Jenkins briefly recounted the story of B-03-2-8383, the Cup of Hidden Fear, only to discover that Miss Miller was already well-acquainted with the details of the B-class Extraordinary item.
“When I was still a low-level Enchanter, I scoured countless texts for new ways to accumulate spirit. Drinking the substance produced by B-03-2-8383 is certainly one of the safer thods, but unfortunately, I never found any trace of it. To think it was taken by a descendant of the Tobie family... that certainly explains a few things from a long ti ago...”
She finished, then turned to Jenkins with a soft chuckle.
“If you want to collect fear, that’s very simple. Take the cup to Ruen and leave the arrangents to Dolores. With her influence, it would be easy to place B-03-2-8383 in prisons, torture chambers, and other such locations. I imagine that would be an effective thod.”
It dawned on Jenkins. That was indeed an excellent thod.
“Alright, Alexia. I'll send B-03-2-8383 back once I return to Nolan. You can also drink the liquid inside—I don't mind. There's still plenty stored inside.”
She offered no opinion on the matter, instead raising a finger and tracing a slow circle in the air.
“Speaking of Nolan and Ruen, Julia reminded of sothing in private yesterday. She wanted to tell you as well.”
“What is it?”
Jenkins inquired. The woman tilted her head, a faint, captivating smile playing on her lips. The gesture never failed to exude charm.
“Whatever you do, don't tell Dolores Stuart that you've mastered a ans of cross-regional travel with a negligible cost. In other words, you must never let her know that you can bring her consciousness to Nolan any ti she pleases.”
This was sothing Jenkins had never considered. Although he was now friends with a princess in na, he found it difficult to imagine her actually appearing in his life.
It felt sowhat unreal.
“A Nolan Holiday?”
The phrase popped into his head abruptly, and he couldn't help but chuckle. If they could one day truly et in Nolan City, with Miss Stuart pushing open the door to Pops Antique Shop alongside Julia, her face full of curiosity... that would certainly be amusing.
But Jenkins couldn't let that happen yet. From any angle, it would do no one any good.
“May the gods bless her!”
he prayed silently.
Before he left, Jenkins asked Miss Miller about the Calamity Beast. She knew of it, but she would not tell him.
She swiped a finger through the air, the glowing tip tracing a beautiful afterimage of light.
“I apologize, Jenkins, but you are not yet ready to know of such things. It has nothing to do with secrecy. To borrow a phrase from Audrey, I have recently seen a few... ‘revelations from fate.’”
It was always like this with them.
Early the next morning, Papa Oliver shoved a newspaper into Jenkins's hands, pointing to a small article on the left side of the second page. It was utterly inconspicuous, smaller even than the advertisent at the bottom.
A quick skim revealed it was about a shooting incident in the city the previous evening, in which a nobleman had been injured.
“I’m surprised this even made it into the papers.”
Jenkins scratched at his cheek. The small cut had already scabbed over and was beginning to itch in the warmth of the room. Papa Oliver remarked that his healing speed was astonishing—unusually fast, even for an Enchanter.
“Don’t touch.”
Chocolate pawed at Jenkins's right hand as he wrote. Jenkins pushed the cat aside, but it just sidled up to him again.
“I know.”
He slid the bead toward his cat, and Chocolate rubbed its face against him as thanks.
“It doesn’t seem to ntion Miss Mikhail in the paper.”
Jenkins pointed out.
“Nor does it ntion you. The Church pressured the paper to keep the report brief. It’s not a good ti for you to be drawing public attention.”
As the year drew to a close, Pops Antique Shop had to summarize its annual accounts. Starting this week, Papa Oliver had been constantly bringing ledgers out from the storeroom for Jenkins to check. In previous years, he would do this himself or hire a professional accountant. But now that he had Jenkins, there was no need for such a ti-consuming and laborious task.
The first person to push open the antique shop's door today was neither a student collecting donations nor a salesman. Around ten o'clock, as Jenkins was struggling with a smudge in one of the ledgers, an ostentatiously decorated carriage pulled up outside the shop.
“The Mikhail family crest.”
Papa Oliver noted, motioning for Jenkins to get up and greet them.
A noblewoman in a mink stole and Miss Mikhail stepped down from the carriage. The lady's bearing was dignified and elegant, her golden hair coiled at the back of her head. Her face was very similar to Miss Mikhail's, though slightly plumper, but she was still well within the conventional definition of a beauty.
The two of them were certainly not here to buy antiques, so Jenkins refrained from an ill-tid cry of "Welco."
Just as he had guessed, the noblewoman was Miss Mikhail's mother, and they had co to thank Jenkins for the events of the previous evening.
It was a sowhat tedious and formulaic visit—in other words, everything followed procedure.
Mrs. Mikhail perfectly matched Jenkins's image of a "noblewoman." In their brief conversation, however, he couldn't get a grasp of her personality, only sensing that she took this visit very seriously—even more so than Miss Mikhail. The latter had adopted the full poise of a young aristocrat, a stark contrast to her relaxed deanor when they t privately.
“It seems the upbringing in a marquis’s household is quite strict. That must be exhausting...”
In addition to thanking him in person, Mrs. Mikhail warmly invited Jenkins to a dinner party at their residence on Saturday evening.
“Another dinner party? Ahem, apologies. You said Saturday evening?”
Papa Oliver nudged him from behind.
“Of course. I believe I have so ti. That will be fine.”
As Mrs. Mikhail and her daughter departed, Jenkins was still pondering the purpose of the party. Marquis Mikhail commanded the Nolan navy. Whatever the future held, he should have little cause for concern. So why would he et with Jenkins, a man with clear ties to the Church, during such a sensitive period?
When he consulted Papa Oliver, his ntor's advice was simple: don't make any promises lightly. Just treat it as an ordinary dinner party.
It was a peaceful and quiet day. In fact, after Miss Mikhail and her mother left, not another soul walked into Pops Antique Shop for the rest of the day.
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