I Saved the Hero's Orphans
I saved the orphans the hero was supposed to save. I didn't have a choice. Right now I'm too busy trying to keep my own head above water to worry about anything else.
The world I woke up in was straight out of a romance fantasy novel—one of those stories where the saintly hero gathers up tragic orphans, heals their hearts, and builds a perfect found family while everyone sighs dreamily in the background. Too bad I wasn't the hero. I was just some extra who happened to transmigrate into the body of a minor villain with a crumbling territory and a mountain of debt.
At first I thought I'd stick to the script. Keep my head down, avoid the male leads, and maybe scrape together enough coin to live quietly somewhere far from the capital's drama. But then I saw them—the kids the original story had lined up for the hero's collection. A girl with burn scars who was destined to become a fire mage. A boy with a sealed dragon bloodline sleeping in his veins. Another who could speak to spirits but had been abandoned because her eyes glowed at night. All of them broken, starving, and waiting for their destined savior.
Except their destined savior was currently busy playing house with the female lead three kingdoms away. By the time he'd get around to them, half would be dead.
So I took them in. All of them. Not because I'm some kind-hearted saint—please, I can barely keep myself fed—but because dead kids don't pay taxes, and live kids with incredible potential grow up into very useful adults. At least that's what I told myself while I signed over the last of my savings to buy winter coats and medicine.
I'm not collecting orphans. I'm investing in human resources. Totally different.
The first one I brought home was a scrawny boy with silver hair and eyes that wouldn't meet mine. He kept his head bowed like he expected to be hit at any moment. According to the novel, he was supposed to be the hero's loyal right-hand man someday. Right now he looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over.
"What's your name?" I asked.
He flinched at the sound of my voice. "…They called me useless."
I sighed. Of course they did.
"Well, from now on you're called Ren. And if you work hard, you'll eat three meals a day. Sound fair?"
He stared at me like I'd grown a second head. I guess kindness wasn't in the script for this character.
That night I caught him trying to run away with half a loaf of bread stuffed in his shirt. I didn't stop him. Just left the gate unlocked and watched from the window as he stood there in the freezing rain, looking back at the warm light of the manor like it was some kind of trap.
He came back at dawn. Still had the bread. Said the birds looked hungrier than him.
That's when I knew I was screwed. These kids were going to ruin my perfectly reasonable plan of becoming a mediocre lord in a forgotten corner of the empire. They were going to make me care.
And the worst part? The original hero had already started noticing that his destined supporting cast was mysteriously disappearing. Rumors were spreading. A thin, feminine-looking servant had been spotted at the Grand Duke's banquet wearing my colors—someone who moved with the grace of a warrior but kept their eyes down like a beaten dog.
I rubbed my temples. The hero was supposed to be the one collecting strays, not me. But here I was, already three orphans deep and counting, while the male lead of the story was probably still practicing his princely smile in a mirror somewhere.
Whatever. Let him have his romance. I'd take the kids, the headaches, and the slow-burn process of turning a bankrupt territory into something that could actually sustain us. Because in this world, the only happily-ever-after I'm interested in is one where we all survive the coming monster waves.
Even if that means becoming the villain who stole the hero's orphans.