Humming a tune, she made soup and kneaded pie dough.
Self-centered as she was, she always thought of things in a way that was most convenient for her.
Grace and Golka were gone.
In other words, depending on how one looked at it, it meant she could savor an extra two servings of pumpkin all to herself.
After being thwarted twice and having her craving denied for two weeks, this was the pumpkin-extravaganza dinner she had longed for. Crishet, who had endured her hunger and skipped lunch, was fully prepared to eat three servings by herself.
Carefully layering each sheet of dough, she arranged the pumpkin paste while imagining the finished product.
Humming “hmm, hmm,” Crishet shaped the pie dough, her cheeks softening at the satisfactory result.
After tasting the soup several times, she lowered the heat, and then, muttering, “Just a little more,” tasted it two or three more times.
Once she had savored the soup to her heart’s content, she headed to Gaara-san’s house with a light step.
In her hands was a perfectly crafted pumpkin pie, made with meticulous care.
The one she had made the other day couldn’t even compare to this.
Smiling as she imagined how it would turn out, she headed to Gaara-san’s house—and it was there she heard the voices of two people shouting at each other.
“Even so, that kind of thing—are you saying you’re going to abandon that child all alone!?”
“No! I’m saying I’ll entrust her to a trustworthy friend. Are you telling her to spend her whole life in this village, being treated like a pariah?! You think that’s for Crishet’s sake?!”
It seemed, somehow, that the conversation inside was about Crishet.
Tilting her head, she knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” Gaara-san’s voice, suppressing anger, echoed. “It’s Crishet,” she stated her name as usual.
The door opened immediately.
Inside were Garen-san and Gaara-san. Both seemed incredibly tense.
Crishet froze upon seeing them.
“Crishet, what’s wrong—ah.”
“W-well… Crishet came to bake… the pumpkin pie…”
—She was about to miss out on her pumpkin pie yet again.
Her unstoppable pumpkin fever was reaching its limit.
This was the third time.
“I-if it’s not a good time, then…”
Crishet, at the sheer bad timing, felt tears welling up—tears she hadn’t even shed at her mother’s death.
Gaara-san, flustered by her appearance, ushered Crishet in and glared at Garen-san.
Garen-san, too, sighed as if to expel his lingering anger, and nodded.
“Sorry for startling you. We just got into a bit of an argument. We’re not fighting. Right, Garen-san?”
“Ah, yes… I’m sorry. We must have surprised you quite a bit.”
“No…”
“Just a moment.”
Gaara-san patted Crishet’s head and guided her to the oven.
Relieved that she could use the oven, Crishet placed the pie in the center, borrowed a few hot coals, and arranged them inside.
“…It’s quite big, isn’t it?”
“Well… I missed out on eating it before.”
When Crishet said that, Gaara-san pressed her fingers to the corners of her eyes and said, “That’s right.”
“We promised that once things settled down, we’d all eat Crishet-chan’s pie together, didn’t we?”
“Yes. It’s gotten quite late.”
Crishet smiled, but then remembered something and lowered her eyes.
“…Crishet thought she’d make it right after it was over, but…”
The pumpkin had been pulverized.
When Crishet returned home, the pumpkin had been utterly pulverized.
What grudge did the bandits who ransacked the house possibly have against Crishet’s pumpkin?
She had probably taken her revenge on them, but Crishet was far from satisfied.
Remembering it was truly unpleasant—if they were still alive, she felt like crushing their arms and legs, just like that pumpkin.
Contrary to Crishet’s inner thoughts, Gaara-san looked at the pie meant for five, then at Crishet’s face, and fought back tears.
To save everyone, she had stained her young hands with blood, had her mother killed before her very eyes, and lost her father too.
Gaara-san, who had lost her own son in an “unfortunate accident,” saw herself in Crishet and worried about the precariousness of the girl who went through her days dispassionately, as usual, without shedding tears.
Perhaps the reality hadn’t even sunk in for her yet.
Regardless, it seemed like too deep a wound for this little girl to bear.
Crishet, recreating the pie from that day exactly as it was, looked somehow fragile. The more Gaara-san sensed this, the more she felt a murderous intent towards those who shamelessly repeated inconsiderate and pointless rumors.
There was no way the perceptive Crishet didn’t know how she was being rumored about by those around her.
Gaara-san had many times seen Crishet being held by Grace, acting her age and being affectionate.
But now, there were even rumors that Crishet herself had laid hands on Grace.
She couldn’t forgive any of it.
The misfortune and injustice faced by a girl who, by all rights, should have been celebrated as the village hero.
Gaara-san’s chest was filled with an anger and sorrow that felt like it would burst.
“Auntie, may I also be invited to dinner?”
“Yes. If Auntie doesn’t eat some too, Crishet won’t be able to finish it all.”
“Haha, that’s right. It’s such a big pie. …Auntie will have to eat a lot in place of those two as well.”
“Eh…?”
For a moment, she was stunned by the words spoken.
The extra two servings were Crishet’s. She had skipped lunch for that very reason.
Realizing her own slip of the tongue, her eyes darted around at this sudden injustice, searching for words.
“U-um, Auntie, this is… Crishet’s portion, so…”
“Ah…”
Seeing Crishet’s reaction, Gaara-san covered her mouth, realizing she had reminded her of the two who were gone.
Lately, Crishet had unnaturally avoided mentioning Grace and Golka.
—She must have been trying not to think about them.
Regretting her own foolishness, Gaara-san hugged Crishet’s small body.
“…I’m sorry, Crishet-chan. It’s alright.”
It’s not alright. Crishet wanted to argue.
But before she could, Gaara-san’s arms tightened, and mugu, her face was pressed into her bosom, her mouth sealed.
“Do you think it’s unfair?”
Crishet hesitated, then nodded slightly. It was indeed very unfair.
“But you have to accept it. Someday, you’ll have to accept such injustices. …And to do that, it’s okay to cry, it’s okay to wail.”
“Mmph…”
“When I lost my son and couldn’t accept it… Crishet-chan, you came to me and encouraged me many times. I was so happy. Since then, I swore that if Crishet-chan was ever sad, I would surely do the same for you.”
Crishet didn’t quite understand that line of thinking.
She’s going to take my pumpkin pie, make me sad, and then encourage me?
Garen-san, watching silently, said nothing and nodded deeply.
Seeing her grandfather’s apparent understanding, her confusion deepened.
It was a logic Crishet couldn’t grasp, but it somehow seemed to be the normal way of things.
Then Crishet also remembered how she had encouraged the grieving Gaara-san and borrowed her oven, despite having killed Gaara-san’s son.
She found it strangely convincing and simplistically understood that, in short, Gaara-san really, really wanted to eat the pie.
Compared to Crishet, who had meticulously concealed the fact that she had killed her son, Gaara-san’s method was very forceful and clumsy, but the act itself was, from Crishet’s perspective, perfectly justifiable.
Besides, she owed Gaara-san a great deal.
Crishet decided it couldn’t be helped, gave in, and let Gaara-san hold her.
Gaara-san, tears welling in her eyes, gently stroked her head.
“…You don’t have to endure your sadness. At least in front of Auntie, you can show your true feelings. Auntie will stay like this until Crishet-chan isn’t sad anymore.”
Uuh, Crishet groaned internally, swallowing the injustice.
Meanwhile, in her head, she was already calculating how to cut the pie she had just made to ensure she got the most pumpkin for herself.
That’s what she was thinking about.
And so, the pie finished baking, and they were at Crishet’s house.
However, Crishet’s ordeal did not end there.
After a moment’s hesitation, Crishet reluctantly, using a method she had deliberated over extensively, cut the pie into five pieces and presented two of them to Gaara-san.
Naturally, she took two pieces for herself. And Garen-san got one.
The crisp sensation as she cut it.
The pie could be said to be the best she had ever made; the melted pumpkin soaked into the crust, exuding a sweet aroma.
The harmony of the crispy texture and the sweet, melted pumpkin stirred Crishet’s sense of happiness even before eating, as if beckoning her tongue.
The pumpkin soup also turned out well. She had combined pumpkin that she had previously cooled and set aside with pumpkin that had been slowly simmered over low heat until perfectly tender, adding it at the very end.
This luxurious soup, allowing one to simultaneously savor the sweetness of the pumpkin dissolved into the soup and the taste of the pumpkin itself, could be called the best dish in Crishet’s pumpkin culinary history.
It was often said that if one emphasized the pumpkin pieces, the soup wouldn’t stand out; if one emphasized the soup, the pumpkin pieces wouldn’t stand out.
Crishet, who had thought of nothing but pumpkin for a week, had used pumpkin lavishly, completing what could only be described as a truly formidable, all-encompassing pumpkin feast.
Having finished setting the table, Crishet gazed at the all-pumpkin soup and pie, a certain sense of awe washing over her as she looked at Gahlen.
They didn’t pray before meals, but either Gahlen or Golka would announce the start of the meal.
Crishet waited intently, feeling as if she could hardly bear the anticipation.
Gahlen stared somewhat absently at the pumpkin lover’s spread, then pressed the inner corners of his eyes.
He looked down and spoke quietly.
“…Crishet, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Talk, sir?”
Crishet now felt like a dog with bait dangled right before its nose.
Aside from her ethics differing from others and her extremely self-centered nature, Crishet was, in fact, remarkably polite and obedient.
She would never break the community’s rules in public, and if she absolutely had to, she would always do so where there were no overseers of those rules.
Respecting her superiors, offering proper greetings, salutations, and observing etiquette were all part of the art of navigating the world that she had thoroughly learned from Grace.
And precisely because she was that Crishet, when Gahlen told her to “Wait,” she had no choice but to do so.
If she’d had dog ears, they would have drooped limply.
Crishet fidgeted, her gaze darting between the pie and Gahlen.
“…Gahlen.”
“You understand too, don’t you, Gaara?”
“…But.”
Crishet was bewildered as the atmosphere grew ominous.
Surely not, she thought, but time passed relentlessly.
However, Crishet still had some leeway.
The reason being—Crishet was extremely sensitive to hot food.
Either way, she couldn’t eat it without letting it cool a little, so a short delay wouldn’t be a problem.
Crishet judged it so.
Crishet herself was quite fond of blowing “hoo-hoo” on piping hot food to cool it down, but in this instance, it wasn’t essential.
The important thing, she convinced herself, was to get it into her mouth at her preferred temperature.
“You heard what we were talking about at Gaara’s house, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I overheard… just a little.”
“We were talking about your future.”
Gahlen said this gravely.
The hunger from her skipped lunch—Crishet was perplexed as to why he would bring up such a confusing topic at this particular moment.
Hunger significantly dulled her intellect.
“…Isn’t it painful?”
“Eh, um…”
“You can tell me honestly. How are you feeling right now?”
First Gaara, and now Gahlen.
Was this some new, unspoken rule that whenever she tried to enjoy her pumpkin pie, someone would interrupt her?
Feeling the injustice of it, Crishet nonetheless nodded.
“…It is painful.”
Before her famished body lay an exquisite feast.
How could it not be painful?
“I see…”
Gahlen exchanged a look with Gaara, who nodded as if in resignation.
“I have a friend in the city from my army days. The other day, a letter arrived from him, checking if I was alright. In it, he asked if there was anything he could do to help. …I hesitated, but I wrote to him about you.”
“About Crishet…?”
“Yes. …Crishet, would you be interested in trying a visit to the city?”
How had the conversation jumped from Crishet’s pumpkin pie to something like this?
Crishet was a little surprised by the abrupt words.
“…A reply came today. He said if you’re willing, Crishet, he’d like me to bring you over, even today.”
Crishet’s confusion deepened.
What Crishet wanted, for the moment, was to proceed with her meal.
Her understanding couldn’t keep up with this serious discussion that had—in Crishet’s mind—started so suddenly.
“…If Ojii-sama says I should go, Crishet will go.”
“That’s not it. …Don’t act out of desperation. It’s not that I’ve grown to dislike you, not at all. It’s precisely because I love you that I want to give you choices.”
“…? Eh, um…”
“This acquaintance is a trustworthy man. We shared meals and lodging, saved each other’s lives in deadly situations—that’s the kind of bond we have. …Crishet, I want you to meet him with me once, and then decide what you want to do. Of course, if you still say you want to stay in this village, Gaara and I will support you more than ever.”
Having said his piece, Gahlen fell silent, waiting for Crishet’s response.
In contrast, Crishet’s eyes were sadly downcast as she fidgeted, her gaze fixed on the pie.
She clasped her hands to her chest, clenching and unclenching them for a while.
Then, timidly, Crishet opened her mouth.
“…U-um, well… th-the pie… it’ll get cold… so.”
For Crishet, begging for permission to eat was a painful and agonizing decision.
To expose her own desires in the middle of a serious conversation with a solemn-looking Gahlen, to plead to start the meal—even by Crishet’s unique sensibilities, such an act was truly unseemly.
But she wanted to eat, and soon.
It had been two weeks since she’d last been allowed it.
However, she couldn’t just start eating on her own.
Crishet’s rational and intelligent mind whirred, grappling with the problem of how to satisfy her unseemly desire without damaging her sense of propriety. But seeing the pie cool down moment by moment before her very eyes, Crishet reached her limit and uttered her request in a voice that seemed about to fade away.
For Crishet, who had always strived to be polite and well-behaved in public, this was an unprecedented, history-making event.
Crishet burned with such shame and wretchedness that her eyes welled up.
Seeing this, Gahlen groaned quietly, and Gaara clapped her hands.
“…You’re right. Crishet-chan went to all this trouble to make such delicious food. We have to eat it before it gets cold. …Gahlen, that’s fine, isn’t it?”
“Ah… my apologies. You’re right. Let’s eat for now.”
As if to change the subject, Gaara lavished praise on Crishet’s pie and soup.
Gahlen, though sparing with his words, followed suit.
Crishet, who had been suffering from another sudden bout of gloom, was initially unable to fully enjoy the meal despite recognizing its deliciousness. However, thanks to Gaara’s efforts, she gradually regained the composure to savor her food.
Tasting the copious amounts of pie with her small mouth, feeling her long-betrayed desires satisfied by its texture and sweetness, Crishet was in a considerably good mood by the time the meal ended.
Gahlen exchanged a look with Gaara and announced he would return to his own house for the night.
He didn’t bring up the conversation from before the meal, said goodnight as usual, and left. Crishet and Gaara cleaned up the dishes while engaging in light chat, then prepared the blankets for sleeping.
Crishet was genuinely happy that Gaara was staying over.
The nights in this area grew cold regardless of the season, and Crishet, who was sensitive to cold, wanted a warm body to cuddle.
After extinguishing the fire and getting into their bedding, Gaara began to speak of Crishet’s past.
She had been around three years old, perhaps.
When Golka found such a young girl collapsed in the forest by the main road and brought her to the village, it caused a small commotion.
Crishet was bedridden for three days. Grace and Golka primarily took care of her, but Crishet’s appearance had been eye-catching even as a child.
Her beautiful, silver-like hair was particularly rare in these parts, her features were lovely, and the clothes she wore were high-quality, made of silk.
Could she be the daughter of a noble? Naturally, that’s what they thought.
Tales of noble family feuds were conveyed even to rural villages like this through minstrels and had become common knowledge. They suspected Crishet might have been abandoned in the forest by such a high-status family.
There was talk that harboring her might lead to trouble, but none of the villagers could bring themselves to kill her.
They decided to take her in temporarily and hand her over readily if someone came to claim her. Thus, she was entrusted to Golka and Grace, who hadn’t been blessed with children.
Crishet always spoke in short, clipped sentences, maintaining a polite tone.
It was clear she was an intelligent girl for her age, but she rarely left the house and seemed nervous in the unfamiliar environment.
Crishet, who would just silently observe the people around her, showed little child-like behavior and was passive towards most things.
Grace took her by the hand, leading her outside to help her get used to the village. For a while, the sight of Crishet trotting along behind Grace became a village fixture, Gaara recounted with a nostalgic laugh.
And so, from a temporary caretaker, Grace became a surrogate parent, and then a mother.
Grace taught Crishet many things and cherished her as her own child.
The sight of Crishet gradually revealing her intelligence met Grace’s expectations, and Grace and Golka, who had longed for a child, believed that meeting Crishet was fate.
The news that she was surprisingly quite the gourmand, and her endearing, clingy habit of snuggling close in her blankets at night, spread through the village from Grace’s lips and gradually became widely known.
As if recalling these old tales, Gaara recounted them one by one, nostalgically.
Hearing this, Crishet blushed.
It was because, by the time she had started receiving sweets as a reward for helping out, the fact that Crishet was a gourmand had already spread throughout the entire village.
To think they had been giving her sweets, knowing full well she was helping out just to get them—it was no wonder she felt a pang of shame.
Paying no mind to Crishet’s reaction, Gaara continued.
After she finished talking about Crishet, she moved on to Grace and Golka.
She spoke of how Grace had always been a cheerful and good-natured girl.
How Gala, who had been in love with Golka in her youth, had him “stolen” by Grace—who was like a younger sister to her—and for a time had unilaterally regarded her as an enemy. How, due to Grace’s straightforward kindness, Gala had re-examined herself and offered them her blessing. How there had been a man who loved Gala for who she was, and how she had married such a man.
How she had lost that husband early, and then soon after lost her child as well, and how, in her despair, she had been saved by Crishet and Grace.
And how, although Gala initially hadn’t approved of taking Crishet in, she now believed from the bottom of her heart that it was the best thing that could have happened.
“If Crishet-chan says she wants to stay in this village, then Oba-san intends to protect Crishet-chan in place of Grace and the others. As my own daughter, you see. Oba-san wants it that way, and honestly, I’m against you going to the city.”
Gala, unaware that her child had been killed by Crishet, and who would never know in the future, simply spoke to Crishet with affection.
Within her, the love for Crishet was genuine. Even if Crishet were to honestly confess her sin, Gala would likely interpret it in a way that suited her, perceiving it as an unfortunate accident piled upon misfortune.
—An accident occurred as a result of retaliation, and she regrets having killed them, Gala would think.
That was how much Gala trusted and loved Crishet.
It was utterly comical, yet, in a way, one could also say it was a very fortunate state of affairs.
While comfortably leeching Gala’s warmth, Crishet vaguely listened to her story.
Although they had slept together on the day of the funeral, she had been sleeping alone since then.
Satisfied that she would likely get a comfortable sleep for the first time in a while, her cheeks relaxed.
And as Gala directed such affection towards her, a slight question had begun to form within Crishet.
A question that would later have a significant impact on Crishet’s humanity.
However, at this time, it was merely a trivial one.
“…But, I also think that wouldn’t be for Crishet-chan’s sake. Crishet-chan is smart, and if there’s an environment where she can learn, various futures will open up for her.”
“Various futures…”
“Yes. All of them happy futures. Crishet-chan, do you know why Grace named you Crishet?”
“…Yes. I heard about it a little while ago.”
Gala nodded contentedly and gave a wry smile.
“It’s named after the moon on the night she was proposed to and was at her happiest. You might think it’s a silly reason, but all of Grace’s happiness is packed into Crishet-chan’s name. So that the same happiness might come to Crishet-chan, you see.”
“…Will it come?”
Crying and laughing, making a big deal out of small things—Grace was probably the antithesis of rational.
But recalling the always happy-looking Grace—Crishet couldn’t imagine herself becoming like that.
Crishet tilted her head, looking troubled.
“It will, surely. For Crishet-chan, I can say with absolute certainty that it will.”
To such a Crishet, Gala spoke forcefully.
She looked her in the eyes and said so.
“Rather than living in this village forever, seeing and experiencing various things will be better for Crishet-chan. There, you’ll surely be happier than here. …The city is always dazzling, and there are many things Crishet-chan has never seen before.”
“Things I’ve never seen…?”
“Yes, be it clothes, houses, food, everything.”
—Food.
If Crishet had dog ears on her head, they would have undoubtedly perked up.
Crishet didn’t quite understand what the city was like, but for now, she figured it was probably like a large village.
The problem, if there was one, would be—
“…But, I won’t be able to borrow Oba-san’s oven anymore.”
Even though it’s so close to her house.
Gala looked taken aback, then her face crumpled, and she hugged Crishet tightly.
“O-Oba-san…?”
“Hh… It’s alright. It seems to be quite a splendid house, so they’ll probably have an oven even grander than Oba-san’s.”
While thinking, I see, Crishet told Gala, who was squeezing her tightly.
“It’s… tight… hh.”
“Ah, ah… I’m sorry.”
Gala said in a trembling voice, loosened her grip, and patted Crishet’s head.
“…You don’t have to worry. Crishet-chan can make it anywhere. To Grace and Golka… and to me too, you’re a daughter we’re proud of. If you just keep doing as you have been, Crishet-chan will surely be accepted over there too. …That’s what I think.”
With a trembling voice tinged with tears, but firmly.
Gala said nothing more after that, and Crishet, too, said nothing and pressed her body against Gala.
Sensing the conversation was over, she began to prepare for sleep.
She soon began to breathe softly in her sleep.
And Gala just continued to hold such a Crishet.