Free Web NovelThe cafeteria was on the first floor of the Main Academic Building. freewebnøvel.coɱ
Or rather, on the first floor of the remaining half of the Main Academic Building.
Reconstruction work was still ongoing; scaffolding stretched from the windows on the east side of the cafeteria all the way up to the third floor. The sound of workers' hammers and the hiss of steam cranes drifted through the glass, muffled like distant thunder.
But the cafeteria itself wasn't heavily affected.
The vaulted ceiling was high, at least eight meters, with dark oak beams crisscrossing overhead. Brass gas lamps hung from each beam, their frosted glass shades filtering the light into a warm amber glow.
Four rows of long tables stretched from the entrance to the serving counter at the far end. The tabletops were thick oak planks, polished to a soft sheen by the trays of countless generations of students.
The long benches were also made of oak, emitting a low creak when sat upon.
Behind the serving counter was an open kitchen where steam stoves were lined up. Copper and iron pots clattered as chefs in white aprons bustled through the steam and cooking fumes.
Pavela carried her tray behind Natasha, her gaze sweeping across the cafeteria.
There were quite a few people.
It was dinner time, and about sixty to seventy percent of the seats were filled.
The dark blue school uniforms looked uniform under the amber light, but the seating arrangement was clearly divided—the three rows on the left were mostly noble students, sitting upright with meticulous table manners and speaking in hushed tones; the row on the right was noticeably more relaxed, with some propping their feet on benches, others clinking bowls with spoons, and laughter and arguments rising and ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ falling.
There was an invisible line drawn between them.
No one said it out loud, but everyone knew.
"Over here."
Natasha walked straight to the end of the row on the right and sat down at a spot against the wall.
Pavela took a seat opposite her.
The tray landed on the table with a soft thud.
The food on the tray was more plentiful than Pavela had expected.
A piece of golden-brown roasted pork chop, the cut showing a hint of pink, drizzled with a dark brown mushroom sauce.
Beside it was a small mound of mashed potatoes, topped with chopped chives and a small pat of melting butter.
Two slices of black bread, thick and dense, showing the grains of wheat when broken open.
A bowl of thick soup with droplets of oil and diced carrots floating on the surface.
And a pudding.
Its caramel-colored surface quivered slightly, topped with a thin layer of cream and a few sprinkles of toasted almond bits.
Pavela took a sip of the soup first.
It was hot.
The saltiness was just right, the carrots were stewed soft, and the broth had the rich depth of bone-marrow stock.
She tore off a piece of black bread and dipped it into the soup.
The chewiness of the bread and the savory flavor of the broth blended together, melting in her mouth.
Then she cut a piece of the pork chop.
Crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, the mushroom sauce was rich but not greasy, pairing perfectly with the mashed potatoes.
Finally, she picked up her spoon and scooped a bit of the pudding.
The moment the spoon cut into the surface of the pudding, the caramel layer made an extremely faint, pleasant crackling sound.
As she lifted the spoon, the pudding wobbled slightly, caramel and milky white colors intertwining, accented by the almond bits.
She put the spoon into her mouth.
The bittersweet taste of the caramel melted on the tip of her tongue, followed by the creaminess of the cream, and then the delicate texture of the pudding itself—smooth, soft, and cool. The sweetness was just right, not cloying, but making one immediately want a second bite.
Pavela's eyes lit up.
She took another scoop.
Then a third.
And a fourth.
The frequency of the spoon increased until, by the end, she was almost stuffing it into her mouth.
Natasha watched her.
Pavela scraped the last bit of pudding from the sides of the cup, swirled the spoon twice in the empty cup to ensure nothing remained, and then reluctantly set the spoon down.
She licked her lips.
"...It's good."
Her voice was soft, carrying a sort of bashful honesty.
The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched.
She saw Pavela push the empty pudding cup to the edge of the tray and begin to seriously tackle the remainder of the pork chop.
Her way of cutting meat was efficient—she didn't care about the angle of the knife and fork or whether the cuts were neat, but every stroke was clean and decisive, with no waste.
She also ate quickly.
Natasha recognized that rhythm.
Children who grew up in the slums all had this habit.
Even when they no longer needed to worry about such things, their bodies still remembered.
Natasha lowered her head and stirred her soup with a spoon.
She didn't say anything.
The noise of the cafeteria filled the silence between them.
At the next table, several boys were having a heated discussion, their voices loud enough to drown out the hammering outside.
"—Did you guys see it? That white one—"
"Nonsense, who didn't? Falling from the sky and landing right on Konrad's head—"
"I'm telling you, that definitely wasn't an academy mecha. The paint job was wrong, and the model was wrong too. I've looked through the entire Imperial Active Service Mecha Encyclopedia—"
"What use is an encyclopedia? That was a prototype; it must be something from the Research Institute—"
"How do you explain that golden halo? The one behind the mecha's head, the spinning one—"
"A special effects device, maybe?"
"Have you ever seen a special effects device that could block six armor-piercing rounds?"
"..."
"Julian's expression was terrible when he accepted the award."
"More than just terrible. I heard that after he got the trophy, he went straight to the training grounds and practiced alone until midnight."
"He's the champion, all right, but Konrad was stepped on, so the finals basically didn't happen. This championship..."
"Would you be happy if you were Julian? Last month, he was pinned to the ground in twenty seconds by that silver-haired freshman, and this month he finally made it to the finals, only for his opponent to be flattened by an unidentified mecha falling from the sky."
"You could say he's the champion since he was the last one standing, but you could also say he isn't, even though he did take the trophy."
Another burst of complex exclamations erupted from that end of the table.
Pavela cut another piece of pork chop, put it in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
Her expression didn't change at all.
It was as if the discussion at the next table had nothing to do with her.
Natasha glanced at her.
Pavela was using her fork to pile the mashed potatoes next to the pork chop, then cutting a piece of meat with the potatoes and stuffing them into her mouth together.
Her movements were very focused.
So focused that it didn't seem like she was avoiding anything, but rather that she truly felt the ratio of mashed potatoes to pork chop required serious attention.
"...Aren't you curious?" Natasha lowered her voice. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com
"Hmm?"
"About that white mecha."
Pavela, still chewing, said indistinctly, "What's there to be curious about?"
Natasha stared at her.
Pavela swallowed her food, tore off another piece of black bread, dipped it in the mushroom sauce, and took a leisurely bite.
That composure, bordering on dullness, almost made Natasha believe she really didn't care.
Almost.
"Forget it."
Natasha withdrew her gaze and finished the soup in her bowl.
She decided to change the subject.
"So," she pushed the empty bowl aside and rested her crossed arms on the table, "how long do you plan to stay this time?"
Pavela stuffed the sauce-dipped bread into her mouth and chewed twice more.
"A while."
"How long is 'a while'?"
"Not sure, but I won't suddenly disappear for a month like last time."
She paused.
"The higher-ups discovered I’m illiterate."
Natasha was drinking water.
She almost spat it out.
"Cough... What?"
"Illiterate," Pavela repeated. "I don't recognize all the Imperial common script, so I have to come back for remedial General Education."
Natasha slowly set her glass down.
Her expression went through a rather complex series of changes.
First, confusion.
Then suspicion—was this person joking?
Then she remembered how Pavela looked reading a book on the bed earlier.
Her lips moving silently, her brow slightly furrowed, her index finger pressing on a line of text and moving back and forth.
She really was "recognizing words."
Word by word.
Then, the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in her mind.
Pavela von Schwartz.
The adopted daughter of the Schwartz Family, picked up from the battlefield.
Time—barely over two months in total.
A girl picked up from the battlefield, no more than sixteen years old, who didn't go by this name two months ago, didn't belong to this country, and didn't know the script here.
Thinking about it that way, being illiterate was actually the most logical part.
If Natasha hadn't received special training, her situation would probably be similar to Pavela's.
