Outing (1)
If I put myself in her shoes, the adoption must have been incredibly sudden from Beatrice's perspective. Even so, she had adapted splendidly to life with me. It had already been ten days since I'd brought her from Edenberg to Handel, and then to my mansion.
Whoosh—!
"...Hoo."
It was now our daily routine and promise—the morning training session. Beatrice swung the thin sword I'd first handed her in a remarkably fluid arc. Of course, it wasn't precise enough to call masterful; it was still very much beginner level. But there was no denying that her movements were starting to carry a certain grace. And after just ten days of training, no less.
Naturally, her physical abilities hadn't skyrocketed in that time or anything dramatic like that. The Beatrice who had struggled to even lift the sword with both hands had managed to swing it so cleanly just once, and that was entirely thanks to her awakening to mana.
A girl born to overcome the Blood Death Disease, where ninety-nine out of a hundred perished. A child who would surpass the mere label of 'mage' to be called a 'witch.'
She's a genius.
Yes, that was genius in a nutshell. Completing her mana circuits in just four days and using that power to enhance her own strength—what else could you call it? Even if I'd guided her along the way...
This wasn't a speed that could be explained away by a little hand-holding on my part.
A pleased smile crept onto my lips unbidden. Was this what it felt like to teach a promising student? I clapped my hands, drawing her attention to me.
"Let's call it here for today. You're progressing much faster than I expected."
"...Hoo..."
Beatrice held the pose after lowering her sword for a long moment before finally exhaling deeply and sheathing it. Under the pouring sunlight, her deep blue hair shimmered with a soft glow.
I approached and offered her the water bottle and towel I'd prepared in advance. She took them with familiar ease and wiped away her sweat. The girl who used to flinch in fear at my mere approach had grown quite accustomed to my presence now. Exactly as I'd hoped.
After all, familiarity was better than awkward distance. Ten days was short, but it had been enough to draw our father-daughter bond—born of necessity—a step closer. Of course, that one time she'd called me 'Daddy' was a rarity now, and her expression still darkened now and then with old memories. I'd have to settle for the occasional innocent smile befitting her age.
I spoke with what now felt like a quite natural, gentle smile.
"Shall we go eat? You're still growing, so eat plenty and get big and strong."
Beatrice paused while tilting the water bottle I'd given her to quench her thirst and turned to look at me. Perhaps her stomach was rumbling from the movement; she rubbed it lightly and replied timidly.
"...You always treat me like a kid. I'm not that young."
"Fifteen makes you a kid. What, an adult? No backtalk—come on."
She seemed embarrassed at being babied, but I had no intention of indulging that. Children should grow up as children do—even ones who'd been abandoned once. Now that I'd taken her in, Beatrice would always receive the treatment befitting her age. Proper nutrition for growth was part of that.
Having endured such a malnourished adolescence, she was quite thin compared to her peers. Height could still come with time, but those spindly limbs... Without borrowing mana, she could barely grip even that thin sword properly. What she needed most right now was three square meals—lavish, abundant ones.
"Alright, go wash up and come down. Your old man here will show off his skills in the meantime."
"Got it..."
I rolled up my sleeves and headed straight to the kitchen. Beatrice, looking tired, let out a small yawn and trudged up to the second floor.
"Hmm."
Confirming she'd disappeared upstairs, I began pulling ingredients from the pantry. If it were just me, I'd handle breakfast simply or skip it altogether... But living with Beatrice changed that. She'd said it enough times—she needed the nutrition.
Even for two people, at least two dishes, three if possible. Time to put my cooking skills—honed over a decade including my past life—to use.
Sizzle!
I lit the fire with magic, set a frying pan on top, poured in olive oil, and got to work. Chop chop chop! Skilled knife work prepped the ingredients; I unwrapped foil-covered meat and slid it into the oven; cracked eggs and poured them into the hot pan. Beside it, mushrooms grilled; butter melted for the rye bread. A pot went on for stew, and I warmed milk for Beatrice.
Scrape, scrape— I pulled some chilled fruits from storage, peeled them, and plated them first.
With the faint sound of Beatrice washing up upstairs as background music, I busied myself cooking and setting the table for quite a while.
"I'm here..."
"Ah, there you are."
By the time Beatrice appeared, fluffy and towel-drying her hair, a satisfying spread was complete. Herb-and-honey-glazed roast beef gleaming golden; the stew she'd loved since day one; Italian-style omelet packed with veggies and cheese, plus saffron bread. That was just the big items—rabbit-shaped apple slices and grapes waited as dessert for a growing girl.
Her drowsiness faded from washing up; with clearer eyes, she stared at the table, froze in place, and stiffened.
I stroked my upper lip with pride and said,
"I put in some effort. Your sword swing today was so impressive, I prepared this breakfast with a teacher's heart for his improving pupil."
"...You..."
Beatrice forgot to dry her still-damp hair, pressed her forehead in frustration, and said,
"Haven't I told you over and over? I'm really grateful for all this, but... honestly, I can't finish it. How big do you think my stomach is? Why do you keep making such... such..."
Her face darkened as if overwhelmed; she trailed off. But from experience, it was probably something like, Why do you set such a lavish table?
To reassure her, I shrugged and replied,
"Can't finish? Leave it. I'll eat the rest."
"...That's what you said last time, and you stuffed me till I was bursting...!"
"Hey, you're growing. Gotta eat big."
"No. Ugh, argh, really..."
Beatrice pounded her chest in frustration at my nonchalant reply, but I grinned slyly, pretending not to notice, and gestured to her seat.
"Come on, sit. You must be starving."
"..."
By now, she must have realized arguing was pointless. Pouting, she swallowed her complaints, pulled out a chair, and sat.
"...I'll dig in."
"No need to stand on ceremony."
She grumbled on the surface but always met my eyes politely to give thanks. Her feelings showed plainly on her face, and that let me know one thing for sure: deep down, this girl Beatrice was grateful to me.
She wondered about my motives, suspected sometimes, kept her guard up now and then. But there was no lie in giving her a roof, warm meals, a cozy home, and teaching her magic and swordsmanship.
And since her emotions showed so clearly...
Munch munch—
"...!"
The moment she popped a thick, perfectly sliced tenderloin into her mouth and chewed a few times, her expression lit up noticeably. Good thing it suited her taste. Of course—a growing kid needs her meat.
A spoonful of omelet, then—as always—blowing 'hoo hoo' on the hot stew broth before filling her mouth, beaming all the while.
...I didn't get it before.
Now I understood what parents meant when they said watching their child eat filled them up. Fork stuck in my meat, I gazed at Beatrice with warm eyes for a good while.
"Wh-what? Aren't you eating?"
Only when she slurped her warmed milk and noticed I hadn't touched my food did she stammer it out. Her cheeks flushed red, embarrassed at being watched.
"Ah, right. Don't mind me."
"...Ugh..."
I chuckled softly and finally started eating. A grown man like me outpaced her anyway. Even starting late, we finished around the same time.
By the time Beatrice rubbed her slightly bloated belly and nibbled a rabbit-shaped apple, the table was cleared. Well... about 70% of it was me. Can't help different stomach sizes. Still, she'd filled up nicely, so I was satisfied.
Beatrice stared at me wiping my mouth with a napkin and tossed out,
"...You eat a ton. You don't look that big."
I smiled faintly and answered,
"Difference in basal metabolism. Don't judge by your standards. This body burns more calories than you think."
"Oh...?"
Not quite convinced, she alternated glances between the empty plates and me, tilting her head. Fair enough—even for an average adult male, I ate a lot. But I'd survived seven years as a mercenary on this body. For mercenaries staking their lives, food was lifeblood. Eat big when you can—that was the way.
Instead of explaining further, I stood and changed the subject.
"Time to restock ingredients, I think. Might as well stop by the post office too—thinking of heading into town briefly."
"..."
I paused, glancing at Beatrice's reaction. Seeing her face dim slightly, I smiled inwardly and continued, tweaking my words naturally.
"...Want to come? Better than staying cooped up—get some fresh air now and then."
"...!"
It didn't take long for her slumped shoulders to perk up as she whipped her head around, eyes brightening.
...Like a puppy hearing 'walkies.' Better not say that out loud.
I headed to the living room, grabbed my coat from the wall, and said,
"Let's go. It's chilly—throw on an outer layer."
"...Yeah!"
Beatrice hopped down from her chair with a 'boing!' and dashed upstairs energetically.