The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 4.3

“This… this is a carrot!”

It was his least favorite vegetable.

Yernen had a vivid memory of Cecile trying to get him to eat carrots by showing him how farmers harvested them directly from the fields. She had hoped that seeing their hard work would make Yernen appreciate the vegetable more, but despite her efforts, Yernen had stubbornly refused to eat them, and his dislike for carrots had persisted.

Even now, starving as he was, carrots were out of the question. Yernen pushed them aside. Digging deeper into the basket, he found something large, wrapped in rough cloth.

It looked like a big lump of black mud—hardly appetizing.
Yernen frowned and knocked on it.

Tap, tap.

It made the sound of something solid being hit.

“Is this… food?”

Unable to determine what it was, Yernen set it next to the discarded carrots. The only other thing in the basket was a small amount of salt.

After a moment of hesitation, Yernen picked up two potatoes.
Of all the things he had eaten before, potatoes, unlike carrots, were familiar and edible. They should be fine to eat.

However, there was a problem. The potatoes he was used to didn’t look like this—they were always fluffy or soft.

Yernen pondered for a long moment.

“What… am I supposed to do with this?”

Having no idea how to prepare potatoes, Yernen finally decided to take a bite, just like he would with an apple. After all, the potatoes he had eaten before had always been delicious no matter how they were prepared, so surely eating them raw wouldn’t be too bad.

He diligently wiped the dirt off with the cloth and took a bite.

“Ugh…!”

Thud.
Yernen spat the potato out, gagging.

“What kind of taste is this…?!”

It was nothing like the sweet, soft potatoes he was used to. The raw potato was bitter and strange, with a texture that grated on his mouth. Worse yet, there were gritty bits of sand rolling around his tongue. Overcome with frustration, Yernen ran his hand through his hair, his hunger making him shake slightly.

“Damn it.”

His eyes glowed with irritation, flushed with helplessness. He had no idea what to do next.

“Haah…”

Another day began, one he didn’t want to face. He wished he could stay asleep forever, but he knew that wasn’t possible. If he did, he might freeze to death.

Shivering, Yernen opened his eyes. His hands were so cold they were numb, so he tucked them into his sleeves to warm them up.
He glanced over at the fireplace.

As expected, it was as cold as it had been the day before and the day before that.

“Damn it, the wind isn’t even blowing, so why does the fire keep going out?”

Yernen wrapped the thin blanket—the only thing keeping him warm—around his body as he stood up. His pajamas and a set of simple clothes, which he had placed over the blanket for extra warmth, fell to the floor, landing on the perpetually dirty ground no matter how many times he tried to clean it.

Too tired to pick up the clothes, Yernen shivered as he grabbed some firewood and stepped outside.

“Ugh…”

Whoosh.

The cold winter wind from the lake blew sharply against him, feeling as though it could tear his skin apart.

“So annoying…!” he muttered through clenched teeth, bitterly complaining as he huddled in a small corner of the hut where the wind was weaker and began to rub the sticks together. He had to make a fire quickly, or he might actually freeze to death.

His chapped, bruised hands, already covered in small cuts, became even more wounded, and fresh beads of blood appeared on his fingers. But finally, a tiny spark ignited.

Determined to keep the flame alive, Yernen quickly gathered dry leaves and straw with his aching hands and fed them into the small fire. His hands hurt, but there was no other choice. In this freezing place, without fire, frostbite or death was inevitable.

He stared blankly at the growing flame, slowly warming himself.

“At least I’m getting better at starting fires.”

Memories of when he first arrived on the island floated back to him.

Back then, he had foolishly tried to wipe the dirt off a potato with cloth and take a bite, only to gag from the taste. After that, he’d remembered that vegetables needed to be cooked, so he had tried to boil some water. But of course, there was no fire on the island.

After much struggling, he finally recalled how Lyle had made a fire by rubbing sticks together, so he tried to do the same. It didn’t go well. After hours of effort, frustration got the better of him, and he had thrown the sticks, breaking them in anger. But he had no choice—he needed fire to cook food, so he persevered. By sunset, he had managed to light a small flame.
He still remembered how overwhelming his joy had been at that moment.

There was at least a fireplace and some pots in the hut, so Yernen cleaned the dirt off the potatoes, filled a pot with water, and boiled them.

Hungry beyond measure, though, Yernen had eaten the potatoes before they were fully cooked, gagging once more from the raw taste.

“…Guess I should eat,” he muttered.

Now, Yernen was fully grown. He had turned twenty. Though underfed and painfully thin, his body was still elegantly formed, graceful like a deer.

He clutched his chilled wrists tightly. He was still wearing a thin outfit he had been given three years ago, as getting new clothes happened maybe once a year, if that. His wrists and ankles, having grown past the too-short sleeves and hems, were exposed to the biting winter wind.

Yernen returned to the hut, carefully keeping the fire alive, and fed the fireplace with more dry branches. He blew on the flames until they grew, his pale face soon smeared with ash.

“Cough, cough.”

He coughed a few times due to the smoke but wiped his face clean as though used to it. He then made his way to the kitchen to check the food supplies.

“…Ha.”

A sigh escaped him. Checking the basket wouldn’t change the fact that there was little left to eat.

All that remained was a single dried-up carrot. That meant, starting tomorrow, he’d be starving, waiting for the next supply drop, which could take who knows how long.

“I shouldn’t have eaten so much at first…”

Yernen bit his beautifully colored lip as he washed the last carrot and placed it into a pot of boiling water.

“Maybe I should explore the forest again, or… try fishing.”
Neither option sounded good. Yesterday, he had searched the forest, and the day before, he had gone fishing—both efforts were fruitless.

As the pot simmered, Yernen clutched his growling stomach. For the past two days, he had been surviving on boiled carrots and carrot-flavored water. He still despised carrots, but at least he no longer gagged at the taste. He couldn’t afford to be picky anymore.

‘Though… I do still leave the carrots for last,’ he thought to himself.

By now, even a shriveled-up carrot felt precious.

Growing impatient, Yernen peered into the pot with desperate eyes, waiting for the carrot to cook. He knew how pathetic he looked, but what did it matter? There was no one around to see, and manners didn’t fill an empty stomach.

The quiet hut echoed with the crackling of the firewood, the bubbling of the pot, and Yernen’s quiet murmurs.

“I miss bread.”

He longed for even just one hard loaf of black bread. If soaked in water, it would at least feel like a real meal.

Though it seemed like Harriet wasn’t trying to starve him to death, the supplies were irregular, often arriving about once a month. Each delivery contained just a single set of clothes for the year, some dry black bread, potatoes, carrots, preserved foods, salt, and a bit of seasoning. Barely enough to survive on.

In spring, summer, or fall, Yernen could at least forage in the forest or fish to avoid starving, but winter was different. He had spent six winters on the island, each one bringing him close to starvation.

And this winter was particularly harsh. The previous supply shipment had been delayed by an entire week.

As a result, Yernen had been forced to eat every last scrap of his reserves and then starve for four days until the next delivery. When the basket finally arrived, he had gorged himself on bread and potatoes, not caring about conserving them. Now, with two days left before the next supply, he was out of food.

“Surely… they won’t be late again, right?”

Yernen bit his nails, filled with worry. If the supply was delayed by another week, as it had been before, he’d be looking at ten days without food.

Ten days. He had barely survived four days without food last time. He knew he wouldn’t make it through ten.

“I guess… I’ll have to check the forest.”

With a heavy sigh, Yernen muttered to himself as he removed the pot from the fire. The waterlogged carrot inside had swelled slightly.

“Ugh.”

Even though he was starving, the thought of eating the carrot filled him with disgust.

“Why does this tasteless thing even exist…!”

Yernen, on the verge of lashing out, held back, trembling as he tried to contain his anger.

‘Just hold it in, just hold it in,’ he told himself.

Even if he flipped the pot over in frustration, all that awaited him was several more days of hunger.

“I swear, I’ll find something to eat today, no matter what…!” Yernen muttered, trying to fuel his resolve as he carefully rationed the small amount of carrot left in his pot, eating it slowly. Despite his best efforts to stretch it, the flavorless carrot quickly ran out. It wasn’t much to begin with—barely the size of two fingers.