Cioccolata, Poet of the Part-Time Division

Egla Town.

A huge crowd had gathered in the town square, packed several rows deep. Even a passing cat couldn't have squeezed through.

At the center of the crowd, a red-haired girl played a lute. Its notes rang clear beneath her melodious singing, which told an ancient legend of the Knights of the Sea's expedition.

Her voice wasn't loud, yet it had a strange power to carry. Every note seemed to come alive, leaping and echoing between the stone pavement and the red-tiled rooftops.

Kexi didn't push forward. At his height, he could see perfectly well from the back row. He leaned against an old banyan tree at the edge of the square, arms folded, and listened quietly to the entire song.

When the last note faded, the crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause and whistles.

Cioccolata flashed a brilliant smile and bowed deeply to the audience.

Shell Credits clinked into the hat in front of her. She didn't rush to collect them. Instead, she sat down again, took a swig from her waterskin, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Only then did she begin leisurely counting the day's earnings.

The crowd gradually dispersed. Kexi took a deep breath and stepped out from beneath the banyan tree, deliberately treading lightly.

He stopped behind Cioccolata, cleared his throat, and spoke in as casual a tone as he could manage.

"Hi, poet of the Part-Time Division-pah-"

"Cioccolata, long time no see."

Hearing someone call her name, she turned her head.

"Oh, it's you." She set the lute on her knees and tilted her head. "Does Carlotta need me for something?"

"No." Kexi sat down on the stone steps beside her, trying to look casual, but once he sat down, his knees were nearly level with his chest. He looked like a giraffe that had folded itself up.

He pulled an envelope from inside his clothes and waved it in front of her. "I wanted to ask Master Cioccolata for some pointers. I wrote a letter, but I keep feeling some parts aren't good enough. You're the professional. Would you take a look?"

Cioccolata raised an eyebrow. She had known Kexi for twelve years. Though he was usually thick-skinned enough to stop a bullet, he had always been terribly proud of his writing.

After all, the young master of the Montelli family had only ever had one talent worth showing off: writing love letters. And he was actually asking someone for "pointers"? That was even rarer than a Tacet Discord suddenly learning to be civil and polite.

"Oh?" She took the envelope, but instead of opening it right away, she turned it over and inspected the outside.

It was a very ordinary envelope.

She looked up at him with a half-smile. "You haven't written something you'd be ashamed to show anyone again and come to me for an inspection, have you?"

"Of course not!" Kexi put on a righteous face. "Am I that kind of person?"

"You are," Cioccolata answered without hesitation. Then she lowered her head and opened the envelope.

Cioccolata unfolded the letter. The moment her eyes fell on it, the mischievous smile at the corners of her mouth froze for an instant.

She had expected one of Kexi's usual long-winded essays, a page crammed with flowery language and overflowing with parallel phrases and metaphors.

Instead, she found something quite different.

"I hesitated for a long time over whether to write you this letter.

It wasn't because I didn't want to, but because you're an expert.

Showing off my writing in front of you feels a little like teaching a master how to do her own job.

But then I came to a realization.

You never care whether anyone is listening when you sing, so why should I care whether I write well?

So this letter might be rather clumsy. Please bear with it.

I've been listening to you sing for ten years.

From when you first started playing in the town square, with only three passing old ladies and a dozing old man for an audience, to now, when people bring little stools ahead of time to claim their spots whenever you sing, I've watched it all change.

But one thing has never changed-when you sing, it's as though the rest of the world ceases to exist.

The fires of war, the Tacet Discords, the sorrow of being driven from home-all of it is crushed in your singing, transformed into something very, very light that floats up into the sky and becomes stars.

I think that's the power of a poet.

Over the years, I've kept wondering about one thing: you've traveled to so many places, sung so many songs, and met so many people.

Has there ever been a moment when you wanted to stop in one place?

I'm not asking you to stop.

Birds shouldn't be kept in cages. I understood that when I was five.

I just want to ask-if you ever get tired of flying and want somewhere to rest, would you be willing to make the tallest tree at Montelli Manor your perch?

The irises at the manor are in bloom, all spreading wildly.

I've invited some friends to come and admire them.

They're all people I've known for a long time, but I've actually met very few of them in person.

You're someone very important to me. On the day of the gathering, I want to see your feathered hat in the crowd and know you're there.

May I?"

Cioccolata placed the letter on her knees and fell silent for a while.

Most of the people in the square had left, leaving only a few pigeons pecking at breadcrumbs between the paving stones.

She looked down at the letter, her fingertips brushing gently over the last line.

Then she folded it neatly and put it back in the envelope.

She raised her head and looked at Kexi.

"Who did you write this love letter to?" she asked in a flat tone, as though asking what was for dinner.

Under her stare, Kexi felt a little guilty, but he still refused to give in. "Wh... what love letter? I told you I wanted pointers-"

"Pointers, my ass." Cioccolata cut him off and tossed the envelope into his arms. Kexi scrambled to catch it. "If this isn't a love letter, what is it? Do you think I can't tell?"

Kexi opened his mouth, his face turning visibly red.

But as he looked into Cioccolata's bright, clear eyes, he suddenly felt there was no point in arguing anymore. He took a deep breath and nodded in resignation.

"...Yes."

"You wrote it to me?"

"...Yes."

"That bit about 'the tallest, most handsome tree'-"

"I didn't write 'most handsome'! I only wrote 'the tallest tree'!"

"Oh." Cioccolata nodded, pulled the letter back out of Kexi's arms, and pointed to a line. "But that's what you meant, right?"

Kexi lowered his head and confessed. "...Yes."

Cioccolata fell silent for a while again.

Then she folded the letter once more and carefully tucked it into a pocket close to her body-she didn't return it to Kexi, but kept it on her person.

"This letter is terrible," she said flatly.

Kexi froze, his expression stiffening.

"The metaphors are clichéd, there are too many parallel phrases, and the emotion isn't restrained enough.

There are several places where you should cut three to five words to make it read smoothly.

And the imagery about the 'bird and the tree' in the last part-the idea is good, but the way you put it is too direct.

Poetry should be subtle. How is this any different from shouting 'I want you to stay' through a megaphone?"

As Cioccolata criticized him, Kexi's head sank lower and lower, until it was almost buried in his knees.

"But." Cioccolata stood up, slung her lute across her back, and brushed the bits of grass from her skirt.

She looked down at the giant curled up in a ball, and at last a genuine smile, without a trace of teasing, appeared on her lips. "It's very sincere."

She turned and walked a few steps, then suddenly looked back.

"Hey, young master Montelli."

Kexi raised his head.

"The tallest tree-save it for me. When I'm tired of singing, I might fly back and take a look."

She turned around, waved, and walked farther and farther away.

Cioccolata had only taken a few steps when a girl blocked her path.