Sweet Reincarnation

"I'm hungry. Mother, I haven't had breakfast yet."

A girl in a chair raises a dissatisfied voice.

The day has already turned up and somewhat past the early morning hours.

It is still a little early for breakfast, but it will be somewhat late in the Mortairn family.

The samurai's house is early in the morning.

From earlier on, the girl complaining of her own hunger is Josephine. I'm five women in this house, and from the pastry, I'll be the youngest sister.

Twelve years old at the time. It is not a time to grow up, it is a time to eat, and the demand for breakfast is the greatest.

In a society where two meals a day is the basic thing, we can't do things like help sleepers in the modern era, such as skipping breakfast.

Next to the girl. Pastry, the youngest son's eldest son, sat in the seat where he would hit the lower seat.

He also endures that his own belly is about to stick to his back.

In the case of pastries, it is different from my sister in that I am hungry because my father has been specially trained in swords since before sunrise.

As the eldest son, Pastry, who had been taught the role of heir of the nobility, had a firm understanding of why they were being forced to endure hunger.

Seats that hit the top seats that are still vacant. That is, because the Lord of the Parent's Seat is in office.

It is this feudal system of identity that perplexed me first as Pais was born with something in this world that could also be called a memory of his previous life, integrating himself with his young body.

All right to decide about the house rests with the parents, and the family has no choice but to follow it. Even mealtime is convenient for parents, and mealtime for parents is mealtime.

I think I've gotten used to it lately, but if I'm still kept waiting while my belly bugs are ringing, one or two of my grievances come out.

"It's late. Shall we make breakfast soon?"

My father finally showed himself.

Naturally, the seat to be seated is the seat of the parent.

The meal begins after you have thanked God and the Spirit for your meal and offered your prayers.

I'm tired of waiting, and my sister just scratches my meal. Of course, the pastry starts to taste slowly.

The content of the meal is the ingredients themselves.

Bean and leafy vegetable soup. And bread. The parent's casserole and trace, Pais, also comes with dried figs, but Pais always gives it to his sister. From the eyes of modern Japanese, it also seems like a meal that is likely to give rise to discontent.

But even this seems to have recently improved the food situation in Mortarn territory, resulting in soup with plenty of beans. It is no longer closer to boiled beans than soup.

In the early days of territorial development, they said it was a soup almost no different from water.

From the Knight Sir who still vividly remembers the old days, I'm even emotional that I've been able to fill my children up in the morning.

Even if the bread is hard black bread.

Casserole, for a moment, was about to loosen her mouth to a smile and pride, but decided to cut out the story by the end of the meal.

"Pais, do you enjoy arching swords?

"Yes, I think I'm finally grabbing something"

"Right."

Pastry answers his father's sudden questions with a smile as well.

Waving a sword requires all the strength of your body. There's no way it's not fun because I can feel it being helped by the memories of my past life that I have in my pocket and that I'm becoming every day.

Memories of previous life. In the training days of confectioners, I was tapped into not trying to do this with my arms alone to rub the dough. Because of this, it was really helpful that my body remembered the trick of using my weight as well as my arm.

"From my eyes, Pais seems to be working pretty hard too. So, it's a sudden story, three days later. I'm going to make Pais receive another ritual of holiness."

"Another ritual of holiness?

That's what they said, Pais twisted his neck.

This is not because Pais did not know about the liturgy of Saint Separation.

Because I had the natural question that it might not be too early for me.

Another ritual of holiness is the ritual of reporting adults to God and the Spirit.

It's like a bar mitzvah in modern Japan. Religious implications also mean celebrating the growth of children, as in 753.

In this world, he is considered an adult at roughly thirteen to fifteen years of age.

Parents decide whether they deserve to be welcomed into adulthood, and if they become adults, responsibility also arises as a family. Or you can leave the house and build a separate house, and only those who have undergone rituals can get married.

"Wouldn't it be too early for you, Pais?

To his wife's inquiry, Casserole nodded.

Indeed, compared to the public at large, we can't help but think that it is obviously too soon.

Therefore, I nodded and showed it, but it did not change the conclusion.

"The wisdom of Pace is as you know it. The arm of the sword was also enough to prevent a blow from gushing. He plays with his sword without learning how to beat their younger brother. As far as Bunwu is concerned, I have determined that it is sufficient for adults. There are other unavoidable circumstances, but this is my decision."

"Really? If you decide, you have no choice."

From my mother, I get a sigh that I think is both a give up and a shame.

For the year when forty is within reach, beauty seeps into its distressed appearance.

Pais was a mother-like face and an honest child with a good understanding from a young age. He is the son who received the affection of his parents intact. Of course my father was quite drowning.

It is therefore the same for both parents that they felt sorry for the adult of their son, who was too early. I thought it would last a little longer for the kids and make them adorable.

"I'm going out in three days, so I want you to be ready for that. Anise and Josephine, will you do me a favor?

It was Pais' mother and sister who responded to the parents' words.

Girari, and my eyes felt glowing because of Pastry's temper. Should be.

"Well, uh-huh. I'll take care of it. Don't be ashamed to go anywhere, 'cause I'll be ready."

"Mother, I can help you."

Hehe and suspiciously giggling women.

Pastry as well as his father are a little drawn to the way it looks.

My son tells his father to help me.

The eyes of protégé are slightly tearful.

He was a knight whose heart swayed just because he wasn't usually seen much, such as the weak state of his love, but he was no longer capable of stopping his wife and daughter, even if it was him.

Give it up.

To his father, who responded so out of words, Pais distorted his righteous face.

Pastry's mother and sister.

There's a good reason why you two should just be here.

For aristocrats, going outside their own territory means diplomacy in national terms.

Whether the aim is goodwill, outing and tourism, negotiation or inspection, the essence remains the same.

If a company president works outside the company, it's mostly the same as becoming part of a sales activity.

The head of the territory, or someone close to it, goes to someone else's territory. Even a trivial mess can be a military clash if you do poorly.

Therefore, it becomes necessary to adhere to courtesy and so-called “non-lickable behavior”.

The exact thing is the outfit.

As they say 70% of the first impressions are determined by appearance, I can't fool around with the impressions I get when I look at them.

If you go out in military uniform, your military intentions and position will be highlighted, and if you go out in courtesy, it will be an official negotiating visit.

High-looking outfits show the financial power of the territory, and people also come to people with financial means.

Conversely, poor dresses can be seen as low no matter how fine the contents are. Because when visiting someone else's territory, people who don't even have the least amount of clothing are considered common sense, and if they can't dress up in the first place, it's a sign of poverty.

For example, when a salaried person goes to a spare company, if he goes out with a belly-wrapped toilet sandal on his hip, it's the same as if he doesn't seem to know common sense. Suits can be described as minimum common sense, and brands of suits and watches can get hazy.

The same is true of the aristocratic society, where there is a minimal amount of glory, and the power relationship is based on how much upper loads can be put on it.

In other words, it can also be said that it is the mother's “inner help" to indulge in her son's outfit.

It is imperative that my sister also learn the role of the aristocratic wife, sooner or later as a dowry to a separate family.

As an aristocratic woman, it was perfectly natural to insist that the trail be decorated successfully.

So why is the pastry in tears?

It's a Japanese feeling, and I don't like to wear it. It's NO.

If you are a craftsman who can also stand on the world stage, stand out. It is not surprising that confectionery is also important in appearance.

I am familiar with the importance of being restrained in appearance like an outfit, beyond the fact that it is the art of sweets that you can even enjoy in your eyes.

Pais is about to cry because he is adored by the women.

If I'm going to put it more correctly, I'm too adored.

"I don't know about decorating my hair with ribbons. I'm sure she'll be adorable."

"Mother, then Sister Liliana's dress suits you. That pink dress full of pretense I got because it no longer fits my body."

"Oh, that's good. That's nice. But maybe I should put some makeup on it."

Even the countryside is less entertaining.

Dressing your beloved child as a dressing doll is superb entertainment.

"Um, to my mother, my sister, I'm a man... please don't dress like a woman"

If we ignore the victim's sacrifice of being toyed with, we're talking about.

"It's good because it's cute. You've finished your meal. Get ready quickly."

"Somebody help me!!

Casserole dropped off her son, who was taken by her mother and sister.

He's got some unfortunate eyes, but he doesn't seem to stop.

"Oh, shit."

Phew, and whine as if he'd lost track of something important.

In fact, he still remembered that his men were telling him something important.

"You forgot to mention that the proper dress will arrive tomorrow."

Pastry's ordeal was likely to last until tomorrow.