Demoted to the kitchen.

  Every pot washed, every dish served, was a cruel reminder.

  Of the heroes who despised him.

  Of the court that ignored him.

  Of the world that rejected him.

  Souta cleaned in silence.

  Sometimes, he stopped and looked at his hands.

  Empty.

  As if they were asking: What is wrong with me?

  ?

  During a rare moment of rest, he sat in a corner of the dining hall.

  The plate before him.

  No fork.

  No knife.

  No spoon.

  He ate with his hands.

  Trying to ignore the stares.

  The muffled laughter of guards and servants.

  — Why me?

  — What is the purpose of me being here?

  — I can’t do anything right...

  The voice came out low.

  Almost swallowed by the noise around him.

  ?

  A gentle voice interrupted him.

  — Lord Kihara, are you all right?

  Souta lifted his eyes.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Meliora.

  The second princess.

  Fourteen years old.

  Too mature for her age.

  Too kind for that world.

  — Ah... it’s you, princess.

  — You don’t need to worry.

  — I’m just a failure.

  — Rejected by everything and everyone.

  Meliora frowned.

  Tilted her head.

  She was different.

  The only one who didn’t treat him with contempt.

  — Don’t say that.

  — You have worth.

  — Just because others don’t see it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

  Souta laughed.

  Short.

  Bitter.

  — Princess, you’re too kind.

  — But look at me.

  — I can’t even use a fork.

  — What kind of hero am I?

  She looked at the plate.

  Saw how he ate with his hands.

  Without saying anything, she searched her pocket.

  — Wait here.

  She disappeared down the corridor.

  Souta stayed there.

  Confused.

  Tired.

  A few minutes later, she returned.

  In her hands, a simple spoon.

  Well polished.

  Shining.

  — Here.

  — Accept it as a gift.

  — A sign of friendship.

  Souta hesitated.

  Almost refused.

  — Princess...

  — I can’t even hold something like this.

  — Even the smallest things reject me... breaking for no reason...

  — It doesn’t matter.

  — Try.

  She placed the spoon in his hands.

  With delicacy.

  With faith.

  ?

  The metal didn’t slip.

  Didn’t fall.

  Didn’t break.

  He held the spoon.

  Firm.

  In disbelief.

  — I... I can hold it...

  Meliora smiled.

  Victorious.

  — See?

  — It’s nothing much.

  — But it’s a start.

  Souta stayed silent.

  The spoon gleamed under the dining hall’s light.

  And inside him, something lit up.

  Small.

  But real.

  Hope.

  ?

  From then on, Souta carried the spoon with him.

  During the chores.

  During the humiliations.

  During the gray days.

  He still didn’t know why he was in that world.

  But now...

  He had a reason to keep going.