"Cyril."
At the edge of the crowded hall, He Xi stopped behind the two plump boys and the figure in a deep-blue mage robe.
The figure who had been explaining something to Ferdinand suddenly stiffened.
Cyril turned around, and the instant he saw who the voice belonged to, he cried, "He Xi?!"
With that exclamation, he opened his arms.
Ferdinand and Otto beside him also crowded over excitedly, their two round faces squeezed between the two thinner ones.
"The gods above, it really is you!" Cyril gave He Xi's back a hard pat, his voice brimming with irrepressible delight. "I thought Ferdinand and Otto were deliberately fooling me just to cheer me up."
He Xi looked him over. "You seem much more spirited than before."
"So do you."
Yet at those words, Cyril seemed to remember something and scratched his head awkwardly.
"It's all thanks to you," he said sincerely.
"I only made an offhand suggestion."
"It wasn't offhand." Cyril shook his head. "If you hadn't reminded me that time, I might never have turned my attention to mosquitoes. And I wouldn't have had the courage to withstand Father's doubts and continue Mr. Duggan's tests."
He looked at the freshman mage robe He Xi wore, his eyes shining.
"Before the Winter Festival, I went back to Plint once."
"You had already left by then. Father told me that not only had you resolved the Goblin crisis in town, but you'd also become a mage! Back then, I was thinking how wonderful it would be if you could come to Fernandez!"
"I hadn't expected to come here at first." He Xi smiled. "But—well, it seems this place and I were fated to cross paths."
His gaze swept over Ferdinand, who was beaming as he counted the coin pouch at the side.