Yesterday, her cheek had been wiped clean with a thumb. That fact remained logged in Elena's mental processing system, and morning had arrived. To be precise, an entry labeled "Contact Incident by Alphonse Fleuresia—Cheek Area—Value Incalculable in Silver Coins" had been written into an off-ledger column without permission. Moreover, every time she tried to delete it, the burnt-sweet scent of caramel would mysteriously resurface. (This is aftereffect from magical consumption. It lingers in the nervous system. Medically speaking.) Elena stood in the kitchen of Tsukikage-tei—a small café with ivy-covered walls, tucked down an alley off Central Market Street in the royal capital of Blanche—and diagnosed herself as such, cleanly compartmentalizing the matter. Perfect. She'd processed it perfectly. She'd shoved the whole thing, including that one off-beat heart palpitation, into the "Miscellaneous Expenses" column of her ledger, blaming it all on magical consumption. Today there was a trial run before opening. Pear caramel panna cotta. She'd pulled the recipe from memory—something she'd glimpsed at a café bar in Italy in her past life—and was planning to recreate it with materials from this world. Rich milk sourced from Petrika Village to the northeast, amber-handled spoons from Hannah at the specialty food shop on Central Market Street, fully ripened pears, and sugar measured out and arranged yesterday. She opened the shelf and confirmed the eggs. Good. She held her hand over the milk to check its temperature. Good. She pressed her thumb against a pear to check its ripeness— "Good morning, Elena." It was Alphonse. Elena's hand stopped. She turned slowly. The kitchen of Tsukikage-tei was barely three tatami mats in size. In that cramped space, at the counter near the entrance, stood a tall figure wearing a brown wig and gold-rimmed glasses. Gleaming golden hair peeked out from beneath the brown wig. On his chest, a brooch bearing the royal crest glittered brilliantly in the morning light. Elena stared at the figure in silence for three seconds. (…When did he come in? I locked the door. Wait—the royal crest brooch. Shining at full brightness this early. A trio of brown wig, gold-rimmed glasses, and royal crest brooch existing here right now. The combined disguise effectiveness of this trio is probably negative. He's reached a new frontier where wearing a disguise makes him stand out more.) "…That brooch," Elena said. "Ah, this? I forgot to remove it," Alphonse replied. "You didn't forget. Due to wearing the royal crest brooch, your disguise effectiveness has dropped below zero. Effective immediately, I'm instituting a prohibition order on its use," Elena said. Alphonse smiled brightly. Dimples appeared. "I was a bit late," Alphonse said. "…Why do you arrive before the order is instituted?" Elena asked. An entry quietly appeared in Elena's mental ledger's remarks column: "Pre-Institution Arrival—Legal Gray Zone—Value Incalculable in Silver Coins." She sighed once and faced Alphonse directly. If it had come to this, there was no helping it. She would establish rules. "Listen. During trial runs, there are three conditions," Elena said. "Let me hear them," Alphonse said. "One: don't move. Two: don't touch anything. Three: don't speak," Elena said. "I see," Alphonse said. Alphonse opened the shelf. "…First condition," Elena said. He opened the sugar jar, scooped a little with his pinky, and put it in his mouth. "…Second condition," Elena said. "Are you using pears? They smell wonderful," Alphonse said. "…Third condition," Elena said. An entry was rapidly added to Elena's mental ledger remarks column: "Complete Violation of All Three Conditions—Time Required: Three Seconds—Off-Ledger Damage—Value Incalculable in Silver Coins." The speed of her note-taking surprised even herself. Seven years of black company office work had cultivated her record-keeping abilities to their fullest. "…I'll begin the trial run," Elena said. She had no choice but to proceed forcefully. ────── The problem was that every time Alphonse moved while claiming to be "searching for a position that wouldn't be in the way," Elena's work area was gradually encroached upon. When she moved forward, he became a wall. When she tried to dodge sideways, he somehow moved in the same direction. Every time she turned around, a golden-haired, blue-eyed face existed within thirty centimeters. In a three-tatami kitchen, a physical encirclement had been completed. "Please step back," Elena said. "This is a natural position," Alphonse said. Elena answered while concentrating on the pot. "Please step back," Elena said. "Moving would be in the way," Alphonse said. "You're in the way right now," Elena said. On the third exchange, Elena stepped back half a pace, turned around, and spoke clearly. "A natural position within thirty centimeters is anatomically incorrect," Elena said. "Is it?" Alphonse said. His blue eyes looked directly at Elena. He was smiling. Unshaken. Completely unshaken. Elena turned back to face forward. She added to her ledger remarks: "Still Unshaken on Third Attempt—Durability Level A—Countermeasure Method Unestablished," and returned to preparing the pears. She diced the pears and sautéed them in butter. While making caramel in a separate pot, she simultaneously combined the panna cotta mixture. She activated intermediate magic—a complex temperature manipulation system—controlling heating and cooling in parallel. It was advanced work that even court mages from the Royal Academy of Magic would find difficult to manage two temperatures simultaneously, as Leon had mentioned. For Elena, it was a specialty, but— Alphonse's body heat existed thirty centimeters to her right. There was a presence. It was warm. (Focus. Magical control: seventy-two degrees heating and four degrees cooling in parallel. Left hand heating, right hand cooling. Don't scatter your attention.) But there was a slow, steady breathing presence near her right ear, and somehow her nerves were being pulled in that direction. (It's an illusion. Seventy-two degrees. Four degrees. Seventy-two, four.) "At what stage do you add the pears?" Alphonse asked. "…Third condition," Elena said. "I remembered," Alphonse said. Alphonse tilted his face slightly to peer into the kitchen. In doing so, the distance became twenty centimeters. Elena's magical control wavered for just an instant—just 0.5 degrees— That was enough. A simultaneous malfunction of heating and cooling occurred. The pear-filled panna cotta mixture in the pot—spectacularly, truly spectacularly— BOOOOOM!!! Exploded. The mixture flew to the ceiling. Pear fragments flew. Caramel flew. Elena's chestnut-brown bangs were showered with panna cotta. Alphonse's brown wig was dyed panna cotta color. The royal crest brooch dripped. The gold-rimmed glasses were covered in panna cotta. The kitchen had become a complete panna cotta hell. There was one second of complete silence. Alphonse, with panna cotta dripping from his face, spoke in a deadpan voice. "Is this a new cooking method?" Alphonse asked. A firm denial ran through Elena's mind. (No. This is a failure. I won't record it. I'll erase its very existence. This trial run will be deleted from history.) "…I'll clean up," Elena said. Her voice remained flat. Desperately, desperately flat. ────── They cleaned up together in silence. Alphonse didn't complain, and with clumsy hands, began using a cloth. He didn't seem particularly apologetic, nor did he seem unrepentant—he simply took the action of helping with the cleanup as a matter of fact. Somehow, it made her angry yet unable to stay angry. Why was that? Just as Elena, wiping the ceiling, was about to move the cloth to the next spot, Alphonse's hand extended naturally. There was one streak of panna cotta remaining in Elena's chestnut hair. Alphonse gently scooped it with his finger. He brought it to his lips— "The pear flavor is coming through," Alphonse said. His voice was quiet and serious. Elena couldn't move, cloth in hand. She couldn't move because Alphonse's face remained at the distance from which he'd just performed that action, still here. The warmth of his breath was right near her right ear. Her neck felt a gradual warmth. (Magical consumption. I used a lot in the panna cotta explosion. This is the pre-vertigo stage. Temperature sensation becoming abnormal is an early symptom of magical depletion—) Alphonse tilted his face further. "There's some remaining on the very top of your head," Alphonse said. Elena quickly wiped the top of her own head with her hand and stepped back half a pace. She secured distance. She had secured it. Alphonse showed a slightly disappointed smile. Dimples appeared. (This is more of a foul than a game. I want to file a report. I want to record it in my ledger. "Prince—Foul Play—Smile with Dimples—Regulation Method Unestablished"—) Something deep in her chest skipped a beat, unmistakably and clearly. Elena forcibly adopted a self-diagnosis that had significantly reduced persuasiveness compared to last time. "…I'll begin the second trial run," Elena said. She had no choice but to refocus. This time, instead of three conditions, she imposed only one: "Please sit in that chair and remain silent." She metaphorically bound Alphonse to the counter chair. Alphonse sat obediently. He simply watched Elena's hands intently. His gaze held clear curiosity and concentration—the eyes of a gourmet observing a dish being prepared. Somehow, that quiet made the work easier. The second trial run went well. Four small cups of pear caramel panna cotta lined up beautifully. She'd finished them at exactly four degrees using cooling magic. The caramel color seemed slightly pale, but she could adjust that next time. The balance between the pear's sweetness and the caramel's bitterness was quite good. Peace had finally returned to Tsukikage-tei. She thought so in the instant the door burst open. ────── BANG!!! A young man in knight's uniform flew through the door with force enough to blow it off its hinges. Early twenties, short brown hair, serious-looking features—but now those serious eyes were bloodshot, and his nose tip had a faint glow. The knight's uniform bore gold embroidery on the chest, suggesting he was likely a vice-captain attached to the court. "Your Highness!!!!" the young man cried out. His voice was hoarse. Alphonse turned around. The panna cotta-covered brown wig was still on his head. "Ah, Claude," Alphonse said. "I've been searching…for three days…three whole days…!!!" Claude said. The young man—Claude Peran, Elena would later learn—gripped a stack of documents with both hands, his voice trembling as he continued. "The court conference has been suspended three days in a row…!!! Yesterday, Marquis Markoff, the chairman, was crying as he left…!!! The northern defense budget review is stalled…!!! And next week, the Graviet Federation—the military nation to the north that clashed with Fleuresia a hundred twenty years ago—is scheduled to send an envoy…!!! Coordination hasn't progressed at all…!!!!" At the mention of the Graviet Federation envoy, Elena's administrative sense tingled. That was definitely bad. Very bad. A diplomatic matter. Alphonse quietly reached out and— Offered one of the completed pear caramel panna cottas to Claude. Claude's bloodshot eyes became fixed on the panna cotta. One second. Two seconds. His lips began to move—it looked delicious. Elena could clearly see it. "It looks delicious…no wait!!! Please return, Your Highness!!! Right now!!!!" Claude cried. "Calm down, Claude. Eat first," Alphonse said. "I won't eat!!! This isn't the time!!! Marquis Markoff is crying!!! He's actually crying!!!!" Claude said. Elena quietly raised her hand. "I agree," Elena said. Claude and Alphonse turned to face Elena simultaneously with perfect synchroniza