MTO C92

Chapter 92

“…It seemed the promotion test had ended.”

“Aww, but still—leaving right away like that? Kinda cold, Your Grace.”

Michel laughed playfully, yet Kaidan’s heart lurched downward. He had failed proper courtesy toward the one who invited him. He was the one who’d expressed interest in Michel’s martial arts. At the very least, he should have stayed to offer a polite comment.

“I made a mistake. I apologize.”

“Oh come on, no need to apologize like that. It’s fine. Anyway—now that you’ve seen it with your own eyes, how was it?”

“…What?”

“The Taekwondo class. Aren’t our kids great?”

The moment Michel said our kids, his face melted into a foolish, syrupy smile. Kaidan would never dare describe the saint as “not very bright,” yet—no, actually, that expression right now suited the phrase perfectly.

And still—his chest twinged sharply. Lack of sleep was clearly reaching critical levels.

He coughed lightly and glanced away.

“Indeed. You must have put in quite some effort teaching them.”

“Not at all. The kids follow along so well—it’s not hard even a little.”

“……”

“Um, can we talk privately for a bit? I have something to say to you.”

Just when Kaidan had managed to remove him from his line of sight, Michel suddenly leaned in. Kaidan’s hand twitched by reflex, but he clenched his fist tight to avoid another shameful incident of accidentally flinging the saint away.

“What is it?”

“Well, saying it here’s a little awkward… wanna go somewhere we can be alone?”

…Where? His bedchamber?

The thought alone summoned that dream—the shabby little room, late at night, only the two of them inside… Kaidan nursing Michel… and eventually—

“We shall go to the drawing room.”

Kaidan crushed the mental image and strode away much too quickly. Michel hurried after him, whining to wait up. Kaidan didn’t respond, but his stride naturally slowed.

“Wow, it’s sweet even without sugar. Did they put malt syrup in here too?”

Michel stuffed a cookie the size of his fist into his mouth and chewed happily. He had already downed three cups of tea, a handful of dried pomegranate, and two small pies. Kaidan was beginning to question whether Michel had come to talk—or simply to eat.

“So, what was it you wanted to say?”

“Mm—hold on! My throat’s dry.”

Kaidan’s brow twitched as Michel slurped tea loudly again. They had arrived ages ago, yet Michel refused to get to the point, wasting time on idle chatter. Still, being forced to sit there with him did have one unexpected benefit.

“Haaah, bitter after sweet—this wakes you up. Is this ‘sweet-bitter-sweet-bitter’?”

I cannot believe I thought I had lovesickness because of this man. Absolute nonsense.

The more ridiculous things Michel said, the colder Kaidan’s chest became. He could look at him directly again—easily. It was difficult to feel infatuated with a man who had cookie crumbs on his lips and slurped tea noisily.

“You’re not eating?”

“No appetite.”

“It’s delicious though.”

Kaidan pushed the basket of cookies toward Michel. Michel did not hesitate to take another—crunching through it joyfully. He looked so pleased that even someone who disliked sweets might grow curious.

Eventually—after a long wait—Michel finished the entire basket of cookies. He washed the last crumbs down with tea, then sighed lazily.

“Oh right, what I wanted to say isn’t a big deal. I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

Finally.

Kaidan straightened in his seat.

“What is it?”

“Can the orphanage children attend the spring banquet this year? I want the nobles to see their Taekwondo.”

“…The nobles?”

“Yes!”

His answer was so confident that Kaidan instantly recalled the children’s wild, loud training. Children punching the air, shouting until their throats tore, breaking boards with tiny feet—hardly compatible with an elegant noble banquet.

If Michel planned to stun the nobles into stupidity—excellent idea. But this banquet was crucial for Valois’ future diplomatic ties. The image of Michel performing martial arts atop the banquet tables made Kaidan’s blood run cold. That must be prevented at all cost.

“What made you think of that?”

Instead of refusing outright, Kaidan chose the softer leash. Years of experience had taught him this truth: the harder one pulled reins on an excited horse, the worse the outcome. Calm strokes and gentle treats worked better. And Michel, regrettably, required similar handling.

“Hmm…”

Michel delayed again, making Kaidan brace for absurdity. He watched Michel’s lips—only to force himself to look away again.

“To be honest… I’ve been thinking about adoption lately.”

“…You intend to bring in another child?”

“No, no. I want to find new parents for our kids.”

Kaidan froze. He had expected anything but that.

It wasn’t strange for orphans to be adopted. He himself had once planned to one day take in an orphan as an heir’s tutor. But Michel—who cared for them so fiercely—wanting to send them away? That was unexpected.

Was the burden too much for him?

Michel continued calmly.

“People don’t look kindly on orphanage children. But if they met them in person, they’d see how bright and healthy they are. You saw how well they did today, right?”

“……”

“I’m not saying we’ll rush anything. Adoption must be incredibly careful… but since important northern nobles will be at the banquet—if they view orphanage children kindly, society will follow. And maybe someday, our kids will meet families meant for them.”

His tone was clear, earnest—well-prepared.

Kaidan understood. The plan was bold, even wise. If nobles adopted children, society’s view would transform instantly.

Still—he felt uneasy.

“Are you certain?”

“Hm? About what?”

“I thought you cherished them greatly.”

Michel’s eyes wavered. So that was why he’d been rambling earlier—to steel himself.

Then he smiled brightly again, even more exaggerated than usual.

“Of course I love them sooo much.”

“……”

“So I’ll send them only to the best homes. People can’t just take them because they want to. I’ll evaluate them for a long time. Only truly good people will become their family.”

He explained his adoption criteria—thorough, rigorous, almost impossibly high. Kaidan wondered if Michel even intended to let them go at all. Still, the system was solid—if the world used such standards, half of all human misery would vanish.

“So, would it be alright if the kids attend the banquet?”

Michel swallowed nervously. Kaidan had meant to refuse—but changed his mind. That vision of Michel kicking noblemen in the face was unlikely after all.

“…Very well.”

Michel exhaled loudly in relief.

“Thank you! I’ll prepare properly. I already memorized half the guest list!”

“Impressive. What is the Marquis Warren’s third son’s name?”

“…Sadly, that part is in the half I haven’t memorized.”

Kaidan snorted. Michel grinned back.

Though everything was settled, Michel did not leave. He chatted on and on—nothing important, just ordinary anecdotes. But unlike earlier, Kaidan didn’t mind staying.

Michel talked louder and laughed more than usual, his expressions exaggerated, his hands restless. Then suddenly, he’d fall silent, stare at the table, eyes darker than usual while his lips kept smiling. Each time, Kaidan poured tea quietly until Michel blinked and smiled brighter again.

“Hmm, where were we?”

“Dan cut all the hair off Alice’s favorite doll.”

“Oh, right! When Alice gets mad, she’s terrifying. So Oliver went to find a kitten to calm her down—Alice loves animals. But actually, Oliver—”

Most of his stories were little orphanage anecdotes. Not particularly fascinating, yet Kaidan listened—truly listened.

His heart no longer pounded uncontrollably. But watching Michel chatter endlessly, a faint ache lingered somewhere deep in his chest—subtle, bearable.

He allowed Michel to talk as long as he wished.

Even after they emptied the teapot, neither could bring themselves to leave.