Chapter 14 : Ugly ten years old (2)

A good kid.
What does it mean to be a good kid?

The girl sat quietly, thinking about this, whether under the sunlit day or the moonlit night.
Good.
Good probably means Ain.
Ain was good.

She didn’t know what others thought, but in her heart, that’s what good meant.
No one ever tried to help her, but one day, that boy appeared, casually offering help before leaving.
“…Ain.”

Her stomach no longer growled, letting her sleep without clutching it.
The food he brought monthly still remained.
“Ain.”

No new wounds formed, and old scars faded.
Even the sadness from the kids who despised her grew faint in her heart.
“Ain.”

It might be a shabby pile of planks to others, but she had a house shielding her from rain and wind.
A precious house he built, hurting his hands.
“Ain.”

Recalling these things, the girl smiled.
Emotions blossomed.
The faint feelings grew clearer, sharper, consuming her.
Memories, starting with candy, now surfaced vividly just by muttering his name.
“Ain.”

She cherished even his small gestures of care.
She wanted to see him smile again, despite his indifferent gaze.
When they were together, her lips curved upward unwittingly.
Though waiting a month was painful, she sat quietly, passing each day.
“Ain.”

In the calm alley—her peaceful alley now—her soft murmur echoed daily.
“Ain.”
The name of an ordinary boy, no more than an extra.
“Ain.”
A misaligned gear, slightly twisting the novel’s flow.
“Ain.”
And so, a glimmer of hope to change the ashen ending.

Thus, the ashen witch resolved.
To be a good kid.
A good kid Ain wouldn’t dislike.
Though unsure if she could be as good as him, she vowed to be a girl who listened well, so he’d stay by her side, keep caring, and never abandon her again.

A stage with its lights off.
Not silent enough for stillness, but no lines or actions unfold.
The backdrop, abandoned by the novel’s protagonists, stumbles, its flow faltering.
Unable to keep up, it stagnates, eroded by the ordinar.
Until it regains their spotlight or they return, it’s just a lackluster place.

So.
The Empire’s capital, left by the Hero and Saintess, is a darkened stage until the next event.
It appears briefly in passing mentions of home, a few lines at most.
Left behind are the Emperor, the guards, and countless citizens—background characters summed up in phrases.
And among them, the ashen witch, barely holding a role.

Even now, her role as a child is so faint, so insignificant, she can’t yet board the story’s flow.
But she has a guaranteed part.
Maybe my visits to her are just a way to hitch onto that narrative.
To not be forgotten.
To avoid fading into the background.
To escape death in the novel’s storm.
I think I’m clinging to her side, parasitic, struggling to survive.

Grasping that thin lifeline, I forge ahead in this quiet peace, carrying on to the next step.
Like I gave myself meaning as her watcher, surviving one storm.
Now, I prepare for the next role—a wanderer roaming the world.

A peaceful afternoon.
The shop’s rush hour is over, and I sit idly by the counter.
Normally, I’d be bustling about, but today, I’m shirking my duties, burning time.

Maybe it’s the ceremony.
I thought it wouldn’t thrill me like when I was five, but maybe it did.
I indulged too much in the novel’s story.
Touched vividly by things I’d only read.
It’s making me recall things I’d forgotten.

Travel funds are piling up fine.
I haven’t counted exactly, but aside from spending on the witch, I save it all, so no issues there.
“…Uncle.”
“What?”
“Can I keep working here till I’m grown?”
If this kind uncle keeps exploiting me, I’ll be fine.
“You think that’s likely?”
“Yeah.”
“Spit out that jerky and talk, Ain. This guy’s eating the stock like he owns the place.”
“Come on, this is yesterday’s leftovers.”
“Ain, since when did jerky become fair game just because it’s leftover?”

Well, you see…
“….”
Exactly, I rest my case.
He’s not wrong, but I keep chewing, flashing a grin.

“Your pay’s getting cut.”
“Nooo, I’ll spit it out! Hold out your hand.”
“…This crazy kid. I’m serious about the pay cut!”
“If you keep me on, I’ll work hard and skip the jerky! You’ll keep me, right? Yeah?”

At ten, my childish charm’s fading, and sales are dipping.
Maybe I need new tricks to boost them again.
But I hope he keeps me till I’m grown, exploiting me all the way.
“If you’ve got time to talk, take this basket and make deliveries, you brat!”

Uncle, I’ll work hard, so don’t ditch me.

Anyway.
Travel funds are fine, but the biggest issue is physical growth—or rather, my physical weakness.
I’m ten, and summer’s approaching, but I’m still smaller than the witch.
I tell myself it’s just not my growth spurt yet, but I sleep and eat plenty, and yet I’m looking up at her.
It’s frustrating when she looks down, her lips curling up.

“….”
“…Why does she keep standing lately?”

Like now, with her standing right in front of me.
She used to just peek out from her plank house, but now she rises when I enter the alley.
Not because she’s taller, but because she’s welcoming me, I know.
“…Looking up hurts my neck.”
“….”

She hasn’t grasped caring for others’ feelings, so she says stuff like that.
Damn it.
Does she think I don’t get neck pain looking up?

When I glare at her, she notices my mood and slowly bends her knees, lowering to my eye level.
She’s probably reacting to my subtle irritation, but…
It’s oddly annoying that she doesn’t realize this bothers me too.
As her eyes meet mine, her twitching lips curl higher.

“…Don’t smile?”
When she can’t hold back and asks, I can only shake my head.
I can’t tell a kid smiling happily to stop, not when I’m supposed to be the grown-up.

So.
That’s why.
“No… you can smile.”
“Okay.”

Nodding reluctantly, I see her smile, now so natural.
Hiding my unease at her blooming emotions, I look at her.
Her smiles grow frequent, her slow actions gaining speed.
Another moment of decision nears.
The moment her ashen emotions overflow draws closer, clearer.

Yet, even thinking this, I meet her gaze.
Despite my fears, I find her smile just as beautiful.

People say ashen is dull and hazy.
But ashen has its own quiet, radiant beauty.
Even her misty, ash-like eyes shimmer with emotion.
Like now, her rippling eyes and upturned lips hold joy, bright and pure.
Even her faint smile, aimed at me, has its own brilliance.

Still.
Facing her, my thoughts shift elsewhere.
She’s subtly straightening her bent knees, looking down again.
It’s not teasing, but her lips keep curling oddly.
I could get serious, but seeing this, I end up here.

“….”
I should drink more milk at home.
Damn it.