Hope Tree Orphanage (2)

After walking about fifteen minutes with the kids, the large signpost I'd set up at the entrance to the orphanage came into view. That meant we were halfway there.

What was there to hide? The Hope Tree Orphanage, named after the place where I'd spent my childhood before reincarnating, was currently operating in two buildings: the main one and the annex. This was still before the orphanage had been built—back when I'd just joined the hero's party and, by sheer luck, found Gia and entrusted her to my family home. While continuing my hero party activities for nearly two years, slaying all sorts of demonkin, rescuing people, and such, I'd come to a stark realization.

The world has way too many orphans.

I'd known it even during my solo adventurer days before that.

The world has far too many orphans.

Just as you'd expect from a deep-dark fantasy world game. Even in prosperous cities, the slums were crawling with orphans, and in poorer areas, they overflowed. The setting had always given off that vibe, but with the war breaking out and demonkin under the Demon King's army invading, orphans who'd lost their families poured out in even greater numbers.

I wasn't some lunatic who thought I could save every orphan in the world. For every person living happily, there's bound to be one suffering in misery. For every kid growing up in abundance, ten more are starving to death without a bite—that's just how the world works. But still.

Before becoming Aren, I'd been an orphan.

I just couldn't stand by and watch the orphans within arm's reach dying for all sorts of reasons.

Eventually, I decided to take in as many other orphans as I could get my hands on. No one forced me—it was probably just self-satisfaction on my part. I'd gotten a tip from a renowned fortune-teller during my adventurer days about the perfect spot for an orphanage... And the building I planned to construct there would house only Gia—who I'd temporarily left with my family—and the villainess kids I'd bring in later, all under my personal care.

So after much deliberation.

...Screw it, let's build two orphanage buildings, keeping some distance between them. I've made a ton of money adventuring anyway, right? And I've got people who can help.

I made the decision and acted on it immediately. I planned the annex for later in the forest and first poured capital into building the main building inside the village. The main building took quite some time and a hefty sum to complete. I'm the director on paper, but I asked an acquaintance to serve as sub-director and handle operations by proxy. He's been doing it ever since, which goes to show just how crucial reliable connections are when you need trustworthy people.

With the Hope Tree Orphanage main building ready to welcome kids and starting to take in orphans, I was too busy slashing through demonkin with my comrades to visit. It wasn't until a full year later that I stepped foot in the main building for the first time—you can imagine. By then, we'd taken in over fifty kids, either sent by me or drawn by rumors from nearby cities. I was shocked. And when those kids gathered around me, calling me "Director" for the first time, memories from my Earth days flooded back, and I couldn't help but tear up.

It wasn't built for purely noble reasons... but seeing their faces light up, I knew I'd done the right thing.

There was another reason I'd made such a bold call to build the main building and hand operations to a sub-director: preparation. Once I slew the Demon King at the war's end and started seriously setting up the annex to gather the villainess kids, I'd face all sorts of annoying questions, criticisms, and situations. By establishing records of me operating the orphanage as director in advance (even if the sub-director did all the work) and building even a modest reputation, I'd be covered.

Even if I used bizarre, unconventional methods to track down villainess kids.

Even if minor issues cropped up in the process.

"Ah, she's doing it for the kids she'll shelter at the orphanage. What a kind-hearted soul!"

It actually worked wonders. Not just family, acquaintances, and comrades—even the emperor, with whom I have a personal connection, sees my current self as retired and recuperating from the mental and physical toll of my activities by running an orphanage. Fine by me—and good for them too. Better than knowing the true identities of the kids I'm raising.

"We're here!"

"We made it!"

Epia and Camella, who'd been trotting ahead of me, dashed forward with gusto. There it was: ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Hope Tree Orphanage annex, solidly built from logs.

The annex looked like a fine log mansion from the outside. Compared to the main building—made of stone like a village temple, fancy in a way that didn't suit the countryside—it seemed humble as a wooden structure. But that's just to the ignorant eye. Every piece of timber used in the annex was engraved with invisible reinforcement and regeneration magic. In simple terms: as tough as steel, rot-proof, and self-healing from minor damage. Even if an ogre showed up and swung a boulder-sized axe at it full force, it'd just get a shallow dent—a premium product by noble standards.

It cost a fortune, inside and out, with every upgrade money could buy, outshining even the main building... but since this is where I'd—and the kids—spend long years, of course I'd splurge.

This is why I scraped up treasures while adventuring—to flex on the future like this.

I followed the kids ahead, opened the door, and stepped inside. The now-familiar interior greeted me. The glowstones on the ceiling detected movement and emitted a soft light automatically.

"Snacks! Gia-unnie baked cookies before we left, right?"

"Wash up first. Can't just grab 'em with your grubby hands like some pig."

"Aw, one cookie before washing wouldn't hurt."

Epia brushed off Serelda's scolding and headed straight for the kitchen. Gia's hand landed precisely on her shoulder.

"Epia. Wash up first, then eat."

"...Can't I have just one?"

"Wash. Your. Hands."

Gia narrowed her eyes just like I do when mimicking me, and Epia went, "Haha, yeah, okay," scampering off to the bathroom first. Impressive takedown skills without hesitation. Truly my orphanage's unofficial number one. These goldbricks who mouth off at my words—even if their bodies obey—turn into meek lambs when Gia gets serious. It helps that she'd once straightened them out big-time, stepping in like, "If you don't want to do it physically, I'll handle it."

She's grown so well... it's hitting me now.

Is this the feeling a mother gets when raising her daughter starts paying off? Looks like I've fully become a woman too.

The orphanage bathroom was a technological marvel that wouldn't pale next to any noble mansion's. Smooth stone tiles finished with precision for a pleasing interior. Connected deep underground to groundwater, multiple handmade showerheads powered by magic stones gushed with always-clear, warm water. Spacious enough for ten people, complete with a marble bathtub. Better than a typical earl's mansion bath—heck, better than my family ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠estate's.

The kids knew it was top-notch too, so they washed twice a day, morning and night.

"Eek, that tickles..."

"Unnie, do mine next~"

"Hold still, it'll be quick. Epia."

Gia stayed busy even in the bathroom. She lathered Chloe's fluffy, messy bob with floral soap, while gently stroking the foot-stomping Epia's hair. I sat beside her, washing Serelda's.

"Director got all the suds out, so I'll rinse! Pffft!"

Bored of waiting, Camella cupped her hands and sprayed water at Serelda's face.

"...Hey! Don't spray my face— if you're rinsing, just do it!"

Serelda blocked it with her hand, annoyed. If it'd been Epia, she'd have barked and cocked a fist without hesitation, but not with Camella. She knew it was Camella's way of showing affection. Plus, as the second kid after Gia to join, Camella was seen as a senior, so she cut her some slack.

"Serelda, your hair looks even silkier—I'm jealous. So much more shine than before."

"...Of course. Every strand reveals a fragment of my hidden power, after all."

"Yeah, yeah. Mine's just getting drier and frizzier. Must be nice being young~"

"You're in your twenties—not some grandma! Why say it like that?"

Serelda puffed her cheeks and pinched my arm, flustered. Adorable. It'd been a bit over seven months since I brought her in? At first, she treated me, Gia, and Camella like dirt, looking down on everyone. After our first chat, I'd inwardly clicked my tongue: She's always been like this, huh...? Hard to believe now how much she's changed—it's already a fond memory.

"Done! C'mere, Gia."

Gia and I each washed two kids, totaling four. The kids hopped into the tub, splashing and playing. Gia sat demurely in front of me. I shampooed her hair gently first. After the kids, it was our turn. She washed mine meticulously, then scrubbed my back. From behind, I could really feel how her figure had matured—her chest had grown so much... She'd become a stunning beauty. If I were still a guy, it'd be natural to feel a spark. But after years as a woman, even seeing her like this didn't faze me much at first.

Reincarnating as a woman ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠taught me: the body-hormone combo is insanely powerful. Even the iron-willed soul of a man kneels to it. I'm holding out, head held high somehow, but I feel it drooping more with age. Wanna argue? Try switching genders yourself.

"My turn to wash yours."

"Sure."

We switched. Gia shampooed my hair just as tenderly. Despite getting filthy hauling kids around, she worked without complaint, soft and precise.

"I took fruit pie to the main building yesterday. The kids loved it."

"Kasel must've too. He'd devour anything you make."

"Sub-director Kasel pampers me so much. He praised my pie and said my cooking's improved a lot."

"No gloomy kids giving you lip? There were some new ones lately."

"Not none, but I'm used to new kids acting out. They stop soon enough."

Oh, right, Gia continued.

"Sub-director said there've been more visitors in the village lately. He warned me—since I'm demonkin—to hide my horns and be careful, in case any get touchy."

"...Yeah, I noticed more outsiders when I went down yesterday."

The tavern auntie I know well said a dungeon had popped up deep in the mountains. Even peaceful worlds like this could suffer from sudden dungeons in remote spots if luck soured. They'd tapered off about five years ago, but post-Demon King war, the frequency spiked again—maybe fallout. Great for a level-grind loot game... but living it post-reincarnation, those pop-up dungeons were a royal pain.

Sounds like a big one. Talk of a full subjugation force means they're serious.

Rumors said it dwarfed previous mountain dungeons. Luckily, the lord of Drakanscale—the gateway city at the range's entrance—acted fast. She wasn't one to let mountain dungeons fester. She'd assessed it and was assembling a subjugation team swiftly, hiring capable mercenaries and adventurers with cash over relying solely on her knights.

"――Lots heading to the gateway city to join the dungeon subjugation team, huh. Like Kasel said, be careful in the village for a while, Gia."

Mercenaries. Adventurers. I'd dealt with plenty since running away to become one.

"The world's full of real scum."

I'd been an adventurer long enough myself, but past and present, it was a job crawling with trash.

The sun hadn't set yet—a bit early for dusk. In the heart of Dragonfoot Village, along the main road splitting the town, stood a massive tavern as iconic as the village's history itself.

Angel's One Sip.

It wasn't exaggeration to say every adult villager and visitor used it. In one dim corner of the tavern—reeking of aged time from the entrance—a group of rough-looking men had claimed a round table. They'd tossed their crude leather armor and helmets haphazardly on it. They ordered food and beer to their hearts' content.

Among them, the burliest one with the best gear idly picked up the wooden sign listing tavern rules. No real reason—just handy, something to check while waiting for drinks.

And then.

"...Watch out for the orphanage?"

The man chuckled at the odd warning for a rural dive, but curiosity piqued, he kept reading—and his eyes flashed as if spotting opportunity.

"...Why?"