Chương 121: Ordinary Tea in the Other World

Kichan set an empty pot beside the sink. His parents were still asleep at the table. Water dripped from his father's wet sneakers. Lying by the front door, Batu flicked his ears even at that sound. Kichan spread the molly leaves in his palm. He tore a sound leaf in half, exposing the fine fibers inside. In the other world, he would have used two whole leaves. Here, even half a leaf was too much. His parents were Earth people. They had no mana.

Of molly's protective properties, Kichan left only what would gently envelop the body. Each time his fingertips traced the veins, the astringent scent grew weaker. He cut an even smaller piece of mandragora root. A bitter smell rose as he peeled off the thin skin with the tip of a knife. Layer by layer, he stripped the remaining irritation from the cut surface. Whenever his fingertips tingled, he set another piece on the plate beside him. Riphiel looked at the plate.

"Why are you throwing away perfectly good parts?"

"They might be too strong for people here."

"Are they weak?"

"They don't have mana." Riphiel looked from his sleeping parents to the small piece of root in his hand.

"Then you should choose more carefully. Throwing more away is not the answer." She picked up a discarded molly leaf and held it to the light. Only the edge had dried a little.

"This is usable."

"No."

"I intend to drink it myself."

"Then keep it separate." Riphiel set the leaf in front of her. A small droplet rose from the water bowl. Valkyrie approached the pot. A touch to the water's surface swept the tiny scraps on the bottom to the edges. Only clear water remained in the center.

"That water's fine," Kichan said. Valkyrie swirled it once more anyway. The handle rattled on the pot above the gas stove. Dust climbed onto Kichan's foot with a screw in its mouth.

"Why did you take that out?" Dust looked between the pot and the screw.

"You want me to fix it?" One wire-thin foreleg pointed at the handle. Kichan tightened the screw, and the handle stopped wobbling. Dust climbed onto it as if to check, then got down before it became hot. This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Meanwhile, Argaon left the table. Still a yellow cat, he sat in front of the pot and raised his nose.

"Make some for me too."

"No."

"Why?"

"It's for my parents."

"If there's any left."

"There won't be." Argaon's tail slapped the floor.

"You said it was common in the other world."

"Not here."

"You've got it in your bag."

"That's all there is." Argaon pressed his nose to the opening of the material bag. When he pushed a packet with his paw, the remaining leaves rustled at the bottom.

"One sip."

"No." The water began to boil. Kichan turned the flame as low as it would go. He added the molly first, then rested a piece of mandragora on the edge of the tea strainer so that only half of it sat in the water. Black slowly spread through the pot. The herbal scent pushed aside the smells of soybean-paste soup and bulgogi. A faint sweetness lingered at the end, like scorched honey. His mother moved her arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Making tea."

"At this hour?"

"Drink this before you go to bed." She lifted her head. The fabric of her sleeve had left an imprint on one cheek. His father clenched the hand that no longer held a spoon, then opened his eyes too. Kichan divided the tea between two cups. Thin steam rose from the black liquid. His mother peered into hers.

"Did you go to another world and become a medicine peddler?"

"I'm an alchemist."

"Isn't that a medicine peddler?"

"Not quite."

"Did you make any money?" Kichan said nothing. His mother laughed.

"Then you didn't even manage that." His father picked up his cup first.

"What's in it?"

"Molly and mandragora."

"Never heard of them."

"They don't grow here." His father sniffed the tea once and drank. His mother had no time to stop him. His brows drew together at what must have been the bitterness. A moment later, he ran his tongue over his lips.

"Sweet at the end."

"You feel all right?"

"It's bitter."

"Not that." His father moved his arms and knees.

"Can't tell." His mother picked up her cup too.

"When the boy gives you something, at least ask about it before you drink it."

"Didn't want you drinking it first."

"What difference does it make who goes first?" Still grumbling, she finished her tea. Argaon stuck his nose into an empty cup. Kichan took it away.

"Told you there wasn't any left."

"The smell's still there." His parents went to their room. Before lying down, his mother told him twice to leave the dishes until morning. His father put his head on the pillow without a word. Ten minutes passed. Neither moved. An hour passed without so much as a cough from the room. Kichan opened the door a crack. They were both asleep in the same positions.

"Mom." No answer.

"Dad." He reached to shake his father's shoulder, then stopped halfway. Riphiel stepped in beside him.

"Move aside."

"Can you tell?"

"I can tell whether a person is breathing." Riphiel took his father's wrist, then put her fingers against the side of his mother's neck.

"They have pulses. They are breathing comfortably."

"But they won't wake up."

"They were tired. They are asleep."

"The tea might have been too strong." Riphiel pushed his shoulder with her palm.

"Then stop making a commotion beside them." Kichan was pushed out of the room. Batu sat in the middle of the hallway. The saber-toothed tiger looked at his parents' door, then went to the entrance. He pressed his nose to the front door and sniffed before coming back to the bedroom. He repeated the route all night. Kichan barely slept on the sofa before morning sunlight reached the living-room floor. The refrigerator opened in the kitchen. He sat up. His father stood barefoot.

He had taken out a water bottle and was pouring himself a glass. The foot he had dragged until yesterday now met the floor evenly with the other. He had not limped once on the way to the kitchen.