Peaceful Life in Another World (2)
—Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Just like any other day, the crow of a rooster echoed through the village.
It was early morning, the sun not yet fully risen. Isabelle rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. She threw the window wide open, and cool morning air drifted into the room.
The scent of dew that had gathered overnight. Sparrows chattering on the rooftop. In the distance, white smoke rose from the bakery chimney, and from the blacksmith’s shop—still shuttered—came the faint clink of someone arranging hammers.
An ordinary morning. And that was exactly why it felt so good.
Isabelle rested her arms on the windowsill and looked down at the village for a moment. A short walk down that road led to the little square. Past the square was the well. A little farther still, Hans’s forge. Beside it, Bob’s potato field. It was the same landscape she had run through countless times since she was small.
“…”
She turned her head.
In one corner of the room, a little kid lay curled up, hugging a rolled-up blanket on the floor. It was Rowoon.
“…Honestly.”
Every time she looked at him, it still felt strange. Hair black as pitch. A straight, high bridge of a nose. Features so refined it was hard to believe he was the same age as the other children.
When he was asleep, he really did look like a little noble young master. The moment he opened his mouth, though—
“Uuuugh…”
Rowoon shifted restlessly.
“Master Yi…”
“…”
“Please… just one more gank…”
There it was again. At first she had wondered if it was someone’s name. It wasn’t. Some days it was “Master Yi.” Other days it was “Jungle Difference.”
What on earth was a jungle difference supposed to be?
She couldn’t make sense of a single word, yet he muttered it all with complete seriousness. Sometimes he got angry all by himself. Sometimes he laughed.
Once he had started swinging his arms through the empty air in his sleep. Startled, she had woken him, only for him to mumble something about a dragon flying in before drifting right back off.
“…Busy even in his dreams, huh.”
As if dragons existed in this world.
A quiet laugh slipped out. When she first met him, she hadn’t been able to laugh at all. Those eyes had looked like they had already lived through far too much for a nine-year-old.
Now, though, even if she gave his cheek a light pinch—
“…Nngh…”
—he only furrowed his brow and burrowed deeper into the blanket.
“…Hmph.”
The corner of Isabelle’s mouth lifted without her meaning to. This house seemed to have become a real home for Rowoon, too. That made her oddly proud.
She gave his cheek one more light tap and left the room.
“Good morning.”
“Sleep well?”
“Yes.”
Isabelle set plates on the table one by one, answering briefly. In the middle of the kitchen, her father was stirring a large pot.
Bubble, bubble. The sound of tomatoes cooking down until they burst. The scent of finely chopped onion and herbs, mixed with the smell of meat, filled the house along with the warm steam.
“Food’s almost ready,” her father said, giving the stew another stir with a wooden ladle. “Go wake Rowoon up, will you?”
“…Okay.”
She answered shortly and glanced over the table. Three wooden plates. Three spoons. One basket for the bread.
Come to think of it, Hans had brought over a whole basket of tomatoes yesterday.
“He said the tomato harvest was especially good this year.”
“So that’s why it’s tomato stew today?”
“Mm.” Her father nodded with a smile. “Hans specifically picked out the big ones because he knows Rowoon likes them.”
“…I figured.”
Everyone in the village spoiled Rowoon rotten. At first they had all fretted about the strange child she’d brought home. Now they slipped him snacks whenever they passed by, asked if he’d eaten, and even quietly competed over who would get to feed him dinner.
“…Maybe because he eats so well,” she muttered under her breath. Her father burst out laughing.
“Kids that age are supposed to eat a lot.”
“…Rowoon eats a lot, though.”
“True enough.”
They looked at each other and smiled. Isabelle hung her apron over a chair and headed back to the room.
Just as expected. The moment she opened the door, Rowoon was still sleeping in exactly the same position. No—slightly different. This time he was clutching the blanket even tighter.
“…”
Isabelle watched him quietly for a moment. The day she first found him came back to her.
A child collapsed from hunger in the forest. His body burning with fever. Calluses thick on his hands—hard to believe he was only nine. The first few days had been worse. Even in sleep, the smallest sound would snap his eyes open. He would check every corner of the room, the window, the door. If someone approached from behind, his body reacted first. At the beginning he had even clenched his fists without realizing it.
What kind of life did he live?
She had wondered more than once, but Rowoon almost never talked about himself. Occasionally he would drop vague words like “the place I used to live,” or “friends,” or “the Tower,” but he never went any deeper. Isabelle never pressed. She simply pretended not to notice.
Still. She was glad now. That he could sleep this deeply—even when she pinched his cheek or he talked in his sleep—meant that, at least in this house, he felt safe enough to let his guard down.
“…Rowoon.”
She called softly.
“…”
No response.
“Rowoon.”
Still lost in dreamland.
“…Hey! Lee Rowoon!”
……
Utterly useless.
In the end she reached for the edge of the blanket with practiced hands. And then—
Whoosh.
“…!!”
The blanket vanished in an instant. Rowoon bolted upright.
“Enemy!”
He shouted something strange in his half-asleep state and looked wildly around. The moment his eyes met Isabelle’s, he froze.
“…Noona.”
“Yeah.”
“…This is a human rights violation.”
“You’re still half asleep.”
“Five more minutes.”
“No.”
“Three minutes.”
“No.”
“Thirty seconds.”
“No.”
“…”
Rowoon stared blankly into space for a while, then let out a long, deep sigh.
“…The world is so harsh.”
“If you don’t want breakfast, you can keep sleeping.”
The second the words left her mouth, Rowoon sprang off the bed as if launched.
“I’m up.”
“I’ll go wash my face.”
“I won’t be picky today.”
“…Have you ever been picky?”
“…Apparently not.”
“Right.”
“Then let’s go eat.”
Isabelle snorted a quiet laugh and left the room first. She heard the soft thud of footsteps following behind her.
“…Noona.”
“Hm?”
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Tomato stew.”
“…”
Rowoon’s steps noticeably quickened.
“…You like it?”
“…A little.”
“A little?”
“…A lot.”
She finally couldn’t hold it in and laughed out loud. As expected—when it came to food, Rowoon was wonderfully simple.
“You know today is the day Bob harvests his potatoes, right?”
After a solid breakfast, they were about to step outside to walk off the meal when Isabelle spoke from behind him.
“No running off like last time, okay?”
“…When did I ever run off?”
“We’re harvesting together today, so don’t even think about disappearing.”
It was unfair. Running off? He had only gone to handle a little supervisory work for a moment! Was it so hard to phrase things a little more nicely?
“Supervisory work?”
“Yeah.”
“Of what?”
“…Birds.”
“…”
“Someone has to check if they’re stealing the potatoes.”
“…And?”
“They didn’t show up.”
“…And?”
“…So I rested.”
“…That’s what people call running away.”
It was deeply, thoroughly unfair.
Anyway. The moment they left the house, cool morning air brushed their faces. The dirt path smelled of damp earth from the overnight dew, and sparrows chattered nonstop on the rooftops. White smoke rose from the bakery chimney in the distance, and the scent of freshly baked bread rode the breeze, filling the alley.
Mmm~
Peaceful.
Back in the Tower, the first thing he did when morning came was check his gear. Who was going to die today? Where would the monsters come from? Those were the only thoughts. Here, the first thing that hit him was the smell of bread.
“Rowoon!”
Kids playing in the square waved the moment they spotted him.
“Morning!”
“…Morning.”
“Harvesting potatoes again today?”
“…”
The rumor had already spread. How exactly did the information network in this village work?
“Good luck!”
“…Not planning on trying that hard.”
“Huh?”
“…Nothing.”
The kids burst into laughter and went back to racing across the dirt. The corner of his mouth tugged upward without permission. Kids that age were supposed to play like that. In the Tower, he had seen far more children running away than running around for fun.
Ah.
Come to think of it… he was the same age as those kids right now, wasn’t he?
Ahem.
Beyond the village, wide fields stretched out. Wheat swayed like waves in the wind, and a few sheep grazed lazily.
He suddenly stopped walking.
“…?”
“What?”
“Those sheep.”
“Yeah?”
“…Look delicious.”
“…”
Isabelle stared at him as if he were hopeless.
“You don’t think they’re cute?”
“Both are possible.”
“What?”
“Something can be cute and delicious.”
“…Sometimes you scare me.”
Why? Had he said something wrong? Back on Earth, people looked for cute desserts more than just delicious ones, didn’t they?
A little farther on, the potato field spread out before them.
…
Seriously. Ridiculously huge.
Even though it was still early morning, people were already everywhere. Some carried sacks. Some gathered hoes. Some had already started digging.
“Rowoon!”
At the familiar voice, he turned. Bob straightened up and waved.
“…Yarhan morning.”
“…?”
“…It means good morning.”
“Hahaha!”
Bob laughed heartily without a single shred of suspicion.
“So there’s a saying like that, too.”
No. There wasn’t.
He awkwardly looked away. The people in this village were far too pure. They believed anything he said. One of these days that was going to cause real trouble.
“Here.”
Bob held out two hoes.
“Today we start from over there.”
His finger moved slowly.
“All the way to the far end.”
Rowoon followed the gesture with his eyes.
Yeah. Uuugh.
The potato field was seriously, absurdly huge.
“This is a total black company.”
“…Black?”
Ah.
“…Nothing.”
Even if he explained, they wouldn’t understand. He swallowed a sigh to himself.
Then—
“Alright!”
Isabelle rolled up her sleeves and beamed.
“I’ll take from here to here!”
Then her finger swung toward him.
“And Rowoon takes from there to there!”
Hey. Wait. Time-out.
He looked back and forth between the two sections she had pointed out. No matter how he sliced it, it was half and half.
“We’re splitting it evenly…?”
“Yep!”
Isabelle cheerfully gave him a thumbs-up.
“I’m nine.”
“Yep!”
“…”
“But you’re a boy!”
Dirty excuse. He’d known something was off about her ever since that pink hair. This was straight-up child labor.
Maybe he’d just pretend to work for a bit and then casually go check on supervisory duties again? This time the birds really might try to steal the potatoes!
Perfect. A completely reasonable plan.
Hoe slung over his shoulder, wearing the most reluctant expression in the world, Rowoon trudged into the potato field.