The Daily Life of an Ordinary Couple (2)
“The Magic Tower’s inadequate welfare system is a major problem too. Welfare should be fair, but it also needs to support those who are relatively disadvantaged—yet right now, the Tower is doing the exact opposite.”
It was inevitable, really. The Magic Tower’s welfare was based on a ruthless merit system. The more stars you pinned to your chest and the greater achievements you racked up, the more benefits you enjoyed over everyone else.
That was why Aracila could take leave whenever she wanted. She had succeeded in most of her research and missions. In contrast, mages with no accomplishments to their name toiled endlessly without any recognition.
It was an age-old tradition at the Tower: ignore the incompetent and favor only the capable.
“But isn’t it only natural for those who achieve great feats to receive commensurate rewards? That’s what motivates people to work harder, isn’t it?”
“Even so, it’s absurd that some mages get absolutely nothing in terms of welfare, in direct proportion to their output. More than that, the Tower doesn’t even provide an environment where every mage can build achievements on equal footing.”
As in the topics they had discussed earlier, the rigid hierarchy between seniors and juniors made it hard for the young to claim credit, and as the old executive meetings had shown, the disparity in treatment between male and female mages was stark.
In particular, the fact that most female mages went through retirement procedures after marriage—with no institutional support from the Tower to back them up—played a huge role in all this.
That was why Aracila wanted to improve at least that aspect, to stem the early retirements of female mages even if just a little.
“If we truly want to live with pride as mages of the Tower, we need to learn how to extend a hand and wait for those who fall even slightly behind—instead of cutting them down like a blade.”
Aracila fixed the dissenting mage with a steady gaze and added,
“Not everyone starts from the same conditions or environment.”
“. . . Ahem, well, that’s true enough. I was being shortsighted.”
The mage let out an embarrassed cough, conceded the point, and stepped back.
They decided to expand the existing criteria—which had judged leave and sabbatical eligibility based solely on performance—by adding things like childcare and pregnancy, and to enact strict Tower laws ensuring no unfair treatment for those who used them.
From then on, they listened intently to one another and exchanged ideas with fervent enthusiasm. Even after the scheduled end time, the discussions showed no sign of stopping, spilling over into the next day.
Those were days brimming with such zeal that even the biting winter cold had to yield a step.
* * *
As he walked down the corridor, Damian paused and gazed out the window. In the spots where the snow had piled up white all winter and finally melted away, tender green shoots and colorful flowers were cautiously lifting their heads.
It had already been several months since Aracila became the head of the Magic Tower. While the couple had been busy leading their house and the Tower from their respective positions, an entire season had slipped by.
Damian’s life as a newly minted duke from last spring had settled into a comfortable rhythm, affording him some leisure, but Aracila’s had not. She was so swamped with official and private duties that the days she made it home on time could be counted on one hand.
‘I wonder if my lady will come home early today.’
Damian smiled faintly as he looked at a flower in a soft lavender hue, the same shade as his wife’s eyes. Aracila’s birthday fell in the spring, when all things came back to life. It was midmonth already, so it wasn’t far off.
He had never properly celebrated it before, so starting this year, he wanted to make her birthday an annual event, something grand and memorable.
To throw a party that left nothing to envy, to give her gifts, to share kisses.
To that end, Damian had already done his research and laid some plans. But to make it a perfect birthday, there were a few things he needed to ask her.
So please, let her come home early today. It was a fervent wish from a man who hadn’t shared even a single dinner with his wife all week.
But his hope went unfulfilled.
Of all days, Aracila’s return was even later than usual. It was well after dusk had deepened into night by the time she arrived home.
Damian, who had stayed up waiting without a wink, sprang from the sofa the moment he heard the door open.
“My lady, you’re back?”
“Oh, Damian. You weren’t asleep? I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, not at all. You’ve had a hard day again.”
Damian cupped her cheeks tenderly and pressed a light kiss to her lips. Peck, peck. The playful little sounds deepened into something more intense in an instant.
With one hand cradling the nape of her neck, the other pulling her waist close, Damian drew her in. Aracila, too, wound her arms around his neck and melted into his embrace.
It had been so long since they’d shared a kiss this deep—days so hectic they could scarcely see each other’s faces.
Damian tilted his head, slipping a hand beneath her Magic Tower uniform jacket to trace the slender curve of her lower back. The warmth of their pressed bodies and the soft give of her skin beneath his palm stoked a rising heat in him.
Until now, mindful of Aracila’s health, he hadn’t laid a hand on her beyond gentle touches. If seeing her utterly spent with exhaustion—showering and eating only to collapse into bed—stirred desire before pity, well, that wouldn’t make him human at all.
Moreover, from the snippets of conversation he overheard, Damian could tell just how much strain Aracila was under as she drove the changes in the Mage Tower.
He didn’t want to burden her further—not when she was already carrying so much—so he’d held back….
“But now that she’s being so forward, it should be fine to move things along.”
Once the spark had ignited, even Damian couldn’t play the saint forever. Like a starving beast, he devoured Aracila’s lips while his hand ventured deeper, and in that instant—
All of Aracila’s movements came to an abrupt halt. Her body, feather-light in his arms, went limp against him.
“…Aracila?”
Startled, Damian pulled back and anxiously checked on his wife. She had her face nestled against his shoulder, her eyes gently closed. Her breathing was steady, her expression serene.
In a word, she’d simply fallen asleep.
“Ah….”
Relief mingled with a tangle of emotions as Damian pressed a hand to his forehead. Aracila, blissfully unaware and dozing peacefully in his embrace, was both utterly endearing and just a touch infuriating.
In the end, though, he carefully scooped her up and laid her in bed. He even helped her out of her uncomfortable uniform, dressing her himself in her nightclothes, then propped a pillow behind her head and pulled the covers up to her chest.
As he watched her sleep with the innocence of a child, his heart melted away like wax under a flame. He reached out and lightly tapped the tip of her nose—sharp yet softly rounded—and a soft chuckle escaped him as he slid into bed beside her.
“Sweet dreams, my lady.”
Damian murmured the words quietly before closing his eyes. He’d let his unresolved desires fade on their own, and save his unanswered questions for tomorrow.
The next morning, Aracila woke with no memory of her escapades the night before. Which meant, of course, that she’d been utterly exhausted when she got home.
Understanding this, Damian had no complaints and was about to broach the subject of her birthday.
“By the way, Damian—I have something to tell you.”
Until Aracila beat him to it.
“I’m going to have to take a sudden trip next week. It’ll be about a week long.”
“…Suddenly? What’s it for?”
Damian echoed in a daze. His mind raced. A week-long trip starting next week… It just so happened to overlap perfectly with the week of Aracila’s birthday.
In other words, all his painstakingly planned extravagance—the lavish party, the perfect day—was about to vanish into thin air.
“It’s the Magic Conference, where all the continent’s mages gather. It’s being held in the Kingdom of Silin, so I figured I’d go, announce my position as Mage Tower Lord officially, and make some introductions while I’m at it.”
“…Do you have to go? What about next year?”
“No, I can’t—it might not happen again for who knows how long. They always host these things on short notice like this, precisely because they can’t coordinate every mage’s schedule.”
Oblivious to Damian’s parched throat and mounting dread, Aracila spoke with firm resolve. That was why she’d arranged the trip so hastily and informed him now.
Unable to beg her not to go—not when he was the one secretly preparing her birthday party—Damian swallowed his disappointment and nodded.
“Then… take care out there.”
“Got it. I’ll pick up a gift for you on the way back. Anything from Silin’s specialties that catches your eye?”
“No, nothing. I’m fine—just come back safe and healthy, without catching anything.”
Damian mustered the most mature smile he could manage. He couldn’t very well cling to his younger wife’s skirts like some petulant child, all for the sake of indulging his own grand designs.
It wouldn’t align with the supportive husband he strived to be, either. Like last night, he’d have to swallow his regrets alone.
And so, a few days later, as he saw Aracila off to the Kingdom of Silin, Damian remained calm and affectionate.
“I’ll miss you, Damian. I’ll be back before you know it—just wait a little.”
“Don’t rush. Take your time and enjoy it. I’ll be right here, not going anywhere.”
He pressed his lips firmly to her pale forehead, then slipped one hand into his pocket and stood watching as she boarded the airship bound for Silin.
She seemed to have forgotten entirely that next week was her birthday. With all her focus lately on the Mage Tower and her duties as its lord, it was hardly surprising.
Gazing up at the airship as it lifted into the sky, he scrapped his plans for a grand birthday celebration entirely. Even if the guest of honor had blacked out the date from her mind, he had no intention of letting it slip by unmarked.
No choice now—he’d have to make it special in smaller ways.
Fortunately, Aracila was due back on her actual birthday. It would probably be evening by the time she arrived, but just knowing the date wouldn’t pass without her was enough to satisfy him.
Damian lingered in place until the airship shrank to a dot and vanished from sight. The moment he returned home, he summoned the butler.
“Albert, fetch the head chef.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He’d barely had time to cross his legs and settle into his study when the chef came rushing in, glancing nervously as he bowed his head.
“You called for me, Your Grace?”
“A few years back, on my birthday, you helped my wife finish that cake, didn’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
The chef winced at the memory of that disastrous cake. Was His Grace about to nitpick it after all this time?
Bewildered, he darted his eyes about—until a bolt from the blue crashed into his ears.
“Would you teach me how to make one?”
“Yes…? P-Pardon…?”
The chef stared at his master, elegant as a marble statue, with a look of utter stupefaction. Damian curved the corner of his mouth in a smooth, reassuring smile.
“It’s my wife’s birthday coming up soon. I’d like to make her a cake myself.”
“Ah….”
The chef squeezed his eyes shut, recalling Aracila’s overconfident but utterly abysmal baking skills from back then.
Please, Your Grace—can’t you just leave this to us…?
Even Aracila, with her slender, delicate hands, had botched a cake so badly. How much worse would it be for Damian, whose hands had wielded nothing but swords his whole life?
“It can’t be done?”
“N-No, of course it can! I’ll do my absolute best!”
But before the fierce glint in his master’s eyes, no refusal would come. The chef could only swallow his tears and bellow his assent.
“Thank you.”
Damian dismissed him with a satisfied smile. A full party with friends and family was out of the question now, so he’d pour his heart into preparing everything himself, one detail at a time.
On second thought, a quiet celebration for just the two of them didn’t sound half bad. With that, he found himself eagerly counting the days until Aracila’s return.
