"That is correct! I have actually conducted a fair amount of personal research into the mechanics of magic," Flandre remarked, her posture radiating pride. "I have even delivered formal academic lectures in the past."
Clever stared blankly at her, her internal thoughts completely gridlocked.
Flandre Scarlet delivering academic lectures?
She understood each of those words individually, but synthesizing them into a single coherent concept left her mind utterly dazed. Try as she might, she simply could not visualize Flandre—a child who looked no older than nine or ten—donning a formal instructor's attire and stepping up to a university podium, while an audience of dedicated, twenty-something professionals sat submissively in the lecture hall below. The sheer absurdity of the image was overwhelming.
Driven by a sudden wave of curiosity, she shifted her position on the log, sitting down directly beside the child. "In that case, would Teacher Flandre be willing to instruct me a bit? I happen to harbor a deep interest in these structural theories myself."
Flandre nodded enthusiastically, tapping the open page with her index finger. "Certainly! At the moment, I am reviewing a complex breakdown concerning the underlying energetic pathways and focal intersections between various forms of Originium Arts."
With immense earnestness, Flandre began translating the advanced theoretical concepts into accessible terms for her new pupil.
Clever had fully braced herself for an incredibly obscure, agonizingly dense academic lecture, but she was completely surprised by the child's presentation. Flandre possessed an uncanny ability to distill the most convoluted formulas into straightforward, practical analogies. By the time the explanation concluded, Clever found that she had actually absorbed eighty to ninety percent of the structural material.
A short distance away, Patchouli had pricked up her ears, quietly monitoring the lesson before turning her gaze toward Remilia.
"I must admit, I did not realize Flandre possessed such a natural aptitude for instruction," Patchouli noted softly. "To subconsciously translate highly intricate structural patterns into the most fluid, accessible terminology is a remarkably rare pedagogical gift."
Remilia cast a knowing glance toward her friend, her expression silently asking,Are you subtly trying to compliment your own methods? After all, the entire household was well aware of who had originally introduced the child to the fundamentals of magic.
"Wasn't her very first arcane instructor you?" Remilia pointed out.
Patchouli shook her head, offering a concise clarification. "One cannot look at the equation so simply. I merely provided her with the raw foundational framework and the academic texts. However, the specific skill required to restructure that data into such accessible language to guide an untrained mind—that is an intuitive talent I never explicitly taught her."
The look Patchouli directed toward the child was filled with genuine appreciation. Achieving that level of clarity was a formidable intellectual feat. First, an individual required an immense, flawless reservoir of knowledge to ensure no factual errors were introduced during the simplification process. Second, they needed exceptional linguistic command. Finally, the subject matter had to be completely digested; otherwise, the structural integrity of the lesson would fall apart entirely.
The meticulous precision Flandre was displaying indicated that she had mastered the material down to the deepest structural baseline. Still, Remilia and Patchouli remained a bit curious as to what had prompted her to adopt such a thorough, patient style of delivery. During their standard academic circles back at the mansion, Flandre had never articulated her thoughts in this specific manner. Right now, she truly resembled a seasoned instructor who had painstakingly chewed up every single knowledge point to feed it directly to her student.
Later that evening, when Patchouli gently inquired about the shift, Flandre happily recounted her experience managing the training cells back in Lungmen.
Hearing the colorful tale, the rest of the entourage could not hold back their amusement, bursting into quiet laughter. The narrative perfectly illuminated why Flandre was pacing her explanations so carefully now. Conventional university students generally possessed a strong intellectual foundation and a highly elastic capacity for absorbing fresh data. However, dealing with the stubborn veterans and rigid operatives within the active workforce was an entirely different matter; their cognitive pathways were fundamentally set. If she didn't utilize the absolute simplest language imaginable to break down the concepts, their minds simply could not process the information.
In the eyes of both Remilia and Patchouli, this development was an exceptional blessing. By forcing herself to teach the material in such a basic manner, Flandre was anchoring her own mastery more thoroughly than ever before.
As the night deepened, Clever's brain slowly jammed under the sheer volume of advanced data, and she drifted into a peaceful slumber right there by the hearth.
Catching sight of her sleeping pupil, a mischievous, little devilish grin curled the corners of Flandre's mouth. Slinking over to the storage compartment of the vehicle, she retrieved a water-based marker that Patchouli had purchased in the capital and quietly crept back to the fire, beginning to sketch intricate patterns across Clever's face.
The rest of the companions discreetly turned their faces away, stifling their laughter as they watched the child meticulously complete her masterpiece. Once the artwork was finished, the group retired to their respective tents one by one. Only the glowing perimeter of the protective barrier and the low embers of the campfire remained to illuminate the quiet wilderness.
The following morning, Clever woke up feeling a profound wave of self-conscious embarrassment. She had been the one to request a lesson from Flandre, yet her cognitive faculties had completely failed her due to an information overload. She certainly had no intention of admitting that she had simply passed out; in her mind, it was merely a temporary system shutdown triggered by her brain processing an excessive volume of academic data.
Fortunately, Flandre appeared entirely unbothered by her student's lapse. Looking at the vibrant designs adorning Clever's face, the child offered a bright smile, announcing that she intended to resume her reading that evening and that Clever was more than welcome to join the session.
After expressing her gratitude, Clever walked through the camp to offer her customary morning greetings to the rest of the household. However, she instantly noticed that the expressions she received in return were remarkably peculiar.
She subconsciously rubbed her hair, wondering if her locks had simply become terribly disheveled during the night. Thoroughly perplexed, she trotted down to the edge of a nearby stream to splash some cool water over her face and clear the remaining fog from her head.
Leaning over the bank, she caught sight of the reflection in the rippling water. A total stranger was staring back at her.
Wait... wasn't that her own face?
But what on earth was the meaning of these bizarre markings?
Two perfect, dark circles were sketched neatly around her eyes, a pair of prominent crosses adorned her cheeks, and a stylized handlebar mustache was perched directly above her upper lip.
In a flash of realization, the mystery of everyone's strange behavior dissolved completely. As for the identity of the culprit, Great Detective Clever locked onto the target within a single millisecond. There was only one entity in this entire wilderness capable of executing such a prank: Flandre Scarlet.
She immediately began scrubbing her skin with freezing river water, rubbing furiously until her face turned a bright, irritated crimson before the ink finally washed away. Once the canvas was clear, she transformed into a spirit of pure, unadulterated vengeance, pouncing back into the center of the camp with her fingers clawed.
"FLAN! DRE! SCAR! LET!"
Catching sight of the girl's wild hair and charging posture, Flandre let out a delighted shriek. With a burst of bright laughter, she instantly initiated a high-speed game of tag across the clearing.
The chaotic pursuit maintained its momentum until Sakuya emerged from the cooking station, announcing that breakfast was served. The initial call yielded zero response, and her secondary notice went entirely ignored by the sprinting pair.
Sakuya's eyes narrowed slightly. Reaching into the folds of her apron, she silently withdrew a polished silver pocket watch.
"The World."
The ambient noise of the wilderness vanished as reality ground to an instant, absolute halt.
In the very next microsecond, the temporal suspension snapped shut. Flandre and Clever experienced a sudden, jarring blur in their spatial awareness; the open grass vanished, and they found themselves sitting upright on two folding stools directly in front of the dining table.
Startled by the instantaneous relocation, Clever opened her mouth to ask what had just transpired, but she stopped short when she noticed Flandre's posture. The otherwise chaotic child was currently sitting perfectly erect, her hands folded neatly in her lap, looking more well-behaved than anyone else in the camp.
"What is going on?" Clever whispered under her breath, lean in close.
"Do not look around," Flandre hissed back, her voice trembling slightly as she covered her head. "It is Sakuya. Sakuya is genuinely annoyed right now!"
Sakuya? The chief maid? Clever knew the woman's title well from her daily observations, but the mechanics of their relocation left her thoroughly shaken. How had the maid managed to transfer two moving targets to a dining table in less than a heartbeat? Had she mastered some form of high-level spatial compression magic?
A cold shiver rippled down Clever's spine. Although she had never witnessed the maid engage in an open combat theater, the sheer gravity shifting behind the woman's quiet gaze was immense.
At that moment, Sakuya set two steaming bowls of breakfast before them. Gazing down at the delicious meal, Clever subconsciously sneaked a glance at the head maid. The woman perfectly embodied the description Flandre always used to define her: Perfect and Elegant.
Clever simply could not fathom why an individual possessing such unfathomable, reality-bending capability would choose to spend her days serving as a domestic maid for an aristocratic estate.