Chapter 11: When the Sun still shone

*Kiro's POV*

The morning breeze carried a soft chill, brushing past the blooming lilies that lined the garden path. I walked beside Eudia as she hummed a little tune, her steps light and almost bouncing with every note. We stopped by the garden cottage—one of those elegant white huts shaped like a birdcage, the kind nobles use for tea parties. Sunlight spilled through the vines and lace curtains, painting the table in gold.

I pulled the chair out for her, but she lifted her hands toward me, her eyes shining with that quiet eagerness of hers.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You want me to help you up?”

She nodded once, so I gave in and gently lifted her into her seat.

I checked the kettle—it was empty and cold. So I slid a small basket of biscuits in front of her with a glass of water. “If you could wait a moment, Young Miss, I’ll go make your tea.”

With her eyes closed, she nodded slowly while nibbling on a biscuit, she was so focused on it. Watching her like that made me smile. It was comforting about the way she just sat there so peacefully—of mornings that felt… simpler.

As I stepped into the kitchen, I stopped by the door. I could hear the maids and cooks talking again. But this time, the tone was different.

“She’s really sweet now, isn’t she?”

“Always thanking us. So polite.”

“Poor girl… we shouldn’t have trusted that tutor.”

I smiled faintly. So they noticed too.

I pushed the door open, and everyone greeted me like an old friend. “Morning, Kiro!”

“Morning,” I replied, smiling. “I need to boil some water for the young miss’s tea—and maybe serve something sweet with it, if we’ve got any desserts left?”

The head chef, Elmario, scratched his chin with a sigh. “Ah… about that. The baker quit last week. His son got drafted for the war, so he took the boy’s place. Couldn’t really stop him.”

I frowned a little. “That’s… rough.”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “We haven’t found a replacement yet. So unless you’re planning to bake it yourself, I’m afraid no cake for the young miss today.”

“I see…” I murmured.

I started scanning the shelves—flour, eggs, sugar, milk. Enough for a plain sponge cake, but too bland for Eudia’s taste. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a small basket of carrots sitting by the window. I picked one up, tossing it lightly in my hand.

A faint memory surfaced—my mother, in our tiny kitchen back in my old world, grating carrots while humming softly. The smell of cinnamon filled the air, and my father’s laughter echoed from outside as he cleaned his fishing gear before heading off to drive his taxi.

A lump formed in my throat before I even realized it. I hadn’t thought of them in a while.

“Carrot cake it is,” I whispered to myself, smiling as I wiped a tear from my cheek. Just like Mom used to make.

As I set the carrot down on the counter, one of the maids tilted her head.

“Um, Kiro? You’re putting a carrot in a dessert?” she asked, as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be concerned.

I grinned a little. “That’s right. It’s sweet when done right. Just trust me.” As I took off my blazer and hanged it on a hook near the door.

The head chef, Elmario, crossed his arms and raised a brow. “You sure you know how to bake, kid?”

“I learned from the best,” I replied, as I took off my gloves and pulled my sleeves up.

The kitchen suddenly felt alive again as I started gathering ingredients. Flour, sugar, butter, eggs, and of course the carrots. I found a bit of cinnamon, some crushed nuts, and a handful of raisins. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

Then I spotted a small basket of lemons sitting near the window.

Perfect.

Most cooks would’ve squeezed them for juice or used the zest for garnish—but I remembered something my mother used to do when we were short on sugar. I took one, peeled it thinly with a knife, careful not to cut into the bitter white pith, and set the strips aside.

I grabbed a small pot, poured in some water, added a spoonful of honey, and brought it to a simmer over the stove. The kitchen filled with a soft, floral sweetness as I dropped the lemon peels in and stirred gently. The honey thickened, coating the peel until it glistened like amber glass.

After a few minutes, I fished them out and set them on a cloth to cool. They were still warm, soft, and just a bit sticky when I chopped them fine. I tasted a bit on my finger—sweet, tart, and bright enough to cut through the richness of the cake.

“Perfect,” I muttered under my breath. “A bit of sunshine for the batter.”

I started by peeling and finely grating the carrots, their sweet scent mixing with the sharpness of lemon peel. I whisked the eggs and sugar until they turned light and frothy, then folded in the melted butter and milk, mixing until smooth. Flour and cinnamon came next, dusting the air with a comforting aroma. I added the grated carrots, nuts, raisins, and finally minced bits of the honeyed lemon peel—the secret that would make this cake sing.

The batter was thick, golden, and smelled like warmth itself. I poured it into two round pans, greased with butter.

Of course, the oven was another story. The old medieval beast looked like something you’d bake a sword in, not a cake. The temperature gauge? Nonexistent. Just coals and instinct.

I crouched, poking the embers, feeling the heat with my hand. Too hot. I waited, shifted a few logs, and tried again. Finally—just right. I slid the pans in and closed the iron door, praying I wouldn’t burn the thing to ash.

While waiting, I whipped up the frosting. The kitchen didn’t have cream cheese, so I improvised—fresh cream, whipped until thick, with powdered sugar and a touch of vanilla and lemon zest for balance. Light, creamy, and sweet enough for Eudia’s taste.

The scent filled the kitchen as the cake baked. Warm, buttery, with that distinct sweet-earthy smell of carrots. The maids peeked over my shoulder like children waiting for candy.

When I finally pulled the cakes out, the tops were perfectly golden and springy to the touch. I set them on the counter to cool, then spread a generous layer of frosting between the two layers. Smoothly, carefully, I coated the sides and top, evening the surface until it gleamed white and soft.

The maids gasped. “That’s too pretty to eat…”

I smiled, cutting the cake in half. “The young miss gets this piece,” I said, plating a neat slice. “You can have the other half—but leave some for her dinner dessert.”

They hesitated at first, then the first maid took a forkful—and froze. “This… this isn’t meant for servants like us…”

Another guard leaned on the doorframe, laughing. “Kid, you could open a shop with this! Forget the manor!”

Their laughter filled the kitchen, but their eyes were serious. The warmth in their praise hit deeper than I expected. I could almost hear my mother’s voice in the back of my mind, ‘Always bake with love, and it’ll never taste bad.’

Elmario took his bite last. Everyone went silent. He stared at his fork, then slowly walked toward me.

“…Kiro,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re hired.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I’m serious! Be our new baker. I’ll double your salary. You’ll still serve the young miss, but you’ll bake for the house, too. Tea parties, dinners, the works.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I… I’m not sure if my mother or the Duchess would agree to that.”

Elmario’s grin widened. “Then I’ll go ask myself. I’ll vouch for you. Don’t worry about a thing!”

I laughed softly as I started pulling my sleeves back up to my wrist, and putting on my gloves and blazer. “Alright then. I’ll go serve the young miss now. Just tell me later what they decide.” 

As I walked out with the plated slice, Elmario called after me, shouting to the staff, “Oi! Save a piece for the Duchess! I’m not dying without her tasting this!”

Their laughter echoed behind me, mixing with the lingering scent of baked carrots and lemon—a reminder that even in another world, warmth like this still existed.

I set the plate in front of the young miss, watching as the sunlight from the window kissed the top of the cake. The cream frosting gleamed faintly, smooth and pale against the warm, spiced crumb. A few curls of honeyed lemon peel glimmered on top—simple, but elegant.

Eudia leaned closer, her nose twitching a little as she took in the smell. I could almost see her curiosity building. She picked up her fork and gently poked the cake. The way it bounced back seemed to startle her a bit.

“It’s… so fluffy,” she whispered, eyes wide like she’d just discovered something magical.

I couldn’t help but smile.

She hesitated for a moment, then scooped up a big bite—cream, crumbs, and all—and ate it. For a second, she just sat there. Then her cheeks turned pink, and she grabbed both sides of her face.

“It’s so yummy!” she said, her voice muffled, almost childlike.

I held a hand to my chest and gave a small bow. “My pleasure, young miss.”

While she happily continued eating, I turned to prepare her tea. When I glanced back, she was kicking her legs under the table, eating in tiny, excited bites. Each time her fork touched the plate, her eyes sparkled like she was trying not to squeal.

“Eat slowly,” I reminded her with a chuckle.

She froze mid-bite, cheeks puffed, and then started eating slower—though she still grabbed her face with both hands every few seconds, savoring every mouthful. It was… honestly adorable.

By the time she finished, she sat back with a small sigh of satisfaction. I placed a cup of fragrant tea in front of her.

She reached for it immediately. “Careful, it’s hot—”

Too late. She sipped and flinched, sticking out the tip of her tongue.

“It’s hot…” she mumbled.

“Drink slowly this time,” I said, trying not to laugh.

She sniffed the cup, closing her eyes. “It smells good!” she said brightly, then blew on it—three times—before taking another sip.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. “But it’s bitter.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed softly.

She looked up at me, caught my smile, and smiled back shyly. But when I met her eyes, she quickly turned away.

“Was your snack delicious, young miss?” I asked.

“Yes!” she said instantly, holding her cup close with both hands.

After the young miss’s afternoon tea, she usually takes her nap. That’s when my other kind of work begins — the kind that leaves bruises rather than dishes.

Reginald, the head butler, doesn’t go easy on me just because I’m new. “A servant of a Duke should be capable of protecting their master,” he says. That’s how I end up flat on my back again and again, staring at the sky and wondering if my ribs are still where they’re supposed to be.

We start with hand-to-hand combat — joint locks, throws, footwork. The man moves like flowing water. Every time I think I can counter him, he redirects my strength against me. I barely manage to hold my ground. The second half of training is with a knife — light, quick, and relentless. I’ve always been confident with my rapier, but without it, it feels like I’m fighting a bear with a toothpick.

After the fifth time I hit the dirt, Reginald finally helps me up and dusts my shoulder. “Nice work, lad,” he says, a small approving smirk tugging at his lips. “Your knife form is improving. You’re finally using your whole body, not just your arms.”

I bow slightly, panting. “Thank you, sir. I’ll keep at it. But right now, if you’ll excuse me, I think the bath is calling me before rigor mortis sets in.”

He chuckles, that deep kind of laugh that sounds like it comes from years of discipline. “Go on then. You’ve earned it.”

The warm bath water stings every scrape and bruise I’ve earned today, but it’s a good kind of pain — the kind that reminds me I’m learning. Afterward, I dry off, put on my clean uniform, and head to the manor’s public library.

It’s quiet there — rows of old books about history, etiquette, and magic theory. My favorite section.

I’ve spent most of my free time here, learning the kingdom’s language in finer detail. The deeper I study it, the more I realize that words carry power — not just in speech but in the way people cast magic. The theory books say that mana is the invisible energy that flows through all living things, even the air. To use magic, one must first feel it, then guide it.

It took me days just to sense it — that faint humming under my skin, like warmth running through veins. It wasn't  like using my psychic magic, this one felt unfamiliar, a stranger, this must be the difference of having an affinity for certain magic. Once I learned to circulate it through my body, I could start experimenting.

Fire came first as a top priority, not only would it help me dry faster, but I could also use just enough heat to force mosquitoes to back off without burning the bed, like why are there so much mosquitoes in my room? To create it, I had to imagine the heat — not just the sight of flames but their hunger, their crackling breath. The book said to concentrate mana at a single point, focus on the image you want, and then flex the nearest muscle to trigger the release. It’s like pulling an invisible switch.

A spark jumped from my palm. Then a flame. Then, one day, I managed to pull heat from the air itself and feed it into the fire until it burned brighter.

After that, I tried cold magic — the opposite principle. Instead of feeding heat, I imagined it draining away. The world around me slowed, my breath visible in the air. When I opened my eyes, frost had started forming on the edge of the table.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to prove I could learn.

Still, I sighed. No matter how many books I read, there was no mention of teleportation magic. I wonder where they are?

I leaned back, looking at the faint trace of frost still on my palm. “Figures,” I muttered. I guess if they had such magic the Duke wouldn't be riding to the battlefield.

After hours of studying, my brain felt like porridge. I could barely remember which fork was for fish or which bow was polite enough for a noble. With a groan, I pushed my chair back and decided to fetch Eudia for dinner. Maybe a walk would clear my head.

The first floor was quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your footsteps sound too loud. As I turned the corner, I noticed a maid walking briskly down the hallway leading to the Duchess’s chambers.

That was odd.

That hall was restricted—only the Duchess, my mother, and the head maid were allowed there. I didn’t recognize her either; her stride was too stiff, her uniform too clean. Probably new. Maybe lost.

“Hey—excuse me!” I called, chasing after her.

But before I could reach her, she turned the corner. When I did the same, I was just in time to see the Duchess’s door close.

Frowning, I quickened my pace and reached for the knob—

The door suddenly swung open.

Out she came, arms overflowing with thick blankets, nearly knocking me flat.

“Whoa!” I stumbled back.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t see—” she began, but then her tone shifted the moment her eyes landed on my servant uniform. Her face twisted into a sneer. “Tch. Blind brat. Watch where you’re going.”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. “What’s your problem?” I muttered, but she’d already brushed past me, chin high and nose wrinkled like she’d stepped in dirt.

Still frowning, I made my way to the kitchen. The familiar warmth and smell of simmering stew instantly relaxed me. Elmario, the head chef, was fussing over a pot with his usual intensity.

“Elmario,” I called, “who’s the new maid walking near the Duchess’s room?”

He looked up, one brow raised. “Ah, her. Came from a fallen noble house in the enemy territory. The Duke captured her family after they refused to surrender. He spared the daughter at her father’s request.”

I leaned against the counter. “So she’s a noble… turned maid.”

“Exactly. Lost her title, her home, everything. Guess that’s why she’s been biting everyone’s head off lately.”

I sighed. “Still, she could try not to stab people with her words.”

Elmario laughed, then pointed a greasy spoon at me. “Anyway, the Duchess loved your cake from earlier. She took the whole thing. Even the head maid and your mother wouldn’t stop praising it.”

He smirked, rubbing his finger under his nose in that teasing anime-like way of his. “Looks like we’ve got a new baker in the manor.”

Before I could reply, a sharp voice cut in from behind.

“Tch! What can a kid even bake?”

I turned. The new maid was there again, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and eyes sharp with irritation.

I held her gaze. “You’ve got a habit of walking into rooms just to insult people, huh?”

She clicked her tongue. “What are you looking at?” Her eyes flicked up and down at me, disapproving.

I exhaled slowly, reminding myself she was just a kid—technically older than me here, but in my mind, I’d already lived longer than her. Not worth the argument.

“Elmario,” I said, turning back to the counter, “you got any carrots?”

He shook his head. “Used them all for tonight’s stew.”

I scratched the back of my head. “Great.”

From behind came a small scoff. “Figures. The ‘new baker’ can’t even find ingredients.”

I ignored her and scanned the pantry. My eyes landed on a basket of sweet potatoes. I paused, an idea forming.

Sweet potato… cassava cake. Mom used to make something like that. I didn’t remember the full recipe, but maybe I could wing it.

“Alright,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. “Guess we’re improvising.”

Elmario frowned. “You’re using that? Another vegetable?”

I grinned. “Just trust me on this.”

I shrugged off my blazer, set it aside, took off my gloves, and slipped on an apron. The heat from the stove brushed against my face as I began washing and peeling the sweet potatoes.

First, I steamed them until they softened. Once they cooled a little, I mashed them into a smooth paste. I mixed in sugar, milk, butter, and eggs—guessing the proportions by feel, the way Mom always said “just enough.” The smell was already nostalgic.

I poured the mixture into a round tin lined with banana leaves and set it inside the steamer. The rhythmic bubbling of water filled the air. Steam curled upward, carrying a sweet, milky scent that made even Elmario pause.

After about forty minutes, I lifted the lid.

A wave of warm, sugary air hit my face. The cake had firmed nicely, its surface glossy from the steam. I grated cheese over the top while it was still hot, letting it melt into a gooey, golden layer.

Elmario leaned closer, sniffing. “Boy… that smells heavenly.”

“Not bad for a vegetable,” I said, half-smiling.

He chuckled. “You’re something else, kid.”

I cut a small square and offered it. “Go on, taste.”

He bit into it and froze, eyes widening. Then a grin spread across his face. “Sweet… rich… soft… You could sell this in town and make a fortune.”

Before I could thank him, a scoff came from behind.

“Hmph. Looks too sweet,” the maid said, pretending to inspect her nails.

Elmario, of course, handed her a piece anyway. “Then judge it properly, little miss critic.”

She hesitated but finally took a small bite.

Silence. Her brows furrowed. Then—her eyes widened just a bit before she quickly hid it with a huff. “It’s… edible.”

Elmario laughed heartily. “Edible, she says, while reaching for another bite.”

I crossed my arms, fighting a grin. “Guess even fallen nobles have a sweet tooth.”

She shot me a glare but didn’t argue this time.

As I cleaned up, Elmario patted my shoulder. “You’ve got the touch, Kiro. Mark my words—you’ll outcook me someday.”

I smiled faintly, staring at the little cloud of steam still rising from the cake.

When dinner came around, I brought in a small cart carrying two neatly plated slices of my sweet potato cassava cake. The moment the Duchess saw them, her eyes lit up like a child seeing her favorite toy. Beside her, Eudia’s face mirrored the same expression—sparkling eyes, small mouth open in anticipation.

They were definitely mother and daughter.

“Oh my, Kiro,” the Duchess said, hands clasped together as if trying to restrain herself from clapping. “If this is anything like the carrot cake, I may need to start skipping meals to make room for dessert.”

I chuckled softly and bowed my head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Your Grace.”

As I cleared away the previous plates and replaced them with the new ones, the faint sweetness of the steamed cake filled the air. The Duchess inhaled deeply, visibly delighted. Eudia leaned close to her plate, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

I moved the cart to the side near the washing pit. Behind me, I heard an irritated grunt. The new maid stood there, scowling at the stack of dirty dishes.

“Of course,” she muttered, “Here comes the little turd carrying a stack of plates I have to clean.”

I met her glare with a calm smile. “I’ll make sure to leave something sweet for you next time.”

That only made her scowl deepen. She turned away sharply, muttering something under her breath that I didn’t quite catch.

Before she could say anything else, I noticed my mother reaching for a pitcher of water. “Kiro,” she said gently, “pour them a glass. Her Grace has something to discuss with you.”

“Right.” I took the pitcher from her hands and leaned closer, whispering, “There’s a piece of cake with your name on it in the kitchen.”

She blinked, then smiled. “When did you even learn to bake?”

I just grinned and smirked back at her before walking off with the pitcher.

I filled the Duchess’s glass first, then Eudia’s. The little one leaned back with both hands on her belly, tapping it twice before sighing.

“I’m full,” she said softly.

The Duchess cleared her throat, the faintest hint of a laugh in it, and Eudia straightened immediately, sitting prim and proper once again.

The Duchess dabbed her lips with a napkin and looked up at me. “Kiro, I’ve spoken with Elmario. You’ve been quite the talk of the manor lately. Your carrot cake was divine, and now this new dessert… I’d be remiss not to offer you something more.”

I blinked. “Something more, Your Grace?”

“Yes,” she said, eyes kind but sharp. “How would you like to take the position of the manor’s official baker? You’ll be responsible for my household’s sweets and tea cakes. Of course, your salary will be more than doubled.”

I hesitated, unsure. It wasn’t the money that made me pause—it was the weight of commitment. Cooking for the Duchess herself was already an honor, but baking for the entire household felt like a whole new responsibility.

The Duchess noticed my silence and smiled faintly. “Your mother tells me you love books, that you could read before you could even walk. The maids say they always see you in the public library, studying even after your duties. Such diligence is rare.”

I felt my ears warm. “I just… like learning, Your Grace.”

“Then allow me to sweeten the offer,” she said, her tone soft yet deliberate. “If you accept, I will grant you permission to access the manor’s private library. Only select scholars and officials are allowed in. Would that interest you?”

My eyes widened. “There’s… another library?”

The Duchess chuckled behind her hand. “Indeed. And it’s far more extensive than the public one. Perhaps even you will find it a challenge to finish.”

That sealed it.

“I—I accept, Your Grace,” I said, bowing slightly. “Thank you for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

The Duchess smiled warmly. “I’m certain you won’t.”

As I straightened, I felt a strange flutter in my chest—a mixture of pride and disbelief.

Maybe this is it. The first real step forward.