Hansel’s Enchanted Fairytale: Fill Me Up With Magic! - Chapter 31
“What—what do you mean, my b-butt? What are you even saying about food? You sound like some creepy old man!”
Hansel hopped off the chair, flustered. When she returned to the worktable, she saw that he had placed two pieces of dough side by side.
“See? A butt.”
The dough, not yet fully proofed, had a slightly lumpy surface. Hansel raised her eyebrows high.
“Where do you see my butt looking like that?”
“When it proofs, it’ll get plump and smooth.”
He clasped the two pieces of dough with both hands, squeezing them in a motion clearly mimicking grabbing someone’s rear. Hansel leaped in place, grabbing onto his arm and prying him away. He relented, lifting his hands off the dough.
Hansel watched as he placed the dough on a large cutting board and moved it to a sunny windowsill.
He explained that the board was enchanted to maintain the ideal temperature for rising, depending on the sunlight.
Resting her chin on her hands, Hansel leaned against the worktable and stared blankly at the dough basking in golden sunlight.
The sunlight, rich and warm like melted butter, stroked the dough’s surface. The side facing the light gleamed, while the shadowed side had a crescent-like curve. It was both adorable and fascinating.
Hansel focused on the dough closest to the window.
“The one I made is the ugliest.”
“It’ll be hard to tell which one is yours.”
“It’s the ugliest, so it has to be mine!”
In her childhood, Hansel, unable to use magic, once considered pursuing magical artifact crafting.
But her mother’s cold assessment crushed that idea almost immediately.
“You’re not even good with your hands. Something like this would just get mocked on the streets if you tried to sell it. Showing others your shortcomings will only hurt you. Just stick to what I tell you to do.”
“……”
After that, Hansel never attempted to create anything with her own hands again.
She gazed at the lumpy, misshapen dough, her heart softening despite herself.
It might not be perfect, but it wasn’t a total failure either.
Flawed but still functional—it reminded her of herself.
“You can’t tell if it’s ugly yet,” he said softly, his voice closer than expected.
He had approached her from behind and now stood beside her, resting his hands on the worktable.
When Hansel turned her head, she saw his profile as he looked at the dough on the cutting board.
The sunlight pouring directly onto his face gave it an almost radiant glow.
His ash-gray hair, tinged with silver, caught the light, shimmering like polished silver strands.
When expressionless, his features were sharp and dry, almost unnervingly so.
It was as if a wooden puppet, unfamiliar with the concept of emotions, had come to life.
And yet, the bit of flour dusting his chiseled jaw gave him a slightly unpolished, almost endearing appearance, as if the intimidating aura surrounding him had softened just a bit.
“Once it rises, no one will know it was ever ugly,” he murmured.
“……”
“And when it becomes bread, it’ll be something completely different. You won’t even think it started as this dough.”
His deep, resonant voice had an almost musical quality, like the soothing hum of a contrabass.
He turned his head slightly toward her, his ruby-red eyes gleaming like roses in full bloom as he gazed at her quietly.
“You can only tell at the end. With anything.”
Hansel couldn’t even blink as she absorbed his intense gaze.
“It’s just a process,” “It’s not ruined,” he said.
The unfamiliar way of thinking made her head spin.
It felt like a blow to the back of her head—jarring, yet strangely not unpleasant.
The unfamiliar warmth spreading through her chest was impossible to define.
“I… that’s ridiculous. Where’s the proof of that?” she snapped, avoiding his eyes as she spoke.
Hansel knew why he could make such impossible statements so easily.
He had never experienced the insecurity of feeling inadequate.
That’s why he could casually talk about proofing and transformation, as though they were guaranteed.
But for Hansel, the fear of being discarded had always been real.
She had spent her entire life worrying about not rising, about being tossed aside as a useless, unrisen lump of dough.
Even as she tried to brush it off, her somber expression betrayed her.
“I don’t lie.”
Hansel shot him a side glance.
His gaze, heavier and deeper than before, was fixed on her.
“You haven’t ruined anything.”
A strange warmth surged in Hansel’s chest, hitting her throat like a wave.
Unable to withstand the piercing honesty in his gaze, she bit her bottom lip and lowered her head.
She felt on the verge of tears, yet there was a peculiar tickling sensation in her chest.
