curtain call The Firework of an Unfulfilled Promise
Esteemed guests, we apologize for our prolonged absence.
We have been occupied with various matters of late.
This time, we have written of Spica’s childhood New Year’s Eve! Chronologically, it takes place on New Year’s Eve of the year Spica made her debut.
Though it may be slightly out of sequence, we hope you find it enjoyable.
In the Empire, fireworks are a winter tradition.
To any citizen of the Empire, the mention of fireworks within an opera performance is as automatic as it is anticipated—naturally evoking the imagery of the New Year’s Eve celebration.
“Ow! Fret, be careful with your feet.”
“Sorry, Alex Elder, it’s dark and cramped, I just—”
A conversation drifts through the dimly lit sunroom in the dead of night.
It seems Fret has accidentally stepped on Alex’s foot.
“Truly, Fret, you haven’t changed at all. The head chef will bring light refreshments shortly, so please be mindful of your footing.”
Father Mascy said with a faint smile.
“Yes, yes.”
Fret replied, a touch sullen but obedient nonetheless.
Spica and Mother both lay on the floor, chuckling softly as they watched.
Yes, today the family lay sprawled across the floor.
This was the sunroom of the Mascy family’s residence in the imperial capital, Emmental.
It was New Year’s Eve. The hour had passed ten o’clock in the night.
The sunroom, entirely glass-walled, allowed them to gaze upon the night sky without stepping outside, even in the cold season.
And tonight was the night they would watch the annual fireworks, once a year.
The fireworks launched from the Imperial Palace are too close to view from our home, just a short distance away. To watch them, one must look straight upward, so for years now we have laid soft rugs in the sunroom and filled it with cushions, lounging in our nightclothes, one hand holding light refreshments, watching the fireworks rise into the night sky—this has become our family’s annual tradition.
“Father, Mother—wine?”
I join the circle, holding a glass of wine. Father offers a glass from the side table, and I pour white wine into it.
“Ah, Cain. Thank you. You’re drinking tonight too, are you?”
“Cain hasn’t returned home at all lately—this is truly the first time all of us have been together in ages.”
Mother holds a glass with steam rising from it. The scent suggests hot wine. Her voice is bright, like that of a young girl.
“Even so, I’ll spend New Year’s with my family.”
Reflecting on it, I realize how long I’ve been cooped up in the laboratory and how seldom I’ve returned home lately.
When I came back after so long, Fret, who now attends the knight’s academy, seemed to have grown a full head taller, and Spica, who has begun attending the academy, has become even more beautiful. Alex remains unchanged in his carefree manner, but is his health well?...
As I removed my shoes and sank onto the rug, Spica moved close beside me.
“Elder Brother, I have something I’d like you to teach me from my academy assignments. Could you help me during the New Year’s break?”
“Ah, of course.”
I instinctively reached to ruffle her hair, then remembered—she is no longer a child, but a lady who has made her debut. As I hesitated, she looked at me with an expression that seemed to ask, Why don’t you touch me? So I gently brushed her hair.
“Really, Elder Brother! I’m a proper lady now, you know.”
Even when she protested so prettily, the sight of her earlier expression made laughter unavoidable.
Soon after, a wagon arrived carrying a small pot emitting steam and several baskets.
This is our family’s traditional New Year’s Eve dish—cheese fondue.
Peering into the baskets, one finds boiled cartoffles, carrots and broccoli, freshly baked bread cut into bite-sized pieces, sausages, smoked bacon, and large, neatly arranged shrimp.
From the small pot, a pale yellow sauce bubbles with a lively, rhythmic sound; its rich, thick aroma stirs the appetite with near-violent intensity.
During the New Year’s holidays, most markets and shops remain closed. Even farmers say they do not tend their fields for these ten days. As a result, fresh produce is scarce, and only foods that can be preserved appear on the table.
Among these, the dish most cherished by the head chef—roasted cheese with grated kartoffe, simmered with white wine, served with bread, root vegetables, and preserved meats such as ham and sausages—was a winter delicacy.
Fret, the growing lad, reached for it first.
“Elder Brother, you’ll burn yourself if you rush so.”
He paid no mind, already flinching as he burned his tongue on the hot cheese, puffing his cheeks and breathing rapidly.
His older sister, amused yet tender, offered him a glass of ice water. He took it eagerly, downing it in one gulp, and drew laughter from the entire family.
Ah, a sensation long absent—but not unwelcome.
As she quietly poured the wine from her own glass, its sweet aroma brushed her nostrils, and the crisp aftertaste soothed her throat. A balanced tartness and slight astringency, like fruit wine—pleasant, and just right.
It seems this year’s wine is a good one.
She dips a large piece of smoked bacon into the rich cheese stew, just as her family does, and brings it to her mouth. Beneath a hint of salt, the faint scent of grapes and smokiness lingers—deliciously evocative, almost intoxicating.
A moment of late dinner, a quiet communion with family.
The hour must be nearing the end of the watch, just before the new year begins.
Suddenly, the sky brightens for a fleeting instant.
“Then it has begun, the fireworks.”
Alex lies back on the cushion, drawing the blanket close to keep warm.
He does not forget to gently offer the blanket to Spica.
All family members look upward, toward the ceiling.
In this land, fireworks are not the gunpowder-based kind recently seen in foreign realms. True fireworks are spells conjured by mages at the Imperial Palace, painting the night sky with magic.
Each spell, distinct in its element, blooms in the heavens as a great flower, radiant and fleeting.
A great wheel of flame bloomed into a rose. Golden magic—marigolds—scattered across the night sky like a field of radiant flowers. Earth magic did not fall behind. From the far reaches of the heavens, falling stones transformed into fireballs, shaping chrysanthemums. A master’s skill, requiring delicate control of sacred power. Ice blossoms formed exquisite six-petaled patterns, then, after a breath, dissolved into fine snow, drifting gently and shimmering as they danced.
We watched such a kaleidoscope of fireworks in silence, yet with quiet excitement deep within.
“…It would be wonderful if we could see them together—next year, the year after, and always, like this…”
Spica whispered it. Fireworks carried no sound. Thus, her quiet wish echoed clearly in the stillness of the sunroom.
“Unfortunately, we won’t be able to see them together next year…”
She did not wish to deny her younger sister’s wish, but the truth must be told, or it would be cruel.
“Why is that, Cain Elder! And don’t you dare say something so harsh to Spica!”
Indeed, this younger brother barks loudly. She gently poked Fret’s head, who had abruptly sat up from lying down, to quiet him. Listen to the full words.
“Starting next year, I’ll be the one launching fireworks at the Imperial Palace. So seeing them together will probably be the last time for a while.”
The one who reacted first to my words was, surprisingly, Mother.
“Well, that’s an honor! Why didn’t you tell us sooner!”
Her cheeks flushed as she pulled my head into her embrace, stroking my hair. At this age, it was truly embarrassing. I quickly stepped back from her arms.
Only a select few are chosen to attend the year-end fireworks. My master, who is participating this year, will retire after this season. I have been formally designated as her successor. It is neither hereditary nor a matter of appointment by decree, but due to my master’s strong wishes and proven suitability, I have been singled out. Next year, I am already being invited to participate as her successor—an honor nearly certain.
“Truly, you’re an excellent elder brother. Congratulations.”
“I am proud to have a son like you, Cain. I look forward to next year.”
“Seriously? That’s awesome.”
My family offered their congratulations in turn.
Yet one person stood out—Spica, her expression distant and unsmiling.
“Spica, are you not pleased?”
“It is indeed a joyous occasion… but there is a small regret. I never imagined that this would be the last time we would watch the fireworks together, side by side.”
It seemed she had simply not yet come to terms with her heart.
I found my younger sister endearing in this way. With the warm feeling rising in my chest, I gently stroked her head as she lay sprawled against me.
She twitched slightly, like a cat caught in a half-dream, yet did not push my hand away.
“For now it may be difficult, but when more time has passed… then perhaps we shall gather here again, bringing new families of our own. Alex will surely find a donor. Fret might even have a cheerful wife beside him. And Spica, perhaps, will be a mother herself.”
“Yes, indeed! Let us all come together once more to watch the fireworks, as we did today!”
Spica smiled at my words.
“You should be thinking seriously about your own bride first!”
A reprimand came from Mother. Apparently, I had been speaking carelessly.
The sunroom filled once more with laughter.
The fireworks were nearing their finale.
As the midnight bell tolled, a colossal light spread across the night sky—fireworks of royal light magic, a blessing for the new year. Woven with wood magic, they scattered delicate, glowing petals from the heavens over the imperial capital, as enchanting as ever.
“Congratulations! May the goddess’s blessing be upon all of us this year.”
Their voices blended into one.
Not a single soul there believed that the promise made that day would never be fulfilled.
The aged mage looked up at the sky.
Nearby, her grandchildren played beneath the fireworks, just as she and her kin had done long ago.
Just as they had once lounged freely upon the rugs, gathered around the kettle…
The promise made that day remained unfulfilled.
Perhaps it is only because time is finite that this moment feels so beautiful.
The new year approaches.
How many more times will I see fireworks, now that I have laid down my role as elder, as the one who looks up?
"Grandfather, let's watch fireworks together again next year!"
Suddenly, the youngest granddaughter spoke up.
The midnight bell rang, and the surroundings grew even brighter—so vivid that day and dusk seemed indistinguishable.
"Yes, a promise. We'll watch fireworks together this year, and next year too."
In the dimming room, Cain could hear the girl’s laughter.
This promise must be kept—without fail.
Cain made that vow in his heart.
A promise of fireworks unfulfilled End
It has been quite some time since the last post.
My deepest apologies for the long wait.
And now—finally! The first volume of this work will be released next week, April 25th, by Comic Shimoa! The second volume is scheduled for release on May 25th! Each volume includes exclusive original stories written for Comic Shimoa, with a total of six volumes planned, released monthly.
It’s said to be posted on Comic Shimoa’s preview page soon, so I’d truly appreciate it if you could take a look at the cover art by Yanyomi-sensei—even just that! The illustration is absolutely exquisite. Spica on the cover appears somewhat lonely, but the content of the first volume is a story of Spica’s beloved childhood!
There are added details, and the setting differs slightly from the original web version.
Though I’ve wanted to post something every month, various other projects have arisen beyond book publication, causing delays in writing. Still, I hope you’ll enjoy it at your own pace.
On a personal note, I’ve had a sore throat for about three weeks now… Apparently, this year’s cold tends to linger in the throat, so please all take care.
Sato Mashiro