Chapter 53: 53 Vegetable soup

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53: Vegetable soup 53: Vegetable soup The common room smelled of broth even before they saw it.

A long line snaked in front of the counter; two women were filling bowls without really looking at the people facing them, while steam rose straight up toward a ceiling too low to contain it properly.

Kairan recognized the scent the moment he walked in it was the same one that had clung to him all morning.

Someone noticed him almost immediately.

Then another.

The room’s usual chatter broke off in scattered spots brief pauses where people stopped talking about lunch to talk about him.

“They’re looking at us,” Peter said, without surprise.

“They’re looking at *you*,” Clara said.

They hadn’t yet reached the counter when three figures broke away from a group at the far end of the room.

They advanced straight toward them one in front and two behind, like guards who had nothing to prove.

Amara was the first to recognize her; her voice came out low, almost a warning.

“Griselda.

Room 130.” Her platinum-blonde hair reached her waist, and she walked with the air of someone who already knew exactly where she would stop.

She stopped in front of Kairan.

“You’re the new arrival.” It wasn’t a question.

It was a statement.

Amara shifted half a step, almost acting as a shield.

“Leave him alone; we need to eat.” Griselda didn’t even let her finish the sentence.

“I heard things this morning.

About the kitchen.” “What did you hear?” Kairan asked.

It wasn’t quite a question.

“That Renoir sent nineteen people back to their rooms.

Just to keep *you*.” Behind her, her group suddenly stiffened, as if someone had pulled a string.

Peter turned sharply toward Amara.

Samuel looked at Gregory, seeking confirmation that he’d heard right.

“Nineteen?” Peter repeated in a low voice, as if saying it louder would make it more real.

“He just said ‘good,'” Amara murmured, her eyes fixed on Kairan.

“Exactly,” he said, turning to Amanda.

He added nothing else.

Griselda studied him for another moment, then her gaze traveled up to his face to his eyes.

“And those,” she said, “what are they?

Were you born like that, or…” Kairan stopped listening mid-sentence.

He turned toward the counter.

Griselda stood there with the question hanging on her lips, then turned and walked back without another word.

The two who had followed her exchanged a quick glance before retracing their steps.

Gregory chuckled.

“You didn’t even answer her.” “I don’t know what to tell her,” Kairan said.

They took their bowls and found an empty table at the back of the room.

Along one wall, eight young people sat with their backs straight, watching them without moving.

Elsewhere, others exchanged glances but didn’t approach.

No one came over to them.

They sat down, and for a moment, no one spoke; the only sounds were the clinking of spoons against the bottoms of the bowls and the relief of finally sitting down after half a day’s work.

It was Samuel who broke the silence.

“Exquisite.” Gregory nodded without looking up.

“He’s right.

There’s something different about it.” “It’s usually more watery,” Amara said.

Everyone looked at Kairan.

He tasted a spoonful and recognized his carrots: the same size, the same cut as that morning.

“I cut them,” he said, downplaying it.

“Well,” Peter said, “whatever you did, keep doing it.” Victor focused on the broth.

“It’s good,” he said.

Coming from him, that meant a lot.

Lena smiled.

“See?

Even the soup proves you right.” Kairan didn’t answer.

He kept eating and, for a while, did nothing else.

It was Amara who brought the subject up again, still incredulous.

“Nineteen people,” she said, shaking her head.

“If Griselda hadn’t said it, I wouldn’t have believed it.

She never exaggerates.” “I thought there were fewer,” Peter said.

“Like five, six at most.” “Nineteen means everyone,” Samuel said.

“Everyone except him,” Gregory said.

Kairan didn’t comment right away.

He kept eating while the other seven exchanged glances, as if that number carried more weight than anything else they had heard that morning.

“Did you know there were twenty of you?” Peter asked after a moment, turning to Kairan.

“More or less,” Kairan replied.

“I just kept cutting until Renoir told me to stop.” “And he told you to stop when he realized no one else was needed.” “I guess so.” Amara rested her chin on her hand, watching him with a different kind of attention than before less surprised, more curious.

“But how long did it take, exactly?

Did Renoir tell you?” “More or less.” “More or less how long?” Kairan thought about it for a moment.

“I wasn’t watching the clock.” “Of course you weren’t watching the clock,” Clara said.

You were too busy wrapping things up quickly brief, sincere exchanges.

Samuel chuckled softly, too, as if still trying to get used to the idea that it had actually happened and to someone sitting right next to him, no less.

Gregory shook his head again, but this time with something resembling a genuine smile.

“You know what this means, right?

From today on, the whole orphanage knows your name.” “They knew it this morning, too,” Peter said.

“It’s just that now they know the details.” “And the details are what matter,” Amara said.

Kairan looked down at his bowl, which was nearly empty by now.

He didn’t seem particularly worried about what they’d just said, nor particularly pleased; he gave the impression of someone noting down a useful piece of information to tuck away until the right moment.

“All right,” was all he said.

“All right?” Peter repeated.

“That’s it?” “What else is there to say?” Peter threw up his hands in surrender.

“Nothing.

Nothing…

you’re right.” Lena, who had been quieter than the others, looked at Kairan with a calmer expression.

“I don’t care how many people know your name,” she said.

“The only thing that matters is that today’s lunch was the best I’ve had since I got here.” “That’s for sure,” Samuel said, scraping the bottom of his bowl with his spoon.

The rest of the meal passed like that—lighthearted banter and the sound of the hall slowly settling back into its usual rhythm.

Meanwhile, across the room, the gazes that had been fixed on that table in the back turned away one by one, shifting back to their own bowls, their own conversations, and whatever awaited them for the rest of the day.