Chapter 82: Mom from the Countryside

The Academy Committee's official notice arrived three days after the incident.

Uriel sat on the sofa, holding the stamped document the Academy had sent out.

The content was brief. The wording was institutional.

"Due to unforeseen circumstances resulting in the complete destruction of the campus, the Committee has convened an emergency session and decided to suspend all classes effective immediately. Further information regarding the resumption of classes will be provided at a later date."

He set the notice on the table.

Then the left and right sides of his brain started fighting.

This is exactly what the Witch should be. Maximum deterrence. Every potential enemy now has to recalculate. Perfect strategic posturing.

No wait — we blew up the school. The above-ground section. Hundreds of students used those classrooms, the library, the labs, the dining hall — all of it's gone. Sure, it was under renovation and the building was empty, but that building was still part of the academy's original campus.

The internal debate concluded with a single takeaway: Classes suspended. No school.

Right. Right.

Hell yeah.

---

Afternoon light slanted in through the window and spread a strip of warm yellow across the floor.

Galatina was crouched on the balcony watering the succulent on the windowsill, humming something unidentifiable. Uriel watched her for a moment from the sofa, then stood and stretched.

"Mom. Going out. Shopping trip. Help me pick some stuff."

Galatina turned her head. Her eyes lit up faster than the watering can could level out. She set the can down in the corner of the balcony, untied the apron and draped it over a chair, and by the time Uriel looked over, she was already standing by the front door.

Then Uriel added something.

"Dress like you used to. As a mom, I mean. Make the hair longer. Meet me at the Academy front gate. And don't leave through the main entrance of the inn."

Galatina froze for half a second, processing the sudden list of conditions.

She looked down at the gray-blue short mantle she was wearing, then back up at Uriel. Blinked.

Uriel was already putting on his shoes. He laced them, pulled the door open, checked the hallway in both directions, and slipped out. The door closed softly behind him.

Galatina tilted her head. Tapped her chin with one finger.

Dress like before. Grow your hair out. Don't use the main door.

Then she seemed to arrive at the answer. Probably another one of little Uri's plans.

She looked down at her current outfit, pulled a faded old casual dress off the hanger, gave it a shake, and changed.

---

Uriel arrived early.

He stood at the edge of the empty lot, both hands in his pockets, staring at the scene in front of him. Didn't move for a long time.

Seeing it in person hit differently.

It looked as if someone had taken a carpenter's plane the size of a city and shaved the entire academy flat. The exposed ground was so smooth and flat it could almost reflect a face — as if some unreasonable force had simply erased the physical structure wholesale.

Just a clean, empty lot. Clean in a way that made his back go cold.

That massive academy — main building, auditorium, library, training grounds, the mountain behind the academy, cargo access — all gone.

The last time he'd seen something this overwhelming was when a certain someone asked "Have you ever seen me at my peak?" and then threw two rocks.

His gaze swept across the lot, then stopped.

Dead center of the clearing, one small patch of ground hadn't been cut away.

Roughly one square meter. Rising up alone from the smooth surface like an irregular pillar with rounded edges. Everything else had been erased, but that one block of ground remained intact — even the original tile pattern was still visible.

Uriel squinted at it for a while and came to a conclusion.

Probably where Mom was standing. When she deployed her aether field, naturally the ground under her feet wouldn't get caught in it. That's considerate.

In reality, that was where Seraphina had been sitting. The small safe zone the Witch had deliberately carved out when she expanded her barrier. But Uriel didn't know that detail.

"Little Uriiii—"

Her voice carried all the way from the other side of the street.

That drawn-out ending note. Uriel turned toward the sound.

Galatina stood across the street, up on her toes, waving at him.

Her silver hair had returned to the length from memory — deliberately extended, braided loosely into a side plait resting over one shoulder.

She wore that old, faded plain dress. The cuffs and collar had frayed at the edges. A washed-out cloth bag hung from one shoulder. The whole ensemble was plain to the point of rustic. Standing among the shoppers in their tailored wool coats and silk dresses on the capital's commercial street, she looked like a young wife who'd spent all night riding in from some country town.

But her face couldn't be hidden.

That face paired with those old clothes was like setting a pearl on coarse linen.

---

Before Uriel could say anything, Galatina had already jogged across the street.

She stopped one step in front of him, placed both hands on his shoulders, and pulled him straight into her chest.

"I missed you so much."

His face was buried in Galatina's chest, surrounded by that familiar scent of faint flowers and sunshine—and an unreasonable amount of softness.

His brain stalled.

First reflex: push away. But Galatina's arms were locked tight. He couldn't move.

Second reflex: say "We literally saw each other yesterday." Then he remembered. This was the setting. A mother visiting her child at school. A mother who hadn't seen him in a long time, who'd taken a long carriage ride from the countryside into the city, who'd been waiting anxiously at the school gate, finally reunited with the child she'd missed so much.

Made sense. Technically.

Though normally a mother's first reaction upon seeing the school gone would probably be "Where's the Academy?"

He gave the back of her hand a light pat, more resigned than anything else.

"You don't have to act this part out."

Galatina let go, stepped back half a pace, and smiled.

Uriel straightened his rumpled collar and tilted his head toward her.

"Let's go. Commercial district."

---

The walk from the Academy clearing to the commercial district wasn't far, but it took considerably longer than Uriel had anticipated.

Too many eyes.

Galatina walked quietly beside him. The hem of her old cloth dress swayed gently just below her knees. The side braid lay over one shoulder. Both hands held the faded cloth bag. Her steps were light, like walking across spring grass.

Her gaze bounced between the storefronts and signs on either side — the cream rolls fresh from the bakery oven, the summer wear newly displayed in the tailor's window, the bright daisies in the flower girl's basket. A pair of grim-faced Knight Order members marched past in the opposite direction, their armor clanking in the morning quiet.

She genuinely found everything beautiful.

Uriel walked next to her, hands in his pockets, eyes forward. He could feel the stares coming from every direction.

---

"Look at that pair — are they a couple? City boy and a country beauty?"

A middle-aged woman nudged her companion with her elbow.

"What country beauty? That's siblings. Older sister from the countryside putting her younger brother through school in the city. Look at her clothes — she's clearly giving him all the good stuff."

"Doesn't look like siblings either. The age gap doesn't add up. That girl doesn't look much older. Could it be... some kind of weird rich-boy hobby?"

"Keep your voice down. The guy's glaring at us."

Uriel pulled his gaze back and continued forward, expression unchanged.

He glanced sideways at Galatina.

The hair really had been lengthened. Basically identical to how it was back at the old cottage.

No — not "basically identical." Completely identical.

Ten years ago she'd looked like this. Ten years later, still the same. That face had not a single wrinkle. Her skin was as smooth as it had been back then. When she smiled there were no lines at the corners of her eyes. When she looked down at him, the restrained golden glow at the bottom of her eyes was exactly the same as ten years ago.

He used to think she just took good care of herself. Now that he thought about it, no amount of skincare could keep someone unchanged for a decade.

"Mom." Uriel asked quietly.

"Mm?"

"How come you look exactly the same as ten years ago? And you can change your hair length at will."

Galatina turned her head to look at Uriel. The smile on her face didn't vanish, but the corner of her mouth tightened slightly.

The shift in expression was microscopic. Anyone else would have missed it. But Uriel had been raised by her since childhood — every time she was asked a question that was hard to answer, this was the reaction.

"I have a blessing." She considered how to explain it. The wording came slower than usual. "My body automatically maintains itself at its absolute prime. Hair too, so it can change at will. The body as well — it stays in its prime."

Uriel went silent.

Blessing.

Automatic adjustment to optimal condition.

Stays in its prime.

The words were like stones dropped into the center of a lake, ripples spreading wider and wider.

His first thought: long-lived race.

Humans didn't have this kind of blessing. Not even high-rank adventurers could keep their bodies permanently at their physical peak — at best they could extend lifespan, slow aging. Elves could live hundreds of years, but elves still aged. Just slowly. The only ones who could make time completely stop on their bodies were certain ancient existences so old that history books only had half a page left about them.

He opened his mouth, about to ask "Are you a long-lived race?" but the words caught in his throat and he swallowed them back down.

Forget it.

If I ask and she actually answers with "Mom is about three thousand-something years old," or something even more absurd like "Mom doesn't really remember anymore," then during New Year's dinner I won't even know if I can still call her "Mom" without my brain breaking.

Three thousand years old? He decided he really didn't want to know.

So he asked a different question. More practical. And something he was genuinely curious about.

"What about the hair? Why can you change it freely? Wouldn't short hair be more convenient?"

"Hair doesn't have any practical impact." Galatina raised a hand to explain. "So it can change at will. If little Uri thinks long hair looks better, I keep it long."

Uriel mentally checked that question off. Next one.

"What about height? Why not one hundred eighty centimeters? Taller means longer reach, right? Better range."

"That one, hmm." Galatina lifted a finger to her chin and tilted her head at a wider angle than before. "'Optimal' also includes 'most suitable.' Think about it, little Uri — too tall and you become an easier target. Too conspicuous. Too short and you lack authority, can't hold the room. This height is just right. As for attack range—"

She suddenly curved her eyes into a smile. That smile carried a hint of barely-hidden pride.

"My attack range has nothing to do with arm length."

Uriel froze, then understood. Right. Someone who could slash through memories — distance didn't mean anything to her. Arm length was genuinely irrelevant. I'm an idiot for bringing up attack range with her.

He digested the first two questions, then asked the last one.

This one was slightly awkward compared to the first two, but he'd been holding it in for a long time.

His gaze dropped downward for an instant, then snapped back up to Galatina's face.

"And — that. Doesn't it cause problems? During high-speed movement, wouldn't all that bouncing around be inconvenient?"

Galatina looked down at herself.

Uriel saw her look down and immediately realized this topic was sliding in an uncontrollable direction. He quickly added:

"Golden ratio. 0.618. Better proportions. That's probably why."

Galatina's gaze shifted from her chest to Uriel's face.

She looked at him for a moment. Then her entire face lit up, smile radiating from the corners of her eyes to her brows. Her whole face lit up, and she looked absurdly pleased.

She reached out and ruffled the top of his head.

"Right. My son is right. That makes even more sense than what I originally thought."

Uriel narrowed his eyes. So what were you originally going to say?

He looked at that blooming smile and decided he really didn't want to pursue that line of inquiry.

The commercial district's tailor shop was tucked into a quiet alley.

The door pushed open. A copper bell chimed in a bright cascade.

"Yo, young man! Here to pick up? Got all the outfits you ordered last time. Made them all to the measurements you gave. Each one's individually wrapped, tags written out."

The owner hauled several packages wrapped neatly in brown paper out from behind the counter and stacked them one by one on the counter.

This was a deliberate strategy on Uriel's part.

The Witch's black-and-white military uniform hadn't been commissioned from a single shop, and it hadn't been made all at once. He'd split the entire set into separate pieces — this component made here, that one made there, mixed in with a pile of unrelated casual wear.

Even if someone came around later with a portrait of the Witch asking "Has anyone commissioned clothing like this?" the tailor wouldn't remember.

The only problem was the cost. Custom piecework didn't get bulk pricing. Each piece was individually patterned by hand. The labor fees had multiplied several times over.

He'd spent dozens of extra gold coins — enough to cover a regular adventurer party's earnings for an entire month.

Uriel looked at the packages, silently ran the numbers in his head, then pulled out his card and handed it over.

They left the tailor shop. Galatina carried three brown paper packages in her arms. Uriel held two.

Across the street was a stall selling roasted chestnuts. The chestnuts tumbled in black sand inside an iron pan. The sweet, toasted aroma drifted across the entire alley.

Galatina's gaze floated over. Her foot scraped against the ground once. She didn't say anything.

"Later." Uriel said. "Get this stuff back first."

Galatina obediently pulled her gaze back.

The two of them retraced their route. Just as they turned the corner, Galatina suddenly looked sideways at him and spoke.

"Little Uri, how much did all these outfits cost? Do you have enough money? Should I help pay?"

Uriel froze.

He turned his head toward Galatina. The three packages in her arms were stacked higher than her chin, leaving only half her face visible and a pair of bright eyes.

"Enough." He shifted the two packages in his hands to one side, freed up a hand, and patted her shoulder. "Let's go. Home."