Chapter 68 — A Spell to Prevent Stepping on Feet While Dancing
"Elias, are you sure it's fine to just pick a plain black tuxedo?"
"Flamme, do you think it would suit me to dress up like a peacock?"
"At least something with dark embroidery! Yours just looks… too simple."
"Clothes don't matter. As long as the body can perform the movements required for dancing."
Flamme followed a few steps behind, sighing as though all of this was fated.
"'Perform the movements'…
I should have known you'd say that."
---
The day before the Full Moon Ball.
When Elias announced at dinner that he had successfully created a spell called
"Magic to Prevent Stepping on Feet While Dancing"…
Flamme's face didn't move a muscle.
In truth, she had spent the past two days privately hoping he would fail.
Using magic to interfere with dance was—no matter how she tried to justify it—
a blatant insult to the spirit of the art.
It would be tragic if his nonsense ruined her first proper ball in years.
But alas—
The ancient demon from the mythic age…
His imagination that defied common sense…
Left her without a single path to salvation.
The magic tome in his hands
and the faint, smug smile on his face
proclaimed his overwhelming victory.
"…Fine, Elias."
Flamme stood up weakly and collapsed onto the sofa like a rag doll.
"No matter what method we end up using…
we at least have to practice tonight."
"You're absolutely right."
Elias agreed instantly—
though not because he cared about dancing.
"A newly created spell must be tested immediately to verify its effectiveness."
---
The rooftop terrace.
Flowers still, moon hazy, a cool breeze drifting by.
With the phonograph playing a gentle melody,
everything should have been perfect…
…until Elias spoke the incantation aloud:
[Magic to Prevent Stepping on Feet While Dancing]
Flamme: (≖_≖'')
Immediately she felt a surge of magic rushing from the tops of her thighs downward,
encasing her long legs completely.
Hold on…
Why did it suddenly feel as though her legs were no longer legs—
but two stiff… chopsticks?
She lost track of how many times, with that same expression,
she'd asked the same question:
"Elias… are you sure this is fine?"
The demon across from her smiled confidently,
casting the same enchantment onto his own legs.
"Flamme, you may doubt my memory—
but do not doubt my creations."
"…I thought those were the same thing."
Elias ignored the jab, taking a deliberate step closer.
"As I recall, the opening of a dance…
requires the man to initiate."
Flamme inhaled slowly, bracing herself.
"Elias… one more thing."
"Yes?"
"If either of us falls tonight…
your legs will be the ones I step on first."
Tomorrow is the Full Moon Ball.
Magic or no magic—someone's toes are doomed.
Elias extended his right hand.
Flamme couldn't help but chuckle.
"Take the initiative," huh…
Such a rough way to put it.
He really was treating dance like combat.
Still smiling, she accepted his hand, and the two of them stepped closer, face-to-face.
For a moment, their eyes met—
(''≖≖)…(≖≖'')
"…Elias? Why aren't you moving?"
"I don't know which foot to start with."
"You're joking."
"In hindsight, I should've just invented a spell that makes you dance automatically."
Flamme could only cry out inwardly:
Please… give me strength…
She took a slow breath.
"Alright, Elias. Listen to the music. Our steps must match.
That means—when I take a step, your corresponding foot should move in the same direction."
"Understood."
"Good."
She whispered a soft countdown:
"Three… two… one—"
---
CRACK!!
Flamme suddenly lunged sideways—
but her leg jerked at a bizarre angle, stretching outward like a startled marionette.
Her posture froze. Her eyes widened.
Her entire mind derailed in an instant.
"…No way…"
"It's the magic," Elias replied confidently.
"You were about to step on my foot."
"Then why didn't you move?!"
"You said our steps must match.
You moved your right foot.
Therefore, my left foot doesn't need to move."
Flamme: (ᇂ_ᇂ|||)
"…Elias. I meant the opposite foot—mirroring, not matching."
"And another thing… your 'Spell to Prevent Stepping on Feet While Dancing'…"
She awkwardly retracted her overly extended leg.
"…isn't it… a little undignified?"
"Is it?"
Elias answered without shame:
"The results exceeded expectations.
The moment you were about to crush my foot, the spell instantly altered your trajectory.
Isn't that spectacularly efficient?"
Flamme inhaled deeply.
"…Fine. Elias, I'll give you—and your spell—one more chance."
Five seconds later—
---
CRACK!!
Flamme dropped into a full splits.
Legs at a perfect 180 degrees.
Half her body flat on the ground.
Elias slowly shook his head.
"Flamme, you have to put in more effort.
You almost stepped on my—"
"ELIAS!!"
(งᵒ̌皿ᵒ̌)ง⁼³₌₃
Flamme lifted her head—
her eyes blazing with the fury of a battlefield veteran.
"Right now! Immediately! This instant!
Remove. This. DAMN. SPELL."
"But Flamme—"
（╯‵□′）╯︵┴─┴
"NOW!!!"
┴─┴︵╰（‵□′╰）
"AT ONCE!!!"
┴┴︵╰（‵□′）╯︵┴┴
"IMMEDIATELY!!!"
Elias: (ᇂ_ᇂ|||)
"…Alright. As you say."
---
And so—
Under Flamme's righteous wrath, the 'Magic to Prevent Stepping on Feet While Dancing' spell was abandoned.
They resumed practice like normal human beings—
one step at a time.
Flamme was delighted.
Even when Elias actually stepped on her foot occasionally,
she kept smiling.
After all—
being stepped on
was nothing
compared to
performing an involuntary full splits in front of an audience.
If that nightmare ever happened,
she doubted she'd ever live it down—
her reputation in the Saintstaff Trials would never recover.
---
A yawn sounded from the window.
Frieren poked her head out, just in time to see the two hand-in-hand, moving cautiously in rhythm.
"Ahhhh~~
Look at that… something you don't see every day."
"Elias still has that dead-fish expression,
but Flamme's smile looks… kind of warm."
She tilted her head.
"…Are they…?"
---
Bathed in moonlight, Elias caught the expression in front of him.
"Flamme, what are you smiling at?"
"Obviously—
I'm celebrating the fact that my legs are no longer being tortured by magic."
"…That's the reason?"
Elias paused, thinking.
"Then next time, I'll improve the spell so it won't make you do the splits."
Flamme froze mid-step.
Next time…?
Her gaze trembled—just a fraction.
Did he just say—
"next time"?