Chapter 3 (continued)

Sometimes, therefore, I wondered whether he really was a mage at all-every now and then, I deliberately got a few theories wrong, and he never contradicted me.

"I love how animated you look when you talk about academics," Reynold always answered. "As for arguments over research, darling, we're on a date, not at a magic summit."

Well... I didn't know if he was serious. Did he mean that amazing summit where the attendees were liable to pick up chairs and beat each other with them, all on

live television

around the world? I'd thought it was a summit for berserkers to exchange tips on going berserk.

Even though I wanted to break up, I wasn't tired of the time we spent together. I was also so used to having dates with him in my daily schedule that their sudden cancellation actually left me feeling a little off. He had also let me use his private laboratory. In the legendary age, every first-rate mage had a mage tower of their own, but in modern society, whether a mage had a tower depended more on whether they had money. Being highly skilled in magic didn't necessarily mean you could afford a property.

Worse still, in the past, a mage with power would naturally gain status and money. Even a high-profile great demon king researching ways to destroy the world could gather a large number of followers before being killed, as long as he was powerful enough. Those followers were no less fanatical than Moli when she was obsessing over celebrities, and they were definitely versatile and useful. Not only did they throw themselves one after another in the way of the heroes who came to defeat the great demon king, they also handed over their family fortunes of their own accord for him to squander, so he could enjoy a pleasant life swimming in an ocean of knowledge without worrying about food or clothing.

So even if most great demon kings ended up dying miserable deaths under the iron hooves of the Temple of Light's paladin order, it was well worth it!

But that wouldn't work now. This was a society governed by law, and a great demon king would be sent to prison to reflect on life while still in the early stages of the job. There was no need to call in the Temple Knights at all. With Magitech weapons at their disposal, law officers and police in every country could now beat up great demon kings without it being a mere dream. As for a mage like me, who caused no trouble and focused solely on research... my projects had to make money. Otherwise, even if I could take on the entire Temple Knights single-handedly, thoroughly thrash the Osland Federation Capital Garrison, or fight the eighteen dragon princes guarding Dragon Valley to a draw—and I meant eighteen against one—I'd still be a poor mage.

So I really hated to give up that fully equipped laboratory. I had no idea when I'd ever have one of my own, but I had to break up with him, and even the laboratory couldn't change my mind.

As for the reason... thinking of the webnovel genres Moli had told me about, I didn't think she'd put it quite right. We weren't "The Overbearing CEO and the Little Wife," but "The Overbearing CEO and the Substitute Lover."

Yes, I'd never imagined such a hackneyed plot would happen to me. Moli absolutely loved that kind of novel, and her phone had an entire memory card full of melodramatic substitute-lover stories. "Melodramatic" wasn't my own assessment; Moli said it herself. She'd cry out about how melodramatic the author's writing was and how the anguish tore at her heart, yet keep reading to the point of neglecting food and sleep, unable to stop. Once, I lost control of my emotions and accidentally turned her into a goblin. I didn't dare tell Moli this, but a green, hairless goblin wearing smoky eye makeup was disgustingly beyond imagination, so after that I absolutely never turned a disobedient assistant into a goblin again. Yet Moli remained unmoved, her eyes glued to the novel... If she could muster that kind of energy when learning magic, I wouldn't have to get angry with her all the time.

Ahem, I'd gotten sidetracked. Still, Moli was quite right: "Life is sometimes even more melodramatic than fiction." Reynold had had some wine last night. He had always held his liquor well, but he really had drunk quite a lot last night. It was the first time I'd seen him drink enough to talk nonsense, to the point that he'd called out someone else's name while sleeping with me.

He hadn't drunk himself senseless. I'd also checked immediately to see whether a political rival had cast a Confusion Spell on him, or whether he'd been poisoned and was hallucinating. The results showed that alcohol had merely dulled his self-control, but drunk, he was even more focused and tender than usual. Cupping my face, he spoke of his deep and fervent infatuation with someone else. I recognized the obsession in his eyes immediately. It was almost the same look he gave me when I talked at length about my research, only even stronger.

No logical, rational mage whose mind hadn't been ruined by prime-time romance dramas could carry on as usual after something like that. I didn't know what had happened to Reynold yesterday, and he still hadn't woken up when I left that morning. He'd never given himself away during all the time we'd been together. Come to think of it, he'd climbed all the way to the position of Magic Council chairman and stood firm as a mountain under attacks from all manner of political rivals. Handling me while sober must have been far too easy for him.

So that was what happened. I was just a mage, and then one day I found out I was a substitute lover. My lover saw someone else when he looked at me-fortunately, that person was a mage too.

At least he hadn't been using me as a substitute for some internationally renowned mech designer, or... if he'd dared use me as a substitute for a warlock, I'd have had more than a breakup to consider. I'd also have had to consider which forbidden spell would be most satisfying to blast him with. Fortunately, it was a mage. That was the one thing about this utterly awful affair that wasn't quite so awful.

While I was thinking, my legs dutifully carried me back to the apartment. Not many mages lived here. Most of the time, it was the assistants who needed employee housing. In modern times, learning magic placed considerable demands on one's family finances, and of those who completed their studies, passed the mage qualification assessment, and went on to enter the National Magic Research Institute, the vast majority weren't poor enough to live in apartments. I was something of an exception.

I'd just opened the door when I heard the phone on the shelf squawking desperately-

Well... I was a mage living in modern society, not some primitive. Of course I had a phone too!

But there were only two people in my contacts, and Moli's phone had only just been destroyed. I didn't think she could replace it faster than I could get home. If she had that kind of speed, she wouldn't still be unable to perform her casting gestures smoothly. In the time it took her to cast a shield, I could blast her into something thinner and smaller than one of her artificial nails.

It was Reynold.

I sighed softly, picked up the phone, and answered.

The instant the video call connected, Reynold's angry questions came faster than the holographic image. His low voice was clearly full of tightly suppressed anger as he asked:

"Ciprins! I've been calling you. Why did you leave your phone at home again? How am I supposed to reach you at a critical moment like this? I just heard what happened to you. Do you know how worried I get when I can't reach you at a time like this?"

I could only answer helplessly, "Sorry. I've never been used to carrying communication devices while conducting experiments."

Reynold knew that perfectly well. I saw his handsome brows draw together as usual, and I knew he was about to repeat how dangerous it was to be unreachable at a critical moment. But this time I didn't intend to listen. Before he could speak, I smiled and said, "Reynold Scott, I think we should break up."

On the call, Reynold looked shocked for a second, as though he needed time to understand what I meant. Then he flew into a thunderous rage and seemed to slap the table. With great restraint, he asked me, "Tell me, were those people at the institute giving you trouble? Who was it? I've known all along they've been putting obstacle after obstacle in the way of your new project lately. You're my lover, so they were really targeting me. I'll deal with what happened today. Don't worry, and don't feel pressured. I won't let them use this as an excuse to bully you. Who gave you trouble? Tell me their names!"

Uh... I sighed. Sometimes I found it hard to resist pointing it out: Reynold, you're really making this all about yourself! Considering he lived in the deeply troubled world of politics, though, it was understandable.

"...No, Reynold." I shook my head. "You should know me. It has nothing to do with any of that. What I mean is, since ours isn't true love, let's not waste any more time on things that do nothing for our academic work."

Reynold's expression changed subtly, but his anger clearly deflated at once. He raised his left eyebrow slightly—a habitual little gesture of his, often seen when he answered tricky questions from persistent reporters.