Guide to Raising a Succubus

The Sibling Florists

Unsurprisingly, the subject of his attention didn't seem thrilled by his presence. Convincing Madison that she hadn’t tampered with the apparatus wasn’t a difficult task. The assistant apologized quickly, but Samantha paid little mind to her contrition; her focus lay on understanding why the instrument had shattered.

"Could it simply be that it's too old to function properly?" Madison inquired.

"I wish it were that simple. I'm uncertain, but I've gathered the instrument's remnants and handed them to Professor James. Perhaps she'll uncover the answer."

Professor James not only taught Magic Lifestyle at the academy but also specialized in the protection and forging of magical instruments.

With that matter settled, Samantha's attention drifted back to the wound on her hand, already showing early signs of healing—evidence of magic clearly visible to any discerning mage.

Observing her expression closely, Madison asked, "Did you notice anything peculiar in Carl’s magic? Was there something about it?"

Samantha replied, "No, it was just the most basic healing spell—a technique beginner mages often use... but I..."

Madison prompted, "Yes?"

"But it feels... familiar, somehow."

Madison furrowed her brows in confusion. "Surely you don’t mean it resembles that mysterious spellcaster's style? The one rumored to cast unregulated recovery magic?"

To Madison’s surprise, Samantha didn’t dismiss the suggestion outright.

"Surely you can't be serious," Madison protested. "He's just a Level II novice mage who scored only thirty points on his written exam. How could he wield such powerful magic?"

Samantha understood how improbable her thoughts sounded, opting for silence instead.

Her concerns weren’t limited to the young mage; she worried about the mysterious wolf sightings near the academy and who might be behind their deaths. Were these occurrences connected? She couldn’t be sure just yet.

While sorting through her worries, as she rose from her seat, a different thought seized her mind.

"Madison, help me find Luke’s address," she instructed.

"But hasn’t he been eliminated? Unless... could Professor James verify the examination apparatus malfunction so they can retake the exam?"

"Unfortunately, the exam results were submitted to the Magic Tower yesterday."

Samantha didn’t disclose to Madison that she hadn’t personally delivered them, and she didn’t know who had, though she was certain it involved the Tower.

Taylor often remarked that the Magic Tower's influence extended everywhere; having a few representatives in the academy was nothing extraordinary.

Reflecting on the recent contest’s advent, she recalled her anger at the Magic Tower’s absurd demands; how could she have foreseen that this year’s outstanding student would indeed be male?

And that remarkable mage still lost to another, yet the fault didn’t lie with the Magic Tower, but with herself.

Samantha sighed with regret, pondering how she might make amends.

By this time, Madison had retrieved Luke’s details and handed them over.

"Professor, what do you intend to do?"

"Offer him a job."

"Do you think he’ll accept it?"

"The position offers a generous salary, free academy access, and the chance to study its library's extensive collections. I would also welcome him as an apprentice."

Madison’s eyes widened in surprise. "Since when has such a position existed? I’ve never heard of it... Or is this something you prepared just for Luke?"

"No," Samantha shook her head. "This position was created five years ago for someone else, but, tragically, that person 'declined' my offer."

---

Luke’s current abode was a quaint flower shop, and as Samantha entered, the door’s wind chime tinkled softly.

A glance back stirred her thoughts: its owner must surely love life. Yet as she turned, she faced Luke’s cold gaze.

The young man had shed his wizard’s cloak, wearing a plain short-sleeve shirt that highlighted his physique, drawing Samantha’s unwilling eyes to his well-defined chest.

Openly, she admired his form with her gaze, deepening Luke’s frown.

"Professor Samantha," Luke greeted her in a voice that seemed to scrape through clenched teeth. "What brings you here?"

Samantha got straight to the point, detailing the job opportunity she had in mind for him.

Luke, hardly a fool, detected her attempt to compensate him for his election loss, and therefore refused. "Please leave. You’ve already eliminated me; I won't accept your handout."

Samantha longed to protest, to assure him she had no intent of dismissing him and firmly believed he deserved to win the contest.

But as she began to voice her thoughts, Carl’s image flashed in her mind—how meticulously he’d treated her wound, as if aware of her preference for Luke.

Her head throbbed at the irony: she’d become the heroine of an overwrought love story, teetering between two leading men. This wasn’t about romance, but about critical career choices.

Her resolve to see both employed was as strong as ever, prompting her to linger under Luke’s icy glare, perusing the shop's floral displays.

A certain flower caught her eye—a pale-blue bloom delicately reaching upwards in its shady corner despite its colorless appearance—beautifully understated.

Samantha gravitated towards it, but Luke’s voice called out urgently from behind her, "That one's not for sale."

"I know. It's called Phantom Flower."

Luke was momentarily perplexed that she knew the flower’s name, but he quickly reasoned—it was common knowledge in Whispering Town, after all.

And everyone knew about her and Wilson—

"The Phantom Flower was something I created," Samantha stated, interrupting his train of thought.

Her admission startled Luke, unleashing his pent-up frustration. "That's absurd! You're lying!" He dropped the courteous pretense. "Everyone knows Mr. Wilson made them!"

Yet, her eyes held no boastful glint, just a wistful remembrance.

Samantha explained, "You believe that because Whispering Town is filled with them, but I did create it—technically, for him."

Still skeptical, Luke challenged, "Any evidence?"

Samantha chuckled. "A good suggestion. When I create my next plant, I’ll make sure it blossoms while shouting, 'Samantha made me!'"

Her attempt at humor failed to lighten his mood; his glare only grew colder. Samantha reckoned he was about to ask her to leave.

Just then, their heated exchange was interrupted by a third party—a small figure emerged from the back room clutching a doll.

The girl rubbed her eyes, reluctant to believe her own sight.

After a moment, she dashed towards Samantha.

"Are you Madam Samantha?!"

"I adore you!"

Once composed, Samantha now felt utterly bewildered by the strange girl clinging to her arm.

Meanwhile, Luke's expression darkened ominously.

Neither realized a fourth person’s approach.

As the door’s chime jingled again, a young man entered the shop.

His striking beauty conveyed genuine surprise as he looked upon them.

"Professor Samantha, what brings you here?"

"And you, Mr. Luke, we've met before."

He greeted them warmly, even bowing playfully to the unfamiliar girl.

The tension that had thickened the room dissipated with the young man’s arrival, leaving everyone curious about the cause of this shift.

Yet his interest was solely on Samantha. He observed the teacher he admired with simple contentment, finding the occasional intrusion of others’ attention much less burdensome than before.

The protagonist he fixated on was not as thrilled by his presence, however.

For some unfathomable reason, Samantha sensed his innocent pink eyes harbored something mischievous—a silent herald of chaos she desperately hoped was imaginary.