The Day She Decided to Hold Her Head High

“I’m sorry, Dahlia. I want to call off our engagement.”

It was Dahlia and her fiancé’s first day together in their new house. They had moved in little more than an hour ago.

Her fiancé’s sudden announcement felt to Dahlia like something out of an otome game. It was the kind of fate that befell the villainess, determined to have the handsome prince in her clutches, at the school graduation ceremony. But there was no such wicked young woman in the room now; the two of them were completely alone. It seemed Dahlia’s mind was just trying to distract her from reality.

“Can I ask why?”

Tobias’s—her fiancé’s—familiar light brown eyes glistened with tears.

“I’ve...found my true love.”

For Dahlia not to burst into laughter at that moment took a praiseworthy amount of self-control.

Theirs was a world filled with magic, monsters, knights, and sorcerers. Such things had been mere fantasy to Dahlia until the day she’d been reincarnated here. In her previous life, she’d been born into an ordinary household in Japan. She had gone to high school and college, then found work at a company that produced household appliances. Although she had hoped to stay in their manufacturing department, she’d been transferred in her second year to a position handling customer complaints. It was grueling, soul-crushing work. Late one night, while working overtime, she’d suddenly felt an intense pain pierce her chest. That was the last thing she remembered. She could only guess she’d died of a heart attack.

The next time she’d opened her eyes, she had found herself in this world, in the body of a small child. Her new name was Dahlia Rossetti. Unlike the flower she was named after, Dahlia was rather subdued in her appearance. If you were to be less kind, you might just call her plain. Her reincarnation hadn’t panned out quite like the stories she’d read in her previous life—rather than wealth and nobility, she’d been reborn into a family of toolmakers.

However, the tools they created were no ordinary hammers and chisels. In this world of fantasy, even humble craftspeople dealt in magic.

Dahlia’s father, Carlo Rossetti, was a master of magical toolmaking. Such was his skill that the king had made him an honorary baron (a nonhereditary title, unfortunately). Dahlia had grown up surrounded by magical tools, and she had never wanted to do anything other than follow in her father’s footsteps.

Carlo counted a certain merchant among his close friends. When Dahlia was nineteen and a fledgling toolmaker in her own right, it was decided that she would marry the merchant’s second son—Tobias Orlando, the young man who now sat across from her. Tobias was also a toolmaker and had apprenticed under her father. He now worked for his own father’s company, Orlando & Co., handling the development and sales of their magical tools. He was academically gifted and handsome too—among common folk like them, he was quite a catch.

Dahlia and Tobias had intended to marry once she turned twenty and he turned twenty-two, but the sudden death of Tobias’s father caused the family to go into a period of mourning. Then, just as the mourning period had ended and the couple’s wedding day had approached, Dahlia’s father followed his friend into the grave.

Even by this world’s standards, both of them had gone before their time. Dahlia had a fair idea of the cause. Though he’d tried many times to give it up, her father had been a heavy drinker till the end.

Two years had passed since Dahlia and Tobias’s initial engagement. At long last, every form had been signed, and there was finally a lull in their work. They had moved into their new home, and tomorrow, they would formally register their marriage. At least, that had been the plan.

The two of them sat in silence on opposite sides of the living room table. Dahlia’s eyes were downcast, and she expressed only a single sigh.

This didn’t feel real. Surely she was supposed to cry, or get angry, or something. Instead, she just felt utterly, utterly tired.

Still, it was no good just sitting here. They had to figure out what to do now.

“Who is she?”

After a pause, Tobias spoke without prevaricating. “Emilia. Emilia Tallini.”

Recognizing the name, Dahlia soon recalled the young woman to whom it belonged. Emilia had begun working at Orlando & Co. as a receptionist just a few months ago. She was a sweet and gentle girl with honey-colored hair, warm brown eyes, and a petite frame. She could hardly have been more different from Dahlia, whose tall stature was her only distinguishing feature. It came as a surprise to her that Tobias favored a kittenish little thing like that.

“I intend to marry her.”

“I see.” She hadn’t asked. She could feel a headache coming on. “We’ll have to sort out the paperwork, then.”

“All we have to do is agree on it, don’t we?”

If only life were so simple, she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue for the moment.

Since becoming engaged, the two of them had been working under a joint registration with the Merchants’ Guild. In anticipation of their marriage, they’d each borne half the cost of building their new home. These contracts had to be dissolved, names changed.

“We went to the Merchants’ Guild with our fathers and submitted our engagement certificate, remember? There’s a section in that document for breaking the engagement. We’ll need to change our joint registration with the guild into separate ones as well. If you’re going to marry her, you need to finish this properly.”

“Right, the engagement certificate. I remember now.”

“We’ll go to the guild this afternoon and find out what needs to be done. Will two o’clock be all right?”

“Yeah.”

With that settled, there should have been no reason for him to linger, but he just sat there scratching his right temple with a finger. She knew he did that when he had something uncomfortable to say.

“Is there something else?”

“Well, she, uh... She mentioned she’d like to live here.”

Tobias was the one who’d overseen most of the house’s construction. The only part Dahlia had had much say in was the workshop they were supposed to have used together, so she wasn’t greatly attached to the place.

Still, losing your fiancé was depressing enough without hearing that his new love was eager to move into your house.

“Once we’ve settled the finances, we’ll turn the joint ownership of the house over to you. Then I’ll get my things back home as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry.”

Without another word, Tobias got up and left.

For a while, Dahlia simply sat there staring down at the table. In both her previous life and this one, she’d always had a slight tendency to slouch.

Dahlia had never so much as been in a relationship in her past life, let alone gotten married. Even here, it had taken until she was almost twenty. And now, just when she’d thought her love life was finally blossoming...

“If anything happens, let Tobias look after you,” Dahlia’s father had told her. She was sure he’d never imagined things would turn out like this.

Tomorrow had been the day they’d planned to register their marriage at the city hall; they had never actually wed. Even so, they’d spent a whole two years engaged to each other. Nearly all of their friends and acquaintances knew about it. No doubt their breakup would bring a deluge of sympathy and gossip. The thought made her even more depressed.

There was also the fact that, up until now, she’d procured all the materials for her tool making through Orlando & Co. Once she and Tobias were no longer engaged, perhaps they’d cease doing business with her. Even if they didn’t, it would be a horribly awkward arrangement.

The more she thought about it, the worse her headache became.

A memory of the day she and Tobias were engaged drifted into her mind. She recalled something he’d said to her after the initial pleasantries had been exchanged.

“You’re awfully tall, aren’t you?”

She was indeed somewhat tall for a woman, while Tobias was slightly short for a man. Their height difference was around three centimeters. With high heels on, Dahlia was, of course, the taller one. After that day, she’d stopped wearing heels, sticking to flats at all times.

Her natural red hair was much too bright, Tobias had said, so she’d dyed it a dark brown and kept it tied up.

Tobias didn’t like anyone whose appearance drew attention, so Dahlia had swapped her silver-rimmed glasses for black-rimmed ones and made her already subdued wardrobe duller still, until all she wore were shades of navy and dark gray.

These past two years, she’d taken such care both at work and at home to become the ideal wife for Tobias. It seemed that he, however, had never looked at her that way.

She remembered something else as well—something about work in her previous life.

Whenever she had apologized to a complaining customer, she would hang her head. Whenever her boss had roared at her for not handling a complaint quickly enough, she would hang her head. Whenever she’d thought about the increasingly distant friends she had no time to contact, she would become depressed and hang her head.

She was still hanging her head when she’d slumped over her desk and breathed her last in that world. That desk was the last thing she had seen before she’d died.

“This has to stop.”

Dahlia looked up and out the window, through which sunlight was streaming into the room.

In her previous life, she’d tried so hard to please everyone that it had eventually killed her. In this one, she’d done everything she could to become Tobias’s ideal woman, and this was where it had gotten her.

She’d been given a second chance at life. Was this really how she wanted to use it?

Enough was enough. It was time she held her head up high.

She wasn’t going to hide what she liked and what she didn’t anymore. She was lucky enough to have her work as a magical toolmaker, which she loved. She was able to support herself; she didn’t need to rely on anyone else. She would work hard, she would go where she pleased, and she would eat and drink whatever she liked.

From now on, she was going to live life her way.

Filled with a brand-new vigor, Dahlia stood up. The spring sky outside was so bright and blue that it stung her eyes.

The Rossetti Trading Company

“Miss Dahlia, how did it go?”

As soon as Dahlia returned to the Merchants’ Guild, Ivano hurried over to her, worry written all over his face.

“Mr. Orlando should pay you a visit later today. If you could see to it that he cancels the contract, I’d be very grateful. After that, I’ll re-register the item. I hate to trouble you, but I’d like to hire a scrivener to oversee everything as well.”

“Understood.”

“I’ve also been informed that Orlando & Co. will no longer be doing business with me, so if it’s possible, I’d be grateful if you could put me in touch with another trading company.”

“I’m sorry? Did Mr. Orlando say that?”

Ivano’s mouth hung open in astonishment.

“Yes, I heard it straight from the horse’s mouth. There’s no mistake.”

“I see... Please excuse me, I’ll have to go and consult with the vice-guildmaster. Would you mind waiting a few minutes?”

“Not at all. I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

Dahlia watched Ivano jog up the stairs, then let out a deep sigh. It looked as though she’d be home late once again.

“Oh, hi there, Dahlia!”

Dahlia turned as a familiar voice called out to her. Sure enough, it was Marcello.

“Irma was right, y’know. Red hair does suit you better. I’m just here to make my last delivery for the day.”

“Thanks, she did such a wonderful job. Say, about that order of carriage covers from the Couriers’ Guild; did you put in a word for me?”

“Well, the boss told me we were nearly out of them, so I recommended you.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it. I’ll make sure I do my best work.”

“Thanks, that’d be great. It’s a real pain in the backside when things get wet. Are you here for a meeting, then?”

“Yes, I’m looking for a new trading company so I can get the supplies I need. Things have turned a bit difficult with Orlando & Co.”

It was technically possible for her to do her procurement as an individual, but the guild placed a limit on the value of transactions in such cases. There was also the issue of trust. Without a trading company to vouch for her, her choice of suppliers would be limited. That was why she was set on finding a new company.

“Just as well; you don’t want to be dealing with that idiot.”

Dahlia kept it to herself that she’d been dealing with Tobias—whom Marcello refused to even name now—just a little while earlier.

“You oughta set up your own company already. Then you could stock up on whatever you like.”

“My own company? I’d never find the guarantors, never mind the deposit.”

Dahlia rebuffed the suggestion with a wry smile. There was no law or rule stopping her from starting her own company, but it cost fifteen gold and required four guarantors. To be eligible, a guarantor needed to be an adult. They had to have been president or vice-president of a company registered with the Merchants’ Guild for three or more years, or have been working as a member of one of the city’s guilds for at least three years. A noble of the rank of viscount or above was also eligible. Each guarantor also had to contribute a minimum of four gold to the venture.

Being a guarantor was a heavy responsibility—if the new company engaged in any illegal activity, even without the guarantors’ knowledge, the guarantors would be considered guilty by association and heavily fined. If the company turned a profit, then their initial investment of four gold would be returned with interest after two years. However, if the company went under within that two-year period, the penalties included the guarantors being liable to settle the company’s debts. It wasn’t something to be taken on lightly.

“The Rossetti Trading Company has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? I think your friend is right.”

Where she’d been listening from, Dahlia had no idea, but Gabriella suddenly appeared in the hallway, a cheerful smile upon her lips. Behind her followed Ivano and Dominic, the scrivener.

“It’s a fine opportunity, don’t you think?” the woman asked.

“You can count me in as a guarantor!”

“Marcello, what are you talking about?” Dahlia was taken aback. “You need to talk to Irma before deciding on something like that!”

“Irma’d only ask me why I didn’t agree to it on the spot. We’ve got a fair old chunk of savings tucked away, so we can afford it.”

“If you’ll have me, I’d gladly be a guarantor as well. Oh, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet: I’m Mezzena Grieve.”

The man with chestnut-colored hair standing beside Marcello was one of those who’d helped to move all of Dahlia’s belongings the other day.

“I don’t understand. Why would you do that for me?”

“I think it’d be a good investment. The rain used to be such a headache for us at the Couriers’ Guild. The waterproof covers and raincoats you invented have been a huge help. If there’s a chance you’ll be able to create more things like those in the future, it’ll make our work a lot easier. I’m more than happy to help make that happen. If I can make a special request—those automatic gates would come in very handy.”

As Mezzena smiled, Ivano also raised his hand.

“I would also like to put my name forward. Please understand, I don’t just say this out of kindness. I also believe it’s a fine investment. I trust you’ll use the next two years wisely and earn us a good return.”

“That makes three,” said Dominic, looking cheerful. “I would be only too delighted to offer my name as well, but my position as a scrivener prohibits me from doing so. I shall speak to my son and grandchildren once I get home. I have one son and three grandchildren working for the guilds; I am sure one of them will be glad to assist you.”

The conversation was moving so fast, Dahlia could barely keep up. There was no way it could be this easy; part of her couldn’t help suspecting they were playing some elaborate prank on her.

“There’s no need for that, Dominic. I can provide the fourth guarantor. My husband will be happy to oblige.”

Gabriella’s husband was a viscount and the guildmaster of the Merchants’ Guild, Lord Jedda. Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat.

“Ah, the guildmaster? That’s an excellent idea, Dominic said approvingly. “But wait, I heard that Lord Jedda is visiting the neighboring kingdom on business. Receiving a power of attorney from him would take some time, would it not?”

“No need to worry. I always keep some in my desk.”

The fact that the vice-guildmaster kept a ready supply of powers of attorney from her husband in her desk was questionable on several levels. This same thought seemed to have occurred to everyone, but not one of them dared question Gabriella’s unwavering smile.

“Right then, let’s find a meeting room and get down to business,” the woman said.

“Yes, let’s. I trust you’re happy for me to serve as scrivener, Miss Dahlia?”

“Please, wait! Are all of you really sure about this? This is so sudden, I’m not prepared! Besides, I’m still only a novice toolmaker! I don’t know if I can make those kinds of profits in just two years...”

“Now, what kinda nonsense is that? You proved yourself the day you invented that waterproof cloth. If it’s more research funds you need, we can always add more guarantors. I know I’d find plenty of folks at the Couriers’ Guild who’d be willing to invest in the inventor of that cloth.”

“I’m sure we could find some more guarantors right here,” said Ivano. “I’ll go and ask around right now if you like.”

“No! Don’t, I beg you.”

Dahlia could barely keep pace with the conversation as it was. Much more and her stomach wouldn’t be able to handle it either.

“The money you pay to the guild will act as your deposit,” Gabriella explained. “If you need more, you’re free to use the money invested by the guarantors as you see fit. We’ll register the Green Tower as your place of work. There are eight documents in all that we’ll need to sort out, but if there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask me or any of the other staff at the guild anytime. Just say the word, Dahlia, and it shall all be done.”

Gabriella cast Marcello and Ivano an expectant look as she finished.

“Think about it, Dahlia. This could be your chance to get your hands on all those materials you’ve been wanting to try. Y’know, like fire dragon and wind dragon scales, and sea serpent skin!”

“I heard that a griffin was slain in the neighboring kingdom the other day. We may get some materials from that coming in. Goods are flowing in abundance lately; I think we can expect our suppliers to offer more rare items.”

Dahlia knew these materials they were speaking of weren’t easily obtained and cost a pretty penny when they came up for sale.

Friends

Dahlia didn’t know whether it was due to the stress of yesterday’s encounter with Tobias, the sheer delight she’d felt in the magical tool shops, or the shock of that man trying to chat her up, but she went on a veritable shopping spree on the way home. Piled in front of her was one bag containing the four swords and fittings from the weapon shop, two boxes of food, and a case containing half a dozen bottles each of red and white wine. And of course, there was the man who’d carried it all as though it were light as a feather. Not to imply that she’d bought him, of course.

She’d intended to buy all of this herself and let Volf carry it, but in order to assuage his guilt at not being able to help her when she was harassed at the park, he insisted on paying for it all and wouldn’t listen to any of her protests. Her final resort had been to question whether this was proper behavior for the son of an earl, only for him to reply that if that was her concern, she should give him this opportunity to restore his honor. That was when she’d had to admit defeat, outsmarted. Volf had kept his hood up the whole time, sweat glistening on his brow as he hauled the goods. Dahlia was immensely grateful to him.

“Do you want me to take it inside? Or just leave it in the entrance?” the young knight asked as they stood just outside the door of the Green Tower. The sky behind it would soon be turning golden with the sunset.

Dahlia’s old self would have had him leave the goods in the entrance and happily bid him farewell, drawing their day to a close. That would be the safest thing, the proper thing to do. However, it wasn’t what she wanted to do. The least she could do was give him a drink, and she wanted more time to talk, just the two of them. Dahlia had no interest in romance anymore, but she did want to be his friend. That said, she couldn’t ignore the small chance that Volf was not as trustworthy as she’d assumed. She was well aware that she had to be careful; one wrong move could get her a reputation around town as an “easy woman.” Even so, she felt confident in her decision.

“My living room’s on the second floor; do you think you could take it up there?”

“No problem.”

Volf jogged up the stairs as though completely unburdened by the bags and boxes. Dahlia opened the door for him and turned up the brightness of the magical lantern inside.

“Do you, er, have any family or servants living with you?”

“No, I live alone.”

“I appreciate you inviting me inside, Dahlia, but you do understand it’s not safe for a single woman to bring a man into her house, right?”

“Of course I do! I don’t let just anyone in here, you know. It was either this or carry all these things up here on my own. Besides, aren’t you at least a tiny bit happy that there’s no one else here?” she retorted, making a point of blaming the situation on the merchandise.

After all, what gorgeous butterfly with a whole meadow of flowers to flutter in would choose to alight on some wilting grass by the roadside?

“Well, to be honest, yes. It means we can talk as long as we like without being interrupted. If you don’t feel safe, you can tie my hands and feet and leave me on the floor. You can sit in a chair while I’ll be down on the floor; I can look up at you as we chat.”

“I’m not going to treat you like some bandit!” Dahlia replied, dismayed. How could they possibly talk like that?

“All right, then you can stay in the tower, I’ll stand outside, and we can talk through the window. How about that?”

“I can’t yell at you all night long! I’ll lose my voice!”

She was already shouting as it was. She’d spent all that time fretting and agonizing over whether to bring him into the tower—she wanted to grab a megaphone and yell into Volf’s ear to give her that time back! Volf, meanwhile, just stood there with that silly, unbecoming grin, like a little boy who’d pulled off a prank.

“Look, I’m going to put the kettle on, so please just sit down. Unless you’d prefer white wine?”

“If it’s all the same, I would love some wine, actually...”

“I’ll fix us a little something to eat too.”

“That’s really kind of you, thank you.”

Volf sounded terribly apologetic, but they hadn’t eaten since they got their lunch from the street stalls, after all, and he’d carried the heavy wares all the way here. Anyone would be peckish after that.

For the moment, she had him take a seat on the living room sofa. She fetched him a damp towel and placed some white wine and crackers on the table, then left him to wipe away his sweat and take a few minutes’ rest while she headed to the kitchen.

She took the newly bought loaf of white bread, plus some rye bread, sausages, and other ingredients from her larder. She sliced up some vegetables into small pieces and tossed them into a small pot to boil along with the sausages. In another pot, she tossed two kinds of cheese, a splash of white wine, and a sprinkle of black pepper and grated nutmeg. Once the vegetables were cooked, she plated them along with the sliced bread and sausages, then carried everything to the living room.

She called Volf to come sit at the table. In the middle of the table sat Dahlia’s magical stove, and upon it, the small pot filled with gooey melted cheese.

Ever since she’d perfected her compact magical stove, Dahlia had been itching to make cheese fondue. This little stove made it so easy to prepare.

“Is this a cheese soup?”

Volf was looking at the pot with a thoroughly perplexed expression. He’d clearly never encountered cheese fondue before. Now that she thought of it, while she’d seen dishes served with a topping of melted cheese here in the royal capital, Dahlia had yet to come across cheese being used as a dip. It was possible she’d just created this world’s very first fondue.

“It is cheese, but it’s not a soup. More like a sauce, I suppose. You dip the bread and vegetables into it.”

She handed Volf a long skewer and a plate before giving him a demonstration. She tried it out with a piece of bread first—it was excellent. Her usual red wine would pair very nicely with this indeed. Dahlia offered some bread to the increasingly wide-eyed young man.

“Here, try a small piece to begin with.”

With extreme care, Volf submerged a piece of bread into the melted cheese. He held up his plate to stop any dripping onto the table before quickly taking a bite of the cheese-smothered white bread. For several seconds, he was completely still. Then, he silently began to chew, taking far longer than was normal. Once he’d finally swallowed, he let out a satisfied sigh and eagerly skewered a second piece of bread.

“How is it?”

Dahlia knew he liked white wine, cheese, and strong flavors.

When she finally opened her eyes again, all that remained in her hand was the lens. She tried applying magic to it, and as soon as she was satisfied that no more would enter, she immediately picked up the second lens. Volf was watching her, his face etched with worry, but she didn’t even notice him. While her concentration was still intact, she needed to see if she could repeat what she’d just done—otherwise, she feared she’d never be able to. She’d come this far; she couldn’t stand to let it be a fluke.

She never saw the fairy again as she worked on the second lens. However, that wasn’t to say the work went smoothly. The droplet on the lens seemed slightly less viscous than the first, sliding about on the smooth glass. Dahlia repeated her wish as she poured her magic in, and again she felt that sensation of her power being forcefully drawn out from inside her. Perhaps because she was prepared this time, it was far less uncomfortable than before. At last, she managed to gather the droplet into the center of the lens and coax that shining, many-colored flower to bloom a second time, before it too vanished into nothingness. With that, the pair of lenses were complete. She had only to fit them into the frames and screw them in tight. The finishing touch was a spray of water and a careful wipe with a clean cloth before Dahlia finally handed the glasses to Volf.

“Here, try them on.”

The young man did so, looking around the room. His vision would have a slight bluish tint, but hopefully not enough to be bothersome.

“It’s good. I can see clearly; things aren’t too bright.”

“Try taking a look in the mirror there. I enchanted them with the fairy’s concealment magic, so you should look...different.”

“What the...?”

Looking back at him in the mirror, through faintly blue-gray glasses, was a green-eyed young man. Those green eyes were still Volf’s, but their character was utterly different. They were softer, calmer. Perhaps most importantly, they were eyes you might see in any corner of town. A further surprise came when he turned his head and saw that even from the side, his eyes still looked just as soft and gentle, just as green as spring leaves. His face was still very much his own, yet he could almost be someone else, so curiously inconspicuous had he become.

“You’ll have to forgive me; there’s a bit of my father’s image in those lenses.”

She hadn’t expected to be struck by that memory of her father while enchanting. As it turned out, though, the image of his gentle, slightly downturned eyes had come in handy. Whether he’d be pleased or dismayed to know his image was living on in this way, she didn’t know. She would take a drink to his grave and hope for forgiveness.

“Keep them on and brush your bangs forward, would you?”

“Hm? Oh, sure.”

The young knight was still staring in the mirror, utterly amazed. He seemed puzzled by her request but meekly obeyed, brushing his hair forward before returning his gaze to the mirror.

“Now you shouldn’t stand out too much. Your friends should still recognize you, but I don’t think your eyes will draw attention anymore. Do you, um, think you’d be able to walk around without your hood if you wore those?”

His beauty had been toned down at least a couple of levels, though there was little she could do about his glossy black hair, fine features, and tall, lean figure. She chose not to mention that, though.

“Yeah. I think I could, you know.”

One hand covered his mouth, the other clutching at his waist. His shoulders trembled; there were no tears in his eyes, so she could only assume he was laughing rather than crying. Was he that bewildered by what he saw? Though slightly concerned, Dahlia waited patiently for him to compose himself.

“Thank you, Dahlia.”

Volf bowed his head low and kept it there as he continued.

“I want to buy these from you at a fair price. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

“No, I couldn’t charge you for a prototype. Take those, and if you need another pair, then I’ll let you buy them. Now please, raise your head!”

“Prototype or not, you made them for me. Please, you must let me pay you.”

“Honestly, I insist—that fairy glass was just a leftover from a failed experiment!”

“How much would it have cost you to make these with new materials?” Volf asked, straightening up at last.

“Erm, well, let me see...” Dahlia answered hurriedly. “The frames, glass, and processing would come to about three gilt silver. But the fairy glass... I’m afraid just one spoon of that costs about three gold. I think that amount would make two pairs of glasses. But it’s quite a rare material, you see. I’d need to find out where to get it.”

“Understood. Then I’ll pay you three gold and three gilt silver for the pair I’m wearing now.”

“No, like I said, it’s only a prototype. I’ll be happy to make you another pair, though, in case that one breaks.”

“Not that I wouldn’t appreciate that, Dahlia, but it looked hard on you. I wouldn’t want to make you push yourself like that again.”

It was strange being looked at with worry by those gentle green eyes. They were Volf’s, yet when she looked into them, she couldn’t help being reminded of her father. The odd emotion spurred her to explain her thoughts to her friend.

“You’ve got it wrong, Volf. I’m a magical toolmaker, and this is my work. The second time I make something, I’ll make it better and more easily than before. The third time will be better still.”

In all honesty, this enchantment was one of the three most difficult she’d ever done. But what did it matter? If it allowed her to create something that would protect her friend, she’d take on the challenge a thousand times. Another two or three pairs were well within her capabilities.

“It’s the same way with beast hunting, isn’t it? Even if your first hunt doesn’t go well, the next time you meet that monster, you have a better idea of its weaknesses and such, right?”

Unsure what sort of comparison would demonstrate her point best, Dahlia opted for Volf’s work.

“I suppose so, but it looked painful for you...”

“If I mess up, the worst that’ll happen is I’ll faint. It’s not life or death like beast hunting is. There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

Her magical power was almost spent for now, and her legs felt like jelly. To disguise the fact, she stood up with vigor.

“Anyway, the experiment was a success! Time for a toast, I think.”

“Agreed.”

Volf filled both their glasses with red wine, and for the umpteenth time that day, they clinked them together in a toast. The sweet red wine was a balm to Dahlia’s dry throat. Before she knew it, she’d drained her glass.

“Oh! Volf, are you allowed to bring items like these into the castle or your barracks? I hadn’t even considered it,” Dahlia asked, her voice tinged with worry.

It was quite possible that magical tools like these weren’t permitted around the castle. Without proper rules, people could go disguising themselves willy-nilly.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll need to have them inspected and registered when I enter the castle, but there shouldn’t be any issue with me bringing them in. I probably just won’t be allowed to wear them on the castle grounds. Your identity’s always checked at the gates, anyway. High-ranking nobles use disguises all the time when they go out in town. People who’ve been cursed by monsters often use concealment bangles and such to hide the marks too.”

“Er, should I have heard that last part?”

Volf’s eyes, so reminiscent of her father’s, looked puzzled as he replied to her concerned question.

“It’s not only around the castle you get people with monster curses; adventurers get them from time to time too. You haven’t heard of that before?”

“Never. If it’s all right to ask, what are these curses actually like?”

“Well, some people grow scales on the arm they killed the monster with, while others get marks on their body like they’ve been scorched. Some curses can be dispelled at the temple, but not all. Even when they can, it’s pretty expensive. People often wear concealment accessories while they’re saving up the money.”

“I had no idea...”

She could understand why there’d be a demand for such accessories among those afflicted by curses. The nature of these curses intrigued her—were they like a slain monster’s final vengeance? Or were they something that occurred under particular conditions?

“Weren’t you able to disguise your face with one of those concealment bangles?”

“I’ve never heard of one that can change the appearance of your eyes. There may be other glasses out there with that enchantment on them, but I’ve never seen them for sale in any magical tool shops. It’s possible that they’re in use at the Intelligence Office, I suppose.”

“Do you think you could keep quiet about me making these?”

“Of course. I promise I will. If anyone asks, I’ll say I got them through my family.”

Dahlia gazed at him steadily as he nodded. She just couldn’t shake that sense of uneasiness as she looked upon his altered face.

“I’m sorry, Volf, but could you take those off whenever we drink together here?”

“Is it a bit uncanny?”

“It’s just... I suppose it’s just because I’m reminded of father, but it’s making me feel incredibly bad about drinking too much.”

“Right. I’ll keep them off inside the tower.”

Once he’d removed the glasses, he and Dahlia raised another toast. Which number this one was was anyone’s guess. Now unobstructed, Volf’s golden eyes seemed to glow with happiness as he gazed at the young craftswoman.

Interlude: The Chairman of Orlando & Co.

Tobias had come to the offices of Orlando & Co. to order some materials he needed for magical toolmaking. Unusually, his mother was nowhere to be seen, and the clerks were noticeably quiet.

“Tobias.”

Turning in the direction of the toneless voice, Tobias saw a man approaching him. It was his elder brother, Ireneo Orlando. He was ten years Tobias’s senior and the chairman of Orlando & Co. He was tall and slim, with dark-brown hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes—the spitting image of their father. Tobias had never felt at ease in his company.

“Welcome home, Ireneo. When did you get back?”

“The night before last. I need to speak with you; do you have time?”

“Yes, now’s fine.”

They entered one of the meeting rooms, Ireneo taking the seat farthest at the back while Tobias sat diagonally across from him. A clerk brought them each a cup of black tea, bowing before leaving the two men completely alone.

“I’ve heard about your broken engagement and all that’s transpired since.”

“I’m sorry, it all happened so suddenly. I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you.”

“In all honesty, Tobias, when I heard everything you and mother managed to get up to while I was away, all I could do was laugh.”

Ireneo dropped the thick bundle of documents he’d been carrying with a thud, spreading them out on the table. Now that Tobias looked properly at his brother, he could clearly see the dark circles under the man’s eyes and the prominent veins in his hands. An unmistakable air of fatigue hung over him.

“Your debt to the guild has been repaid in full. I’ve added thirty gold to your account—consider this your credit with the guild and do not touch it. Never take out a loan in the company’s name again; it will affect our credibility.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Next is the matter of that magical tool you registered under your name. This one’s a pain. I’ll pull what strings I can to keep my contacts at the guild quiet about it, but there’s no stopping rumors once they escape, and we can’t afford to act too conspicuously. The last thing we need is Gabriella using this against us. You need to stay away from the Merchants’ Guild for the time being.”

“I will.”

“Now, there is word circulating that you found yourself a new woman and abandoned your devoted fiancée, Dahlia, on the eve of your wedding.”

“Well, I...”

Tobias faltered, unable to refute this.

“Whether it’s true or not is irrelevant; unsavory rumors will affect your future and your business relationships,” Ireneo continued as he leafed through some papers.

Several times, Tobias noticed Dahlia’s name in scrawled writing on the documents.

“I’ve been investigating Dahlia’s connections; it seems she’s been keeping company with a man from the Scalfarotto family lately. I’ll hire a few gossip-birds in due course to get the word out that she has a new man and is happily continuing her work. We’ll say she would’ve been unhappy as a housewife. Things should settle down in a couple of months.”

As the name implied, “gossip-birds” were people hired to go out into the town and mingle with the crowds with the aim of spreading rumors or creating publicity. Normally, they were employed to spread good word about certain businesses or products, but it seemed Ireneo had found an alternative use for them.

“Dahlia’s seeing that man? Are you serious?”

Tobias recalled the image of that excessively fine-featured man he’d met the other day on the terrace of a café. He had indeed introduced himself with the name Scalfarotto. For some reason, he didn’t remotely like the thought of Dahlia having spent all her time with that young nobleman since that day.

“She’s been seen walking with a tall, strikingly handsome young man with black hair and golden eyes. The description fits that of Earl Scalfarotto’s youngest son. At a store near her tower, Dahlia’s bill was paid by a tall man wearing a black hood. The same man even carried her shopping home for her. He seems to have taken quite a fancy to her,” Ireneo continued, pausing to gently blow on his steaming cup of tea.

How had he managed this amount of research in only two days? Among the documents, Tobias saw the earl’s name.

“With the young man’s rank being what it is, I’m sure she isn’t entertaining hopes of marrying him. Even so, he is one of the celebrated Scalfarottos. If nothing else, I’m sure he’ll be a generous patron.”

Dahlia couldn’t possibly have a patron, Tobias was about to say, but he stopped short. That day, it had been that young man who had done the talking, not Dahlia.

“I swear, if only I didn’t have a wife at home already, I’d marry her myself.”

“It’s hardly the time for jokes, Ireneo.”

“I’m not joking. The woman’s college-educated, mathematically minded enough to manage the accounts, a talented magical toolmaker, the daughter of a baron, and the owner of the Green Tower. What’s more, she’s suffered through this affair with you with admirable calm, bagged herself the son of an earl, and single-handedly founded her own trading company. Only the gods know how far you’d search to find another woman like that.”

Ireneo let out a bitter sigh as he looked down at the document on the top of the pile—details of a business called the Rossetti Trading Company.

“What more could you possibly have wanted, Tobias?”

“Emilia’s all I—”

The cold glare Ireneo gave him stopped him in his tracks. It was so like their father’s, instantly reminding Tobias of every time he’d been harshly reprimanded when he was younger.

“A man can’t help his taste in women; we all know that. But there are ways of doing these things. Why could you not have just waited six months before getting together with Emilia?”

“I just...needed to be with her as soon as I could.”

“Let me ask you this: if Dahlia had been the first one to find a new lover, broken the engagement with you, and then announced that she and her beau were moving into your house the next day, how would you have felt?”

“I...”

“Because that’s exactly what you did. Stay away from Dahlia from now on. The Scalfarottos could crush our little outfit at the drop of a hat if there were trouble,” Ireneo warned as he pulled out yet another document from the pile.

“Now, regarding Emilia, she is indeed the viscount’s daughter, but she has no useful connections of any kind.”

“No useful connections? What do you mean?”

“I did a cursory investigation. Emilia was born to the younger brother of the previous Lord Tallini and a woman who worked on the estate. The previous viscount paid a considerable sum of money and employed a scrivener to formally sever all ties with the woman. Mother wrote a letter of greeting to Lord Tallini; the reply came back only to say that they had no knowledge of any Emilia. There are commoners bearing the Tallini name, and Emilia’s mother was just that. Still, she’s gotten good use out of it, hasn’t she?”

Tobias could see the viscount’s name written on the letter in his brother’s hands. Their mother’s letter was tied to it with a brown cord. It had evidently been returned.

“I don’t care about that. She’s still Emilia.”

“If that’s what you think, all well and good. I’ll be writing an apology to the viscount. Mother is furious, I hope you realize. She was very much counting on cultivating some lofty connections through your new fiancée. Gossip is circulating as well. Don’t bring Emilia back here again.”

“Right. Understood.”

“And I don’t want to see mother out in the front offices anymore either. She can be in the back or in the house. If you need something, then you go to her.”

“Why? What’s wrong with her being there?”

“It’s called a precaution. I’ll write to Lord Tallini and explain that our mother made a silly mistake in her old age, and I’ll send something by way of apology. That ought to more or less smooth things over.”

“Surely there’s no need to go that—”

Tobias was met with another glare from his brother’s deep, inky-black eyes.

“You don’t take the nobility lightly, Tobias. There’s no telling what sort of connections they might have, and we don’t have the means to properly investigate either.”

“But it was just one letter. Surely it’s nothing to be so worried about.”

“If they decide there’s even the most infinitesimal chance that we’ll cause their family trouble, we’re finished.”

“But I mean...”

“Tobias, do you know how many employees we have at this company now?”

“Er, about seventy?”

“Within the kingdom, one hundred twenty-one; outside it, thirty-seven. Beyond them, we have over two hundred contracted mages, magical toolmakers, artisans, advertisers, and cleaning staff. Include their families and that’s over one thousand people. Our family alone is not Orlando & Co. As chairman, I have a duty to protect this company,” Ireneo said firmly, his expression the very image of their late father.

Tobias was lost for words.

“Do you know why father and Carlo were so keen for you to marry Dahlia?”

“Carlo told me that he wanted us to work together and support each other as fellow magical toolmakers. All father said was...to look after her.”

Upon hearing that, his elder brother heaved his deepest and longest sigh since they’d sat down and clasped his hands upon the table. Those deep black eyes, just like their father’s, slightly narrowed as he looked seriously at Tobias.

“You’re not a child anymore, so it’s time you heard the truth. Though I’m afraid you may not like it. The fact is, our father practically begged Carlo to let you marry Dahlia.”

“Father did? But why would he do that?”

“We’re commoners—magical toolmaking is not in our blood, and aside from you, there’s not a single toolmaker in the family. Should you ever encounter problems with your work, there is no one in the family who can help you. Father wished to put Dahlia by your side so that you would always have someone to go to for help and advice.”

“But...then what was in it for Carlo?”

Tobias’s vision seemed to waver. Pain and an unpleasant tightness began to creep into his temples.

“It was self-interest for him as well. He knew that if he died, Dahlia would be left all on her own—a young woman with no other family to speak of. Her talent as a magical toolmaker could easily begin to draw unwelcome attention. If she were working with you, on the other hand, her creations would be treated as coming from you both, as a couple—and therefore would not be conspicuous. Once you were married, you would both be under the protection of Orlando & Co. That was the plan, at any rate. I only wish father had explained all this to mother.”

“No one told me anything about this!”

Tobias barely recognized the anguished cry as his own voice. In his ears, his blood rushed thunderously like the waves of an angry sea. His chest felt tight, his breath short.

“You mean I was going to be nothing but a distraction, just a smokescreen for Dahlia’s work?!”

“In a sense, yes. But Carlo appreciated you; he always praised your diligence. He respected the hard work you put in to become a magical toolmaker despite coming from a merchant family. He said, in fact, that you might surpass him one day if you put in the effort. It wasn’t about which one of you had more talent; what he wanted was for you to live together happily as partners in your craft.”

“Why...Why did they never tell me? Father, Carlo, they...they never said a word!”

The older man’s inky gaze faltered for a moment as though he was unsure of what to say next.

“If they had, you would never have agreed to marry her, would you?”

Those words were irrefutable. Tobias couldn’t even begin to summon an argument. If he had known all this beforehand, he would have refused the engagement point-blank. He’d have told them he didn’t need anyone’s help. He had more ambition in life than being a mere distraction to keep Dahlia out of trouble.

He remembered something then—something Carlo had taught him with that gentle smile of his. A good magical toolmaker wasn’t defined by how many inventions they had registered, he’d said. What mattered was putting your heart into crafting each and every tool, right down to the cheapest and most ordinary, so that every customer would receive the very best quality you could produce. Dahlia was Dahlia, Tobias was Tobias, and each of them had their own particular strengths. Dahlia was inventive and adaptable, and she excelled in creating new prototypes. Tobias, meanwhile, worked with care, patience, and thoroughness, ensuring every product was absolutely safe for the customers. Both of their talents were admirable and ought to be treasured. They should use their skills to complement each other and help each other grow.

Somewhere along the way, Tobias had forgotten Carlo’s praise and begun constantly comparing himself to his junior apprentice, Dahlia. He became blind to everything but his own faults. His thoughts went around and around in circles as he desperately tried to come up with new inventions of his own. He lost all focus on the work in front of him, and even the simple pleasure of crafting withered into drudgery. In time, his anxiety gave way to jealousy and selfishness, and he found himself repeatedly pushing the boundaries of Dahlia’s patience. In the end, he abandoned the woman who wouldn’t love him for one who did: Emilia. Only now could he finally see his mistakes, piled on mistakes, piled on mistakes—and all too late. There was nothing he could do now but bear the truth and try to contain the stricken cry that threatened to rip from his throat.

“I opposed father. You and Dahlia are magical toolmakers, not merchants like father and me. It wasn’t for us to orchestrate your marriage like a convenient business deal. But father kept hounding Carlo, and I suppose Carlo didn’t want to disappoint him because he gave in eventually. I accept my fault in this; I should have done more to stop it. We’ll shoulder the responsibility for what’s happened together.”

Only as Ireneo handed him a white handkerchief did Tobias finally become aware of the tears streaming down his cheeks. He pressed the handkerchief to his face and tried to calm his hitching breaths, but the sobs wouldn’t stop.

“I’ll see to it that no one comes in here for a while. You can leave when you’re ready. Once you’ve had some time to think, we’ll meet again and talk about where we go from here,” said Ireneo as he stood up and walked past Tobias on his way out of the door.

That voice could almost have belonged to their father.

Extra Story: A Father and Daughter’s Magical Tool Invention Diaries—the Dryer

My little girl’s the cutest in the whole wide world.

Carlo’s six-year-old daughter, Dahlia, was a gorgeous little angel with vivid red hair and the gentlest green eyes. Her face was a little mature for her age, but her expressions were so animated that one could never tire of looking at her. She may have been a tiny bit clumsy, but she made up for it with her proficiency in reading and writing.

Dahlia had been one and a half when she’d spoken her first word: “fada” (father). Her second word was “misofee” (Miss Sofia). Sofia was the elderly maid who helped Carlo with housework and caring for his young daughter. The first time Dahlia had called out to him, he’d grinned from ear to ear as he replied, but he had been so overcome with happiness that he’d sunk to his knees and been unable to move for several minutes.

It soon became clear that Dahlia had inherited her father’s passion for toolmaking. She pointed out the “madic toows” (magical tools) in the workshop. The first thing she ever asked for was a “madic kistal” (magic crystal). Nearly all of her earliest words had something to do with magical toolmaking. When she was four years old, she would cling to Carlo’s side without getting in the way and watch him as he worked. Every time he enchanted something, she would stare in astonishment with little murmurs of “wow,” and “’majing” (amazing). Carlo worked twice, no, three times as hard whenever Dahlia was by his side.

Soon, she wanted more to do besides merely watching, so Carlo set aside a corner of the workshop especially for her. He prepared some spent magic crystals and harmless materials for her to play with, along with some simple books on magical tools and colorfully illustrated bestiaries. Dahlia was delighted, amusing herself for hours on end in her special corner. Of course, she did all the things an ordinary child did too, happy to run around and play with the neighborhood kids whenever they invited her. She seemed to be best friends with a girl named Irma. Irma lived nearby and was three years older than Dahlia. They could often be found playing together with building blocks and marbles.

On her fifth birthday, Dahlia announced, “When I grow up, I’m going to be a magical toolmaker like father!”

Carlo was overjoyed, and he immediately threw his full support behind her. His fellow toolmakers were aghast that he’d begun teaching the craft to his five-year-old daughter.

“Have you gone loopy? She’s five!”

“You spoil that child rotten!”

In fact, Carlo found that Dahlia absorbed the basics of toolmaking like a sponge. Of course, he held off on things like input and output calculations and fortifying techniques. Those would probably need to wait until she’d graduated from elementary school. Children entered elementary school at age eight; until then, he planned to teach her reading, writing, and simple mathematics, taking his time readying her for school.

However, his little daughter exceeded all his expectations. Her magical toolmaking books were soon stuffed with bookmarks. Before long, she came to him pleading to see even bigger books. He gave her all the volumes on magical toolmaking he had, along with more bestiaries and catalogs of crafting materials. He also permitted her to handle some magic crystals with a little power left in them, taking the opportunity to begin teaching her how to control magic. He made absolutely sure she understood how to use any tools she needed safely and that she would only do so when he was in the workshop beside her. Seeing how delighted she was, Carlo soon let his guard down.

“Eeek!”

One day, when Carlo was out in the garden, he heard a scream that made his blood run cold.

“Dahlia!”

Carlo burst into the workshop to find white smoke rising and a sizable scorch mark running up at least a third of the wall near the entrance. Thankfully, the only things actually on fire were a few pieces of paper, which Carlo quickly extinguished with a water crystal.

“Dahlia, these crystals aren’t toys! What if you’d gotten burned? What were you thinking?!” Carlo roared at her. A few locks of her red hair had been singed. “I told you never to use magic crystals unless I was with you!”

Dahlia listened meekly as her father launched into a harsh and thorough lecture on the danger of magic crystals. Eventually, though, it became too much for the little girl. Carlo’s eyes widened as he saw tears spill from Dahlia’s emerald-green eyes.

“I’m...s-sorry...”

“I know, I know. Look, why did you do this?”

“I wanted to...m-make something in secret.”

“What for?”

“I-It was a surprise. I thought...you’d be happy...”

As his daughter tried her best to explain herself through sniffles and sobs, he noticed an L-shaped metal tube on the floor at her feet.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a dryer... It was...supposed to blow warm air.”

Carlo saw what appeared to be a blueprint for a magical tool made with air and fire crystals, both kinds of magic coming out through an L-shaped tube. There wasn’t much wrong with the construction, but without any adjustment, the crystals would have expressed almost their full power.

“I didn’t think...it would come out so hard.”

“Yeah, I haven’t taught you the proper calculations or how to reduce crystals’ power yet.”

“I’m really sorry...” Dahlia apologized again, doing her best to hold back her tears.

It pained Carlo to see her eyes so reddened.

“What did you want to do with this ‘dryer,’ Dahlia?”

“I wanted to dry my hair with it... Long hair’s hard to dry properly.”

Dahlia may still have been small, but she was a woman nonetheless. She was reaching the age when she’d begun to care more about her hairstyle. Carlo felt ashamed that he hadn’t even considered this before now.

“I understand. Let’s see if we can make it better, eh?”

She’s only six; shouldn’t be that much of a challenge, Carlo thought, but he soon found himself completely absorbed in the project.

“Whoa!”

Carlo staggered backward as he tried out the “dryer” in the garden. A light press of the switch was enough to blast out a long, fierce tongue of flame. This kind of power would be an intermediate spell for a mage. The lawn in front of Carlo was scorched black in an instant.

“It turned into a flamethrower,” muttered Dahlia as she watched from behind, looking gloomy.

She often came up with names like that on the spot—“dryer,” “flamethrower,” and so on. It was as if she somehow already knew what these things were. Carlo was sure she had a clear idea in her head of the object she’d wanted to create.

“N-No, no, you’ve got the right idea!” he quickly reassured her.

Her tearstained face lit up with a smile.

“I’ll just add some magic circuits to reduce the power,” he continued, “and we should have it blowing nice, warm air in no time.”

“Can you make it blow cold air and warm air?”

“Sure, no problem. You just adjust the fire crystal’s circuits like this.”

“That’s amazing, father! I want to make the air blow hard and gentle too. Can you do that?”

“’Course I can!”

Carlo incorporated all of these functions, just as Dahlia wanted. During testing, he noticed that the metal pipe was showing signs of degrading, likely due to being exposed to high temperatures. He decided to remake the object in a different metal. Dahlia was very particular about the shape. They spent a long time perfecting it until, at last, this “dryer,” like a curiously shaped fan heater, was complete.

Before they knew it, dawn was breaking. Carlo and Dahlia went to the bathroom and wet their hair—it was the moment of truth. As it turned out, the dryer performed perfectly. Father and daughter toasted their success—Carlo with red wine, Dahlia with grape juice. Their forgotten dinner became breakfast instead, and they ate with relish. Just as they finished, the maid Sofia arrived at the tower, back from her day off.

“Welcome back, Miss Sofia! We made a dryer!” Dahlia exclaimed with a grin as she hugged the maid, only to slump to the floor in a heap a moment later.

“Miss Dahlia?!”

Carlo smiled wryly as he scooped his daughter into his arms. She was fast asleep, just like a magic crystal that had exhausted its power.

“Ah, we were up all night, you see. No wonder she’s sleepy.”

“All night?” The maid stiffened, turning a frigid stare upon Carlo. “You kept this little girl up all night? Sir, what exactly is the meaning of this?!”

“Well, we were crafting a new magical tool together...”

“That is no excuse whatsoever. Miss Dahlia is a child; she ought to be in bed no later than eight o’clock. Goodness knows I’ve reminded you often enough. Please tell me you at least gave her a bath yesterday.”

“Sorry, not yet.”

As she slipped into dreamland, Dahlia could faintly hear Sofia giving her father a thorough tongue-lashing. It reminded her of being scolded by her mother in her previous life. As she lay huddled in her father’s arms, her brows drew together in a slightly troubled expression. Carlo noticed immediately.

“Let me put Dahlia to bed first, would you? Then we’ll talk about this properly.”

“Yes, certainly. Once you’ve done that, we shall indeed talk. At length.”

The old woman’s smile sent a shiver up his spine. She saw to it that he would never make the same mistake twice.

From then on, Dahlia made steady—in fact, rapid—progress in her magical toolmaking. She was always talking cheerfully of ideas that, in all honesty, seemed impossible to achieve with the magical tools Carlo knew.

“I bet you could make it for me one day, father!” she’d say, beaming up at him. “When I’m older, let’s make it together!”

No matter what she dreamed up, she always had total faith that he’d find a way to create it. Who was he to tell her it couldn’t be done? How could he say that it was too difficult or that he didn’t know how? It only drove Carlo to work, experiment, and study his craft harder than ever before.

“Daughters are bound to marry and fly from the nest one day,” the scrivener, Dominic, said to him more than once. “Why don’t you consider remarrying?”

Carlo knew it made sense, but he simply had no desire to get married again. In fact, he found it difficult to imagine Dahlia marrying either. If she really had to, perhaps they could at least make it to someone in the neighborhood so she’d always be close by. You never know, one day she might leave him and come back home with her kids in tow, and... Wait, no, that’s not how it’s s’posed to go. Carlo found himself picturing his grandchildren—their angelic faces, their bright-red hair.

“Such pretty hair you have, Miss Dahlia,” Sofia had once said to his daughter, some years ago now. “It’s the color of crimson clover.”

Dahlia had pouted.

“I want sandy-color hair like Fadder.”

“But yours is lovely. And you have your father’s green eyes.”

“We should match.”

Listening to his slightly sulky little daughter, Carlo felt a pang in his chest. Dahlia had never once asked him about her mother. She seemed to feel no yearning or attachment to her, to an extent that seemed strange for a small child. Carlo had always put it down to Sofia’s devoted care.

However, one day, one of the neighbors asked Dahlia, “Don’t you get lonely without a mother?”

“Nope! I’ve got Fadder!” she answered without a moment’s hesitation.

Even now, Carlo could vividly remember his daughter’s dazzling smile. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he would never forget it until the day he died. Dahlia’s mother had had the same crimson clover hair. Her almond-shaped eyes, too, had been a rich shade of red. She’d been a stunningly beautiful woman, with feline elegance in everything she did. Though he would never see her here in his tower again, Carlo loved her still. That said, were you to ask him if she were the person he loved most in the world, the reply would be a simple “no.” There was now no one Carlo adored more than his daughter, Dahlia.

My Dahlia’s the dearest little girl in the whole wide world.

Bonus Translator’s Notes

Hello! I’m Niki, the translator for Dahlia in Bloom: Crafting a Fresh Start with Magical Tools. Thank you for reading all the way to the end! I very much hope you’ve enjoyed this first volume and that we’ll be seeing you again in the next one.

This time, I’d like to talk about some of the animal metaphors I came across while translating this volume. There were quite a few, and they each required some careful thought. I think these phrases give a fascinating insight into how different animals are perceived across cultures.

You will no doubt have noticed that there is a strong drinking culture in the kingdom of Ordine. It has given rise to specific terms denoting people’s tolerance to alcohol—namely “kingsnake” and “sea serpent.” Following the first mention of kingsnakes, Dahlia notes that in her previous world, this term corresponds to the word “uwabami.” The primary meaning of uwabami is “giant snake,” but it is also a slang term referring to a heavy drinker. Kingsnake is exactly the same, referring to both a giant desert-dwelling serpent and someone who can down more pints than your average barfly. However, these metaphors presented a challenge for me as the translator because we make no association between snakes and alcohol in English. Furthermore, there is no equivalent animal I could have used to convey the meaning. We have some similes linking animals and alcohol, such as “drinks like a fish” and “pissed as a newt,” but there is no single animal that serves as a byword for a heavy drinker.

For this reason, I removed Dahlia’s mention of uwabami because it would be meaningless to Anglophone readers, and I substituted a simple explanation that conveyed the same information. I don’t believe that leaving kingsnake and sea serpent as is makes for a perfect translation (not that such a thing exists). To Japanese readers, these metaphors will have felt familiar and obvious, but they don’t perform the same function in English due to the absence of a cultural link between snakes and alcohol. In Japanese, this passage serves to bridge the gap between Dahlia’s first and second worlds by demonstrating their similarities. In English, the foreignness of the metaphors may actually have the opposite effect, making the story’s setting feel even more alien.

One might well wonder how giant snakes came to be associated with alcohol in Japan in the first place. For those who know their mythology, there’s actually a clue in the description of how hunters capture the monstrous kingsnakes. It bears a marked resemblance to the tale of how the hero Susanoo slew the evil eight-headed serpent, Yamata no Orochi. After intoxicating it with strong sake, Susanoo cut the beast into pieces. This legend, along with snakes’ ability to swallow very large prey, is thought to be the reason they are associated with heavy drinking in Japan.

Let’s explore the serpentine theme a little further. Twice, during his first outing with Dahlia, Volf uses the phrase “yabu kara hebi” (a snake from a bush). Looking at the literal translation, it may appear similar to the English metaphor “snake in the grass,” but it has quite a different meaning. It comes from a longer phrase meaning to poke a bush and draw out a snake, and it refers to unnecessary trouble brought upon oneself. Some dictionaries offer “kicking a hornet’s nest” as a suitable translation for this phrase, but this was much too strong in the context of Volf and Dahlia’s conversation. The hornet’s nest metaphor implies attracting some real wrath and suffering unpleasant consequences; all Volf is concerned about, however, is fending off Dahlia’s attempts to save him money. This was a case that called for me to translate the spirit of the words rather than to try to reach for an equivalent metaphor that doesn’t really exist. If we translate a little more literally, Volf’s words when Dahlia offers to split the bill for lunch are as follows:

“It seems like a snake’s come out from the bush. I’ll put it back.”

Arguably, the meaning of the metaphor is not too challenging to intuit, but it doesn’t sound at all natural in English. I rendered it as:

“Looks like I said too much. Pretend you never heard that.”

Later in the scene, when Dahlia asks him to forget about repaying her for a potion she gave him, Volf repeats the phrase. Once again, I chose a translation that fitted naturally into the flow of the conversation:

“I’m not forgetting about anything.”

It’s a little more to the point, covering only the “I’ll put it back” part of the original phrase. The essential meaning, however, is intact. When faced with a phrase that doesn’t translate easily, it’s always helpful to take a step back and look at the forest, not the trees. You should ask yourself what the basic function of the line is supposed to be. In this case, Volf’s use of yabu kara hebi is intended as a flat refusal of Dahlia’s offer. Any translation that satisfactorily performs this function (while being appropriate to the character, of course) may be considered valid.

Now, let’s put scales aside at last and turn our attention to feathers. Once again, this fascinating and initially mystifying metaphor comes to us courtesy of Volf. In his conversation with Dahlia about a certain duchess he has long been acquainted with, Volf mentions that, following her husband’s death, she was inundated with “tsubame shigansha”—literally, “swallow applicants.” As with uwabami, tsubame is a word with a double meaning. In most contexts, it refers to a swallow, but it also happens to be a byword for a young man in a romantic relationship with an older woman. As before, I found no convenient equivalent for this metaphor in English, and it would be impossible for Anglophone readers to intuit, so I chose to swap the metaphor for a simile. Flies, while not as elegant as swallows flitting across the summer sky, served well to express the irritation caused by the duchess’s persistent suitors. It was also rather fun slipping in the right vocabulary to continue the theme through the dialogue—“buzzing,” “swarms,” “repelled,” and “swatted.”

Given the origins of the swallow metaphor, it’s actually a rather curious one to hear from the mouth of a man from another world. It dates back to a single letter written to pioneering Japanese feminist Hiratsuka Raicho. The letter was penned by artist Okumura Hiroshi, who was Hiratsuka’s lover despite being several years her junior. Hiratsuka’s followers were scandalized by their relationship, and so Okumura wrote to her to end things. His letter included this rather poetic line:

“This young swallow shall fly away so that peace may return to the pond.”

This was published in a magazine run by Hiratsuka, and the little bird has been saddled with a double meaning ever since. I couldn’t help wondering whether Dahlia’s author was aware of this metaphor’s origin, and if they were, whether it gave them pause when they wrote it into the story. When it comes to historical and fantasy stories, I believe writers and translators alike often find themselves mulling over words and phrases that might be anachronistic. Just the other day, I removed the phrase “like clockwork” from a translation because I couldn’t be sure such mechanisms had been invented in that story’s setting. That said, it’s impossible to go hunting down the etymology of every other word to be sure everything is perfectly appropriate to period and place. We’re writing in modern times, after all, for modern readers.

Having illustrated some of the challenges the animal metaphors in Dahlia gave me, I’ll conclude with one which was a breeze. Even when the phrase is translated literally, you could probably guess what Dahlia means when she says she and Volf are “onaji ana no mujina”—“badgers in the same hole.” It means that they are like-minded, i.e. birds of a feather. This was one of the rare and satisfying cases in which one metaphor could be neatly replaced with another.

I very much hope these notes have been interesting and have provided some insight into the translation process. The Japanese language is a source of endless fascination for me, and I’d recommend anyone who enjoys Japanese media to have a go at learning it.

See you next time!