I Won't Give Affection (1)

"You're awake."

"Gah...!"

I kicked off the blanket and bolted upright. My entire body was wrapped tight in bandages.

"Who... ugh...! Thank you for saving me, first off."

"'Twas merely a whim on my part. Think nothing of it."

A woman who looked about my age was sitting cross-legged, sipping tea. But her speech was strangely archaic, at odds with her appearance. The old-fashioned endings, the crisp enunciation—it clashed hard with her looks. Her gaze fixed on me, expressionless. Ask away if you have questions, it seemed to say.

I met her eyes and started with the obvious.

"Mind if I ask who you are?"

"...How peculiar."

"Pardon?"

"You show no fear of me?"

Hm... out of nowhere like that... Sure, before I passed out, I'd been startled. She'd appeared without a sound, radiating menace, and demanded I follow her out of the blue. Plus, I was half-dead and out of my mind by then.

"Nope, not at all?"

"..."

Nullified? What's that about? First time seeing a message like this. As I struggled to keep a straight face, the woman took another sip of tea.

"You must have nine lives."

"You've lived a long time, then? ...Oops!"

Too late—I slapped a hand over my mouth, but the words were already out. Her youthful face and petite build had thrown me; cognitive dissonance made me blurt out an age jab. I'd unwittingly poked at her unspoken taboo.

But she didn't seem offended. Her expression stayed serene, a brief silence stretching out.

"How old are you?"

"Uh... not sure exactly, but probably fourteen."

"Child, are you lying to me?"

"No, really... I swear..."

"You don't even look ten. Who fed you that nonsense?"

My status window said 14... Suddenly, I was second-guessing. Add in my past life's age, and it wasn't 14 anymore, was it? Was she seeing through that and probing?

...Should I come clean? Or just stay quiet?

"Well... actually—"

"You're no good with numbers, are you?"

Damn, misunderstanding. I hated being babied like that. As I opened my mouth to protest, she patted my head.

Tiny hand, pitying eyes. Out of nowhere?

"...Enough. Tell me what happened."

"O-okay."

Being treated like an idiot stung my pride. I'd had a decent education, after all! But with the vibe that any protest would sound like an excuse, I let it slide and explained everything. A month's worth at the orphanage, right up to the director's end—flat and concise, skipping the status window bits.

"..."

Again with this... Awkward silence dragged on. No reply, so I scratched my cheek in embarrassment.

"Child."

"Yes...?"

"If you wish, I shall teach you what you need to survive."

She was small, but her offer felt rock-solid. You grab opportunities when they come. No reason to refuse, so I nodded vigorously.

"Really? Thank you!"

"Thanks are premature. Nothing comes free. Conveniently, I need a servant."

She continued her explanation. "I'll use you till you're independent... or useless. Steel yourself."

Her voice was firm as she added, "Don't mistake it for kindness. Annoy me, and you're out on your ass."

I wasn't asking for the moon. She'd saved my life—that was enough. No saint demands the world from his savior.

"Understood."

"At latest, in ten years, you're gone."

"...?"

Teacher, ten years isn't 'temporary'...

I must've looked dumbfounded, because she averted her eyes, fiddling with her teacup like it made her uncomfortable.

"...And as I said before, I shan't indulge you." Still avoiding my gaze, she sipped her tea.

"...??"

Did she think I wanted more coddling? I had plenty to say, but no need to drag out the awkward topic.

"What should I call you?"

"'Tia' will suffice. For daily use... hmm."

"Master?"

"..."

She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠met my eyes again. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Her focus blurred oddly, gaze drifting like into memory. She closed her eyes, lost in thought for a moment.

"...Yes. That will do."

"Then, Master Tia—shameless as it is, I have a favor to ask."

"Speak."

"The kids at my old orphanage are abandoned. Could you help them?"

"Impossible."

Disappointment must've shown, because she elaborated.

"First, I cannot leave this place."

"A curse?"

"Correct. Sharper than you look."

I nodded right away, so her hand started to pat my head again... but dropped limply. A habit?

"Besides, much time has passed—no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠guarantee they're still there."

"How much time?"

"Child, it's been two weeks since you collapsed."

"What?"

I knew I'd been on death's door, but not that much time had flown.

"No time for sentiment. Survivors must keep moving."

Master Tia stated it matter-of-factly.

"No way! They're... resourceful kids... uh... don't worry too much."

I was worried sick. What could little ones do alone in the woods? My head spun, but trying to rise brought agony from within.

"Cough!"

A harsh cough hit, followed by ravenous hunger.

Master Tia silently went to the next room. Through the Eastern-style sliding door, I heard cooking sounds—knife on board, water boiling, then a savory aroma wafting over.

She returned soon with food, head wrapped in a white cloth, apron on.

"Ahh."

"M-Master? I can feed myself."

"Ah."

The spoon was already at my lips, porridge steaming. No choice—nom.

"Oh... mmph!!"

The instant it touched my tongue, a phoenix soared in my vision. Delicious!!! Best porridge ever! After weeks of the orphanage's tastebud torture, this brought tears of joy to my eyes.

"Child, no crying."

"S-sorry. Got carried away eating."

"...Very well."

Gruff words, but she wiped my tears.

The status window kept popping. Alarms that came once every few days were going off multiple times today alone. What was triggering it?

And... it was emotion, not snot—right?

"Master... um..."

"Ahh."

My prideful excuse was spoon-blocked. Nom again.

Ah... I felt alive. No expectations, but Master Tia was a great cook. By the time I realized, the bowl was empty. A flash of regret crossed my face.

Sharp-eyed Master noticed and toddled back to the kitchen—

"Ahh."

Oh my god. A refill? Without asking? In a world without seconds, this was earth-shattering.

After the lavish meal, Master Tia pulled back the covers.

"Child, strip."

"Huh? Suddenly?"

"Bandages need changing."

My body still creaked too much to insist on doing it myself. No breaks, but hairline cracks everywhere—bruises and scrapes fading, but standing alone was tough. No choice but to trust her...

Pretty embarrassing in my right mind.

"No whining means I can work you freely."

She said that, then moved to pat my head—blank expression as always—but stopped midway. Again. Curious, I leaned into her hand. She whipped away silently.

Couldn't read her intentions. Master Tia was definitely odd.

Another ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠two weeks passed like that. Barely moving, full focus on recovery.

"Hup...!"

Standing and balancing made my legs wobble.

"Child, hurt yourself pushing, and I won't forgive."

"Thanks to you, Master Tia, I recovered. Grateful."

Be a little polite, and bam—status window. "...I did it for myself, killing boredom. Don't delude yourself."

Hearing it daily, I was getting used to her speech patterns. She couldn't be direct. Always roundabout or flat denial. No expressions at first, but repetition gave me the sense.

"Fine day—walk and attend me."

"You got it, leave it to me!"

A month bedridden had me antsy. Barely left the room, so this was my first real outing.

Eastern-style garden, impeccably kept mansion.

"You live here alone, Master?"

"Indeed. I built it myself."

"Eh? You built it? Impressive!"

Her chin lifted three degrees.

"Yes, a mere whim, like your case."

"Still impressive... this..."

Impossible quality without architectural knowledge. A cozy mansion like her, but flawless finish and detail—art compared to the orphanage.

"Enough flattery. Walk."

"Yes, Master."

Master Tia led in high-heeled clogs, still gripping my hand under "service" pretense. Firm, warm grip.

Five minutes circling the garden?

"Dodo, child. I understand your enthusiasm. But don't overestimate your condition."

"I'm fine! No worries!"

"...Never worried."

We walked at half her usual pace. Great scenery, first time out in ages—I was thrilled, so we wandered long.

"Whoa!"

Tripped on a stone. But just a moment—she steadied me fluidly. Handled our joined grip like her own body. No pain.

Master Tia smoothly hoisted me onto her back.

"Uh... Master?"

"Skin and bones, child. Useless like this."

Her tiny back was cozy. So gentle, more comfy than lying down. Of course, mentally... mortifying.

"Am I... heavy?"

"What do you take me for? Ten of you would be nothing."

"Not that... embarrassing."

"Am I embarrassed?"

She stopped abruptly to ask.

Ah... hurt her feelings? Sudden shift flustered me. Piggybacked, I flailed excuses.

"No no! Not you! You're great, comfy too."

"...Then fine."

She resumed, carrying me back to the mansion. No sweat on her face—dead serious about not tiring.

At the entrance, she set me down and asked, "Child, do you know how to bathe? Ever washed your own hair?"

Ah, Master. Even kindergarteners can do that.

"Yes, of course!"

"Not a shy lie?"

"Master, I can really...!"

"I'll trust you once."

Deadpan, but heavy words. Admit ignorance, and she'd follow to the bath. A whiff of quiet madness! Better safe—locked the door.

First bath in forever. Sinking into the tub melted my body.

"Haaah..."

Still, Master... you said no indulgence...