ISEKAI? More like I See Crap!
Chapter 233: The Observant Eye ( 233 )

Chapter 233: The Observant Eye ( 233 )

First stop—the meat stall.

"Ah, Sir Hansim!" the butcher stammered, ears perking up.

"Three skewers of grilled wyvern thigh. Light salt." Hansim said.

"R-Right away!"

Next—the liquor shop.

He pointed wordlessly at a bottle behind the counter.

The shopkeeper blinked. "Th-that one’s... thirty-year plumfire."

Hansim placed two gold coins on the counter.

"Wrap it. Carefully."

Last—the bakery.

"Good afternoon, sir!" the bunny beastkin girl greeted cheerfully.

"What can I get you?"

"Sweet buns. All varieties. Avoid lemon. Pack twenty."

"Ah! Yes sir! Right away!"

She blinked when she saw the liquor bottle and skewers already hanging from Hansim’s elegant satchel.

"...Are you going to a party?"

Hansim adjusted his gloves.

"Something like that."

Hansim walked calmly through the town, the weight of his satchel balanced perfectly at his side.

He passed the second gate, nodding briefly at the patrolling guards who instinctively bowed in silence as he walked past.

And then, just ahead...

The orphanage.

He slowed his pace.

Then stopped.

His eyes, sharp and perceptive, scanned the building before him.

Is this... the same rundown orphanage I heard about months ago?

The wood was freshly treated.

The front gate had been repaired and reinforced.

Windows were clean, curtains swaying in the breeze.

A new rain gutter gleamed in the sunlight.

The building looked bigger—expanded slightly from its original frame.

The front courtyard had a proper fence now.

And there—children.

Small beastkin boys and girls were running across the open courtyard, chasing each other between patches of grass. A wooden ball rolled past his boots. A little bunny-eared girl chased after it, giggling.

Hansim blinked once.

A small smile touched his lips.

It’s been cared for.

He stepped forward slowly, watching as two young girls pulled a third into the shade of the porch, sharing what looked like leftover sweet buns wrapped in cloth.

No guards. No staff shouting orders.

Just children playing... and a home holding them.

Kisha noticed a tall figure standing just outside the orphanage gate.

She stepped out onto the porch, brushing dust from her skirt and approaching with a hint of caution.

"Um... hello?"

The man gave a small bow, formal but not stiff.

"Ah... you must be the owner and caretaker of this orphanage?"

Kisha nodded slowly, eyes flicking to his refined coat, the subtle embroidery, and the way he carried himself.

"Yes. My name is Kisha. May I ask... who are you?"

The man smiled gently.

"I am Hansim. Head butler of the Gurman household."

Kisha’s eyes widened slightly.

Oh no... another noble’s people?

But before the tension could rise, Hansim reached into his satchel and drew out a paper-wrapped bundle.

He knelt down gracefully and handed it to a nearby child.

"Here. Wash your hands first—and share with the others."

The boy blinked.

Then beamed.

"Thank you, grandpa!!" he shouted, tail wagging as he ran off with the bundle.

Several kids squealed and followed him back to the porch.

Hansim slowly stood again.

"I hope I’m not intruding."

Kisha stared for a moment.

Then gave a small, stunned nod.

"Um... no. Not at all..."

Hansim reached into his satchel again and carefully pulled out a wrapped parcel of roasted meat skewers, still warm from the stall.

He offered them to Kisha with both hands.

"For you as well. A small token."

Kisha blinked in surprise, quickly accepting them.

"Ah... thank you, sir."

"You’re welcome." Hansim said, giving a small bow of his head.

She hesitated for a moment, then gathered her courage.

"Um... may I ask something?"

Hansim looked at her with calm, patient eyes.

"Of course."

Kisha shifted slightly, lowering her voice as the children nearby chased each other again with laughter.

"Earlier this week... a group wearing the same outfit as yours came here. With guards. They were... rather loud. Demanding."

Hansim gave a soft sigh through his nose, his expression unreadable.

"Ah. Yes. Those idiots."

Kisha blinked.

He continued, his tone gentle, but firm.

"Please don’t concern yourself with them."

He looked toward the children, now happily tearing into sweet buns on the steps.

"I came here for no such reason."

He folded his hands behind his back.

"I merely wished to see the orphanage."

His eyes softened slightly.

"To see how these children are cared for... and to understand the kind of place that man chooses to rest his head."

Kisha tilted her head.

"You mean... Mister Hazuki?"

Hansim gave a faint smile.

"Indeed."

"So... you’re not here to meet him?" Kisha asked, brows slightly raised.

Hansim shook his head gently.

"No. Not directly."

He looked out at the laughing children again.

"I simply wanted to see the orphanage. And the ones he seems to care about."

Kisha blinked.

"...I see."

There was a pause.

Then she smiled faintly.

"Would you like to come inside and have some tea?"

Hansim turned back to her and gave a respectful nod.

"If it’s not troublesome, and if you don’t mind."

"Ah... no, not at all. Come inside."

Kisha stepped back and opened the door wider.

Hansim bowed his head slightly again, then followed her inside.

As he crossed the threshold, he took a quick glance around—simple wooden floors, clean hallways, neatly folded shoes by the entrance.

He spoke quietly.

"A humble place. But it feels... like home."

Kisha turned back with a small smile.

"That’s what we try to make it."

"Ah... sit here, please. I’ll make some tea."

Kisha motioned toward the small sitting area as she moved toward the kitchen.

Hansim gave a polite nod and slowly sat down.

The cushions were modest. The room simple.

But in front of him—sprawled across the other end of the couch like a lump of laundry—was the black-haired human.

Hazuki was lying sideways, one arm dangling off the edge, shirt slightly rolled up, snoring faintly.

Hansim blinked.

The infamous man who closed two monster gates... was drooling.

"...Fascinating," Hansim murmured.

With deliberate movements, Hansim reached into his satchel and pulled out the liquor bottle he’d purchased earlier.

He set it on the table.

Then produced a pair of small glasses from a silk-wrapped case—his own, of course.

He uncorked the bottle.

The rich, aged aroma of thirty-year plumfire liquor drifted through the room.

He poured the deep amber liquid with a slow, practiced hand. No spill. No sound. Just elegance.

Ridan smirked in the air, circling lazily above the couch.

"Looks like Hazuki’s nose is gonna pick up that scent reaaaal soon~"

He hovered a bit lower.

"Plumfire liquor, huh...? That old guy’s trying to wake a dragon with a whiff."

Hazuki snored once.

Then his nose twitched.

Once.

Twice.

"Mmm... meat... liquor... sweet..."

His hand slowly reached toward the air, eyes still closed.

"Damn... I smell rich..."

( End Of Chapter )