types of magic, or locking yourself in the materials room on the weekend or something.”

“Well, yeah, I have been doing those things, but the closer we get to the day I leave for vacation, the more excited I get!”

“Ah, so young, so innocent! That’s our Nanalie.”

Zozo has told me how she’s been to lots of different countries with her friends. It seems as though every weekend she’s off to a different country, near or far. Experienced traveler that she is, I’ve gotten a lot of advice from her about things to be careful about while traveling. She’s also peppered me with details about places that were fun to visit, places that were dangerous, and places that, while dangerous, were still worth going to. Just hearing more of her thoughts about my destination makes me think I’m going to be pulling another all-nighter tonight, lying awake on my bed, dreaming of my upcoming adventure with my friends.

Zozo invites me out to dinner after we get done with work, but I’m determined to do some cooking myself this evening, so I head right back to the dorms. Were we different people, one of us might say something like, “Well in that case, let’s make some food and have dinner over at your place!” but we aren’t quite like that. She heads off with a smile, by herself, on over to the Vegetarian Wolf. I have absolutely no intention of trying to change her ways as a restaurant addict, as she shows no desire to change herself, anyway. I try to imagine what Zozo’s ordering for dinner as I make my own.

“Hmmm, what should I make for dinner? Maybe I should sauté some vegetables...and that’s it?”

I feel like ever since I started living on my own, I’ve been talking to myself more. Can’t let that become a habit. Be embarrassing if someone ever overheard.

“I’ll just whip up something easy from whatever I have on hand,” I say to myself, checking my cabinets. I get out and tie the apron I got from the dorm mother upon moving into the Harré employee dorms. I take good care of it, and it’s still almost as white as the day I got it.

My mother had gone to the trouble of drilling into me the basics of cooking, but quite honestly I hate doing it. Or rather, I’m bad at it. If only I could just use a couple of simple spells to conjure up good, fresh food.

Complain I may, but as I’ve spent more nights practicing the whole routine, I’ve gotten an intuitive feel for the right amount of heat, spice, and time for different types of dishes, and I’m now even confident enough to start experimenting with different flavors for familiar dishes and adding in unusual ingredients. I am getting better at this. Or so I feel. Still haven’t had anyone else try my cooking yet, now that I think about it.

“Alright, mix the greens, heat them up, add some spices—shoot, that was too much.”

No matter how bad you may be at something, it’s important to think of ways to make the activity fun, difficult as that may be to do.

“Lala, dinner’s ready!”

It’s a bit lonely to eat dinner all by oneself, so I’ve gotten in the habit of taking my evening meal with Lala.

Lala’s usually in the Familiar Dimension, playing with her familiar friends, or so she tells me. Humans can’t go there, so I’ve no idea what that “dimension” is actually like, but she seems to enjoy her time there, so it can’t be too bad. She even has her own house there, all made of ice. As someone used to living in a pack of other animals, she’d been surprised by how perfect the Familiar Dimension was for her.

“Wow! That looks cold!”

“Well of course! It’s just cubes of ice, after all!”

I’ve conjured up a bowl of ice cubes for Lala as her dinner this evening and put it on her plate.

Humans can’t go into the Familiar Dimension, and familiars can’t talk about their masters while they’re in there. Or so I understand. Furthermore, their memories of that place “disappear,” as it were, within one or two minutes of being summoned, for as long as they’re in this world. When they go back, they regain all their memories unique to that dimension, but it’s quite clear our two worlds are sharply divided. Once, I summoned Lala, and she’d been so happy to tell me all about the friends she’d been playing with, but in mere moments, her story had stopped making sense, losing any sort of details, until she stopped remembering anything at all. From then on, I’d stopped asking her much about what went on over there.

“Blessed are we to receive this food,” I pray. “You say it too, Lala.”

“Blessed are we,” she says, nodding her head.

This two-world system means that no matter whether a familiar’s master is a good mage or an evil mage, the familiars have their own lives to enjoy, separate from us humans. As long as it’s peaceful over there, I don’t mind her being away from me. Too much.

Lala says she prefers spending more of her time over here with me, so I summon her as often as I can. Inside my apartment it’s rather warm, but around her swirl chill breezes, brought about by her own special identity as a Blanc Lykos.

“Lady Nanalie?” she asks.

“What’s up?”

I’m humming to myself as I put some veggies on my fork, eager to see how I’ve done tonight. Lala’s gnawing on her ice ball next to me.

“What’s that box you’ve left open?”

“I thought I’d put some of my clothes and accessories I wore during the Season of Distant Skies in there. I was just in the middle of cleaning house, you know.”

“Are you going to stick that little box next to the window inside it too?”

Lala points with her nose towards the little green box that’s lying on the ledge underneath the largest window in the room.

“That can stay there. I want to leave it out so the coldest drafts in this whole room breeze right over it.”

I say nothing else about the little box, and we finish eating dinner in silence.

Once I finish eating, I pick up my plate and utensils off the table, wash them, then head to the bath, enjoying sinking down into the nice, hot water. I change into my tan pajamas and hop into bed.

Lala’s still in my room, summoned, and we sleep together until I have to go to work in the mornings. She doesn’t sleep in my bed, of course (I’d be cold, and she’d be hot), so she’s just lying down on the floor nearby.

I don’t immediately close my eyes upon lying down and merely stare up at the ceiling for a while.

A good bit of time has passed since that whole Orcinus incident. Now my life is exactly like it had been before the whole ordeal, and I don’t think about what happened too often. I don’t see Rockmann around anymore, and Nikeh and Prince Zenon, who’d been part of the whole thing, had apparently been transferred to the Soreiyu District right after he left, so I hadn’t met up with them, either. I do still write letters to Nikeh, Maris, and Benjamine, however, so it’s not like we never talk. Plus, we are going on vacation together soon, so we’ll have a chance to catch up then.

Still, I hadn’t heard so much as a whisper about that weird demon that had appeared in the ballroom that night, and I certainly wasn’t about to start asking questions about it either. At the end of every letter from Maris, however, she would sign off by writing:

“Three more days.” “Two more days, no, ten.” “One more month...?” “Ohoho! ‘Just two more months’! How naive of me to have thought that!” “I’ve grown a gray hair in the past three—no, four months—since he’s been gone!” “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!”

She seems quite upset over how long Rockmann has been out of the country.

I’m scared of what she’ll say or do if I express my sincere displeasure with her constant reminders of my old nemesis, so I just take her letters, read them, and respond with just a single line on otherwise white paper: “Patience is pretty.”

“Why’s she getting so worked up over that womanizer anyway?” I grumble to myself, rolling over onto my side. I stayed up all night last night, so let’s get to sleep early tonight. I erase his face from my mind and try to relax.

My windows don’t have curtains on them. I look out at the night sky, gradually feeling my eyelids begin to droop with weariness until, slowly but surely, I drift off, asleep at last.

＊　＊　＊　＊

For the first time in a long while, my father comes to visit me at Guild headquarters.

He usually goes to the west branch office, but sometimes he makes a point of coming here to watch me work. To be honest, it’s embarrassing, so I’ve made a point of ignoring him. It’s completely pointless, though, as he goes out of his way to draw attention to the whole situation by giving little souvenirs to the other receptionists, thanking them for “always taking such good care of his daughter.”

Dad, please, stop! He, of course, acts like he can’t see the embarrassment written across my face, and comes up to my reception desk to tell me about the recent fights he’s had with mom (or rather, what she’s scolded him about—my mother’s typically the one getting angry at my father).

Even if I do manage to refocus my attention back on my work while he’s around, I feel like I’m a little kid back at the village schoolhouse and my parents have come in to watch. It’s awful—but I still love my mom and dad.

“Nanalie, I need you to head out on a preliminary investigation with Harris,” says Mr. Alkes.

I summon Lala and head outside. This preliminary investigation involves a request from the Curator of the Museum of Culture. Supposedly there’s a painting inside the museum that, when women walk by it, they faint—only women. He wants us to help figure out what might be causing the problem.

The Curator himself seems to suspect that the painting is a type of demon. Since the Curator’s a man, nothing happens to him when he passes it—although he does report he’s unable to take it off the wall, and so he’s closed the museum for the time being.

“Still, a demon? In the form of a painting? What in the world do you think it is, Ms. Harris?”

“It could be cursed. It could also be a Dream Demon, or something like it... Oh look, we’re here.”

The large building housing the Museum of Culture looms over us. Its exterior frame came from an old structure built over one thousand years ago, but it’s been remodeled to have a modern interior. While it doesn’t look actually haunted, whenever I’m standing in front of a large building, I can’t help but feel that someone—or something—is looking down on me from the windows above. While I don’t mind looking down on others, being looked down upon is not something I find too pleasant. The only people that should be looking down on me are the members of the royal family, as well as my boss and senior receptionists. I suppose I don’t mind too much if my parents and friends also look down on me.

...Hold on, do I really mind being looked down upon by anyone at all, at that point...? As I’m thinking about such trivialities, an old man, bearded and hunched over, comes out of the museum, leaning on a staff. He beckons us forward.

“We’ve come from Harré. I hope we haven’t kept you waiting.”

“Well, well... I’m glad you’re here.”

After a brief introduction, we head inside. The first things I see are small scale models of Doran’s geographic regions. I visited the museum back when I was in school in my village, but these models hadn’t been here then. The museum’s interior had changed a lot as well—what used to be plain, rough floors made of splintery gray boards are now covered with beautiful red and gold carpets, and on the walls are lovely little magical lanterns that give the place a much more homey feel. I compare what I see with what I remember as I walk down the hall, my memories overlaying reality.

The Curator guides us to the painting that’s been the cause of so much trouble. Or perhaps I should say he guides us to the general area of the painting. Ms. Harris and I are standing quite far away from it, too far to see anything more than dim outlines of what’s inside the frame.

“So that’s the problem picture, if you will.”

Ms. Harris, who has fairly bad eyesight, fusses with her glasses, trying to get the image into focus. “I can’t see anything at all!” she grumbles.

She’s completely forgotten the Curator standing nearby.

“Don’t suppose you ladies feel like fainting now, do you?”

“There’d be hell to pay if we did,” she says, squinting over at the painting.

I (belatedly) realize that it might have been better to send a man on this preliminary investigation, considering the fact that only women are affected by the painting. I mention this to Ms. Harris, but she reminds me that we wouldn’t know what sort of magic is at work here if there were no women around to activate it. Furthermore, I was the only one capable of psychometry who’d been available, so no matter who else might have been preferable, the two of us were all the Director had had to work with.

Anyhow, back to the matter at hand...

“I’m going to try doing some psychometry,” I say. Before I begin, I cast a protective barrier around Ms. Harris and myself—not that I have any idea whether it’ll be effective—then approach the painting. Behind us down the hallway, the Curator moves not an inch closer. Figures. Well, I shouldn’t have any issues with this protective barrier, so here goes nothing... I stick my index fingers out at the painting and spin them ’round and ’round.

All while recalling what I had for breakfast this morning and dinner last night.

But there’s something else I can’t stop thinking about—

“I must confess, I don’t really ‘get’ art. Sure, it’s a pretty picture, but it’s also a bit of a mess as well.”

I’ve never been the artistic type. Trying to understand the picture in front of me in “that way” just makes my head spin.

Ms. Harris points at a portrait of an old man. “I mean, I don’t get it either—supposedly that is worth a pretty penny, but I haven’t the foggiest idea why.”

The problem painting portrayed a man alone, sitting in a small boat floating on a lake. As I’m performing the psychometry I don’t see anything about it changing, nor any sign that someone’s cursed the painting or otherwise changed it. Just as I’m about to release the psychometry, however, I notice something odd.

“M-Ms. Harris—”

“What’s the matter?”

“I think the man—sitting in the boat—I think he’s drowning a woman.”

“Hmmm, what? What did you say?”

It’s difficult to tell because I’m seeing it all happen in reverse: what I literally see is the man pulling a woman out of the water. If I were watching this in the normal direction of time, however, the man wouldn’t be pulling her out of the water—he’d be pushing her down into it. The original painting must have been of a man and a woman riding in the boat together.

Ms. Harris quickly polishes her glasses with the hem of her sleeve and takes another look. I reverse the flow of time once more to show her the part of the scene where the man “pulls” the woman out of the water. Ms. Harris instantly claps her hands over her mouth.

“Ugh, that’s crazy terrifying!” she says.

I drop my hands, ending the spell, and shake my head. “I won’t be sleeping tonight, that’s for sure.”

“Moving pictures” are not particularly unusual. There are spells that can cause that effect. But it’s clear that this is no mere picture—it contains some fairly grotesque imagery. The subject of the painting is committing a murder before the viewer’s eyes. Of course people would find that disturbing and disgusting. The picture moves so slowly that the viewer probably can’t even tell what’s happening, moment to moment... I’d think that the Curator, who’d seen the image in its original state, would have had a better idea of just how much it had changed...but given its severe effect on some of the people who pass by, I suppose I can understand why he wouldn’t want to take a close look at it.

I myself find it scary. There’s nothing pretty or interesting or mysterious about it—just “scary.”

Ms. Harris turns to me, gently twisting and pulling out the curls of her brown hair as she thinks aloud. “This is probably a curse...but maybe one someone cast unintentionally? It’s like the picture itself is haunted.”

I nod in agreement. “It certainly does seem like a phenomenon that might’ve been caused by a pestokraive.”

“You know, Lightning mages are good at dealing with this sort of thing—ghost exorcisms.”

She’s got a point. There are a lot of Lightning-types who work as spiritual mediums.

“Alright then—Curator! Please keep the museum closed.”

We write down our notes and turn to leave. Ms. Harris gives the Curator a short nod as we pass him by in the hallway. He’s still crouched down near the wall, for some reason. Without stopping to say goodbye, we make our way to the exit.

“Beg your pardon, Miss Harris, but do I gotta stay here alone with the ghost...?” he calls after us.

“Oh, I think it would be best if you returned home, all by yourself, sir.”

Ms. Harris sounded a bit frosty. But I suppose her attitude makes sense. She told me that the old man once hit on her while she was out on a job. He must be more...“vigorous” than he appears.

“Hey! Maybe the guy was a total tsundere!”

“Good grief. I knew you’d say that.”

We’re in the dorm’s bathhouse. While I’m soaking in the hot water, Zozo’s pressing Ms. Harris for details of the preliminary investigation we just went on.

I could’ve just used the bathtub back in my room, but when I’m really tired, soaking in the hot water of the big bathhouse pool is the best cure for weariness. I’ve finished washing my hair and my body and am leaning back against the edge of the pool with my hair in a ponytail.

Zozo’s going on about how the man portrayed in the cursed painting must be a tsundere—basically, how he must love the woman in the painting, but somehow hate her as well. How can you love someone, but also hate them? Now if they were, say, mortal foes, I might have a better understanding how—the image of a certain blond-haired guy flashes through my mind. I frown at the thought.

“Oh, that’s right!” Cheena joins the conversation. She’d come into the bathhouse while the rest of us were already here. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Miss Harris—do you have a lover?”

“As if I would ever have a lover!”

Ms. Harris is quick to dismiss the question. Zozo is attempting to hide her giggles at the forceful reply. For some reason, Ms. Harris has left her glasses atop her head while she’s in the bath. Their lenses are completely clouded over.

“What about you, Miss Hel?!” Ugh. And I thought I was safe, over here in the corner. I’m up to my shoulders in the hot water, a bit removed from the others—but that hasn’t prevented Cheena from asking about potential lovers.

“I don’t have anyone like that in my life.”

“R-Really?! Miss Hel, I must admit I’m quite surprised!”

“Well that just makes me wonder why you thought I had a lover in the first place! What about you, Cheena? Do you have a special someone?”

“No, I do not.” She sinks low into the water and blows a few bubbles before continuing on. “I just thought that since that silver-haired guy is always with you, Miss Hel, that he might perhaps be your lover.”

She sounds sincerely confused. The little bob of hair she’s tied at the top of her head makes her look that much cuter as she holds her chin barely out of the water.

The only “silver-haired” guy I know is Satanás. We had certainly stuck together a lot back in school—every time we had to change classrooms, like for a tutorial in weather magic or something, we walked the hallways together, out of an unconscious sort of class solidarity as the only two commoners. No wonder she thought we were a couple.

“We’re not like that at all,” I say.

“Oh, is that right...?” Cheena, bored with my reply, begins blowing bubbles again.

She must have wanted to gossip about boys, or something. I don’t have any of those kinds of experiences to discuss, really. Sorry, Cheena.

Zozo muses some more about the painting. “But let’s think about it—what kind of guy would hate a woman that way? She must have turned him down real bad when he asked her for a date, or something.”

Ms. Harris isn’t having any of that. “I’m not quite sure we can say that, though—Zozo, you’re always quick to imagine those sorts of scenarios.”

“Huh? Nah, that’s definitely what happened! She must have spat at him, right when he proposed marriage on that little boat! I’m sure of it.”

I’ve no idea how she’s so certain about this particular interpretation. She’s generally on the mark with her perceptions of other people, though, so perhaps she’s right. I sink down lower into the water and begin blowing bubbles, just like Cheena.

“Anyway, it’s a tired theme—this idea that the one who falls in love first is somehow the victim, the loser.”

My ears perk up at the word “loser.” I lift my mouth out of the water and ask Zozo to clarify what she just said.

“The first to fall in love is...a loser?”

“Yeah. That’s romance, isn’t it? The one who falls in love first has gotta be weaker than the other.”

“The one who falls in love...is the loser... Hmmm...”

“Romance” sounds terrifying. Nobody’s ever told me that love is a competition! It’s a good thing I haven’t fallen for anybody yet. Means I haven’t lost. I breathe out a small sigh of relief. I’d hate to lose a game where I didn’t even know the rules.

“Oh dear—did I just say something I shouldn’t have? I did, didn’t I?”

“Not at all. I’m glad you told me; I’ll be sure to remember.”

“Ahhh! No! It definitely seems like you’re interpreting what I said in the wrong way!” She pauses, and then takes on the strained tone of a schoolteacher as she says, “Nanalie, love isn’t a competition, okay? No one loses anything by falling in love. If you like someone, and get them to like you back, well, hey! That’s a win, right? ‘The first to fall is the first to lose’ is just a saying, you know, it doesn’t actually mean anything.”

Then she starts going into microscopic detail about the personalities and appearances of the men she likes—and starts sipping on the flask she snuck into the bathhouse, getting herself quite drunk in very short order. As Cheena and I pull her out of the water and get her dressed, she mutters to herself, “Mmmmaybe the first to fall is the loser after all...” And with those words, she falls silent as we go back to our individual dorm rooms and call it a night.