A Wise Summer Break (2)
"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dione Greyer, once in service under Baron Junior Aser."
Waiting in the reception room was a lady so lovely and delicate she looked as though she had stepped out of a painting.
Her graceful curtsey—like something from an old film—was a picture of poise and refinement.
Beneath a white lace bonnet, her thick hair was elegantly coiled, a pale pink with a hint of silver-gray.
Her skin was as milky as cream, and her eyes shimmered with the clear hue of mountain water.
The ribbon of her bonnet was tied neatly beneath her left cheek; her airy dress draped softly but cinched tightly at the waist, slim enough to be taken in one hand.
Having faced girls who wore swords and ran across drill fields, Cleio felt a bit awkward being alone with a true lady.
"…Good afternoon, Lady Dione Greyer."
"Please, just call me Dione. Enough of the formalities—shall we sit down first?"
The lady, her lace gloves sheer enough to glimpse her porcelain skin, smiled softly from behind an elegantly opened fan.
Cleio's unease was revealed by how far he kept his chair from hers. They began their conversation across a wide table.
"I was working at Aser Trading in Colpos, training for the family business, but before I returned to the capital, Baron Junior Aser asked me for a favor."
"What kind of favor?"
"To act as your private tutor and guardian during the summer break while you remain here alone."
"I appreciate the thought, but at seventeen, I don't think I need anyone looking after me."
You abandoned your son for years, and now you send someone to spy on him?
"My, you speak so maturely for your age. You're quite different from what I was told—how intriguing."
With a crisp snap, Dione closed her fan. Her eyes, though clear as glass, turned cold.
"I've already met your professors. You achieved quite outstanding results on your final exams."
"Did you come all this way just to confirm that?"
Does this suspicious woman think I forged my grades?
"Oh, not at all. It was a delightful visit. I got to see my old teachers again—Professor Rosa is still full of vigor, and Professor Zebedi is as eccentric as ever!"
"…You're an alumna?"
"Well, it's a little embarrassing to put it that way, but I'm five years your senior, Cleio. I studied magic too, which is why Baron Junior Aser asked me to be your tutor."
For a moment, her refined manners and gentle voice had almost fooled him—but her watery eyes didn't smile along with her lips.
And she was a graduate of the Capital Defense University—meaning at least Level 3 in magic.
Of course. There's no way one of Gideon Aser's employees would be some sheltered debutante.
"But to be clear, I haven't fully accepted the tutoring position. I told the Baron I'd decide after meeting you."
Dione drew a sealed envelope from a white silk handbag and handed it to him.
"Anyway, the most important task was to deliver this. Would you like to check the contents?"
At last—the long-awaited reply. Cleio's hands trembled slightly as he broke the seal. Inside was a short note:
[Account freeze lifted. Confirm immediately.
—Gideon Aser]
After all that suffering, not a word of praise. Typical.
Clicking his tongue at his father's lack of human warmth, Cleio opened the envelope fully. Inside were two bank drafts—each for 400,000 dinar, drawn from Gideon Aser's personal account.
Eight hundred thousand dinar!
Cleio's expression changed at once.
A thousand times better than a compliment. Thank you kindly, Father.
He slipped the envelope safely into his jacket pocket. Including his existing account balance, his total came to 1.2 million dinar—forty thousand more than promised.
Plenty enough for an escape fund.
While Cleio tucked the envelope away, Dione gracefully poured tea instead of peeking inside.
"Well then, since my errand's done, let me tell you the rest. As soon as I leave here, I'll be sending a telegram to Baron Junior Aser—telling him that I, Dione Greyer, will take full responsibility for the second son's summer vacation."
Her fan fluttered again, speaking in a silent language of high society.
This time, her watery blue eyes were truly bright with amusement.
At the same moment, Cleio's face crumpled faintly.
He had instantly realized his escape plans had hit a serious snag.
"You're wondering why I decided that, aren't you? Of course, you deserve an answer. I couldn't help but be fascinated as a fellow mage—the famously stingy Professor Zebedi couldn't stop praising you. He was thrilled, saying Albion might soon have another Level 8 mage for the first time since himself."
Useless old man…
"That's quite an exaggeration. It was probably just polite talk for a guardian."
He could always deny it—she hadn't seen him use magic herself.
"Oh, everyone knows Professor Zebedi has no sense for flattery. You say that with such a straight face, you're adorable! I almost fell for it."
"Your teasing goes too far, Lady Dione. Some decorum, please."
A lady making birdlike noises over a face he saw in the mirror every morning… this was beyond Cleio's comprehension.
Though his body had filled out slightly thanks to daily runs and regular meals, Cleio Aser was still a somewhat sickly-looking boy.
"My, how bashful. I'm serious! Just a little taller, a bit of color in your cheeks, and you'll be breaking girls' hearts before long."
"..."
"At first, I didn't notice—but when you make that completely blank face, you look exactly like your father. You know, Baron Junior Aser has quite a few secret admirers."
"Whether that's an appropriate topic or not aside, you surely know there's nothing to gain from flattery here."
His tone was flat as stone. Dione's charming veneer had long since lost its power.
A Level 3 or higher mage, well-educated, experienced—what's her real reason for playing babysitter to some kid? A professor's compliment can't be worth that much.
She wouldn't get any benefit from someone living on an allowance.
And if her surname really is from that Greyer Trading Company…
Greyer Trading, founded by Vasco Greyer, was one of Albion's most prestigious dealers in magical artifacts.
Though small in size, their stock was exceptional.
Magical tools—devices that enhanced ether, cast protective barriers, or carried other mystical functions—could be crafted anew or unearthed from ancient ruins.
And Vasco Greyer was the foremost expert in artifact restoration, a whimsical genius who, according to the original manuscript, eventually aided Arthur with mysterious inventions.
So… Vasco Greyer had a daughter who wasn't in the original story? The age gap doesn't quite fit, though…
"Pardon me, but are you related to Vasco Greyer of Greyer Trading?"
"Oh, you know our company! He's my uncle. He traveled with the Aser Trading ship to Centrum. Until he returns, the company's on break—so I took this tutoring position."
Cleio's eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"Oh dear, don't look at me like that. You with your ears perked up, so cautious—it's just too cute."
Before he could react, Dione was already on her feet—and, before the seated Cleio could escape, she threw her arms around him.
Soft. Sweet-smelling. And utterly inescapable.
!!!!!!
Cleio froze stiff at the sudden embrace, then quickly gathered his strength to pry Dione's arms off him.
Her wrists looked as delicate as his own, but she was far stronger than she seemed.
"P-Please… let go, Lady Dione! What kind of impropriety is this!"
"Ah, now that's the kind of expression a boy your age should make, my dear young master. Since we'll be spending the whole summer together, I thought we might start off on friendly terms."
Did she think everything that left her mouth was justified?
Dione's gleeful attempt to tease and fluster the stoic boy only made Cleio feel both irritated and embarrassed.
Have some modesty, will you, lady!
After tidying up the long-unused Aser mansion in the capital and making arrangements to spend the summer there, Dione left the school, saying she'd send a carriage for him the next day.
"See you tomorrow, young master!"
The moment Dione departed, Cleio went straight to the bank.
This time, instead of the Royal Circus branch he'd used before, he headed directly to the main office, known for its large reserves of cash.
He was able to withdraw the 400,000 dinar from his account right away—but there was a problem with the drafts.
He was told that converting them into cash would take an additional day.
Though every fiber of him wanted to pack up and bolt immediately, leaving before cashing the drafts might draw suspicion.
Back at the dormitory, Cleio packed his belongings half-heartedly.
He had already said goodbye to Nebo yesterday, and Behemoth was nowhere to be found—probably out on his daily patrol of his domain.
Just as he was beginning to sink into a faint sense of sentimentality, the dorm supervisor, Lyuba, appeared, looking apologetic.
"The Headmaster says your disciplinary task isn't complete until the storage room is fully cleared out… He's asked for you again today. I even tried to find Arthur, but although he hasn't officially checked out of the dorm, I can't locate him anywhere. Could you come for today and finish the rest over the next few days?"
Cleio felt his teeth grind, but managed to keep a polite smile before the kind teacher.
Patience. Endure it. It's almost over—don't blow it now.
"No, it's fine. I'll go and take care of it right now. Thank you for letting me know."
Arthur was rarely in his own room. If he'd fled somewhere, there was no easy way to find him.
Still, leaving things undone made Cleio uneasy—especially with that obsessive, ill-tempered Zebedi around.
Avoiding Father's eyes is hard enough; the last thing I need is to get tracked by an eighth-level mage.
With a deep sigh, he steeled himself to finish the task alone and headed to the library storage room.
.
.
.
Even after days of cleaning alongside that insufferable Arthur, about one-fifth of the clutter still remained.
Well, this is exactly what I learned magic for.
Cleio stepped into the center of the stacks and stretched out his left hand.
A calm, golden circle unfolded beneath him. Several piles of books fell within its radius.
So this much per cast. A few more times and it'll be done. Let's go.
Recalling what he had prepared in advance, he activated two magic formulas—careful this time to avoid overlapping the casting sequence, having learned from his last failure.
From the floor, two intricate, interwoven patterns rose and spread across the piles of paper.
"[Dissolve]—[Disintegrate!]"
The formations looked impressive—but the activation was weak. The effect barely registered.
The books crumbled sluggishly, like a broken shredder struggling to chew through old documents.
Even the shredded scraps flickered and vanished unevenly, like a lagging video.
[Disintegrate] was a spell meant to rapidly erase small, delicate objects; larger ones took too long.
That's why he'd paired it with [Dissolve], but the result wasn't much better.
"…At this rate, I'll be here all night."
So in the end, he'd have to use an incantation.
Dust… ashes… ugh, this sounds so painfully chūni.
Thankfully, no one was around to witness it.
Though he knew the campus would be empty for the break, Cleio still glanced around one more time before opening his mouth.
Behemoth had told him that incantations worked best when shouted like a hymn or a proclamation.
"[From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust—return to where you came from!]"
Gods, that's mortifying!
Cleio's ears flushed bright red.
For a thirty-two-year-old mind, this was pushing the limits of dignity.
But it's the only one that fits, damn it!
The embarrassment was worth it.
The twin magic circles flared again, their light seeping into the clutter—
and within seconds, the piles of books and papers crumbled into fine dust.
Glowing with golden ether, the dust burst apart like a miniature explosion, then dispersed into the air, leaving no trace behind.