Chapter 16 : Ugly ten years old (4)

“Name.”
“…P-Please, spare me.”
“I don’t kill kids. Name.”

Does “I don’t kill kids” mean he’ll definitely kill me once I’m grown?
Thinking this, I reluctantly give my name.
“…Ain. I’m Ain.”
“Next, address.”
“….”

This guy.
He says he won’t kill me, so why’s he asking for my address?

Honestly, I don’t think giving an address proves manliness, but I lack the guts to say it.
And what kind of gym demands addresses to prevent escape?

“Last chance. Give me the address, or I’ll add another plate.”
This isn’t about being a man or being bold.
Feeling the barbell’s weight straining my arms, I’m sure this is a matter of survival.

“Etero Street 37, Number 29 Desi… Argh! I’m dying! I’m really gonna— Urgh!”
“You won’t die, boy! I’ll make you a strong man!”

No.
There’s a lunatic adding plates even after I spilled my address.
“D-Damn… I’ll die before— Urk!”
A crazy bastard doing this to me right now.

“No need for curses when you can exude dominance! You can do it, boy!”
“….”

This insane, bald muscle freak.
If I die, I’ll beg the witch to avenge me.
Jansen, who pushed me into this hell, and this bald maniac set on killing me—both are now on my hit list.

I don’t know if surviving is a blessing or not dying is a curse.
But somehow, I made it out of the gym.
“Made it out” is generous—it wasn’t by my strength or will.

“See you tomorrow, boy! You’ll be a stronger man!”
The gym owner bids me farewell, holding me dangling like a ragdoll as he escorts me out.
“….”
Annoyed and silent, I just stare.

“If you don’t show, I’ll come to your house. It’s my duty to train you.”
This lunatic spouts dramatic nonsense constantly.
And I hate that I can’t shake my head at his drivel.

“…I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Good, boy! Take care!”
He seems thrilled at wrecking me for three hours straight, his departing figure brimming with pride.

So.
I’ll get strong.
I’ll train until I can lift a barbell stacked with plates without issue.
Since that alone won’t cut it, I’ll learn swordsmanship or whatever else.
I swear I’ll take down this bald muscle lunatic.

But.
“Ugh… my legs.”
I can’t feel them.
First, I need to get home safely.

My hectic routine barely holds together.
With even my split time running short, I negotiated with Lendo to adjust work hours.
Now, I leave after the afternoon rush, not closing time. True to his kind nature, he didn’t cut my pay.

“Ain, you brat. Push too hard, and you’ll collapse. Chasing dreams is fine, but learn to rest.”
“Ugh… I know, but I’m short on time. I’ll… yawn… get used to it eventually…”
I want to rest, but time won’t wait.
Slumping over the counter, I sprawl out.

“Stubborn little… If you collapse and miss work, I’m docking your pay.”
“You won’t… You’re all talk… yawn.”
He acts like a grumpy shop owner, but Lendo’s never been anything but kind since I started.
He pays well, for one.
Lately, he’s been slipping me extra food and supplies for “that mutt.”

Grinning half-draped over the counter, he shakes his head.
“Clean that mess and clock out, Ain. Don’t you have training?”
“Uh… isn’t the shop still busy…?”
“You’re going anyway, so quit stalling. Clean up and get out!”
“Ugh…”

Reluctantly, I drag myself up, grimacing as I prep for training.
We agreed to cut hours, but I secretly wish the shop got too busy to let me go.
It’s only been a month of training, but that’s my desperate hope.

And.
Maybe becoming a kid dulled my brain.
I believed enduring long enough would make things fine.

Time passes, and the grueling routine continues.
A ten-year-old’s body inevitably hits its limit.
Especially for a foolish adult who forgot his body’s youth, pushing it recklessly.

Waking up one morning, my body feels heavy, my mind foggy—unlike usual.
“…Ugh.”
I stagger up, struggling to balance, and open the door with shaky steps.
I know I’m unwell but have to keep moving.

There’s work at the shop, training I can’t skip.
And today’s the monthly visit to the witch.
Forcing myself out, I lean against the wall, barely standing.
It hurts.
I feel like collapsing.

Lifting my gaze, I see a familiar sight.
In the early morning kitchen, Mom’s always there.
The sizzle of something cooking.
I teased her for sleeping in, but she’s up before me, making breakfast, just steps away.

So.
It’s a trivial reason.
Just the back of an ordinary woman.
But.
It evokes past memories.
It calms my troubled heart.
It makes me believe she’s my mother.

This simple scene sways me toward emotion, using my haze as an excuse.
I clamp my mouth shut, afraid my tangled feelings will spill out like complaints, staring blankly at her back.
“….”

Has becoming a kid made me childish, letting mere pain stir my emotions?
Her back, usually ignored, now dredges up suppressed thoughts.
I want to ask: Is this woman, bustling to feed her tired son, just a scripted character?
I wonder: Were her gentle eyes, pitying my struggles, merely words?

Questions I avoided while helping the witch and preparing to travel resurface with this petty excuse of pain.
Since realizing this world’s a novel, every doubt I couldn’t discard claws at me for answers.
But I swallow them, staring at the figure moving for my sake.

Still.
One thing’s certain: gazing at her back, swallowing my doubts, I feel tears welling up.

How long did I stare?
My legs give out, and I thud against the wall.
Mom, yawning while making toast, turns at the sound.

“Yawn… Ain, up? Eat toast before work… Ain? Are you crying?”
“…Mom.”

Seeing tears streak my face, she drops everything and rushes over.
Her reaction oddly reassures me.
My strained body collapses to the floor.

“W-What? Son! Are you okay? Open your eyes! What do I…!”
Her panicked voice fades.
Her hands lifting me feel so gentle.

I woke later.
“…F-Freakin’…”
“Don’t use such strong words. It makes you look weak.”

Opening my eyes, I curse at the bald musclehead looming over me.
“Still dreaming…?”
“No, reality. You didn’t show at the gym by evening, so I came.”
“….”
Crazy bastard.

Glaring at him like he’s a bug, he nods and stands.
“I’ve confirmed you’re awake, so I’ll go. Come back to the gym when you’re better. Here’s a get-well gift, boy.”
He sets a large tub beside me.
Protein powder.
“Sick? Protein’s the cure. Take care, boy.”
“….”

Truly, genuinely insane.
As he leaves, Mom enters.
“Son, you’re up? That… gym owner? He said he came because you didn’t show. He’s not weird, right…?”
“…Not bad, but definitely weird.”
The weirdest, most unhinged person I’ve met in this world.

“Oh, and the shop owner stopped by, worried you didn’t show. He left ingredients for porridge.”
“Uncle’s kind, unlike that guy.”
It’s wild that my two visitors are polar opposites.

As I muse, Mom approaches, gently touching my forehead.
“Joking already? You must be feeling better.”
“…Yeah, much better.”
“Good… You scared me. You’ve been overdoing it lately, son.”

Her tired eyes look down at me.
Fainting at dawn and waking near dusk would worry any mother.
So, I apologize immediately.
“Sorry…”

“Ain, chasing your dreams is fine, but don’t collapse. I won’t stop you from doing what you want.”
This is why.
Why I see her as my parent despite my doubts.
“…Okay, I will.”
“Smart boy. I trust you’ll manage without me spelling it out.”

Her genuine worry and relieved smile make it so.
I nod slightly.
“Yeah.”
“Then rest up today.”
She smiles kindly and rises.

“Uh… Mom.”
But.
I apologized, yet there’s something I must say.
“Hm? Need something?”
“Can I… step out for a bit?”

Unlike the two who visited, one person can’t come here.
The ashen girl, waiting a month, must be restless in the alley.
I say this, and Mom looks at me, giving a bittersweet smile.

“…Want me to come?”
“No, it’s fine. Just gonna thank Uncle and be right back.”
It’s a flimsy excuse, but lacking a better reason, I blurt it out.
“…Okay. Be careful, son. Got it?”
“Yeah. I’ll be quick.”

I rise, change, and slip out.
“Son.”
“Yeah?”

Her soft voice calls as I open the door. Turning, I see her still smiling kindly.
“I’m on your side.”
“….”

What does that mean?
Is she saying she’s my ally, knowing where I’m going?
Or.
Is it an answer to the doubts I’ve harbored?

Pondering, I stare, and she speaks again, as if cutting through my questions.
“Got it?”
“…Yeah.”

So.
Not fully grasping her words, I nod.
After a glance at her gentle wave, I head to the alley.

It’s late.
In the darkened alley, a girl cranes her neck, waiting.
At my footsteps, she perks up like a rabbit, her movements oddly cute.
“Sorry… I’m late.”

As I speak, she emerges from her plank house, approaching neither slowly nor hurriedly.
She asks right away.
“…Are you sick?”

Maybe she’s learned to read me, asking not why I’m late but showing concern.
I answer honestly, though I know stirring her ashen emotions isn’t wise.
“Uh… I wasn’t feeling great today.”
“Don’t be sick. You can’t be.”

I wanted to see her worry, those eyes.
She repeats I can’t be sick, checking me over faster than usual.
Like I did for her.
She touches my forehead, lifts my arms for wounds, crouches to inspect my legs and feet.
Unsure, she scurries to her house, returning with ointment and bandages I gave her.
“….”
“This makes it better.”

I can’t help but chuckle.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t be sick. You can’t die.”

I squeeze some ointment onto my unmarked hand, waving to show I’ll be fine.
But her lips don’t curl up.
She keeps scanning me with worried eyes.

As our brief monthly meeting ends and I turn to leave, she softly calls.
“Ain.”
“Yeah?”
“…If you’re sick, you don’t have to come.”
“….”
“I can wait longer.”

I don’t reply.
I just gaze at the witch, who doesn’t look away, her eyes fixed on me.