WHEN I returned home, I found a package sent from my family. Inside was Claire’s lingonberry jam, a scarf from Mother, and some money from Father. The care package also had an invitation to a societal debut. A ball would be hosted at the royal castle in a month, and my father sent me more money than usual with a letter telling me to buy a nice dress. I felt like I was nowhere near ready to debut and didn’t expect an invitation; I wasn’t confident I could attend by myself, and all the seamstresses must’ve been fully booked by now. I think I’ll decline this invitation this time around. I only had one chance to make my debut, and just the thought terrified me.
As evening rolled around, Mr. Vil dropped by. He spent the past two days pretending to eat the food that the school served him while discreetly tossing it out. To his surprise, his condition improved immensely.
“My headaches and sluggishness have improved,” he said. “As you said, I think my food’s been poisoned somehow.”
“Did you contact your uncle?” I asked.
“I sent a request to my father, but no reply yet.”
“I see…”
I guess he can’t meet his uncle so easily. I just pray that he noticed the poison, too, and has been taking his own measures, I thought. Mr. Vil also took the food that he suspected was poisoned and gave it to Professor Whipp. She claimed that the poison was difficult to analyze and required a bit more time. Guess there’s nothing more we can do for now.
After my lesson with him drew to a close, we debated our next step when the magical creatures that Mr. Vil had ordered last night appeared in front of us. I heard hooting as a bird descended.
“That must be the owl from yesterday,” I said.
“It’s got something,” Mr. Vil observed.
Just as he’d said, the owl had gripped something in its talons, perhaps a small animal.
“Is it here to brag that it caught a rat or something?!” I gasped.
“It’s not a cat,” Mr. Vil replied.
Right… I narrowed my eyes to get a better look and saw that it was hairier than a rat. Whatever it was, the fur fluttered in the wind.
“What is it, then?” I wondered.
“Not a clue.”
The owl dropped the hairy object onto Gem, who had turned into a table for me. As the hair flopped in front of us, Mr. Vil tilted his head to one side in confusion, but I quickly realized what it was.
“What is this?” he asked.
“A wig! This is a wig!” I yelped.
“What?”
“I’m sure of it!”
The owl must’ve taken the suspect’s wig and dropped it in front of us in hopes of securing evidence. Mr. Vil flipped it over and spotted a magic circle engraved on the inside of the wig.
“It’s…” he muttered.
“What is it?”
“It’s under a special charm that ensures that we can’t find traces of the wearer’s mana.”
“Which means that the culprit was wary of the fact that their wig could be blown off. They made sure to cast a spell so that they couldn’t be found.”
“I think so.”
If we couldn’t trace the mana, we couldn’t find the owner of the wig. Then how can we search for the culprit? We can’t act it out like Cinderella and fit everyone in a wig, hoping to find the right head…
“Maybe this wig is custom-made,” I suggested.
It was clearly of high quality. The hair was nice and silky, and it even had a proper hair whorl. Not to mention that it was enchanted.
“Then maybe the owner will want it back,” Mr. Vil said. “I’ve got a plan.” He whispered a shockingly bold plan into my ear, and admittedly, I couldn’t hide my surprise.