TVBDS 20

 Chapter 20

“Anyone watching would think I was trying to poison you. These are from the market. They’re sour but tasty.”

I, exhausted from hurrying him along, popped one into my mouth. Only then did Bastian reluctantly follow suit, tossing a berry into his own mouth.

“…Ugh, sour.”

Heh. Still just a kid, clearly. You find these raspberries sour? I feel like they’re candied… ugh, gross.

“Ugh… my tongue is tingling!”

I guess I picked the ones that weren’t quite ripe.

Bastian and I twisted and squirmed in place like salt-soaked worms.

He must have been pretty hungry—what started as one berry, then two, soon became a whole fistful.

“So, what were you doing here anyway?”

“Can’t you tell? I was looking for work, why?”

Bastian’s fingertips—and even the corners of his mouth—were stained red as he spat the words out bluntly.

Yet the hostility in his gaze had noticeably softened.

“Looking for work? How old are you?”

“Does it matter? As long as my arms and legs work, that’s enough.”

There wasn’t much to say against that…

But truthfully, for all his words, only his limbs seemed fully functional.

Bastian was about half a head shorter than me. If he wanted to grow, he’d have to eat well from now on.

Small, skinny, dark circles under his eyes, foul-mouthed, foul-tempered.

Only a chimney sweep or a street pickpocket would take him on.

“You’re not planning to join some shady pickpocket gang, are you…?”

“I’m considering it. Watch your wallet too.”

“Huh?”

Bastian casually wiped his hands and mouth with a handkerchief. Despite his shabby clothing, the handkerchief was spotless white, edged with lace—extremely familiar.

Wait a minute.

That’s my handkerchief! When did he take it?

I frantically searched my pockets while Bastian giggled quietly.

“Ha… I hope you live honestly.”

“What?”

“I hope you get a fair reward for your efforts.”

“…….”

Bastian fell silent again.

“You deserve it. You’re the kind of person who should be treated that way.”

So live honestly. If you end up in jail, I’ll be in trouble too.

I held the last raspberry to Bastian’s lips.

He unconsciously took it, then jerked back in surprise.

“You… you’re really a strange kid!”

Then he spun on his heel and ran down the street.

“Oh, my handkerchief.”

I froze, realizing too late.

I looked in the direction he had gone, but that wouldn’t bring the handkerchief back.

‘Strange kid.’

Bastian toyed with the embroidery at the edge of the handkerchief.

“Live honestly,” no one had ever said that to him in his short life.

No, being honest wouldn’t even keep him alive.

You had to hide things from your trash parents.

You had to invent words you didn’t mean to avoid getting beaten by the big, dumb gangsters.

To survive the insults of those who treated you like vermin, you had to hate them first.

‘You think I do this because I like you…’

What do you know?

Adelaide, wasn’t it? A fancy, noble name.

She probably grew up adored by everyone around her.

Her eyes were like mirrors untouched by a drop of rain, untainted by the filth of the world.

Why, with that desperate expression, did she hand me something? Why not just toss a pity coin and leave?

Bastian rubbed his chapped lips with the back of his hand.

He couldn’t shake the memory of her iris-like eyes staring straight at him.

The sour taste of the raspberry she’d given him lingered on his tongue.

“Hey! Sep! Got money? This guy’s stomach’s a bit empty…”

“…Jacques?”

At the appearance of the notorious street fighter, Bastian quickly stuffed the handkerchief deep behind his back.

Muscles tensed, body lowered, instincts from past fights kicking in.

“What is it?”

“What?”

“Hurry! Give it here!”

Jacques raised his arm as if ready to strike. Bastian squeezed his eyes shut.

But the thick hand didn’t land on his cheek; it grabbed the handkerchief from his lower back.

“Found it.”

“……!”

“Whoa, what’s this? A handkerchief? Silk too? Sniff… smells nice… This kid’s got guts for his age.”

“Give it back!”

Bastian’s face turned serious as he snatched it back.

Jacques teased him, waving the handkerchief above Bastian’s head.

“Return it!”

Bam!

Bastian kicked Jacques’ shin with all his might.

“Ugh! You crazy bastard!”

While Jacques screamed, distracted, Bastian grabbed the handkerchief again.

“How dare you defy me?”

Bam, bam!

The price of reclaiming the handkerchief was brutal.

A torrent of one-sided punches and beatings rained down.

To minimize pain and prevent losing the handkerchief again, Bastian curled into a ball like a pill bug and pressed himself flat against the ground.

Time passed.

Bastian didn’t give in, and eventually Jacques, huffing, muttered in mock defeat:

“Fine, take it! What’s a scrap of cloth anyway.”

Kaak, pfft.

His head felt damp. Warm maybe. Blood or saliva—it was hard to tell.

“Ha ha…”

A hollow laugh mixed with coughs. Breathing felt like his lungs were crushing.

Jacques was right—what’s the big deal with a scrap of cloth?

Bastian had held it so tightly that the once-pristine handkerchief was now crumpled like a wilted flower.

‘I hope you live honestly.’

“…That’s impossible…”

‘I hope you get a fair reward for your efforts.’

And this reward is violence?

Bastian forced himself to stand on trembling legs.

‘You deserve it. You’re the kind of person who should be treated that way.’

Weird kid.

He muttered as he shoved the crumpled silk handkerchief deep into his pocket.

Rough and dirty as it was, it still felt soft.

Just like the kid said it would.

Before heading home, I bought a few supplies along the workshop street.

As soon as I returned, I rushed to the kitchen to start making preserves.

“Miss? Why are you in the kitchen…? If you’re hungry, just say so! I can make a sandwich right away.”

“No, not that. I want to make something. Can you help me if you’re not busy?”

“You… cooking…?”

The kitchen staff looked confused but willingly helped me.

I couldn’t let a child handle fire and knives alone.

“First, we need boiling water. We have to sterilize the jars. Do we have any dried fruit at home?”

“There should be some apricots left. If you want them chopped, I can do it.”

“No. I’ll simmer them whole in sugar syrup.”

I filled jars with apricots and sugar syrup, then reheated the jars to prevent bacterial growth.

Finally, I sealed the jars with corks and wax around the edges.

“Done!”