Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Pig Prince Ethan (2)
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I'd sent Ethan off to the dining hall with the promise of whipping up some simple snack for him, but truthfully, I was regrettably no culinary prodigy.
This wasn't one of those web novels where the protagonist isekai'd into another world and conquers the locals' taste buds with all sorts of gourmet dishes. For an ordinary guy from South Korea like me, cooking had been limited to the bare essentials of bachelor life.
And even most of that was impossible here.
What kind of cooking could you do in a place without instant ramen, canned goods, or a microwave—staples for any solo liver?
Using fire for cooking always left traces behind, no way around it. So in this situation, the best I could manage was raw food, at most.
Among this ridiculous abundance of fruits and vegetables, slicing up a few that were safe to eat raw was the most plausible solution.
The taste? Eh, it'd be mediocre at best, but that wasn't my problem.
And honestly, I didn't even want to make it tasty.
Not out of some petty grudge against seeing Ethan's happy face or anything. I just had a hunch that if it turned out good, the little brat would cling even more annoyingly.
To reiterate: my plan was to shake off Ethan and ultimately escape the Blackwood Family.
I'd never once harbored any grand ambition to educate this kid as his exclusive maid, Lilith Rosewood, and raise him into a proper man. If anything, I'd only ever brainstormed ways to avoid getting tangled up with him as much as possible.
Right now, I was just forced to humor him because I needed to get him out of the kitchen pronto.
"Out of these, the ones safe to eat raw are... probably just the tomatoes and turnips, at best."
Eh, this should be fine. If he was really starving, he'd scarf down whatever I served. If not, it meant he wasn't hungry, so I'd just send him packing.
I peeled half a turnip clean with Clean magic, sliced it evenly along with a tomato, and plated them in a salad dish.
Then I drizzled something that seemed like honey on top and mixed it in lightly.
Honey was a pricey condiment in this world, but whatever—it wasn't for me.
If anyone griped about it later, I could just say I fed it to Ethan. Harold wouldn't complain about something going into his own son's mouth.
And so, with the bare minimum ingredients on hand, I threw together a tomato-turnip salad, carried it to the dining hall, and set it down in front of the brat who was waiting in his seat—fork included.
"Tomato-turnip salad, Young Master."
"Tomato-turnip...? That's it...?"
"As I told you, I can't handle elaborate cooking. If you'd like a proper meal, please come back at 9 a.m."
"......"
"If it's not to your taste, I'll clear it away."
"Ah, no! I'll eat it! Leave it there!"
He hesitated for a split second at the meager menu before him, but hunger won out over pickiness, it seemed.
He blocked my hand as I reached for the plate and hurriedly grabbed the fork.
-Stab!
"*Huff*, *huff*."
"......"
...God, maybe I shouldn't even watch.
I had no idea where this kid had sold his noble etiquette, but watching him chow down really made the "pig" in Pig Prince Ethan fit to a T.
His mouth was smeared like he'd deliberately slathered it on, and he kept dribbling bits all over the tablecloth. A sigh escaped me involuntarily.
No matter that his wife had died and he was raising his son alone—shouldn't a thirteen-year-old noble have basic manners drilled into him by now?
My anger wasn't just at Ethan; it was swelling toward his father, Harold, too.
Before I knew it, Ethan had polished off the plate and shoved the empty salad dish toward me.
"All done!"
"...Just leave it, and I'll clear it later."
"Yeah!"
-Thud!
"......"
I said leave it, not hurl it.
The impact sent the leftover dressing splattering across the already messy tablecloth, making it even filthier.
Translation: after Ethan left, I'd have to clean this spotless too.
At least Clean magic made it a breeze; otherwise, I might've cursed under my breath without thinking.
"Did it suit your palate, at least?"
"Nope!"
This little shit?
"But my belly's full now, so it's good!"
"...I see. Very good."
Couldn't even muster a polite "it was tasty"?
Then again, expecting manners from a kid with his face caked in gunk was probably asking too much.
The silver lining: his belly was full, so now I could ship him back to his room.
"Young Master, please turn your face this way."
"Huh? Mmph...."
"Walking around with your mouth smeared like this raises questions about your refinement."
(And if word gets out what you stuffed yourself with all night, I'm in hot water too.)
"Mmph, mmf...."
"There, that's better."
I roughly wiped the dribbles from his chin with my apron, and it looked marginally improved.
Still hideous, but that was personal bias against the original.
His growling stomach was filled somehow, so it was time to boot him from the kitchen.
"You should head to your bedroom now and get some rest. Do you need an escort?"
"No!"
"The brave Young Master can conquer the night's darkness alone, I see. Please go carefully."
"Yeah!"
"And what happened tonight will stay our little secret. I won't gossip to the Master or the other maids about you, so please keep our secret safe as well."
(Especially the part where I held a knife to your throat in the storeroom.)
"Yeah! Got it!"
His face screamed unreliability, but there wasn't much else I could do at this point.
All I could do was hope Pig Prince Ethan would honor our deal.
He probably wouldn't want to broadcast that he'd snuck out of bed hungry in the dead of night, either.
...Assuming he had even a shred of shame.
"Thanks for the grub!"
"...Sleep well, Young Master."
His parting words were at least somewhat human as he shut the kitchen door and headed back to his room.
I tidied the disastrous dining hall and the dishes he'd used with Clean magic, one by one.
Every spell cast meant one less garlic clove to chew, which was a small mercy in moments like this. Yesterday, I'd have had to munch one or two while clearing plates.
It was less efficient for growth, but that just meant my magic training yesterday had paid off big time.
No thrill over the boosted mana pool, though.
With time wasted on Ethan today, I needed to hustle through my quota. After quickly finishing the dishes, I started peeling today's garlic with Clean.
For my growth—and to avoid suspicion from the other maids.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Ethan Richard Blackwood's childhood was unhappy.
Calling it "unhappy" for someone raised without want in the great Blackwood ducal family might sound odd to some, but at least Ethan himself never found his life enjoyable.
Shaped by his father, a man of monumental achievements, and his mother, who had left his side in his early years.
Born between the Blackwood Family heir and the empire's treasure, the grand archmage, Ethan Richard Blackwood entered the world under the expectations of the entire empire.
People assumed the child of these two most precious bloodlines under heaven would surely inherit brilliant magical talent.
His father had cleaved the empire's walls in half with magic-infused swordsmanship at just ten. His mother was a prodigy who read advanced academy texts from age eight.
Naturally, young Ethan grew up bathed in everyone's expectations.
"As the son of Lord Harold and Lady Thanacia, he might even outshine them from an even younger age."
The anticipation from those around him, even before he could walk, piled up as burdens in little Ethan's heart.
As he aged year by year, the excessive hopes directed at him only swelled.
"Given how brilliant both parents were from youth, he might show something by six."
"If he inherited both their talents, surely by seven he'll shine."
"Lady Thanacia started advanced magic texts at eight, so maybe Ethan too..."
"If he got their gifts, this year he'll probably..."
"Lord Harold reached Sword Expert at ten, so perhaps Ethan..."
"It's about time for his talent to emerge..."
"Why hasn't the son of Thanacia and Harold shown anything yet?"
Far too much pressure for a child not even ten.
No one outright demanded he perform, but even a kid could sense the atmosphere.
Each wave of blind expectation made Ethan agonize over his own talents.
He wasn't born with his father's knack for mana-infused swordplay, nor his mother's mind for arcane lore.
The first thing this ten-year-old realized about his gifts wasn't mastery of mana or spells—it was how woefully inadequate they were compared to his parents'.
Yet Ethan made it to ten without breaking, thanks to his mother, Thanacia.
No matter how much he fell short, she alone always comforted and embraced him unconditionally.
Unlike others, her gaze held no expectations—just pure love for him as he was.
From the day at age ten when his mother passed from illness, Ethan's mind began to fracture bit by bit.
His final pillar of understanding had crumbled.
Of course, his father Harold cherished him no less than Thanacia.
Ethan was simply too young to read that stoic man's unspoken emotions.
After losing his sole emotional anchor—his mother—the stern father barely glanced his way in the barren mansion.
And the countless eyes still watching, waiting for his talent to bloom.
In that vast space where he felt like the only misfit, Ethan wandered the halls in a daze, losing himself often.
...The spark that changed that child's nature was something utterly trivial.
-Crash!
'Kyaaah!'
'Y-Young Master!'
'Young Master Ethan fell down the stairs! Fetch the doctor quick!'
In his upside-down world, as servants rushed to his side one by one.
For some reason, Ethan felt an unprecedented comfort in that chaos.
Even with far more eyes on him than usual, none carried expectations—the one moment they never had.