Lost in chaotic thoughts in a futile attempt to dull his hunger, Laville failed to notice the sound of approaching footsteps.

  Glen stopped half a meter away, studying the boy’s haggard face. Instead of showing pity, he chuckled softly.

  “Heh… looks like you’ve finally realized your situation. You did a decent job this time.”

  He had inspected the work earlier—rough around the edges, yet earnest enough to warrant approval.

  At the sound of his voice, Laville turned weakly, eyes dim yet flickering with faint hope. “I… I did what you asked. Please… just a little food…”

  Glen tossed him a small loaf of bread. “Here. Fill your stomach with this for now. There’ll be more once we’re home.”

  The boy’s gaze blazed with desperate hunger at the sight of the white, plump bread. Without caring for his dignity, he devoured it in mere bites, leaving only crumbs. Wiping his mouth, he still looked at Glen with pleading eyes.

  Knowing it wasn’t nearly enough, Glen swept his surroundings with a glance, then said, “Let’s go, young noble. I hope this serves as a lesson. Next time, do the work properly from the start.”

  Laville could only nod furiously, too drained to speak.

  They returned to the town soon after.

  As soon as they entered, Glen asked Tia to help him prepare dinner.

  The maid’s eyes lit up with joy at being invited into his kitchen—she’d longed for this chance. Glen’s cooking far surpassed that of many noble chefs.

  Before long, rich aromas filled the air, nearly driving the half-starved Laville mad with anticipation. The scent alone was torture.

  When the dishes were finally served—simple home fare by Glen’s standards, but generous in portion—Laville nearly lost control. There was no rice, only bread to accompany the dishes, but the flavors were heavenly.

  Just as he reached for a spoonful, Glen’s chopsticks snapped down, smacking his hand.

  “Even when you’re starving, you wait your turn!”

  The boy flinched and withdrew obediently, only daring to eat once Glen lifted his chopsticks.

  Glen wasn’t usually one for strict manners, but with a pampered young noble like Laville, sternness was part of the lesson.

  So this is what Father felt when he used to slap my hands for eating early, Glen mused with mild amusement. It’s oddly satisfying.

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  Meanwhile, Tia, ever proper beside them, saw her young master’s chastisement and thought smugly, Serves him right. Look how obedient I am—Mr. Glen never scolds me.

  Then, realizing the thought, she gasped inwardly. Oh no! How could I think that? That’s the young master I’m mocking! Tia, you’re becoming wicked!

  Flustered, she refocused on her meal. Whether it was her imagination or not, the dishes tasted exceptionally good that night.

  After the hearty dinner, Glen leaned back, sated. He’d eaten more than usual, but had prepared accordingly.

  Just then, he sensed the old man’s presence returning.

  “Tia, tidy up,” he said. “Laville, clean your room properly this time.” Then he stepped outside to greet the approaching elder.

  “Old man, where’ve you been? Took your time. Oh, and that female mage—what’s her story? She doesn’t seem ordinary.”

  The elder still wasn’t used to Glen’s casual chatter, but knowing better than to show irritation, he replied evenly, “Seems you’ve met her already. Why not ask her yourself?”

  “It’s rude to pry face to face,” Glen answered, now standing beside him. Only then did he notice the half-open pack on the elder’s back—inside, a pair of round eyes stared at him curiously.

  Ah, so he went to fetch that Rottweiler pup, Glen realized.

  “Defa is the chief magus of the Battersea Spire,” the old man explained. “Her background is far from simple.”

  Battersea—the same main city where Bayek and Dood belonged. In the Kingdom of Zehn, a main city was equivalent to a great metropolis, rivaling those of Glen’s past world. And the closer to the royal capital, the grander the city.

  “The chief magus of a main city… impressive indeed,” Glen said sincerely.

  From the original host’s memories, such a title was one their entire family would have revered.

  “You’re interested in magic, aren’t you?” the elder asked curiously. “Why didn’t you ask her to test your elemental affinity, maybe even take you as an apprentice?”

  Glen gave a helpless laugh. “She wanted to use me as a research subject. Naturally, I refused. Under those circumstances, how could I ask her for favors?”

  “You mean as a study subject,” the elder corrected mildly. “Defa isn’t the sort to endanger lives for research. Being her subject wouldn’t harm you. You could have agreed.”

  “I don’t like others knowing too much about me. Makes me feel unsafe,” Glen replied with a roll of his eyes.

  “…Fair point.” The old man blinked, then nodded in agreement, clearly impressed by the reasoning.

  Still savoring that bit of “wisdom,” he suddenly felt a nudge on his arm.

  He looked over to see Glen grinning slyly. “Old man, you’re a PhD-level scholar in magical studies—you must know more than one magus, right? Introduce me to a few?”

  I knew it—you’re up to no good! the old man cursed inwardly.

  “Sorry,” he said stiffly. “My influence doesn’t reach that far.” Then he quickened his pace.

  No way was he wasting his precious connections on this brat. By the time Glen called after him again, he was already half-running toward home.

  “Hey, old man! Come on, we can talk! …Tch, stingy geezer,” Glen muttered, teeth grinding.

  Meanwhile, in Dood Town—

  Unlike the quiet Bayek, Dood was in chaos. The news of the missing children’s return spread like wildfire, reaching even nearby villages.

  Parents swarmed the police station in tears and disbelief. Some clutched their children, sobbing with relief; others shouted curses at those who had taken them. Even bystanders wept at the sight.

  Among the crowd were Layla and her mother, recently returned.

  “We truly owe these brave officers our thanks,” Layla said, her voice trembling with emotion. “If not for them, these children might never have come home.”

  She was a deeply sentimental girl, wiping her red-rimmed eyes for what felt like the hundredth time.

  But a nearby officer overheard her words and smiled ruefully.

  “This time,” he said softly, “the credit doesn’t belong to us. The real hero… is someone else.”