Hansel’s Enchanted Fairytale: Fill Me Up With Magic! - Chapter 32
***
Hansel sat on a chair by the kitchen counter, swinging her legs as she observed the bustling kitchen. It was a place full of sights to capture her attention.
It was, in every sense, the kind of kitchen a person would imagine a mage to have.
“Vegetables flying through the air all at once…”
Hansel murmured absentmindedly.
Aged lamb dashed eagerly toward the gaping mouth of a fiery oven. Knives clattered on a cutting board like percussion instruments, while chopped carrots, leeks, and onions zipped straight into boiling pots as if they had minds of their own.
The sound of the kitchen tools working was like unfamiliar traditional music from a far-off land.
For someone unfamiliar with this world, it would have been a mesmerizing spectacle.
But Hansel, instead, felt her spirits sink.
She turned to look at him as he placed the cutting board holding the dough on the counter.
“Why bother doing that yourself? You could just use magic like the rest of this.”
“Because I want to.”
“…I see.”
It felt like watching someone casually achieve a dream she’d given up on long ago.
“Because I want to,” he said. Meanwhile, Hansel had to claw her way up just to scrape the bottom of the lowest magical tier, barely grateful for even that.
Hansel turned her head back toward the kitchen, a cloud of gloom settling over her once-clear thoughts.
She was frustrated with herself for not being able to marvel at or envy the overwhelming display of magic.
It annoyed her that she found his effortless use of such extraordinary magic both impressive and infuriating.
And she hated herself for feeling that way about him.
If she were untalented, she wished at least to be kind.
Maybe she really was destined to be the lump of dough that didn’t rise and was tossed into the trash.
A loud clack interrupted her thoughts as the oven door shut.
He was already at the oven, straightening up and turning back to look at her.
“In thirty minutes, your bread will be ready.”
“…Huh?”
Hansel blinked, taking a moment to register the abrupt statement.
He pointed toward the oven.
“The dough you kneaded.”
“Wait, the dough I made yesterday? You’re actually baking it?”
“All I did was put it in the pan. You said your arms hurt too much.”
“You didn’t throw it out? I thought it was ruined! I don’t want to wait thirty minutes for nothing—just give me something else to eat.”
“No.”
He approached her suddenly and lifted her chair with her still in it.
Hansel yelped in surprise and clutched his shoulder for balance.
Effortlessly, he carried her and set her down in front of the oven.
“I told you. It’s not ruined.”
“……”
“You’ll see for yourself.”
Hansel stared at him blankly.
The clarity in his crimson eyes sent a strange wave through her chest, making her stomach flutter and her toes tingle with an unfamiliar sensation.
Unable to respond, she turned her head, her cheeks heating as if she were sitting too close to the oven.
Swinging her feet nervously, she muttered under her breath.
“You can’t even see through this metal oven. What’s the point…”
Still, she made no move to leave her seat.
Though all she could do was stare at the hot, black iron door, something about it was oddly entertaining.
He placed a hand on the back of her chair and joined her in silently watching the oven.
As time passed, a tumult of a hundred different emotions bubbled up within Hansel’s chest.
She glanced at him and cautiously asked,
“What if the bread burns?”
“Then I’ll bake another. There’s more dough.”
“But if it burns, it’s still ruined. We won’t be able to eat it, and we’ll just be hungry.”
“Burning one isn’t the end of the world.”
“…I guess that’s true.”
A peaceful silence fell between them.
The crackling of the firewood, the comforting heat radiating over their bodies, and the mingling scents of stew simmering and steak grilling filled the air with warmth.
“If it doesn’t work, we just try again.”
How long had it been since she waited for something without fearing failure?
The gentle, bubbling anticipation in her chest felt like dough rising with hope.
Hansel had spent so much of her life trapped by the fear of failure that she had forgotten what it felt like to hope.
