MTO C48

Chapter 48

Knock knock.

Late at night, Michel tapped on David’s door. The knight, dressed in comfortable clothes, opened it and blinked at him in mild surprise.

“What brings you here at this hour, Saint?”

“Sorry. Were you asleep?”

“No.”

“I… have something to ask.”

“What is it?”

“About the Eglence messenger hawks. Can we send letters from here back to the Duke’s household?”

For a heartbeat David’s expression shifted strangely.

“Yes… but why do you ask?”

Michel beamed, pulling a folded card from his robes.

“I want to send this to Brother Kaidan. Is that possible?”

It was an invitation card—for the upcoming children’s joint birthday party. Earlier that day, Michel and the orphans had written them together. The children penned notes to friendly townsfolk; Michel, one for Kaidan himself.

David opened it, scanning quickly. Relief flickered across his face, though Michel missed it. With an amused twitch of his lips, he asked:

“You’re inviting the Duke to the orphanage?”

“Yes. Thanks to his donation, our home has changed so much. Wouldn’t it be good for him to see it himself? Of course, if he’s too busy, so be it.”

Michel confessed only half the truth. Gratitude was real, but the deeper reason—he wanted Kaidan to meet the children. Especially Heart.

If Heart refused to leave the orphanage, then Michel would bring his future “father” to him. Not that he expected Kaidan to adopt the boy immediately; the Duke was young, swamped in duties. No, he wanted only for them to meet, to grow familiar. With repeated encounters, surely affection would spark. After all, in the original story, they had been father and son.

David chuckled, slipping the invite into his breast pocket.

“Very well. I’ll deliver it myself.”

“Thank you. By the way, how long do you intend to stay here? Aren’t you away from the castle too long?”

“…Am I unwelcome, Saint?” David clutched at his chest in mock pain. Michel flapped his hands.

“No, no! The children love having you here! I only worried it might be troublesome for you.”

“Guarding you is my honor.”

He smiled kindly, but Michel privately thought his voice sounded hollow. After all, debts were gone; danger should be past. Michel remembered him carrying children laughing on his shoulders each morning—the knight made a wonderful playmate and tutor, if one ignored that etiquette lessons put everyone, Michel included, right to sleep. Still, David was bound by duty. Michel decided: when Kaidan came, he’d request David be given a rest.

Please come, Kaidan. I have so much to say to you now.

“Happy birthday!”

A booming cheer jarred Heart awake. Even through his closed storeroom door, the noise was raucous. Children’s laughter rolled through the hall, with fragments of the headmaster’s and the nun’s voices mixed in.

Curious despite himself, Heart stayed put, yanking the blanket over his head. When the racket finally dulled, he dared peek outside. The second floor was empty—everyone had gone below, leaving only those cursed paper star‑decorations strung across walls, mocking him.

Traitors.

A surge of spite rose. Heart ripped every star down, shredding them to tatters. The sight of ruined stars pleased him dully. Why hadn’t he done it sooner? They had disgusted him every time he saw them. And the stars weren’t the only things. Someday soon, he would tear the Headmaster apart just as easily.

With grim satisfaction, he dragged out the wooden plaque hidden in his trunk—the Saint’s token he had stolen. The delicate golden engravings caught the light prettily, shining when turned. At first Heart had meant to burn it at once. But striking the flint, he had hesitated.

Why destroy it? If it vanished, the Headmaster might try to cancel the bet. Better to hold it until the match ended. If the man broke his promise—then he would burn it. Until then, the token was his.

Knock knock.

The door rattled. He stiffened—it would be Barbara bringing food. Fear prickled: by now, they must have discovered who shredded the stars. The Sister rarely scolded, but the thought of disappointing her was worse than any whipping. When she cried, it made Heart feel he himself was the mistake.

Hurriedly he put the plaque away. The door creaked.

But it wasn’t her. It was Oliver, with that ridiculous brown mop of hair. Heart’s tension dissolved into anger.

“What do you want?”

“This is for you.”

Oliver held out a red cloak. He already wore one himself.

Heart knew instantly. It was the “birthday mantle”—a child’s crown. When his parents lived, he too had once worn one. But he was certain today was not his true birthday. That lay in warm summer, when brooks sang, not winter frost. Even if it were—he’d rather die than wear such a stupid rag.

“Get lost. Play king yourself.”

Oliver only shrugged, unsurprised. Heart bristled. Why wouldn’t he leave? He fidgeted like an idiot trying not to wet himself.

“Spit it out already!”

“…Tonight we’ll cut the cake. Open presents. Leon’s looking forward to it.”

Oliver rambled. Heart barely listened. Who cared what Leon wanted? It was Oliver’s greedy face that wanted cake.

Finally Oliver blurted the real reason:

“Do you really have to go through with the wager?”

Heart barked a bitter laugh. His scorn scalded; Oliver’s cheeks reddened, almost matching his cloak. So that was it—the boy had been sent to persuade him?

“You worried I’ll win, and the Headmaster will leave?”

Oliver bit his lip, silent—answer enough.

Heat surged through Heart’s chest, like walking into fire. Rage sharpened his voice.

“Coward! You all promised to kill him with me. Then you bowed down for bread! I don’t need traitors. I’ll kill the devil myself. And if you hate that—kill me here!”

He shoved his head forward, daring a blow. Oliver recoiled, stammering.

“You’ve misunderstood. The Headmaster’s different now. He saved Alice, remember? Everyone likes him now. And Sir David is a knight of House Eglence. Would he guard us if the man weren’t truly a Saint?”

“Idiot. They’re all in league. Trust them and you’ll wind up roasted like fat pigs on the Duke’s table!”

Oliver thumped his chest in frustration.

“If that’s true, then why teach us Taekwondo? He wants us stronger, to defend ourselves.”

Heart sneered. “So you think you’re strong now? Want to fight me?”

He raised his fist; Oliver flinched back pitifully.

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“See? Coward. Too scared to face evil, so you made yourself its servant. When the devil rips you open and chews your guts, I’ll clap and laugh.”

Oliver’s stricken face thrilled Heart for a moment. His triumph, proof that he alone was right.

“You’re… hopeless,” Oliver whispered finally. Hatred sharpened his eyes.

The words felt like dung poured over Heart’s head. He wanted to smash that face bloody. But Oliver fled before he could move, leaving only the red mantle on the floor.

Heart stomped it, grinding it under his heel.

Later, Barbara brought food. He did not touch it. His stomach screamed after days of eating regularly, but he ignored it. He would not take anything from that man.

By nightfall—the contest would be held. Missing one meal would not matter. The devil would not notice one more hunger pang.