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The barracks were in disarray. The quiet murmur of busy Sarkaz, the swish of brooms across the floor, the occasional scrape of combat boots, and the heavy thud of items being moved all blended into a dull noise. The soldiers cleaned in a straight line, rushing wherever Manfred’s eyes landed.
The Regent was scheduled to visit in three days. Manfred intended to have the place cleaned for all three of them. He moved slowly through the barracks, inspecting every corner.
Every time Manfred came to a halt, the surrounding soldiers stiffened. He pointed out crumpled stacks of paper and scribbles on the bathroom walls. The soldiers scrambled for cleaning tools and rushed to follow him.
Leaving behind the noisy barracks, the man stepped into the open yard. It was a space used for airing laundry or for soldiers to play ball games. In one corner, a group of soldiers were shaking out blankets.
As he drew closer, he spotted a child wearing a red woolen cap. Paprika was shaking a blanket in rhythm with the soldier standing opposite, making a steady thump-thump sound through the air.
Suddenly, the soldier across from the child gave a vigorous shake. Paprika was jolted by the motion and stumbled with a laugh. The child giggled loudly, and the soldiers nearby laughed along.
The laughter stopped the moment someone noticed Manfred. The soldiers snapped to attention and saluted. Manfred gave them a slight nod in return. He would not forbid them from laughing.
The soldiers quickly resumed their blanket work, but Paprika stood frozen in place. The child didn’t know what to do. Paprika opened their mouth as if to say something to the soldiers, but only mouthed the words. The soldiers glanced at the child, but none dared step forward in front of Manfred.
The child wore the same clothes as always—worn, tattered hand-me-downs and a cape knitted from thick yarn. Manfred frowned. He realized that Paprika, too, would need to stand before the Regent.
Such clothing was not appropriate for the Regent. A child greeting the Regent could not appear like this. Manfred called over one of his trusted men. The subordinate approached with a tense expression. Manfred gave a firm order.
“Bring some decent fabric from one of the houses we secured. And call a tailor.”
The subordinate nodded. It was a simple enough task that his steps were almost light as he departed.
Paprika still stood silently. Manfred glanced at the child and gave a curt command: "Go away."
This was the easiest kind of order for Paprika to follow. The child quickly said, “Yes,” and ran off as if fleeing.
＊
Several soldiers escorted the small child back. Having once escaped Manfred, Paprika now pouted, clearly displeased at being brought back to his side.
Manfred didn’t mind. As long as Paprika was quiet and behaved, it was fine.
With both hands clasped in front, the child said nothing. Paprika had learned that staying silent around Manfred was safest.
The child fidgeted, staring at the ground. The rhythmic stomp of military boots echoed between them, breaking the silence.
Behind a few Sarkaz soldiers, a Feline woman followed. She walked stiffly, her arms pressed to her chest. One of the soldiers held a bundle of fabric in his arms.
Manfred approached the soldier and the tailor and said something. The Feline woman nodded repeatedly, saying things like, “Yes, yes, of course,” eager to comply.
Manfred turned his gaze back to Paprika.
"Follow the Feline," he said.
Paprika hesitated for a moment, glancing up at Manfred and the soldiers. Then the child turned toward the woman.
The woman was forcing a smile. Paprika gave a small nod and started walking toward her. While weaving through the soldiers and the Feline, the child cast a curious glance at the bundle of fabric in the soldier’s arms.
Paprika reached out and gently touched it.
“It’s really pretty and soft.”
The child murmured the words to themself.
“Where is it from?” Paprika asked the soldier boldly, as if forgetting Manfred was right there.
Manfred answered instead. “Curtains.”
Paprika looked up in surprise. “Curtains? Fabric this nice?”
A faint smile appeared on the faces of some of the Sarkaz soldiers and the Feline woman.
Someone coughed to hide a laugh. But Manfred’s expression hardened.
Only then did Paprika notice his stern face and realize the mistake. The child’s gaze dropped to the floor, and Paprika mumbled, “I’m sorry, General.”
Sensing the tension, the Feline tailor quickly spoke.
“Come along, miss.” Her tone was gentle, but the strain in her voice showed.
She placed a light hand on the child’s shoulder and nudged gently. “Shall we go?”
Startled by the touch, Paprika looked up at the woman, then followed her into the adjoining room.
A few soldiers carrying the woman’s tools and the fabric followed behind. Soon after, they exited and lined up before Manfred.
He ordered them to stand guard.
The Sarkaz soldiers took their positions by the door and in the corners, moving with practiced familiarity. Manfred remained in place, arms crossed.
He stared out the window, but his eyes occasionally flicked toward the closed door behind which the woman and the child had gone.
Before long, the door opened. Paprika stepped out slowly. The child was wearing a temporary dress held together with a few well-placed pins by the tailor.
Rectangular pieces of fabric were draped over Paprika’s small frame, fastened only at key points. The more the child moved, the more the fabric shifted out of place. The tailor quickly followed and adjusted the folds and edges of the outfit.
Manfred approached with a blank expression, impossible to read. Under the weight of his cold gaze, Paprika’s shoulders shrank again.
Noticing the tension, the tailor hurried to speak in a cheerful tone.
“The fabric is excellent,” she said, forcing a smile.
“The young lady stands very well. Tall for her age, too. Just a few adjustments and it’ll suit her perfectly.”
Manfred said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the child. The tailor continued, trying to fill the silence.
“The color is a perfect match as well. A jacquard with a pale ivory sheen, showing pink from different angles, woven through with red thread… it suits the young lady—just like her eyes.”
Even as she spoke, the tailor was trembling from fear.
Her hands were clasped tightly together as she darted anxious glances between Manfred and Paprika. She looked to the child with a desperate gaze, silently urging her to say something.
Only then did Manfred truly notice the pattern in the cloth.
Just as the woman had said, the red thread embroidered a scenic motif over a soft pink background—a noble’s idyllic life in the suburbs of Victoria. Finely dressed figures were enjoying a peaceful holiday in a land of fabric-born paradise.
Not one of them was Sarkaz.
After a long silence, Manfred finally spoke.
“It should look more proper.”
The tailor hesitated for a moment, then bowed quickly. “Yes, yes, of course.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to Manfred, then returned to the child. It was as if she could already see the finished outfit taking shape.
Paprika looked at Manfred, avoiding the tailor’s gaze. The way his eyes lingered, calculating and precise, was unfamiliar and unsettling to the child.
Manfred ignored her. While the soldiers moved the tailor’s materials, he turned and left the room.
＊
Two days later, during the evening meal, one of Manfred’s subordinates stood quietly near the table, waiting for him. Manfred gave a small nod. The soldier stepped forward and said in a low voice, “The outfit is finished.”
Manfred looked toward Paprika, who was seated beside him, eating in silence. The child was glancing at the unfamiliar soldier, curious about what he had just whispered.
When their eyes met, Paprika quickly lowered her head and began stirring her corn porridge. Manfred gave the order.
“Take her. Tell her I’ll come in ten minutes.”
At the mention of her name, Paprika looked up again, startled. The soldier gently tapped her on the shoulder.
The child jumped up from her seat as if jolted. Clutching her spoon, she followed the soldier out.
Manfred remained at the table and scooped a few spoonfuls of porridge from the child’s plate into his own mouth.
The corn porridge was lukewarm. After clearing both trays, he walked off at a brisk pace.
When Manfred arrived at the room where, days earlier, the tailor had draped curtains over Paprika, he paused briefly at the door.
Paprika stood alone at the center of the room, looking uncomfortable in her new, clean clothes.
She wore a crisp white shirt beneath a matching vest and skirt. A ribbon tie was fastened neatly at her neck.
The ribbon, skirt, and vest were all made from the same patterned fabric, yet the outfit did not appear monotonous.
Up close, Manfred noticed that the particularly vivid red tie had been crafted from the most richly dyed threads in the entire cloth, carefully selected and woven together.
As he approached, the child stiffened. The long white ribbon tied at the back of her vest hung down, its ends touching the floor behind her.
It shimmered faintly under the ceiling light. Manfred recognized the ribbon—it had once been a curtain tieback in the mansion. Nobles often wasted fine material on such trivial uses.
Behind him, a subordinate spoke in a low voice.
“The tailor requests to be dismissed and sent home.”
Manfred nodded. The outfit was flawless.
The tailor, though clearly frightened of him, had performed with precision. There was no need to summon her again.
Manfred gestured for the child to sit on the small chair in the corner of the room.
Paprika looked at him quietly, her legs pressed together and hands resting neatly on her knees, just as he had taught her.
The man untied his own hair. Using the same tie, he began to bind the girl's hair. He tied it the same way he tied his own.
A small strand near her forehead was pulled tight. Paprika let out a faint "uh" sound. Manfred continued without pause.
He stepped forward to examine her. The child's head looked especially small. With the thick hair now drawn back, her round face was fully exposed, making her appear even younger.
Manfred stood her up again. Because he ordered her to face forward, she looked ahead into empty space. Her eyes wavered uneasily.
Manfred hesitated for a moment.
The clothes didn’t suit her.
He was too used to her rough garments and worn boots. Dressed in expensive fabric with her hair tied neatly, Paprika looked like an ordinary girl.
Not a child who belonged on a battlefield. Not a child who belonged in the world he lived in.
Manfred’s jaw tensed. He turned away.
What the girl looked like didn’t matter. What mattered was that she would not bring shame to the Regent King. That was all.
As Manfred turned to leave the room, someone tugged at his cloak. He halted and looked back. Paprika’s face had turned bright red.
Although he had already taught the child proper ways to initiate conversation, it seemed she had forgotten again.
A flicker of irritation passed over Manfred’s face.
“What is it?” he snapped.
Only then did Paprika slowly release her grip on his cloak.
“Am I... supposed to go back... wearing this?”
Her voice trembled. It was only after she spoke that Manfred realized she was still wearing the ceremonial clothes.
He looked her over for a moment.
“Change out of it.”
The distress on her face eased slightly.
“Keep the clothes. Take care not to damage them.”
Paprika blinked in surprise.
This time, she nodded quickly.
“Yes, General.”
Manfred said nothing more.
He turned again and walked out the door. This time, no one reached for his cloak.
＊
The Regent never saw the child’s ceremonial outfit. There was no chance. The state of the war suddenly turned chaotic, and countless responsibilities fell upon the Regent's shoulders.
Manfred's foster father sent only a brief letter. After reading it, Manfred crumpled the paper and tossed it into the hearth. The barracks returned to their usual disorder. Manfred, too, had more than enough to attend to.
Paprika quietly trotted behind him without a word. Manfred didn’t look back.
One morning, after several weeks, Manfred returned to his quarters. He had just spent the night directing the Sarkaz’s retreat. On his bed lay the pink skirt and matching vest.
Manfred picked them up almost unwillingly. A white ribbon slipped down to the floor.
The fabric was soft and cool to the touch. After standing there in silence for a while, he realized the ribbon tie was missing.
He wandered around the room, searching. He even checked the barracks the soldiers had left behind. The ribbon tie was nowhere to be found.
Eventually, Manfred decided to believe that the child had taken it with her. In his mind, he saw her again—dressed in ragged clothes and a woolen shawl, holding her clumsy staff.
Manfred tied the ribbon to the staff.
It suited it well.