Fractures and Forging : Pitching Man-bras to the Duke of the North

Location: Valenhart Estate Dining Hall

The Valenhart Estate dining hall was an opulent setting for breakfast. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting warm rays on the long oak table adorned with a spread of morning delicacies. Despite the grandeur, the atmosphere carried an air of casual intimacy—until Micheal decided to break the peace.

Micheal set his teacup down with dramatic flair, his platinum hair shimmering in the morning light.

"The purpose of my visit is to revolutionize aura user fashion," he declared, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Allow me to introduce the next great innovation: the man-bra."

The room fell into stunned silence. Magda, seated beside Micheal, pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something inaudible under her breath. Arthur, seated across, froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air as though in disbelief.

"Man-bra?" Arthur repeated, horror etched into his features. "Micheal, for the love of decorum, please call it something else. Aura-fixers, perhaps? It's already trademarked under Count Armond's request."

Micheal raised an eyebrow, feigning offense.

"Aura-fixers? Where's the charm in that? Man-bra is bold, practical, and… unforgettable." He leaned back slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Besides, my father would hate it, which makes it even better."

Fredrick, seated at the head of the table, folded his arms, his expression caught between amusement and exasperation. "And what, pray tell, does this 'man-bra' do?"

"I'm so glad you asked," Micheal said, leaning forward. "Aura users' muscles expand and contract with each surge of power. Traditional clothing struggles to contain that energy, resulting in tearing or constriction. The man-bra—or Aura-fixers for the faint-hearted—provides flexible support while maintaining a polished appearance. Functional and stylish."

He gestured dramatically. "It's already a standard part of the Armond camp uniform. Need I remind you, Fredrick, that Armond's soldiers wore them at the flower festival? They're efficient even without armor."

Fredrick frowned thoughtfully. "The concept is practical, but the name sounds ridiculous."

"Does it, though?" Flora interjected, setting her teacup down with deliberate poise. Her emerald eyes sparkled with amusement. "I support it. If it keeps women from ogling my husband's abs every time his neckline expands, then I'm all for it."

Fredrick shot her a look of mock betrayal, his ears tinged pink. "Really, Flora?" he muttered.

Flora smirked. "Every time you use aura, your shirt tears unless you're wearing armor. What do you expect?"

Magda, observing the exchange, couldn't suppress a small laugh. "It does sound practical, Micheal. But perhaps Arthur has a point. A better name might make it more marketable."

Arthur nodded vehemently. "Exactly! Aura-fixers exudes sophistication. Man-bra? It's absurd."

Micheal shrugged, utterly unfazed. "Absurdity is memorable," he retorted. "And admit it, it's fun to say."

Fredrick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine. I'll test the concept," he relented, earning a triumphant grin from Micheal. "But only under the name Aura-fixers. At least in public."

Before Micheal could quip back, Magda's calm voice cut through. "Micheal," she said, her crimson eyes meeting his. "Aura-fixers is a more dignified name. Let's go with that."

Micheal hesitated, his playful smirk softening. Placing a hand over his heart with exaggerated reluctance, he bowed slightly in her direction. "For you, my dear wife, I'll concede. Aura-fixers it is."

The room dissolved into laughter, the earlier tension replaced by a lighthearted camaraderie. Even Arthur, though still grumbling, couldn't help but crack a reluctant smile. Micheal leaned back, clearly satisfied with his morning's antics, though the glint in his eyes suggested he wasn't entirely done stirring the pot.

Location: Northern Laboratory

The air inside Celeste's old laboratory was thick with dust, the scent of time and neglect clinging to every corner. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and vials of strange substances bore witness to a mind once consumed by discovery. Magda and Flora moved cautiously through the space, their footsteps echoing faintly against the cold stone floors. Magda's crimson eyes scanned the room with a mix of reverence and sorrow.

"Mother's brilliance shines even in the chaos she left behind," Magda murmured, her voice soft but heavy with emotion.

"Her Highness's work was unparalleled," Flora replied, her tone more pragmatic as she inspected a dusty shelf. "But this is… a lot."

As they rummaged through the clutter, a soft clatter drew their attention to the back of the room. A tall figure stepped into the dim light, his jet-black hair gleaming. Piercing silver-gray eyes met Magda's startled gaze.

"Lysander?" Magda said, her surprise evident.

The mage bowed slightly, his impeccably tailored robes bearing magical insignias that marked him as a representative of the Imperial Mage Tower. "Lady Magda," he greeted, his voice smooth and composed. "I've been sent to observe the mana fluctuations here on behalf of the Tower."

Flora's emerald eyes narrowed. "How considerate of the Tower to send someone, finally," she remarked, her sarcasm barely veiled.

Magda's expression hardened. "The Tower's concern for the North has always been… lacking."

Lysander's silver eyes flickered with a brief hint of something unreadable, but he kept his tone neutral. "The fluctuations are concerning, my Lady. But I'm here to assist in any way I can."

Magda hesitated, then nodded. Lysander had been a capable assistant at the Shelb-Armond Mage Tower, helping her map the 20-year mana fluctuation patterns. Though his sudden appearance raised questions, his expertise was undeniable.

Together, they sifted through Celeste's research, the room gradually yielding its secrets. Hidden beneath layers of dust and forgotten papers, they uncovered a series of detailed notes and diagrams.

The findings were staggering: low-frequency mana waves appeared to amplify microbial activity, potentially explaining the root cause of the Northern pandemic.

"This… this is it," Magda whispered, her fingers trembling as she traced the intricate diagrams. "Mother's research… She was on to something groundbreaking."

Flora's gaze darkened as she studied the notes. "If this is true, the pandemic wasn't just a natural disaster. It was exacerbated by something deliberate."

Lysander, standing behind them, leaned in to examine the diagrams. "If these mana waves were artificially manipulated," he said, his voice measured, "it could mean a deliberate act of sabotage. This is no coincidence."

Magda's heart pounded, the implications spinning through her mind. The pieces of a much larger puzzle were beginning to fall into place, and the stakes had never been higher. Yet, as she glanced at Lysander, a shadow of doubt lingered.

There was something too convenient about his presence, too perfect about his timing. For now, she chose to focus on the task at hand, pushing the unease to the back of her mind.

"Let's compile this and analyze further," Magda said, her voice firm. "We have to understand the full scope of this before making any moves."

The group worked in tense silence, the weight of their discovery pressing down on them. The room seemed darker, the air heavier, as though the laboratory itself recognized the gravity of what they had uncovered. The pandemic's root cause was no longer a mystery, but its implications opened the door to even greater threats.