END - 23

23.

This time, it was Rayner's turn to glare. His eyes narrowed to slits, as though he meant to pick a fight with the pen itself.

Rayner had never been one to wonder about things. Whether he was developing something, interpreting something, or making a decision, questions like Why? Why on earth did I do that? How did it come to this? had simply never crossed his mind.

Well, now and then he wondered why the Ministry of Mana's staff couldn't manage even the simplest tasks properly. But setting that aside, this was the first time he had been unable to find a clear answer for his own behavior.

Maybe I should go back out right now and get a refund.

For a shady general store that sold fake magic tools, the pen had come with a surprisingly hefty price tag.

He felt like an utter fool. Why had he gone out of his way, twice over, to pay that much for something that pest had said he wanted? It wasn't as if he could just dig that kind of money out of the ground whenever he pleased.

Still, he had no desire to wade back into that crowded, chaotic square just to return one pen. And handing it over to Blen would be a blow to his pride.

In the end, Rayner opened the drawer of the side table beside him, wrapped the pen back in its cloth, tucked it inside, and shut the drawer.

With the source of so many questions safely out of sight, he finally felt a little more at ease. He was just settling back into his book when a clatter came from deeper inside the house.

Rayner clutched his throbbing head and slowly shook it.

In the kitchen, where the noise had come from, Blen was bustling about. The room was in no condition for cooking, so he had started with a rough cleaning. 

He cleared away the cobwebs he'd pretended not to notice earlier, swept up the dust, and wiped down every surface.

Now that the place looked something like a kitchen, Blen allowed himself a breather. It was a little late in the day, but he could finally get started on lunch properly.

First, he inspected the kitchen carefully, worried that there might not even be a single dish to eat from. All his hard work would be for nothing if there was nothing to serve the food on. Thankfully, there were dishes.

"Though they look pretty expensive."

They were the sort of tableware a noble household would reserve for its own use. Come to think of it, this house had every basic necessity.

Rayner hardly ever came home, and more to the point, with a personality like his, it was hard to imagine him buying every little thing for the house himself. The image simply wouldn't form.

So someone else must have provided it all. If this expensive-looking tableware was part of that, the likeliest source was Rayner's family. He did come from a noble house, after all.

"The House of Winterroel, huh..."

Marchioness Alaine had said something about that back then, hadn't she? That he might want to spare as much thought for the ducal House of Winterroel as he did for the Ministry of Mana.

The original novel had never gone into detail about Rayner's family. It had mentioned only that he was the protagonist's childhood friend, the youngest minister in the Ministry of Mana, and a man of noble birth.

Which meant that, any way you looked at it, the House of Winterroel the Marchioness had mentioned was Rayner's family. And a ducal house was top-tier nobility, wasn't it?

If Rayner truly came from such a distinguished family, why was he out there suffering as a minister of the Ministry of Mana? A noble ought to live like one, in comfort and luxury. Then he'd never work himself to death, and the protagonist could avoid ending up that way too, couldn't they?

Swallowing a sigh, Blen got back to preparing lunch. Since he had no idea what Rayner liked, he started with the sort of food ordinary citizens of the Empire ate most often.

He trimmed the vegetables he'd bought and made a salad, then set out bread and jam. With a small flick of his hand, he cast a fire spell and fried the bacon until it was golden brown.

Once he'd gotten that far, the spread felt a little plain. So Blen took out the pumpkin squash he'd bought. He sliced off the top, scooped out the flesh, and made a thick soup, then ladled it back into the hollowed shell to make it look nice.

The result was a table that looked quite respectable. Wiping away the sweat, Blen surveyed it with satisfaction.

Then it hit him. Here he was, spending his day off at his boss's house, cooking a fine meal and basking in a sense of accomplishment. He felt utterly pathetic, and more than a little sorry for himself.

"Lord Rayner."

Consoling himself over his lot in life, Blen called out. As expected, there was no answer. Worried that Rayner might have slipped into his study to work again, Blen hurried out of the kitchen.

Fortunately, Rayner was on the sofa, still reading the same book as before. Blen walked over and clapped his hand over the page.

Rayner, interrupted mid-read, shot him a sharp glare.

"Lunch is ready."

"..."

Blen all but snatched the book away, and Rayner rose with an irritated sigh. Having succeeded in herding him into the kitchen, Blen even pulled out his chair for him.

"Well? Looks delicious, doesn't it?"

"Nothing special. Just a pile of dull fare."

Rayner sat and prodded listlessly at the bacon and salad with his fork. Blen's explanation that he'd stuck to the most basic dishes earned little more than the barest pretense of attention.

Unfazed, Blen went around and sat down across from him. A prickly stare came from across the table.

"Why are you sitting?"

"I have to eat too."

The table was set for two. Blen was so hungry his stomach was practically stuck to his spine. After a morning of backbreaking labor, his belly was clamoring for food.

Rayner's lips moved a few times, but as he watched Blen tear a huge bite out of his bread, he simply shut his mouth. All he did to vent his disbelief was stab his fork into the salad.

Chewing, Rayner ran his eyes over the food again. The salad, the bacon, the bread, even the jam from the square: all of it was merely so-so. Nothing that particularly delighted the palate.

So, expecting nothing, he took a spoonful of the steaming pumpkin soup.

"..."

As the thick yellow liquid disappeared into his mouth, his brows shifted by the faintest degree. Nutty and sweet, it was rather good. Above all, it went down remarkably smoothly.

Rayner narrowed his eyes and looked at Blen as though seeing him in a new light.

"How is it? pumpkin soup is a dish I'm fairly proud of. Not bad, right?"

As if he had read Rayner's mind, Blen singled out the soup. Rayner, however, replied without batting an eye.

"You're noisy. Don't talk while I'm eating."

Perhaps it was the rebuke, or perhaps the two of them simply weren't close enough for idle chatter to begin with, but from then on, the only sound in the dining room was the clink of cutlery. Unable to bear the awkward silence, Blen cleared his throat.

"Do you not cook at all, normally?"

"No. Not once in my entire life."

The conversation went nowhere. But a thought struck Blen. Rayner had never cooked, no doubt partly because of his temperament, but perhaps also because he was a noble, someone who had always been waited on.

"Lord Rayner, may I ask just one thing?"

"I'd hope it's a question with some substance."

"You come from a noble family, don't you?"

"And?"

"Back then, Marchioness Alaine mentioned the House of Winterroel, I believe... So why do you live alone in a place like this?"

That he didn't live at the ducal family's main estate was understandable. Even so, this house fell somewhat short of what a member of a ducal family should live in.

 And there wasn't a single servant. If there had been even one, Rayner's house wouldn't have turned into the pigsty it was.

Rayner faltered at the question. Then he set down his spoon with rather more force than necessary. A dull thud echoed across the solid wooden table.

"Am I under some obligation to discuss my private affairs with you?"

"Ah..."

The curt reply and tone were no different from usual, yet something was slightly off. Displeasure showed plainly on Rayner's face as he spoke.

Only one thought came to Blen: he had made a mistake.

"I apologize. I overstepped."

Rayner rose from his seat and left the dining room without another word. Left alone, Blen could only scratch at his hair.

 Even granting that he'd forced his way into Rayner's private space, asking about family matters was, by his own judgment, going too far.

Resolving to apologize again later, Blen finished his meal. As he stood to clear the table, something caught his eye.

"Huh."

Rayner had left the salad, the bacon, and the bread unfinished. But the pumpkin soup had been completely finished.

"Hmm."

As he cleared up, Blen thought that he had finally found one dish that suited Rayner's taste.

---

In the afternoon, Blen threw himself back into tidying, asking Rayner now and then about books and items that looked important. Above all, he kept a vigilant watch to make sure Rayner didn't slip into the study to work.

Before long, the day began to wane. As the sunlight dimmed and the sky slowly lost its color, Rayner found himself looking at Blen's back and thinking:

Just how long is that guy going to stay here?

"You."

"Yes?"

"How long do you intend to stay?"

"I'll head out as soon as I finish this."

That was the best news he'd heard all day. The moment the pest left, Rayner meant to plow through every bit of work he hadn't been able to touch.

"But you need to rest properly even after I'm gone. You are not to work, understand?"

Rayner pointedly pretended not to hear. He had no reason to listen to such nonsense. Blen's stare did feel relentless, but it wasn't long before Blen gathered his things and got to his feet.

"Seriously, seriously, no working. Okay?"

"Get lost. Now."

Blen was dithering, his feet refusing to carry him out, when it happened. A deep, resounding boom rolled in from outside.

The two men's eyes turned, almost in unison, toward the window.​