Chapter Text
Magecraft demanded mana.
The spells Monica specialized in — large-scale, precise, and dangerously overclocked — demanded a lot of mana. It was an unspoken rule among mages that if one wished to survive long-term magical practice, they required two things:
Rest and sustenance.
Left to her own devices, she would work until her vision blurred, her mana drained, and her body began the slow, inevitable slide toward collapse. She did not notice. She did not complain. She simply continued — like a wind-up doll programmed for self-destruction.
Louis only had to observe this twice before creating the ‘Mana Sustenance Protocol’.
The first time Louis recognized the pattern, they had been dispatched to deal with a dragon.
Officially, it was a mission.
Unofficially, it was Louis’ failed attempt to forcefully bolster Monica’s confidence.
The dragon never stood a chance.
Monica had summoned her Spirit Gate, unleashing magic that could have brought a kingdom to its knees — the beast perishing in a blaze of ethereal brilliance.
The soldiers cheered, the townsfolk stared in awe, gratitude swelling like a rising tide.
Monica took one look at the incoming wave of social interaction and immediately fled.
Panic erupted among the knights.
“She’s gone!”
“She disappeared!”
“Was she taken?!”
Louis stared at all of them for a long, silent moment before heavily sighing, turning on his heel and walking away.
He didn’t bother to explain.
He found her exactly five minutes from where she’d cast the spell — slumped against a tree, eyes half-lidded, limbs limp.
Not hiding.
Not injured.
Just… mana-depleted and socially overwhelmed.
That idiot.
He sighed, crouched down, and, lacking enough mana in his system to supplement hers, offered the only thing he had on hand: a small almond cookie. He pressed it against her lips.
Monica blinked, accepted the offering like a tired forest spirit, and chewed slowly.
When she was done, she opened her eyes looking up at Louis in confusion before asking, “Can we go back now?”
Louis dragged a hand over his face. “Finish chewing first.”
The second time it happened was during the New Year’s celebrations at the royal palace.
They were obligated to stay an entire week — ceremonies, diplomatic greetings, strategy meetings, social obligations disguised as parties.
Monica was surviving through sheer willpower alone.
One particular night, a meeting had run well past its scheduled end — strategy had devolved into obligatory card games, and exhaustion hung heavy in the air.
Monica’s mana flickered, levels dipping below optimal parameters.
She slumped back in her chair like a puppet with its strings cut.
Several sages jolted in alarm.
“What—?”
“Is she—?”
Before panic could truly begin, Louis exhaled, reaching into his coat, pulling out a cookie, and pressing it against her lips.
Monica, still half-conscious, accepted it automatically. Chewed. Swallowed.
Then slowly opened her eyes before resuming her organization of documents as if she hadn’t just momentarily flatlined.
Silence.
Every sage in the room stared at Louis like he’d just domesticated a wild animal in front of them.
Louis didn’t even look up. “Continue.”
That was the moment Louis resigned himself to a lifelong duty he had never formally agreed to:
Monica’s unofficial handler, caretaker, and—apparently—snack dispenser.