MTO C11

Chapter 11

After all preparation was complete, Michel asked Barbara to gather the children. Though still anxious, she obeyed and went upstairs.

Altogether, only seven children entered the dining hall—fewer than Michel had expected.

Looking down at their round little heads bowed low, eyes fixed on the floor, Michel swallowed.

From the moment they appeared, their expressions were grim—like livestock being herded to slaughter. Though they could not know why they’d been summoned, they clearly expected only something dreadful.

Only Heart sat with his neck stiff and gaze raised—glowering at Michel as though he might kill him on the spot.

Dire as it seemed, Michel steeled himself. It was too soon to falter.

“Good morning, everyone. You must be hungry, right? Let’s eat!”

He forced cheer into his voice. Although only bread and thin soup filled the room, the warm aroma should have stirred appetites. Yet not a single hand moved.

The children were pale, gaunt. In the harsh midwinter, with nothing to forage, they must have gone hungry long. Anyone else might have thrown themselves at the table. But they only stared at the food with mistrust.

This won’t do.

He had planned to feed them first, speak after. But if left, the food would only grow cold. Rising from his place, Michel realized too late that his simple act turned the nearest child rigid with terror, shrinking into himself, flinching from expected blows.

Michel clenched his fist—then released it, conjuring a gentle smile.

“You’re frightened, aren’t you? Startled, too. Of course—you don’t know why your director called you down here all of a sudden. You thought it meant something scary.”

Barbara sat among the children, looking as tense as they did. And at the back wall, David frowned as if wondering what kind of madness he was witnessing.

Michel surreptitiously wiped his damp palms against his thigh. He hadn’t been this nervous since he taught his very first Taekwondo class. Back then and now, he wished only one thing: that children would open their hearts to him.

“The reason I called you here today is…”

To win their hearts, he had to open his own first.

“…to apologize. I’ve done terrible things. Many wrongs.”

Michel bowed low.

“Truly—I’m sorry.”

The hall fell into deathly silence.

Head lowered, he swallowed again. He apologized not for his own sins, but Michel’s. Because now he was Michel. The body was his, the life henceforth his—and so too the legacy of abuse.

Taking over the life meant inheriting its debts. And if the children deserved anything, it was hearing those words, at least once.

Death does not erase wounds. Abusers vanishing never erases memory. The webtoon itself had shown: even after fleeing the orphanage, Heart remained traumatized for years.

If his words, shallow as they might be, could ease their pain even the slightest, he had no reason not to say them.

After what felt like ages, Michel straightened. The children, who had only stared at the ground, now blinked up in bewilderment. Barbara herself was frozen, as if time had stopped. David… was glaring, his eyes like furious signals.

Have you gone mad?!

Michel ignored him, cleared his throat, and continued.

“I’ve been absent, haven’t I? I went to meet God.”

The absurd line drew uneasy glances between children. Yet fear melted, for the first time, into curiosity.

“God knew I had hurt you. He was furious. Because He loves you. He scolded me—scolded me until I cried. Again and again.”

Would anyone believe? That a sadist could change overnight? He borrowed the weight of divine authority, knowing full well it was a fabrication—but one the children of this world, raised with faith, might accept.

Wasn’t he already hailed as resurrected by miracle? Pure children would be all the easier convinced.

Indeed—some already flushed with excitement.

“From that scolding, I learned how gravely I sinned. What I did was unforgivable.”

“….”

“And yet God gave me another chance. Telling me to protect you. That is why, from today forward—I will love you. I’ll never hurt you again. I’ll never make you grieve.”

Their reactions split: some whispered with wide-eyed fascination; others scowled with open disgust; still others sat slack-jawed like Barbara herself.

But for the first time, every pair of eyes was on him.

“I am truly sorry.”

He bowed once more. Silence again—but silence now charged with something new.

Of course not all would believe him. Not all would forgive. To think mere apologies might erase years of horror was hopelessly selfish.

But unless he began here, nothing would change.

Straightening, he met each gaze with a smile.

“…Now. Shall we eat?”

Unlike his exuberant greeting, breakfast passed quietly. Children stole glances at him, lips parted with unasked questions, but speech never quite came.

Change, however, had arrived—tentative, fragile. For the children began eating. Hunger overtook fear, spoons clattering as they devoured the meal until Barbara scolded them gently lest they choke.

Michel feigned eating, instead watching them—smiling contentedly at each refilled bowl.

“You want more soup?”

“I-I’m fine…”

“Truly? There’s plenty. You won’t want a bit more?”

“…Then, just a little.”

He poured steaming ladles into empty bowls, and their faces shone with satisfaction. His own heart felt full without a bite.

“That’s it. Eat a little more—good.”

Then commotion at one end of the table. Barbara fretting, coaxing Heart—whose soup remained untouched. He sat glowering, hands set in his lap.

This was the same boy who had crept under his bed by night, knife in hand. Hatred this deep was fathomless.

Michel slowly approached.

“Heart. Not eating?”

“…What you give is garbage.”

Clatter!

Across from him, another child dropped his spoon in fright. He trembled, eyes darting as though he expected retribution.

Poor thing, you’ll give yourself indigestion.

Michel smiled reassuringly at the child, then crouched to meet Heart’s eyes.

“This isn’t from me. Sister Barbara cooked this, with care, for you. Is hers garbage too?”

He had seen it now: Barbara had always shielded them. Even yesterday’s scolding of the returning children had been to pre-empt Michel’s wrath—to claim the time and space before the whip could strike.

Children know instinctively who loves them. And they give that love back tenfold.

As expected, Heart faltered. Yet his jaw stayed clenched, spoon unmoved.

Stubborn. Just as in the comic.

The Heart of The Demon Knight was legendarily hard-headed—so much so even kings found him unmanageable, so much so he quarreled endlessly with his companion Seren.

Still, Heart was young yet.

“Yesterday I realized—Heart, you’re weak, aren’t you?”

“What?!”

“I mean, I took your punch. Didn’t hurt one bit.”

A lie. His jaw still bruised purple. But he played it smooth-faced.

“You’re so light, too. Remember? The knight lifted you up with one hand.”

He gestured toward David. Heart’s cheeks flamed crimson. Being cradled like a baby yesterday was clearly a humiliation.

Almost there.

He flicked David a glance.

“How much do you eat, David?”

“…At least one whole cow.”

“Wow! No wonder you’re strong.”

“Indeed. He can slay ten yetis alone.”

David’s face tightened briefly, but he flowed seamlessly into the act. The ludicrous boast made the rest murmur in awe.

Michel himself remembered webtoon panels of hulking, furred monsters—yetis on two legs, terror of the North. Surely exaggerated… but he held his question.

“Wow. Then I’ll eat harder, too. Oh? Heart, you don’t want yours—should I eat it?”

And stubborn children are competitive children. As Michel’s hand reached for his bowl, Heart seized it and drank the soup straight down.

“Heart! Slowly, you’ll choke!”

Barbara reached in alarm. But Heart drained it to the bottom before lowering the bowl.

Still a child, after all.

Michel smiled quietly, stepping back, leaving Barbara to shepherd the table.