The Night of the Monsters - Chapter 15

“Giselle?”

Startled, she quickly set the herbs down and spun around.

Ian stood in the doorway, his face partially obscured by the backlight streaming in from the hallway. It was only for a moment before he stepped forward, his movement slow and deliberate.

As always, his expression was gentle, his lips curved in a faint, disarming smile. Yet despite this, an unexplainable sense of unease coursed through Giselle. Unconsciously, she clutched at the hem of her dress, her body tensing.

Ian closed the remaining distance between them in an instant, his gaze flickering to the very herbs she had been examining moments earlier.

“…What were you doing in here?”

“I-I woke up early, and… I was just looking around… There was a door, so I…”

Her voice was shaky, her words stumbling over themselves. She couldn’t even meet his eyes, her unease painfully evident.

Ian, however, maintained his warm smile, though it seemed tinged with mild exasperation.

“I didn’t think you’d come all the way in here,” he said, his tone light yet unreadable.

He hadn’t bothered locking the room, assuming she wouldn’t venture inside. Even back in the forest, Giselle had rarely entered the underground herb storage, despite its much easier accessibility. Perhaps his assumption had been a mistake.

Ian’s calm expression concealed the thoughts running through his mind.

Giselle’s sudden energy, her waking on her own, and her uncharacteristic attempt to prepare breakfast—all of it was undoubtedly the result of the restorative potion he had administered through a kiss in the early morning. It seemed to have dispelled her usual lethargy, if only temporarily.

He regretted not giving her the other potion she typically took alongside it. He had planned to administer it during breakfast but now realized that postponing it had been a mistake.

Last night, he had been careful, holding her gently at first, unsure if she might wake. Yet as one hour turned into two, she remained lost in pleasure, her soft moans the only sound she made, never opening her eyes.

His restraint had slipped, and he’d become far too carried away.

Since her gaping vagina wouldn’t close, all the semen poured out as soon as she ejaculated, and when he put her penis on her face, she reflexively opened her mouth. As a result, by the time the long lovemaking was over, Giselle’s whole body was a mess, and the bed was dirty to the point of being unpleasant.

Hugo had been reluctant to let go of Giselle, clinging to her even as he drifted into sleep. For Ian, separating them was already a physically demanding task. But what concerned him more were the red marks and even bruises that covered Giselle’s body. Leaving her in such a state wasn’t an option, so he ended up administering several restorative potions to her.

Thankfully, the potions worked their magic, closing up what he thought might never return to its original state. Afterward, he carefully cleaned her, changed her clothes, and replaced the soiled bedsheets with fresh ones. By the time he was done, Ian’s own energy was completely drained.

While Ian finished these tasks, Hugo had already fallen asleep. Ian carried him out of the room and dropped him onto a bed in another room before finally collapsing into his own. He had been certain that Giselle wouldn’t wake up before him—but the restorative potion seemed to have worked too well.

The moment he saw her that morning, he could tell from the clarity in her eyes that her mind was fully alert.

Hmm… what should I do now?

Ian quietly observed Giselle, who was still visibly flustered, and let out a small, soothing laugh. His demeanor was gentle, almost disarming, as he gazed at her with his usual calmness. Inside, however, he was already calculating his next steps. He knew it was better to address her concerns directly and resolve them before they could spiral into something uncontrollable.

“Why do you look so startled?” he asked, his tone light and concerned. “Did you have another strange dream?”

“No, not at all,” Giselle stammered, her voice still shaky. “Actually, I slept really well last night… no dreams at all. It’s just… um…”

“If it’s not about dreams, then… it must be about the herbs you saw in the basket, right?”

Giselle’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t expected Ian to bring it up first, and her nervousness turned into a hesitant nod. Seeing this, Ian let out a soft chuckle, crouching to pick up the herb she had been holding earlier.

“These herbs are difficult to come by,” he began. “And anything hard to acquire has significant value. We’ll need money if we’re going to live among people again, right?”

“Money…?” Giselle echoed, confused.

“Yes,” Ian said with a faint smile. “There’s only so much we can provide for ourselves. There are researchers who specialize in toxic plants and others who experiment with rare ingredients. I thought we might be able to sell them someday. That’s why I’ve kept these separated from the others, so they wouldn’t accidentally mix.”

Giselle turned back to inspect the room again, her eyes taking in the neatly sorted baskets of herbs. His explanation seemed plausible. She felt a pang of guilt for jumping to conclusions, but the lingering unease about the tea’s familiar scent remained.

Before she could dwell on it further, Ian addressed her concern, as if anticipating her next question. He sighed deliberately and spoke with a sheepish expression.

“To be honest… when I brewed the tea yesterday, some of the leaves I used accidentally included a few toxic ones. I was organizing the herb room with Hugo’s help, and, well, you know how he is—he calls it ‘organizing’ if he just throws everything into one pile.”

The mention of Hugo’s chaotic tendencies struck a familiar chord with Giselle, and despite her confusion, she reflexively nodded. It was true that Hugo could be careless with things he wasn’t particularly interested in.

“So, it was just a mistake?” she murmured.

Ian gently took her hand and led her toward the doorway, his touch light but firm.

“After I poured the tea into the cups, I noticed the scent wasn’t quite right,” he explained as they walked. “I ended up throwing everything out and brewing a fresh pot, but the scent was so strong it must have lingered in the kettle and cups. I tried to balance it out with raspberries, but…”

“Oh, so that’s why it had such a unique smell,” Giselle said, her voice softening.

“I’m sorry if it startled you,” Ian said, his tone filled with warmth and sincerity. “The move from the forest was sudden, and with everything happening so quickly, I guess I’ve been a little careless. Maybe I’m more exhausted than I realized—my senses aren’t as sharp as they should be.”

Since Ian wasn’t outright lying, his explanation carried a natural authenticity.

Under the brighter light of the hallway, Giselle looked up at him as he smiled apologetically. Her earlier unease began to dissolve, replaced by a sense of awkward relief.

Of course, she thought to herself. What was I even thinking? There’s no reason for Ian to do something so malicious to me.

Feeling guilty for doubting him, she shook her head. “No, it’s not your fault. If anything, I should’ve been paying more attention. I’ve been neglecting so many things lately, blaming it on not feeling well…”

“Don’t worry about that, Giselle. You don’t need to do anything,” Ian replied gently. Then, as if noticing for the first time, he added with a touch of amusement, “But you’re up earlier than usual today.”

“Yeah, I feel light and in a good mood. Ah, um… thanks for the clothes, Ian.”

Though she refrained from mentioning that he had cleaned her body, Ian simply smiled without addressing it. The door to the herb room was firmly closed. Giselle quickly moved about, determined to prepare breakfast as originally planned.

“Today, I’ll make breakfast. I feel bad for leaving it to you every day.”

“…What?”

“You said you were feeling worn out, didn’t you? You’re always the first to wake up and the last to go to bed, so it’s only natural.”

“Ah, no, I’m not tired at all. I can do it, Giselle.”

“Not tired? You look so pale. It’s fine, just rest. By the way, where do you fetch water here? Is there a well inside?”

“If you turn the faucet… Wait, Giselle, really, I can do it.”

“I want to do something fitting as a teacher once in a while. Or… do you not want to eat what I make?”

“…That’s not it. I was just worried that you might be overdoing it since you aren’t feeling well. Let me know if you need help with anything, Giselle.”

“Alright. I’ll try to make something delicious today.”

Ian, who had been desperately trying to dissuade her, finally spoke with a strained smile and lowered his head. Watching Giselle earnestly work despite her inexperience was amusing, but when it came to cooking, it was… problematic. Clothes could be replaced, and cleaning could be redone, but food had to be eaten.

Leaning against the wall, Ian watched her pale face as she moved. She had no trouble chopping ingredients—in fact, she was more skilled than Ian in that regard. The problem arose when it came to seasoning.

“Did I add too much sugar?”

After tasting the gently simmering stew, Giselle suddenly headed for the herb room. Here we go… Ian buried his face in his hands, unable to stop her.

Giselle returned with an herb root, cleaned it thoroughly, and grated it over the stew pot. The powder was mixed into the simmering stew. Her idea of countering sweetness with bitterness was something Ian could never have imagined. Just as she had once insisted on adding plain water to an omelet, reasoning that salty bacon needed blandness to balance it, this time was no different.

In his childhood, when hunger was constant and food was scarce, taste didn’t matter. But once he began living somewhat decently, his instincts recoiled at the thought of her cooking.

Still, Ian couldn’t bring himself to say that to her outright. Instead, he had stepped in six years ago, when he and his brother were fourteen, and proposed dividing household responsibilities.

“Giselle, I think you’re not used to household chores since you’ve lived alone for so long. Your laundry and cleaning aren’t very thorough, and you often misjudge portions when cooking. Plus, the dishes pile up, and you seem to find it hard to follow recipes. Since you already have so much else to do, and now that my brother and I are old enough, how about we split the work?”

“Split it…?”

“Yes. I’ll handle all the chores. I like cooking—it sounds fun. My brother can take care of gathering ingredients or dealing with monsters. That way, you can focus on teaching us.”

That’s right—her food wasn’t just poorly seasoned; it was always made in absurdly large quantities. Eating it all without leftovers had been a real ordeal. Since then, Ian had come up with every excuse imaginable to keep her out of the kitchen, but now… this.

Ian, smiling as if everything were fine, was mentally calculating at lightning speed.

“Master, are you here…?”

By the time Hugo came downstairs, breakfast was nearly ready. Like Ian, he also briefly turned pale at the sight of Giselle standing in front of the pot, though he quickly composed himself. Giselle, noticing him, greeted him with a bright smile.

“Good morning, Hugo. Did you sleep well? It’s been a while, but I prepared breakfast today. It’s just about done, so let’s eat.”

“….”

“Why? …Don’t you want to eat it?”

“…No, it’s just that it’s been a while since you’ve cooked, Master.”

Hugo, normally blunt enough to say things others might not, was unusually restrained this time. His gaze clashed sharply with Ian’s over Giselle, but there was no one to blame in this situation.

“Could you help me carry the dishes to the table?”

“Sure…”

“Yes…”

The voices overlapped weakly, and both brothers responded at almost the same time. However, Giselle, busy moving about, didn’t seem to notice their lack of enthusiasm.

The meal itself was unusually quiet, a heavy silence hanging over the table. Giselle, who had planned to have a serious conversation with the brothers about her future plans, decided to postpone it for another time.

* * *

“…My stomach hurts.”

“If you’re going to throw up, make sure Giselle doesn’t see you.”

“Why did we even let her into the kitchen in the first place?”

“What could I do when Giselle woke up earlier than me? You know this is partly your fault, right?”

Having been banished by Giselle after she insisted on handling the cooking and cleaning alone, the brothers stood outside, pale-faced, and bickering bitterly.

They had managed to eat all of the overly sweet and bitter stew Giselle had generously ladled out from the massive pot, along with the lumpy, shapeless omelets. The salad topped with soft cheese tasted decent, but there was far too much of it. Though Giselle had said it was okay to leave some behind, neither of them could bring themselves to. Ever since they were kids, finishing everything she made had always made her smile brightly, and they couldn’t bear to take that away from her.

While the brothers continued their endless squabble over whose fault this ordeal was, neither noticed Giselle approaching them. She hesitated before carefully asking, “…Are you fighting?”

“He’s unfairly blaming me for everything,” Ian quickly replied.

“Should I show you what real blaming looks like?” Hugo shot back, scowling.

“I swear, you’re going to die with that temper of yours—it’s impossible to fix,” Ian muttered.