PDCOO Chapter 3

Bertram's head whipped around. Still expressionless, but his reaction was surprisingly quick.

"Oh, I'm sorry if that was rude. But there are many people in our village injured by the war too. There's someone who laughs even when sad after a head injury, and someone whose mouth is fine but can't speak anymore. I wondered if maybe Bertram was like that."

"It's not rude. ...This seems rude, but did you also suffer harm during the war, Anna?"

"When they requisitioned the village, I got hit in the face for resisting. Right here."

Anna pointed to the bridge of her nose. A cute nose like a clove of garlic. But looking closely, a white crack showed on the bridge.

"After my nose broke, I could barely smell anything. Even cooking by muscle memory, the taste must be worse than before. Not something a restaurant owner should say, but since Bertram was too! honest! about finding my food tasteless, I'm telling you in advance."

"Then I'll say it's delicious from now on."

"What? You don't need to lie."

But unexpected words flowed from Bertram's mouth.

"I cannot taste food after all. Because of that, I've answered honestly, but it seems to have made you sad. My indifference is no reason to hurt others. I apologize, belatedly."

Bertram bowed his head and gripped the broom again. And Anna was truly at a loss for words.

A man who couldn't taste, who seemed to have no emotions. Who even lacked awareness.

She'd encountered all kinds of people in her life, but this was the first man to present this particular species of irritation.

But it was also the first time she'd met someone who apologized so quickly and tried to correct their behavior.

Moreover, the words he chose were oddly different from these country folk.

'Could he be nobility fallen because of the war?'

While Anna was having what even she knew were futile thoughts, the restaurant door banged open. A familiar voice cut across the restaurant.

"Anna, you! I heard you picked up some beggar bastard?"

Anna's mother, Karlah.

Having heard the news on her way back from the market, both her hands still held shopping bags.

Soon a bolt of cloth was gripped in Karlah's hand like a club.

"Mother told you not to fall for noble men, did she tell you to bring home beggars? Even picking up people needs moderation now!"

"Mom! Stop talking!"

"You're the one who should stop! At marriageable age, the things you do—"

"He's right here!"

Karlah belatedly noticed the man standing with a broom.

A large man whose white skin was overshadowed by that black hair and clothes, making the modifier "pitch-black" spring naturally to mind.

In the silence, Bertram bowed elegantly toward Karlah and said:

"Good day. I am absolutely, absolutely not a noble. ...I'm the beggar bastard you mentioned."

Bertram Hertz Wächter. Twenty-five years old.

His uncle ascending to the throne had tangled the line of succession somewhat, but he'd been a prince his entire life nonetheless.

Today in a country village, having heard the words "beggar bastard" for the first time in his life, he...

"Ahahaha, ha, delicious, isn't it? My daughter's cooking skills are terrible. It's been a while since I got to show off mine."

...thought Anna's mother, Karlah, was a kind person.

Though he couldn't taste it, he could understand what the chicken Karlah personally tore for him, the potato soaked in broth that melted in his mouth, and the salt she set aside specially meant. This was the common people's "wholehearted hospitality."

Bertram nodded.

"Thank you for your kindness."

Across the table, Anna—who'd been stuck peeling potatoes—frowned.

Karlah ignored her daughter's grumbling and sat across from Bertram, trying to peer into this uninvited guest's heart.

He'd heard words like "beggar bastard" and rather than getting angry, called himself a "beggar." Meaning someone who doesn't rise to provocation easily. His insides must be well hidden beneath that exterior.

Karlah forced on her business smile and got to the point.

"I'm Anna's mother, Karlah. You came to repay a debt to my husband?"

"Yes. During the war, I received three bulbs that looked like this as goods. But I never even learned the name when I borrowed them, so I couldn't possibly obtain the same items to return, and came to inquire what form of repayment would be acceptable."

His attitude was consistently serious.

But Karlah almost burst out laughing at the picture Bertram presented. What on earth was that—a circle with two horns scribbled on? A baby troll?

"...Is it an onion?"

"It's not an onion. He said he planned to use them for farming."

"I have no idea. In any case, it's not something we need."

"Then what should I repay this debt with? If you tell me, I'll accommodate as much as possible."

A sentence like a blank check, but depending on who's offering it, it could be worth its weight in gold or just a scrap of paper.

Karlah casually looked Bertram over.

Large frame and considerably muscular, but a gaunt face. The scars visible everywhere meant he'd been rolled around in the middle of battlefields. Then probably not a high noble who'd stepped back from the front lines while playing commander, but likely a deserter who couldn't return home.

Moreover, to return over something like onion-shaped things when it couldn't be that great a debt...

'He must have come using the onion as an excuse to get a meal.'

Meaning a worthless wretch who should be fed and sent away.

Karlah smiled brightly.

"Bertram. I don't know what Anna told you, but we don't need workers. Young men from the village work the farm, and Anna alone is enough for the restaurant."

"The restaurant is as spacious as the Third Hall of the Royal Palace, yet one person can operate it?"

"My, what an interesting comparison. So Bertram, have you ever worked in a restaurant?"

"No."

"Then you wouldn't be helpful to us. Just eat this and go."

"Go...?"

"Yes. Since I inherited all assets and debts after my husband died, I'll tell you clearly. You don't need to repay it. Please leave."

Karlah spoke firmly. A tone leaving no room for misunderstanding.

But Bertram didn't back down easily.

"I'm grateful for your kindness, but I'd like you to reconsider. The debt is larger than you think."

"Larger? We have plenty of onions too!"

"I chopped many onions, so there won't be much left now."

"...I don't know what you're talking about. Anyway, I'm telling you that you don't need to repay the debt."

"Please reconsider. Your husband treasured those bulbs greatly."

"That person is dead, and we have no problems now!"

Karlah's voice rose sharply.

In the restaurant, people looked at her. Karlah gestured to the customers.

Asking them to drag out this man who wouldn't listen.

People tactfully rose from their seats and surrounded Bertram.

"Hey, mister. You finished eating, so why not stand up?"

"Yes, I stood up."

"...That's not what I meant."

The customer looked up at Bertram, a head taller than himself. This one—skinny as he was, his build was too good. Not someone to want to fight.

Instead of the intimidated customer, another old man patted Bertram's back.

"I understand how you feel. Meals you got from civilians during war are truly unforgettable feasts for a lifetime. But if you act like this in a shop without men, how frightened do you think the women are, hmm?"

"Neither of them seemed afraid of me. I can tell by looking."

"You're being deliberately obtuse! Hey, Anna. Pay him wages and send him off."

"What? I came to repay a debt—"

"Enough. Honestly, if you stand here stubbornly, customers will be too scared to come, won't they? Then Anna's place loses today's business!"

Bertram seemed to find only that last sentence somewhat compelling. For a moment he opened his mouth as if at a loss for words.

Anna marveled at the old man's persuasiveness, and meanwhile Karlah shrewdly fetched a coin purse.

"Here, I put in plenty."

"But—"

"Stop with the debt talk! If it really bothers you, I'll ask my husband about it in the afterlife after I die. Until then, don't worry about it. Okay?"

Karlah spun around without even listening for an answer. The other customers stood perched awkwardly on the edges of their chairs, as if they'd guard this place until Bertram left.

Bertram assessed the current situation. Now wasn't the time to talk about feelings of indebtedness.

The emotion these customers showed was clearly the same unease as facing enemy soldiers.

In the end, he pocketed the coin purse Karlah had forced into his hand.

"Thank you. Then, I hope we can meet again sometime."

Karlah didn't answer.

Anna wanted to say something, but her mother smacked Anna's back and drove her into the kitchen, so she couldn't even catch a moment to say goodbye.

When the customers returned to their noisy meals.

Only then did Karlah yell at Anna.

"Are you in your right mind? How could you pick up something like that?"

"Something like that—what's the problem!"

"That huge build, covered in scars, honestly. Looking at how he still hasn't returned home, he must have been a soldier who deserted after committing crimes. Maybe he even killed his own commander."

"It's just speculation anyway. And the IOU he said he used during the war definitely had Dad's name..."

Translator Rant: Karlah seems like the type that picks bad men, of course goes through bad experiences and starts treating normal/good men as bad men. Then forces their lived experience on you.