Baby Squirrel Is Good at Everything-Chapter 61

“Carl.”

Carl, who had been by her side ever since he ran over in shock upon seeing his little sister collapse, lifted his head.

“Stay with your sister.”

“What about you, Father?”

Leaving at a time like this? Carl tilted his head, unable to understand.

“I...”

The Duke took one last look at his daughter’s sleeping face before rising from his seat. Turning away, he spoke in a low voice.

“I’m going down to the underground for a moment.”

His golden eyes darkened with a chilling resolve.

While the Aslan estate was thrown into a state of emergency, even more severe than before the war, Beatty drifted into a feverish dream.

A child’s innocent laughter rang out—

Kyaruruk.

The cheerful giggles of a child,

The warm chuckles of adults.

The sounds, artificial as if copied directly from a book, reflected the limits of a dreaming child’s imagination, envisioning a scene she had never actually witnessed.

A kind and gentle caretaker.

A child, cherished within a loving embrace.

Such things only existed in fairy tales for Beatty.

That would be nice...

Watching the dreamlike child being held in their parents’ arms, Beatty thought unconsciously.

She had never been that kind of child.

To her, being young had only ever been another weakness. If anything, it had made her an easier target. Never once had her status as a child granted her protection.

And yet—

A father and a mother... No, it doesn’t have to be a mother...

Even though she ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) knew it was fake—

Even though it was just a story—

If I could be with family...

It looked so warm, so comforting, that she couldn’t help but long for it in secret.

A child like that must be happy, right?

Happiness. What did that even feel like?

Beatty tilted her head in the dream, as if trying to grasp at something distant and intangible, like a cloud slipping through her fingers.

Then, as if answering her silent curiosity, a voice reached her ears.

“My little one.”

At that moment, the closest thing to happiness Beatty had ever known—

A warm hand gently cradling her head, soft and comforting like a cloud descending from the sky—

As the memory surfaced, she recalled a voice, low and tender.

“...Tailfur.”

But instead of the warmth she expected, the voice was oddly blunt and sharp.

“Hurry up and wake up. ...Beatty.”

Gasp!

Like someone breaking the surface of water after being submerged, Beatty blinked rapidly as she came to.

...Where am I?

The ceiling above her was not the one she usually woke up to.

Still groggy, she slowly turned her head to take in her surroundings. A boy with a slightly irritated expression came into view.

“...Brother?”

Lowering her gaze, she saw his hand gripping hers tightly atop the blanket.

Has he been holding my hand this whole time?

The unexpected kindness made her cheeks flush slightly.

But that warm, ticklish feeling was short-lived.

“Red eyes.”

“...Huh?”

Poke.

A cool finger pressed against the corner of her reddened eye.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“You look more like a rabbit than a squirrel.”

“What?”

“A crybaby rabbit.”

“...I’m not a crybaby.”

The moment she woke up, she was met with teasing. The fleeting gratitude she’d felt for her brother vanished like a receding tide. Beatty frowned.

“Sure.”

The way he smirked as he said it was infuriating.

Why was he picking on someone who had just woken up?

Beatty shot him a glare, eyes narrowed in what she thought was a fierce look.

“...?”

Why does he look happy?

She had clearly been expressing her displeasure, yet Carl’s smirk deepened as if he found her reaction amusing.

Carl, noticing her bewildered gaze, thought to himself.

At least she looks better now.

Just earlier, her face had been scrunched up in sorrow, even in her sleep. The way her small hands trembled, the way her expression seemed pained—

Carl had seen it all.

He didn’t know why she had made such a face, nor what had hurt her so badly. Had she unknowingly been mistreated again?

Unsettled by the thought, he had called her name to wake her up.

Seeing her sitting there with a blank expression, he’d teased her just to break that heavy look on her face.

Yeah. This is better.

It was better to see her looking defiant than weighed down with silent misery.

Still, her glare wasn’t all that threatening. She merely squinted at him in a way that did no damage whatsoever.

Should I get her a dagger? A mace? ...No, a mace would probably be too heavy for her.

Carl made a mental note to later teach her the Aslan way of dealing with people who tried to pick fights.

Just then, he noticed her gaze shift uncertainly. The slight, awkward glances, the way her tiny fingers twitched in his grasp—

Hmph.

Ignoring her fidgeting, Carl deliberately tightened his hold on her hand before speaking.

“Tailfur.”

Beatty’s round, pebble-like black eyes snapped to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“...Huh?”

“The way those people in the capital treated you.”

Carl had been watching her carefully, so he didn’t miss the way her eyes widened in shock at his words.

That’s why she came here in the first place.

At first, he had thought she had simply run away. It wouldn’t have been strange for an eight-year-old Aslan child to act on impulse, so he hadn’t thought much of it.

But that wasn’t it.

A report passed to him by Ather detailed everything—what had happened to her while they had been away at war.

They took away her mother’s old room, treated her like a nuisance, let even the servants look down on her, and stole everything sent to her from our estate.

That tiny, delicate girl, smaller than a tuft of tail fur, had run away all on her own.

All the way from the capital to the northern lands.

For a child’s little legs, the journey must have felt like crossing an entire continent. Alone. Terrified.

“You should have told me.”

If she had, he would have personally delivered their heads.

Carl didn’t know how to express the unfamiliar feeling of regret weighing on his chest, so instead, his voice came out as reproachful.

“Me? Bullied?”

Beatty blinked, looking genuinely confused.

“...You...”

Her tilted head and puzzled expression weren’t an act. She really didn’t seem to understand what he meant.

Is she hiding it? No... She actually doesn’t get it?

Carl frowned, momentarily wondering if the report had been inaccurate.

“The maids in the capital scolded you, didn’t they?”

For an ordinary servant to dare scold a noble child of Aslan... It was unthinkable.

And not even for a good reason.

What was it again? Oh, right. ‘She was in the way of cleaning.’

So they had thrown her out of her bed while she was sleeping.

If she hadn’t been a beastkin—if she had been a normal human child—she might have broken something.

So it’s only fair if they get broken in return.

Carl made up his mind.

Every single one of them would be hunted down and dealt with accordingly.

“Oh... that.”

Why was her brother suddenly asking about something so obvious?

Beatty felt a strange, rustling discomfort deep inside her chest as she answered.

“People don’t like half-breeds... or beastkin who look more like small animals.”

She could still hear their voices, sharp as knives.

It’s your fault we treat you like this.

You’re neither a proper noble nor a proper beastkin. You act like you’re special when you’re not.

You’re an eyesore. Disgusting.

Those words had always come with a reason.

“...But it wasn’t really bullying.”

Beatty nodded to herself.

Nothing serious ever happened, after all.

Cold eyes.

Sneering lips.

She had seen such things from as early as she could remember.

“I had a roof over my head and food to eat. I was never beaten with a cane.”

She had never starved. Never been physically injured.

Only, sometimes, there was a dull, aching pain inside her chest.

Something people called luck, they had told her.

She just didn’t understand why it didn’t feel that way.

She had never starved, nor had she been beaten to the point of breaking.

It was just that, sometimes, her chest ached with a dull, lingering pain.

They had said that a child with an easy life, free from hardships and worries, had no right to feel such things—that it was a luxury.

She didn’t know exactly what having an easy life meant. It wasn’t something she had ever read about in books.

But when the maid standing behind her aunt had scrunched up her face in disgust and pointed at her, saying those very words, Beatty figured that she must be one of those lucky children.

Maybe that kind of luck isn’t something happy after all.

Carl, who had been silently listening, furrowed his brows and growled.

“They said that? That it wasn’t bullying?”

“...Mmm.”

Strictly speaking, they had told her she should be grateful.

But for some reason, with her brother scowling so fiercely, she didn’t feel like explaining that in detail.

“Just answer my questions from now on.”

Carl clenched his simmering anger down. Had she only ever been surrounded by strange people? Was her sense of what was normal so distorted?

Suppressing the frustration welling up inside him, he spoke.

“Was there anyone who looked after you?”

“Looked after me? The maids at the estate did the cleaning, so I suppose that counts...”

“No. I mean, someone assigned specifically to take care of you, like the maids here.”

“Oh. No.”

“Were your meals always served on time?”

“...Uh, no.”

In truth, food had always been left out at random times, and it was always cold by the time she got to it.

“The clothes sent for you—were they all taken? You only had one outfit?”

“...Yes.”

“You never had a proper tutor either?”

“...No.”

“What about when you were sick, like now? Who took care of you?”

As Beatty recalled the answers to his relentless questions, she suddenly blinked.

“...No one.”

Her voice came out slightly hoarse.

Strangely, with every answer she gave, it felt as though something deep inside her—something long dried up—was beginning to fill, drop by drop.