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~~Dear Blue Mama.~~
Dear Roxy,
I received your letter the day before yesterday, but things have been busy, so I delayed my reply.
Because of that, you might get this a couple of days later than usual. And if the weather turns bad—if it snows—
It might take even longer.
You won't be mad at me, right?
…No.
Actually, do be mad at me.
That way, you'll have to write more words to scold me.
A letter every few months is too long to wait.
Please, write more.
I love reading them.
——
About what you said regarding Ghyslaine's denseness and your own clumsiness—I might have phrased things poorly before. Because they're not the same at all.
It's not that your clumsiness is charming.
It's that because it's you, the clumsiness becomes charming.
After all, both Lady Zenith and my uncle have used "clumsy" as a compliment when talking about you.
But the word itself is undeniably negative.
So please, stay clumsy.
And the next time we meet—
Scold me to my face.
Please.
——
About that ambush on that summer night…
Honestly, I've mostly forgotten the details of the corpses.
Hellfire Blast? Oh, right—there was that one guy who threw fireballs. I cut him down in one slash.
What did he look like again…?
Sorry, my memory's a bit hazy.
But don't get mad yet.
It's not that the part where you came back for me is blurry. It's that everything after we left the scene was so vivid.
So vivid that the actual fight feels dull in comparison.
The summer night, the wind brushing against my skin, the sound of your water magic, the coolness of the water pouring over my head.
And your hands.
Thinking back now, it almost feels like a lifetime ago.
But I can't forget it.
I remember clearly—my clothes reeked of burning corpses. You know how the Flow technique heightens sensory perception.
But there was another scent just as strong.
Your hair always carried this faint, woody fragrance—from the comb you used, I think?
What kind of wood was it made of?
Or was it some kind of incense?
I couldn't tell.
But at that time, wrapped in that scent, one thing stood out.
The stench of death on me faded.
And your scent grew stronger.
If you read this, you'll probably say I'm just saying things to fluster you.
I'm not.
I mean every word.
This time, I didn't call you "Blue Mama." There's not a single joke in this.
Please believe me.
——
About the monster comparisons…
If I'm something like a Red Dragon in your eyes, then what kind of monster would you be?
I've thought about it.
You wouldn't be an animal-type.
You'd be a plant.
More specifically—
The Sethros plants at the foot of the Red Dragon Mountains, buried under snow.
You've seen them, right?
They're not like other plant-type monsters—no towering size, no intimidating presence. Slender trunks, needle-like leaves. When snow covers them, the smaller ones are even shorter than me.
Did you know?
In winter, cloaked in white, they look so cold.
Did you know?
Compared to other trees, they seem so delicate.
They completely defy the idea that monsters are supposed to be terrifying.
Even when they attack, there's something almost comically harmless about their flailing.
It's ironic, isn't it?
Speaking of which, I'm reminded of that tree on the hill in Buena Village. That time you stammered for ages before finally asking me to carve your name next to mine.
And how I kept begging Rudeus to heal me, only for you to jump in and cast the spell instead.
Really…
How could I ever forget?
——
About your teaching methods with Pax…
I've said it before—the core principle is respect. Treat him with respect, and he'll learn to respect you.
Respect goes both ways.
After that, just focus on being a proper teacher.
Let flowers bloom as flowers. Let trees grow as trees.
Given time, he might surprise you.
Everyone has flaws. Some people put on a show of "strength" to mask their insecurities.
For a prince overlooked in both looks and ability, that's likely his foundation.
And his way of feigning "strength"? Harassing maids to feel in control.
But that's obviously wrong.
He needs discipline.
He needs correction.
He needs someone to point him in the right direction.
People need guidance, just like Rudeus. I think he just lacks the courage to start over, to take responsibility.
You might not understand why I'd say that about someone as talented as Rudeus.
It's because I've watched him grow. I've always expected more from him.
So.
About the prince's education—
Flame Circle.
Don't hold back.
Frost Nova might be overkill—it'd probably blow a hole in the palace walls.
But punishment isn't the goal.
Discipline is.
You think my teaching is methodical? That even using Flame Circle was part of some grand plan?
No.
That was pure impulse.
To be blunt?
As much as I preach about respecting him…
I don't like him.
That's all. Any positive effects were accidental.
So let me be clear—
If he ever disrespects you, even slightly—
Use Flame Circle.
Don't hesitate.
Please.
——
About talent…
Natural gifts are enviable.
But I've always believed effort is more admirable.
Roxy, are you hardworking?
The answer's obvious.
If I said this to your face, you'd probably scratch your cheek and say, "Oh, it's nothing…"
On the surface, it's modesty. Shyness.
But deep down, it's because you doubt yourself, isn't it?
Roxy.
Don't doubt.
You have worked hard.
The magic textbooks you wrote for Rudeus—every line, every spell, every note—
I've read them all.
Meticulous. Precise. Full of effort.
Talent is enviable, but it shouldn't be glorified.
It's innate. Once fate's dice are cast at birth, it's set.
So what should be praised?
Effort. Sweat.
The things we choose to grasp after we're born.
Every stroke of your pen, every careful annotation—
That's your effort.
I only saw it in your teaching.
But isn't that the result of all your hard work at the Magic University?
And—
Do you really think you lack talent?
That you reached Water King-tier on effort alone?
What's so great about silent casting anyway?
You can stand safely behind me and chant every spell properly.
Who needs silent casting?
Besides.
You've already started mastering shortened chants, haven't you?
Effort.
Talent.
You have both.
How are you not a genius?
You are.
Without question.
So.
Be proud.
What's wrong with a little smugness?
Be smug!
——
At the end of your letter, you were uncharacteristically direct.
It made me happy.
My reply to those words—
I've already written it all above.
Every moment we've shared.
I've never forgotten.
They still echo in my mind.
Roxy.
How have you been…
Lately?
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Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 260 on my patreon, go check it out and remember that if we reach the goal of 60 power stones I will publish the next chapter.