Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 279

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 49.
Not All Children Are Angels (49)
Riche, the young seamstress, did not work solely at Mirangette Atelier. That day, having left the atelier early on a whim, she’d stopped by home and arrived late for her second job. Rushing through the door, Riche quickly straightened her posture and bowed apologetically.
“I sincerely apologize for my tardiness!”
The Haiacan Kingdom, stretching southeastward toward warm seas and comprising countless small islands, basked in three seasons of brilliant sunshine and pleasant weather. Among the continental nobility, nearly everyone coveted a villa in such a paradise, and Blue Coral Island, where Riche was born and raised, stood out as particularly abundant with luxury estates. Though other islands possessed equal beauty, their geographical advantage—separated from the royal capital of Sword-la-Chapel Castle by merely a single strait—proved decisive.
Like most Haiacan natives, the residents of Blue Coral Island lived largely on the wealth foreign nobility scattered about. To extract even a fraction of their coin, the island had developed facilities unknown elsewhere: grand halls where dancers performed at lavish soirées, theaters where audiences queued through the night, pleasure cruises along the tranquil bay serving wine, and restaurants where patrons savored delicacies from distant lands while gazing upon the sea.
Even the most prestigious ateliers—establishments that in other nations existed only in capital cities—flourished here in multitude, allowing young housekeepers like Riche to earn substantial wages. Though Riche harbored no affection for the foreign nobility who lounged in indolence and scorned the native Haiacan people, the truth remained that she too subsisted on their wealth.
“Never mind. We’ve only one customer so far.”
After her hours at the atelier ended each evening, Riche worked as a waitress at a beachside restaurant called Coralli. Though the season had not yet reached its frenzied peak, come midsummer the establishment would rake in profits hand over fist, and so even now it maintained generous staffing. The Manager, his hair streaked with gray, regarded Riche with grandfatherly affection despite her straightforward nature having caused several incidents he never reported to the proprietor.
“Thank you so much. I’ll change into my uniform right away.”
Riche dashed into the changing room, hastily peeling off her worn shorts and retrieving her uniform. A mauve poplin blouse with puffed sleeves, paired with a matching skirt. Black, unadorned buttons lined the front and cuffs so densely that fastening each one demanded considerable patience. Once, in her haste, she’d missed a button and been corrected by a customer in the dining hall. This time, she fastened them methodically, one by one.
The skirt reached her ankles but was so narrow that walking proved difficult; it featured slits up to the knee. She donned gleaming black shoes and released her long hair, combing it through. Riche’s rose-tinted locks possessed an inherent luster that was striking, yet being fine and abundant, they tangled easily and required meticulous brushing. Such grooming ill-suited her impatient temperament, yet she could not cut it short—her position as a waitress owed everything to this very hair.
After combing it fully, she gathered small sections near the crown, tied them with ribbon, and let the rest cascade down. This completed the hairstyle the proprietor of Coralli desired. Finally, she tied an apron that reached her ankles—plain and black, yet harmonizing perfectly with her uniform. She checked her reflection in the mirror.
“Perfect!”
Riche burst from the changing room and soon walked through the brightly lit dining hall, a large tray in hand. The fierce temperament of the seamstress lay temporarily discarded like a hermit crab’s shell, replaced by the most courteous expression and graceful movements as she approached her sole customer with his evening meal.
With no other patrons present, the man had eschewed individual tables and sat instead at the bar near the kitchen. From his silhouette, he appeared to be in his late twenties. For someone so young to dine here suggested wealth and likely nobility, yet his attire seemed somehow shabby. In a region renowned for its most refined fashionistas, such an appearance stood out conspicuously. Chin resting in his palm, utterly absorbed in the night seascape beyond, he seemed to have only recently arrived.
“Your meal, sir.”
With no one watching, Riche indulged in a sense of artistry, smiling warmly as she set down the plate. The man, whose beard grew in a neat circle around his mouth and whose bangs fell to obscure his eyes, glanced at her once before nodding silently.
Returning to the kitchen, Riche found little to occupy herself. The other waitresses leaned against the counter, idly chatting. All the waitresses at Coralli were young, and several were Riche’s age.
“Most years we wouldn’t get busy until May, but this year it seems we’ll be swamped starting in April.”
“Because of the Sword-la-Chapel festival?”
“Surely crowds will arrive from the eve celebrations onward. Days as leisurely as these won’t last much longer.”
“The real throngs will come for Max Cardi’s performance on the final day, naturally. The restaurant will be packed to bursting then. How can we possibly request time off and escape?”
“If you take leave, what becomes of the rest of us? Though I confess I’d love to see that performance too—if only the tickets weren’t so expensive.”
“You’re interested as well?”
“Oh yes, I’m definitely going! I’ve been saving for a ticket since last month. The competition is fierce, and I’m not certain I’ll manage to secure one, but even if I don’t, I’ll wait outside the venue until Max emerges. So I absolutely must have that day off. I’m giving fair warning now.”
“Everyone’s in an uproar. The owner will never close during peak season, and naturally that day Riche will have to—”
Riche, who had been leaning against the kitchen entrance, suddenly looked up in surprise.
“Why must it be me?”
“Because you despise Max Cardi. Absolutely loathe him.”
At that moment, the customer at the bar glanced up and looked toward Riche, though she remained unaware.
“I may dislike him, but that doesn’t mean I can work alone that day!”
The waitresses burst into laughter, teasing Riche mercilessly.
“We all adore him—what shall we do? Help us out, won’t you? We’ll simply perish if we miss Max Cardi’s ‘Aquarian’ performance.”
“We’ve been anticipating this for months. I confess I don’t understand your hatred of Cardi, but I’m grateful for it sometimes. Hehehehe…”
“Riche, you despise Cardi only because you’ve never seen his performance. Why don’t you go? One viewing and you’d fall for him instantly. His voice is absolutely divine.”
“More beautiful than any boy soprano. His dancing is nothing short of magical. And beneath that mask he always wears, his face must be devastatingly handsome.”
“I’m dying to know what he looks like. Aren’t you curious, Riche?”
To endure this much praise for some lunatic named Cardi or whatever—her patience had limits. Riche, reverting unwittingly to her fierce seamstress nature, cried out:
“That man is an insufferable perfectionist! He has no consideration for others whatsoever! All he cares about is standing out—I absolutely despise people like that!”
“My, why is she so worked up?”
The waitstaff, unaware that Riche was a seamstress, could hardly be expected to understand her agitation. It was fortunate the Manager had stepped away—had he heard the commotion, he would have come rushing over immediately.
Yet someone had indeed caught that outburst. As an indignant Riche emerged from the Kitchen alone and made her way toward the Dining Hall, a solitary patron raised his hand.
“Just a moment, please.”
Riche froze. He’d been sitting at the bar, so he must have overheard the staff’s chatter. It was a mistake to have dismissed him as if he weren’t there. Clearly he meant to lodge a complaint about the noise. Calling the Manager would only invite trouble, so Riche hurried over.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. It must have been quite loud.”
“No, that’s not it. May I ask you something?”
The patron gestured for Riche to sit beside him at the bar for a moment. Given her misstep, she had little choice.
“…Yes.”
Why must my luck be so wretched? Of all things, why did those women have to bring up that tiresome Max Cardi?
“Do you dislike Max Cardi?”
At this sudden question, Riche’s eyes widened before she choked severely, nearly swallowing wrong.
“Was my question strange? Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes… I’m fine.”
The man poured a glass of water and set it before her, then asked again.
“Why do you dislike him so much?”
Riche studied the patron with suspicion, concluding he must be a fan of Max Cardi.
“I simply dislike him personally. Please don’t concern yourself with it.”
“I’m just curious why you dislike him.”
Riche raised one eyebrow slightly.
“Even if you admire him, that doesn’t mean I must, does it?”
The patron suddenly let out a soft laugh. Riche, bewildered, furrowed her brow and stared at him intently.
“I didn’t say I admired him. It’s just that… well, many people do, don’t they? Someone as resolute as you in expressing dislike must have clear reasons, I thought. If it’s merely a matter of baseless preference, I apologize.”
Being treated as though she were thoughtless left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“I have legitimate reasons for disliking him.”
Interest flickered across the patron’s face once more.
“What reasons?”
“He favors costumes with excessively ornate embellishments.”
Even as the words left her lips, they sounded peculiar, and her cheeks flushed slightly. The patron tilted his head in confusion.
“A moment ago… forgive me for eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but hear. In any case, you said you’ve never actually seen Max Cardi perform, didn’t you? So how would you know what costumes he wears?”
Children of Ron – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Months of Books
The copyright to this book belongs to the author and 14 Months of Books.
To reuse all or part of the contents of this book, written consent from both parties is required.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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