Chapter 40
Chapter 40
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Gift for the Four (3)
Even after returning to the cabin, the haste didn't fade away.
Helped the child take off her coat,
and immediately added firewood to light the fireplace.
In the meantime,
the child gave hay to the rabbit,
tidied up the rabbit's nest with clumsy hands, then came over to my side.
"Thank you."
"…!"
Praise and thanks.
Childcare books say you must express them when raising a child.
('Even if not in books, it's the right thing to do.')
Still, seeing it in writing
gives fresh confidence to my thoughts and actions.
Because I
am still ignorant,
clumsy, with many shortcomings.
I stroked the child's head with a smile.
The child wiggled her fingers and grinned broadly.
I checked the cookbook again, the one I'd carefully reviewed last night.
The book from Loren,
and the cookbook recommended by Mr. Hubert.
Both had similar contents.
"Sprinkle seasonings and spices, leave at room temperature, start with high heat. Then lower the flame…."
"…?"
I nodded, murmuring like to myself.
Turning my head,
I saw the child next to me seriously mouthing the words while watching me.
Does she want to imitate me?
A laugh escaped.
Her small lips moving so earnestly,
as if reciting an important incantation.
"Shall we make it together today too?"
"!"
Her eyes flew wide open.
Soon she nodded brightly, beaming.
Watching the child, I'd learned.
This child,
unable to speak,
always reacts honestly through her expressions and actions.
Like now,
her eyes sparkling with anticipation,
her small hands clenched tight—that alone told me everything.
Still, sometimes I wondered.
About her voice,
her way of speaking,
her little speech habits.
But
it was all still just imagination.
('Someday she'll tell me.')
Mr. Hubert had said so.
This child's muteness
isn't the same as her inability to walk.
Not walking is a matter of the body being unwell,
but not speaking is because her heart hurts.
When I'd asked how to help, he'd replied:
Don't rush it.
Just stay by her side.
Time might heal her wounded heart.
Fortunately.
I was curious, sure,
but not impatient.
Being by her side was what I was already doing.
Above all—
I am the time of this world.
I chuckled and stroked her head.
"Then, nice working with you."
"…!"
The child smiled and nodded.
Cookbook in one hand, I scooped her up with the other.
From some point on,
the child had wanted to imitate everything I did, one by one.
Cleaning,
reading,
even cooking.
Even though she still couldn't stand without help,
when I started cleaning,
she'd fetch the rag from the corner and scrub the floor with all her might.
When I opened a book,
she'd scoot right up beside me, watching intently as I turned the pages.
Then she'd open the picture book from Mr. Hubert and focus on her own reading.
Cooking was the same.
Until just recently,
she'd only sat at the table watching.
Now,
she reached for utensils,
or hugged an empty bowl, pretending to mix its contents this way and that.
('Well, it'll be fine.')
So lately,
we'd been cooking together.
Knives and fire—anything dangerous for a human child right now—were my job.
But kneading dough,
trimming ingredients,
mixing things—that was her part.
Clumsy and slow.
Sometimes the kitchen ended up a total mess,
and her unskilled hands showed right in the taste.
But it was okay.
"A bit salty. Here, have some water."
"…."
"It's fine. We'll do better next time."
"!"
Her eyes burned with resolve,
and day by day, her skills improved.
As always, I sat her at the table and brought out the ingredients.
"Alright, I'll season and marinate the meat. Can you prep the veggies for the steak?"
"!"
"Thanks."
"…."
The child's cheeks flushed pink,
like the cherry tomatoes clutched in her hands.
With her tiny fingers,
she diligently plucked off each stem one by one.
Watching her, I pulled the meat from the bag.
"Hmm…."
"…?"
I frowned without thinking.
It wasn't aversion to blood or anything.
Undoubtedly,
I was the one who'd seen more blood than anyone in this world.
Rather,
it was the unpleasant fishy stench assaulting my nose,
the sickening squishy texture that grated on me.
Quite badly.
('Having to eat stuff like this. Humans have it rough.')
No helping it, even if I hated it.
It was necessary for her, if not for me.
Swallowing my discomfort, I followed the cookbook to the letter.
Sprinkled salt and pepper meticulously,
coated front and back evenly with olive oil,
then laid the herbs from the alchemy shop atop the meat.
('Hope this kills the smell.')
It said to leave it like that for 30 minutes to an hour.
"Might as well read a book while we wait."
"…."
Muttering as I turned,
I caught the child gazing at me with worried eyes.
"…?"
"Uh…."
As I approached,
she shook her head and tugged my clothes.
She'd clearly noticed my disgust.
Suddenly, a line from the childcare book came to mind.
To get a child eating a variety of foods,
the adult must show enjoying them first.
Yes.
That's what the childcare book said.
Yet from the outset, it felt terribly off-track.
The child,
eyes welling up,
shaking her head vigorously.
As if saying, You don't have to.
"Hmm…."
"…!"
Hard.
Child-rearing.
Especially when even hated foods must sometimes be enjoyed.
I had a vague idea why.
The child
wants to imitate me.
If I like something, she takes interest;
if I hate it, she gets wary and pulls back too.
But….
('Forcing a pretense of liking it would show, wouldn't it?')
The child I knew was sharp.
Even if I smiled on the surface,
if it lacked sincerity, she'd see right through.
So half-hearted acting or faking might do more harm.
This child,
small and young as she is,
sometimes pierces straight to the truth.
Mr. Hubert had said as much.
Childcare books aren't absolute truth.
Like cookbooks,
they're references,
but since people differ, so do child-rearing approaches sometimes.
('This must be one of those times.')
I slowly bowed my head.
"…It's okay."
"…."
"Really, it's okay."
I smiled softly, caressing her cheek.
"Eating's your job. Making's mine."
"…."
"So no need to tear up."
Worry lingered in the child's eyes.
Even toward the squishy hunk of meat on the counter.
('What now?')
After calm thought, I slowly spoke.
"You know, I hate meat. I've hardly ever even tasted it."
"…!"
"So I'd like you to try it and tell me all about it."
"…?"
"Why it's tasty. How to make it tastier."
"!"
A sparkle returned to her teary eyes.
First surprise,
then doubt,
finally firm resolve.
Her small head bobbed up and down.
Slowly,
but surely.
"Thanks."
"…!"
Her small hand released my clothes.
And then
that hand busied itself gesturing something earnestly.
Probably
I'll eat it well.
I'll taste it carefully and tell you.
Something like that.
I took in every motion.
At last, when she finished, I spoke slowly.
"Yeah. I trust you."
"!"
"But no need to hide what you dislike. If it's not tasty, say so. If it's not your taste, say so—be honest. Got it?"
"…."
I slowly stroked her head.
"If it's not for you either, we'll find something else. Tweak the recipe or switch types."
"…!"
"We'll take our time finding what suits us."
The child stared at me, eyes round.
Then she beamed, nodding over and over.
Her small hand returned to the table.
Not the cherry tomatoes from before,
but the herb basket pushed aside earlier.
"Huh?"
"…."
Her small hand sorted through the herbs.
Examining their shapes closely,
just like when I identified medicinal herbs—
she even rubbed a leaf between her fingers and sniffed.
Then she carefully offered me a few selected ones.
"Hmm… More to kill the smell?"
"!"
The child nodded with all her might.
Laughter bubbled up.
This child
was far kinder, far smarter than I'd thought.
"Good. Let's add more."
"!"
She added the herb leaves she'd picked.
Time for her touch to infuse subtly into the meat.
I made the sauce,
sliced her prepped ingredients,
got ready to grill the steak.
An hour passed.
"Definitely less smell."
"…!"
"Still some lingers, but way less repulsive."
"!"
I carefully laid the meat in the pan.
High heat first.
Once the outside browned,
then low heat.
Her first meat dish, so
I put in extra care, cooking meticulously.
Set the finished meat aside,
and grilled all her prepped veggies too.
"Done."
"…!"
Her nose twitched.
Probably
checking if my hated smell lingered.
So cute—a chuckle slipped out.
Plated the steak,
drizzled warm sauce over it.
Fresh-grilled veggies went on a separate plate.
In case the meat didn't suit,
I hoped the veggies would at least taste good.
Carefully set the plates on the table.
"Go on, try it."
"…."
She gulped, cut a piece with the knife, and took a cautious bite.
Prudent,
careful.
"…!"
"Tasty?"
Her eyes went perfectly round.
Chewing thoroughly,
she nodded rapidly.
"Good, glad."
"!"
"Eat up."
Relieved.
She didn't hate it.
One bite.
Two bites.
A few more chews, then
she speared a small piece on her fork and held it out to me.
I stared, dumbfounded.
"…For me too?"
"!"
"…Yeah. I'll eat well."
One bite.
Cautiously into my mouth.
"…?"
"Hmm…."
"???"
"…Honestly, not my taste."
"…."
Her brows drooped a little.
I swallowed the rest, chuckling.
"Still, tastiest meat dish I've tried."
"…!"
"Yeah. Not inedible."
Her face lit up instantly.
Small shoulders shaking, she took up the fork again.
I smiled,
as she ate like savoring a gem.
A thoroughly satisfying dinner.