Hansel’s Enchanted Fairytale: Fill Me Up With Magic! - Chapter 29
Hansel instinctively accepted the meringue cookie like a baby bird. The act of being fed felt completely natural. After all, she was used to having someone attend to her every need.
He sat down heavily on the floor in front of her, gazing intently at Hansel as she nibbled on the cookie and sipped her milk tea.
His expression was far more captivated by her than by the spectacle of the dress being made.
“You’re really staring,” he remarked, looking down at her, meringue crumbs on the corners of her mouth.
“Yeah. It’s fascinating. I just explained it with words, but you understood it so well. I’m not great with words, so you must be really smart. I mean, living in a forest with all this fabric, the magic—everything about you is just so amazing.”
Everything about him contradicted the common perception of the Witch of the Gingerbread House.
If Hansel ever wrote a book about this experience, no one would believe it. For starters, the fact that the Witch of the Gingerbread House was a man would make Gretel scoff.
“I brought it all from my old home, the place where I lived with my parents.”
“Your parents?”
“Yeah.”
“You had parents… I mean, never mind.”
Hansel almost blurted out something rude but caught herself in time.
It’s not my fault, she thought. How many people in the world could connect the idea of parents with the image of the Witch of the Gingerbread House?
Awkwardly clearing her throat, she asked,
“So, what were your parents like? If their son is as handsome as you, they must’ve been stunning.”
This could be a groundbreaking discovery.
A man who wielded magic beyond human limits—what kind of parents could have produced someone like him?
If she learned how he acquired his powers, it could lead to a major revelation.
Her interest shifted entirely from the magical dressmaking to him.
“You think I’m handsome?”
“I never lie about men’s appearances. Especially when it comes to ugly men—I just can’t bring myself to call them handsome. It’s a matter of principle, you know? And based on that principle, you’re incredibly handsome.”
He nodded earnestly, taking her words seriously.
“You can’t change what you’re born with.”
He repeated the phrase to himself a few times, as though it were a profound truth.
Hansel prodded him again.
“So, about your parents—what were they like?”
“My father was a mage. The woman who gave birth to me was like you, an ordinary person.”
“Your mother was a regular person?”
“Yeah. My father turned her into a mage.”
Hansel’s eyes widened in astonishment.
Not only had he inherited magical abilities, but he had been born as the most powerful mage ever recorded—from a union between a mage and an ordinary human.
It was a staggering revelation, one that left Hansel’s mind racing.
“Could you tell me more about it? Like, how exactly did your mother become a mage? I mean, it’s just curiosity—no other reason!”
“I don’t know. They’re both dead.”
“……”
Hansel bit her lip, chastising herself.
What an idiot.
The Witch of the Gingerbread House was a figure of fascination for mages worldwide.
Of course, there were no rumors about his parents—they were long gone.
Hansel had never considered what it would be like not to have parents.
She had grown up with the worst mother and a distant father, but at least she had seen them every day.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
She couldn’t ask him more about his parents now. Instead, she looked down at the warm milk tea in her hands.
If I keep pressing him, I might learn something, but I’ve already been acting too suspicious today.
Reluctantly, Hansel decided to back off.
“If you’ve been on your own since you were that young, it must’ve been really hard for you,” she murmured.
That was when Hansel noticed the only sound in the room was the rustle of fabric being stitched together.
He hadn’t answered her for a while.
When she looked up from her tea, their eyes met—he had been staring at her in silence the entire time.
“No one’s ever said that to me before.”
Hansel realized she had heard him say “no one’s ever said or done that” quite a few times.
He bent one knee, resting his chin on it, tilting his head slightly as he stared at her.
“‘It must’ve been hard.’ Why would you say that?”
He repeated the words as if he were tasting an unfamiliar foreign phrase.
“It’s strange. You’re strange.”
He muttered the same words over and over again, as if in disbelief.
And then, silence.
This strange intruder—a small woman as white and fragile as a lamb.
She didn’t even know who she was, yet her unfamiliar words stirred something in him.
A vague warmth in his chest, or a pleasant, prickling sensation like the one he felt now.
Unfortunately, he had no words to define these feelings.
All he could do was quietly observe the faint ripples in his heart while waiting for the dress to be completed.
The taste of sweetness lingered in his mouth.
