Chapter 72 - Common Sense for Academy Festivals (2)

Lately, his mealtimes had been under threat.

Ivan had no fixed mealtimes. Eating was ultimately a matter of replenishing energy, and he could supply the appropriate calories calculated from his activity level at any time.

He did not eat out of hunger or appetite in the first place. If he had to describe it, it was like refueling a machine. Nothing more. If energy was running low, he replenished it.

So he would break off a rough chunk of nutrition bar, put it in his mouth, and work it around. After gently softening it with saliva, he would coat his molars with mana and crunch it to pieces. Then swallow. In precisely fifteen seconds, his meal was over.

Thus, to say his mealtimes were under threat meant situations like this.

“Wow! Once you keep eating it? Yeah. Once you... once you keep eating it, it's delicious, Uncle! You're such a good cooook!”

A single tear rolled down Esidisi's cheek as she diligently chewed and swallowed her nutrition bar.

The nutrition bar was a complete food, made by adapting early hardtack-making methods with a suitable pemmican-style twist. It was nutritionally perfect, but sadly, its texture could not be perfect too.

Hardtack was never meant to be eaten by chewing it straight. It was a convenience food to be soaked in water, boiled, and eaten as porridge. Looking like a biscuit did not mean you could munch away on it.

The solution to this inconvenience was that miraculous power, mana: the “all-purpose resource.” With mana coating your molars, chewing something like this was nothing. It pushed the human bite force, already powerful for the body's size, to an extreme.

“Uuugh... urgh... gulp.”

“... You needn't force yourself.”

“Force! Myself? What do you mean?! I... I've never told a lie in my life! Esidisi the Sincere... Haven't you heard?”

“I hadn't.”

“Well, now you know! Got it? Everything I say is true.”

Esidisi forced a smile as another tear trickled down her cheek.

It had failed...

This strategy was a failure...

She lamented her mistake, chewing over her regrets (and the nutrition bar). It had seemed like such a perfect plan... One that Isabelle, that little brat, wouldn't even dare attempt...!

* * *

Droan was a barren land.

Cool, dry summers. Horribly cold, long winters. Spring and autumn that barely dipped a toe in before vanishing.

Yes. A familiar climate that would have any twenty-first-century South Korean exclaiming, “Wow, this weather is fucking shit!” over and over.

On top of that, Droan had rugged mountains and uselessly vast pastures unsuitable for farming. Plant something in a field, and the harvest was poor regardless. You were better off letting sheep loose to graze.

Naturally, a food culture could not flourish under such conditions. Forget Kallion; it fell short not just of Thilles, but even of Krasilof. (This was truly serious.)

Having been born and raised in such a country, she was naturally accustomed to awful food. Dry roast mutton seasoned with salt was a luxury; most meals consisted of steamed potatoes, salt-cured ham, or fermented herring.

Which meant that the bizarre block of wood Ivan regularly chewed with such ease was also quite likely to fall within her tolerable range.

Wasn't sharing food the quickest way to grow close to someone?

It was a challenge that feeble Isabelle, accustomed to the fine cuisine of Thilles, could never dream of attempting. Esidisi was used to eating things like boiled roots. (She was a Princess of Droan. Any further explanation of Droan's food culture would be uncool.)

'But there's a limit!!'

Her happiest moment in Krasilof was the first time she had spread “fresh cream” on “butter bread.” Good heavens, that soft sweetness.

Droan's warriors only used the concept of “sweetness” for “honey wine (mead).” (Mead was not actually sweet.) Born and raised in such a world, with following her father around battlefields her only experience abroad, Esidisi treasured these memories of “food culture.”

And now here she was eating this bizarre convenience food: hard as stone, sticky with lard, and interspersed with unidentified sour dried fruit that crumbled grittily between her teeth. Tears welled up anew.

“Should I... yeah. Should I cook something and bring it over...?”

“Cook?”

“Yes, at least, um. Hmm. Dinner tonight? How about dinner tonight? Let's eat something really good together.”

Sadly, this poor man seemed never to have experienced the pleasure of eating in his entire life. Judging by his behavior, he could easily have been a warrior from some backwater in Droan rather than Krasilof.

He even grew his beard out bushy like the men of Droan...

“I'm busy this evening.”

“Huh? Uh, wait. I know this. I know this routine. You're going to say you're busy every time I ask when you're free, aren't you?!”

“...? No.”

Ivan was a sincere man, so he had no reason to make excuses about being busy on days when he wasn't.

Sadly, sincerity was one of those things that could not inherently be conveyed to others. Esidisi eyed him doubtfully for a long while before nodding.

“What are you doing during the festival?”

“The usual.”

Ivan's usual routine was escorting the children of the Hero's Party. Since he had agreed to spend it with Isabelle, that qualified as the usual.

Esidisi beamed at his answer.

“Then come eat good food with me! The upperclassmen said there'll be loads of food stalls at the festival! It's the biggest festival in Prizhenkaya!”

“Very well.”

His schedule was no different from usual. Watching these youngsters eat and helping balance their nutrition was nothing out of the ordinary.

Ivan nodded and rose from his seat. Three in the afternoon. It was time to answer the Princess's summons.

* * *

“Ah, Vanka. You're here. Sit down.”

Elizaveta smiled warmly and offered him a seat on the sofa.

Across the broad solid-wood table in the president's office, Elpihera sat with her head demurely bowed.

Was she ill?

Ivan swiftly checked her physical signs, then shook his head. Elves were frail; their tendency to fall out of sorts could not be helped.

Didn't Veolgrin also have a chronic condition that worsened whenever he saw a human?

“You summoned me, Your Highness?”

“Heh, Vanka. I told you to call me President. Ah, you've met Miss Grikencos, of course. I hear you carried out the last operation together. She seems to think very highly of you.”

Elizaveta smiled from the seat of honor on the sofa.

At her words, Elpihera blushed, stole a glance at Ivan, and ducked her head again.

“You embarrass me, Your Highness...”

“...? What's gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“Has this maiden done aught to incur Your Highness's displeasure...?”

“My head is spinning.”

Elizaveta slowly shook her head. Still, the girl's behavior was understandable.

Look at Ivan. That stalwart great warrior of Krasilof was, for a start, utterly intimidating to behold.

There was that long, bristling beard, even if it had lately begun to look suspiciously smooth and well groomed. It alone concealed a good half of his face. Knowing what he used to look like, she found it lamentable, but there was no breaking that stubborn streak.

Then there were his unfeeling eyes, his sharp gaze, and his shaggy, unkempt hair.

No, this made no sense.

He was clearly putting something on that beard, so why on earth did his hair look like that?

Elizaveta swallowed the sudden surge of irritation and regained her composure.

In any case, he was rather overwhelming for a young girl. Add his solid, muscular build to those looks, then layer on the intimidation and sharp edge honed through years of actual combat, and it was only natural that a youngster who had only just turned twenty should struggle even to meet his eyes.

Besides, hadn't this girl witnessed Vanka's abilities firsthand?

Apparently, he had slain a monster in the ruins with her. If she had glimpsed even a fraction of his abilities in the process, well. It was understandable that she was this frightened.

As the adult here (age twenty-seven), she ought to be understanding.

Elizaveta looked at Ivan with a warm smile.

“You know the festival is coming up, I presume.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Several countries are planning to send envoys to coincide with it. Understandable. An event at their children's school makes the perfect excuse.”

A university festival in this era was not merely for students.

It was a golden opportunity for the many foreign dignitaries enrolled at St. Jansk University to seize the occasion and exert influence over one another that went far beyond their status as students.

High nobles were political beasts. Naturally, opportunities like this encouraged covert back-channel diplomacy impossible in their own homelands.

Using their children as an excuse was truly pathetic, but what could she do?

Elizaveta was this country's Princess, mistress of the eastern palace, the only member of the royal bloodline able to exert political power, and even the president of St. Jansk University.

This first event since she took office absolutely had to conclude safely and successfully.

“When I mentioned providing Miss Grikencos with personal protection, she named you at once. Discernment befitting an elf. She's chosen the safest protector in the country.”

“You flatter me.”

“Not at all. I'd entrust my own life to you. Excessive modesty is an insult. It's not as though just anyone could serve in the Royal Guard.”

“...”

Elizaveta regretted it as she watched Ivan's expression freeze over. Ah. That was a sore spot.

“Ahem. In any case, may I ask this of you? If you have other plans for the festival, feel free to say so. Counterintelligence Command will be stationed throughout the university for its duration anyway.”

“Nothing special.”

Checking what the Hero's Party's children ate and accompanying them for a while was part of his usual schedule. Adding Elpihera to the mix could not possibly cause a problem.

That was how rational a man he was.

“I-I look forward to being in your care, Sir Petrovich.”

“Mm.”

Only a few days ago, she had been addressing him as “you” and little else. She really must be feeling unwell.

Ivan gave a brief nod and left.

Three days before the festival began.

Having made simultaneous plans with three different women for the same day was not a particularly important issue, so Ivan caught up on his orphanage paperwork and took a rest.