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If any proper lady from a respectable household were to witness such an unrefined behavior, they’d no doubt raise their eyebrows in outrage, spitting accusations as they scolded her. But for some reason, this sort of unladylike conduct and posture suited Martha unusually well, so I didn’t find it bothersome at all. You might say she was simply being natural. Rough and wild, perhaps, but never vulgar. Likely because she’s a dancer, her legs traced a beautiful line even in simple pants, her posture was upright, and her movements carried a certain rhythm that gave her a unique grace.

At the same time, I couldn’t help but think, I could never pull that off… A subtle sense of loss—or maybe frustration—washed over me as I nodded along.

“Please, don’t worry about it. Make yourself comfortable. …By the way, is that how you usually dress?”

As for me—well, Syltianna, the habits drilled into me by both noble upbringing and Regina’s strict training had long since ingrained all the mannerisms of an aristocratic young lady down to the instinctual level. Trying to imitate boyish gestures now would only come off as a poor act.

In ordinary moments, I often catch myself standing pigeon-toed or—even when falling—letting out a delicate “kyah” and instinctively twisting my body to fall in a graceful curve, rather than hitting the ground in a straight, ungraceful thud like a man might. Realizing this, I had long since accepted that I could never go back.

“Oh, sure. When I’m on stage, I wear those flashy dresses with the chest and back all wide open—you know, for stage appeal—but when I’m off the clock, I dress like this. There aren’t many women in the lower quarters to begin with… and good-looking ones? Practically none. If someone tries to jump me, I need to be dressed to run or fight back.”

It might say something about her personality that she could casually refer to herself as “good-looking” without a trace of embarrassment, but then again, given that her appearance is part of her profession, a bit of pride and confidence is only natural.

“Well, there are perks too. The shopkeepers around here always give me a good discount. I mean, sure, some of the lechers try to cop a feel, but that’s just part of the game. I give ’em a punch and make ’em throw in something extra—evens things out. Ah, was that too scandalous for the Shrine Maiden Princess and her attendant?”

“Oh, don’t worry. This area’s full of scoundrels like that. I can’t tell you how many times these fists of mine were stained with blood before we’ve even reached here.”
“In that case, you should try using some throwing spikes or shuriken. You can stab with them, throw them, hide them under your sleeves… I always keep six under each wristband—they double as a handy bit of armor.”

As a matter of feminine etiquette, Coppelia stood up and slipped brass knuckles onto both hands, then began shadowboxing right there on the spot. I also rose, and in one smooth breath, pulled six throwing spikes—three in each hand—from the compartments at my wrists, and embedded them into the nearby pillar at perfectly spaced intervals.³　

…Well, I’m not sure if Maasai proverbs are considered valid wisdom in this world, but still.⁴　

“I don’t really get what’s going on,” Martha said, “but sounds like you’ve got it rough. Um—”

“Cestlavie,” he said.

“Cestlavie. So… which one’s your lover? The shrine maiden princess or the maid over there? Or both?”

Cestlavie almost spat out the tea he was drinking at the sudden turn in the conversation.

“Gah—! No, no, no! People always say that because we hang out together, but it’s just jealousy or gossip. There’s nothing like that between me and Ji—Clara. She’s a shrine maiden of the Church, for crying out loud. And the other one isn’t even a girl in the first place!”

“Huh…? Well, I think you’re pretty handsome—totally my type—but I guess the shrine maiden princess isn’t your thing. If it were me, I wouldn’t mind just spending the night together to test our compatibility.”

Still leaning on Cestlavie’s chest, Martha gazed up at him with a look that clearly said she didn’t understand what the problem was. And I—seeing her like that—suddenly found myself wondering: Wait… am I the one in the wrong here??

“M-Martha! I don’t mean to deny your sense of chastity or anything, but isn’t it a bit… improper, or rather, indecent to say things like that in broad daylight and in front of others?!”

I protested with a face so flushed that even my ears felt hot—far more flustered than I would have expected from myself. But Martha simply tilted her head, looking genuinely puzzled.

“Why? If there’s a man who’s my type, checking physical compatibility is important, isn’t it?”

“That sort of thing comes at the *very end*! First, you have to talk up close, then you hold hands, then link arms, then put your arm around their shoulder, then lean against their back… You’re supposed to take things in stages, with some playful back-and-forth!”

To illustrate, I used Coppelia—who was standing nearby—as a partner and demonstrated up to the “leaning against the back” part. But Martha just snorted through her nose.

“All that roundabout flirting? That’s just playing around. It’s an insult to pure love. If you really fall for someone, you throw your whole heart and body at them without lies or hesitation. *That’s* what true love is, Princess.”

Martha declared this with utter confidence.

Cestlavie, who she apparently had taken a liking to, gave her a doubtful look and cautiously asked: “By the way, how many men are you currently dating?”

“Only fifty-four. And of course, they’re *all* serious relationships!”

“ “ “……….” ” ”

Uhh… I mean… maybe living that freely could be fun in its own way, but still…

“—I don’t know how to put it,” Coppelia said slowly, eyes narrowed suspiciously as she stared at Martha, “but it kind of feels like a serial killer trying to lecture people on the sanctity of life. Like… it *does* sound convincing, but at the same time, everything about it feels *wrong* somehow.”

Even Coppelia, it seems, couldn’t keep up with Martha’s very… *unique* philosophy on love.

“So, what do you say, Cestlavie? Once Dan’s business is done, wanna sleep together tonight?”

“I think I’ll pass. I’m not comfortable getting into a casual fling with someone I barely know.”

Cestlavie declined gently, and both I and Coppelia—who was still draped over my back—let out a simultaneous sigh of relief.

“Aww, too bad. —Well then, just die.”

The moment we all let our guards down, Martha’s hidden knife was suddenly pressed against Cestlavie’s neck.

“Don’t move! If you do, I’ll slit the throats of the brat over there and this slave.”

At the same time, Dan burst through the partition wall beside us. In his right hand, he held a machete-like single-edged sword, and with his left, he gripped the slender neck of the half-naked demon boy. With a calm and deliberate air, he stepped into view.

***

#Author’s Note:#

The demon boy’s magical powers were completely blocked by the specially made Stigma collar, which in turn erased the presence of Dan who was nearby, so he slipped Jill’s detection.