The Girl Who Fell from the Polar Star

questions you throw at me!”

Does she have to be so energetic all the time? Ignoring the warning signs of a headache, Stella asked her questions.
She was most curious about who Typica was, why she was after Varrell, and whether his crimson greatsword was valuable enough to be worth the trouble.

“I’ll answer in order, then.
My name is Typica Art, and I’m the eldest daughter of the honorable Art Family!”

“The Art Family?”

Typica smirked.
“All who know it agree that it’s a reputable house.
Right now, I’m on a journey of personal growth to become its long-awaited next heir!”

Who’s waiting, exactly? Stella cocked her head.
“Oh, that Art Family!” Rye exclaimed.
Apparently, it was a prominent noble house in the northern part of the continent, known in particular for its barrier magic.

The Art Family.
Barrier magic.
That rings a bell.
An ancient, rusty bell.

Stella vaguely remembered being involved in something of the sort.
Clever might know more, but he didn’t like to talk about the past.
In his view, it wasn’t necessary for their current life.
Even choking him hadn’t been enough to get him to talk.
That bird could be extremely stubborn when he wanted to.

“Varrell—my wretch of a brother—took the greatsword and left to wander the world.
Which makes getting it back one of the goals of my journey.
It was supposed to have been mine!”

“Was it? And who decided that?”

“I did, of course! Therefore, it’s mine!”

Stella gave her a flat stare.
You know what? I’m too tired to argue.
I’ll just go with it.

Typica was not very bright, but not in the same way as Beck.
They were different breeds of stupid.
Typicas were prone to jump to conclusions and double down on their mistakes.
Other defining traits included their inability to listen to people and their aggressive charge attacks which usually ended in a shower of puke.
It was a rare breed; further investigation would be necessary to determine its value.

“That’s why I followed my brother,” Typica said.
“To challenge him and take back what’s rightfully mine—since he refuses to return it willingly.”

“Mind explaining why you’re so obsessed with that sword? What’s it worth?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.
In fact, I’ve never held it in my own hands.”

Stella frowned.
“And you still want it?” I have a feeling I’m going to regret this question.

“I do.”

“.
.
.
Your weapon of choice is the dual blades, right?”

“That’s right.
Their graceful stances and flowing fighting style synergize perfectly with my natural agility.”

“Can you swing a greatsword?”

“Of course not.
It’s an inferior weapon in every way.
It lacks grace, is far too heavy and unwieldy, and is designed around absorbing blows with your body, which is a terribly unrefined fighting style.
My style is to overwhelm the opponent with speed, striking through their defenses with deadly precision.”

If you didn’t know, when you strike with your teeth, that’s called biting.
At that moment, the doubts which had been simmering in Stella’s mind turned to certainty.
She glanced at Rye.
The girl looked bemused.

“You want it for yourself,” Stella said, “but not to use it.
What for, then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Typica said.
“Because that greatsword—that sanguine blade—is the coolest thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon! Even the most expensive jewels can’t achieve that sublime crimson gleam.
It would be perfect as a trophy, don’t you think? In any case, it’s not for the hands of my brother.
That brute can’t appreciate it the way it deserves!”

In response, Stella simply sighed and let herself fall face-first into bed.
Rye moved to gently stroke her hair, and she allowed it by inaction.
This conversation had drained the last of her mental and physical energy, a too-steep price to pay for the discovery of the new Typica breed, as fascinating as it was.

Stella scrounged up the willpower to sit up in bed.
“Is Varrell aware of this?”

“Of course not.
I can’t talk to the man.
We’re too fundamentally different.”

Stella sighed.
“Why am I not surprised?”

“Am I imagining things or do I sense a mocking tone in your voice?”

“I’m sure it’s just in your head.”

Varrell thought Typica wanted the sword so she could use it.
As it turned out, all Typica wanted was to hang it up on a wall.
To her, it was more akin to a family heirloom than to a real weapon.

Such a silly misunderstanding.
Stella smirked as she imagined Varrell’s reaction to learning Typica’s real motives.
He was always so solemn regarding his responsibility to the sword.

I can’t deny they’d make for an interesting duo.
They’re so dissimilar it’s absurd.

If Stella were to pair them up, all kinds of interesting things could happen.
Their interactions were bound to be lively and fun—or rather, they’d better be, or her efforts would all have been for nothing.

“So you like that tone of red?” Stella said.

“That’s right.”

“Well, then.
Behold.”

Stella grabbed a blunt steel knife from the nearest shelf and held it up to her Magic Crystal.
The next moment, she activated it.

The knife took on a faint reddish glow.
As they watched, it grew more and more intense until it became indistinguishable from the bloodred gleam of Varrell’s sword.

Typica gasped.
“It’s that same crimson gleam! What did you just do?”

“I’m a sorcerer of sorts.
I can replicate that color.
Search as you might, though, you won’t find anyone else in the world able to do so.
Do you know what that means?”

Stella waved the crimson knife before Typica’s nose.
It was the bait, and she was the fish.
Typica followed the movement with her boar’s eyes, head rocking sideways.
“I want it!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, I’m sure you do.”

“This is amazing! You’re quite talented for an albino imp! How much do you want for it?!”

“Albino imp”? Seriously? Well, at least I got her attention.
“Calm down, Typica.
This was just to convince you that I can do it.
I can give the same treatment to your own dual swords, though that’ll take a fair bit longer.”

“Really?! Do it, now! I’ll pay as much as you want! Go on! What are you waiting for?”

Typica grabbed her weapons from where they’d been lying against a wall and shoved them toward Stella.
Her face is too close.
If she gets on top of me, I’m dead.
Stella was not built to hold back a boar.
Rye desperately tried to hold Typica from behind, but her efforts were in vain.

“T-There’s no rush,” Stella said, pushing the swords away.
“Fixating this alluring tone of red into steel is no simple feat, you know.
For weapons as large as yours, the process is going to take years, not to mention a great deal of effort from my part.
You’re going to have to pay me back somehow.”

That was only half a lie.
Stella could simply leave Typica’s swords next to her Magic Crystal at night and the process would happen automatically during her sleep.
She’d only offered to do it at all because it wouldn’t require any effort.

“But how can I pay you if you won’t take my money?”

“I don’t need more money than I already have, but I may need something else.” Stella thoughtfully put a finger to her chin.
Then an evil grin crept onto her face.
“Oh, I know.
Would you be willing to become my property for the duration of the process?”

Rye shot Stella a disapproving look.

Typica paled.
“I-I’m not into that sort of thing! Same-sex relationships are strictly forbidden by the Church! Besides, I refuse to be toyed with by an albino imp!”

“Don’t get me wrong; I’m not into that either.
All I’m asking is that you acknowledge me as your master.
I won’t take your money, but I will need you to work for me.
Mainly as security guard and bodyguard, same as Varrell.”

“Security guard .
.
.
and bodyguard?”

Stella nodded.
“This town’s arena is a good place to hone your skills, but you’d improve much faster with your brother as a sparring partner, don’t you think? And he’s currently working for me.”

“You have a point.
W-Wait, do you? Well, I have other things to worry about.
And I can hardly be convinced to train with him, of all people.”

“Hmm.
All right, then.
Forget I said anything.”

“W-Wait! I didn’t say no! Just give me some time.
As I was often told in the past, difficult decisions such as this require careful consideration.”

Typica crossed her arms and screwed up her face.
She seemed to be thinking—or at least going through the motions.
It was hard to believe she was familiar with the concept.

One last push.
“What’s there to consider? You fought Varrell and lost.
A real warrior would jump at any opportunity to have a rematch.
But well, if you’d rather stay a loser, suit yourself.
Losers have no place working for me, though.
Goodbye, Typica.
Why don’t you go back home, to your mother’s milk? You must miss it terribly.”

Stella delivered her rapid-fire insults and waited for Typica’s reaction.
As expected, her face shortly went red as she started to get angry.
So much for careful consideration.
I like her simplicity, though.

Typica sprang to her feet.
“L-L-Loser?! Did you just call me a loser?!” she said, putting her hands on her hips.
“Fine! If that’s how it’s going to be, then I pledge my swords to you! You shall witness my swordsmanship and sear its gracefulness into your mind’s eye!”

That was easy.
“Good.
From now on, you’ll give me your swords every night before bedtime.
Don’t forget to get them back in the morning.”

“Uh, yes.
Understood.” Typica nodded politely.

Typica had been properly trained; whenever Stella spoke with authority, she was quick to oblige.
Stella gave a satisfied nod and left the room.
Varrell was standing outside, holding the vase.

“It sounded pretty intense in there,” he said.
“How did it go?”

“We’ve worked things out.
She’s not going to come after your sword again.
You can thank me for that.” She still wants a rematch, though, Stella thought.
But I’m not lying.

“R-Really?”

“However,” Stella said, raising a finger, “Typica is going to stay with us for a while.
She’s mine now.”

“What?”

Stella gently tapped the dumbfounded Varrell on the arm.
“Now I have two more hands to help around the store and one more human to play with.
This one is a rare breed, too.” She smirked.
“Yes, this was very much worth the trouble.”

“Y-You’re joking, right? You must be.
I mean, why do you think I left home in the first place? I was running away from my chaotic sister!”

“Who are you calling chaotic?!” Typica screamed from inside the room.
“All I’m doing is being true to myself! Your criticism is unwarranted!”

“Oh god, this is giving me an ulcer .
.
.”

“Typica,” Stella said.
“You’ll keep it down at night if you know what’s good for you.
Otherwise, I’ll punish both you and your brother.”

“Me too? Why?! If she messes up, that’s her own fault!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Varrell.
As they say, blood is thicker than water.
It’s your responsibility to keep your sister in check.
Typica, if you’re going to make a scene, do it outside, while the sun is out.
I couldn’t care less about the townspeople, so go nuts.”

“Yes, of course.
I would never inconvenience you in your own home.
I was raised better than that.”

“Good.
Now, it’s time for dinner.
I can smell Marie’s delicious cooking from here.
Go on, you two; don’t just stand there.
Typica, take me to the living room.”

“Naturally.”

Typica curtsied, then politely extended her hand.
Stella took it and, like a princess being escorted to the dance floor, allowed herself to be led to the living room.