Abnormal Type Moon

Chapter 5: Aozaki Residence

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"Just wear this outfit."

Back at the mansion, Roy retrieved a set of shirt and trousers from the bedroom and handed them to Utaha. Noticing that she was rubbing her arms against the cold, he also found a down jacket for her.

"We don't have clothes in your size here, so I'll take you to buy a few sets tomorrow. For today, make do with this."

Utaha accepted the clothes and went to the adjacent room to change. She removed her dusty high school uniform, slipped off her torn pantyhose, and put on the classic white-collar attire Roy had given her.

Though it looked a bit outdated, the size was close enough. Once she put it on, she noticed the chest area was slightly loose, as though it had been stretched by someone with a larger frame.

"What am I supposed to do?"

After changing, she returned to the living room and asked Roy.

"Cleaning, laundry, and the like," he replied casually.

Roy sat comfortably at the kotatsu in the center of the living room, enjoying the warmth. In front of him were several documents, which he browsed through as he answered her questions.

"This yard is pretty big, and I live alone, so keeping it clean is a hassle. That's why I went to the refugee shelter to find a servant. You'll be responsible for cleaning. That shouldn't be an issue, right?"

"I understand," Utaha nodded.

Following his instructions, she found the cleaning tools, walked into the yard, and began tidying up.

"…Don't worry about the lawn. Just clean the open areas."

She paused, adjusted her grip on the broom, and headed to the open space near the courtyard gate. There, she began sweeping up fallen leaves and scattered debris.

"…You don't have to sweep all the leaves into the dustpan. Just push them onto the lawn next to the path."

Utaha froze for a moment before awkwardly brushing her hair back. She then followed his instructions, sweeping the leaves into the grass lining the road.

If you observed closely, it was clear she wasn't holding the broom correctly.

A few minutes later, her breathing grew noticeably heavier.

Forget it. Let her figure it out herself.

Roy turned his attention back to the documents in front of him.

"An escort mission and a farm curse removal mission. The escort mission is riskier since it involves leaving the city. The curse removal mission is more complex..."

After weighing his options, Roy signed his name under the escort mission.

Not long after, Utaha finished sweeping the yard and moved on to cleaning the entrance and living room. She dusted diligently, then carried a bucket to the corridor, where she began wiping the floor like a laborer plowing a field.

The dim yellow hue of the setting sun cast an eerie glow over the already grimy sky, making it look like the domain of demons.

Utaha finally sat down on the tatami, gasping for breath. Sweat trickled from her forehead, slid down her cheeks, and disappeared into the hollow of her collarbone. She hadn't noticed when her shirt had gotten soaked, but now a faint outline was visible through the damp fabric.

She looked around the mansion and felt a wave of helplessness wash over her.

It had taken her two to three hours just to clean the front yard and the living room.

She hadn't even touched the bedrooms, kitchen, or warehouse.

Surely, those wouldn't need cleaning today, right?

Cautiously, she glanced toward the kotatsu in the living room but saw no sign of Roy. Instead, she heard the faint sound of spatulas clanging from the kitchen, accompanied by a subtle, appetizing aroma wafting through the air.

With a gurgling sound, Utaha instinctively covered her stomach, feeling a little embarrassed. Despite herself, she couldn't resist her body's instincts and swallowed hard.

Since her abrupt arrival in this world, being escorted back to the city by the guards, she hadn't eaten anything. On top of that, she had spent hours working tirelessly at tasks she wasn't used to. Now, exhaustion and hunger gnawed at her equally.

"Let's eat first."

Roy emerged from the kitchen with a tray of food and gestured for her to join him.

Not wanting to waste time being overly polite, Utaha went straight to the dining table. When she saw the food laid out before her, she froze for a moment, slightly surprised.

"Chinese food?"

"The authentic kind—just a personal preference," Roy replied casually.

She glanced at the dishes on the table: braised pork ribs, scrambled eggs with tomatoes, stir-fried mixed vegetables, and kelp egg drop soup. There weren't many dishes, but the aroma was rich and inviting.

After some time, Utaha leaned back in her chair ungracefully, her belly full and satisfied.

She was convinced—it was indeed authentic.

"Feeling tired?"

Noticing her lying there helplessly, Roy refrained from giving her any further instructions. He simply picked up the plates and carried them back to the kitchen.

"I'm just not used to it," she muttered defensively.

"Well, this house is quite large, so there's no need to overwork yourself. There aren't many people living here anyway, so it's fine to lower your standards a little."

Roy's voice drifted over from the kitchen, still as gentle and considerate as ever.

"I'm a Magus of the youngest Son rank. With this rank, I'm allowed to select only one attendant per month. Get used to things this month, and I'll find you a helper next month."

A helper would indeed make things much easier.

Utaha didn't reply, but she felt a wave of relief wash over her.

Her mind, however, was now curious about something else.

"The youngest Son rank sounds very low... What kind of rank is it exactly?"

"Exactly what it sounds like—the lowest class," Roy replied calmly. "There are seven ranks of magicians: Crown Rank, Color Rank, law Rank, festival Rank, Open Rank, Eldest child, and youngest child. I am in the lowest class, the youngest child."

His tone was calm, without a trace of bitterness.

He didn't seem like someone who was overly fixated on his rank or considered it a taboo subject.

"Is the ranking determined by strength? Is magic also divided into levels like this?"

Utaha realized she might have pried too deeply and quickly added, "If it's something you can't talk about, just forget it."

"It's true that I wouldn't have been able to say much before, but things are different now," Roy replied, his tone as calm and indifferent as ever.

"In the past, Magus were more like researchers, and their ranks were determined by their achievements in the study of magic. In simpler terms, it was like academic rankings—undergraduate, graduate, and doctoral levels. They also strictly adhered to the principle of secrecy, ensuring ordinary people never learned about magic. If a non-magus found out, there were even special organizations tasked with silencing them permanently.

"However, since the catastrophe ten years ago, Magus have partially abandoned the principle of secrecy and reluctantly stepped into the public eye. Strength has now become a factor in determining ranks."

He paused for a moment before adding, "I say 'partially' because the principle of secrecy hasn't been completely discarded. To most citizens, magic still exists only at the level of urban legends."

After all, it is well known that the more people who are aware of Type-Moon's magic, the less powerful it becomes. The total amount of mystery in the world is finite, so the fewer people who know about magic, the more potent it remains in the hands of those who wield it.

However, in the past, when the global human population was much smaller, the existence of magic was widely known. This is because magic is fundamentally a technology for manipulating concepts. If all of humanity were to forget the existence of magic, and the concept of magic were to vanish, magic itself would naturally cease to exist.

Therefore, to ensure the continuation of magic, it is essential for a certain portion of humanity to remain aware of its existence and for the concept of magic to be preserved and passed on.

Today, with the global human population reduced to less than 100 million, it is no longer feasible—or necessary—to enforce the strict confidentiality that was once upheld in the past.