IOC - 8

Next year, I’ll be in college, working part-time, and finally living independently from the shelter... Those were my thoughts as I stepped into the Director’s office.

Rarely had I seen the Director smiling so brightly.

“Shion!”

“Director? Didn't you have a career counseling session at the school today?”

Usually, an orphanage director wouldn't have the time to track every single detail like that, not with so many children to look after.

But the Director had been by my side since I was a child. True to her title as a nun, she had embraced me with warmth. While she cared for all the children, she had always watched over me with extra devotion. I suppose the bond was different, having raised me since I was an infant.

“Yes, your homeroom teacher contacted me.”

“Contacted you? I thought they’d ask for a visit...”

Was the teacher being considerate? He wasn't that kind of person. As I tilted my head and set my bag down, the Director’s smile grew even wider.

“He had nothing but praise for you.”

Seeing her so genuinely happy, like a child herself, made a warmth spread through my chest. I smiled back, until the moment I saw the screen of her phone. Then, my smile froze.

> [Student Shion is truly remarkable. He is like a blade of grass growing by the roadside. Despite having no one to help him, he took root and grew all on his own. That in itself is a precious achievement.]

> [Is our Shion really that remarkable?]

> [Of course. He didn't have the fertile soil or the warm sunlight of a greenhouse, yet he managed to flower in barren land. It’s astonishing.]

“He kept praising how you did everything yourself, even though we couldn't provide much!”

The Director was still beaming. I stared at the text with hands that had gone cold.

> [However... realistically, it will be difficult to expect a full scholarship. Tuition would likely be a significant burden. So, rather than choosing a path that might be overreaching, why not consider a more stable option? With his current grades, he could certainly get into higher-ranked schools, but... out of concern for Shion’s future, we would like to recommend a more realistic university.]

The "recommendations" that followed were all schools far below my grade level, mostly places that specialized in immediate job placement.

> [The path Shion is trying to take is likely filled with flowers from the greenhouse. He would inevitably be compared to his peers constantly.]

I’d heard rumors that a wealthy kid in my grade was aiming for the same university I wanted. Rumor also had it that his scores were barely hitting the cutoff.

> [Everyone has a place where they belong. A blade of wild grass lasts longer when it stays in its own place, rather than acting as a mere foil for others in a magnificent flower garden.]

On the surface, it was a poetic metaphor. But the conclusion was singular.

“Know your place.”

It was a message that I didn't belong in the flower garden. That wild grass should stay where it belongs.

To that teacher, that was all I was. A student whose background was so lowly he didn't even deserve a face-to-face meeting. A student not even worth a phone call. A "consultation" ended with a few lines of text.

The worst part was that every single point in that message was an undeniable fact. No matter how much he wrapped it in fancy metaphors, the point was clear.

Looking at the Director, who was still smiling brightly, completely unaware of the malice, felt like my insides were rotting. Her smile was so innocent, so ignorant... and that made it feel even more cruel.

Thinking back on it now, I bit my lip so hard it felt like it might burst.

“How ridiculous I must have looked. Grinning like an idiot without even knowing what they meant.”

The image of the Director’s joy-flushed face haunted me. She had believed those insults were compliments because she didn't understand the subtext.

But the most pathetic one of all was me.

I was the one with talent but no way to let it bloom, the one who had nothing but kept acting smart, playing mind games with myself.

Yes, I know. This is my own inferiority complex talking.

White MSG powder fluttered down into the stew. As a subtle aroma rose from the pot, the fire in my chest seemed to simmer down.

“…There.”

I carefully poured it into a bowl and set it before the Saintess.

“If it’s lacking in any way, please let me know.”

The Saintess nodded and picked up her spoon. She paused for a moment at the delicate scent before quietly taking a sip.

“…Ah.”

A soft exclamation escaped her lips.

Her trembling eyelids relaxed, and surprise spread through the emerald eyes hidden beneath her hood.

“It’s clear, yet so deep. A rich flavor lingers on the tip of my tongue... yet it isn't heavy. It tastes as pure and holy as sunlight filtering through.”

The Saintess didn't even put the spoon down, taking several more bites in quick succession. Then, she smiled.

“This isn't just food to stave off hunger. It’s a flavor that gives one the strength to live another day. It is comparable to a divine grace!”

Theord, sitting beside her, remained expressionless, but I saw his eyes flicker for a moment.

“...This is a miracle.”

At the Saintess’s praise, I almost let out a victory yell. Well, in my head, I was already throwing a party. I just made sure it didn't show on my face.

MSG. You truly are a blessing from God, even in this world.

The Saintess set her spoon down and asked with a hint of urgency.

“How were you able to produce such a flavor in such a short amount of time?”

I paused for a moment before answering casually.

“Perhaps it’s the desire to repay a guest with a warm meal... a heart filled with love?”

The Saintess’s eyes widened. She covered her mouth with her fingertips, unable to hide her admiration.

Beside her, Gilbert’s expression turned solemn, as if he were blaming himself for not showing enough love to anyone in his life until now.

Of course, what Gilbert lacked wasn't love. It was MSG.

“…Love.”

At the sound of that low, sudden voice, everyone’s gaze shifted. It was Theord, who had been silently listening, murmuring to himself.

“Pardon? Sir?”

The Saintess asked in surprise, and my eyes went wide too. Wait, isn't this character supposed to be a cold-blooded swordsman who barely speaks? Theord knit his brows slightly and turned his head toward me.

“I would like to try it as well.”

I snapped out of my daze and hurried to serve him a bowl. Theord closed his eyes and savored the taste in silence, his spoon moving steadily until the bowl was empty.

...What’s the verdict? Is it good, or is he just hungry? Well, considering the spoon never stopped, it clearly wasn't bad.

“To think I would taste such food in a place as remote as this. Thank you for the meal.”

The Saintess, having finished her bowl, rose quietly from her seat.

“Will you not be staying the night?”

When Gilbert asked cautiously, the Saintess pulled her hood down lower and shook her head gently.

“We are only passing through to inspect the border. We shall stop by again next time.”

Come to think of it, why would the Saintess have business at the border?

As I pondered this, a scene from the novel flashed through my mind like a lightning bolt.

> [A secret first mission was handed to Amelia, who had to fulfill her duties as a Saintess. It wasn't a light role like her usual praying, blessing donors, consecrating holy items, or touring villages. This was something far heavier and more significant.

> A body had been found near the border, the body of an unidentified person.

> It was a bad omen. It meant the balance between the two worlds, which had been divided for so long, was beginning to shift. It was the harbinger of a renewed war between monsters and humans.

> Amelia brushed back her white hair and stood up slowly. Her soft eyes trembled as her inner thoughts leaked out.

> “Please, let nothing happen.”

> But it was merely a wish.]

The incident is starting already?

Wait, do I have to see this novel through to the end just to get back to my own world? If so... that means a war is coming soon.

My heart sank. Just as my thoughts were tangling into a mess, Theord, who was following the Saintess out, suddenly stopped. He turned and stared straight at me.

“…Your love.”

It was a short but heavy sentence. Leaving those words behind, he exited the inn as if nothing had happened.

“……?”

“What was that about?”

Gilbert asked, looking dumbfounded. I tried to gather my wits and shook my head.

“How would I know?”

Gilbert grunted and scratched his body.

“Ugh, anyway, that whole situation made my skin crawl.”

“Go take a wash, seriously.”

“No, I mean, you understand those high-and-mighty folks perfectly, so why do you never understand me? I’m saying it was creepy!”

“…….”

When I ignored him, Gilbert poked me again.

“By the way, kid. I know your cooking is great, but how did you actually do that?”

“Just, you know……”

“You were only in there for a few minutes.”

I hesitated for a moment. Should I tell him or hide it? What if I say the wrong thing, get suspected of something, and get dragged away?

But keeping it a secret could lead to bigger problems later. If word gets out that I’m some genius waiter, people might try to undermine me, or worse, they might try to "kill the goose that lays the golden eggs" to see what’s inside. That’s just how the world works.