I Want to Be a Receptionist of The Magic World - 58 Receptionist Second Year Edition

Yesterday my father had come to this magic station for a long time.

I usually go to Hare in the west, but sometimes they come to see me do my job. As far as I’m concerned, I’m ashamed to be honest, so I don’t react to anything when I come, but my daughter always takes care of me, and even handicrafts come to the reception, so it was a wasted scratch.

Stop it, Father. I complain with my gaze, but with such an acquaintance. After a while at my reception desk, I talk down the contents of a recent fight with my mother (which is more scolded than a fight, mainly because my mother angers my father).

It sucks to feel like a class tour even when you get to work.

But my mother and father like it.

“Nana, it’s been a while!

“Pepe – How are you?

That and the day before that, a local childhood familiarity who was not a demon came as a client, and this made me feel nostalgic again.

My village is thriving on agriculture and its childhood home keeps a lot of grass-fed beast pockels on a wide lot of grounds. There were also other houses for children growing yellow vegetables that would spin around on their own and shed fruit from their stems when they matured called ‘spiral marps’, and for children with fields of seven-colored tea leaves that they were making for nobility.

I came as a client. The childhood familiar is one younger girl than me who says Pepe, and I was told with a lot of thought that she would tell me about the local village she hasn’t been home in a while. My aunt told me in the conversation that she wouldn’t come back, that she missed me, so I thought I’d go home soon.

“Hey Hell, are you colorful today?

“It’s colorful… is it the extermination of demons that live in men’s homes”

“How old?

“Twenty-eight.”

“I’m coming!

Long, slightly habitual hair with a little bit of blue added to the black, dark eyes, healthy skin tone with bloody skin, bright red lips and this is the same color that I applied blood all over again.

Her name is Degino Gonaz. There have been rumors lately that she has broken up with her lover and is losing her mind, but now she is finally blowing it off and looking for love. Being a demon, she doesn’t ask for much of the Kings’ but highly paid stuff, and seems to have fun, choosing a job that was then in her own desires. The dialog of “colourful” work was becoming a habit here, and each time we were choosing to work by gluing around our heads.

I don’t have a colorful job.

“You mustn’t make more contact than you have to.”

“I know.”

Demon Modki is what we call a creature that has a demonic color, but is not a demon, nor does an exorcism spell work. It won’t attack humans, but it won’t be easy to pay when you get there, and if you get there because it slowly rots the building, that’s a big problem. The demon modoki looks different than the demon. They all look the same, about half the size of a human being, a strange shape with four legs and a pouty body and only one eye. It is a look that some people are also said to be cute. I don’t know how cute it is.

“Nanalie, you and Harris need to go over there and do some preliminary research.”

“Okay. Then, uh, Mr. Niki, I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah, let me handle it. There you go…… I forgot my brush for a minute! I’ll be right back.”

Senior Niki is forgetful.

This preliminary investigation was requested by the curator of the cultural museum, who happened to fall when he passed in front of a painting, all of whom he wanted help because he was a woman and in trouble.

He suspects the curator is something of a demon or something.

The curator himself seemed to be nothing because he was a man, but he couldn’t quite get the painting off the wall, and now he seemed to have no choice but to close the cultural museum.

“Even when it comes to demons, it’s a painting. I wonder.”

“It can be just a curse, or it could be some sort of dream demon. Hey…. Here we are.”

Large cultural museum. It’s a building that’s been reused for a thousand years with a few hands on an old building. Though I don’t even know if a ghost is going to come out now, when I come in front of a big building or house, I find myself in a sense of wonder and someone is looking down on me. Anyway, if you’re looking down on someone, it’s not very comfortable privately to be looked down on by someone. The royals looking down, their bosses at work, their parents and, well, their friends would be nothing better.

… That, when I was lost here and there thinking about who I didn’t like to end up looking down on, my curator-like gray-haired grandfather came out of the front door of the cultural museum and invited us with a cane.

“I’m from Hare, thank you for waiting.”

“Oh, you’ve come a long way”

Hello and hurried to greet and go inside, the model that shaped the topography of the Dolan kingdom first comes to my attention.

When I was attending a village school building, I had come to a cultural museum as a learning consistency, but there was certainly no model at that time. Even though the interiors were a lot different and the floors used to be inorganic grey slabs, the floors are now beautiful with red or yellow carpets or fashionable trapezoidal lighting on the walls, behind the looks of the old cultural museum.

I walked down the hallway looking for a mistake with my memory.

“That’s the painting in question.”

“… is that it?

The curator will show us the painting in question.

That said, me and Sister Harris are looking far from that painting, so I can only see what kind of painting it is.

Sister Harris has bad eyesight and glasses, so she snaps her glasses with her chattering fingers and says, “You can’t see it!,” he complained.

I completely forget that the curator is nearby.

“Are you going to fall?

“If we fall, it won’t be hard.”

I realize now that it would have been nice if a man had come to investigate beforehand because the woman’s person would fall in the first place. Instead, I told her that if I told her the idea, she would know what kind of damage it would have been if the woman had gone, and that I had no choice but to think because I was the only one there right now who could do memory detection either way.

Then I’ll get back to the point and figure out what to do.

“I’ll try to detect your memory.”

In the meantime, I’m going to try to get that painting back in time with memory detection, and Sister Harris and I decided to put a membrane of defense around ourselves that we don’t know will work and get close to the painting. Aside from the curator peering this way with his face out of the wall in the corridor behind the diagonal, I have no problem approaching him at all so far, so I start turning as I twirl my fingers toward the painting.

Remembering dinner and breakfast yesterday and the evening before.

Nevertheless.

“I’m not sure what art is. It’s beautiful, but I’m not sure. There’s a picture of Guchagucha.”

I don’t have any talent over there, so my head gets glued.

“It sounds like the statue of just my grandfather out there is worth a hell of a lot, but I have no idea either”

The painting in question was that of a man sitting alone in a small boat on a lake.

So far, that painting hasn’t changed either.

And after a while I gradually realized the inexplicability of the painting when I tried to give up what turned into a painting or how someone messed with it, and there was nothing in memory detection that I could tell in particular.

“C, Sister Harris”

“What do you say?”

“Perhaps the man on the boat in this painting is sinking the woman in the lake.”

“… What? What ‘d you say?

It’s hard to tell because it’s going backwards, but a man is pulling a woman out of the lake. But don’t put this back. If time flies, what this man is doing was the opposite of that.

I guess it was originally a painting with two women and a man on it.

Sister Harris, who was polishing her glasses with a uniform cloth, listens to my words and hurries to see the painting. When I returned my memory one more time to show the same scene, Sister Harris immediately covered her face with her hands.

“Wow, scary, super frightened”

“I can’t sleep today”

Anyway, if it’s not that uncommon for a picture to move and it’s magical like that, it’s obvious that this isn’t a picture like that, and it’s pretty curious to see a picture of someone committing murder, and it’s disgusting and scary. And it seems to be moving pretty slowly, so it’s natural not to notice. If you knew the state of the first painting around the curator, you would like him to notice the change at this point, but if the painting is causing a disaster, you also know what it feels like not to see it in person.

Anyway, I’m scared. I’ll take that word.

“This is a curse… or close to something someone unconsciously put on. It could be like a living spirit.”

Sister Harris looked at me as she jerked off her loosely habitual light brown hair in one round behind her.

“It’s definitely similar to Pest Clive, isn’t it?”

“A lot of people are good at these systems with lightning wizards. De-spirited, like?

There are also many lightning users for fortune tellers and others.

“Then, curator, please keep this place closed.”

Sister Harris bowed her head to the curator, who filled out the records in the survey and was still peeking from the wall.

And then she turns her heels back to go home, and she heads to the entrance and exit of the cultural museum.

“Harris, do you have to be alone with the living spirit?

“I think you should go home.”

No, when I turned a strange eye to Sister Harris, who responded to the curator with salt, she told me that she had been told at work before and that she had been lightly attached since then.

The curator was a healthy grandfather by the looks of it.