MTO C45

Chapter 45

“It won’t only be me. If danger comes, call for help at once. The Sister, or the knights, or any trustworthy adult—raise your voice and shout for help. The adults of Valois Orphanage will keep both eyes wide open to protect you.”

Michel hooked two fingers to his eyes, widening them comically. The exaggerated face set the children giggling.

Yet some smiles quickly faded. Worry still lingered in a few faces.

“What if… there’s no one around at all?” Oliver asked, lifting his hand timidly. The perfect question.

“That’s exactly why, starting today, you’ll learn Taekwondo from me.”

“Taek… what?” Charlotte tilted her head. The strange word tangled on their tongues; each child mispronounced it differently. Michel, patient, split the syllables.

“Tae‑kwon‑do. A martial art. A very strong one. The reason I drove off those bad men that day—that was because of Taekwondo. Learn it, and your bodies will grow strong, your hearts sturdy too.”

Michel had decided—if he remained head of the orphanage, he’d also become their instructor. Not because he expected them to fight villains with flying kicks, but so they could escape danger with simple self‑defense, and so their bodies and spirits would grow.

Above all, Taekwondo had once smoothed the twisted heart of little Jeong‑oh (Michel’s original self), burning it flat like an iron over wrinkled cloth. Through it, he learned to live. Temptations once beckoned him toward darker paths, but the discipline and the bonds around it kept him whole.

Now he was Michel. And he believed Taekwondo could be the same guiding star for these children.

“You’ll learn to protect yourselves. And if you can protect yourself, one day you can protect your friends too.”

Oliver’s eyes sharpened in focus; the others shone, remembering vividly the day Michel’s kicks had scattered the debt‑men.

“So—are you ready to learn?”

“Yes!”

The resounding shout earned a satisfied nod.

“Good. Then, up on your feet. First, I’ll show you how to give proper greetings in class.”

Taekwondo stressed more than perfect punches. The true goal—discipline, focus, spirit to wield strength rightly. Etiquette stood foremost, and greetings were the essence of etiquette. In Formene, a kingdom steeped in Western custom, bowing was rarely done. But since Taekwondo itself was foreign, Michel saw no need to change it.

The children adapted astonishingly fast.

“Tae! Kwon! Greeting! Sir!”

They bowed in line, voices rough but earnest. Michel smiled proudly. Already they looked like cub tigers.

After came stretches, warm‑ups. Running drills from wall to wall. At first, serious faces; soon, giggles filled the hall.

“Again!”

But laughter dwindled by the third sprint.

“Huuff… huff…”

“Come on! Last time, one last push!”

By then, Leon the youngest sprawled flat on the floor. Charlotte teared up. Dan and Max dragged one another forward like sacks of flour. Oliver and Alice fought hardest, but even they panted with tongues hanging like overheated pups.

Michel blinked, aghast. Strange. It was only supposed to be warm‑up…

Hadn’t children been bundles of endless energy? Yet his little ones sat collapsed like drained batteries. He had not even pushed them half as far as normal students. Their basic strength was worse than he guessed.

Well, no belly ever fills on the first spoon.

“Let’s stop here for today.”

The announcement was met with silence—no breath left to reply.

From that day, the orphans trained daily. Michel lowered the level—far, far lower. To spark their interest, not crush it. Instead he invented games:

“Rock, paper, scissors—yes! I win!”

“Aah, lost again!”

Running stair races, clambering obstacle courses, floor bingo, chase‑games; disguised training. The children laughed, forgot their weariness, and ran without even realizing.

One week later—

“Another bowl, please!”

“No more bread?”

Appetites doubled, tripled. Barbara practically carried a pot herself just to keep up. Their clothes dirtied quicker. Her labor doubled, but the glow upon her face said she didn’t mind.

“Thank you for the delicious meal, Sister!” they chorused after every lunch now, bowing properly.

She nearly wept. Michel only nodded proudly. All was moving as he envisioned.

Only David seemed entirely baffled.

“…What are you doing with them? The orphans of Valois have stricter discipline than the knights of Eglence themselves.”

“You exaggerate, David.”

“No, for once I speak plain. When we return, I’ll suggest the knights watch these children for shame.”

Michel chuckled. “But I trained with the Eglence knights myself—they were fine.”

“Pardon? Trained? With whom? Not… Sir Jerard?!”

Michel nodded. David’s jaw dropped.

“And the Duke allowed this?!”

“Well, he did scold me plenty. He said priests mustn’t train, that it was shameful. Don’t you think that’s unfair?”

“…Some comfort, at least, that His Grace may now understand my headaches a little better.”

Was that an insult? Surely not…

Michel laughed it off, finished his meal.

Just before leaving, he noticed an untouched bowl. Soup dried at the edges. It was Heart’s portion. Every meal, they set his place, hoping he would one day join. But never yet had he come downstairs.

Michel had still never seen him. Could it be he had already fled, like in the “original story?” But Barbara always carried his meal upstairs.

“How is he lately? Does he eat?” Michel asked gently. Barbara’s face stiffened.

“I thought he was, because the bowls always came back empty. But today… I found his food buried in the garden.”

“…What?”

“I never watched him eat—just left it. I never imagined…”

Shock struck Michel. That meant Heart had been starving himself this entire time. For a child to go without food so long—how had he endured?

Barbara rose guiltily. “I’ll speak with him today.”

“No—please, Sister.”

Michel stopped her. If Heart had refused this long, words would not change him now. The cause was himself, Michel. Thus only he must face it.

“…I will go speak with him.”