A Surprisingly Happy Engagement for the Slime Duke and the Fallen Noble Lady: Volume 1 E-Book

Mashimesa Emoto

• Herausgeber: J-Novel Heart
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: A Surprisingly Happy Engagement for the Slime Duke and the Fallen Noble Lady
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 321

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

After her sister’s engagement to the crown prince is broken off suddenly, tragedy strikes, and Lady Francette and her family lose all of their wealth and status. Left with nothing but her name and determination, Francette moves to the slums and ekes out a living selling homemade pastries.

That’s when she meets an unlikely new friend named Wibble, a talking slime who introduces her to the one and only slime duke himself: Gabriel! To her surprise, the unusually stoic Gabriel soon asks for Francette’s hand in marriage--and she accepts. Now she must adapt to Triste and its eccentric people, and she soon finds herself breathing life into the strange but endearing backwater.

What was once a marriage of convenience becomes something much more in time...and—of course—expect lots of slime!

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Cover

Chapter 1: The Fallen Noble Francette Picks Up a Mysterious Slime

Chapter 2: The Fallen Noble Francette Moves to the Lakes

Side Story: The Slime Duke’s Repayment

Chapter 3: The Fallen Noble Francette Reunites with the Dragon Duke

Chapter 4: The Fallen Noble Francette Finds Herself in an Unbelievable Predicament

Extra: Wibble’s Precious Friends

Extra: Baking Cranberry Scones

Afterword

Color Illustrations

About J-Novel Club

Copyright

Landmarks

Color Images

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Fallen Noble Francette Picks Up a Mysterious Slime

Imagine having your engagement revoked and being banished from the country. It really happened—not to me, Francette, but to my older sister, Adele. The crown prince, Mael, had even denounced her in public.

My sister was a diligent girl who had endured her strenuous royal etiquette training without a word of complaint, yet she had been cast away simply for admonishing Prince Mael for his wild behavior and warning his mistress not to draw attention to herself.

The punishment hadn’t ended there. Our ducal family had had all of its assets seized, bankrupting us overnight.

My mother, a princess of a neighboring country, had left home to join my banished sister. From what I’d heard, the two of them were now living happily over there. Two years after the incident, I had received a piece of good news: apparently, my sister had gotten engaged to that country’s crown prince. All’s well that ends well...for her, at least.

As for me, I was living a modest life of poverty in the old part of town, sharing a one-story house with my father, who had stayed in the country. Why didn’t I go with my mother, you ask? Well, because I was fed up with high society. It wasn’t that I was worried about my father. In fact, he continued to go out every night with his mistresses. Even if he’d lost his fortune, the ladies hadn’t abandoned nobility’s number one womanizer. With them taking care of him, I only had to worry about my own life.

A fallen noble like me wasn’t going to come across any suitors, especially without any help from my laissez-faire father. It would’ve been a different story if I could use magic, though. I’d heard that the magician population was on the decline. Thus, there were many nobles who wanted to bring magician blood into their families. Unfortunately, we—the Blanchard family—were only distantly related to such blood.

If only I could use magic, I could make money off of “enchanted items”—everyday goods infused with magic, I always lamented. Instead, I currently made a living by consigning sweets to a pastry shop in the central district. I’d once learned a few recipes from a pastry chef in order to do charity work—who would’ve thought the skills I’d acquired to help others would end up being used to help myself? You never know what will happen in life.

Some pitied me for working so hard, but I didn’t care. I was working and getting paid. I held the fruits of my labor in my own hands. People who didn’t work wouldn’t know how wonderful that felt.

I was satisfied with my life. I wasn’t well-off, but my days were peaceful and relaxing.

This morning, I woke up to the quacking of a duck as usual. I got out of bed and stretched. Peering out the window, I saw the cause of the commotion.

I took a deep breath and shouted, “Heeey! No fighting the newspaper deliveryman!”

The duck quieted down. She lived with me, but she didn’t have a name, so I simply referred to her as “the duck.” I had encountered her in a nearby park and protected her when she was being chased by knights for attacking people. She had probably been a noble’s pet or a duck farm escapee, but I hadn’t been able to find her owner, so I had ended up taking her in myself. The old one-story house my father owned had a pond where she could swim around and bathe, making it a suitable environment for raising her.

As was just demonstrated, the duck had a fierce temperament. She threatened—and sometimes even attacked—anyone who tried to set foot onto our property. A bit extreme, but considering that my father hardly ever came home, it was good to have a guard duck around.

For what it was worth, I did have a signboard at the entrance gate that said, “Beware of violent duck!” However, there were people who didn’t think a duck would be able to hurt them, and it didn’t stop them from taking that fatal step inside.

The duck brought me the newspaper she’d snatched from the deliveryman.

“Thanks,” I said, extending my hand out the window.

She snuggled up to me. As far as I was concerned, she was just a cute, friendly duck.

“All right, time for another productive day!”

Before our family’s ruin, my day had begun with a gentle rousing from a maid and a leisurely cup of tea. Now that our assets had been seized, we didn’t have anywhere near enough spare money to hire a servant, so I had to take care of everything by myself. I had learned how to change clothes, cook, do laundry, and clean at the orphanage I volunteered at, so I was able to get by. I no longer owned a single frilly or lacy dress. Instead, I now wore an apron dress every day, just like the ones worn by maidservants. I was actually quite fond of it because it was easy to move around in.

I put on a shirt that I had washed and ironed yesterday. The fabric was rougher against my skin than the clothes I used to wear. That was the one thing I’d never gotten used to.

I went to the bathroom and looked at the clouded mirror, which never cleared up no matter how hard I scrubbed it. I sighed at the sight of my commonplace brown hair. My sister had beautiful raven hair which she had inherited from our mother. Unfortunately, I had inherited our father’s plain color instead. However, I did take some pride in having our mother’s wisteria-colored eyes.

But this isn’t the time for ruminating.

After carefully combing my hair, I gathered it into a ponytail at the back of my head. I washed my face with rainwater from a barrel and brushed my teeth. In the past, this would’ve been the point where I’d have put on makeup. But now, not only did I not own any makeup, I wouldn’t have time to apply it anyway.

“All right!” I pumped myself up and went outside.

In spring, the yard was a vivid green, shining in the sun. Wildflowers like thistles, daisies, and scarlet pimpernels were swaying in the breeze. Though it was spring, it was still chilly. I had to finish my errands quickly.

The duck came up to me, flapping her wings. She probably wanted food. I usually fed her vegetable peels and unsold fish from the market. Sometimes the merchants would even give me ingredients for myself as well. The people at the market knew I was dirt poor, so they were all nice to me. It was thanks to them that I was able to live like this.

By the way, the duck also ate harmful insects. I was impressed when I saw her pecking at the grasshoppers and crickets that were eating the crops in my garden. But she also loved the vegetables themselves. After she’d run out of insects, she would sometimes take a bite of the vegetable leaves too, and I really wished she wouldn’t.

While the duck was eating, I peeked into her straw nest.

“Oh, would you look at that!”

Since this ferocious duck was female, she laid eggs for me—not every day like a chicken would, but quite frequently. Her eggs were larger than chicken eggs, so making one into an omelette was enough for a full meal. I gratefully took the egg.

I harvested some potatoes and spinach from the garden. The spinach had some beak marks on it. I chose to think of it as us sharing our food.

Today’s breakfast was an oven-baked potato, a spinach omelette, and herbal tea made with fresh chamomile from the garden. I dropped a generous chunk of butter onto the potato and added my homemade tomato sauce to the omelette.

I read the newspaper while I ate. The duck’s eggs seemed a bit richer than chicken eggs. They made for a creamy omelette even without milk or butter mixed in. The potato, which I had grown with great care, was soft and delicious. The chamomile tea had an irresistible sweet aroma. It was like a refreshing embodiment of spring. I remembered when my father had once drunk it and muttered, “It’s just grass,” which really irritated me. Speaking of whom, I had received yet another card from him saying he wouldn’t be coming home today, but I had immediately tossed it out.

After breakfast, I began making pastries. Taking up position in the kitchen, I put on my brand-new apron. The first item of the day was a stick-shaped almond treat called “sacristain.”

Using the rolling pin, I flattened the pie dough I’d prepared last night, then poked holes all over it with a fork. Next, I brushed egg yolk over the dough and sprinkled crushed almonds over it. I then placed another layer of dough on top and pressed down with the rolling pin to keep the almonds in place. The second layer got another brushing of egg yolk, followed by a sprinkling of almonds and granulated sugar. Next, I cut the dough into strips and let them dry for a while before twisting them into spirals. These went into the preheated oven.

While I was waiting for them to bake, I used the leftover egg whites to make cookies called “langues de chat,” or “cat’s tongues.”

First, I creamed the now-room-temperature butter that I had taken out of the magical cold storage an hour prior, and mixed in powdered sugar, the aforementioned egg whites, and vanilla beans. I added flour to the mixture and blended it together to make dough, which I stuffed into a bag and piped into thin strips on a greased metal plate. All that was left was to bake them.

As I was working, the sacristains had come out nicely. I opened the oven and the kitchen was filled with the fragrant aroma of almonds. The pastries had been baked to a golden brown.

The name “sacristain” had an odd ring to it. It originated from the church—apparently, a sacristain was a person who managed the vessels and staves used in ceremonies. The pastry was said to be named after them because it resembled the twisty walking stick they carried.

I sampled one of the treats. The layered dough was crisp and light, as was the almond taste. The texture of the crunchy granular sugar complemented it nicely as well.

Yep, they came out delicious.

After the sacristains and langues de chat, I baked sablés and financiers. I carefully packed the finished sweets into my basket so that they wouldn’t crumble. My deliveries were always in the morning. As usual, it looked like I was going to be on time.

I put on my straw hat and left from the back door. If I went through the front, the duck would follow me. The neighbors also used the back door when they visited me, since they were wary of her.

I walked down the street at a steady pace. This area was so peaceful, you wouldn’t think it was part of the royal capital. There were apple trees along the road, with a few lovely white flowers blooming here and there. They would reach their peak in another ten days.

In autumn, the kids and birds in this old part of town would compete for apples. They were a hard and especially sour variety, but I’d heard that they made for delicious jam. I’d been living in this district for two years now, but I had yet to try the apples...because I didn’t think I stood a chance in the fight. I secretly aspired to win one day and have a taste.

The store I consigned sweets to was a pastry shop that catered to commoners. One of its employees was the pâtissier who used to work for my family. He couldn’t bear to see me penniless and jobless with nothing to my name, so he asked the store owner to buy my sweets. I wouldn’t be lying if I said I owed him my life. It was a lovely store with a red brick exterior and green roof, and it had long been favored by the capital’s residents.

I opened the door and the chime rang.

“Welco— Oh, it’s you, Francette.”

“Good day, Solene.”

“Good day to you too!”

The person smiling at me was Solene, the store’s poster girl. We got along well. I consigned sweets here once every two to three days. They felt bad about my situation and didn’t take a cut of my sales.

“Here’s today’s batch,” I said.

“Yep, confirming them ‘received.’ Here’s the proceeds from last time.”

“Thank you.”

The sweets I’d supplied them with the other day had sold out. Apparently, the store had an eccentric regular who liked my pastries, and he would be extremely disappointed if even one type ran out before he came. Every day for the past two years, he’d visited to see if my sweets were in stock. And each time he’d had his hood pulled low over his face, so no one knew who he was.

“Your customer was as suspicious as ever,” Solene said.

“From what I’ve heard, I can’t deny it.”

The regular supposedly had a beautiful, unaccented voice, but he spoke unbelievably fast. He was tall and thin and wore an extravagant overcoat. Solene estimated that he was a moderately wealthy man between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five.

“Sorry you have to deal with a weird customer,” I said.

“It’s fine. He tips generously.”

“That’s good.”

I thanked Solene and was about to leave when she stopped me to share this morning’s bread with me.

“Francette, you won’t have enough energy if you’re always nibbling on potatoes. Make sure you eat bread too.”

“I know. Thanks, Solene.” I waved goodbye.

My stomach growled at the delicious aroma of dough in the oven. Potatoes alone weren’t filling enough. Solene was right. I needed to eat bread. But if I had flour in my kitchen, I would rather use it to make pastries to sell. Because of that, I always ended up deprioritizing bread.

I thought about the breakfasts I’d had before my family’s downfall: freshly baked bread, rich vegetable potage, thick slices of bacon, soft-boiled eggs, warm salad... It was certainly a life of luxury. I didn’t particularly want to go back to those days, but I couldn’t help but wish for nicer meals.

Maybe I should find some other work to do besides baking sweets. I could try starting a fortune-telling business, since my sister taught me how.

By channeling mana into a crystal, one could read another’s fortune. It didn’t require magical aptitude—all you needed was the incantation and a little bit of mana. The problem was that I didn’t have the money to buy a fortune-telling crystal ball.

As I slumped my shoulders, dejected, I spotted a smooth, light-red sphere on the side of the road.

Could that be a crystal ball?! It’s rare to see a colored one, but did I really just find one lying on the street? Isn’t this too good to be true?

However, a lost item had to have an owner. The first order of business would be to take it to the knights’ station. If the owner couldn’t be found within a year, property rights would be transferred to the finder.

I’ll take it to the knights first, and if it gets transferred to me in a year, I’ll start my fortune-telling business then.

I ran over to pick up the mud-stained crystal, only for it to turn limp and squishy in my hands.

“Huh?! Eek!”

That was when I realized the thing lying on the ground wasn’t a crystal—it was a slime.

With water making up over ninety percent of its body, the slime was famed for being the weakest of all monsters. Even an ordinary person without any combat training could defeat one simply by stepping on it and crushing it. I probably hadn’t noticed the mana-storing core in this one’s body because it was covered in mud. Cute, round eyes peeked out through the stains. They were bleary, as if the slime wasn’t feeling well.

The moment I realized it was a slime, I tried to throw it. But my eyes met its own bright pair, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Besides, if it were hostile, it would’ve attacked me already. Also, we were inside city limits. Monsters couldn’t enter because of the great mage’s barrier, meaning that this slime must’ve been tamed. Its owner was probably nearby.

The slime and I stared at each other for a while, but we obviously couldn’t stay like that forever. I figured I had nothing to lose from questioning it.

“Excuse me, where is your owner?”

“I dunnooo.”

“I-It talked!” I nearly fell down in shock. In fact, I ought to have been praised for not screaming.

“W-Water...”

“Water?”

“Gonna dry up...”

“What?! You’re going to dry up? H-Hang in there for a minute!”

The orphanage was nearby. I put the slime in my basket, which was no longer full of pastries, and rushed there, slipping in quietly through the back so the children wouldn’t see me. I headed to the well and drew some water. Unsure of what to do with it, I poured it into the open basket.

“Phew, I feel alive again!”

The mud came off, and the creature was renewed as a shiny, wobbly slime. I patted my chest in relief. It still wanted water, so I filled the bucket and put the slime inside. It began to swim around while humming a song. Looking at it this way, it was really cute. I wanted to poke it, but I stopped myself at the last second. Even if it was adorable, it was still a monster. You could never be too careful.

My knowledge of monsters came from the story of the monster dukes, which the children at the orphanage loved. It was more of a historical record than a fictional tale. It was said that most of the events had really occurred in the past, with only a few embellishments. I’d read the book over a hundred times, so I knew it by heart.

As I watched the slime swim around, I recalled the story of the seven grand monster dukes.

Once upon a time, there were seven evil monsters wreaking havoc on the world.

The Dragon burned cities to the ground in an instant with its powerful breath.

The Siren drowned valiant fighters at sea with a single song.

The Harpy brought sword-wielding sky knights down from their wyverns with its spells.

The Ogre devoured people to gain strength and intelligence.

The Treant lured people into a huge forest with no exit.

The Fenrir led a pack of beasts in its attacks.

The Slime swallowed people up like a bottomless swamp.

The dark age did not last long, for individuals rose up to defeat the monsters.

The king declared these people heroes and bestowed them with the highest rank after royalty.

The prince who had slain the Dragon was given the title of Grand Dragon Duke.

The fisherman who had slain the Siren was given the title of Grand Siren Duke.

The adventurer who had slain the Ogre was given the title of Grand Ogre Duke.

The charcoal maker who had slain the Treant was given the title of Grand Treant Duke.

The knight who had slain the Fenrir was given the title of Grand Fenrir Duke.

The priest who had slain the Harpy was given the title of Grand Harpy Duke.

The lord who had slain the Slime was given the title of Grand Slime Duke.

The monster dukes still existed now, a millennium later. “Grand Dragon Duke” had become a courtesy title given to the most skilled swordsman in the royal family. The current dragon duke was Prince Axel, a serious and honest man of virtue and grace, with an education to boot. He was only the second prince, but I felt that my sister would’ve been better off marrying him instead.

Prince Axel had been kind to me as well, probably because I was related to his future sister-in-law. After the fall of our family, he had even offered to take me in if I had nowhere else to go. I obviously wasn’t going to burden him like that, so I had politely declined.

“Ahhh, that was good water.”

I snapped back to the present at the sound of the slime’s satisfied voice. Laying a handkerchief over my skirt, I tapped my thigh and it jumped up into my lap. I’d wanted to wipe off its wet body, but apparently that wasn’t necessary for a slime. Still, it seemed to like the handkerchief, so I wrapped it up and put it back in the basket.

The orphanage director happened to pass by, so I mentioned that I had used the well.

“Feel free to use it anytime,” the director said with a smile.

“I’m busy today, but I’ll come by again,” I said. “Sorry.”

“We’ll be looking forward to your visit.”

I left and jogged over to the nearby knights’ station. A man and woman were there, and upon spotting me, the lady knight came up to me.

“How may I help you?” she asked.

“Um, I found a tamed slime, and I wanted to ask if its owner reported it lost.”

“A slime...?”

“I have it right here.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The knight took a book labeled “Lost Items (Unresolved)” from the shelf and scanned it for a slime owner. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have been reported,” she said.

“I see.”

“Could you please fill out this form?”

“Oh, yes.” I wrote down details such as where I’d found the slime and the condition it was in, but when I returned the form to the knight along with the slime, she only took the form.

“I’m sorry, but the knights can’t take custody of living things. We’ll contact you if the owner comes forward, so, um...”

“Are you saying that I have to take care of the slime myself?”

“Yes.”

Apparently I’d opened a can of worms by picking up this creature. I immediately accepted my fate. It’s my fault for picking it up, so I guess I’ll have to look after it for a while.

Just to be sure, I asked the slime, “Um, are you all right with staying at my place until they find your owner?”

“Okay.”

That’s that, then. And so, for the first time in my life, I went home with a slime.

When I opened the gate, the duck flew at me.

“Wh-Whoa!”

She had flown high enough to clear the fence. I thought ducks couldn’t fly... Rather, if she could reach that height, she could escape at any time. I guess she can but chooses not to. I’m glad she likes it enough here to make it her permanent home instead of menacing the neighbors.

The duck squawked as she hung around my feet. I gently petted her and gave her a spare carrot from the garden, which she happily ate. I decided to make cheese gratin for lunch, but first, I had to figure out where to put the slime.

“Hey, you... Oh, I never got its name.”

“Slime” was a species name, so calling it that would have been akin to calling a person “Human.” Since communication was possible, it was better to ask for its name.

I peered at the slime in the basket and poked it. Its eyes snapped open.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“My name is Wibble!”

“Wibble... Well, I can see why.” It certainly was wibbly-wobbly. Not wanting this to sound like an interrogation, I introduced myself as well. “I’m Francette.”

“Fran.”

“No, Francette!”

“Fra!”

It didn’t seem to be able to remember long names. Oh well. Now that I know its name, I can ask my question. “Wibble, is there anywhere that would be comfortable for you?”

“Bath!”

“Oh, of course. The bathtub.”

I brought Wibble straight to the bathroom and turned the magicite-powered tap, filling the tub with water. The slime gleefully leaped inside.

“Ahhh, this is Shangri-la.”

“What’s Shangri-la?”

“Dunno.”

“Oh.”

I left Wibble there for the time being and went to make my cheese gratin with the potatoes I’d harvested in the morning. It was a standard dish I often used to make at the orphanage.

First, I cut the potatoes into thin slices and fried them in butter. Next, I added butter and flour to a saucepan and let the mixture cook while adding milk. When it thickened, the white sauce was complete.

I layered the potatoes in the gratin dish and seasoned them with black pepper. I then poured the sauce on and sprinkled a generous amount of cheese on top. The dish went into the oven to bake, and once the surface was browned, the cheese gratin was ready to eat.

The version my family used to eat had truffles in it, but this one was simpler and delicious in its own way. Paired with a garden-fresh carrot salad and the white bread Solene had given me, it made for a fine feast.

I ate the gratin while it was still piping hot. The cheese stretched out as I scooped the creamy, sauce-covered potatoes up with my fork. It was unquestionably delicious. I kept eating, huffing as I let the potatoes cool down in my mouth. Partway through the meal, I started sopping up the white sauce with the bread. Even though it was equivalent to eating flour on top of flour, it was unbelievably good.

Now that my stomach was full, it was time to take a break. But first, I had to check on Wibble.

“Eeeee!”

Startled by the shriek, I peeked into the bathroom. Wibble was grinning and sloshing up and down in the tub. It seemed to be having fun, so I let it be.

After resting for a while, I went to make pastries to bring to the orphanage. They were, of course, the children’s beloved soupirs de nonne, meaning “nun’s sighs.” They were basically bite-size deep-fried doughnuts.

The dessert was originally called “pet de nonne,” meaning “nun’s fart.” I didn’t know the details, but that was the initial inspiration for it. Apparently, when the dessert was given the nicer name of “soupir de nonne,” with the explanation that “kids liked it so much that nuns would sigh whenever they had to make it again” was added after the fact.

I heated milk, water, melted butter, salt, and sugar in a saucepan. When the mixture came to a boil, I turned off the heat and stirred in bread flour and cake flour. When the dough came together, I added beaten eggs and made a kneading motion with the wooden spatula. Once it was all thick and sticky like a slime, I packed it into a pastry bag and squeezed it into hot oil. If I were in a hurry, I would’ve rapidly sliced the dough with a knife, letting the pieces fall in.

The dough sizzled as it fried. When the pieces turned golden brown and floated up, I scooped them up and, after thoroughly draining the oil, sprinkled sugar on top. The soupirs de nonne were now complete.

I tasted one. It was crisp on the outside and puffy on the inside—a simple yet delicious treat. I’d intended on bringing them to the orphanage tomorrow, but they definitely tasted better fresh. I decided to head over right away.

I gave Wibble a heads-up just in case. “Wibble, I’m going to head out. What about you?”

“Hmm, I’ll stay here.”

“Sure. Watch the house for me, okay?”

“’Kaaay.”

A slime that could watch the house. Incredible.

I left through the back door and went to the orphanage. There was a sister at the gate, so I gave the pastries to her.

“Oh, pets de nonne!” she exclaimed. “They look delicious.”

“Sister, they’re called soupirs de nonne.”

“Right. I’m too used to what the children call them.”

I wanted to see how the kids were doing, but the sister stopped me.

“You might want to go home early,” she said. “I heard there’s a group of ruffians looking for someone.”

“Oh dear, that’s scary.”

“A scoundrel laid his hands on the wife of a wealthy merchant, or so the rumor goes.”

“That’s horrible. He’s getting what he deserves, then.”

“Indeed.”

I’ll play with the kids next time. In situations like this, it’s best to go home, take a bath, and tuck in early.

“I’ll take my leave, then. Have a nice day, Sister.”

“You too.”

I hurried home. It looked like Wibble had been behaving itself while I was gone.

“Oh, Wibble, can I use the bathtub? I’ll refill it later.”

“Are you taking a bath?”

“Yes.”

“Warm, splash, scrub scrub?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Wibble can do it!”

“Do what?”

The slime changed from clear to red. A magic circle appeared on the surface of the water—which instantly turned hot.

“Temperature, good?”

“Oh, this is nice.”

“Yay!”

A slime that could heat water—what a genius idea. Perhaps Wibble’s owner had trained it to do this.

“Water, purified, clean!”

“Oh, I see. Thank you.”

I hadn’t exercised any caution in using a bathtub that a slime had been soaking in. It’d slipped my mind that monsters were petri dishes of bacteria. Trusting Wibble’s claim that the water was clean, I went ahead with the bath. I had left a bucket of water in the changing room, but Wibble stayed in the tub.

“Um, Wibble, do you mind sharing the bath?”

“It’s fine!”

“O-Okay then, here I come.”

I took off my clothes and entered the bathroom. First, I’d wash my body. But the moment I reached for the soap, it vanished right before my eyes.

“Huh?!”

“Bub bub!”

I looked in the direction of the voice and saw Wibble furiously working the soap into a lather.

“I’ll wash you!”

“Huh? What?! You have to be kidding me!”

The froth-covered slime began to wash my body.

“Ah... Aha ha ha ha! Aha ha ha! It tickles! Aha ha ha!”

“Does it itch anywhere?”

“No, i-it doesn’t, but— Aha ha ha ha!”

My old skin cells were scrubbed away, leaving my body shiny and smooth. I could scarcely believe what I saw in the mirror. It had already been two years since my family had gone bankrupt, and I had been too busy to deal with skin care. As a result, my skin had become dry and rough. I had developed bags under my eyes, and my lips had been completely neglected. But now, after Wibble washed me, my whole body was as polished as a boiled egg. My skin was more radiant than when the maids had spent hours taking care of it.

“Thank you, Wibble!”

“No problem.”

I was going to replace the water as a show of appreciation, but it turned out to be unnecessary.

“Wibble wants to sleep.”

“Oh, okay.”

I wondered if a large basket stuffed with cushions would suffice for a bed. As I was preparing it, Wibble jumped onto my own bed instead. Apparently it intended to sleep with me.

I slipped into bed and covered myself with the blanket. Although it was spring, it got very cold at night. I considered lighting the fireplace for once. Unfortunately, I was too poor to use it every night.

“Fra, are you cold?”

“Hm? Oh, yes.”

“Then Wibble will warm you up!”

The slime shuffled under the blanket. Just as I was wondering what it was up to, it pressed against me and rapidly heated up. The chilly bed and blanket warmed up in a flash.

“How is iiit?”

“It’s warm. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!”

Thanks to Wibble, the night was warm.

The next day was a cleaning day. I got up bright and early and grabbed my broom. Since the house was old, the floor needed to be waxed regularly or else it’d warp into a miserable sight.

As I rolled up my sleeves, Wibble woke up.

“Good morning, Wibble.”

“Good morning, Fra!” It blinked wearily. It was probably still sleepy. “What’re you doing?”

“Cleaning. I’m going to sweep away the dust and wax the floor.”

“Hmm, Wibble can do that too!”

“Huh?”

Wibble stuck itself to the floor and stretched itself thinner and thinner. I panicked and climbed atop a chair.

“Wha— Huh?! No way!”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Wibble formed a film over the entire floor, then snapped back to its original spherical shape. It spat out a clump of waste from its mouth.

“Gimme the wax!”

“Oh, um, here.”

Wibble swallowed up the wax and again spread out over the floor. A second later, it reverted back to normal, leaving the floor sparkly clean and waxed.

“I-I think it’s even better than when I do it!”

I picked Wibble up and petted it while thanking it. The slime smiled happily. After that, it showed me even more of its abilities by weeding the garden, feeding the duck, and helping me cook.

“S-So this is the power of a tamed slime!”

I wished every house could have an all-powerful Wibble. I felt compelled to ask it to live with me but swallowed my words right before they left my throat. Wibble had an owner, who could very well be searching for it right now. Wibble itself was probably worried too.

I picked up Wibble, who was playing with the duck, and rubbed my cheek against it. “I promise I’ll find your owner.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

With Wibble’s help, I finished all of my tasks before noon. Now it was time to go out to town and search for its owner. As soon as I stepped forward, I realized something: all I needed to do was ask Wibble for its owner’s name. Then I would immediately know where to take it.

“Come to think of it, Wibble, do you know your owner’s name?”

“Gabriel!”

“A man, then. What’s his family name?”

“Gabriel!”

I fell silent. Apparently, it only remembered the first name. So close, yet so far.

“Wibble, do you know where Gabriel’s house is?”

“Far! Not here.”

“So he doesn’t live in the royal capital?”

“Nope! He always comes here by going whoosh!”

“Whoosh?”

“Yep.”

By “whoosh,” did it mean that he flew to the capital on a wyvern or other creature? I didn’t quite understand, but at least I now knew that Wibble’s owner didn’t live here. Was he a merchant, or a noble who came to socialize? Another possibility was an adventurer. That reminded me—I vaguely recalled hearing something about tamed monsters being registered with the adventurer’s guild, but it could’ve been my memory playing tricks on me. It was worth a try, though.

Just as I was about to leave, I heard quacking coming from the yard.

“I wonder who it could be?”

I peered out the window and saw the letter carrier pacing back and forth in front of the gate. He usually came in the evenings, so this was considered very early. I went outside and accepted the mail.

“I’m sorry about the duck,” I said.

“I-It’s fine. Um, this was an express delivery.”

“Express?” I looked at the letter. It was the usual card from my father. What was so urgent that he had to tell me by express mail? Was he going on a trip with one of his mistresses?

I gave the mailman an apology tip and waved goodbye. Back inside, I looked around for the letter opener, only for Wibble to extend a tentacle from its body, transform it into a knife, and cut the envelope open for me.

“Thank you, Wibble.”

“No problem!”

I took out the card and found a cryptic message inside. There was only a single word: “Sorry.” Nothing was written on the back.

As I tilted my head, wondering what my father was apologizing for, I heard the duck making a ruckus again.

“Another visitor?”

I picked Wibble up and went outside—just in time to hear an angry holler.

“Hey, you piece of shit duke, I know you’re there! Get your ass out here!”

There was a large group of tough-looking thugs outside the gate, wearing clothes with lots of studs in them. Upon seeing me, they began to converse among themselves.

“Eh? A woman?”

“I bet she’s the duke’s mistress.”

“Not only did he lay his filthy hands on Lord Maxim’s wife, he has such a young girl for a mistress?!”

In the midst of this baffling situation, the dots in my memory connected perfectly: the sister at the orphanage yesterday telling me about “a group of ruffians looking for someone;” the apology from my father; the thugs’ mention of laying hands on someone’s wife. Based on the clues, I could guess that my father had most likely seduced a wealthy merchant’s wife and run for the hills, leaving his daughter—me—behind.

“Lord Maxim demands compensation from the duke.”

“Two hundred thousand geld!”

“What?!” I balked at the unreasonable sum.

Two hundred thousand geld was a lot of money—the kind of amount you’d expect a noble to prepare for their daughter’s dowry. My father, having had his assets seized, would never be able to come up with that much. He must’ve fled knowing that this would happen. He really was selfish.

What to do... What can I do?

“Quaaaaack!” the duck screeched, charging at the men.

“N-No!” I hurriedly grabbed hold of her, restraining her in my arms. A duck couldn’t possibly stand up to a band of thugs.

Wibble extended a tentacle and transformed it gloriously into a legendary holy blade. Is it seriously going to fight?

“Wibble, you stop too!” I shouted.

“Whyyy?”

“Because defeating these people won’t solve anything!”

Even if we fended them off, it wouldn’t change the fact that someone was demanding compensation from my father.