Though it bore the same name, the miso found in this world was quite different from the ones of her previous world—it had a lot more salt and lacked the sweetness of soybeans. Still, its flavor reminded Dahlia of the dinner table of her old home; nostalgia swam in and stung her eyes. With a downward-cast gaze, she sipped from her glass, and it brought forth memories of Carlo. It would’ve been nice if I could’ve had my dad in this world try this too. It only made her eyes sting worse.
“There’s something off about this.”
Dahlia panicked and looked up at Volf, who was supporting his forehead with one hand, his eyes closed; he looked awfully troubled by something. “Sorry, what is it?”
“You’re telling me that boiled turnip can taste this good, taste better with butter, and even betterer with a drizzle of sauce? What is this, some sort of hop, skip, and jump?”
“I’m pretty sure this isn’t track and field.”
“Then tell me how it improves so rapidly.” The word “improvement” made it sound like it wasn’t very good to begin with, but it was just like Volf to describe food in peculiar sorts of ways. He was all smiles as he gracefully put the spoon to his mouth. “I’ve had turnip in soup or salt pickled but never like this before.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t find restaurants serving something this large as is.”
“Are turnips better the bigger they are?”
She had a feeling that he’d find the largest ones in the market if she answered in the affirmative, and she vehemently answered in the negative. “Its size isn’t proportional to how good it tastes; it’s dependent on the cultivar, the weather, the conditions of the soil, and so on.”
“No kidding? That makes them the same as horned rabbits and forest serpents, then.”
“Huh?” How had turnips turned into monsters? Never mind the horned rabbit, but the Green King that was feared by all travelers? The forest serpent was a source of rare materials, and though she’d heard that the Beast Hunters consumed it, it was by no means ordinary food for ordinary people.
“Horned rabbits and forest serpents are tastier when they’re plump.”
“I-I see.”
“That’s why they both go so well with a sweet barbecue sauce. Since horned rabbits make good ham, the squad and I were discussing whether the same might not be true of forest serpents. Unfortunately, we haven’t encountered one recently to test out our theories.” Upon hearing that the Beast Hunters would slay one on sight for food and seeing Volf’s excited smile, Dahlia felt nothing but pity for the monster. Forest serpents would probably be better off if they just stayed in the forest, didn’t attack people, and avoided the knights. “Speaking of monsters, have you thought of a name for the sleipnir?”
“Her eyes are a beautiful black that sparkles under the sunlight, so I was thinking of ‘Iris,’ meaning ‘rainbow.’ I’ll ask everyone for their opinions too.”
“Iris is a great name! I didn’t know you had such fantastical, cool names in you, Dahlia.” He had been looking into her eyes, but now he used his glass as a shield.
Her gaze sharpened as though to pierce through him, and she continued in a quietened voice. “Volf, what sort of name were you expecting?”
A pause. “She likes purple grapes, so ‘Grape.’”
Another pause. “Surely that’d be too on the nose.” Truth be told, that had been one of her top alternatives, but she’d reveal that to him when pigs flew; other top secrets included “Gray” because of the color of her coat and “Black” because of her eyes. Good thing she’d arrived at “Iris” after deliberating.
“Dahlia, about what my brother said,” began Volf before stopping to shift his body squarely toward her, his hesitancy slipping in and out of view.
She sat upright as well. “Don’t worry, Volf, you can give it to me straight. I know not anything and everything will go exactly as we hope. What I wish for is to keep making magical tools that provide convenience to their users.”
“Okay. The truth is that—”
Volf explained that because the matted green slime fibers could replace a sleipnir’s meals, they would greatly increase how far it could travel, potentially resulting in sleipnirs being excessively captured or fought over, as well as negatively affecting their breeders and feed producers. It was much more than Dahlia had ever imagined, and her eyes glazed over. He went on to describe how the product could be used in military affairs and how it might involve Ehrlichia—prolific use and adoption would come back to bite her.
Seeing her tension, Volf rushed to follow up with more positive points. The product itself was very useful and could save lives. Guido was her noble guardian; he would protect her to the best of his abilities and help her out if anything were to happen. She could and should also get the advice of Guido, Jonas, and the guildmasters before her invention was released into the world. If something truly awful were to arise, Grato and Bernigi—both from marquisates—would always be there to help. Everyone mentioned was tight-lipped and had either profited through Dahlia’s magical tools or been directly helped by her, and none of them would throw her to the wolves—so Volf fervently insisted.
“I appreciate it.” Her thanks were nothing short of genuine. She hadn’t ever imagined her invention could potentially impact international politics or anything of the sort. And as thankful as she was, she felt equally guilty. “I really should learn to think things through, huh?”
But Volf immediately put a stop to her sorriness. “You’re great because you’re you, Dahlia. The magical tools you make bring joy to the world. Me, the squad, Lord Bernigi, to name a recent example—you name it, we’ve all been touched by your work. I, um, wish I could say that I will keep you safe, but I unfortunately lack that power. What I will do is everything to the extent of my capabilities, and that goes for everyone else as well. That’s why I want you to keep inventing the tools that you do.”
Was that a request? A plea? A prayer? Whatever it was, his sincerity was found swimming in those golden pools pointed at her. It took a few moments before she could retrieve the words that his eyes had caused her to lose her grip on.
“Thank you, Volf.” Dahlia meant every word of it. She leaned over to refill his glass with more spirits, and Volf naturally squeezed a lemon in without any prompting. There was no toast, yet they put their glasses together; it was enough to ease her nerves.
As a magical toolmaker, she wanted nothing less than for her creations to make the lives of others just that little bit happier. However, the outcome of her craft and research could go in another direction. It was something to grasp and accept. To continue making magical tools with her friends’ support and other trusted people’s assistance was where she found her own happiness.
A few sips later, Volf cast his gaze downward. “We were just spitballing, but, uh, we thought that maybe we could protect you better if my brother were to adopt you, Dahlia.”
“Huh? Like, into your family?”
“Yeah. Guido will become a marquis next year, and that will make his protection quite formidable.”
His tangent suggested to her that this was just a silly joke between the two brothers; a commoner like herself couldn’t possibly be adopted into an earldom. She’d planned to keep her maiden name until the day she died, but if she were to be adopted, her surname would change. Dahlia imagined her name spelled out on paper. “‘Dahlia Scalfarotto?’ Jokes aside, that just does not fit.”
“Erm, it wouldn’t be so bad, I mean...” The way he trailed off there made it obvious he was just saying that to be nice, not to mention his golden eyes shifting about.
“I mean it just hypothetically, but if I get adopted, that would mean you’d become my older brother.”
“That’s, uh, yeah, that’d be correct if my father were to adopt you.”
There was that time when the shopkeeper had mistaken them for siblings when they went to buy that estervino set. It was weird, but also kinda funny. “Dear Brother Volf...”
“Pfft!” That was a perfect spit take if ever there was one.
Maybe that was disrespectful to a nobleman like him. Maybe “big bro” would’ve been slightly more acceptable. In any case, she felt terrible for saying it. “Sorry! I didn’t think it’d be that funny to you. Um, let me go get you a towel and some water!” She raced to the kitchen as he kept his mouth covered with a handkerchief.
“Whew.” As he had the borrowed handkerchief against his mouth, Volf somehow managed to catch his breath. He couldn’t tell if that had been shocking or funny. It was plain confusing. “‘Dahlia Scalfarotto,’ though...” It sounded better than he’d expected.
The other suggestion that Guido had made came to mind, but he desperately shook his head to rid himself of the thought; it was too rude to even bring up to someone who had become and would continue to be his friend. If Dahlia had been his little sister, how it would have been growing up together. Then again, if she were to become his sister now, it wouldn’t be a problem if they were always together. Any suspicious people who got too close to her would be dealt with by her brothers—that was to say himself and Guido. That way, he could keep Dahlia safer than ever, help her, and be with her forever.
“Maybe ‘Dear Brother Volf’ isn’t so bad after all...” The youth’s escape and digression had yet to end.