Chapter 18: The Food Is Talking?

“When dealing with a yandere, you should take the initiative to get close to them and obediently go along with whatever they want…”

Seeing this line, she gently furrowed her delicate brows and, without mercy, tossed the book aside with a crisp thud.

“What absolute garbage. I’m reading this to figure out how to deal with Qiao Suna—not to find new ways to die!”

She imagined what would happen if she actually followed the book’s advice—given Qiao Suna’s current state, if she, now a witch, went looking for her first, that lunatic would probably say something like ‘What a pleasant surprise!’ Then she’d be handed a glass of Sleepy Orange Juice, and the next time she woke up, she’d be living in the basement for the rest of her life.

That outcome was absolutely unacceptable!

She clenched her fists tightly, nails digging deep into her palms.

The five books she had found about witches contained nothing useful. The only reference to a witch’s diet was the ridiculous cliché: “Witches eat children.”

“Even a dog wouldn’t believe that nonsense. If only I had a witch who’d lived a few hundred years right next to me… but that’s impossible!” she sighed helplessly.

A wave of irritability washed over her for no reason. She lifted her head and realized the sky outside the window had already turned pitch–black. The silent library echoed with the occasional cry of a night bird.

“It’s dark already…” she whispered, her voice unusually clear in the empty library.

Instinctively, she looked at Hiiro curled up beside her. That small frame was nestled against her, sleeping soundly. Her tiny chest rose and fell with each steady breath.

“She fell asleep,” Pelotti thought.

“Staying this long in the library… poor kid.”

Perhaps because she herself had read a lot growing up, she felt quite fond of this child.

A child so young should have some guardian with her, right? Yet all afternoon, no one had come to look for her.

Could she really be an orphan?

Pelotti didn’t want to do it, but she knew that in a foreign place like this, getting unnecessarily involved with strangers was never a good idea.

She bit her lip and made up her mind.

Carefully, she supported Hiiro’s small body, her fingers brushing through the girl’s silvery–white hair as she gently separated her from her own warmth. She laid her softly onto the chair, adjusting her into the most comfortable position possible.

“This should be fine…” Pelotti thought, but unease lingered.

The moment she let go, Hiiro curled up even tighter. Even with that thick coat, her body trembled slightly. She mumbled words Pelotti couldn’t hear, and her small hand stretched out unconsciously as if searching for a source of warmth that had vanished.

The sight made Pelotti’s heart clench—this was clearly a sign of deep insecurity. She had seen the exact same thing when Qiao Suna first arrived at the house.

Maybe this kid really was an orphan. Should she take her with her?

But then she thought of her own miserable situation—barely surviving herself. How could she help someone else?

Just not being a burden would already be lucky.

With that thought, Pelotti steeled herself, returned all the books on the table to the shelves, and left without looking back.

Her footsteps echoed heavily in the silent library.

To her surprise, the green–haired girl who had been sitting by the window earlier was still there, still reading. There were fewer books piled around her now—she must have returned some—but several still formed small stacks around her.

“What a strange woman,” Pelotti murmured and turned to leave, unaware that the green–haired girl glanced up from her book, watching her retreating figure with a thoughtful expression.

Walking alone on the empty street, Pelotti suddenly recalled that night—how she had walked down a deserted street just like this, been startled by Qing Cheng, and then force–fed fruit juice by Qiao Suna.

But this time, she was alone. And she could feel it—her hunger was growing.

This hunger was completely unlike what she felt as a human. It came from every cell in her body, like her entire being had been drained of energy and desperately needed replenishment.

Every inch of skin, every bone screamed for food.

So hungry. She needed to eat something.

But she knew she couldn’t stop here. She remembered well: no matter the city, nighttime was dangerous—especially for girls like her.

Enduring the overwhelming hunger tearing through her body, she pushed forward. Her weak legs trembled.

“Why is it so long… Was the distance from the library to the hotel always this far?” she wondered. The road seemed far longer than before.

She wanted to run, but her legs no longer had the strength.

Her mind drifted into a haze. Everything around her had a double image. Streetlights blurred into glowing halos.

So hungry. So unbearably hungry.

She wanted to eat something she had never tasted before.

But what?

Her thoughts grew muddy; her brain felt like mush. She couldn’t think clearly at all—and she didn’t notice the shadow following her the whole time.

“That half–dizzy woman is the target? Really?” A cat–eared assassin crouched in a shadow, repeatedly checking the kill order in her mind. Only then did she dare believe that the woman who looked like she’d staggered out of a tavern was the highest–priority assassination target—even above the current human Saintess.

When she first received the order, she thought the target must be someone incredible—after all, the princess herself wanted this woman dead. She had taken the mission extremely seriously. Now… the target didn’t look strong at all.

“Maybe she’s just pretending. Better observe a bit longer,” she muttered. Just then, two drunken men walked toward Pelotti.

She observed quietly, waiting to see Pelotti’s reaction.

Pelotti smelled food. She also heard voices:

“Holy crap! Where did this beauty sneak out from in the middle of the night? I swear she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen!”

Woman? What woman? Are they talking about… me?

Pelotti thought in a daze.

“Damn, that face, those arms, those legs—just one look and I feel like I’m ascending!”

The voices came from the same direction as the delicious smell.

Is someone bringing me food?

Pelotti looked toward the delicious aroma—only to see something her foggy brain could not comprehend:

A giant, perfectly roasted golden turkey was standing upright on two legs, walking toward her.

Beside it hopped a huge block of lasagna dripping with rich meat sauce, bouncing its way across the ground.