Luke genuinely wanted to help the orphanage—but he simply couldn’t bring himself to use illusions to trick everyone into eating food that was obviously off.
Right now, the clearest solution was to expose the chef, the culprit behind it all… But why would he do such a thing?
Everyone at the orphanage knew Jorit was a truly kind man. He didn’t just take in orphans; he also helped any impoverished soul who came to his door.
Yet this man, who did so much for others, was constantly harassed by corrupt officials and nobles.
Hauling grain out of the city meant paying exit fees far higher than ordinary merchants.
The kingdom’s rare aid? Embezzled layer by layer—barely a tenth ever reached them.
The fields they cultivated for self-sufficiency were deliberately ruined because Jorit refused to collude.
Every inspector sent was more arrogant than the last. Knowing the orphanage had no funds, knowing they struggled daily to put food on the table, they still nitpicked the meals painstakingly prepared with every last coin.
Jorit endured. The dorm matron—who cared for the children and served as their doctor—endured. The children had no choice but to endure.
But the chef couldn’t.
And enduring changed nothing. He could do nothing. Change nothing. He was utterly insignificant.
So all he could do was hate—hate the kingdom, hate society, hate those beasts in human skin who gleamed with false grace.
Tragically, even with that hatred burning inside, the only revenge he could muster was something this petty: ruining the food.
He hadn’t poisoned it. He still cared too much for the orphanage and Jorit. This was just a powerless, desperate scream at a broken world.
He’d long been ready to be exposed.
And yet—
“I am deeply sorry!”
With Luke’s help, Jorit quickly regained his composure and instantly understood the chef’s pain.
He abandoned the idea of exposing him. He would bear the blame himself.
(Seriously…)
Luke sighed inwardly, stood, and said calmly, “Please, everyone—stay calm. You’ve all seen it: this orphanage runs on a shoestring. They can’t serve gourmet meals. But let’s be honest—we didn’t come here for fine dining, did we?”
His intent to defuse the tension was clear. As an outsider Hero with no official standing, the words bordered on overstepping. But he leaned on his hard-earned reputation for integrity and pushed forward.
Thankfully, remembering the Saintess’s earlier grace, the guests—though uneasy—nodded for the children to re-cover the dishes. As if they’d never seen them.
Just as the tension eased and Jorit shot Luke a grateful look, Luke caught a troubling thought.
(Why’s this kid staring at me? He can’t seriously expect me to eat it…)
Luke turned. That pink-haired brat was locked in a silent stare with a little boy peeking from the hallway.
This time, she’d guessed right.
The boy was the chef’s apprentice—the orphanage’s most promising young cook. He dreamed of becoming a chef. One of the desserts served was his pride and joy.
He had no idea his master had ruined its appearance *and* mixed sand into it. All he knew: the nobles scorned their food and scolded the headmaster he adored.
Was his cooking really that worthless?
Doubt crept in—not just about his skills, but his worth.
Every *clink* of a dish cover settling back felt like a midnight death knell.
In seconds, only one cover remained—in Jorit’s trembling, apologetic hands.
The boy’s desperate gaze drifted to the nobles’ table… then settled on the Saintess. The woman who’d just comforted his friend. Gentle. Radiant. Angelic.
*She* would eat it… right?
Despair flooded his small face.
(No no no—even if you stare like that, I am NOT eating this!)
Aelia mentally waved her hands franticly.
She could swallow scalding tea without flinching. But *this*? Food that looked like filth? Meant to be *eaten*? No way!
But the moment she looked away, a new fear surfaced.
(If I refuse… won’t that brat run off and spread rumors? “Saintess scorns the poor—won’t even touch their food”?)
The thought chilled her. A bad meal was trivial. A ruined reputation? Catastrophic.
Her entire life of comfort in the Messiah Kingdom rested on her flawless image. Years of effort. Finally at the harvest stage—relaxing, reaping rewards. One inspection couldn’t wreck it all.
*Maybe it just looks bad…*
Hoping hard, Aelia selected the least offensive-looking dessert and placed it before herself.
“Your Highness Aelia?”
Elise gasped. Others turned. Realizing her intent, murmurs of alarm and protest rose.
Aelia ignored them all. Calm. Unhurried. She forked a piece and brought it smoothly to her lips.
(Holy crap—sand?! Damn it, why not just add razor blades?!)
The trap hit her tongue instantly. Curses screamed in her mind.
But she swallowed anyway. Spitting it out would shatter her ladylike facade. If the boy saw her flinch? Tears. Rumors. Ruin.
She had to eat it gracefully. No crunching. No strained swallow. Smile intact.
“Could it be… the taste isn’t as bad as it looks?”
Watching Aelia finish the entire plate without a flicker of disgust—even with a hint of enjoyment—some guests actually wondered. A few even leaned forward.
But thanks to a certain mind-reader’s subtle influence, doubt vanished. Admiration bloomed.
“No, it must still taste awful—it’s peasant food… But Your Highness Aelia is truly amazing!”
(Truly impressive.)
Luke watched that shameless pink-haired girl suppress nausea and a churning stomach, keep her expression serene, and even offer the boy a gentle smile. And in his heart, he agreed.
