The first day nearly broke me.
Not physically.
Mentally.
"Why," I muttered lifelessly while scrubbing a mountain of dishes, "are there this many plates?"
"Because children eat food."
"I know that logically, Sister Marianne. But emotionally I reject it."
The nun ignored me completely.
Cold-hearted woman.
Three hours earlier, I had still possessed dignity.
Now?
I was elbow-deep in soap water while several children watched me from nearby tables like I was some kind of exotic zoo animal.
"His hands are pretty."
"Rich people really don't know how to wash dishes."
"He dropped three plates already."
"I dropped one plate," I corrected immediately.
The children stared at me silently.
"…Okay," I admitted. "Maybe two."
One of them pointed toward the shattered ceramic remains near the trash bin.
Damn.
Meanwhile, Sister Marianne stood nearby with her arms folded calmly.
Her expression remained perfectly neutral despite witnessing my catastrophic failure as a functional human being.
"You hold the sponge," she explained patiently for what was probably the fifth time, "not like a weapon."
"…It feels like a weapon."
"That explains many things."
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
Was that a personal attack?
Probably.
Unfortunately, the humiliation didn't stop there.
Because apparently orphans possessed infinite energy.
Absolute infinite energy.
No matter how much they ran around, screamed, fought, cried, laughed, or caused chaos—
They never got tired.
Meanwhile, I was dying.
"Big brother Damian!"
A tiny child crashed directly into my legs again.
I nearly dropped an entire basket of laundry.
"…Please stop tackling me," I sighed.
"But it's funny."
"That's because you're not the one being attacked."
The little girl from yesterday—Mia, apparently—grinned proudly before pointing toward Fenrir.
The giant shepherd was currently surrounded by children in the yard while accepting belly rubs like a king receiving worship from loyal followers.
Unbelievable.
Even the dog adapted faster than me.
Dog's are human's best friend after all, then isn't that dog should suffer the same fate as me?
But looked at him...
No shame whatsoever.
The next few days passed similarly.
Wake up.
Get dragged into labor.
Suffer.
Repeat.
Honestly, community service was less "volunteer work" and more "legalized bullying."
At one point, Sister Marianne handed me a hammer and calmly said:
"The eastern fence needs repairs."
"…You trust me with tools?"
"No."
"Then why am I holding this?"
"Because if the fence collapses, at least you'll finally be useful."
Cruel.
Absolutely cruel.
"I just hoped that it ends as fast as possible." Muttering under my breath I walked towards the fences.
----
It took me exactly seventy-one days and three hours to complete my five hundred hours of community service.
Two months.
Eleven days.
Seven hours every single day.
And somehow…
I survived.
Barely.
Honestly, I deserved recognition for that alone.
Because during those seventy-one days, I experienced things no former noble should ever endure.
I cleaned dishes until my soul left my body.
I repaired fences despite possessing negative construction talent.
I cooked for children who somehow had the survival instincts of raccoons and the appetite of starving wolves.
At one point, I accidentally burned soup badly enough that Sister Marianne stared at me for a full minute before quietly asking:
"…Were you attempting arson?"
To this day, I maintain that the pot betrayed me first.
Still—
Today was finally the last day.
Freedom.
Beautiful, glorious freedom.
I stood outside Saint Marianne Orphanage holding the final completion form in my hand while sunlight poured across the courtyard.
A breeze passed through the garden quietly.
Children laughed somewhere nearby.
And for the first time in over two months—
I no longer had legal obligations forcing me to be here.
"…I'm free," I whispered emotionally.
"I can hear you, Big Brother Damian."
"…Pretend you didn't."
Mia grinned mischievously while hanging upside down from the fence nearby like some kind of tiny gremlin.
Seriously.
Why were children built with infinite stamina?
Nearby, Fenrir lounged beneath a tree while several younger kids used him as a living pillow.
The traitor looked completely content with life.
Meanwhile, Sister Marianne approached calmly from the entrance stairs.
As always, her expression remained composed and unreadable.
Honestly, I still wasn't fully convinced she wasn't secretly stronger than the Patriarch.
That woman radiated terrifying energy whenever children misbehaved.
Without saying anything, she handed me the official document.
[COMMUNITY SERVICE COMPLETION CONFIRMED]
Five hundred hours completed successfully.
No violations recorded.
I stared at the paper for several long seconds.
Then—
"…It's really over."
Sister Marianne nodded once.
"You fulfilled your assigned punishment adequately."
"Adequately?"
"You only broke eleven plates during the final month."
"That's improvement."
"Technically."
Cruel until the very end.
I clicked my tongue dramatically before folding the paper carefully.
Still…
Despite everything…
A strange feeling settled in my chest.
Because over the past two months—
This place had quietly become familiar.
Dangerously familiar.
The children no longer feared me.
Some even greeted me every morning enthusiastically.
A few started calling me "Big Brother Damian" naturally.
Even the older kids who initially distrusted me eventually relaxed after realizing I wasn't going to scream at them for existing.
And somehow…
Without noticing…
I'd grown used to all of it.
"…That's bad," I muttered quietly.
Sister Marianne glanced toward me.
"What is?"
"I'm developing emotional attachment."
"…That tends to happen when humans spend time around other humans."
Dangerous philosophy.
Very dangerous.
Before I could answer—
"BIG BROTHER DAMIAN!"
A small army attacked me.
Children swarmed from every direction instantly after realizing I was leaving.
One grabbed my arm.
Another clung to my back.
Mia directly attached herself to my waist like a parasite.
"Don't go!"
"You still owe us dessert!"
"You promised to teach us card games!"
"Fenrir likes you more now!"
Wait.
That last one hurt emotionally.
"I'm not dying," I sighed while attempting to untangle children from my body.
"Then come back tomorrow!"
"…No."
"Why?!"
"Because I completed my legal suffering quota."
The children immediately protested loudly.
Meanwhile, Sister Marianne watched the scene silently beside us.
Then unexpectedly—
"…You handled them well."
I blinked.
Was that…
Praise?
From her?
The apocalypse really must be approaching.
"You're the first volunteer the younger children approached willingly after only a few weeks," she continued calmly.
"…Volunteer?"
"You weren't forced to comfort crying children during thunderstorms."
"…That happened once."
"Fourteen times."
I cleared my throat awkwardly.
"Well… they're loud."
"Yes."
"Chaotic."
"Yes."
"Financially devastating."
Sister Marianne stared at me.
"…You bought thirty-seven cakes for them."
"They looked hungry."
"You also purchased winter coats."
"…The weather looked cold."
"You donated money anonymously twice."
Okay now this was getting uncomfortable.
How did she know that?
I looked away immediately.
"Sounds like fake news."
A faint smile touched Sister Marianne's lips.
Gone almost instantly.
But I saw it.
"…You're not as terrible as the rumors claim, Damian Valtor."
The courtyard became quieter somehow.
For a moment—
I didn't know how to respond.
Because technically…
She was wrong.
The real Damian probably had done terrible things.
Things I still didn't fully know yet.
And me?
I wasn't helping people because I was morally righteous.
Most of the time I was just improvising desperately to survive.
Still…
"…That's probably the nicest insult anyone's given me recently," I admitted quietly.
Mia suddenly tugged my sleeve again.
"Will you come visit again?"
Ah.
Direct emotional damage.
I looked down at her hopefully staring face.
Then toward the other children watching quietly nearby.
Damn it.
This was exactly why authors avoided writing orphanage arcs.
Too dangerous emotionally.
"…Maybe," I answered eventually.
Instant cheering erupted around me.
What terrifyingly low standards.