MTO C47

Chapter 47

“What kind of wager will it be?”

Michel grinned as he asked. Heart glared daggers at him, but he didn’t turn away.

“Jwi‑myeoneuri hunting.”

“Jwi‑myeoneuri? You mean the insect?”

Michel remembered from his boyhood the tiny pill‑bugs, rolling into tight black balls he used to catch with friends near the parish yard. But now? In this winter? Could they even survive?

Heart smirked triumphantly, pleased at Michel’s confusion.

“Idiot. Jwi‑myeoneuri is a forest fruit. Whoever gathers more by the time limit wins.”

Michel couldn’t hide his admiration. Clever boy. Indeed, such a contest skewed heavily toward Heart—who for years had survived by scouring forests for food. Michel himself, not even knowing it was a fruit, had lost before starting.

Can I even win this?

Doubt swelled, but refusal wasn’t an option. If he tried to change the terms, Heart would abandon the wager outright.

“All right. But we each get training time. At least let me learn what these berries look like, otherwise it won’t be fair. Agreed?”

Heart rolled his eyes, clearly confident Michel could never catch up, and at last nodded. Then he stretched out a hand for the saint’s token. Michel lifted a finger instead.

“One condition. Until the match, you eat at every meal Barbara brings. Doesn’t have to be downstairs, but you will eat.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I won’t duel a frail, fainting child. If you collapse mid‑match, what then? I intend to win fair and square.”

At the word “frail,” Heart’s eyes sharpened like arrowheads.

“Don’t mock me! I never collapse!”

Michel only arched a brow. When he made as if to pocket the token again, Heart panicked.

“Fine!”

Thank heaven he was still young enough to be baited. Finally Michel handed over the token. Held it close, Heart seemed strangely unsettled.

“We have a deal?”

Michel raised a hand for a sealing high‑five. But Heart stormed past, yanking open the door, unwilling to endure even one second longer.

“The wager’s in a week! Don’t forget!”

Michel shouted after him, undaunted. The boy sped down the hall and was gone.

“The jwi‑myeoneuri looks like this.”

Barbara slid a sketch toward him. Michel leaned close. The berry resembled blueberries; small, clustered like grapes. Find the right tree, and the task would be easy—or so he thought.

“Are they common in these forests?”

“Yes, but…” Barbara sighed. “They ripen in summer.”

“…What?”

She explained.

“By autumn they’re gone. In winter, none grow at all.”

David whistled, shaking his head. “You’ve been outfoxed, Saint.”

Michel stared blankly at the drawing. Felt like a cooking‑pot slammed the back of his head. Once again—played for a fool.

“But… but then Heart can’t find any either, right?”

“The husks are thick. Sometimes fallen ones remain under snow till winter. Last year Heart collected more than a hundred himself.”

Impossible. A hundred? Then he wasn’t a boy, but a squirrel. Barbara’s expression, however, was far too grave.

“Don’t worry, Sister,” David said with sly smile. “Surely our reverend saint will devise a brilliant counter‑strategy.”

Michel croaked: “…I will practice. A lot.”

But David merely nodded as if Michel had pledged to battle armies.

“I shall inform the Duke to prepare for your return in disgrace.”

“No! Absolutely not!”

Michel lunged for David, shaking him madly by the shoulders.

“Trust me! Once upon a time, they called me the flying squirrel of Inwang Mountain! King of autumn chestnut‑picking contests!”

“If you are a flying squirrel, then that child is lord of all squirrels. Every nut and berry in Valois forest is within his grasp.”

Michel squinted suspiciously. “…Are you mocking me?”

“How could I mock a saint? Merely a humble guard offering advice.”

“Then why are you smiling like that?”

While the two bickered noisily, Barbara sat silent, lips pressed thin. Some heavy thought clouded her. Michel let David go, glanced worried. Had he overstepped, drawn her ire?

“Sister… don’t worry. I’ll win. By any means, I’ll stay here.”

“No, it’s not that…” She startled, flapping her hands, then gave a weary smile. “You said the match is in one week? That’s the children’s birthday.”

“Children? You mean the twins, Dan and Max?”

Barbara shook her head.

“Most orphans don’t know their true birthdays. They were far too young when they arrived to remember the date. So every year we celebrate together on New Year’s Day.”

“I see… New Year already.”

David muttered the words softly.

Michel had not realized. But now that he did, he could not ignore it. For him, as Michel, this would be the children’s first birthday celebration under his care. It had to be grand.

“Then we’ll hold a birthday party! A proper one!”

Barbara blinked. “A… party?” New word to her ears.

“Yes! If I win the wager, Heart will join in too. We’ll prepare presents, candles for the cake! How do folks in Valois celebrate usually?”

“Well… we decorate with star‑shaped charms. And the birthday child receives a red cloak, because for one day, they are king.”

“Perfect. We’ll have star ornaments! Cloaks! We’ve money, don’t we?”

Thank Kaidan and his donation. The relief festival meant funds now spilled like treasure. This year would be no mere sliver of pie—it would blaze a true feast.

“Then this match, you must win,” David said fiercely, echoing his thoughts.

“Of course! Sister—what do you think?”

Barbara blinked at being asked directly for her say, then smiled shyly.

“The children will be overjoyed.”

So began preparations: Michel’s frantic fruit‑foraging practice and the children’s first true birthday party.

Every dawn he trudged into the woods after exercise, charting terrain, seeking caches of fallen berries. Sometimes he brought the children. Their eyes discovered what his missed: snake skins, sparrow tracks, melting icicles, cracked eggshells. Proof of Saint Pablo’s words—that in nature’s play, all could learn.

But still, not one berry. Only a dried husk Oliver once found.

“Animals would have eaten every kernel long ago,” the boy said gravely.

Sweat prickled Michel’s doubt. Yet he clenched determination. If it was impossible for him, it would not be easy for Heart either. The field was equal.

At least—Heart had started to eat. Barbara brewed a special soup, chopping morsels small. He did not empty every bowl, but no trace appeared dumped outside. Leon whispered quietly to Michel, “He is eating now.”

That alone fueled his perseverance.

The party preparations went smoothly. The children grew giddy. Nightly before sleep they asked, “How many days till our birthday?” Each morning they awoke chanting the countdown anew.

Meanwhile, workers mended the broken window cracked during Heart’s escape. Thin blankets were replaced with plush furs, faded curtains laundered and rehung.

Golden and silver ribbons twined along stair rails. Bright star ornaments hung on walls. Some children even sat transfixed beneath the great star, refusing to move all day.

Thus days passed, quick as arrows, overflowing with hope and expectation.

Footnotes

1. “Jwi‑myeoneuri” fruit (쥐며느리) – In Korean, the term usually means pill‑bug, but here recontextualized as a forest berry. This double‑meaning fools Michel.