The orphanage Nicole mentioned was tucked away in a corner of the Janus Quarter—a place seemingly forgotten by time. It stood old and weary, its crumbling façade telling stories of hardship in silence. The paint on the outer walls had long since peeled away, revealing the dull gray bricks beneath. Time had left mottled scars across the surface, and rain and wind had blurred what little decoration remained—faint traces of patterns whispering of a long-faded glory.
Billy parked the truck by the wall while Anby opened the back door, and Ignis climbed out from inside.
The orphanage's headmaster was a middle-aged man with graying hair and deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Yet, in those dark eyes shone a gentleness and resolve that inspired quiet reassurance, even if shadowed by deep fatigue.
"Nicole, the children have been waiting for you," he greeted warmly, then turned to the rest of the Cunning Hares. "And to all of you—on behalf of myself and the children, thank you sincerely for coming and for your help."
"Don't be so formal, Director. I grew up here. Now that I can give something back, of course I'll help however I can." Nicole looked to her companions unloading the goods. "Right, everyone? We all love kids, don't we?"
The crew of the Cunning Hares responded with unanimous agreement. After all, none of them were heartless monsters—they were rough around the edges, sure, but loyal and warm-hearted to the core.
The gates creaked as they stepped inside. Despite the worn exterior, the courtyard wasn't in terrible shape. Children of various ages filled the space—some older ones were pulling weeds and cleaning, others were playing with the younger kids. Ignis noticed a few playground structures—swings, a seesaw, a slide—but none of the children went near them. On closer inspection, the metal frames were rusted, and some parts were broken clean through—far too dangerous to use.
Some of the children shrank back at the sight of the towering giant, but once they learned he was a friend of "Sister Nicole," their fear melted into curiosity. They had never seen anyone this tall—he loomed over even Billy by a wide margin. When Ignis began setting up the grill and charcoal, they stood at a distance, watching with fascinated eyes.
Nekomata helped unload the pre-skewered meat and fish from the truck—plus vegetables, of course. To suit the children's taste, Ignis kept the flavors mild. He used plenty of honey in the marinade and was careful with the spices—no chili at all.
Unlike the faded outer wall, the inner walls had been freshly whitewashed. But they were covered with crayon drawings—bright, colorful bursts of childish imagination. Suns, flowers, animals—and among them, crude renditions of Starlight Knights and other animated heroes. There were even drawings of Nicole, Anby, and Billy—though rough, their hair colors and traits were unmistakable.
"Children! Come, your Sister Nicole brought you gifts," the headmaster called softly. His voice was warm and calm—not loud, yet it carried enough weight to bring all the children running.
Yesterday, they had bought a pile of picture books and children's stories from the secondhand market, along with a bundle of used toys. Though a little worn, everything had been carefully cleaned. To these kids, each item was a treasure. Nicole, Anby, and Billy began distributing the gifts, while Nekomata joined Ignis by the grill to help.
Soon the scent of roasted meat wafted through the courtyard, and the children crowded around in a hungry ring. Though their eyes shone with longing, not one of them reached out to take the skewers cooling on the side.
Ignis picked up a freshly grilled skewer and offered it to a little girl, but she shook her head frantically and stepped back.
"The Director said we have to wait until everyone can eat together," she murmured as she retreated.
"Looks like you'll have to work faster if they're all going to eat at once," Nekomata remarked, pulling more skewers from the warmer and lining them up.
Ignis nodded silently, fully focused on his task. His mastery over flame was exceptional—each skewer cooked evenly, seared to perfection without a hint of charring.
Fat dripped onto the coals with a sizzle, and the aroma spread on the breeze. The children here were never truly hungry, but chances to enjoy meat like this were rare. Their eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Even the books and toys in their hands lost their appeal—one by one, they gathered around Ignis. The giant increased the heat and worked faster, while the headmaster organized them into a neat line to receive their food from Nekomata. Watching them blow on the hot meat, take that first bite, and beam with greasy-faced joy—Ignis felt that all his effort had been worthwhile.
"Remember to thank this… big brother," the headmaster reminded gently.
"Thank you, big brother…" the children murmured shyly. Ignis smiled in response and bent back to his grill.
It turned out that his cooking was indeed excellent—and the children were indeed starving for it. Every bit of food was gone by the end.
"Thank you," the headmaster said again, stepping up to help Ignis clean up the mess.
"I've heard plenty of thanks today. No need for more," Ignis replied, glancing at the aging man. "Are you the only adult here?"
The director sighed, scratching his head awkwardly. "The grants and donations we get barely cover the children's daily needs. I can't afford another salary. Thankfully, some of the neighbors help out from time to time, or I'd never keep up."
"Nicole often helps us—brings food, toys, old clothes. I know things aren't easy for the Cunning Hares either."
"That's nothing for you to worry about," Nicole said as she approached. "Your children have grown up now, Director. It's our turn to help where we can."
The headmaster opened his mouth to protest, but Nicole spoke first.
"Don't worry. We can't fix everything yet, but the Cunning Hares are capable. Right, Ignis?"
Ignis nodded. Financially, they were far from rich, but that was only temporary—and temporary things passed.
"Nicole," the director said softly, "you're not overexerting yourself, are you? You've always been strong-willed—and clever. But you don't have to carry everything alone."
"I'm fine, Director." Nicole smoothly shifted the topic. "Has the government increased the funding yet? How about donations?"
"Not really," he sighed. "The grants keep us afloat, and at least now there are a few publicly funded school spots for the older kids. They can attend proper classes when they come of age."
"As for donations—most companies don't bother with us. Even for publicity, they prefer larger, more famous orphanages. We're too small, too shabby to draw their attention."
"I'll think of something," Nicole said firmly. "This is my home. I'll protect it from now on."
"Don't push yourself too hard," the headmaster murmured. He knew his words would fall on deaf ears—Nicole had always been this way. Once she set her mind on something, she saw it through no matter what.
After that, the Cunning Hares spent the afternoon playing with the children. Billy put on a Starlight Knight stage skit—his acting was clumsy, but his enthusiasm won the kids over. Nekomata played hide-and-seek, effortlessly charming the little ones—unsurprising, given her own orphan past. Poker-faced Anby told them stories from her favorite movies; though the children barely understood, they listened intently all the same.
As for Ignis—the giant only had to do one thing to make them all shriek with laughter: lift them high into the air. None of them had ever seen the world from such a height before. The brave ones kept their eyes open in awe; the timid ones squealed and flailed. Some of the boys even started betting on who could last longer without crying.
The game, however, didn't last long—the headmaster stopped it, afraid someone might get hurt.
When evening came and it was time to leave, the farewells were reluctant.
"Those old play structures can be replaced," Ignis said, looking back at the rusted swings and slide. "I could try building new ones."
"You can do that?" Nicole asked, a bit surprised.
"A blacksmith doesn't just make weapons. I can handle ironwork and tools, too," Ignis said confidently. "They're simple structures—just some welded pipes and plates. Nothing I can't manage."
"Now you understand why I'm always in need of money?" Nicole asked quietly.
"I think I get it."
"These kids need money to grow up—to live decent lives, to have hope," she sighed. "Money's a bastard, but without it, you can't even be one."
"Hope is expensive," she continued softly. "It takes a lot to afford it. So Ignis, Anby, Billy, Nekomata—"
"We've got to earn more, that's all."
Nicole said this as she opened the truck's back door. Ignis packed away the leftover grilling tools.
He wanted to say something—like maybe if the Cunning Hares didn't blow money so carelessly, they'd be fine—but he kept it to himself.
After all, they were all a little broken in their own ways. That much he understood.
Still, he thought as the truck rumbled to life, we really do need to start making more money. Because hope—his own, and that of the children—was never cheap.