Since Papa Oliver was out and they weren't expecting any customers, Hathaway decided to linger a little longer.
They had been discussing the opera script, which Jenkins was already more than halfway through, but somehow the conversation had drifted to the events of Tuesday.
All the misunderstandings were cleared up. Miss Mikhail now knew she had misjudged her lover. Jenkins, in turn, learned from his inquiries that on Tuesday afternoon, Hathaway had actually been handling a commission she'd received from a tailor shop. The client who had posted the request was none other than the red-haired clown from the circus.
"They posted a large number of commissions, looking for ordinary people with no common traits—coachmen, government clerks, and the like. The pay was excellent, and the jobs were easy to complete."
Hathaway explained, but at the same time, she was curious why Jenkins had been out with Miss Mikhail that afternoon.
"It's... hard to explain."
That was all he could say.
Hathaway shook her head and laughed. She had already heard everything from Briny; she was only asking to tease the man in front of her.
Complicated emotional matters were something Jenkins always loathed. After seeing Hathaway off, Papa Oliver returned shortly after. Aside from selling an oil painting in the evening, nothing else happened at the antique shop.
This was B-08-4-4827, Mr. Prankster's Snack Box.
"Mr. Prankster?" Follow current novᴇls on novel·fire.net
"Yes, you should have heard the name before. The 'Mr. Prankster's Prank Pouch' that I possess is an item with the same prefix."
"But who exactly is Mr. Prankster?"
Papa Oliver had said he was not a god, nor was he one of the Series A, B, or C items.
Miss Audrey fell silent for a moment before asking softly,
"Do you remember the question I answered in that strange tongue during my first visit to your home?"
This was practically an admission that Mr. Prankster was also the master of some other world.
He immediately looked at Miss Audrey, but she had no intention of elaborating further on the matter.
B-08-4-4827, Mr. Prankster's Snack Box, functioned similarly to Jenkins's own B-01-5-9293, Mr. Hunt's Fruit Platter. Each time it was opened, it would produce a "snack" that would not harm the user.
But there were two stark differences between the items. First, the fruit platter produced fruit twice a day at no cost, while the snack box could be used indefinitely, though it drained a considerable amount of spirit with each use. Second, the fruit platter was completely harmless. The snack box, however, demanded that its previous treat be fully consumed before it could be opened again. Otherwise, the next user would suffer a spiritual lashing, and a line of ancient text would appear on the box's lid. In the common tongue, it read something like:
"To waste food is to wound the soul."
That night, Jenkins's task was once again to perform a divination using his inspiration, but he failed. Not even once did he succeed. It was even more difficult than his previous attempt in the sewer, because he simply couldn't fathom how burnt caterpillars and withered leaves could possibly be called "snacks."
"I hope I don't get a stomachache."
It was clear that Chocolate was fascinated by an object that could conjure food. As Jenkins failed again and again, the cat sauntered over to the box. But in the end, Jenkins never allowed it to try.
Chocolate was still too weak. Jenkins worried that a single attempt would drain all of the cat's spirit. It was best for the young feline not to try something so dangerous.
As the end-of-year exam season approached, it wasn't just young students like John who were getting headaches. Even the university students under Professor Burns were busy with their final reviews and evaluations.
To graduate smoothly, or at least earn this year's credits, their end-of-year essays had to be impeccable. In reality, however, what they had written was the complete opposite.
When Professor Burns visited the antique shop on Saturday morning, he loudly berated the three young people trailing behind him right in front of Papa Oliver and Jenkins. The professor had already made his verdict: their original essays had absolutely no chance of passing next week's final evaluation. Therefore, they had to find a way to write a new one before the last week was over.
Professor Burns had tenure at the university and extensive experience mentoring students. With so little time left, the simplest solution was to write a critical analysis of a single antique, which was precisely why they had come to the shop.
It was rare to see Professor Burns so irate. Only then did Jenkins recall that most of the old man's abilities were of the Red Martial Arts type.
After seeing the professor and his students off, Papa Oliver leaned on the counter to tally his accounts and casually offered a suggestion,
"Have you ever considered going back to school? It would be worth it, even just for the diploma."
"You must be joking. Where would I find the time to attend classes now?"
Just as Jenkins said, he had been incredibly busy lately. He worked at the antique shop in the mornings, and for the Marquis Mikhail's banquet that evening, he had to return to the church early to prepare his attire.
He was certain that Marquis Mikhail's invitation was not merely a gesture of gratitude. Before leaving, he sought out Bishop Parrold to inquire about recent events in the kingdom, hoping to uncover some clues. The bishop's advice was the same as Papa Oliver's:
"Don't make any promises."
The cat was forced to stay behind at the church. When Jenkins, led by a servant, stepped through the main entrance of the grand mansion, the first person he saw was, surprisingly, Miss Windsor. The young woman gave him a gentle nod and a smile.
"Did I come to the wrong house?"
Even he thought the idea was absurd.
After seeing Miss Mikhail, he learned that Miss Windsor's visit had been a sudden one, just that day. As for when she had arrived in Nolan or why she was here now, no one could answer those questions.
"Baron Williamette, I believe Miss Windsor will also be attending the banquet."
The old butler spoke with utmost respect, "My sincerest apologies for not informing you sooner. However, the esteemed Windsor family and the Mikhail family are close relatives, and Miss Windsor did not inform us of her visit in advance either."
Even if Jenkins were mad, he would never have believed such a story.