Chapter 10: In the mushroom room.

Despite the brief commotion, the tea party ends on a warm note.
The girls reluctantly bid farewell to Zoldietta and leave the tea room.
Since Silhime is helping clean up, Tarte and I stay behind a bit.
It’s a good chance to ask Zoldietta about spirits.

“Do your spirits eat regular meals?”
“They don’t eat, but if I have sweets alone, they might sulk,” Zoldietta says.
“Same with Kusurina… If she gets cranky, it’s a hassle,” adds the salutatorian, joining us.

Kusurina is the salutatorian’s sprouting spirit.
Both say their plant-based spirits don’t need meals but love sweets and get moody if not shared.
When angry, they might scatter fertilizer.
Zoldietta’s family deals in chemical fertilizers, but her honey spirit, upset over Zoldietta eating a donut alone, binged on raw materials worth a large horse’s weight.
Kusurina, ignored by the salutatorian, drank flowering liquid fertilizer, got drunk, and ranted about being unappreciated.

“A prank spirit? Who knows what she’d do if mad,” Zoldietta says.
“I’m merciful, so I’d just cancel the contract,” Tarte replies.

Yeah, that means selling my ‘first’ to [Crimson Thorn].
I get it—I can’t escape…

Silhime finishes helping, so I thank Zoldietta for the invite and apologize for attracting Bugzeed.
She laughs, saying she’d have tied me up and dragged me if I’d refused, as the girls desperate to hear about spirits would’ve resented her otherwise.
Hosting a tea party requires serious tact.

Carrying the now-lighter basket, I guide Tarte and Silhime to my dorm.
Familiars naturally live with their masters.
Living with Silhime… fuhihihi!
Don’t misunderstand—there’s nowhere else for familiars but stables or kennels.
Tarte might be fine in a kennel, but I can’t let Silhime sleep in a stable, so cohabitation it is.

I live in Red Rose Dorm, one of six general education dorms—three Rose dorms for boys and three Lily dorms for girls, each colored white, black, or red.
The color-coding stems from upper-class factionalism.
As noble or samurai children, we’re influenced by our parents’ factions.
Mixing them risks dominant factions ousting others, so separating them is easier.

Upper-class factions are complex, based on geography, commerce, or policy, with nobles often in multiple.
It’s like Japanese politicians joining cross-party research groups or alliances.
The strongest influence is geographic—akin to political parties—since nearby territories align interests.
Students are split into Southern, Eastern, Northern, and Western factions.
Southerners stay in White dorms, Easterners in Black, and Northerners and Westerners in Red.
Red Rose Dorm is for Northern and Western boys; Dokurobaru, a Southerner, is in White Lily.
My father’s Aray viscount family is Eastern, but since he left, I’m unaffiliated.
Southern and Eastern factions are rivals, while Northern and Western are laid-back, so I chose Red Rose to avoid faction drama at this age.

People like Zoldietta or Bugzeed, with servants, rent entire manors or cottages, managing meals and upkeep themselves.
Dorms provide breakfast and dinner, and baths at set times.
No lunch, but you can get leftovers as a bento—my buttered coppe-pan was from breakfast.

Dorms are spaced out in the forest to prevent fights, giving a vibe like a tycoon’s summer villa.
Walking to the dorm, I admire the cherry blossom trees lining the path, but it’s too early for blooms.
The academy’s high altitude means cherries don’t flower at graduation season—a bit disappointing.
Soon, we reach a three-story wooden mansion painted deep red, with a “Red Rose Dorm” sign at the entrance.

“This is Red Rose Dorm, where my room is.”
“A sturdy old mansion,” Tarte says.
“It’s about 60 years old,” I add.

Tarte and Silhime seem to like the aged building.
Tarte, grinning excitedly, urges, “Hurry and show me my room!”
I lead them to my room on the third floor’s east side.
I didn’t expect to host ladies, so it’s messy, but anything embarrassing is well-hidden.
Apologizing for the clutter, I let them in.
Tarte inspects the room silently, then looks up with a smug grin.

“This is a mushroom-growing room. You can’t fool me.”
“No, this is my room…”

“I see through it. That’s a mushroom-growing shelf.”
“That’s a bed…”

“And this log for growing mushrooms?”
“That’s a step-stool log…”

“This looks ready to sprout mushrooms!”
“Sorry, I’ve been slacking on laundry—ow!”
“—!”

Admitting the basket Tarte pointed to is piled with laundry, not a mushroom bed, Silhime lands a chop on my head.
The maid spirit, puffing her cheeks in anger, can’t tolerate laundry pile-ups.
Tarte stares at me with a look of despair, her cheeks twitching, tears welling.
Oh no!

“Waaaaah!”

She bursts into tears before I can explain.
At that moment, the door flies open.

“Aray! Is it true you brought a girl here? Confess—wha?!”

Someone must’ve seen me with them.
At the worst timing, boys from the dorm barge in.
A crying toddler and a stunning maid seemingly scolding me are too much for these fantasy-obsessed boys.
They turn into a mob, storm the room, tie me up with rope, and roll me into their midst.
They skip suspect or defendant—I’m straight-up a criminal.

“Kidnapping a minor means parading through the academy, three days of pillory, then burning, right?”
“Wasn’t it quartering?”
“I heard sawing.”
“No! Those cruel punishments are long gone!”

What era are these punishments from?
The kingdom has the death penalty, but torturous ones were abolished ages ago.
Kids are brutal, ready to execute me without a chance to explain.
Listen to me!

“Little miss, did this goblin do something to you? Are you hurt?”
“He tried to force me to sleep in a place like this!”

Pointing at the bed, Tarte, hiccupping, gives the worst, most misleading answer.
Why phrase it like that?
On purpose?
Do you want me dead that badly?

“You know branding, right…?”
“Didn’t Professor Proserpina have a zombie potion that rots you slowly?”
“There’s that failed chimera potion that sprouts monkey hands all over!”
“Stoooop!”

I recount how Tarte tricked me into being her pet, begging for my life.
Damn it, here we go again.
Unlike the girls, the boys don’t hold back, roaring with laughter.
The commotion draws a crowd, and soon the whole dorm knows I’m Tarte’s servant.
Tarte, not hiding her dominance, boasts, “I’m the master!”

The boys object to us living together but can’t offer another room.
Tarte insists, “This is my domain, and my servants stay with me!” forcing them to back off.
I notice some shooting me hateful glares—they’re smitten with Silhime’s chest.
They’ll need purging soon.

“Here’s spare sheets. Don’t be lazy—change them weekly,” says Hernest, my hot-headed, delinquent, pervy, no-good friend, bringing bedding.

We can’t wash large items like bedding ourselves, so we swap dirty ones for clean at the weekend laundry service.
I’ve been lazy, using the same sheets from last week… or maybe the week before.

“Thanks. How’d you have spare bedding?”
“Keeping spares for when you soil them is basic.”
“How do you even soil sheets?”
“…”

Hernest Ukatsudane, a head taller with a sturdy build, is a careless guy.
In my grade but a year older at 12, he’s a repeater.
The academy admits students aged 10–12, with 10 being standard for graduating at 16.
Older entrants are called repeaters from the start.

It’s a bit sad, but most repeaters couldn’t meet the magic power requirement at 10 and waited a year to enroll.
They have less growth potential than 10-year-old entrants, and despite early good grades, they get overtaken in the specialized courses when magic growth peaks.
No repeater has graduated above the bottom ranks.

Other elite schools, like the Royal Capital’s National Advanced Academy or Kingdom Military Academy, have lower magic requirements.
My father, who didn’t make it here, graduated from the former.
They say repeaters are better off at those schools, where effort can yield better results, and the term “repeater” is intentionally harsh.

Hernest started in C-class and remains there with me, a fellow dropout.
He’s given up on grades, as past repeaters prove effort is futile.
But I feel no pity for him.
Not a shred.
Why?
His reason for enrolling as a repeater:

– To enroll with his childhood fiancée and enjoy a lovey-dovey school life.

An utterly frivolous, unforgivable motive.
Yes, the Ukatsudane family is a branch of the Mujihidane viscount family, and he’s engaged to that Yamato Nadeshiko beauty, Sakuranome Mujihidane.
He should just die…
I’m not jealous.
Sure, Mujihidane is tall and pretty, but she’s intimidating, and… her chest is lacking.
I’m not jealous of a caring fiancée who cleans his room and changes his bedding weekly.
Explode already.
I’m not jealous—I have Silhime now, living together from today… dufufufu!

“Stop that creepy laugh and give the sheets to Silhime,” Tarte says.
“Dinner’s already started. I’m heading over—hurry up,” Hernest adds.

Oh, it’s that time already?
I hand the bedding to Silhime, who swiftly makes the bed with her usual efficiency.
Tarte bounces happily on the pristine bed.
Sorry to interrupt her joy, but I didn’t prepare dinner for two.
What now…?