Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Information on furs...can be collected after that, Lawrence told himself as he left the room.
Lawrence came down to the first floor where there was a rustling sound coming from the corner of the clutter-filled room.
There was neither lock nor lookout, but a good number of merchants still used this storehouse, it seemed.
The rate was not too high, and some used it as a relay for their peddling while others stored goods when their price fluctuated with the season. Lawrence would not have been surprised to learn that the odd smuggler or thief kept items there, too.
Though he heard the sound of someone tampering with goods in the storehouse, the person was in shadow, and Lawrence could not tell who it was. But Arold the innkeeper did not appear to think for one moment that one of his guests was opening someone else's luggage. He only poured a bit of water on the fire, which had grown slightly too strong.
"A road to the north?"
While Arold had reacted to Lawrence's question about chroniclers this morning as though a child had asked him a difficult theological question, he seemed to be much more used to this sort of inquiry.
He nodded slightly, as if to say, "Well, in that case," then paying the flame no heed, he cleared his throat and spoke.
"Not much snow this year. I don't know where you're headed, but I don't reckon it'll be too hard."
"I'm making for Nyohhira, as it happens."
Arold's left eyebrow went up, and the sharp blue eyes buried in the deep folds of his eyelids glittered.
Behind his merchant's smile, Lawrence flinched a bit, and Arold continued, brushing a bit of ash that had flown up when he poured water on the coals a moment earlier.
"Heading all the way into pagan country, eh?...Well, I suppose that's merchants for you, carrying money bags over their shoulder and heading off anywhere."
"Aye, and we throw them away on our deathbeds," Lawrence said, trying to lighten things up with the devout Arold, but the innkeeper only gave a derisive snort.
"So why bother earning it in the first place? Gaining it only to throw it away..."
It was something that many merchants pondered themselves.
But Lawrence had heard an interesting answer to this question. "You don't ask the same question when you clean a room, do you?"
If money was trash, then profit was the collection of trash.
A famous merchant in a southern country had repented on his deathbed, saying that collecting and throwing away the money that polluted the world God had given man was the ultimate virtue.
The clergy heard these words and were moved, but the merchants hid their uncertain smiles behind their wine cups—because the more successful one became, the less one's assets were concrete things, and the more they were numbers on certificates and entries in ledgers.
Thus if these written ledger entries and figures polluted the world, then the written teachings of God were no better, and so the irony was that those scriptures, too, should be thrown away for the betterment of the world—such was the view of most merchants.
Lawrence felt much the same way. He felt bad for Holo, but he would take the business of a successful merchant over prayers to gods that never answered any day.
"Heh," Arold chuckled. "Fair enough," he said in an uncommonly amused tone. His mood had improved.
He seemed more cheered by the irony behind Lawrence's words than by the words themselves.
"Are you leaving soon? I seem to recall you giving me a good amount of coin for your stay..."
"No, I expect to wait until the Council of Fifty has finished their meeting."
"...I see. You wanted to see Rigolo. You asked about a chronicler this morning, as I recall. That's a word I've not heard in some time. Hardly anyone looks to the past these days...," said Arold, narrowing his eyes as he stared off into space.
Perhaps the old man was looking back on his life thus far.

Output:
"There was a longhair in the stable, wasn't there?"
"Aye, its master is a man from the north. I reckon he knows the route quite well."
"His name?" Lawrence asked.
Arold looked surprised for the first time. It was strangely charming. "Huh. He's been coming here for some time, but I've never asked his name. He's fatter every year, too. It's quite clear in my mind. Strange...I suppose these things happen..."
What sort of inn lacked even a guest register?
"He's a fur merchant from the north," Arold continued. "He's all over town at the moment...but if I see him, I'll pass your questions on."
"I'd be very grateful."
"Aye. But if you keep waiting for the Council of Fifty to finish, you're liable to be here 'til spring," said Arold, putting the cup of mulled wine to his lips for the first time.
This was the first time Lawrence had seen Arold so loquacious. He must have been in excellent spirits, Lawrence guessed.
"Will the meeting take so long?" Lawrence asked, pressing for more information.
Arold's face turned unreadable, and he fell silent. No doubt the best response if he hoped to live out his remaining years in peace, Lawrence thought.
Lawrence was about to offer his thanks as a way of ending the conversation, but Arold then spoke, cutting him off.
"People's lives tend up and down, and so do the towns that they live in. After all, those towns are just groups of people." The words of a man who had retired from an active life.
But Lawrence was still young. "It's in people's nature to resist fate, I think. Just like how we seek forgiveness after making a mistake."
Arold regarded Lawrence wordlessly with his blue eyes.
There was anger in his gaze and scorn.
But Lawrence liked the old man when he was like this, so he stood his ground.
Arold chuckled. "It's hard to argue with that...It's been pleasant talking with you. This is your third time at the inn, yes? What's your name?"
Though he had never asked the name of the fur merchant who had long made use of his inn, Arold now asked Lawrence his name.
He wasn't asking as the innkeeper, but rather as a craftsman.
When a craftsman asked the name of a customer, it was a mark of trust that they would complete the customer's order, no matter how difficult the request.
Evidently this old tannery boss liked Lawrence for some reason.
"Kraft Lawrence," said Lawrence, extending his hand.
"Kraft Lawrence, eh? I'm Arold Ecklund. In the old days, I'd make you some fine leather strap work, but these days all I can offer is a quiet night."
"That's more than enough," said Lawrence, which Arold smiled at for the first time, showing a broken tooth.
Lawrence was about to leave when Arold's gaze fell on something behind his lodger. Lawrence turned to look and did not expect the person he saw there.
It was the merchant Holo had earlier claimed was a woman, still wearing the same robes and carrying a burlap sack in her left hand. She must have been the one Lawrence heard rustling around in the storeroom earlier.
"You didn't ask me until my fifth visit. You ask him his name so soon, Mr. Arold?" came the hoarse voice. If Holo hadn't told him otherwise, Lawrence still would have assumed she was male, an apprentice merchant just starting out.
"That's because I didn't talk with you until the fifth visit," said Arold, glancing at Lawrence before continuing. "And it's so rare that you open that mouth of yours. Are you as sociable as I am, then?"
"Perhaps," said the woman, and a smile quirked beneath her cowl. Lawrence noticed that she didn't just happen to have an especially thin beard for a man—no, definitely a woman.
"You there," she said, looking pointedly at Lawrence.
"Yes?"
"We should talk. You have business with Rigolo?"
If Lawrence had been Holo, his ears would have twitched. "Yes," he answered, confident enough that not a single hair of his beard had so much as moved.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"There was a longhair in the stable, wasn't there?"
"Aye, its master is a man from the north. I reckon he knows the route quite well."
"His name?" Lawrence asked.
Arold looked surprised for the first time. It was strangely charming. "Huh. He's been coming here for some time, but I've never asked his name. He's fatter every year, too. It's quite clear in my mind. Strange...I suppose these things happen..."
What sort of inn lacked even a guest register?
"He's a fur merchant from the north," Arold continued. "He's all over town at the moment...but if I see him, I'll pass your questions on."
"I'd be very grateful."
"Aye. But if you keep waiting for the Council of Fifty to finish, you're liable to be here 'til spring," said Arold, putting the cup of mulled wine to his lips for the first time.
This was the first time Lawrence had seen Arold so loquacious. He must have been in excellent spirits, Lawrence guessed.
"Will the meeting take so long?" Lawrence asked, pressing for more information.
Arold's face turned unreadable, and he fell silent. No doubt the best response if he hoped to live out his remaining years in peace, Lawrence thought.
Lawrence was about to offer his thanks as a way of ending the conversation, but Arold then spoke, cutting him off.
"People's lives tend up and down, and so do the towns that they live in. After all, those towns are just groups of people." The words of a man who had retired from an active life.
But Lawrence was still young. "It's in people's nature to resist fate, I think. Just like how we seek forgiveness after making a mistake."
Arold regarded Lawrence wordlessly with his blue eyes.
There was anger in his gaze and scorn.
But Lawrence liked the old man when he was like this, so he stood his ground.
Arold chuckled. "It's hard to argue with that...It's been pleasant talking with you. This is your third time at the inn, yes? What's your name?"
Though he had never asked the name of the fur merchant who had long made use of his inn, Arold now asked Lawrence his name.
He wasn't asking as the innkeeper, but rather as a craftsman.
When a craftsman asked the name of a customer, it was a mark of trust that they would complete the customer's order, no matter how difficult the request.
Evidently this old tannery boss liked Lawrence for some reason.
"Kraft Lawrence," said Lawrence, extending his hand.
"Kraft Lawrence, eh? I'm Arold Ecklund. In the old days, I'd make you some fine leather strap work, but these days all I can offer is a quiet night."
"That's more than enough," said Lawrence, which Arold smiled at for the first time, showing a broken tooth.
Lawrence was about to leave when Arold's gaze fell on something behind his lodger. Lawrence turned to look and did not expect the person he saw there.
It was the merchant Holo had earlier claimed was a woman, still wearing the same robes and carrying a burlap sack in her left hand. She must have been the one Lawrence heard rustling around in the storeroom earlier.
"You didn't ask me until my fifth visit. You ask him his name so soon, Mr. Arold?" came the hoarse voice. If Holo hadn't told him otherwise, Lawrence still would have assumed she was male, an apprentice merchant just starting out.
"That's because I didn't talk with you until the fifth visit," said Arold, glancing at Lawrence before continuing. "And it's so rare that you open that mouth of yours. Are you as sociable as I am, then?"
"Perhaps," said the woman, and a smile quirked beneath her cowl. Lawrence noticed that she didn't just happen to have an especially thin beard for a man—no, definitely a woman.
"You there," she said, looking pointedly at Lawrence.
"Yes?"
"We should talk. You have business with Rigolo?"
If Lawrence had been Holo, his ears would have twitched. "Yes," he answered, confident enough that not a single hair of his beard had so much as moved.

Output:
"Shall we go upstairs?"
The woman pointed up. Lawrence had no objections and nodded.
"I'll take this," she said, grabbing a pitcher from behind Arold's chair, then heading immediately up the stairs. Though they were not related, she seemed to know Arold quite well—so what was their connection?
Lawrence's mind was full of questions, but Arold's face had returned to its normal, unsociable mien.
He took his leave and followed the woman up the stairs.
There was nobody on the second floor, and the woman immediately bent her knees and sat down cross-legged in front of the fireplace. Her manner was that of someone used to sitting and standing in cramped places. If Lawrence had been a money changer, he would have figured her for a comrade-in-business.
She certainly wasn't someone who had started out in business just yesterday.
"Ha, I knew it. This wine is too good to waste by drinking it warm," she said after sampling the contents of the pitcher she had brought up.
Lawrence sat down as well, wondering why the woman was suddenly so sociable, whether her behavior was genuine, and if it wasn't genuine, what her goal could possibly be.
After taking a couple of drinks from the wine pitcher, the merchant woman thrust it toward Lawrence. "You seem like you've got your guard well up. Can I ask why?"
While her cowl covered her face, obscuring her expressions from Lawrence, evidently she could see his face perfectly well.
"I'm a traveling merchant who does a lot of business with people I'll never see again. I suppose it's a habit," he said, taking a sip of the proffered wine. It was indeed good.
The merchant woman looked at him evenly past her cowl.
Lawrence gave a pained grin and confessed, "Female merchants are rare. If one calls me over, I can't help but be on my guard a bit."
He could tell that she was momentarily disturbed at his statement.
"...It's been years since anyone figured that out."
"We passed this morning in front of the inn. My companion has the keen senses of a beast, you see."
She was part beast, in truth, and if Holo had not been there, Lawrence would never have noticed the merchant was a woman.
"One shouldn't underestimate a woman's intuition. Though I suppose I'm not one to talk."
"I learn that lesson every day."
Lawrence wasn't sure if she smiled or not, but in any case, the woman put her hand to her neck and loosened the string that held her cowl in place; then with a practiced hand, she drew it back and off her head.
He watched her with a bit more anticipation than was polite. What intrepid visage might emerge? When he saw her face, Lawrence was not at all confident that he had been able to perfectly conceal his surprise.
"Name's Fleur Bolan. But Fleur's not much for intimidation, so I go by Eve."
The woman, Fleur—or Eve—was young.
But she was not so young that youth was her only virtue. She was old enough to be polished and refined, making her all the more beautiful. At a guess, Lawrence would have put her at about his own age.
Her eyes weren't just blue; they seemed forged from blue steel.
Her hair was short and blond. If she smiled, she would look like an uncommonly beautiful boy.
And when she wasn't smiling, she looked like a wolf—a wolf that would bite your finger off if you tried to touch it.
"I'm Kraft Lawrence."
"Kraft? Or Lawrence?"
"In business, Lawrence."
"Call me Eve. I'm none too fond of Bolan, and I know all too well how I look to men when I wear makeup and a wig, and I don't like that sort of compliment, either."
His initiative stolen, Lawrence was silent for a moment.
"I'd planned to hide it, if I could," she continued.
It surely being the fact of her sex.
Not wanting to be discovered by anyone else, she replaced the cowl on her head and fixed it again with the tie.
In his mind, Lawrence couldn't help picturing a knife wrapped in cotton.
"I'm really not a particularly retiring person. If anything, I'm talkative and quite courteous, if I do say so myself."


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"Shall we go upstairs?"
The woman pointed up. Lawrence had no objections and nodded.
"I'll take this," she said, grabbing a pitcher from behind Arold's chair, then heading immediately up the stairs. Though they were not related, she seemed to know Arold quite well—so what was their connection?
Lawrence's mind was full of questions, but Arold's face had returned to its normal, unsociable mien.
He took his leave and followed the woman up the stairs.
There was nobody on the second floor, and the woman immediately bent her knees and sat down cross-legged in front of the fireplace. Her manner was that of someone used to sitting and standing in cramped places. If Lawrence had been a money changer, he would have figured her for a comrade-in-business.
She certainly wasn't someone who had started out in business just yesterday.
"Ha, I knew it. This wine is too good to waste by drinking it warm," she said after sampling the contents of the pitcher she had brought up.
Lawrence sat down as well, wondering why the woman was suddenly so sociable, whether her behavior was genuine, and if it wasn't genuine, what her goal could possibly be.
After taking a couple of drinks from the wine pitcher, the merchant woman thrust it toward Lawrence. "You seem like you've got your guard well up. Can I ask why?"
While her cowl covered her face, obscuring her expressions from Lawrence, evidently she could see his face perfectly well.
"I'm a traveling merchant who does a lot of business with people I'll never see again. I suppose it's a habit," he said, taking a sip of the proffered wine. It was indeed good.
The merchant woman looked at him evenly past her cowl.
Lawrence gave a pained grin and confessed, "Female merchants are rare. If one calls me over, I can't help but be on my guard a bit."
He could tell that she was momentarily disturbed at his statement.
"...It's been years since anyone figured that out."
"We passed this morning in front of the inn. My companion has the keen senses of a beast, you see."
She was part beast, in truth, and if Holo had not been there, Lawrence would never have noticed the merchant was a woman.
"One shouldn't underestimate a woman's intuition. Though I suppose I'm not one to talk."
"I learn that lesson every day."
Lawrence wasn't sure if she smiled or not, but in any case, the woman put her hand to her neck and loosened the string that held her cowl in place; then with a practiced hand, she drew it back and off her head.
He watched her with a bit more anticipation than was polite. What intrepid visage might emerge? When he saw her face, Lawrence was not at all confident that he had been able to perfectly conceal his surprise.
"Name's Fleur Bolan. But Fleur's not much for intimidation, so I go by Eve."
The woman, Fleur—or Eve—was young.
But she was not so young that youth was her only virtue. She was old enough to be polished and refined, making her all the more beautiful. At a guess, Lawrence would have put her at about his own age.
Her eyes weren't just blue; they seemed forged from blue steel.
Her hair was short and blond. If she smiled, she would look like an uncommonly beautiful boy.
And when she wasn't smiling, she looked like a wolf—a wolf that would bite your finger off if you tried to touch it.
"I'm Kraft Lawrence."
"Kraft? Or Lawrence?"
"In business, Lawrence."
"Call me Eve. I'm none too fond of Bolan, and I know all too well how I look to men when I wear makeup and a wig, and I don't like that sort of compliment, either."
His initiative stolen, Lawrence was silent for a moment.
"I'd planned to hide it, if I could," she continued.
It surely being the fact of her sex.
Not wanting to be discovered by anyone else, she replaced the cowl on her head and fixed it again with the tie.
In his mind, Lawrence couldn't help picturing a knife wrapped in cotton.
"I'm really not a particularly retiring person. If anything, I'm talkative and quite courteous, if I do say so myself."

Output:
She was a woman, yes, but hardly some sheltered princess. He had little reason to be nervous.
"You're an interesting fellow. I can see why the old man likes you," said Eve.
"Nice of you to say so. But I've only exchanged the briefest of pleasantries with you, so I've no idea why you would be interested in me."
"Merchants don't get infatuated that easily, so unfortunately—not quite. But you're no fool, you know this. Anyway, the reason I talked to you is simple. I just wanted someone to talk to."
Judging by the features on the face beneath the cowl, something about her reminded Lawrence of Holo, despite Eve's slightly crude manners.
If he wasn't careful, she'd pull the rug out from under him, just like Holo.
"And the reason you chose me for that particular honor is...?"
"One reason would be the fact that old Arold likes you. He's got a good eye for people. Another reason would be your companion, the one who saw through my disguise."
"My companion?"
"Yes. Your companion. A girl, yes?"
If she had called Holo a boy, it would've been exactly the kind of story some wealthy libertine nobleman would love.
But Lawrence understood what Eve was trying to say.
If he was traveling with a woman, he would be a safe person to talk to.
"It's one thing when I'm negotiating, but hiding the fact that I'm a woman while making chitchat is no easy thing. I know I'm unusual. And it's not like I don't understand why someone would want me to take off the cowl sometimes," said Eve.
"This is going to sound like a compliment, but if you were to take it off while you were drinking with some fellow merchants, I'm sure they'd love it."
Eve smiled with a lopsided smirk, and even that was an impressive gesture. "Like I said, I think about who I can chat with, and in the end, you need to be either an old geezer or with a woman."
Female merchants were rarer than fairies. Lawrence couldn't even begin to imagine her day-to-day worries.
"You don't see merchants traveling with women very often. Clergy, perhaps, or the odd artisan or minstrel couple. But none of them have anything interesting to say to a merchant like me."
Lawrence smiled a bit. "Well, there are quite a few circumstances around my companion."
"And I won't be nosy. The two of you seem used to travel and don't seem connected by money, so I figured you'd be safe to talk to. That's all."
Eve finished talking and held her hand out for the pitcher.
It wasn't polite to hang onto a pitcher of wine that was being passed around in lieu of a cup, so Lawrence apologized and handed it back.
"Anyway, that's about the size of it, but you can't just walk up to somebody and say, 'Hey, how about a chat?' That's why I mentioned Rigolo's name, but it wasn't just talk. You want to see him, right?"
Eve looked at Lawrence from underneath her cowl, but he couldn't read her expression at all. She was clearly an excellent negotiator.
This hardly seemed like small talk to Lawrence. He answered carefully. "Yes, as soon as I can."
"Might I ask why?"
Lawrence could not imagine why she would want to know this.
It may have been simple curiosity or she wanted to use that knowledge somehow or she was testing Lawrence based on his response to being asked such a question.
If Holo had been with him, he would have had an advantage, but as it was, he felt like he was being cornered.
The situation was frustrating, but he would have to go on the defensive.
"I've heard Rigolo is the town's chronicler. I'd like to ask him to let me see any of the old tales of Lenos."
The subject of fur was too delicate to broach. As long as he couldn't see Eve's expression, it was dangerous to bring up. He had no clock to hide behind, so it would be easy for her to see if he was being too guarded.
Nonetheless, Eve seemed to detect a certain truth to Lawrence's words. "Now that's a strange reason. And here I was sure you'd want information on the fur trade."


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
She was a woman, yes, but hardly some sheltered princess. He had little reason to be nervous.
"You're an interesting fellow. I can see why the old man likes you," said Eve.
"Nice of you to say so. But I've only exchanged the briefest of pleasantries with you, so I've no idea why you would be interested in me."
"Merchants don't get infatuated that easily, so unfortunately—not quite. But you're no fool, you know this. Anyway, the reason I talked to you is simple. I just wanted someone to talk to."
Judging by the features on the face beneath the cowl, something about her reminded Lawrence of Holo, despite Eve's slightly crude manners.
If he wasn't careful, she'd pull the rug out from under him, just like Holo.
"And the reason you chose me for that particular honor is...?"
"One reason would be the fact that old Arold likes you. He's got a good eye for people. Another reason would be your companion, the one who saw through my disguise."
"My companion?"
"Yes. Your companion. A girl, yes?"
If she had called Holo a boy, it would've been exactly the kind of story some wealthy libertine nobleman would love.
But Lawrence understood what Eve was trying to say.
If he was traveling with a woman, he would be a safe person to talk to.
"It's one thing when I'm negotiating, but hiding the fact that I'm a woman while making chitchat is no easy thing. I know I'm unusual. And it's not like I don't understand why someone would want me to take off the cowl sometimes," said Eve.
"This is going to sound like a compliment, but if you were to take it off while you were drinking with some fellow merchants, I'm sure they'd love it."
Eve smiled with a lopsided smirk, and even that was an impressive gesture. "Like I said, I think about who I can chat with, and in the end, you need to be either an old geezer or with a woman."
Female merchants were rarer than fairies. Lawrence couldn't even begin to imagine her day-to-day worries.
"You don't see merchants traveling with women very often. Clergy, perhaps, or the odd artisan or minstrel couple. But none of them have anything interesting to say to a merchant like me."
Lawrence smiled a bit. "Well, there are quite a few circumstances around my companion."
"And I won't be nosy. The two of you seem used to travel and don't seem connected by money, so I figured you'd be safe to talk to. That's all."
Eve finished talking and held her hand out for the pitcher.
It wasn't polite to hang onto a pitcher of wine that was being passed around in lieu of a cup, so Lawrence apologized and handed it back.
"Anyway, that's about the size of it, but you can't just walk up to somebody and say, 'Hey, how about a chat?' That's why I mentioned Rigolo's name, but it wasn't just talk. You want to see him, right?"
Eve looked at Lawrence from underneath her cowl, but he couldn't read her expression at all. She was clearly an excellent negotiator.
This hardly seemed like small talk to Lawrence. He answered carefully. "Yes, as soon as I can."
"Might I ask why?"
Lawrence could not imagine why she would want to know this.
It may have been simple curiosity or she wanted to use that knowledge somehow or she was testing Lawrence based on his response to being asked such a question.
If Holo had been with him, he would have had an advantage, but as it was, he felt like he was being cornered.
The situation was frustrating, but he would have to go on the defensive.
"I've heard Rigolo is the town's chronicler. I'd like to ask him to let me see any of the old tales of Lenos."
The subject of fur was too delicate to broach. As long as he couldn't see Eve's expression, it was dangerous to bring up. He had no clock to hide behind, so it would be easy for her to see if he was being too guarded.
Nonetheless, Eve seemed to detect a certain truth to Lawrence's words. "Now that's a strange reason. And here I was sure you'd want information on the fur trade."

Output:
"It's true that the man's study is piled high with volumes passed down over the generations. His dream is to be able to spend his days reading them, I hear. He's always going on about how he wants to resign his position as secretary to the Council of Fifty."
"Is that so?"
"Quite. He's not a very sociable fellow to begin with, but his position means he knows all the ins and outs of the council, so there's no end of people trying to cozy up to him. If you tried to just go and see him now, he'd give you the evil eye and send you away at the gate."
Admirably, Lawrence managed a neutral "I see," but he doubted that Eve thought he was as neutral as he tried to seem.
Eve was, after all, hinting that she would be able to introduce Lawrence to Rigolo.
"Oh, indeed. So if that's what you're interested in, I do quite a bit of trade with the church here. Rigolo normally works as a scribe for the church, you see. I've known him for some time."
Lawrence did not question her.
If he was to do so, there was the danger that he would reveal his own motivations, which she would easily be able to see.
So he spoke the plain truth.
"It would certainly be of great help to me if you could arrange for me to see those records," Lawrence said.
The corner of Eve's mouth might have quirked for just a moment, but perhaps it was just his imagination.
She seemed to be enjoying something about this exchange.
"Aren't you going to ask me what I trade in?"
"You didn't inquire after the occupation of my companion so I'll extend you the same courtesy."
This conversation made Lawrence nervous in a way entirely different from his exchanges with Holo.
And yet this is fun, he thought to himself, which is why when a chuckle echoed through the room, he didn't realize it wasn't from him for a moment.
"Heh-heh-heh. Excellent. Excellent indeed! More than a few times have I hoped to meet a young merchant with a female companion, but I'm truly glad I spoke up, Lawrence! I don't know whether you're as remarkable as you seem, but you're surely not some two-copper peddler."
"I'm honored by your compliments, but I'd ask you to wait a moment before shaking my hand."
Eve grinned.
Her smile reminded him so much of a certain someone that he half expected to see sharp canines bared.
"I know you're not some sweaty-palmed fool," said Eve. "Your face has been unreadable from the start. I can see why old man Arold likes you."
Lawrence accepted the flattery. "Well then, instead of asking what it is you deal in, might I ask a different question?"
Eve still smiled, but Lawrence was quite sure her smile did not reach her eyes.
"And what might that be?"
"How much will your introduction fee be?" Lawrence dropped a pebble into the dark and bottomless well.
How deep was it? And was there water in the bottom?
Presently the sound echoed back to him.
"I'll ask for neither coin nor goods."
Lawrence wondered if she was thirsty, but she offered him the pitcher as she continued.
"All I ask is that you chat with me."
The wetly sentimental echo had returned.
Lawrence wiped his face clean of any emotion as he coolly regarded Eve and her statement.
Eve chuckled and shrugged. "You're good. But no, it's not a lie. It's only natural you'd think it strange, but someone I can talk to without hiding the fact that I'm a woman—and a merchant, to boot—is worth more than limar gold."
"But less than lumione?"
Her reaction to some teasing would reveal the depth of her character.
Eve seemed to know this. "I'm a merchant. In the end, money is what matters most," she replied with an even smile.
Lawrence laughed.
With someone like this to talk to, he could easily chat all night.
"But I don't know what sort your companion is. I prefer my conversations uninterrupted. A sulky companion spoils the wine."
Lawrence searched his memory. Was Holo the sort to be jealous over such things?
He felt like she had been somewhat irritated by Norah the shepherdess, but had that not been because of her profession?


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"It's true that the man's study is piled high with volumes passed down over the generations. His dream is to be able to spend his days reading them, I hear. He's always going on about how he wants to resign his position as secretary to the Council of Fifty."
"Is that so?"
"Quite. He's not a very sociable fellow to begin with, but his position means he knows all the ins and outs of the council, so there's no end of people trying to cozy up to him. If you tried to just go and see him now, he'd give you the evil eye and send you away at the gate."
Admirably, Lawrence managed a neutral "I see," but he doubted that Eve thought he was as neutral as he tried to seem.
Eve was, after all, hinting that she would be able to introduce Lawrence to Rigolo.
"Oh, indeed. So if that's what you're interested in, I do quite a bit of trade with the church here. Rigolo normally works as a scribe for the church, you see. I've known him for some time."
Lawrence did not question her.
If he was to do so, there was the danger that he would reveal his own motivations, which she would easily be able to see.
So he spoke the plain truth.
"It would certainly be of great help to me if you could arrange for me to see those records," Lawrence said.
The corner of Eve's mouth might have quirked for just a moment, but perhaps it was just his imagination.
She seemed to be enjoying something about this exchange.
"Aren't you going to ask me what I trade in?"
"You didn't inquire after the occupation of my companion so I'll extend you the same courtesy."
This conversation made Lawrence nervous in a way entirely different from his exchanges with Holo.
And yet this is fun, he thought to himself, which is why when a chuckle echoed through the room, he didn't realize it wasn't from him for a moment.
"Heh-heh-heh. Excellent. Excellent indeed! More than a few times have I hoped to meet a young merchant with a female companion, but I'm truly glad I spoke up, Lawrence! I don't know whether you're as remarkable as you seem, but you're surely not some two-copper peddler."
"I'm honored by your compliments, but I'd ask you to wait a moment before shaking my hand."
Eve grinned.
Her smile reminded him so much of a certain someone that he half expected to see sharp canines bared.
"I know you're not some sweaty-palmed fool," said Eve. "Your face has been unreadable from the start. I can see why old man Arold likes you."
Lawrence accepted the flattery. "Well then, instead of asking what it is you deal in, might I ask a different question?"
Eve still smiled, but Lawrence was quite sure her smile did not reach her eyes.
"And what might that be?"
"How much will your introduction fee be?" Lawrence dropped a pebble into the dark and bottomless well.
How deep was it? And was there water in the bottom?
Presently the sound echoed back to him.
"I'll ask for neither coin nor goods."
Lawrence wondered if she was thirsty, but she offered him the pitcher as she continued.
"All I ask is that you chat with me."
The wetly sentimental echo had returned.
Lawrence wiped his face clean of any emotion as he coolly regarded Eve and her statement.
Eve chuckled and shrugged. "You're good. But no, it's not a lie. It's only natural you'd think it strange, but someone I can talk to without hiding the fact that I'm a woman—and a merchant, to boot—is worth more than limar gold."
"But less than lumione?"
Her reaction to some teasing would reveal the depth of her character.
Eve seemed to know this. "I'm a merchant. In the end, money is what matters most," she replied with an even smile.
Lawrence laughed.
With someone like this to talk to, he could easily chat all night.
"But I don't know what sort your companion is. I prefer my conversations uninterrupted. A sulky companion spoils the wine."
Lawrence searched his memory. Was Holo the sort to be jealous over such things?
He felt like she had been somewhat irritated by Norah the shepherdess, but had that not been because of her profession?

Output:
"Oh? Nothing is more mysterious than the heart of a woman. I myself don't understand a whit of what they talk about."
Lawrence opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.
Eve chuckled. "Still, I'm here for business. I can't afford to waste time, but if we get along, then I'd be pleased to have your acquaintance. I may look harsh—"
"—But you're actually talkative and sociable, right?"
At Lawrence's counterattack, Eve laughed, her shoulders shaking with girlish delight despite her low, hoarse voice. "Ha, quite right."
Her words were casual, but they had the tone of sincerity.
Lawrence had no notion of how a single woman would come to tread the path of the merchant, but any woman who could swim in the whirlpools of avarice that made up the mercantile world was a force to be reckoned with. No doubt she avoided casual conversation out of simple self-defense.
He took a drink of wine from the pitcher, then stood and headed for the stairs to the third floor. "Well, so long as my companion isn't jealous," he said.
"That's a terrible condition, indeed."
The two merchants smiled wordlessly at each other.
The council meeting would end shortly before nightfall. Eve had business to attend to and could not accompany Lawrence and Holo, but she went on ahead to speak to Rigolo's family on their behalf.
So after taking a moderate recess after midday, Lawrence and Holo left the inn.
Rigolo's house was apparently slightly north of the center of town.
That particular district seemed relatively wealthy, given the stone foundations and ground floors of the buildings there, but the ambience was nonetheless poor. Many houses had been repeatedly expanded with carpentry, and their walls jutted into the street, almost meeting overhead.
The area seemed to have once been a wealthy neighborhood but had declined over time.
While families who had been prosperous for generations knew that money did not always bring happiness, the nouveau riche were different. So long as they had money, they wished to flaunt it by expanding their homes.
That was all fine and good, but those expansions ruined the atmosphere of the neighborhood. Stray dogs and beggars began to wander the ever-dim streets.
When that happened, the truly wealthy moved elsewhere, and the value of homes in the area fell, and with that value went the quality of the neighborhood. Once it had been mostly moneylenders and masters of middling trade companies that lived here, but now the area was populated by apprentice craftsmen and market stall owners.
"Quite a cramped street this," said Holo.
Perhaps owing to the weight of the buildings on either side of it, the street was warped and buckled, and here and there cobblestones were missing, perhaps having been pried free and sold off by someone hurting for money. Water would then pool in the holes left behind, contributing to the feeling of general disrepair, an impression that the narrowness of the lane only heightened.
Lawrence couldn't walk side by side with Holo, and if someone was to come the other way, they would have to flatten themselves against the wall in order to pass.
"I'll admit it's inconvenient," Lawrence said, "but I like this kind of disorderly place."
"Oh ho."
"You can really feel how it comes out of years and years of change. Just like a beat-up old tool that gradually takes on a different shape over time, turning into something unique."
Lawrence looked back at Holo who walked behind him. She traced her fingers along the walls as she followed.
"Like the way a river changes shape?"
"...I'm sorry to say I don't follow your comparison."
"Mm. In that case...like the way the heart changes shape. The soul, is it called?"


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"Oh? Nothing is more mysterious than the heart of a woman. I myself don't understand a whit of what they talk about."
Lawrence opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.
Eve chuckled. "Still, I'm here for business. I can't afford to waste time, but if we get along, then I'd be pleased to have your acquaintance. I may look harsh—"
"—But you're actually talkative and sociable, right?"
At Lawrence's counterattack, Eve laughed, her shoulders shaking with girlish delight despite her low, hoarse voice. "Ha, quite right."
Her words were casual, but they had the tone of sincerity.
Lawrence had no notion of how a single woman would come to tread the path of the merchant, but any woman who could swim in the whirlpools of avarice that made up the mercantile world was a force to be reckoned with. No doubt she avoided casual conversation out of simple self-defense.
He took a drink of wine from the pitcher, then stood and headed for the stairs to the third floor. "Well, so long as my companion isn't jealous," he said.
"That's a terrible condition, indeed."
The two merchants smiled wordlessly at each other.
The council meeting would end shortly before nightfall. Eve had business to attend to and could not accompany Lawrence and Holo, but she went on ahead to speak to Rigolo's family on their behalf.
So after taking a moderate recess after midday, Lawrence and Holo left the inn.
Rigolo's house was apparently slightly north of the center of town.
That particular district seemed relatively wealthy, given the stone foundations and ground floors of the buildings there, but the ambience was nonetheless poor. Many houses had been repeatedly expanded with carpentry, and their walls jutted into the street, almost meeting overhead.
The area seemed to have once been a wealthy neighborhood but had declined over time.
While families who had been prosperous for generations knew that money did not always bring happiness, the nouveau riche were different. So long as they had money, they wished to flaunt it by expanding their homes.
That was all fine and good, but those expansions ruined the atmosphere of the neighborhood. Stray dogs and beggars began to wander the ever-dim streets.
When that happened, the truly wealthy moved elsewhere, and the value of homes in the area fell, and with that value went the quality of the neighborhood. Once it had been mostly moneylenders and masters of middling trade companies that lived here, but now the area was populated by apprentice craftsmen and market stall owners.
"Quite a cramped street this," said Holo.
Perhaps owing to the weight of the buildings on either side of it, the street was warped and buckled, and here and there cobblestones were missing, perhaps having been pried free and sold off by someone hurting for money. Water would then pool in the holes left behind, contributing to the feeling of general disrepair, an impression that the narrowness of the lane only heightened.
Lawrence couldn't walk side by side with Holo, and if someone was to come the other way, they would have to flatten themselves against the wall in order to pass.
"I'll admit it's inconvenient," Lawrence said, "but I like this kind of disorderly place."
"Oh ho."
"You can really feel how it comes out of years and years of change. Just like a beat-up old tool that gradually takes on a different shape over time, turning into something unique."
Lawrence looked back at Holo who walked behind him. She traced her fingers along the walls as she followed.
"Like the way a river changes shape?"
"...I'm sorry to say I don't follow your comparison."
"Mm. In that case...like the way the heart changes shape. The soul, is it called?"

Output:
As Lawrence and Holo walked, they encountered one of the large puddles that dotted the lane. Lawrence crossed with a single bound first, then turned and extended his hand to Holo.
"Milady," he said with courtesy. Holo offered her hand with exaggerated magnanimity in reply, hopping over the puddle to land next to Lawrence.
"And what would your soul look like, eh?" she asked.
"Mm?"
"No doubt it would be tinged with my color."
Lawrence no longer flinched at the chestnut-red eyes that looked up at him.
Their effect on him was indeed fading.
Lawrence shrugged and resumed walking. "I'd say poisoned is a better word than colored."
"Then 'tis a potent poison, indeed," said Holo over her shoulder haughtily as she ran ahead. "After all, my smile still knocks you right over."
"So what color is your soul?" shot back Lawrence, still and always impressed with her wit.
"What color?" Holo repeated, then looked ahead as if pondering the matter. She slowed for a moment, and Lawrence caught up to her from behind. The street was too narrow for him to pass, so he simply peered down at her.
She muttered, apparently counting something on her fingers. "Hmm," she intoned. She then noticed Lawrence looking over her shoulder and tilted her head up, leaning back into him a bit. "There are many."
"...Oh."
For a moment, Lawrence didn't follow her meaning, but then he understood that she was referring to the history of her romances.
Holo had lived for centuries, so it stood to reason that she would have experienced love once or twice. Given her clever wit, no doubt some of her partners had been human.
With Holo blocking the path ahead, Lawrence lightly pushed her small back, urging her forward.
Holo obediently began to walk.
They usually walked side by side, so Lawrence had few opportunities to see her form from behind. It was strangely novel.
Seen from behind, she was slender, the lines of her body lovely even through the thick clothes she wore. Her strides were neither too long nor too quick; the word graceful came to Lawrence's mind. There was also something lonely about her form, something soft when embraced.
Is this what is was to feel protective? Lawrence wondered with a self-deprecating smile but was suddenly filled with doubt.
Holo had ticked the numbers off on her fingers, but just how many men had held her slender shoulders?
He wondered what her expression had been like. Had she been pleased? Had she narrowed her eyes, being coy? Or had her ears twitched and her tail swished to and fro as she was unable to conceal her happiness?
They had held hands, embraced...Holo was not a child, after all...
Who else has she had? Lawrence thought to himself.
***
As soon as the thought appeared in his mind, he hurried to dismiss it. An awful tongue of flame reached up from the depths of his heart.
His chest pounded as though he had fallen from a cliff. The shock was like touching a hot coal, thinking the fire had gone out, only to be badly burned.
She had counted them off on her fingers.
It was the most obvious thing in the world, but as she ticked off each finger in his imagination, something deep in him collapsed, leaving only a smoldering anger.
The feeling was unmistakable.
It was the blackest jealousy.
Lawrence was annoyed with himself. It was incredibly selfish of him, even if he had been born to the avarice that leads one to take on the occupation of merchant.
But the love of money was nothing compared to this feeling.
So it was that when Holo turned to him with accusation in her eyes, this had a deeper effect on him than any clergyman's sermon ever could.
"So, have you finished your introspection?"
"...You see through just about everything, don't you?" he answered wearily.
His heart felt so heavy it made him want to sit and rest.
But surprisingly, Holo smiled, showing her sharp canines. "I'm no better myself, though."
***
"You simply sounded so happy, so desperately happy, to speak with someone without so much as a hint of charm—"


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
As Lawrence and Holo walked, they encountered one of the large puddles that dotted the lane. Lawrence crossed with a single bound first, then turned and extended his hand to Holo.
"Milady," he said with courtesy. Holo offered her hand with exaggerated magnanimity in reply, hopping over the puddle to land next to Lawrence.
"And what would your soul look like, eh?" she asked.
"Mm?"
"No doubt it would be tinged with my color."
Lawrence no longer flinched at the chestnut-red eyes that looked up at him.
Their effect on him was indeed fading.
Lawrence shrugged and resumed walking. "I'd say poisoned is a better word than colored."
"Then 'tis a potent poison, indeed," said Holo over her shoulder haughtily as she ran ahead. "After all, my smile still knocks you right over."
"So what color is your soul?" shot back Lawrence, still and always impressed with her wit.
"What color?" Holo repeated, then looked ahead as if pondering the matter. She slowed for a moment, and Lawrence caught up to her from behind. The street was too narrow for him to pass, so he simply peered down at her.
She muttered, apparently counting something on her fingers. "Hmm," she intoned. She then noticed Lawrence looking over her shoulder and tilted her head up, leaning back into him a bit. "There are many."
"...Oh."
For a moment, Lawrence didn't follow her meaning, but then he understood that she was referring to the history of her romances.
Holo had lived for centuries, so it stood to reason that she would have experienced love once or twice. Given her clever wit, no doubt some of her partners had been human.
With Holo blocking the path ahead, Lawrence lightly pushed her small back, urging her forward.
Holo obediently began to walk.
They usually walked side by side, so Lawrence had few opportunities to see her form from behind. It was strangely novel.
Seen from behind, she was slender, the lines of her body lovely even through the thick clothes she wore. Her strides were neither too long nor too quick; the word graceful came to Lawrence's mind. There was also something lonely about her form, something soft when embraced.
Is this what is was to feel protective? Lawrence wondered with a self-deprecating smile but was suddenly filled with doubt.
Holo had ticked the numbers off on her fingers, but just how many men had held her slender shoulders?
He wondered what her expression had been like. Had she been pleased? Had she narrowed her eyes, being coy? Or had her ears twitched and her tail swished to and fro as she was unable to conceal her happiness?
They had held hands, embraced...Holo was not a child, after all...
Who else has she had? Lawrence thought to himself.
***
As soon as the thought appeared in his mind, he hurried to dismiss it. An awful tongue of flame reached up from the depths of his heart.
His chest pounded as though he had fallen from a cliff. The shock was like touching a hot coal, thinking the fire had gone out, only to be badly burned.
She had counted them off on her fingers.
It was the most obvious thing in the world, but as she ticked off each finger in his imagination, something deep in him collapsed, leaving only a smoldering anger.
The feeling was unmistakable.
It was the blackest jealousy.
Lawrence was annoyed with himself. It was incredibly selfish of him, even if he had been born to the avarice that leads one to take on the occupation of merchant.
But the love of money was nothing compared to this feeling.
So it was that when Holo turned to him with accusation in her eyes, this had a deeper effect on him than any clergyman's sermon ever could.
"So, have you finished your introspection?"
"...You see through just about everything, don't you?" he answered wearily.
His heart felt so heavy it made him want to sit and rest.
But surprisingly, Holo smiled, showing her sharp canines. "I'm no better myself, though."
***
"You simply sounded so happy, so desperately happy, to speak with someone without so much as a hint of charm—"

Output:
He had seen her angry face any number of times before, but this one had a particularly savage edge to it.
She is a wisewolf, Lawrence reminded himself.
"Would it make sense if I said I enjoyed it as a merchant?" he asked, trying to offer an excuse.
Holo stopped, then started walking again once Lawrence had closed the gap between them.
"Do you want me to ask you which is more important—money or me?"
That line was among the top three things that a lonely traveling merchant would dream of hearing from a woman.
And it was a problem that would cause any merchant to tear his heart out in frustration.
Lawrence raised both hands in defeat.
"To be sure, the reason I would be angry is not one whit different from what you're thinking. 'Tis an utterly selfish, childish notion. But the two of us have our wits; we can speak of this. Thus, I am not angry."
***
Holo was a wisewolf of long experience.
Lawrence could not hope to cross swords with her.
For a while, he searched his small vocabulary for some suitable response but found nothing. "What I'm thinking is that it's not fair of me."
"Truly?"
Lies were hopeless against Holo.
"Truly."
She did not turn around at his answer.
He was not certain that it had been the right one.
Holo continued to walk quietly, gracefully, finally coming to a fork in the road. According to the directions they had received from Eve, they needed to bear right.
Lawrence didn't feel good about it, but since Holo had stopped, he spoke up.
"We head right here."
"Mm." Holo turned to face him. "So this is the fork in the road."
Lawrence did not ask which road was forking.
Evidently that had been the first barrier. Holo's right eyebrow moved slightly.
"How do you resolve your selfish jealously toward me?"
Was she now asking questions that sounded like they had come from some clergyman of the Church?
Outwardly the right thing to do was to lose this black, selfish feeling, but inwardly Lawrence knew it would not disappear so easily.
He looked back at Holo, a bitter expression on his face.
This was Holo the Wisewolf. He could not imagine that she would corner him with questions like this for no good reason.
In other words, even if the answer was wrong for nearly everyone, there was something that would be correct for Holo.
But how to reach it?
Lawrence's mind raced.
Holo had said just a moment ago that she was the same as him.
So the answer, he reasoned, must be within Holo as he saw her.
The most difficult problem for him might be the easiest thing in the world for someone else to solve.
Holo was also having trouble dealing with her jealously.
And Holo herself wanted to know how to resolve it, did she not?
So given that, all Lawrence needed to do was consider the problem from the outside, and the answer would come naturally.
He opened his mouth to speak and saw Holo steady herself in preparation. "My answer is that there is no way to resolve it."
It was a single ripple in the smooth surface of a lake.
He tossed another pebble into that lake, trying to bring expression back to Holo's face.
"And it makes you hate yourself."
Neither defiance nor selflessness was the correct response, he thought.
If he imagined that Holo was the jealous one rather than himself, it was the most natural thing in the world, and it was actually quite nice to be the object of that jealously.
After all, jealousy was nothing more than wanting to have someone all to yourself, so how could it be anything but flattering as long as it wasn't excessive?
Hence Lawrence's answer, but Holo still remained expressionless.
Lawrence did not look away. He was certain this was the final barrier.
"Hmph. So we bear right, do we?" she said with a smile, cocking her head. At this, Lawrence couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. "Still," she added, giggling.
"What?"
"Jealousy and self-hatred, eh? Indeed," said Holo with a smirk.
This struck him as rather unnatural, and by the time he started walking down the right-hand path, he had fallen behind Holo.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
He had seen her angry face any number of times before, but this one had a particularly savage edge to it.
She is a wisewolf, Lawrence reminded himself.
"Would it make sense if I said I enjoyed it as a merchant?" he asked, trying to offer an excuse.
Holo stopped, then started walking again once Lawrence had closed the gap between them.
"Do you want me to ask you which is more important—money or me?"
That line was among the top three things that a lonely traveling merchant would dream of hearing from a woman.
And it was a problem that would cause any merchant to tear his heart out in frustration.
Lawrence raised both hands in defeat.
"To be sure, the reason I would be angry is not one whit different from what you're thinking. 'Tis an utterly selfish, childish notion. But the two of us have our wits; we can speak of this. Thus, I am not angry."
***
Holo was a wisewolf of long experience.
Lawrence could not hope to cross swords with her.
For a while, he searched his small vocabulary for some suitable response but found nothing. "What I'm thinking is that it's not fair of me."
"Truly?"
Lies were hopeless against Holo.
"Truly."
She did not turn around at his answer.
He was not certain that it had been the right one.
Holo continued to walk quietly, gracefully, finally coming to a fork in the road. According to the directions they had received from Eve, they needed to bear right.
Lawrence didn't feel good about it, but since Holo had stopped, he spoke up.
"We head right here."
"Mm." Holo turned to face him. "So this is the fork in the road."
Lawrence did not ask which road was forking.
Evidently that had been the first barrier. Holo's right eyebrow moved slightly.
"How do you resolve your selfish jealously toward me?"
Was she now asking questions that sounded like they had come from some clergyman of the Church?
Outwardly the right thing to do was to lose this black, selfish feeling, but inwardly Lawrence knew it would not disappear so easily.
He looked back at Holo, a bitter expression on his face.
This was Holo the Wisewolf. He could not imagine that she would corner him with questions like this for no good reason.
In other words, even if the answer was wrong for nearly everyone, there was something that would be correct for Holo.
But how to reach it?
Lawrence's mind raced.
Holo had said just a moment ago that she was the same as him.
So the answer, he reasoned, must be within Holo as he saw her.
The most difficult problem for him might be the easiest thing in the world for someone else to solve.
Holo was also having trouble dealing with her jealously.
And Holo herself wanted to know how to resolve it, did she not?
So given that, all Lawrence needed to do was consider the problem from the outside, and the answer would come naturally.
He opened his mouth to speak and saw Holo steady herself in preparation. "My answer is that there is no way to resolve it."
It was a single ripple in the smooth surface of a lake.
He tossed another pebble into that lake, trying to bring expression back to Holo's face.
"And it makes you hate yourself."
Neither defiance nor selflessness was the correct response, he thought.
If he imagined that Holo was the jealous one rather than himself, it was the most natural thing in the world, and it was actually quite nice to be the object of that jealously.
After all, jealousy was nothing more than wanting to have someone all to yourself, so how could it be anything but flattering as long as it wasn't excessive?
Hence Lawrence's answer, but Holo still remained expressionless.
Lawrence did not look away. He was certain this was the final barrier.
"Hmph. So we bear right, do we?" she said with a smile, cocking her head. At this, Lawrence couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. "Still," she added, giggling.
"What?"
"Jealousy and self-hatred, eh? Indeed," said Holo with a smirk.
This struck him as rather unnatural, and by the time he started walking down the right-hand path, he had fallen behind Holo.

Output:
If Lawrence had really managed to produce an answer that satisfied her, Holo shouldn't have been smirking like this. He'd anticipated either a smile of happy relief or an out-and-out scowl.
So what did this mischievous smile portend?
Lawrence felt his face flushing. He had turned red so many times that day that he began to worry the color would stick.
Holo giggled. "Have you figured it out, then?" she inquired over her shoulder. "You agonized over the problem, reversed the positions in your head, and arrived at the answer. 'Twas plain as day on your face. But if you'd thought about it a bit, you'd see. When someone comes to you for advice, the answer you think is correct is what you want him or her to be. Which means?"
Indeed.
Holo had not been waiting for Lawrence's words to solve her problems.
She had, in fact, been waiting for him to reveal his own feelings.
"You become jealous and agonize over it. Is that what you wish from me, so that you can play the role of offering your hand in consolation? Should I now collapse into charming tears of self-recrimination, pathetically clinging to the hand you so generously offer?"
"Urgh—"
So this was what it was like to have one's heart laid bare.
He felt like a shamed maiden, covering her face with her hands.
The sharp-fanged wolf glided smoothly to his side.
And yet there was some solace in seeing that Holo did this not simply for her own enjoyment.
Even Lawrence could tell that much.
Holo had been truly jealous about his enjoyable chat with Eve, and this conversation was something of a diversion.
"Hmph. Come, let's go," Holo said, perhaps reading Lawrence's unguarded expression. "We can leave it at this," she seemed to be saying.
Surely her mood had improved with all of this, and she would probably be more generous about him enjoying the odd merchant-to-merchant chat with Eve.
Lawrence couldn't help feeling that he had been careless, though.
He had allowed his deepest wishes to be hauled out for all to see.
"So then," said Holo beside him, her tone completely casual. The atmosphere was still poor, but the street had widened enough for the two of them to walk side by side. "In truth, I'm asking you this simply because I want to tease you, but..."
Even given a warning like this, Lawrence felt like a hare waiting for the slaughter.
"Do you want to know how many I counted off?"
Her pure, innocent smile came down upon him like a giant meat cleaver.
"I've been reminded just how small and fragile my own heart is" was all the battered Lawrence could manage, but this seemed to satisfy Holo.
Sadistic satisfaction was written large all over her face as she clung to his arm. "Well, I have to get my claws into that fragile heart of yours before it freezes solid."
Lawrence looked down at her, unable to manage any sort of response.
Unbelievably, her smiling face was like that of a winsome girl, pleased at her own mischief.
But even the worst nightmare eventually comes to an end.
Once they found the house that Eve had described to Lawrence with the green copper signboard cut in the shape of a three-legged chicken, Holo abandoned her harassment.
"Well then," said Lawrence to break the silence, his tone strangely light after the frustrating, embarrassing conversation that had preceded it. "I'm told this Rigolo is a difficult character, so let's be careful."
Holo nodded her assent as she walked alongside him, still holding on to his arm. "I suppose this ends our lovely, dreamlike exchange. We're now back to boring reality."
Lawrence had no idea exactly how serious this murmured statement was. "In that case, feel free to go back to the inn and sleep," he shot back under his breath.
"Mm...that might be nice. Of course, it wouldn't be sheep that I count as I fall asleep..."
Holo still held the upper hand when it came to being nasty.
But now that the subject had come up, Lawrence felt strangely emboldened. "Oh? So how many men have there been?"


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
If Lawrence had really managed to produce an answer that satisfied her, Holo shouldn't have been smirking like this. He'd anticipated either a smile of happy relief or an out-and-out scowl.
So what did this mischievous smile portend?
Lawrence felt his face flushing. He had turned red so many times that day that he began to worry the color would stick.
Holo giggled. "Have you figured it out, then?" she inquired over her shoulder. "You agonized over the problem, reversed the positions in your head, and arrived at the answer. 'Twas plain as day on your face. But if you'd thought about it a bit, you'd see. When someone comes to you for advice, the answer you think is correct is what you want him or her to be. Which means?"
Indeed.
Holo had not been waiting for Lawrence's words to solve her problems.
She had, in fact, been waiting for him to reveal his own feelings.
"You become jealous and agonize over it. Is that what you wish from me, so that you can play the role of offering your hand in consolation? Should I now collapse into charming tears of self-recrimination, pathetically clinging to the hand you so generously offer?"
"Urgh—"
So this was what it was like to have one's heart laid bare.
He felt like a shamed maiden, covering her face with her hands.
The sharp-fanged wolf glided smoothly to his side.
And yet there was some solace in seeing that Holo did this not simply for her own enjoyment.
Even Lawrence could tell that much.
Holo had been truly jealous about his enjoyable chat with Eve, and this conversation was something of a diversion.
"Hmph. Come, let's go," Holo said, perhaps reading Lawrence's unguarded expression. "We can leave it at this," she seemed to be saying.
Surely her mood had improved with all of this, and she would probably be more generous about him enjoying the odd merchant-to-merchant chat with Eve.
Lawrence couldn't help feeling that he had been careless, though.
He had allowed his deepest wishes to be hauled out for all to see.
"So then," said Holo beside him, her tone completely casual. The atmosphere was still poor, but the street had widened enough for the two of them to walk side by side. "In truth, I'm asking you this simply because I want to tease you, but..."
Even given a warning like this, Lawrence felt like a hare waiting for the slaughter.
"Do you want to know how many I counted off?"
Her pure, innocent smile came down upon him like a giant meat cleaver.
"I've been reminded just how small and fragile my own heart is" was all the battered Lawrence could manage, but this seemed to satisfy Holo.
Sadistic satisfaction was written large all over her face as she clung to his arm. "Well, I have to get my claws into that fragile heart of yours before it freezes solid."
Lawrence looked down at her, unable to manage any sort of response.
Unbelievably, her smiling face was like that of a winsome girl, pleased at her own mischief.
But even the worst nightmare eventually comes to an end.
Once they found the house that Eve had described to Lawrence with the green copper signboard cut in the shape of a three-legged chicken, Holo abandoned her harassment.
"Well then," said Lawrence to break the silence, his tone strangely light after the frustrating, embarrassing conversation that had preceded it. "I'm told this Rigolo is a difficult character, so let's be careful."
Holo nodded her assent as she walked alongside him, still holding on to his arm. "I suppose this ends our lovely, dreamlike exchange. We're now back to boring reality."
Lawrence had no idea exactly how serious this murmured statement was. "In that case, feel free to go back to the inn and sleep," he shot back under his breath.
"Mm...that might be nice. Of course, it wouldn't be sheep that I count as I fall asleep..."
Holo still held the upper hand when it came to being nasty.
But now that the subject had come up, Lawrence felt strangely emboldened. "Oh? So how many men have there been?"

Output:
She had randomly brought the subject up, after all, so the answer might well have been zero.
To suggest that some part of him didn't hope that was true would also be a lie.
But Holo said nothing in response to the question. Her expression was blank, and she didn't so much as tremble. This made her look like a perfect, untouched doll.
Once he realized it was an act, Lawrence knew he couldn't win.
"Men are fools, and I am their king," he finally said. Holo came back to life and seemed quite tickled. Lawrence slumped in defeat, smiling.
The three-legged chicken that hung from the eaves of the Rigolo house was carved in the image of the chicken that had long ago predicted the flooding of the Roam River, which flowed by Lenos.
The Church claimed it was a messenger from God, but according to the tale, the flood had been predicted by the position of the stars, moon, and sun—in other words, by the astronomical records of the time.
Ever since, the three-legged chicken had become a symbol of wisdom.
Perhaps the Rigolo family, who had apparently served as chroniclers for ages, hoped that the monotonous records they kept would one day act as guideposts, pointing the way to the future.
Lawrence rapped on the door using the silver-plated knocker, clearing his throat.
Their introduction from Eve should have already arrived, but even Eve, whose negotiation skills were considerable, claimed that Rigolo was a tough nut to crack. Lawrence couldn't help feeling nervous.
Behind him, Holo had neglected to continue holding his hand, but her presence was embarrassingly reassuring.
It was possible that he hadn't been overwhelmed by Eve earlier precisely because he'd met Holo and it was her companionship that enabled him to think this way. Before meeting Holo, the only person Lawrence had been able to count on was himself. He had been filled with both a burning desire to win and a terrible fear of losing.
Was it better or worse to have friends to count on? Just as Lawrence considered this question, the door slowly opened.
That moment—the instant between the opening of the door to the point where he could see the person's face—was the most nerve-racking of all.
And as the door swung wide, an aged, bearded old man—
—did not stand behind it.
"May I ask who is calling?"
Lawrence was surprised by the figure that opened the door, but it was not a nervous surprise.
She couldn't have been more than twenty, head covered all the way to her alabaster brow in the delicate cloth of a simple black habit. She was a nun.
"I believe Eve Bolan explained that we were coming."
"Ah, we have been expecting you. Do come in."
Lawrence purposefully avoided introducing himself, but this nun was either a particularly nice person, or Eve was a particularly trusted person.
Unable to know which was the truth, Lawrence did as he was bidden, entering the house with Holo behind him.
"Please feel free to sit and wait here."
Upon entering the house, they immediately found themselves in a sitting room with a faded carpet on the floor.
None of the age-faded furnishings were particularly grand, and they spoke clearly of the house's master's long tenure in the area.
The first chronicler Lawrence had ever met was Diana in the pagan town of Kumersun, so he had expected this place to be as cluttered as Diana's was—but no, it was surprisingly tidy.
Instead of books crammed into every shelf, there were stuffed toys and works of embroidery, along with a small statue of the Holy Mother that a girl would be able to carry easily. Beside the statue hung bulbs of garlic and onion. The only things that suggested this house belonged to a chronicler were the quill pens and ink bottles and a small, sand-filled chest used for drying inked pages, along with parchments and bundles of paper tucked away in unobtrusive corners.
Holo gazed around the room, her expression of mild surprise suggesting that she'd had similar expectations.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
She had randomly brought the subject up, after all, so the answer might well have been zero.
To suggest that some part of him didn't hope that was true would also be a lie.
But Holo said nothing in response to the question. Her expression was blank, and she didn't so much as tremble. This made her look like a perfect, untouched doll.
Once he realized it was an act, Lawrence knew he couldn't win.
"Men are fools, and I am their king," he finally said. Holo came back to life and seemed quite tickled. Lawrence slumped in defeat, smiling.
The three-legged chicken that hung from the eaves of the Rigolo house was carved in the image of the chicken that had long ago predicted the flooding of the Roam River, which flowed by Lenos.
The Church claimed it was a messenger from God, but according to the tale, the flood had been predicted by the position of the stars, moon, and sun—in other words, by the astronomical records of the time.
Ever since, the three-legged chicken had become a symbol of wisdom.
Perhaps the Rigolo family, who had apparently served as chroniclers for ages, hoped that the monotonous records they kept would one day act as guideposts, pointing the way to the future.
Lawrence rapped on the door using the silver-plated knocker, clearing his throat.
Their introduction from Eve should have already arrived, but even Eve, whose negotiation skills were considerable, claimed that Rigolo was a tough nut to crack. Lawrence couldn't help feeling nervous.
Behind him, Holo had neglected to continue holding his hand, but her presence was embarrassingly reassuring.
It was possible that he hadn't been overwhelmed by Eve earlier precisely because he'd met Holo and it was her companionship that enabled him to think this way. Before meeting Holo, the only person Lawrence had been able to count on was himself. He had been filled with both a burning desire to win and a terrible fear of losing.
Was it better or worse to have friends to count on? Just as Lawrence considered this question, the door slowly opened.
That moment—the instant between the opening of the door to the point where he could see the person's face—was the most nerve-racking of all.
And as the door swung wide, an aged, bearded old man—
—did not stand behind it.
"May I ask who is calling?"
Lawrence was surprised by the figure that opened the door, but it was not a nervous surprise.
She couldn't have been more than twenty, head covered all the way to her alabaster brow in the delicate cloth of a simple black habit. She was a nun.
"I believe Eve Bolan explained that we were coming."
"Ah, we have been expecting you. Do come in."
Lawrence purposefully avoided introducing himself, but this nun was either a particularly nice person, or Eve was a particularly trusted person.
Unable to know which was the truth, Lawrence did as he was bidden, entering the house with Holo behind him.
"Please feel free to sit and wait here."
Upon entering the house, they immediately found themselves in a sitting room with a faded carpet on the floor.
None of the age-faded furnishings were particularly grand, and they spoke clearly of the house's master's long tenure in the area.
The first chronicler Lawrence had ever met was Diana in the pagan town of Kumersun, so he had expected this place to be as cluttered as Diana's was—but no, it was surprisingly tidy.
Instead of books crammed into every shelf, there were stuffed toys and works of embroidery, along with a small statue of the Holy Mother that a girl would be able to carry easily. Beside the statue hung bulbs of garlic and onion. The only things that suggested this house belonged to a chronicler were the quill pens and ink bottles and a small, sand-filled chest used for drying inked pages, along with parchments and bundles of paper tucked away in unobtrusive corners.
Holo gazed around the room, her expression of mild surprise suggesting that she'd had similar expectations.

Output:
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," said the nun when she returned.
Having heard tales of Rigolo's bad disposition from Eve, Lawrence was prepared to be kept waiting because of this or that imagined fault, but it seemed they would be able to meet him with unexpected ease.
Led by the nun with her soft smile and warm, homey manner, Lawrence and Holo continued from the sitting room down a hallway to a room deeper within the house.
Holo herself did not look completely unlike a nun, but a true nun's graceful effect came from a different source. Of course, if Holo knew he was thinking this she would give him an earful, Lawrence thought—and immediately afterward, she stomped on his foot.
No doubt she had simply been waiting for a good opportunity, but Lawrence couldn't help feeling as though she'd undone the buttons to his heart and peered about within it.
"Mr. Rigolo, we're coming in."
The nun knocked on the door as though delicately cracking an egg. There was no telling what color the yolk would be, though.
Lawrence cleared his head, and once the door opened at a muffled reply that came from within, they entered the room.
Immediately thereafter, it was Holo who, impressed, uttered a quiet "huh."
Lawrence was even more impressed and could find no words at all.
"My, what a delightful reaction! Melta, look; they are impressed!"
The nun called Melta smiled her clear, bell-like smile at the young, forceful voice that echoed throughout the room.
The room on the other side of the door was indeed every bit as cluttered as Diana's had been.
However, perhaps this could be called a calculated clutter, for beyond the stacks of books directly in front of them and the wooden bird model that hung from the ceiling was a wall made of floor-to-ceiling glass, through which sunlight flooded, revealing a verdant garden beyond. It was like being inside a cave and looking through the exit at the world beyond.
"Ha-ha-ha, impressive, is it not? With enough effort, I can keep it green year round," said a young, chestnut-haired man with a proud laugh as he emerged. He wore a collared, tailored shirt and pants without so much as a single wrinkle, fit for any noble. "Fleur told me of you—said that there were some people with a strange request to make of me."
"...Er, yes...uh, Lawrence—I mean, my name is Kraft Lawrence," said Lawrence, finally coming to his senses and taking the hand that Rigolo offered, though he couldn't pull his eyes from the magnificent garden.
It was totally invisible from any of the surrounding streets—a perfect secret garden.
The hackneyed phrase appeared in his head, and he couldn't shake it.
"My name is Rigolo Dedly. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise, I'm sure."
Rigolo's gaze fell next to Holo. "Ah, this must be the companion..."
"Name's Holo."
Not only was Holo hardly the bashful type, but also upon a first meeting, she instantly knew how to act in order to make a good impression on whomever she wished.
Far from being irritated with her high-handed self-introduction, Rigolo clapped his hands in delight, then extended one to her in greeting.
"Well then! That's it for introductions, and I've already gotten you to compliment my garden, so I'm quite satisfied. Was there something I could do for you by way of thanks, then?"
Some merchants had terrifying personalities concealed by pleasant facades, and Lawrence was not yet sure Rigolo was not similar.
Melta simply smiled as she thoughtfully brought small chairs over for Lawrence and Holo to sit in, so it seemed Rigolo was like this all the time—assuming that Melta, who gave a slight nod before leaving the room, was not a liar.
"You may have heard this from Eve Bolan, but we were hoping that you could show us any old tales of Lenos you might have records of."
"Oh ho, so it's true, then. Fleur—er, no, I suppose she goes by Eve among merchants. She's a bit too feisty, that one. Once she gets to know someone, she'll tell them all sorts of things."


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," said the nun when she returned.
Having heard tales of Rigolo's bad disposition from Eve, Lawrence was prepared to be kept waiting because of this or that imagined fault, but it seemed they would be able to meet him with unexpected ease.
Led by the nun with her soft smile and warm, homey manner, Lawrence and Holo continued from the sitting room down a hallway to a room deeper within the house.
Holo herself did not look completely unlike a nun, but a true nun's graceful effect came from a different source. Of course, if Holo knew he was thinking this she would give him an earful, Lawrence thought—and immediately afterward, she stomped on his foot.
No doubt she had simply been waiting for a good opportunity, but Lawrence couldn't help feeling as though she'd undone the buttons to his heart and peered about within it.
"Mr. Rigolo, we're coming in."
The nun knocked on the door as though delicately cracking an egg. There was no telling what color the yolk would be, though.
Lawrence cleared his head, and once the door opened at a muffled reply that came from within, they entered the room.
Immediately thereafter, it was Holo who, impressed, uttered a quiet "huh."
Lawrence was even more impressed and could find no words at all.
"My, what a delightful reaction! Melta, look; they are impressed!"
The nun called Melta smiled her clear, bell-like smile at the young, forceful voice that echoed throughout the room.
The room on the other side of the door was indeed every bit as cluttered as Diana's had been.
However, perhaps this could be called a calculated clutter, for beyond the stacks of books directly in front of them and the wooden bird model that hung from the ceiling was a wall made of floor-to-ceiling glass, through which sunlight flooded, revealing a verdant garden beyond. It was like being inside a cave and looking through the exit at the world beyond.
"Ha-ha-ha, impressive, is it not? With enough effort, I can keep it green year round," said a young, chestnut-haired man with a proud laugh as he emerged. He wore a collared, tailored shirt and pants without so much as a single wrinkle, fit for any noble. "Fleur told me of you—said that there were some people with a strange request to make of me."
"...Er, yes...uh, Lawrence—I mean, my name is Kraft Lawrence," said Lawrence, finally coming to his senses and taking the hand that Rigolo offered, though he couldn't pull his eyes from the magnificent garden.
It was totally invisible from any of the surrounding streets—a perfect secret garden.
The hackneyed phrase appeared in his head, and he couldn't shake it.
"My name is Rigolo Dedly. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise, I'm sure."
Rigolo's gaze fell next to Holo. "Ah, this must be the companion..."
"Name's Holo."
Not only was Holo hardly the bashful type, but also upon a first meeting, she instantly knew how to act in order to make a good impression on whomever she wished.
Far from being irritated with her high-handed self-introduction, Rigolo clapped his hands in delight, then extended one to her in greeting.
"Well then! That's it for introductions, and I've already gotten you to compliment my garden, so I'm quite satisfied. Was there something I could do for you by way of thanks, then?"
Some merchants had terrifying personalities concealed by pleasant facades, and Lawrence was not yet sure Rigolo was not similar.
Melta simply smiled as she thoughtfully brought small chairs over for Lawrence and Holo to sit in, so it seemed Rigolo was like this all the time—assuming that Melta, who gave a slight nod before leaving the room, was not a liar.
"You may have heard this from Eve Bolan, but we were hoping that you could show us any old tales of Lenos you might have records of."
"Oh ho, so it's true, then. Fleur—er, no, I suppose she goes by Eve among merchants. She's a bit too feisty, that one. Once she gets to know someone, she'll tell them all sorts of things."

Output:
Rigolo laughed. "Seems she's been talking again! Though the hermit part's not necessarily untrue. Lately I've been doing all I can not to see anyone. Bit misanthropic of me."
Just when his tone of voice dropped a bit, Lawrence caught a glimpse of something chilly underneath Rigolo's smile.
He was the secretary of the Council of Fifty, a group made up of the most famous and recognized people in the city. A little chilliness was hardly worth being surprised at.
"I'm a foreign merchant—is it all right for you to be speaking with me?"
"Quite. Your timing is excellent, perhaps even the will of God. Take a look at my clothes; they're like the garments a child leading a funeral procession would wear, are they not? I've just come from the council meeting. They reached a decision and were able to adjourn early."
If that was true, then this timing really was the will of God, but Lawrence felt like it was a bit early for the council to have arrived at a conclusion.
After all, Arold had said it might drag on into the spring.
Perhaps someone had forced a vote.
"Goodness, you really are every bit the merchant that the feisty little minx said you were. Didn't let your guard down for a second, did you?"
Even if Rigolo had seen through his thoughts, it was a third-rate merchant that got flustered and tried to cover it up.
Besides, Lawrence was with Holo, who could quite possibly read minds.
Holo would certainly be able to tell whether Rigolo was trying to trick him into telling the truth.
"Hmm?" Lawrence asked, feigning ignorance, but Rigolo's smile remained steady.
"When we spend all our time using wiles and tricks, we stop understanding. Just like the back of the back is the front."
He had seen through the trick and Lawrence's feigning of ignorance.
Lawrence had been fairly confident that Rigolo wouldn't see through the ruse, but Rigolo's smiling eyes were still keen.
"I'm employed as the secretary for the Council of Fifty, you see. I can look at a group of people and perceive the changes in the expressions at a glance. Even if your expression alone doesn't tell me enough, if I consider the expressions of your companion, the truth naturally comes to me."
Lawrence smiled in spite of himself. There were people in the world like this—and not all of them were notorious merchants.
Rigolo laughed. "Ah, 'tis but a parlor trick. If I meant you ill, I wouldn't lay my cards out like this. And even if I could discern your true motives, I'm still unable to convey my own demands. I'd be a failure as a merchant, would I not?"
"...Unfortunately."
"I also don't have any success with the ladies."
Lawrence smiled. He had to admit that Rigolo's skill with words was rather unmerchantlike.
As he talked like a poet from some imperial palace, Rigolo produced a brass key from within a drawer in the room's desk.
"All the old books are in the cellar." He gestured lightly with the key, indicating that they should follow him, then proceeded into an inner room.
Before following, Lawrence looked over at Holo.
"The back of the back is the front apparently," said Lawrence.
"He was even watching my face..."
"First time I've seen anyone do anything like that."
He had probably developed the ability while having to hear and transcribe all the various conflicting conversations that happened over the course of a council meeting.
In order to grasp who said what, understanding their facial expressions would be of paramount importance.
"Still, he doesn't seem malicious. More like a child. But if you had someone like that at your side, you'd be able to pass your days without any worry at all," said Holo with a smirk.
Given how many times Lawrence had fallen prey to misunderstandings with Holo, that smirk was particularly painful to see.
"Meanwhile, you are full of malice," he said, not waiting for Holo's reply before he went off to follow Rigolo.
The first floor was constructed from wood, but the cellar below it was made entirely of stone.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Rigolo laughed. "Seems she's been talking again! Though the hermit part's not necessarily untrue. Lately I've been doing all I can not to see anyone. Bit misanthropic of me."
Just when his tone of voice dropped a bit, Lawrence caught a glimpse of something chilly underneath Rigolo's smile.
He was the secretary of the Council of Fifty, a group made up of the most famous and recognized people in the city. A little chilliness was hardly worth being surprised at.
"I'm a foreign merchant—is it all right for you to be speaking with me?"
"Quite. Your timing is excellent, perhaps even the will of God. Take a look at my clothes; they're like the garments a child leading a funeral procession would wear, are they not? I've just come from the council meeting. They reached a decision and were able to adjourn early."
If that was true, then this timing really was the will of God, but Lawrence felt like it was a bit early for the council to have arrived at a conclusion.
After all, Arold had said it might drag on into the spring.
Perhaps someone had forced a vote.
"Goodness, you really are every bit the merchant that the feisty little minx said you were. Didn't let your guard down for a second, did you?"
Even if Rigolo had seen through his thoughts, it was a third-rate merchant that got flustered and tried to cover it up.
Besides, Lawrence was with Holo, who could quite possibly read minds.
Holo would certainly be able to tell whether Rigolo was trying to trick him into telling the truth.
"Hmm?" Lawrence asked, feigning ignorance, but Rigolo's smile remained steady.
"When we spend all our time using wiles and tricks, we stop understanding. Just like the back of the back is the front."
He had seen through the trick and Lawrence's feigning of ignorance.
Lawrence had been fairly confident that Rigolo wouldn't see through the ruse, but Rigolo's smiling eyes were still keen.
"I'm employed as the secretary for the Council of Fifty, you see. I can look at a group of people and perceive the changes in the expressions at a glance. Even if your expression alone doesn't tell me enough, if I consider the expressions of your companion, the truth naturally comes to me."
Lawrence smiled in spite of himself. There were people in the world like this—and not all of them were notorious merchants.
Rigolo laughed. "Ah, 'tis but a parlor trick. If I meant you ill, I wouldn't lay my cards out like this. And even if I could discern your true motives, I'm still unable to convey my own demands. I'd be a failure as a merchant, would I not?"
"...Unfortunately."
"I also don't have any success with the ladies."
Lawrence smiled. He had to admit that Rigolo's skill with words was rather unmerchantlike.
As he talked like a poet from some imperial palace, Rigolo produced a brass key from within a drawer in the room's desk.
"All the old books are in the cellar." He gestured lightly with the key, indicating that they should follow him, then proceeded into an inner room.
Before following, Lawrence looked over at Holo.
"The back of the back is the front apparently," said Lawrence.
"He was even watching my face..."
"First time I've seen anyone do anything like that."
He had probably developed the ability while having to hear and transcribe all the various conflicting conversations that happened over the course of a council meeting.
In order to grasp who said what, understanding their facial expressions would be of paramount importance.
"Still, he doesn't seem malicious. More like a child. But if you had someone like that at your side, you'd be able to pass your days without any worry at all," said Holo with a smirk.
Given how many times Lawrence had fallen prey to misunderstandings with Holo, that smirk was particularly painful to see.
"Meanwhile, you are full of malice," he said, not waiting for Holo's reply before he went off to follow Rigolo.
The first floor was constructed from wood, but the cellar below it was made entirely of stone.

Output:
But there was a huge difference between a cellar built to hide things and one built to store them.
The ceiling was high enough that Lawrence had to reach over his head to touch it, and the bookshelves that lined the walls reached from floor to ceiling.
Even more impressive, the shelves were organized by era and topic and had a numbering system.
The bindings were thin and flimsy—nothing compared to the thick, leather-bound volumes in Tereo—but the effort spent on organization was on another level entirely.
"Are fires common in this town?" Lawrence asked.
"From time to time. As you may have guessed, my ancestors had the same fear, which is why they built this place."
Although she had not been in the room that adjoined the garden, Melta seemed to have overheard the exchange there and now appeared in the cellar's entrance holding a candlestick.
Holo allowed the nun to guide her as she looked for promising books.
The pleasant light flickered in and out of visibility among the shadows of the bookshelves.
"By the way," began Rigolo once the two men were left to their own devices. "I'm the curious type, so I can't help asking. Why exactly are you searching for these ancient stories?"
Given that Rigolo hadn't asked about Holo's relationship with Lawrence, the heart of his interest was clear.
"She's searching for her origin."
"Her origin?" repeated Rigolo, the surprise obvious on his face. His powers of discernment might well have been the equal of any great merchant, but he had no control over his own expression.
"For a variety of reasons, I'm escorting her to her homeland."
If he omitted a few details, well, Rigolo could come to whatever conclusions he wished, which would allow Lawrence to avoid telling a lie while simultaneously keeping the truth at a distance.
Rigolo seemed to fall for it. "I see...So you're heading north, then?"
"Yes. We don't know the precise location, so we're trying to pinpoint it based on the stories she knows."
Rigolo nodded, a serious expression on his face.
He probably concluded that Holo had been captured in the north, then sold into slavery in the south. It was commonly said that children from the northlands were hardier and more obedient. There were also many stories of nobility whose children had died or were precariously sick and in danger of having their inheritance taken by other relatives who bought such children to adopt.
"It's not uncommon for children from the north to stay in this town. It would be best if she could return to her home," said Rigolo.
Lawrence nodded his wordless agreement.
Holo emerged from the bookshelves, holding five volumes that evidently held some promise.
"You're certainly a glutton for knowledge," said Lawrence at a loss. It was Melta, not Holo, who answered him with a smile.
"These were all we found, so I should think it would be best if you took them with you for the time being."
"I see. Here, let me carry some of those. We'll be skipping meals for three days if we drop them."
Rigolo laughed as Lawrence wound up carrying the entire stack of books, and they returned to the first floor.
"Normally I'd ask that you read them here," Rigolo said, looking at the stack of books that Melta had bound into a convenient bundle. "But I trust Fleur, and Fleur trusts you, so I shall as well. I cannot say the same for others, though..."
Anytime foreign merchants were involved, there were many reasons to be distrustful.
"I certainly understand," said Lawrence.
"But if you drop, burn, lose, or sell them, it's three days without food!"
It was a joke, but Lawrence didn't laugh. Being able to calculate the monetary value of nearly anything, he was well aware that these books were priceless.
He nodded and picked up the bundle. "I'll protect them as I would protect my most precious cargo, on my honor as a merchant."
"Right then," said Rigolo with a boyish smile.
Lawrence wondered if Eve's heart would be moved by such things.