MTO C46

Chapter 46

Barbara still looked uneasy, but in the end she told Michel where Heart had been staying. This time, even David did not stop him. By now, it seemed everyone agreed the matter had to be settled by Michel himself.

Carrying a tray with a light meal, Michel climbed the stairs. According to Barbara, Heart had secluded himself in the second‑floor storage room, avoiding the other children.

And why? Because Heart could not bring himself to join the orphans who now looked kindly on Michel. Nobody intended it, but inside the orphanage Heart had become isolated. Michel scolded himself for not seeking him earlier.

“Oh? The Headmaster.”

Since he usually stayed downstairs, the sight of him ascending drew curious faces from the children. Michel merely smiled at them and proceeded to the storage room. Seeing this, Oliver and Alice quickly ushered the younger ones into their room—ever the sharp elder siblings.

Knock knock.

Michel rapped gently.

“Heart, are you there?”

No reply. But Michel was sure. The way Oliver and Alice had dashed inside confirmed it.

“Would it be all right if I come in for a moment?”

Again—a silence. Michel set the tray down. Placing one hand against the door, he spoke quietly:

“I know you don’t want to see me. Maybe you even wish I’d disappear. I really did you wrong.”

These weren’t words spoken to dodge the situation. They were true. He was sorry.

It hadn’t been this Michel who once lashed Heart with whips and curses, but he had chosen to remain at the orphanage; that choice meant taking full responsibility. Heart suffered doubly from wounds not his fault.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, nor to act close again like nothing happened. Just… could you eat a little?”

To reject food was self‑destruction. Heart was harming himself to deny Michel. Forgiveness couldn’t be demanded of such a child.

“I’ll leave this here at your door. Eat whenever you like. Or come down, if you want it warm.”

When he had climbed the stairs, Michel had sworn he’d see the boy’s face no matter what. But faced with the closed door, he realized: it wasn’t time. Any rashness would only drive Heart further.

“I’ll wait,” he added softly.

Still silence. Michel burned to tear the door open, but held back. Yet his feet refused to move away—until suddenly, the door swung open of its own accord.

Joy lit him. “Heart! …Leon?”

But the small figure who stepped out was Leon, shifting anxiously. Then—he flung the door wide. A blast of winter air struck Michel’s face.

Inside, the storage window was gaping. Rope hung taut beneath the curtain, one end tied to a beam, the other vanishing outside. Michel ran, horror rising.

“Heart!”

There he was—dangling outside the wall like some medieval Spider‑Man, lowering himself down. At Michel’s cry, the boy looked up sharply, then leapt off to the ground. Michel shrieked:

“Heart!!”

But the child landed nimbly. He ripped the rope from his waist and bolted, casting one last mocking tongue over his shoulder.

“Get lost!”

For someone starving, his voice rang brazen and strong. Michel’s knees gave way. His heart thundered like it would burst.

Leon hovered near, wringing his hands, while Michel clutched him close. Looking once more down from the open window, he shivered. The drop, even from just the second floor, seemed perilous enough for an adult.

Heart vanished into the brush in moments. Truly, the protagonist lived up to his role.

And so began Michel’s endless game of tag with Heart.

“Heart, wait, just talk—Heart!”

Every attempt ended the same. Rejected flatly. Heart not only ignored him but refused even to hear his words. Lazing like a satiated lion one moment, gone like lightning the next the instant Michel stepped close. Conversation was impossible—Michel could hardly share the same room. At length he downgraded his goal: not “talk with Heart,” but “keep him seated for one minute.”

Even that was difficult. Unlike Michel, still new to orphanage life, Heart knew every shortcut and passage within and around it. He tricked Michel with scarecrows—stuffed sacks in his bed, or shouting “Fire!” in the back garden to escape. Small, wiry, once hidden, impossible to find.

Often, just as Michel was sure he had him cornered, the boy revealed yet another hole in the walls. Unless every crevice was blocked, Michel could not confine him.

Yet for all his cleverness, he was still a child. Malnourished besides. Each day made him slower, dulled his eyes, weakened his steps.

Finally—

“Huuh… huhh… Come now, Heart, be good, eh?”

After an exhausting game of cat and mouse, Michel succeeded in driving him into the Headmaster’s office. Here, for once, Michel had the advantage; Heart knew this room less than he did.

The boy strained at the window, but Michel had nailed the shutters shut. He closed the only door as well.

“Don’t come near!” Heart cried.

“I won’t.” Michel raised both hands, sitting down against the wall. The mouse was in the trap; no hurry now.

Heart plastered his back to the far wall, eyes darting, calculating escape. Michel finally had time to study him.

Gaunt to the bone. Shadows dug under his eyes. Cheeks hollow, hair limp, lips cracked like bark. Continue long thus without food and irreparable disaster loomed.

No more soft consolations could waste time. But nor could he force food down him—that would make the act of eating itself a trauma.

“All right. Let’s do this another way.”

Michel pressed his palms together.

“A wager. If you win, I grant you one wish, anything. If I win, you grant mine. Deal?”

“Are you crazy? Absolutely not! Get lost!!”

Heart flailed like a furious monkey, pounding at the shutters powerless. Michel merely waited silently until he tired.

“Think carefully. Whatever you wish, I’ll do it. If you want me gone from the orphanage—I will leave.”

A flicker crossed the boy’s eyes. Quickly chased with a sneer.

“You think I’m stupid? Liar.”

“I mean it. And you decide everything—the contest, the rules, the judge. All yours. Still no?”

This time, he did not refuse at once. The radical offer shook him. Michel held his silence, letting him think.

“…What’s your wish then?” Heart asked at last.

Michel fought to keep joy from his face.

“My wish is for you to sit at the table—during mealtime. And eat. That’s all.”

“…Even if I win, what if you cheat, and don’t keep your promise?”

Sharp boy. Never left a crack. At least he won’t be conned when grown, Michel thought wryly.

From his breast he took a wooden plaque—the Token of Sainthood, proof of his title.

“Know what this is?”

“…”

“It’s proof I’m recognized as a Saint. With this, anywhere I go, I am acknowledged. Without it, I’m nothing. This token means a great deal to me.”

Truthfully, he often forgot it lay in his robes. But Heart need not know that.

“You can keep it until the wager ends. If I break my word, burn it. How’s that?”

Kaidan or David would have exploded had they seen him risk it—dragged him back to the castle at once. But Michel hesitated not. A child who could not trust him needed such a gesture.

And it had effect. Heart’s suspicion softened. Frowning, still wary, he inched forward. As his hand reached for the token, Michel suddenly whipped his arm up high. Heart scowled furiously.