Chapter 4
(Iris’s point of view)
Sunday morning light filled the research room.
At the window-side desk, I laid out the items for today’s experiment: the prototype “Happiness Index” — a pulse meter, an hourglass, three kinds of herbal tea, and—
“…Honey lemon water?”
From beyond the door, Roland looked a little embarrassed, holding up a silver flask.
“I read somewhere it’s good for the throat. I like your voice. I want to take care of it.”
“You’re cute.”
“Three seconds in, and you’re already saying that? That’s strong.”
Turning over the hourglass, I recorded in my observation notes:
Administered: “You’re cute” – First trial.
Roland set the flask gently on the desk, folded his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves.
Even the precise way his fingers moved was adorable in its own right.
“What are we measuring today?”
“The effects of being called ‘cute.’ I’ll record your physiological responses immediately after I say it, and the temperature difference in your speech before and after.”
“Temperature difference?”
“I think your tone gets softer right after I say ‘You’re cute.’”
“I-is that so?”
(Observation note: trembling in tone = cute.)
I handed him the pulse meter. “Please put this on your finger. We’ll begin.”
“…Alright.”
“Roland, your bangs look cute today.”
“Uh—ah, thank you. I’m still not used to being called cute.”
The pulse jumped twice, then settled.
The wave fluctuations were gentler than I expected.
(Effect: relaxation of tension. Speech speed slightly decreases, but vocal strain lessens.)
“Next, I’ll apply hand cream for you. This is ‘protective cute.’”
“Protective… cute?”
As I ran my fingers lightly across the back of his hand, Roland’s eyes darted away for a moment before returning.
(Observation note: eye-averting angle = cute.)
“My summary: When I call you cute, you calm down. Your sincerity remains intact. Positive effect confirmed.”
“You’re really calling that an ‘effect,’ huh?”
“Yes. Next clinical trial will be outdoors.”
✿
The path from the royal gardens to the market shimmered with dancing light.
Even off duty, Roland’s posture never faltered. In public, he was the perfect gentleman.
But when I nudged him gently with my elbow, he matched my pace — switching to a slower, “walk together” speed.
At the fountain square, a little child had dropped some bread and was crying.
Roland knelt down to meet the child’s eyes.
“It’s alright. The birds can share it too. Here—”
He took an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket. A tiny star stitched in pale gold at the corner.
(Cute.)
“That embroidery is cute.”
“Eh—ah, this? I sewed it myself.”
“Even cuter.”
The child stopped crying, tore a small piece of bread, and showed it to him.
Roland smiled and tore off an even smaller piece. “See? Sharing looks like this.”
(Observation note: Social-cute = miniature model of sharing / Effect: ambient friendliness increase.)
A thin cloud passed overhead. The first raindrop fell between us.
Without hesitation, Roland opened a folding umbrella from his bag — soft cream-colored, with the same star embroidery along the edge.
“The color’s cute.”
“Yeah. I thought it would suit your hair.”
(Effect: heart rate stabilization.)
Under the umbrella, the world grew smaller, the rain closer.
I leaned slightly toward his shoulder and jotted down one note:
Average distance under shared umbrella: — then closed the notebook.
(Because this kind of closeness isn’t meant to be turned into numbers.)
In a back alley near the market, new shipment crates from the herb shop were stacked high.
The beeswax lining was blending perfectly—no scent loss.
The shopkeeper laughed, glancing at Roland.
“Lady Lavender, you’ve got a good partner. Sir Evans here supports your research faithfully — an ideal fiancé.”
“No, I—”
“He’s cute,” I said.
“Iris…!”
The shopkeeper blinked, then burst out laughing. “Now that’s unbeatable.”
(Observation note: External declaration of ‘cute’ / Effect: ambient harmony index ↑)
Roland’s ears turned red as he leaned slightly toward me.
Raindrops slid from the umbrella’s edge and splashed on his shoulder.
I reached out, brushed away the droplets — or rather, traced the fine stitching of the fabric.
Even the seams were careful. So very him.
“…Iris.”
“Yes?”
“You say ‘cute’ even in public, huh?”
“Of course. It’s the truth.”
“The truth, huh.”
A short silence. Between the sounds of rain, his breathing grew a little deeper.
(Observation note: deeper breathing = sense of security.)
“When you say I’m cute, it feels… safe. Like it’s not some shallow flattery. It makes that fear of being treated like a decoration fade.”
“I don’t decorate. I only describe facts — nothing more, nothing less.”
“That’s… very you.”
He smiled softly.
And in that smile, there was just a hint of something tender and sweet.
The effects of “You’re cute” were, without doubt, real.
