Chapter 150

Chapter 150

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[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

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Chapter 150

Chapter 150: Not a Brother, but an Uncle (1)

The volunteer activities during the golden holidays have all come to an end. Tomorrow morning, everyone will return to the academy.

On their last night at the orphanage, the student volunteers gathered in the auditorium to listen to a speech by the orphanage director, Quilt.

“...Your parents are working hard for all of you at this very moment. But the children in this orphanage don’t have parents like you do... Therefore, the excellent individuals from the academy should be the guardians of these children, and the grace you have shown them during the past ten days will be remembered by these children for a lifetime... You have taken care of these children as if you were their parents over the past ten days...”

The power of a demon truly shines when it is within the demon’s mouth.

Indeed, many students in the auditorium shed tears as Quilt’s speech unfolded.

Quilt’s speech aimed to subtly stimulate the respect and gratitude that students already had for their parents and was nothing more than that in Vikir’s eyes, except for Vikir himself.

The evidence of this fact was the large donation box that appeared immediately after Quilt’s speech concluded.

“Now! Please show the love you’ve felt for our orphanage’s children over the past ten days! Just as you’ve received from your parents, please share with the children here!”

At Quilt’s words, students eagerly opened their wallets.

Jingling, jingling, and clinking!

The sound of coins and bills falling into the donation box echoed loudly.

The amount collected formed a small, golden mountain, stacked layer by layer, as much as the students at the academy respected and loved their parents.

...Of course, Vikir didn’t contribute a single penny.

He had no intention of donating anything to a demon.

At that moment, someone approached Vikir.

It was Sinclaire.

She grabbed Vikir’s sleeve and spoke to him.

“Big Brother. Big Brother, aren’t you giving money?”

“...I don’t have any money.”

“Money? Why don’t you have money? You’re an academy student.”

Admission to the academy required a substantial annual tuition fee.

Sinclaire frowned with an annoyed expression and poked Vikir’s side.

“Aren’t you being too mean? These kids don’t have parents to help them, you know. We should help them.”

That was the typical response from most of the student volunteers.

With the exception of Vikir. So, Tudor, Figgy, Sanchu... Even Bianca emptied her wallet into the donation box, tears streaming down her cheeks.

But Vikir firmly shook his head.

“Things like parents are hardly necessary.”

“Huh?”

Sinclaire looked at Vikir with a puzzled expression.

Vikir added briefly, “In the end, the world is something you have to overcome with your own strength. The presence of parents is only necessary during the early stages when help from others is crucial, but otherwise, it’s unnecessary.”

In truth, Vikir never thought that the children in the orphanage were pitiful or deserving of sympathy.

Just as Vikir himself was born and raised as a hunting dog in Baskerville, the children at this orphanage were also overcoming their early years with the help of the facility. Therefore, Vikir didn’t believe that the presence of parents was essential.

The perspective he held was functional, not emotional. Vikir had grown up in Baskerville, and during the “Era of Annihilation,” this parenting approach was quite natural to him.Expploore uptodate stories at novelhall.com

Naturally, it might seem somewhat unfamiliar to the ordinary people of this era who had never experienced the “Era of Annihilation.”

Sinclaire’s gaze at Vikir changed slightly.

It went from being curious and playful to something sad and wistful.

“Big Brother...”

Finally, Sinclaire opened her mouth.

“Come to my house sometimes. During the holidays or vacation.”

Nimpet stared at Vikir in silence.

Vikir, too, gazed back at Nimpet.

Surprisingly, Vikir broke the silence first.

“What are you looking at?”

In response, Nimpet hesitated for a moment, then brought out something hidden behind her hands.

It was a small, handmade flower wreath.

“Um. Thank you.”

Vikir received the flower wreath from Nimpet with his hand.

Usually, one would bend their legs to match the child’s height and let the child hang a wreath around their neck. But there was no such consideration for Vikir.

At that moment, Nimpet took Vikir’s hand.

Then, using cute fingers, Nimpet wrote a message on Vikir’s palm.

‘Thank you for your hard work, Oppa.’

It referred to Vikir’s work in the sewers.

Vikir nodded slightly. “You’re welcome.”

Vikir’s actions didn’t have much enthusiasm beyond that.

However, to Vikir’s surprise, Nimpet showed a willingness to continue the conversation.

“Will you come next time?”

For a moment, Vikir’s pupils trembled.

Next. Was there a next time?

Hunting dogs are prepared for death at every moment.

Their lives were a constant struggle between being killed by their prey’s retaliation or living at the mercy of their owners.

Thus, Vikir, like other volunteers, didn’t take the idea of a ‘next’ lightly.

Moreover, had Nymphet not been a child who had been disappointed by volunteers whose visits had become increasingly infrequent?

After a brief hesitation, Vikir eventually nodded. “As long as there’s a ‘tomorrow’ for me and for you, I’ll try to come.”

That was the most significant promise Vikir could make.

Upon hearing these words, Nimpet’s eyes widened for a moment.

After a while, Nimpet smiled broadly and nodded.

“I’ll wait.”

Nimpet’s moist fingers conveyed the message of their promise to Vikir’s dry palm.

Eventually, it was time for kisses.

The other children all kissed the cheeks of different volunteers.

But neither Nymphet nor Vikir moved to bring their lips and cheeks close.

Finally, Vikir turned away.

“You don’t have to kiss me; I’m not a big fan of it.”

Nymphet seemed somewhat flustered in response.

For some reason, she fumbled with his hands, making Vikir’s action conspicuous.

At that moment, Vikir left a final message.

“...And I’m not ‘Oppa’; I’m ‘Uncle.'”

Hearing the word ‘Oppa’ was somewhat awkward for Vikir.

Leaving the disappointed Nymphet behind, Vikir walked away, leaving the hall.

“Wait a moment!”

Even if Saint Dolores blocked Vikir’s path.

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[Translator – Clara]

[Proofreader – Lucky]

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