The Witch Didn't Raise the Tyrant That Way - Chapter 1: This is How I Raised Him (4)

The next morning.

“Kyle.”

After a breakfast of freshly baked bread, milk, boiled eggs, and leftover apples from yesterday’s pie, I called Kyle’s name. He jumped slightly, startled.

Perhaps still haunted by Ibi Auntie’s comment about his “gluttony,” Kyle had only eaten exactly what I’d given him and hadn’t dared to ask for more. Anticipating this, I had intentionally cut his bread into large slices and given him two eggs and two apples.

“Did you sleep well?”

“…Yes. I mean, yes, I did.”

“Good. Just keep quiet and polite in front of Auntie, okay?”

I sighed, looking down at the boy who flinched every time our eyes met.

Last night, I’d set up a sleeping spot for Kyle in the corner of my bedroom with a blanket. While I’d let him nap on my bed during the day, it wasn’t practical—or appropriate—for the two of us to share the small bed at night.

Kyle’s small enough that we could probably manage if we squeezed in, but…

Ibi Auntie was the problem. She’d proven months ago that she had no qualms about barging into my house when she thought I was in trouble like the time she broke in and found me collapsed from poisoning. If she did that again and found us sharing a bed, it would only invite more suspicion—or worse, meddling.

“You heard what I said yesterday, right? If you don’t listen to me, I’ll have to send you to Ibi Auntie’s house.”

Kyle nodded quickly, his fine, straight hair shimmering with the motion. His pale, slender neck, barely supporting his round, childlike head, looked especially fragile in the morning light.

How could anyone expect a kid like this to work?

But I couldn’t let him sit idle. Ibi Auntie was already worried that Kyle might see me as weak if I coddled him too much. I needed to make it seem like Kyle respected me, which meant assigning him tasks. At the same time, I couldn’t be overly kind. Kyle might still be preoccupied with food now, but if I treated him too warmly, he’d start questioning my motives. Worse, he might stop taking me seriously, just as Ibi Auntie warned.

A bit of strictness wouldn’t hurt. After all, Kyle would eventually leave the forest, and there was no reason for us to get too close. I’d look after him for a few years, then send him on his way before he got any bigger—or more dangerous.

“Yesterday, that knight gave me money,” I said, my tone firm.

Kyle blinked, nodding slightly in acknowledgment.

“That means the deal between me and his boss is done. I can’t let you leave the forest, so don’t even think about running away.”

I didn’t tell him it was because he’d be in danger if he left—either caught by the queen’s forces or exploited by others for his eye color. There was no need to give him unnecessary information.

“And just so we’re clear, that letter didn’t say I’m supposed to use that money to feed or clothe you. That money is mine, so don’t concern yourself with it. I’ll keep it safe, okay?”

“…Okay.”

“You’ll have to earn your keep. If you think you can just sit around and do nothing, I’ll send you to Auntie’s house. Got it? If you live here, you follow the rules.”

Making up imaginary “rules” for the household, I set the stage for Kyle to contribute. It was part of the plan I’d spent all of last night thinking through.

“Starting today, your job is…”

I paused dramatically, watching as Kyle swallowed nervously, his crimson eyes fixed on me.

“…braiding my hair.”

“Huh?”

“What, does that sound ridiculous to you?”

“N-no…!”

“Braiding my hair is very important,” I said, lowering my voice as if revealing a dire secret. “If even one strand falls into the herb pot while I’m brewing, the whole potion could explode. The entire house might blow up.”

To emphasize my point, I mimed an explosion with my hands. Kyle nodded rapidly, his eyes widening in fear.

“B-but I don’t know how to braid hair…”

“I’ll show you how today. From tomorrow on, you’ll have to do it yourself. If even one strand is out of place, we’ll both end up in the afterlife. Got it?”

Feigning sternness, I gestured for Kyle to come closer.

Lilithea’s wavy, chestnut-colored hair was beautiful but impractical. It constantly got in the way during cooking, herb gathering, and gardening, so it always needed to be tied back. Teaching Kyle to braid it seemed like a manageable challenge for him—something simple enough for a child but also useful.

This task was one of the more ambitious ideas I’d come up with during my sleepless brainstorming session on how to “put Kyle to work.”

“Watch closely as I show you.”

I tilted my head to the side, dividing my hair into three sections. Slowly and deliberately, I demonstrated how to cross the strands over each other, explaining each step as I went. Kyle watched intently, his gaze fixed on my hands, not blinking once.

“See? Got it? Practice with these ropes,” I said, pointing to a few pieces of twine I’d set aside. “I won’t show you again, so from tomorrow, you’re on your own. Understand?”

“Y-yes, I got it!”

After lunch, I took Kyle to the apple orchard I had discovered yesterday. It was about a 10-minute walk from the house, making it the perfect distance for small errands.

“Next time, you’ll come here by yourself,” I instructed.

“Okay.”

“See all these fallen apples? Look closely and pick out thirty of them—ones without too many blemishes.”

“T-thirty?”

“Too many? Then don’t try to carry them all at once. Split them into smaller loads and make multiple trips. Like this—apples with this many wormholes? Toss them.”

“Okay.”

Handing Kyle a small basket that could hold five or six apples at most, I headed back to the house, leaving him to his task. This should keep him busy until dinner, I figured. The small basket ensured he’d need to make multiple trips, giving him a chance to explore the forest a bit while going back and forth.

Back at the house, I retreated to the lab. The lab, converted from the cabin’s barn, was where Lilithea had conducted her herbal experiments and created her illicit concoctions.

“She probably brewed the poison she took here too,” I thought grimly.

The lab wasn’t very large but had enough space for experiments. Upon reflection, this was also the place where Lilithea had tested strange potions on Kyle and subjected him to occasional physical abuse in the original story.

…Yeah. Kyle’s not setting foot in here if I can help it.

Even though I had no intention of doing him harm, this place was filled with dangerous substances. Many of Lilithea’s creations were downright malicious: incense that temporarily paralyzed the sense of smell, potions that silenced voices, and salves that caused intense itching when applied. They were, to put it lightly, antisocial creations.

I need to get a lock and seal up all these biochemical weapons.

Resolving to do that soon, I pulled a small notebook from the shelf.

Its leather cover was worn, and opening it revealed pages densely packed with tiny, meticulous handwriting on low-quality paper. This was Lilithea’s research journal—a record of her thoughts on herbalism, experiment results, and random ideas, all scrawled in cramped, almost illegible script. It seemed she’d tried to conserve paper as much as possible, likely because obtaining new supplies in this remote forest was no easy task.

“She didn’t make much money, avoiding contact with outsiders and refusing to work with them. That makes sense, given her feelings. But…”

Her thoughts were hers, but I wasn’t her. I could understand her emotions while still maintaining enough distance to view things objectively. I didn’t share her disdain for outsiders. If I could navigate interactions with them just enough to avoid discomfort, I could use Lilithea’s brilliant herbal knowledge to earn a living and enjoy a long, peaceful life in this lovely, quiet house.

“As for the money that knight gave me for Kyle… I’ll give it back to him later.”

I didn’t need to rely on that money. Lilithea’s journal likely held all the knowledge I’d need to make my own fortune.

「Devil’s Breath. Boiling its roots can kill living creatures. If the concentration is increased, it might even kill humans.」

Hmm… the first part seemed promising. If diluted enough, the boiled solution could work as an insecticide. Farmers plagued by pests would probably pay handsomely for it.

「Powder the petals of White Dragon Scale Flower. Its juice has a cooling effect. If the concentration is maximized, it could easily cause frostbite. Losing a toe wouldn’t be difficult.」

This could work as a pain-relieving gel or even an anti-itch cream. Useful for bug bites.

「Blue Thorn Tree fruit. Its juice stings when it touches the skin. If mixed with the itch-inducing salve and concentrated, it would make an ideal torture device.」

…Let’s skip that one. I have no idea what to do with it.

For context, the itch-inducing salve was one of Lilithea’s creations. When applied, it caused unbearable itching. I’d tested it once and immediately regretted it—it left me scratching like crazy until I had to wash it off. Even after that, a faint, persistent itch lingered for hours. I had no idea what she’d made it for, but it was definitely going on the list of things to seal away.

I continued combing through the journal, jotting down anything useful in an empty notebook.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Day Two with Kyle came to a close with a mixture of tension and regret.

The night was quiet, the sounds of nocturnal birds and chirping insects the only interruptions in the forest’s stillness. I lay in bed, facing away from Kyle, but my ears caught the faint sound of muffled sobbing.

He was curled up in the far corner of the room, trying desperately to silence his tears. But I had been keeping an ear on him all evening out of guilt, so I heard every suppressed sniffle.

…I feel awful.

Dinner had been a painfully awkward affair.

After I’d loudly scolded Kyle in front of the witches earlier, the atmosphere between us had soured. Kyle had dutifully completed the task of gathering thirty apples, making a few more trips back and forth to the orchard to meet the quota. Luckily, none of the apples he’d brought were damaged, so I didn’t have to nitpick or criticize him further.

Once the witches had left, I’d set about preparing apple compote and apple pie using the fruit Kyle had collected. Hoping to involve him, I’d had him help with some basic kitchen tasks.

He’s the future tyrant who’ll swing swords and chop enemies into pieces someday, I reasoned. Surely he can handle a kitchen knife.

But then…

“Hey, what are you doing? You’ll cut your hand like that!”

Kyle had held the knife so awkwardly that I nearly had a heart attack watching him attempt to slice an apple. I ended up standing right beside him, adjusting his grip and guiding his movements like I was teaching a toddler how to use scissors.

To his credit, Kyle listened carefully and tried to follow my instructions. But every so often, his crimson eyes would dart up to meet mine, their shine dulled with lingering hurt from the earlier outburst.

It wasn’t until later, when the apple pie was baked and dinner was served, that the weight of the day’s events truly settled in.

At the table, the silence was palpable.

Kyle sat across from me, staring down at his plate of pie and compote. He ate quietly, methodically, with none of the eagerness he’d shown the previous day. It was as if he didn’t want to risk seeming “gluttonous” again, as Ibi Auntie had so harshly remarked.

I’d deliberately served him a generous portion, but he didn’t ask for seconds. His movements were stiff, careful—like he was trying not to inconvenience me in any way.

He’s trying so hard not to be a burden… but I’m the one who made him feel like one.

And now, as I lay in the dark, listening to his quiet sobs, the guilt gnawed at me.

I’d had no choice but to act harshly in front of the witches earlier. If I hadn’t, Ibi Auntie and her friends would’ve thought I was going soft on him, and they might’ve stepped in—or worse, taken him away. But Kyle didn’t know that.

What am I supposed to do now? I can’t explain it to him—not yet. If I try to comfort him, he might just think I’m toying with him…

I sighed and turned onto my side, staring at the dim outline of the ceiling.

Tomorrow, I’ll find a way to make it up to him.

The problem was that Kyle, in his current state, had no experience with swordsmanship—let alone something as mundane as cutting food with a knife. Even if he had trained in swordsmanship, it wasn’t as though a prince had ever had to cube apples with a paring knife. Watching him almost slice his own fingers along with the apples made me instinctively raise my voice. Already shaken from earlier events, Kyle withdrew further into his shell.

Feeling guilty, I put extra effort into dinner. I even brought out the precious salted ham I’d been saving, using it to make sandwiches with the bread I’d baked that morning, layering them with apple slices and fresh greens. I gave him two sandwiches, but the enthusiasm he’d shown for the lasagna the day before was gone.

“Sniff… sniff…”

The faint sound of Kyle’s stifled sobs continued into the night. What was bubbling up in that small, fragile chest of his? Was it sorrow? Or maybe… longing?

It couldn’t be for the palace—there was nothing there to miss. Perhaps it was for his mother, whom he’d lost so long ago?

But no. The only memory Kyle has of his mother is her dying from poison.

In that case, what could this lonely boy possibly cling to for comfort on nights like this?

Still, this is for the best, I reminded myself, forcing my emotions back in check.

It had been two full days since Kyle had arrived, and my resolve was already starting to waver.

Tyrant or not, taking care of this small and frail child was a responsibility I couldn’t shirk. As a sixteen-year-old Lilithea, and even as the older soul inhabiting her body, I owed him at least that much.

But it was also true that I didn’t need to get too close to him. Kyle had to leave this place eventually, and it wouldn’t help either of us to form attachments.

This quiet, modest cabin—this life of peace—was not where Kyle belonged. He needed to return to the palace, no matter how bleak and hateful it might seem to him now.

It’s not about following the original story. It’s just reality. Kyle can’t stay here forever.

No matter how much I might wish otherwise, Kyle was undeniably a prince. His crimson eyes, glowing with the royal family’s distinctive hue, were proof of that. I could theoretically use Lilithea’s herbal knowledge to obscure his identity temporarily, but such a solution would only be short-lived. Life was unpredictable, and his heritage couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Kyle would grow into an extraordinary man—an exceptional beauty, as the original story described. When his looks became the talk of the kingdom, it would only be a matter of time before his identity as the lost prince was uncovered.

On the other hand, this was the humble cabin of a witch—despised by society. For me, this secluded life was perfect. I wasn’t originally from this world, and I had no curiosity about the outside. As far as I was concerned, this cabin could be my sanctuary, a place where I could finally enjoy the peace and stability denied to me in my past life.

But Kyle? He was different.

He couldn’t spend his life doing odd jobs in the forest, with only me and a few witches for company.

Didn’t the story say Kyle left the forest around the time he became an adult?

I recalled the details: Kyle had escaped this cabin once he’d grown taller than Lilithea—likely around the age of eighteen.

So if Kyle was ten now, that gave me roughly eight years to ensure he could leave this place without looking back.

* * *