Next to the bakery stood a simple two-story cottage—Grandma Elisa’s property. In the past, she lived here alone, often lonely and too frail to keep the place clean.
Since Kaelxi arrived half a year ago, the cottage stayed spotless. New furniture filled the rooms. A painter redid the exterior. Flower baskets hung on the walls. Inside and out, the place glowed with vibrant life.
Living here daily, Alisha felt worlds better than in the old dreary silence. She seemed years younger.
Kaelxi’s meager wages couldn’t cover these changes. She only made requests; Alisha paid everything. Childless with only distant kin, Alisha adored the little Elf girl. She’d long treated Kaelxi as her own granddaughter. Naturally, she granted every small wish. Unbeknownst to Kaelxi, Alisha had already decided to leave the cottage and all her savings to her.
Upstairs, water rushed in the bathroom. Kaelxi soaked in the tub, only her nose and forehead above the surface. She blew bubbles, peering sideways at the door. Though clean, she wouldn’t leave. Her eyes locked on the wood. Her pointed Elf ears perked up, straining for suspicious sounds.
She had reason to be chicken-hearted. Earlier, flushed with shame, she’d fled upstairs to bathe—leaving Witt waiting below instead of locking him out. Now she feared he’d lose control, smash the door down, and the vile human would have his way with her poor Elf self. He stood nearly 180 cm tall; she barely reached 160 cm. The thought was horrifying.
After confirming Witt hadn’t climbed up, Kaelxi rose, dried off, and dressed.
Downstairs, Witt sat rigidly on the sofa, back perfectly straight—obeying Kaelxi’s strict rule: "No touching the sofa with your back." Distracted by the bath sounds, his gaze drifted to portraits on the wall: Alisha and Kaelxi.
Kaelxi descended just then, spotting Witt absorbed in the paintings. She sighed in relief. Studying his face, she noted his neat black hair, sun-tanned skin from rough travels, and clean-shaven jaw. *Huh. Not just a painfully honest gentleman—he’s kinda cute too. Though still way uglier than my past self.* *I almost forgave him… but that lecherous stare? Unforgivable.* *Such a handsome pervert forced to mine ore? He’d sob for hours. Break completely, probably.*
Smiling sweetly, she approached. "Mr. Witt, your turn to bathe. Do you have spare clothes?"
Witt snapped back. "No spare clothes, miss. But I’ll wash this and dry it with magic."
"Please hurry. I have work soon—and might need your help." Kaelxi bowed slightly. Afternoon meant bread distribution to West Cesecity’s beggars.
"My pleasure, miss." Witt stood, then paused. "Miss Kaelxi, the old lady in the painting—she’s not an Elf. Who is she?"
"Grandma Elisa. I was a beggar with no past memories. She took me in." Kaelxi spoke truth; her previous life was a blank.
"She’s not here?" Witt couldn’t reconcile the angelic Elf before him with a filthy beggar.
"Visiting distant relatives. Back in a week." Kaelxi frowned. Grandma Elisa rarely visited them—only letters before. When asked why now, she’d refused to say.
After brief chatter, Witt headed upstairs. Kaelxi slipped out to the bakery next door to sort bread scraps. She needed him to carry them soon. Must finish before his bath—or it’d be evening. Today’s delay with Witt had cost her too much time.
Undressing, Witt spotted a damp patch on his shirt’s back. He recalled Kaelxi’s dazed stare, her flushed ears, the soft brushes against him. A strange urge hit him. He hesitated, then sniffed the patch hard.
"Is this… an Elf’s scent?"
Witt seemed to awaken a weird trait. Kaelxi knew nothing. If she did, selling him to a mine would be too kind.
Now, shift to West District—the filthiest, poorest slum in Cesecity. Garbage choked the streets. Stinking ditches swarmed with flies. Beggars huddled in plank shacks or slept openly. Beyond the city west lay the monster-infested forest—Witt’s mission site. He’d rest tonight, hunt goblins at dawn.
Frowning, Witt followed Kaelxi, a bread-filled crate in each hand. Normally, few scraps remained. But with Alisha away, Kaelxi’s clumsy baking burned whole batches, leaving piles.
Beggars lay thick on the ground—a dark, motionless mass. Rats crawled over them, ignored. They’d become like vermin.
Spotting Kaelxi, they slowly rose and shuffled toward her and Witt. Witt set the crates down, bracing for a scramble.
To his shock, they formed an orderly queue. Each took bread calmly.
Seeing Witt’s surprise, Kaelxi explained: "I come often. At first, they fought. Now, we have an understanding."
Beggars accepted bread, murmuring thanks. Kaelxi smiled, urging them to hold on.
*So kind. Always doing good.* Witt’s admiration for her angelic heart surged again. Yet confusion gnawed at him. He turned to her. "Why so many beggars here? I’ve seen many cities—never like this!"
Kaelxi met his eyes. "They weren’t always like this. Many were ordinary Cesecity folk."
"No one is born a beggar."
