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“The leaves are falling, the weather is getting cold, and Conrad is home.”
For some reason, I’m in the mood for poetry now.
“Ah, is that the Japanese poem I heard so much about?” Conrad can’t keep the smile out of his voice; I can hear how happy he is without turning around to look at him. But at the edge of that simple joy, there’s still a hint of melancholy.
“Lord Weller, just because it follows the five-seven-five formula doesn’t make it a haiku.” Murata is such a patriot, he takes Japanese culture so seriously.
“But I kinda get what the teachers were saying now, y’know?” I rest my elbows on the windowsill, and stare out at the golden leaves. “Something about one moment in nature, and enlightenment—”
Even I feel slightly embarrassed once I said that—enlightenment seems like a far-off concept to a baseball boy like me—but Murata and Conrad don’t laugh. Instead, a comfortable and peaceful, if slightly lonely, silence blankets us gently, like a cushion of dried leaves.
“For some reason, autumn reminds me of you, Conrad.”
“Is that so?” Conrad walks out from behind me and joins me at the windowsill, also looking out at the leaves. It’s kinda silly, talking to each other while staring outside, but it’s also kinda companionable. “How so?”
“Hmm, I’m not too sure.”
A bit more silence.
“You know, Shibuya, some people might consider it insulting when you say that.”
“Eh!? Why?”
“Autumn is usually used for people like our old dads, not someone as dashing as Lord Weller over there.”
“You’re too kind, Your Eminence,” Conrad laughs. “However, I do too think I still have enough hair on my head.”
“Huh? What does hair have to do with anything?”
“Well, trees in the seasons are like hair. In the beginning you start off fuzzy, then you grow a lot of hair, and then it starts falling off. When it’s all gone, you shine off your head and bury yourself in the ground for winter.”
“…Murata, I think I just heard something deep.”
“Are you sure? Wasn’t that supposed to be a joke?”
“I-I see… It really has gotten cold in here.”
“Has it?” Conrad checks the window. “I don’t feel any draft coming in…”
“That’s not what I—Never mind.” I give up. “Alright, Conrad, what’s got you so upset?”
“Upset? I don’t—”
“Maybe upset is too strong a word, but something is bothering you, right, Lord Weller?”
Conrad smiles helplessly. “As expected of Your Eminence, I can’t hide anything from you.”
“Hey, I was the one who noticed first!”
“I noticed first, Shibuya, you were just callous and impatient enough to ask first. Now keep quiet and let Lord Weller talk.”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Conrad finally pulls his eyes away from the falling leaves outside and faces us with his gaze downturned. “I know I don’t have any right to be complaining about this, but…”
“It’s because your baby brother is still ignoring you, isn’t it?”
“Eh!? Wolfram is!? But he greeted you just now!”
“But isn’t that different from how he used to greet Lord Weller?”
“He was perfectly nice to Co—”
“That’s the point.” Conrad sighs, propping his chin in his hands. “When he was young, he would clamber over me, calling me ‘Little Big Brother’ in a cute voice. Then after he reached puberty, he would look down on me and say mean things…”
“Don’t say that so fondly, are you an M!?”
“Ah, but isn’t he cute when he does that? Calling you names with his hands on his hips, but looking away when you look at him—He does it to you, too, Yuuri.”
“Urp… Come to think of it…”
“Aren’t I right? So that’s obviously a sign of affection.”
Murata pushes his glasses up, nodding knowingly. “Such is the allure of the tsundere.”
“I know, right?”
Sometimes I think all big brothers and four-eyed people are the same. I hold my head. “So you’re upset because Wolfram won’t go ‘hmph!’ at you anymore?”
“Maybe, but it’s more like I don’t like him being so careful around me nowadays.”
This time he didn’t deny that he’s upset. I see, so this is the power of the angelic yet stubborn little brother, he can mess up the heart of even Shin Makoku’s most renowned soldier. “As expected of the little brother, I can’t match up to him at all.”
“Shibuya, you really have no clue, do you?”
“Anyway, Conrad, I’ll help you, so let’s do this!”
“Do what?”
“Operation Brotherly Reunion! Now think! What’s changed since the last time when he would look down his nose at you and say mean things to you?”
“…a lot of things…”
Ah, he looks even more depressed now. I think I know what he’s thinking about— he just came back from working for the enemy, after all. But as far as I can see, it’s not like anything’s changed about him. He still thinks about his brothers, this country, and… well… me. Whatever he did, he had his reasons, and they’re very ‘him’ reasons. And in the end, he came back because I told him to.
“Hmm, I guess all that’s changed is your left arm. But we can’t get the old one back…”
For some reason, Conrad’s smile just then is almost blinding.
“Actually, Yuuri, I think I figured it out.”
“Oh?” I ask excitedly. It’s almost like solving a riddle. “I give up, what is it?”
Well, I never said I had much patience for those riddles.
“Your Eminence gave me a clue just now,” Conrad beams brightly. “It’s jokes.”
“…”
“I haven’t told him any jokes recently, I still remember how not long before that, Wolfram begged me to tell a joke—”
“H-he did? When was that?”
“Ah, of course you wouldn’t remember, you were rampaging while trying to act cool, and then you sneezed, so he asked me to help you.”
“By making it even colder so I would sneeze some more?” It’s no use, I don’t understand this at all. “But are you serious about that?”
“Why not? A doctor even told me that laughter is the best medicine.”
And with that he walks away, already muttering jokes under his breath.
Is he really going to be okay…?
“Okay, Yuuri, I think I’m ready.”
The next morning Conrad wakes me up with breakfast, as well as black rings under his eyes and a large sheet of paper in his hand.
“That’s—”
“My script. His Eminence told me professional comics have a whole routine with many jokes.”
Is he really going to be okay!?
But he just looks so serious about it, as though he’s preparing to go to war, that I can’t say anything discouraging. Instead, I just eat my breakfast wordlessly as he takes his seat beside our bed, holding the piece of paper like a high school student doing some last minute memorizing.
Eventually, I put down the empty plates and sigh. I’m going to regret this, but…
“Let me see that.”
“Hm? Oh, of course.”
It occurs to me that I don’t see Conrad’s writing often. I’m really used to Günter’s elegant slant now, since he writes so many notes for me, and I also see Gwen’s proper nobleman writing often, in some of the more important proposals he drafted himself. As for Conrad—
“Is this in English?” I squint at the scraggly letters.
“Yes, His Eminence suggested it. He said this way, my routine will be completely coded and no other comedian in this world can steal it.”
“People steal jokes? How sad…” If this code has a difficulty scale of ten to the mazoku in this world, it will be zero to Hazel, one to Murata and about five for me. My eyes feel tired already.
“Let me see… ‘Why do the Red… Sox’-- ah, isn’t that your favorite baseball team? It’s a baseball joke?”
“You really do get excited over anything to do with baseball, don’t you, Yuuri?”
“Ah, sorry, I’ll continue reading—‘Why do the Red Sox like fall?’ A-and… I can’t read the answer…”
“Because it reminds them of the Yankees.”
“…”
“…Yeah, I’m not very sure either. But it was your father who told me this joke, Yuuri.”
“A-haha… That makes a lot more sense—Wait, wait! That doctor you mentioned, could it be--!?”
“Do you know him? His name is Rodriguez.”
“…Well, I’ve heard of him…”
There’s a groan beside us, as Wolfram starts to stir.
“…you two… it’s too early in the morning…”
True, usually Conrad would have woken me up and we’d be off to morning training by now. So it’s not very early for us, but it is still earlier than usual for Wolf. Pretty boys really do have low blood pressure, huh.
“Here, I brought you some food.” Conrad picks up a carton from the bedside table, and continues with a straight face, “Milk is very important in the moo-ning.”
Just like that!? Without any prep time!? I have to admire Lord Weller’s guts.
The intended audience doesn’t seem too impressed, though. Wolfram just stares at him with bleary eyes, as though his brain barely registered what Conrad said.
“How about eggs for breakfast? You have to break them first though.”
…Ganbate, godfather. I cheer Conrad on quietly in my heart. By this point all I can do is pray that his sincere emotions get across to Wolf.
“…Huh? What the hell are you talking about?”
I-is that an improvement? I rub my eyes and stare intently at both of them. Upon closer inspection, Conrad does look a bit nervous, but also rather excited and hopeful. Wolfram just looks as beautifully grumpy as usual.
“I was wondering if you would join us at training, Wolfram. But since we can’t take a train to train, we’ll just have to walk.”
Are there even trains in this country—No, in this world? Is it just me, or does Conrad seem to have a strange misunderstanding about puns and Earth? Especially Alaska… Pops, I blame you for making this warm room as cold as Alaska.
Crap, are bad jokes contagious!?
Wolfram holds his head. “It’s too early for this…”
“You’re repeating yourself, little brother. Or do you really want peas for eating?”
He’s making this up as he goes! What happened to your script, godfather!?
Wolfram looks at Conrad emotionlessly, and then turns to me. “If you’re not going to train, wimp, then come to town with me. A lot of things have changed since you left for Seisakoku, and as king you have to know what the state of your country is—”
He ignored him! He just ignored him! So there really is a problem between them! But—it doesn’t particularly seem like Wolf is angry with Conrad or anything…
“Wolf, you haven’t forgiven Conrad yet?”
“There’s no such thing. If, as king and the person he betrayed directly, you can understand and forgive what he did, then I have no right to reserve any prior judgment regarding his actions.”
Urk—Now it sounds like he’s mad at me too. But something’s strange, he wouldn’t say something so sarcastic. This fiancé of mine always speaks his mind, no one knows that more than me. Which means it’s not Conrad jumping ship and then jumping back that’s got him annoyed, but I can’t tell…
“I’m sorry I betrayed your trust, if it would help matters, I would gladly be your tray—“
“This isn’t the time for lame jokes! And what’s the point of this script then!?” I finally lose my patience, folding up the paper and smacking my idiotic godfather over the head with it.
“…Pfft.”
E-eh? What was that? Who made that sound?
Conrad and I turn around to look at Wolfram in simultaneous shock. The youngest son quickly pulls his hand away from his mouth and turns away with a ‘hmph!’, but his face is still slightly red, and he can’t stop the corners of his lips from curving up slightly.
I whip my head around to look at Conrad with sparkling eyes. It worked, Conrad! You got him to say ‘hmph’ to you!
Conrad doesn’t look at me, however, musing to himself for a moment before raising his head and saying, as seriously as before,
“So, don’t you want your break-first?”
I swing the makeshift paper fan at his back. “I’ll break your head first! It’s way too soon to be repeating jokes!”
“Ah, by repeating you mean—”
“Shut up! The weather is cold enough as it is!”
“Speaking of the weather, I never really liked—fall.” And he trips.
Just like that. Lord Conrad Weller. Lion of Luttenberg. Former prince of Shin Makoku. Maybe rightful king of Shou Shimaron. The best swordsman in the country. A hundred-year-old man.
Trips on nothing, and falls flat on his face.
“—Pfft, hahahaha!”
What, so this is what you like!? After all that effort, Wolf likes slapstick!?
Trying to keep a straight face despite my throbbing vein, I experimentally smack the back of Conrad’s head with the paper fan.
“—hahaHAHAHA!”
The soldier is the clown and the beauty likes comedic violence—Is this what they call gap moe? So why do I feel like crying inside?
I feel so betrayed—so I pick up the breakfast tray, apologize in my heart, and drop it onto Conrad’s head.
Wolfram can barely breathe anymore, Conrad’s probably suffocating with his face pressed into the covers, and I—I swing a pillow at them both.
“Isn’t this a bit early for a pillow fight?”
At some point Murata shows up, leaning on the doorframe and smiling at us amusedly. I pull the feathers out of my hair, feeling slightly guilty. After all, I’ve only ever performed comedic duos with him, suddenly doing it with someone else makes me feel like I was caught in the middle of an affair—Wait, wait, wait, what am I saying!?
“Blood really is thicker than water, huh?” Murata pushes his glasses up, and I follow his gaze to where Conrad and Wolfram are now engaged in a full-scale pillow duel. It seems his duel with me had exposed Wolf to different methods of combat, and now he’s more than willing to fight below the belt. I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m slightly, just slightly, proud of that.
The leaves are falling faster than ever outside the window, shades of golden and brown. Moving my eyes from the window back to the brothers all tangled up with each other, I suddenly realize why autumn reminded me of Conrad.
As though reading my thoughts, Murata puts a finger to his lips, and then throws an entire sack full of dead leaves over my bed. H-hey, who’s going to clean that up!?
“Phwaa! What is this!? It’s getting into my mouth!”
“It’s because you wouldn’t leaf me alone!”
“Enough with your stupid puns!”
Smack! It seems that Wolfram managed to find the paper fan underneath all that mess, that’s a special sort of genius. All I see in his eyes now when he looks at Conrad is pure childish triumph, with none of that strange conflict that was there before.
“Thank goodness…”
“Happy now, Shibuya? They’re just like they were before.”
Although he’s smiling at them, from the corners of my eyes I see Murata holding a single leaf in his hand, its color a familiar, bright, warm orange.
“…No, I bet it’ll be even better than before.”
Especially since we’re still missing that special someone.