Chapter 13:
The First Meal Together and a Tsundere’s Inner Thoughts.
Ayane’s unexpected invitation to lunch turned Sylvia into a statue.
Her pale cheeks flushed red in an instant, and her deep green eyes darted from side to side in confusion.
For an elf who had long guarded her solitude deep within the forest, to be invited to dine with humans — and a lively family with children, no less — was truly a bolt from the blue.
Akio and the others held their breath, watching Sylvia’s reaction.
“W–why must I… share a table with mere humans?”
Sylvia’s voice trembled as she finally managed to speak.
She had clearly intended to reject the offer sharply — there was still a trace of her usual prickly tone.
But before she could say more, Yume and Miko tugged gently at the hem of her robe, looking up with pure, shining eyes.
“Come eat with us, Sylvia-oneechan!”
“Ayane-oneechan’s food is really yummy!”
Ayane smiled softly and added,
“Thanks to you, Yume has recovered completely. This meal is just a small token of our family’s gratitude. Please — only if you don’t mind, of course…”
Faced with the children’s innocent gaze and Ayane’s sincere words, Sylvia’s resistance began to crumble.
She opened her mouth a few times as if to speak, only to falter — then finally let out a deep sigh, turning her face away.
“…I–I’m merely curious about what sort of questionable food you humans can produce, that’s all!
Consider this… a taste test! Yes, a poison test!
And besides… the inside of that hut feels suffocating.
If it’s outside… I suppose I could stay for a little while… maybe.”
Her quick, defensive words were clearly her way of hiding embarrassment — and, unmistakably, an acceptance.
The children cheered, “Yay!”
Akio and Ayane exchanged relieved smiles.
Akio quickly carried out the makeshift log table and a few stump chairs he had made recently.
The spot was perfect — dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, with a gentle spring breeze drifting by.
Ayane brought out the food: a hearty soup of fresh turnip-like vegetables and dried meat, simmered slowly until rich with flavor, along with fragrant baked bread made from crushed forest nuts.
Sylvia sat down stiffly, watching the dishes being placed before her with wary eyes.
As the children cheerfully clapped their hands and said “Let’s eat!”, Sylvia hesitantly took the wooden spoon Akio had carved and brought a spoonful of soup to her lips.
Then she froze.
(…Not bad. No, actually… it’s quite nourishing. The natural flavor of the ingredients is well preserved.)
Trying not to let her surprise show, Sylvia kept her face blank and muttered bluntly,
“…Hmph. It’s… edible. I suppose it will fill the stomach.”
But the hand that carried the spoon moved a little more smoothly now.
The warmth and comfort of Akio’s handmade wooden utensils didn’t escape her sharp elven senses — she secretly found them quite pleasing.
Akio and Ayane spoke to her naturally, without overstepping or treating her too carefully.
The children, of course, paid no attention to such subtleties.
They bombarded her with questions:
“Sylvia-oneechan, what do you eat in the forest?”
“Where is the elves’ country?”
Sylvia barely replied, yet she listened to each question with a faintly troubled — and somehow curious — expression.
When the meal ended and Ayane began clearing the dishes, Sylvia quietly tried to leave.
But when Akio casually asked about a struggling herb in his garden —
“This seedling doesn’t seem to be doing well. Maybe the soil doesn’t suit it?” —
Sylvia stopped dead in her tracks.
“…You’re watering it too much. That herb prefers dry soil.
And the red-flowered plant beside it — they’re incompatible. Their growth interferes with each other. You should transplant it.”
Speaking as if tending her own garden, Sylvia gave precise advice.
Before anyone knew it, she was kneeling by the herbal bed, examining the soil, giving Akio several instructions — and even keeping a discreet watch from the shade as the children splashed and laughed by the brook nearby.
“…Children are such noisy, troublesome creatures,” she murmured, not to anyone in particular.
But her voice carried no thorns — only a faint, wistful warmth, as if remembering something long forgotten.
By the time the orange glow of sunset wrapped the forest, Sylvia finally stood.
“…I’ll come again tomorrow. To check how the herbs are drying.
It would be a waste if you humans mishandled them and ruined their potency.”
That was her way of declaring she would return.
For Akio and the children, it was more than they could have hoped for.
“Thank you, Sylvia. I really appreciate it,” Akio said.
Sylvia turned her face away again, briskly retreating into the woods.
Watching her back disappear among the trees, Akio was certain of one thing:
Sylvia was beginning — little by little, but unmistakably — to open her heart to this place, and to their family.
She was learning, once again, the quiet joy of being together.
Just as the strong summer sun drew nearer each day, a bright, gentle light was beginning to shine upon their future as well.
