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“Where did you get this, Leah?”

Augustine tried to keep his voice gentle, but the impatience and accusation were clear. The mention of a counterfeit plate had drawn the attention of the entire Town Hall, and now every eye was on the little girl. Under the weight of their stares, Leah clamped her mouth shut in defiance.

“Speak up, you little—!”
“Ow! Ow, ow!!”

Frustrated, Rudolf yanked Leah’s arm harder, making her cry out in pain.

“Mister Rudolf, she can’t answer if you’re hurting her like that,” Augustine said firmly. His words were enough to make Rudolf release his grip with a disgruntled huff.

The moment her arm was free, Leah glanced at the faces looming over her—then, without warning, she drove her fist straight into Augustine’s crotch. As he doubled over with a strangled gasp, she bolted, dashing out of the Town Hall before anyone could react.

“That devilspawn!” Rudolf swore in a foreign language as he gave chase.

With that, the commotion in the Town Hall died down. Other than Augustine’s pained grunts, people quickly returned to their activities.

Peigi walked over. “Are you okay?”

“I—I’m fine,” Augustine answered with a strained voice, his face pale. “It didn’t hurt. At all.”

Miguel snorted. “No need to act tough, Augustine. It’s your family jewel that took the hit.”

“Yup, especially since your wedding is just around the corner,” Gabriel added with a smirk. “Damn that Leah, what if you can’t produce kids with Peigi?”

“Ah—ahaha, it’s not that bad, really.” Augustine tried to laugh it off, but he was still visibly pale from the pain. “If anything, I’m more concerned about Leah. There have been a lot of shady people in town lately—I’m worried she picked this up from somewhere dangerous.”

The brass plate he held looked much like the ones Abigail had been handling all morning, except it had a stronger luster, and metallic streaks ran across its protrusions.

“…Is that really a counterfeit plate?” Peigi asked.

“I’m not sure. But if it is, I need to know where Leah got it. —You’re heading to the orphanage for the class, right? I’m coming with you.”

“We’re going back to the store to put away the flour,” Gabriel said.

“I dunno about Abby, though,” Miguel added, gesturing to Abigail, who had been standing silently behind the group.

“You’re…” Augustine mumbled, a flicker of recognition glinting in his eyes.

♢♦♢♦♢

Abigail had never been to an orphanage before. Both in her previous life and in the memories of the gray-haired girl, she had associated orphanages with poverty. She had expected to see malnourished children lying lifelessly on the cold floor, begging for food. Perhaps one or two would have turned to crime, pushed by circumstances beyond their control. After all, it was easy to imagine all the grim scenarios that followed the loss of one’s parents.

And yet, before she even saw the building, the cheerful sound of children playing had already shattered her expectations.

Holding hands, Peigi and Augustine walked toward the orphanage—a gated facility consisting of three buildings surrounding an open field. There, Abigail saw a dozen children energetically playing ball. Others ran around in a game of tag, with a chubby boy heaving as he struggled to keep up. Some sat in the shade of the buildings, quietly reading books. And for some reason, they all wore berets.

Rather than an orphanage, it felt more like a school during recess, Abigail thought. The berets almost looked like a uniform of some sort.

One of the children noticed Abigail’s group and shouted, “It’s Peigi!” as he pointed at her. That seemed to trigger something, as the others immediately dropped their activities and swarmed Peigi.

“Peigi!”
“Miss Peigi!”
“Is it time for class?”
“Hey, what are we baking today? Hey!”
“Miss, who is she? A new kid?”
“Peigi, I’m hungry!”

“Well, aren’t you popular,” Augustine snickered, watching as Peigi was surrounded by children.

“You’re the same.” Peigi pointed at his legs, where a blonde girl clung to him from behind. Augustine laughed at the sight.

“Well, see you after class. I’ll ask Ishmael if he knows where Leah is.”

She gave Augustine a quick peck on the cheek before heading off, leading the swarm of children with her, leaving Abigail alone with Augustine and the little blonde girl.

“Class?” Abigail finally spoke.

“Baking class,” Augustine answered, still watching Peigi struggle to manage the rowdy children. “Peigi teaches the kids how to bake every Wednesday. If they’re good enough, they can join a bakery like Ishmael. Not just Peigi, though, there’s a smithing class every Monday, a tailoring class every Tuesday—Leila, I can’t move if you keep hugging my legs.”

With her name called, Leila lifted her head. “Augustine, you’re back.”

“I told you I would, didn’t I? Come on, let’s go see Sister Giuseppa.” Augustine took Leila’s hand, then turned to Abigail, who looked uncertain about what to do. “You too—there’s something I need to discuss with you, Miss Abby.”

♢♦♢♦♢

“Have some,” the woman in front of Abigail said, offering her a plate of cookies from the coffee table.

Sister Giuseppa was an older woman of the cloth, her hair completely white with age. Her movements were refined as she sipped tea from a delicate cup, her wiry fingers steady. She spoke with a hoarse yet calming voice.

“Sister Giuseppa, how has Leila been doing?” Augustine asked. Leila, still clinging closely to him, remained silent.

“Leila’s a good child. She listens well and doesn’t cause much trouble. I think she’ll enjoy her time here.”

“I hope it won’t be long. I already sent the proposal to Internal Affairs, but I don’t know how long it’ll take to get approved. However, I believe Miss Abby here can help.”

At suddenly being addressed, Abigail paused mid-bite, a cookie still in her hand.

“You see, Miss Abby, I met Leila when she was running from some bad people the other day. They had kidnapped her from her home in the Liberté Republic. Right now, we’re entrusting her to this orphanage until we can return her, but according to Leila, there were other children with her on the ship.”

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Abigail put the cookie down. “I’m listening.”

“I’m proposing a thorough investigation until we find every kidnapped child, but Internal Affairs is notorious for how slow it processes proposals. However—these are human lives we’re talking about. We can’t afford to wait.” Augustine leaned forward. “Miss Abby, I saw you with Lady Hildara the other day. I know you’re close with her. Could you bring this up to Lady Hildara yourself? I’m sure she will listen to you.”

To be fair, Abigail wasn’t exactly close to Hildara. Their relationship was less like friends and more like a problematic child and an overworked single mother. Still, she did have a way to contact Hildara in case of an emergency.

“I will,” Abigail answered readily. Her jade-green eyes darkened with a storm of unspeakable emotions.

After that, the discussion drifted into topics Abigail had no interest in, so she excused herself and left the room. As she considered what to do next, the scent of freshly baked bread caught her attention. Following the aroma, she soon found herself in the classroom where Peigi was teaching.

“And this is how the zopf will look once it’s done.”
“““OOH!!”””

The children gasped at the sight of the bread Peigi pulled from the oven. It was much larger than the bagels they had sold that morning, big enough to feed two people, with its strands overlapping in a braided shape.

“Remember, don’t braid the dough too tightly! It will rise as it rests. —Now, who among you can braid the best?!”

A chorus of “Me, me!” followed as the children eagerly began working with their dough.

As Abigail observed the baking class unfold, Augustine silently joined her, watching alongside her until the lesson concluded. Each child held their own piece of bread—some perfectly braided, others lumpy and misshapen, but all made with enthusiasm.

“Peigi wants to open her own bakery, you know?” Augustine spoke unprompted, though it sounded more like he was talking to himself. “She has the same love for bread as her father. This is the only time she can bake whatever she wants.”

“…I see,” Abigail murmured.

“Miss Abby, about the proposal for Lady Hildara,” Augustine began. “I have a copy of it at the Town Hall. Would you mind coming back with me and—”

“What are you guys talking about?” Peigi walked over, wiping her hands on her apron.

“It’s nothing. I just need Miss Abby’s help with something at the Town Hall,” Augustine replied.

“Hmm.” Peigi didn’t give it much thought. “—Oh, right. Ishmael told me Leah has been going to the old mill upstream. She calls it her new secret base. If you’re busy, I can go and fetch her.”

“Are you sure? It’s pretty deep in the forest.” Augustine looked concerned.

“It’s fine. I’ll bring her to the Town Hall before six.” With that, Peigi strode toward the gate, her pace brisk and confident. Augustine watched her disappear beyond the orphanage grounds.

♢♦♢♦♢

A cold body drifted along the river—a large man with an impressive beard and stern features, now twisted in pain and horror. His bloated form, swollen from prolonged exposure to water, was barely recognizable. His fingers, stained green from years of handling brass plates, scratched and broken.

—It was Rudolf. He had chased Leila to the old mill, and now he returned to Lamra as a corpse.

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