Princes Don't Cry Over Onions
The damned war ended.
Three years since then.
Even this backwater village seemed to have settled into something like peace... or so I thought.
Then some bear of a vagrant barges into my restaurant spouting nonsense.
"I've come to repay the debt I owe your late father from the war."
Except this idiot doesn't even know what he owes.
And Father died during the war, so there's no one to ask!
I told him to forget it and leave, but the vagrant says:
"How much would you like? Name your price and I'll match it."
I may be broke, but I have my pride!
"Keep your money. Pay me back with your body."
"...With my body, or someone else's? Either can be arranged—"
"Just go chop some onions!"
Ongoing
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