Hansel’s Enchanted Fairytale: Fill Me Up With Magic! - Chapter 33
As the smell of baking bread grew stronger, Hansel felt tears welling up for no reason. She wasn’t sad or upset, yet her nose stung as if she might cry. She tried her best to act nonchalant, pretending nothing was wrong.
How much time had passed like that?
“I’ll take it out.”
He lifted Hansel’s chair and moved her a safe distance away. He didn’t want her to get burned by the heat—that was the most important thing.
He slipped on oven mitts hanging on the wall, opened the oven, and pulled out the tray, setting it on the counter. With practiced hands, he took the loaf of bread out of the pan.
Hansel shot up from her chair—or at least tried to.
“Let me see—whoa!”
Before she could move, he picked up the chair with her still in it and placed it directly in front of the counter.
Finally, Hansel came face-to-face with the result of her work.
It looked undeniably delicious.
“……”
Steam billowed from the perfectly risen loaf of bread, curling into the air like a cloud. The warm aroma, rich with nutty undertones, teased her nose with each breath, making her mouth water.
Her throat tightened as she swallowed hard.
The loaf’s appearance was flawless. Its smooth surface glowed with golden hues and hints of toasted brown, glistening as though polished.
Hansel had unknowingly risen from her chair and was now standing beside him. Whether it was the excitement or joy numbing her aches, her heart was racing, but she felt no pain anywhere.
“It’s beautiful,” he murmured softly.
Hansel’s ears burned.
Gripping the edge of the counter, she fidgeted with her fingers as a swirl of questions filled her mind.
Can I eat it now? Is it too hot? Should I try cutting it myself? I’ve never eaten just bread on its own before. But since I made it, maybe that’s okay?
As she stood there, visibly unsure, he picked up the warm loaf and set it in front of her.
“Tear out a piece for yourself.”
“With… my hands?”
“Yeah.”
Hansel blinked in mild shock. Eat food with her hands? Such an unheard-of act would have drawn an icy glare and biting criticism from her mother.
Without a second thought, Hansel tore a piece of the bread. The soft, fluffy white interior emerged as the golden crust pulled apart effortlessly. The texture looked both chewy and tender.
She popped the piece into her mouth.
“It’s delicious…”
She instinctively drank the warm milk he handed her and turned to him with shining eyes, unaware of the milk mustache left behind.
With a light touch, he wiped the milk from her lips and muttered,
“I told you it wasn’t ruined.”
Then, almost absentmindedly, he licked the milk from his finger.
Caught in his satisfied smile, Hansel lowered her gaze. Her flowing platinum hair fell like a curtain, concealing her expression.
In a voice so soft it was nearly a whisper, she murmured as if to herself,
“You’re right. It really is delicious.”
The faintest quiver of emotion laced her words, but she tried to hide it. He, as always, chose not to comment.
Hansel had spent her life weaving elaborate lies to shield herself, hiding the truth that she wasn’t good at anything, that she was just a failure.
She had painstakingly studied every detail about what she liked, what she didn’t, what she could do, and what she couldn’t, pushing herself relentlessly to seem normal, to keep up with others.
That’s why she lived like a small, noisy puppy, straining every muscle just to get by.
“……”
But as she sat there, savoring the lingering taste of warm bread and milk, she began to feel as though all those carefully constructed defenses were meaningless.
And then an even stranger thought crossed her mind.
Maybe staying here wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
It was just a simple act of baking and sharing bread together, so why did it make her feel this way?
Why did his silent presence and inexplicable reactions feel so comforting?
Hansel didn’t know. Or perhaps, she knew—but couldn’t quite put it into words.
