EDM 27

In the end, that day they just ate terrine and drank tea before parting ways. Kafka thought about taking advantage of Aisha’s improved mood to coax her into having a good talk with Soren, but stopped thinking that if he interfered, even things that might work out wouldn’t.

‘If the original story isn’t completely ruined, they’ll reconcile and patch things up on their own as they always have.’

Just like how they became close with each other when he wasn’t around. Kafka put a period on one of his worries like that.

Regardless of how the main characters’ affairs were unfolding, he was currently up to his neck in his own problems. A considerable amount of time had passed since he sent the transfer consent form to his mother, but he had yet to receive any response.

The messenger bird sent to House Sonder a few days ago had returned, but it had literally just ‘returned.’ The returning messenger bird hadn’t brought a reply. At first he suspected the messenger bird had lost the letter. However, when Kafka asked if there was no reply, the creature just sat on its perch peacefully pecking at feed, showing no reaction.

A trained magical pigeon couldn’t be so nonchalant after losing a letter.

Therefore, it was right to assume his mother hadn’t sent a reply. Whether she dismissed it as nonsense not worth considering and cleanly ignored it, or thought it was something worth considering and withheld her answer, he didn’t know.

“I ask just once more.”

So Kafka had no choice but to send another new transfer consent form. When he handed the letter to the messenger bird, it flew out of the cage without any particular complaint and disappeared toward the direction of House Sonder.

‘Is it just my imagination?’

For some reason, it looked like the pigeon looked at him with an expression that said, ‘It won’t work.’

Kafka let out a deep sigh, left the cage, and headed to the library. His mother hadn’t given an answer yet, but regardless of whether the transfer succeeded, he had promised Professor Pomodona to study herbology, and yesterday he had received his first tutoring session.

Since it was the first day, he hadn’t learned anything particularly impressive, but it still seemed good to review. Kafka settled into a single person sofa of unknown origin behind the pillar in the most secluded corner of the library. When he pulled out the herbology textbook he had hidden and brought in his robe, illustrations of herbs caught his eye.

Yesterday, he learned about simple herbology theory. To summarize, herbs have inherent attributes, and since compatibility exists between each attribute, one must first understand the attributes of herbs to make medicine.

“Herbs have different effects in flowers and leaves, stems and roots, and there are also herbs with different attributes by part, so always be careful when preparing medicines.”

Kafka read the underlined sentence very quietly, as if murmuring. It was such a small voice that no one could hear unless they deliberately listened.

A time that was dark due to the pillar’s shadow, secretive, and utterly quiet. As he turned pages and followed the content with his eyes, his complicated mind became somewhat peaceful. Herbs with bad compatibility neutralize each other’s effects. On the other hand, herbs with good compatibility work better when used together…

‘Light attributes mainly have detoxification and healing effects, while dark attributes often have poisoning qualities. Fire attributes raise the user’s body temperature and strengthen vitality, but water attributes lower body temperature and weaken energy.’

For example, when mana heart goes berserk, one should use medicine made from water attribute herbs. Tickling his lips with a quill pen, Kafka recalled the rest of what he learned yesterday. Conversely, when mana heart weakens, it’s good to take medicine made from fire-attribute herbs.

<But if the mana heart is destroyed, fire-attribute herbs become extreme poison, so you must check the patient’s medical history well.>

Like Eleanor Syndrome. Professor Pomodona’s words came to mind. Hearing those words, Kafka felt like his eyes opened wide. He immediately asked Professor Pomodona a question.

<Professor, does cinnamon fall under fire attributes?>

<Yes, that’s right. How did you know?>

<Cinnamon is among the foods Eleanor Syndrome patients should avoid.>

<That’s right. Cinnamon is more of a spice than an herb, so it doesn’t cause major problems… But when used as medicine, it’s classified as fire attribute, so it’s not good for Eleanor Syndrome patients.>

The really dangerous ones are separate. I’ll tell you again later, but be careful when going to gather herbs. Even inhaling pollen by mistake can be very dangerous. Professor Pomodona said this while opening a field guide and pointing to several herbs. Ingrid, Sun Lily, Phoenix’s Eye.

<These three are herbs with very strong fire attributes. They’re truly extreme poison to Eleanor Syndrome patients, so always be careful. Especially Phoenix’s Eye is often made into tea, isn’t it?>

So if you’re offered refreshments, make sure to ask what kind of tea it is before drinking. Professor Pomodona warned sternly.

Hearing those words, Kafka felt chills down his spine for a moment. He knew cinnamon was food not good for Eleanor Syndrome patients, but the fact that Phoenix’s Eye acts as extreme poison was completely new information.

‘It was always prepared since Mother likes that tea…’

Of course, he had never directly brewed and drunk it as tea. Indeed, for some reason the scent felt unpleasant to him. Was it some kind of survival instinct?

In any case, now that he knew, he had to be careful. Tucking away the memory, Kafka turned another page of the textbook. From here on was content he would learn today. Effects by attribute when used as external medicine.

Considering it preview, he kept reading ahead and pages turned endlessly. Looking at the content written in the main text and thinking about what herbs to use in such situations, or what kind of medicine mixing certain herbs would be good, naturally led to this.

“Hey.”

As he was reading through nearly half of the thick theory book, someone approached and tapped his shoulder. Startled, he looked up and met red eyes. Kafka involuntarily jumped in surprise and let out a short scream, “Ah!”

“Acting like you saw something you shouldn’t have.”

“…It’s Ibelnoia.”

Kafka said while patting his chest. Soren looked down at Kafka with a displeased expression and tossed something onto his lap.

“What’s this?”

“Your family’s messenger bird was fluttering around in front of the library door.”

“Our messenger bird?”

Ah. Kafka understood the situation and nodded slightly. There were several restricted areas on campus where messenger birds couldn’t enter, and one of them was the library. The bird had come to deliver a letter, but since Kafka was inside the library, it must have been pacing anxiously in front of the door, not knowing what to do.

“Why didn’t it go back to the aviary?”

Normally, if the recipient was in a restricted area, the messenger bird would return to the aviary first and attempt delivery again later. Yet if the messenger bird was making a fuss in front of the library door, the reason was simple.

“It’s a red envelope.”

Soren gestured with his chin as if stating the obvious. Indeed, the letter on Kafka’s lap was contained in a red envelope, sealed with white sealing wax. It was the color that signified an urgent letter requiring immediate delivery.

“There shouldn’t be anything at home that would require finding me urgently…”

Wondering if it had been delivered correctly, Kafka examined the letter front and back. In the corner of the slightly thick envelope, the recipient’s name was written in extremely elegant handwriting: ‘Kafka Sonder’.

“Anyway, thanks for delivering it.”

“…”

Soren’s lips twitched as if he wanted to say something. Their eyes met. Instead of asking if he had something to say, Kafka tilted his head slightly.

“…Never mind.”

Soren frowned and turned away. His expression seemed somewhat irritated, but it appeared to be directed at himself rather than at Kafka.

Though he was curious about what the boy had been trying to say, Kafka turned his attention back to the letter in his hands. What mattered now wasn’t Soren’s feelings, but his mother’s response regarding his transfer application.

The deep red color of the envelope filled him with tension. What could she possibly want to say that required such an urgent reply? Kafka took a small breath and tore open the letter’s seal. As the envelope opened and the contents became visible, his water-colored eyes trembled.

“…”

He silently inserted his fingers into the envelope and pulled out the contents. Several pieces of paper fluttered out and fell to the floor.

The papers inside, torn to shreds, were none other than the transfer consent form. Beyond simple rejection, the response felt malicious enough that he couldn’t even manage a bitter laugh.

Kafka, who had frozen without moving a muscle, picked up a small note that had fallen onto his thigh. When he unfolded it, a brief message was written on the palm-sized memo paper. Though scrawled hastily, it was unmistakably his mother’s handwriting.

[I’ll be visiting your school soon, so be prepared.]

Kafka gathered up the scattered paper fragments and collected them back into the envelope. His heart beat low and heavy, accompanied by a ringing in his ears. The headache that felt like something was tightly squeezing his head was an added bonus.