Chapter 5: A Rose Dedicated to Dio (5)

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Mumuno returned home carrying firewood, already utterly exhausted. He collapsed inside, unwilling to do anything more. Dio sneered coldly, "So lazy like this, what good will you be in the future?" Amid Dio's scolding, Mumuno stirred slightly. Dio watched with wide eyes as he made a determined effort to roll over— a salted fish flipping over remains a salted fish. Dio was utterly speechless. He stared at Mumuno disdainfully and said, "That old wretch should come see what use there is in buying you home! Apart from consuming food, you’re good for nothing." The soft little girl frowned at the insult and insisted in a tone neither soft nor hard, "I’m just resting for a moment, I’ll get to work soon." That "moment" stretched into nearly half an hour. Dio no longer wished to argue with her. He thought that once that old wretch returned and saw just how useless the little waste he’d bought was, realizing his money had been squandered, perhaps they could get rid of this burden. For now, the Eastern girl didn’t eat much, didn’t make a fuss, and was bearable. Preoccupied, Dio didn’t notice that Mumuno had already jumped off the chair, rolled up his sleeves, and was ready to work. When Dio turned around, he saw the black-haired kid assuming the posture of a head chef, looking quite confident. Dio gained a bit of faith in him but, recalling how Mumuno nearly burned the pot the day before, he suspiciously asked, “Are you sure you can do it? You won’t burn down my house, will you?” His crimson eyes narrowed, full of doubt. Mumuno felt somewhat guilty but only a little, and with conviction retorted, “That was just inexperience. Besides, I’m not an idiot—how could I make the same mistake again? Don’t underestimate me!” Dio remained doubtful. Mumuno nudged him aside: “Don’t you have other things to do? Stop staring at me. Unlike you, I don’t need help just to cook. You’d better go.” “What did you say?” Dio frowned. Realizing he’d misspoken, the dark, bright eyes glanced at him and then shaped a gentle, obedient smile, as if begging for mercy. Dio sneered again in anger. But Mumuno was right—he did have some errands outside. At the very least, he still needed to handle the water brought back by the other kid and buy several buckets of water for themselves. Once Dio left, Mumuno started warming up, stretching lazily before beginning to cook. Unfortunately, there was no apron in the kitchen; if his clothes got dirty, he’d have no choice but to wear Dio’s old ones, which would make these hard times even more bitter. “A clever housewife can’t cook without rice,” Mumuno said, surprisingly quoting something cultured. The villain’s family was currently so poor that no matter how skilled he was in cooking, there was no way to show it. The system wisely stayed silent at such a moment. Mumuno was very confident in himself, humming a folk tune from his hometown as he worked. In his mind, he imagined himself as the protagonist of a gourmet anime—picking up ingredients, easily peeling with his knife, swiftly slicing potatoes into thin pieces. Finally, he would put the food into the pot to cook freely; even with imperfect ingredients, he could make a pot of mouthwatering delicacy. But reality was harsh. He fumbled and scratched his head in confusion, clumsy and awkward, perfectly illustrating the gap between imagination and reality. And the dish he finally made—naturally—was nothing short of a disaster.

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It was at this moment that Dio returned home. The little waste had already brought a pot of food to the table. The first thing Dio noticed was a strange smell. Honestly, before arriving home, he had some expectations. At least, standing at the door, he hadn’t smelled any burnt scent inside, which meant the dish was at least half successful. But now, upon detecting that indescribable odor, a chill ran through him, and he no longer held much hope for the food he was about to eat. The little girl stood beside the wooden table, her cute face no longer visible. It was soiled and smudged by dirty smoke, even messier than the first time she helped with cooking, resembling a calico cat. Her small red lips pursed, her big innocent black eyes blinking, full of hopeful anticipation as she said, “Dio, try it, it shouldn’t taste too bad.” The girl knew when to be ingratiating; she didn’t slack off this time and happily fetched a wooden bowl from the cabinet. Dio scooped out a ladle from the pot and immediately stopped breathing for a moment, his face changing— The soup looked like something brewed by a witch in a fairy tale: a mix of purple-brown and reddish hues, bizarre colors melded together. The broth had thickened so much it was impossible to tell what the original ingredients were, and it was bubbling. Luckily, he didn’t see anything strange floating in the pot; otherwise, he really wouldn’t have been able to endure it. But seeing this indescribable concoction—yes, Dio now refused to call it food—he was so furious his veins bulged. Indeed, Mumuno hadn’t burned down the house, but she’d wasted a day’s worth of food and firewood, practically testing his patience! The girl seemed to sense his anger and whispered, “Don’t be mad. Although this pot looks awful and smells bad, maybe it still tastes okay.” Dio was so annoyed he laughed bitterly and said grimly, “Then have you tasted it? You haven’t even tried it yourself, how do you know?” Mumuno was stumped and couldn’t reply. Dio scooped a bowlful, preparing to face death and drink it. After all, it was cooked; it shouldn’t poison him no matter what. With this thought, he acted even more recklessly. Dio wanted to see Mumuno eat this rubbish, but reason held him back at the critical moment. He grabbed Mumuno’s hand impatiently and said, “Enough. If you get poisoned eating this, you won’t even find a doctor.” The slender wrist was easily encircled by his hand—soft and white, yet utterly lacking flesh. Dio let go disdainfully but was surprised to see red marks on the skin. He hadn’t even squeezed hard. What a... delicate noble. Mumuno felt angered by Dio’s disdain for his cooking but dared not speak. He couldn’t force Dio to eat it anyway. “So, what do we do now?” he asked. Dio felt a deep regret too; he wished he had cooked himself—it would at least have been edible. This stuff could kill Dario without needing any poison. Learning from mistakes, he should have known that most nobles were useless and etched it deeply into his mind. At this point, regret was useless. Dio tried to stay calm and said to Mumuno, “Pour that pot of poison away.” He’d been thinking “poison” and spoke without changing his words. Mumuno was stunned and felt insulted.

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“...Fine,” Mumuno reluctantly prepared to pour out the painstakingly made food under Dio’s threat, but was stopped by him. Mumuno’s heart leapt with joy as he turned his head and stared at the boy with shining eyes. Those scarlet eyes showed no attachment to the food; the thin, pale lips parted coldly: “Take it to feed the starving people in the slums—at least it might be somewhat useful.” Was Dio such a kind person? Of course not. He just didn’t care without profit. He had an idea but said coldly to Mumuno, “You failed cooking today. As punishment for wasting food, you won’t eat today.” The little girl was utterly aggrieved, her mouth slightly parted in shock, her face full of disbelief, “You’re too cruel. How can you expect someone to succeed on the first try? It’s not that easy!” Her voice was soft and gentle, even in anger; it sounded less like a reproach and more like a sweet plea. If it were someone else, they might have already given in to her. Unfortunately, Dio was a heart of stone, only capable of cold sarcasm: “Young lady, why don’t you look around—there’s nothing here, no chance for trial and error.” He was resolute, lacking any pity, and would not soften toward her. Dio thought he was already kind enough; not throwing Mumuno out on the first day was more than merciful. Carrying the bucket of “poison,” he left, unlikely to return without filling his stomach elsewhere. Mumuno gritted his teeth in anger at Dio’s attitude. [Look at him! Does he have even a hint of a child in him?] The little waste fumed, questioning the system. The system soothed him: [He’s a born villainous savior; you should be grateful he didn’t sell you off just now.] Mumuno: [??? I’m supposed to thank him? Damn it! I’d rather he sold me off—I’ll make him regret it when I, the Dragon King, return!] The system knew he was just being stubborn from watching too many videos and that making him work hard on his own was impossible; in the end, it would provide him with various cheats. The numb system remained silent. Mumuno’s stomach rumbled from hunger. He pleaded with the system for food: [If you don’t feed me soon, I’ll starve. I’ve suffered so much already; can you really bear to let me continue living this miserable life?] The system wanted to reply “I can’t bear it,” but it was too annoyed and could only say: [Just a little.] After starving all day, a little wasn’t enough. Mumuno bargained: [I’m still growing. If I can’t eat enough, how can my weak body fight the villain? How can I deal with that hateful Dio? The villains in this world are so vicious, I have to be strong to stand up to him!] The system was somewhat persuaded but still hesitant: [What if Dio finds out you’re sneaking food outside?] Mumuno was unconcerned: [I’ll just say I begged for it outside and bring some back for him. Isn’t that a good idea? Maybe it’ll soften the villain’s heart and gain his trust, making it easier to get close.] The little waste had no other skills but was quick-witted when it came to benefiting himself. Of course, he had another motive— If his belly was full and his mouth sweet, the sharp Dio would definitely notice. If he didn’t bring back some spare food, he feared Dio would be so mad about his ruined meals and foraging in the wild without packing food that he’d hit him. If he really got beaten, the villain certainly had no grace at all!