Grey looked at the busy chefs in the kitchen, then toward the exit, which his former teammates blocked, and he frowned.
"Stop blocking the way, I don't want to be late for training," He requested calmly, not wanting to start a fight on his second day in the barracks.
Murmurs spread through the crowd of children; his words caused more than half of them to feel envious. They looked down at their reddened hands, then at Grey in his uniform; the comparison was sharp and nearly brought tears to the youngest eyes.
"Woo hoo, I don't want to wash plates." A girl cried out, her palm aching at the thought of washing the noon dishes.
Her cries prompted some who could no longer bear the punishment to cry just as pitifully—no matter how mature they seemed, they were children after all.
The older children tried to comfort them, their cries drawing the attention of the kitchen servants and chefs, who watched with confusion and curiosity.
