I Need a Ripe Orphan (1)
How could I have been so careless?
I hadn't prepared anything even with only three weeks until the Academy term started!
Was it a big problem? Normally, no.
What did it matter if I didn't have connections? A fake little brother was irrelevant.
The issue was how deeply I'd gotten tangled with Academy folks.
"How did I end up with two major clients being the Academy's swordsmanship department head and its future ace?"
Sure, the deal with the Arno family was wrapped up for now, but given my shop's nature, I doubted they'd just forget about me.
Luckily, enrolling in the Academy wasn't too tough.
Money, a recommendation letter, or an exam—one of the three would do.
No need for recommendations or exams; money could solve it outright.
It was a system designed to squeeze cash from spoiled noble brats or merchants obsessed with their kids' education.
Hell, top U.S. universities pulled the same trick all the time.
With the coin I'd gotten from the count, slipping in one person would be a breeze.
"But what's the point? I don't have anyone to send."
Realistically, my options were adopting someone from an orphanage or sponsoring a kid to play my little sister.
Either way, I needed an orphan. A ripe one.
No time to hesitate. Off to the orphanage!
Academy Adjacent Orphanage. Yeah, that's its actual name.
The heroine's crew was shocked when they saw it while volunteering, so that says it all.
With the Academy being the biggest name around, they named it that for simplicity.
Easier than something flowery like Heaven Orphanage or Grid Orphanage.
It boasted a solid 40-year history, with countless orphans whose lives had been transformed here.
A prestigious place, funded entirely by donations from its successful alumni.
Today's goal: scout a kid worth adopting or sponsoring.
"I'm Grid, the one who called ahead."
"Welcome to the Academy Adjacent Orphanage. I'm Beatrix, the director."
A warm-faced woman greeted me inside.
First time at an orphanage, so let's leave it to the pro.
"As I mentioned before my visit, I'd like to adopt or sponsor a child with whom I feel a connection."
"Adoption or sponsorship... May I ask why you're considering sponsorship?"
"The child might not want to be adopted. Becoming family isn't just my decision alone."
"Oh my."
Social skills unlocked. Say the right things.
It was flattery, sure, but sincere too. This was the core of my high-stakes plan—picking wrong could tank everything.
Grab a weirdo, and I'd be straight to ruin.
"What age range are you looking for?"
The Academy's minimum for first-years was 18.
"Around 18 would be ideal."
Predictably, the director's beaming smile faded.
"Is there a reason you're seeking someone almost an adult?"
She was worried I had some creepy ulterior motive. You know, the "daughter-wife" kind of dark desire.
But this body was pure as driven snow.
"No particular reason. I don't have the setup to care for a young child."
Her expression stayed stern.
"I'm a merchant. My job keeps me running around, so I can't give a kid in their most needy years the attention they deserve."
Hell, if someone who pulls all-nighters and crashes at home tries raising a dog, is that fair to the pup?
"Even so, I want to build a family. One that shares the good times and splits the tough ones."
"…."
"Plus, at 18, they'd be Academy age—letting them get the education I had to give up for survival. Sound fair?"
Perfect logic. Can't handle a kid? Proxy satisfaction through their learning.
Her face softened a bit. Persuasion working.
Time for the knockout punch.
"Gender doesn't matter. That's not what family is about."
"!!!"
*
I got the boot. Well, not exactly—she said she needed time to think and told me to look around.
I thought that was my finisher, but somehow she took "gender irrelevant" as "into dudes too" or something...
"This is bullshit."
Come on, an 18-year-old still at the orphanage? That's leftover stock with baggage!
I'm offering to raise 'em right! Or just pay tuition if adoption's off!
Whatever. Director's pride, I guess.
Instead of waiting, I wandered to check for decent prospects.
Kids kicking a ball on the playground—elementary school age.
All healthy and lively; clearly well-cared-for.
Fancy orphanages are different, huh.
Good kids get adopted fast, openings fill with new ones—fresh rotation like a hot spot's ingredients.
Problem: precisely because it's top-tier, no 18-year-olds in sight.
An hour of searching, zero finds. Out of stock?
The older ones were either volunteer students from the Academy on break or staff.
Did the director trick me? Waste my time?
Time is money for merchants. No more waiting—I knocked on her office door.
"Ah, I was just about to call you."
Inside: the director and two kids. One boy, one girl.
Blond pretty-boy type—probably broken hearts already. Girl: black hair, frail, dead eyes.
"These are the 18-year-olds from our orphanage that you've been looking for, Mr. Grid."
"I see."
"I need to handle lunch for the little ones, so please talk with them."
"Got it."
11:30... Kids eat early. Meal, snack, nap routine.
Director left; just me and the two 18-year-old sprouts.
"Age gap's not huge, so let's keep it casual. Nice to meet you. I'm Grid."
"Alber here!"
"Silbi."
Hmm. They match their looks perfectly.
"You've probably heard the basics from the director, but I'm a merchant looking for family. Someone to attend the Academy in my place."
"Whoa...."
Alber's eyes widen, mouth agape.
That's the normal reaction. Killer conditions. Silbi, though...
"…."
Deadpan stare like "So what?" Not even glancing my way.
This one's a bust.
"Just one promise while at the Academy, and I won't meddle otherwise."
"What? What?!"
"…."
"No coming back to the orphanage till graduation."
"Gasp!"
"…."
Obviously. No rumors about making a "sibling" here to sneak into the Academy.
Same for pure sponsorship—they'd go straight to dorms.
"But graduate, and you're free. No big interference in your life. Full support during school."
All I need is a sibling at the Academy.
Don't flunk, and grades don't matter.
Three problem-free years as my alibi? Live however.
"That's the pitch. Questions?"
"Wait! So I can learn swordsmanship and magic?"
"Of course. That's what the Academy's for."
"Whoaaa...."
"…."
Good—Alber's hooked. Silbi? Still ice-cold.
Choice is obvious, right?
"Wish I could take both, but only one's coming with me."
Harsh, harsh. Still no eye contact.
"Gotta head to work. Decide who, and I'll be back."
Could grab Alber now, but director's watching... Plus time for "training." Plenty of buffer.
As I turned to leave after goodbyes...
"You."
"Hm?"
Silbi—finally looking. Dead eyes, but focused on me.
Her frail frame and pale skin screamed overwhelming fragility.
"What do you want?"
"What do I want?"
"Silbi, don't be rude to our guest—the director said...!"
"Alber's a kid; he wouldn't get it."
"Hey, Silbi! We're the same age!"
Mysterious words. Alber butts in, offended at being called a kid.
Silbi ignores him, pressing on.
"No sane person adopts a grown orphan."
Silbi, honey, what?
"You're taking Alber, right?"
"If you've got no interest and he does."
Thirsty folks sell wells. Enthusiastic kid means cooperation.
My answer didn't sit well; she glared harder.
"Silbi! I'm telling the director! Director!"
Alber bolted out.
Again? Some history there? Perfect, actually.
Close the door, sit, glare at Silbi.
"You're right. Not purely selfless."
My tone shift? Her eyes flickered.
But no mercy. Dare mock an adult?
"World's give and take. I need someone at the Academy for three years."
"…."
"You think I'd adopt a grown kid, pay steep tuition, for nothing? You called it weird yourself."
Silbi's lips twitched—counter incoming. Nope.
"Don't know your past or why you're prickly. Not my problem. No thoughts? Stay out of others' business."
Too aggressive? She started rude.
"Ignore us if uninterested. Alber comes home, nothing you fear happens. I swear on my name."
Not like I'm some famous detective's grandpa, but...
"I'm a merchant. Trust is my bread and butter. No games with promises."
Left the slightly deflated Silbi, heading out.
"Those words...."
Voice from behind again.
"I'll... remember what you said."
"Suit yourself. Won't see you again anyway."
Once adopted, no more orphanage spit. What're you gonna do, remember?
Explained to the panting director and Alber, signed papers, back to the inn.
Barring a disaster, Alber's family now.
Silbi's lingering image nagged—some story there—but not my circus.
Days passed.
*knock knock knock*
Hanging at the shop; knock came.
Ordered orphan arrived.
Alber was game immediately, but no orphanage visits for three years—told him to sort feelings, come later.
Opened door with a welcoming grin for Alber.
"Come on in, Alber. Been waiting. Welcome to the family...?"
"……."
Not blond hunk. Black-haired frail beauty... Silbi.
Wrong damn delivery. What the hell?
