Chapter 20 : Ugly twelve years old (3)

It hurts.
It hurts, and hurts more.

The woman shed tears she’d never shed before.
She felt she might die.
Groaning in agony, coughing up blood repeatedly.
Even the soft bedding stung and burned her skin.
Unaware of the cool cloth on her forehead, she reached into the void.

Finally, she wished for death.
The pain was too much, her mind foggy yet torn apart.
In that torment, emotions bloomed.
Sadness, injustice.
Hatred, curses.
Wishing for death, she awakened something ashen.

Feeling it fill her, she thought of death.
The children who threw stones.
The adults who sneered with contempt.
It wasn’t she who should die—it was them.

The ashen curse often follows this path.
Humans are given a choice, but it’s a wide, easy road beside an impassable, steep cliff.
It’s called a choice, but it’s no choice at all.
No one picks the deadly path over the easy one.
So, the ashen writhed in pain, forced into a choice.

But.
Faced with that choice, the woman felt someone grasp her hand.
In pain and turmoil, with swelling emotions, one person emerged.
“…A… in.”

If she chose wrong, she might never see Ain again.
She’d fail to be the good kid he wanted.
He’d abandon her forever.
“Ain…”

She muttered his name.
The cool cloth registered.
Someone held her hand gently.
“A… in…”
“…I’m here.”

A familiar, kind voice answered.
“I’ll… be a good kid…”
“…Yeah.”

So.
Ain.
“Don’t… abandon me…”
“….”

With those words, she lost consciousness again.

Days passed.

Each morning, I went to the shop early, changing her cloth, wiping her body, nursing her.
But I feared she’d die suddenly.
Even in this proper environment, thanks to Uncle, her not waking for days sparked a question.

If the novel’s flow had continued, how did she survive?
That unwritten part gnawed at me.
Did someone help her then?
Was there another who pitied her, like me?
If so, where are they now?

While changing her cloth, lost in these thoughts, a sigh-laced voice came from behind.
“Such devotion, you fool. You wouldn’t do this for your own mom, but for a stranger?”
“…Be quiet.”

I wish he’d stop exaggerating.
I’m no delinquent—I’d do the same if Mom collapsed.
“Tch, crying and begging for help, and now you snap at me?”

No.
“Uncle, I didn’t cry then.”
“Didn’t cry, my ass. You bawled like a baby, ‘Un… cle… ju… st once… sob…’ I remember it clearly.”

It was frantic, but I didn’t bawl like that.
He’s distorting a moment that shook centuries of history.
“When did I do that? Keep making stuff up, and go man the counter!”
“No customers now, you whiner. ‘Un… cle… plea… se, ju… st once~’”
“….”

Please, stop.
I’d rather he scold me seriously.
But he had no intention of stopping.
“Keh, all grown up, huh? Tall and muscled, but you’ll still cry later!”
“Ugh, shut up and leave…”
“Beg like before, and I’ll go. ‘Un… cle, ju… st once, pwea… se~’”
“….”

I’m losing it.

Anyway.
The ashen woman stayed not in her alley shack but in the shop’s small room for days.
Contrary to my fears, Uncle didn’t show much hatred or disgust.
He sighed, questioning if this was right, but still changed her cloth when she groaned.

When I cautiously asked if he worried her curse might spread, per common belief—
“Ain, you’ve cared for her years and you’re fine. That proves it doesn’t spread. Use your head, idiot.”
“….”

His blunt dismissal, treating me like a fool while changing her cloth, stuck with me.

I felt relieved.
It was a decision I couldn’t easily make.
One act could cost me so much.
If Uncle had rejected me, I’d have only bad options left.

I couldn’t thank him enough for overturning centuries of prejudice with a boy’s tears.
Looking at her, still unconscious but groaning less, I felt hope.
She’d briefly wake, murmur my name, and grip my hand.
She’d open her eyes soon.
Not as a powerless alley girl, but perhaps as an ashen witch, a potential calamity.
“….”

Honestly, that scared me.
I believed I could change things, but the novel’s ashen loomed large.
Like a dam bursting, faint emotions would pour out vividly.
Her newfound power could be wielded recklessly, driven by those emotions.
Helping her since childhood didn’t make her ordinary.
Uncle’s words—that my choice could doom the Empire’s people—crept in.

Still, I clung to foolish hope.
“…I hope you stay kind.”

I wished she’d remain the blank, kind girl when we met again.
Smiling faintly when happy, pouting when upset.
Not fully ordinary, but close enough.
Free from ashen stigma.
Reassigned a role, not as the Empire’s calamity.
A story where she isn’t killed by the Hero and Saintess.

And.
“…Ain.”

As if answering my murmurs, she opened her eyes.
Her pained trembling stopped.
Her cloudy eyes now bore a vivid hexagram, glowing anew.
The mark of a mage.
Proof her ashen talent had awakened.

Blinking slowly, her eyes focused, staring into the void, not me.
“Ain.”

Her voice, hoarse from days of illness, grew clear, forceful.
“Ain.”

Her faint expression shifted, lips curling excessively.
Overwhelmed by surging emotions, she trembled with a near-eerie expression.
The small girl had become a woman, now a witch.

But.
“…Ain.”

Her raised, slender fingers shimmered with something.
“Ain.”

Mages, called geniuses, still require years of study and effort.
“Ain.”

But ashen talent skips all that.
“Ain.”

Like speaking and walking at birth, it’s absurdly unfair.
“Ain.”

The formless power from her fingers enveloped the room.
“Ain.”

A radiant whoosh spread light.
It carried the thick, ashen hue.
“Ain.”

Her murmured chants, mixed with my name, were inaudible.
Even if clear, I wouldn’t understand her unique spell.
“Ain.”

Fearing it all, I still answered.
“…Yeah.”

I hoped.
My choice wasn’t wrong.
She wouldn’t become a calamity.
Even as ashen light filled the room, blinding and deafening me, I held that thought.

And.
“…Ain, I’m tired.”
“You did well.”

Meeting her blank gaze, emotions vivid yet softened, I nodded.
I didn’t know what she did.
But I believed it was for us both.

That we could defy the novel’s flow.
Assign new roles and step forward.
An insignificant extra as a wandering traveler.
A girl destined as the Empire’s calamity as an ordinary woman.
I believed we could choose and decide for ourselves.

She opened her eyes and called his name.
“Ain.”

Unlike before, she called it with wild, surging emotions.
“Ain.”

Just saying his name felt euphoric, her lips stretching wide.
To others, her expression might seem eerie, as she unleashed suppressed feelings.

But she thought:
This isn’t normal, not good.
Ain.
He’d hate this.
He’d distance himself.

Instinctively, she waved her hand.
Untrained, she wielded something innately.

“Beyond the horizon.”
“The breath of the sea.”
“I veil them.”

Unknowing what she chanted, she spoke.
Hoping to calm her raging emotions, she spread ashen light to cover them.

And.
“…Ain, I’m tired.”
“You did well.”

With blank eyes, emotions still vivid but softened, she faced him.