The Witch’s Copperplate
“Time sure flies.”
Without realizing it, I murmured while staring at the clear winter sky outside the window. It felt like I’d just arrived at this castle, yet the year had already changed. Well, looking back, a lot had happened, though.
“Briel, hurry up! It’s your turn to throw.”
“Already? Coming!”
I ran over to Marianne, who was waving her tiny paw at me, and handed her the drink I’d brought.
“How’s it going? Oh, Marianne, your piece is gone! Did you escape?”
“Yep! Last turn, I captured Butler Squawk’s piece and got another throw. But then I rolled ‘Mo’ again, got yet another throw, and escaped right away!”
“Wow, Marianne! That’s amazing!”
“Hehe.”
Laughing happily, Marianne eagerly recounted her victory, and we exchanged a quick high-five.
That’s right—we were currently playing Yut Nori (traditional Korean board game) to celebrate the New Year. Naturally, the organizer was me, Briel, the castle’s leisure coordinator. Players included Marianne, Mr. and Mrs. Pitt, Butler Squawk, Kalz, and myself.
Marianne was the first from our team to successfully finish, which left only Grandma Rosie and me to complete the game.
“Hey, where’s the next thrower? Stop dragging your feet and hurry it up.”
“Yes, yes, throwing now.”
Seriously, where did he pick up such impatience? Half-heartedly responding to Kalz’s grumbling, I flicked the yut sticks with practiced ease.
“Let’s see… it’s a ‘Geol.'”
“Just an average throw, huh?”
“Yep, and thanks to this average throw, I reached the corner and can use the shortcut.”
“Hmph.”
Ignoring Kalz’s half-hearted grumbling, I moved my piece forward. My heart fluttered with anticipation as I handed over the yut sticks. After all, the most entertaining part of today’s game was about to begin.
“Master, this time you’ll surely succeed.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve finally got the feel for it.”
Look at that determination. You’d think he was preparing to stack dominoes rather than toss a few sticks. Kalz took a short breath, dramatically raised his right hand, and tossed the sticks.
And the result was…
“That’s a miss—it’s off the board.”
“What nonsense! Look closely. Isn’t this stick partially on the board?”
“Unfortunately, if more than half the stick is off the board, it’s counted as a miss.”
“Where’s such a rule written?”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s in Imperial Law, but those are the official rules. Better luck next time. Grandma Rosie, your turn.”
“Ugh!”
Watching me calmly retrieve the sticks, Kalz clutched his head in frustration. Butler Squawk leaned in to whisper something softly into his ear, causing Kalz to lower his head even more miserably.
To put things into perspective, Kalz’s piece hadn’t even moved from the starting line yet. Every throw had been a miss. Honestly, this was actually progress. Earlier, it looked like he was competing in a long-distance throwing competition rather than playing Yut Nori. I’d made the sticks and board smaller specifically to accommodate our smaller animal seniors, but I never imagined he would struggle so badly with controlling his strength.
Casually sidling up next to Kalz, I openly teased him.
“Thanks for the hearty laughs to kick off the New Year. Was this supposed to be my bonus?”
“Shut up.”
“I told you, don’t throw with your arm—use your wrist, flicking lightly like this.”
“That was me flicking lightly.”
Seeing Kalz sulking and grumbling, I quietly thought to myself:
He really is cute.
Even that sullen voice, so mismatched with his deep, cave-like tone, and his rigidly perked-up ears were adorable. Unfortunately, this wasn’t some fleeting impulse; it seemed these feelings ran deeper than I initially thought.
“Yut Nori? I’ve never heard of it in my life. Be honest—you made it up, didn’t you?”
“Thanks for the compliment, but no. This is actually a traditional New Year’s game from a very distant continent.”
Technically, it wasn’t a lie. From here, Korea definitely counted as distant.
“For a foreign tradition, you seemed suspiciously comfortable with it. You deliberately picked this because you knew I’d struggle, didn’t you?”
“Of course not. Had I known you’d play like this, I wouldn’t have suggested it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. It’s a team game, after all. Imagine if I’d ended up on the wrong team—my new year would’ve been ruined.”
“Ruined? Isn’t that a bit harsh?”
“I never said who I was referring to.”
Realizing he’d indirectly labeled himself the weak link, Kalz could only turn away with a disgruntled growl. Since I’d teased him enough, it was probably time to soothe him a bit.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get better next year. Or… maybe the year after.”
“The year after…?”
“Okay, fine. Next New Year’s we’ll pick something else—something you’re good at, Master… I mean, Kalz.”
Given his strengths, something physical would probably be best. Perhaps pounding rice cakes? I’d missed having rice cake soup, so making some might actually be fun. Freshly made rice cakes were delicious, and cooking together with everyone would be enjoyable.
Wow, look at me—already planning next year’s New Year activity. I really am an exemplary employee. Feeling oddly proud, I casually asked Kalz:
“Have you ever eaten rice cakes before?”
“……”
“Rice cakes, you know—made of rice… huh?”
Suddenly Kalz had frozen mid-conversation. His eyes went blank, as though seeing nothing at all. Panicked, I grabbed his shoulders and gently shook him.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He finally snapped out of it, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. Then, looking at me, he spoke gruffly:
“…I’m fine. And you don’t need to force yourself to call me ‘Kalz-nim.'”
“What?”
“Just speak naturally. Whatever you call me, it’s not like respect for your employer will magically appear.”
Though his words stung a little, I couldn’t let this perfect opportunity pass.
“Does that mean I can call you ‘you’?”
“Do whatever you want. I’m already used to hearing it.”
“Then, what about just ‘Kalz’?”
He stared silently at me. Maybe I’d crossed a line—he was my employer, after all. Just as guilt crept in and I was about to backtrack, Kalz spoke first.
“Suit yourself.”
“Wait, really? No changing your mind later if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”
“Enough. Just make sure you speak politely. Somehow I suspect you might casually drop honorifics, too.”
This lion really knew me well. Still, dropping the ‘-nim’ title felt like a major victory. Initially, I’d almost called him ‘Master,’ so this was definitely better. Above all, being allowed to use his name without honorifics felt like proof our relationship had become more than just professional—and that realization was oddly exciting.
“Then, Kalz.”
“What?”
“You looked pretty sleepy earlier. If you’re tired, don’t push yourself—go rest. It’s not like you’re helping the team anyway.”
“…You really do have a talent for immediately making me regret my decisions.”
“You promised no take-backs. So, you’re really not going inside?”
“I can’t leave it like this. I’ll succeed at least once—just watch.”
“I think that might be tough today…”
Was he seriously going to keep playing? Ignoring his stubborn snort, I mumbled to myself. Even though it seemed like I was teasing him, the suggestion to rest had come from genuine concern.
Earlier, just for a brief moment, Kalz had looked genuinely alarming. He’d seemed like an empty shell, as if his very soul had disappeared. His eyes were so hollow and lifeless that my heart dropped.
Until that moment, we’d only exchanged trivial, ordinary conversation. What could possibly have caused that sudden shift? But asking him now wouldn’t yield a clear answer. So, the first day of the new year passed, leaving behind only a small, nagging mystery in my heart.
