VCAM 19

Chapter 19 

“No More Holding Back! The Young Lady Who Acts Like a Wife”

The mornings at the Royal Capital Academy start early.
But Kansai folk start even earlier.
Because before class, there’s one sacred ritual — checking the candy stash hidden in the teacher’s desk drawer.
(If this runs out, the class won’t function… Candy is a national infrastructure, y’all.)

The moment I opened the classroom door, every gaze turned toward me.
Rumors were a daily commodity here at the academy, but lately, one topic dominated them all:
“Professor Kai” and “his wif— er, the young lady.”

“Morning, everyone.
Today’s lesson is Introduction to Magical Fluctuations.
The first twenty to—”

“Yes, the first twenty will receive them from me.
Form two lines, don’t push.”

A clear, elegant voice cut me off.
Sliding into the room with morning light bouncing off her crimson ribbon was Duchess Routia von Valenstein.
Within ten seconds of entering, she confidently opened my desk drawer, grabbed the jar of candies, and smiled.
That smile was graceful… but what she was doing was exactly what a lunch lady would do.

“W-wait a sec—!
Don’t go messin’ with my morning routine!”

“Kai, you focus on teaching.
Candy distribution is the wife’s job.”

“Don’t call yourself that! We haven’t even filed any marriage papers!”

“The paperwork’s the only thing missing. Practically speaking, it’s already submitted.
Now, hurry up and grab your chalk.”

She pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped the chalk dust from my fingers.
(The scary part is how natural she makes it look… Girl’s a pro.)

The students lined up perfectly according to her instructions.
She preached about “the principle of fairness,” streamlining the crowd like a veteran manager.

“Anyone who got candy yesterday goes to the back today.
Kai’s candy is a limited resource — we must balance efficiency and fairness.”

(Hold on… did she almost say “Pareto optimization”?)

“Kai, mint or honey today?”

“My throat’s a bit sore, so I’ll go with—”

“Mint. Keeps your mind sharp.
Here, say ‘ahhh’.”

“Don’t ‘ahhh’ me!!”

The classroom erupted in laughter.
A noble boy in the front row buried his face in his desk, shaking.
One serious-minded girl scribbled in her notebook:
“Today’s comedy act started at 8:03 a.m.”
(Don’t record that!)

I drew waveforms and circles on the board, explaining how magic fluctuates over time.
“Fluctuation ain’t scary.
It’s rhythm.
If you can describe that rhythm with math, you can control it.
Think of sin and cos like a three-legged race.”

A quiet sigh came from the back — Filia.
Always seated last row, taking notes earnestly, half in awe, half exasperated.
(That’s fine. You shine in your own way, kid.)

“Kai, your throat’s dry.
Here — warm herbal tea.”

“Why are you pulling out a teapot in class?!”

“Your voice is academy property. Maintenance is required.”

She offered the tea precisely the moment my throat went dry.
When I finished writing, she immediately erased the board — sideways, to minimize chalk dust.
(She’s definitely practiced this at home.)

A student raised a hand.
“Professor, I don’t understand this part!”
“Okay, okay, line up, the formulas ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Routia stepped forward.
“Questions will now use a ticket system. Numbers one to thirty.
Discussion area near the windows, quiet area by the door.
Professor, please start with ticket number three.”

Completely like a secretary.
Completely like a wife.
And perfectly efficient.

A few teachers watched from the hallway, arms crossed — but no one stopped her.
They couldn’t.
Her pedigree, grades, and demeanor — everything about her was “correct.”

Lunch break.
The cafeteria was its usual battlefield — plates, meat, bread, soup, chaos.
But Routia brought order even here.

“Kai, this way.
I secured a shaded seat.
Direct sunlight is bad for the vocal cords.”

“How do you even know about my vocal cords…?”

“Start with the salad.
I cut the tomatoes smaller.”

“Don’t treat me like a kid! I can chew!”

“Then eat.
Say ‘ahhh’.”

“Not again!!”

Everyone ducked their heads, shoulders shaking.
Across the room, a young teacher almost dropped his glass; another caught it silently.
Even the lunch lady was teary-eyed.

“What a sweet girl… Professor, take good care of her, yeah?”
“I keep tellin’ you, we haven’t filed any—”
“The paperwork’s just a formality. Consider it submitted.”
“Why are you joining in now?!”

At checkout, my Kansai instincts flared.
“Hey ma’am, since I’m buying for three people today, maybe a little—”

“No discounts.”

Negotiation destroyed in one second flat.
Routia slipped a black card across the counter — the ducal crest gleaming.
Everyone froze.

“I’ll cover it. Please mark it as a donation to the academy.”
“Don’t make it a donation! That kills my reputation!”
“Then as Professor Kai’s research funding.”
“That’s even worse!”
“Fine — our future household food expenses.”
“That’s the WORST ONE!!”

After the meal, she gently dabbed the sauce from my mouth.
“Don’t move. Let me do my job.”
“You sound like my mom…”
“I’m your wife.”
“You said it out loud!”

At another table, Filia whispered to a classmate.
“Lady Estrea, um… that’s… something.”
“Professor Kai is still my teacher. I respect him.
But the one who belongs beside him right now — is her.”
Her voice was calm, neither sad nor bitter.
(She’s a strong kid.)

Afternoon self-study.
At the back of the classroom, Routia had become the paperwork commander.
“These attendance sheets are out of order.
We’ll sort them by year, class, and number.”
“Don’t go trying to ‘Excel sort’ in a world without Excel!”
“We’ll just label the boxes.
Kai, pass me the red chalk.”

Before long, documents were color-coded and neatly stacked.
I realized I could focus completely on my work.
(…This is nice.
I’m being supported, huh.)

“Kai, your posture.
Chair’s too high — it’ll hurt your back.”
“Who are you, a chiropractor?”

She adjusted it slightly — and wow, it was better.
“Say thank you properly.”
“…Thanks.”
“Good boy.”

Meanwhile, students were secretly passing around a ‘Married Comedy Stamp Card’.
Every time I shot back a witty retort, they added a stamp.
Ten stamps = one candy.
(Stop inventing new economies, kids.)

After school.
A first-year came running.
“Professor, can you do an extra lesson today?”
“Sure thing, but one at a time, okay?”

Routia silently handed me a stack of numbered tags.
“Reservation tickets No.1–20.
Odd numbers for arithmetic, even for geometry.
Each session three minutes, plus one if needed.
Kai, start from No.5.”
“What is this, a government office?!”

But the system worked flawlessly.
No one got mad.
No one got bored.
Each finished student received a tiny candy packet.
“You did great today.”
Her warm smile made nobles and commoners blush alike.
(Yeah… This is the kind of classroom I wanted.)

Back in the faculty room, everyone was unusually quiet.
A stern senior teacher pushed up his glasses and cleared his throat.
“Professor Kai.”
“Yes?”
“Regarding the young lady’s… conduct in class, the academy finds…”
“No issues.”
“…Agreed.”

Silence. Consensus.
Then Routia appeared, serving steaming cups of tea to everyone.
“Good work today, professors.
Sugar, hydration, and respect — that’s what keeps an institution running.”
Even the old guard chuckled, and the younger teachers bowed in admiration.
(She’s completely conquered this academy… and it’s terrifying.)

Evening.
Long shadows stretched across the gate.
Just as I slung my bag over my shoulder, a soft scarf draped over me.
“The night breeze is bad for your throat.
Your voice is my favorite sound, you know.”
“…You don’t hold back, huh.”
“I told you — I won’t anymore.”

Her cheeks flushed pink as she clung to my arm.
Students squealed; teachers looked away.
Filia watched from a distance, calm and bright-eyed.

“Professor, I’ll come listen to your lecture again.
I really like how you teach.”
“Yeah, I’ll be waitin’.”
“…Lady Routia, please take good care of him.”
“Of course.”

Respect passed quietly between them — a baton of trust.
(Yeah. This atmosphere… I want to protect it.)

Night.
In my dorm room, piles of graded quizzes sat on the desk.
A warm cup slid into view beside my hand.
“Honey ginger tea.
If you ruin your throat before tomorrow’s open lecture, I’ll cry.”
“You wouldn’t be the one suffering.”
“If I cry, you’ll suffer too.”
“…Can’t argue with that.”

We both laughed softly.
Outside, the wind had stopped.
It was a quiet, gentle night.

On the corner of the desk, a photo of today’s chalkboard had a note taped on the back:

“Today’s Married Comedy Score: 97/100
+Points for natural ‘ahhh’ scene
+2 for Professor’s flustered face.”
(Kids these days…)

But my heart felt light.
Tomorrow, I’ll teach again.
Laugh again.
Crack jokes again.
Hand out candies again.
And she’ll be there beside me, keeping it all running.
(You know what? Fine… maybe ‘wife’ suits her.)

Two moons outside the window.
Two cups of tea on the desk.
The same warmth rising side by side.