MTO C10

Chapter 10

 

 

Valois Orphanage

Even in this world, morning sunlight scattered fairly and evenly, leaving no corner untouched. Gentle golden rays slipped quietly into every nook of Valois Orphanage, which still clung to the bitter cold of the past night.

Michel drew in a deep breath. The icy air stabbed into his lungs, sharp enough to clear his head in an instant.

Compared to the luxurious chambers of Eglence Fortress, the orphanage lodging was as uncomfortable as one could imagine. The bed was hard, no better than lying on bare wood, and the room was so freezing his teeth nearly chattered. Yet, strangely, he felt no desire to return to the castle. A shabby freedom suited him far better than a splendid but gilded cage.

“D-Director…?”

A nervous voice broke the morning stillness. Michel turned to see Barbara standing pale in the doorway of the kitchen.

Beaming, Michel stepped out from behind a massive oak barrel.

“Sister, you’re awake? Good morning!”

“What… what are you doing…?”

“Preparing breakfast! Perfect timing, actually. By the way, where’s the refrigerator—ah, I mean, where do you keep the food?”

Michel had woken at dawn and prowled about the kitchen. But he hadn’t found a single thing edible. The cupboards held nothing but chipped crockery, and even the imposing oak barrel he’d investigated turned out to be completely empty.

Surely they had food somewhere. After all, they had served him and David dinner yesterday. But the kitchen now yielded only dust.

“I will prepare and bring your meal to you. Please, rest in your room.”

Barbara’s voice was polite yet firm. She clearly wanted Michel nowhere near the kitchen.

But Michel did not take offense. Her suspicion was deserved. In truth, he was but an intruder here.

“I wasn’t thinking about me—I wanted to make breakfast for the children.”

“…For the children?”

“Yes.”

He had spent the entire night pondering how best to befriend them. Fortunately, he had years of experience teaching children in his old world. The surest way to win their hearts was simple: share what they loved. And what child did not love delicious food?

“If it’s for the children, then why—…”

Barbara trailed off. Her eyes widened suddenly, tears pooling. She clasped her hands tightly, as though in prayer.

“Director, Heart is deeply repentant about what happened yesterday. Please—forgive him.”

“What?”

“Punish me instead. It was my failure to care for them properly. Even if Heart misbehaved, to… to poison him…”

Barbara gasped, stricken by her own words. Michel froze as well, then hurried to calm her before she fainted.

“God above sees all… God is watching…”

Clap!

Michel snapped his hands together sharply. Barbara blinked, startled into silence. Meeting her eyes, he slowly opened his palms.

“Follow me, Sister. Breathe in, deeply.”

Confused, she nonetheless obeyed as Michel inhaled.

“Now exhale… slowly.”

Fwoo…

She copied his long exhalation. Uneven at first from panic, but Michel encouraged her gently. They repeated the action several times. Bit by bit her trembling calmed. Michel stopped only once he was certain she was ready to listen.

“Sister, I will not harm the children.”

Barbara’s face went blank, as though he had just claimed roosters could swim. Michel ignored it and continued.

“When I said I want to cook food for them—I mean exactly that. Food for children. I want to feed them, not poison them. I’ll eat the same meal myself.”

He spoke softly, patiently. The longer he spoke, the more baffled Barbara looked.

And Michel understood perfectly. Yesterday, Michel—the original Michel—had wielded whips against the children. For such a man to suddenly announce he wanted to cook for them? Absurd. An insult, even. But however unjust the misunderstanding, Michel knew it was inevitable.

“I just don’t understand your kitchen very well. Could you… help me?”

He smiled, hoping his face looked kind.

Barbara only blinked.

“These are all the provisions we have.”

The state of the pantry Barbara showed him was dire. The large storage jars that once held grain were empty. Hanging cords once meant for heavy meat swung bare and useless. The vegetables—grown in the garden out back—were withered to brittle husks, no better than mummies of food.

All that remained edible was a single basket of bread and a small jug of milk.

It had been Michel’s meal the day before. It had been their dinner too. Though hardly fit to feed an orphanage full of children.

“Was this bought in town?”

“No! The children went to the village to beg for it. They didn’t pay—never, ever!”

Barbara emphasized this over and over, as though desperate to prove they hadn’t spent a coin. Clearly, she feared that if he believed money had been wasted, he’d explode in anger. Michel’s chest sank with heaviness.

So it was true. In the webtoon, the orphanage director hoarded the donations for himself. The children survived on weeds, berries, even rats. Now he stood inside that very story. He had hoped yesterday’s hot meal meant the orphanage was not so destitute. But he was wrong.

The meal had been the bread and milk the children begged from town.

He and David had devoured what should have been carefully rationed.

The shame pierced him.

“There’s too little here to feed them.”

“D-don’t worry! These are for you and the knight. We won’t touch them. Later today, I’ll take the children back for more food in the village. But please… tell us how long you plan to stay here…”

Timid, cautious, still watching him like a snake in the grass. Even after his gentle words, Barbara could not lower her guard. Her mistrust had been forged over years. Such scars could not be erased in a night.

Just then, the pantry door creaked open. David appeared.

“There you are. I searched everywhere.”

He saw Michel, sighed, and stepped forward.

“When I didn’t see you, I feared you might have been finished off by a little assassin. You do realize your life is not your own? Please exercise more caution.”

Michel frowned.

“I told you—that was a misunderstanding. Anyway, what’s that you’re holding?”

His eyes locked on David’s right hand.

“Ah.”

Nonchalantly, David lifted his arm. Two rabbits, floppy and bloodied, dangled from his grasp, their brown fur stained crimson. He offered them, reverent as if before a king.

“Thank you for welcoming us yesterday, Sister. Accept this humble gift.”

Barbara startled, then carefully accepted them with thanks. She showed no sign of distress over the dead animals.

Michel, however, was the surprised one.

“You caught those yourself?”

“Of course. The pickings are slim in winter, unfortunately. I had hoped for a stag. Tell me—what are you both doing here?”

Michel explained the food shortage and his desire to feed the children. Maybe David, with his fresh game, had unknowingly carried the answer with him.

“Do you cook?” Michel asked.

“I cannot prepare royal dishes. But on campaign, I was known for feeding the troops. Once, I served nearly a hundred men with a single pheasant.”

So he had been a field cook.

Michel’s eyes widened in admiration. More impressive than a miracle, perhaps. Didn’t a man who could stretch a pheasant to a hundred mouths deserve the title of “Saint” more than he?

Thus under David’s calm, steady direction, the three of them set to work. Bread was chopped into bite-sized portions. The “soup” bulked with more water and only a splash of milk, lengthened with time and fire. Every last grain of oats scraped into the pot. When substance ran short, the rabbit meat was finely diced to add body.

The result was humble yet warm.

They had to hurry—the morning was nearly gone, else it would soon be lunch. Finally, the meal was ready.

“Sister, will you portion the soup? I’ll carry the bowls.”

“Yes, yes.”

Barbara ladled generously, but her eyes flicked sideways, glancing at Michel.

“D-Director…”

“Yes?”

“…Why do you address me politely?”

The question dawned on her belatedly. The orphanage director had never spoken with such courtesy. Michel balked, unable to answer right away.

Had the original Michel… struck her, too? Judging from her fearful responses, entirely possible. Yet in spite of it, she had remained, steadfast beside the children.

Her courage moved him. Respect swelled in his chest.

His nose stung faintly.

“You’ve endured so much, Sister.”

“…What?”

“From now on, please don’t worry so much.”

He didn’t explain further. Barbara stared, bewildered. But there was no time—the meal must be served—and so she turned her eyes down, focused back on her work.