MTO C17

Chapter 17

Fortunately, David did not continue interrogating Michel about the mysterious “master” once they all sat down at the table. Perhaps the Korean proverb, “Even a dog is not to be disturbed while it eats,” also held true in Valois.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Michel looked around at the children gathered closely together at the table.

“Huh?”

One, two, three, four…

He counted their small round heads several times, but no matter how he checked, only six children sat at the table. Michel quickly realized who was missing.

“Kids, where’s Heart?”

“Heart said he wasn’t hungry.”

Answering in place of the fidgeting children, Barbara spoke softly. Michel’s brow furrowed before he realized.

“But Heart didn’t eat dinner last night either.”

The previous evening, he had trusted Barbara’s words that Heart was already asleep, so he had not woken him to eat. It had been Michel’s fault for returning from the village too late.

But for a boy to refuse food until morning, saying he wasn’t hungry—that didn’t make sense. It had already been nearly a whole day since Heart had eaten, and even then only a single bowl of watery soup. At his age, with his growing body, that would have digested within an hour.

Could he have been awake last night as well, but refused to eat even then? The suspicion dawned belatedly. And if that were true, there could be only one reason for his refusal.

“I’ll go upstairs and bring him down.”

“No. I’ll make sure Heart eats later, separately. Headmaster, you should finish your meal.”

“But still—”

“It is better to entrust that boy to the Sister.”

Michel looked across at David, who calmly swallowed a hunk of bread in one bite.

“Did you not say it yourself? That whether or not the children accept the saint’s apology is their own choice.”

In other words, if Heart chose to refuse food because of his resentment toward Michel, then even that choice was to be respected.

Skip meals, though?

Michel could not agree. Whether or not he forgave him, eating was another matter entirely. To let a boy go hungry because he refused a meal—that was nothing but neglect.

Yet in the end he stayed in his seat. Meeting him now would only harden Heart’s hostility further. Perhaps he still felt shame and anger over how Michel had coaxed and pressured him into eating soup. He was a child with many scars—he should have been more careful. Michel recognized his mistake.

“Then I’ll leave it to you, Sister. Forgive me for troubling you.”

“No. Thanks to you, all the others can eat a good warm meal together.”

Barbara beamed brightly. Michel gave a faint smile in return, but the shadow in his heart did not so easily leave.

Dinner passed quietly once again. The children answered when Michel spoke, but none initiated conversation. The younger ones whispered now and then among themselves, but the eldest, Oliver and Alice, kept their faces buried in their bowls, scooping at a pace so fast Michel feared they’d upset their stomachs.

“Thank you for the meal.”

As soon as Oliver and Alice bolted out of the dining hall, Leon lowered his spoon. He reached into the bread basket, grabbed a piece, then hopped down from his chair.

Quickly, Michel caught the boy. Leon was still too small to climb down safely on his own.

“Leon, you must finish your food while sitting.”

He set him back on the chair. Leon blinked slowly with his big eyes, as if they might spill over.

“I’m done eating.”

“Really? Then what’s this?”

Michel pointed to the bread in his hands. Leon hugged it tightly to his chest, squashing the fluffy loaf flat.

“Mm, it’s Heart’s.”

“…You want to give it to Heart?”

Leon nodded eagerly, his little face earnest. The gesture was so angelic that Michel clutched his chest with a groan.

Heaven! What a cherub this boy is!

Just like that, Leon’s words washed all gloom away. After lowering him from the chair, Michel tucked a small bottle of milk into his trouser pocket.

“This is for Heart too. But don’t tell him I gave it to you—our little secret, okay?”

He extended a pinky finger. Leon hooked it with his own stubby finger. Even in a world without high‑fives, children still made promises with pinky swears.

After the meal, Michel helped Barbara with the washing. He rinsed plates in water that had been drawn in the morning, while Barbara dried them with a cloth.

“Oliver and Alice always seem to stick together.”

“Almost always. They’re the same age, so naturally closest friends.”

Passing a plate, Michel remarked. Barbara, drying it smoothly, replied with ease. Now when she and Michel were together there was no awkward tension, and she even spoke at length.

“Oliver grew up here since infancy. Villagers found him abandoned in a church and brought him. He’s always been mature, giving good things up to others. But with Alice, he looks like any ordinary twelve‑year‑old boy, which comforts me.”

“Twelve? Oliver and Alice are twelve years old?”

“Yes, why?”

Barbara blinked at him in surprise.

Michel choked, stunned. He’d thought both were around ten at best—they looked too small. Already he knew they were malnourished, but realizing their real ages struck him heavy.

“And the others? How old are they?”

“Let’s see… Oliver and Alice are twelve, Heart is ten, Charlotte is eight. The twins are six. Leon’s exact age isn’t certain, but likely around four.”

She answered kindly, but the more Michel compared their ages with their appearances, the more desolate he felt. If by some impossible chance the orphans ever sparred with students from Usung Taekwondo Gym, Michel feared they would collapse before even throwing a single kick.

At least the immediate food crisis had been resolved, so they would steadily gain weight. But food alone could not ensure healthy growth. For children in their formative years, play and good sleep were as important as meals.

Yet Michel realized he had never once seen them running outside or playing freely.

“Do the children spend most of their time on the second floor? It seems they don’t come down much except for meals.”

“Yes. Since their rooms are upstairs, they mostly stay up there.”

Her answer seemed natural, but Michel knew that was not the real reason. In truth, the children hadn’t dared come down, for the scary Headmaster prowled the first floor.

Even Leon, who seemed barely steady on his feet, still struggled up and down the stairs. It pained Michel. He also wondered what the children did on the second floor all day—for he had never once heard noise from it.

“And how do they usually spend the day?”

“Much like other children their age. They play little games, or nap during the day. And, of course, they study.”

“Study? What sort of study?”

“They learn scripture. I do my best to teach them. Oliver and Alice can read and write well enough—they sometimes even read the sacred texts aloud to the younger ones.”

Barbara’s face glowed, filled with pride she rarely showed. And she had reason—Michel thought her pride was justified. He, after all, had never managed to read more than two pages of those same scriptures before dozing off whenever Kaidan forced them into his hands.

Had he only dozed? No—he had even used the hefty holy book as a dumbbell for exercise. If the old priest who had granted him the saint’s token saw, the man would have fainted dead away.

Maybe I should get lessons from Oliver myself…

He was just reflecting in belated shame when someone cleared their throat darkly.

“Even saints must study.”

There stood David with a strict face, broom in hand. Michel had foisted it on him to stop him interfering with the dishwashing.

Tapping the broom handle sternly like a commander’s baton, David spoke:

“My presence here is, of course, for the saint’s safety. But the Duke also charged me with a further duty.”

“And what’s that?”

“…To teach you noble etiquette.”

David’s eyes narrowed as though to say, ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?’ In truth, Michel had. He forced a sheepish smile.

“Life’s been hectic… Is this etiquette training very difficult?”

“Not at all. Merely tedious. It is something every child of noble birth learns. Even three‑year‑olds practice it. You, Saint, will have no trouble.”

The way he said it implied that otherwise, Michel would be less than a three‑year‑old.

Still, Michel felt no fear. He had taught etiquette to children himself at the Taekwondo gym. Of course, every culture had its own manners, but the essence ought to be similar.

Though… did he just say even three‑year‑olds learn it?

“I’ll begin today, right away.”

His enthusiasm seemed only proper to David, who nodded sharply as though nothing else were acceptable.