The Inn Called 'Yuram' -1- Ten Years Ago
Ten years ago, on a street in a rundown slum, the plaintive voice of a woman echoed through the air.
"...Where did you go?"
The young woman's voice reverberated unanswered, spreading sorrowfully into the distance. She wandered the slum streets, murmuring to herself.
Where did you go? I told you to stay here. You promised you'd come looking for me.
She knew how irresponsible and burdensome that one-sided promise to the child had been, but she clung to it as the only way to endure the flood of regret. Even though she knew time had passed—far more than a child could handle alone.
"Misa..."
The woman trudged on, calling out her responsibility with labored effort. She spotted a passing child and rushed toward them, overlaying her own mistakes onto the scene.
"Misa...?"
Grabbing the child's shoulder and turning them around, she checked their face. Maybe this is the one I'm looking for, she thought, her trembling hands revealing her desperation as a sad expression clouded her features at the startled child's confusion.
"Who are you, lady?"
"Mi... sorry."
The woman's appearance was far from impressive. Gone was any ambition to return with a successful life; now she roamed the slums in threadbare clothes. Her bag of belongings was worn, her once-tender hands callused and rough. Her beauty remained, but the scars of hardship etched by time made the word tragedy inseparable from her image.
She had only loved, yet been abandoned. Dreamed of a happy future, yet received no reward. To escape this rock-bottom existence, she had ruthlessly cast the child away, intending to return as a proper mother once she made something of herself. But having achieved nothing, the woman continued scouring the slums.
One day. Two days. A week. A month.
The slum streets, where she had come to play the role of mother with the money clutched in her hand, now tore at her heart. Dust rolled through the gutters, beggars lurked everywhere—the reality weighed heavier than she had imagined.
If only she had chosen an orphanage instead of the slums. If only she hadn't feared the rumors of children being sold off. In her haste to cut ties like removing a wart, she had unleashed horrors she now grasped too late. Back then, she hadn't known. Her own future had mattered more than the child's, blinded by selfish rose-tinted glasses that whispered it would all be fine.
Every night, nightmares plagued her: a child cursing her in blame. That's how she passed the time.
Then one day, she met a boy in the slums.
"—Ever seen a girl named Misa?"
"Huh. About this tall, silver hair."
"I've seen a boy named Mihail, but no girl named Misa. I've been around these parts a while, and I've never heard that name. Not anymore, though."
The red-haired boy furrowed his brow as he spoke. He had never seen the child she sought.
"Hmm... no idea."
The boy replied politely to the woman.
"Got a photo?"
"..."
She couldn't answer. She had never built memories with the child, never even wanted to capture them in a picture back then. Of course she didn't have one.
Seeing her silence, the boy answered without hesitation.
"Won't find her, then."
Years had passed, he said. With such scant info—just a name—in this vast slum, it was nearly impossible. Looking at her, the boy added,
"Remember what she looks like?"
"..."
"Her face."
He pointed to his own face, offering a solution.
"You remember her face?"
"..."
She couldn't lift her head. Too much time had gone by.
"Ha..."
The boy didn't know who she was. Or who she sought. Or whose mother she might be. He just saw her as one of many haunted by past regrets. No deeper meaning.
In a trembling voice, she asked,
"What usually happens if you abandon someone here?"
The boy replied,
"You know."
"..."
"Nothing good."
Passing by her, he said,
"Think positive. It's for the best."
Soon after, she found a discarded bear doll by a gutter. Kneeling before a pile of rubble big enough for a child to curl up in, she clutched the bear and sobbed. Stitches everywhere, no part intact after years of wear. Before an owner'sless grave, she wailed openly.
*
A peaceful morning at the mansion. Amid sunbeams pouring through and birdsong heralding the day, I hummed as I prepared breakfast, plating the grilled meat.
Well-done, as always. I poked the center with a fork, brushing it against my lips to check.
"Perfect."
Fully cooked through.
"Maybe I should open a restaurant."
The Young Lady doesn't like bloody meat. Something about chewy texture being key to flavor. Once, I served it rare; she hurled her fork and scolded that it could still be revived as a calf. Ever since, I grill it crisp.
Though she devours raw beef tartare just fine.
Satisfied it matched her tastes, I glanced up at the mansion's second floor.
She'll call any second now.
I counted silently in my head. One. Two. Three.
"Go... go-go-gok! Air raid alert...!!!"
"Pfft...!"
Laughing at the Young Lady's cheerful morning wake-up call that rang through the mansion as always, I headed upstairs with breakfast.
*
The sulky Young Lady chewed her grilled meat with exaggerated motions.
Despite confirming the doneness, her face brimmed with displeasure—what was the issue?
"...Eek."
Watching her struggle with the fork, I floated a question mark over my head.
"No appetite?"
"No."
"Undercooked?"
"Nope."
"Then why the pout?"
Shaking her head with a deep sigh, she stabbed the meat and declared in refined tones,
"I'm broke."
"Pardon?"
"Spent all the money I swiped from you last time."
Her bold admission of theft drew a hollow chuckle from me. I questioned her sulk—and where all that cash had vanished to.
Hanging her head glumly, she confessed,
"Bought pajamas and chocolate, so poof. Gave some to your friend too."
"My friend?"
"Yeah."
Nodding, she recalled Hans, absent on personal business.
"Saw your friend from the north last time. Glasses, ugly guy."
"Not ugly."
"Ugly to me."
I knew her standards were sky-high, but smiled faintly and nodded. No need to overthink how to broach Hans—she already saw him as a friend.
Counting her remaining coins on her fingers, she said,
"Paid him for his trouble since he's your friend."
"..."
"You wouldn't cover friend fees."
"...He's loaded anyway."
"Huh?"
"Rich guy. Dodges taxes with shady dealings."
"Richer than me?"
"Yes."
"Eeeeeek!!!!!!"
Fists clenched, she vented her rage. Like a scam victim, she grumbled about wasting "hush money," now devouring the meat with relish.
As the plate emptied, I set down cookies prepared as a snack.
"Poop!"
"No, ma'am. Tea party leftovers."
"Ugh... who made 'em?"
Frowning at the massive poop-shaped cookies,
"They look disgusting."
Smiling lightly, I replied to her brazen honesty.
"You did, ma'am."
"Eek!"
"These were the ones left over most."
Shoving them away, she shook her head furiously.
"Didn't make 'em."
"Planning to orphan the cookies now?"
"Not mine. Gross."
"Cookies have feelings."
"Gross. Eat that, you'll get sick."
Still smiling, I urged her on.
"We need to move quicker today."
"Huh? Where to?"
"Yes."
Chuckling softly, I told her,
"Dining out today."
"Dining out?"
"Yes."
Her eyes widened round. Saliva practically drooling—had the meat digested already?—she beamed excitedly.
"To the forest friend?"
I hedged vaguely,
"Something like that."
"Huh?"
"With the forest friend's owner."
"Why together?"
"Rival place opened up."
Flashing a satisfied grin, I added,
"Oh, and the owner's covering the bill."
"Really?"
Erasing her disappointment, she nodded vigorously.
"Good enough."
True to form, she couldn't resist free food.
And so, we arrived at the restaurant bearing the sign 'Yuram'.