Chapter 17 : Ugly ten years old (5)

There are scars.
Even though the children who threw stones while chasing her can no longer find the girl.
On her hidden forearms and thighs, fresh scars linger.
“….”
In places Ain wouldn’t see, marks pile up, little by little, day by day.

If you asked if it’s someone’s torment, it isn’t.
But if you asked if it’s torment, it is.

“Ain.”
I miss you.
“Ain.”
I wish a month would pass quickly.
“Ain.”
I don’t want to be alone.
Ain.

An ashen girl whispers to the sky.
Ashen emotions are always precarious, swelling suddenly.
Too overwhelming for a young girl to bear alone.
As time passes, nearing the ashen turning point, her intensifying emotions—
“Ain.”
She presses her nails into her forearms, her thighs, to stem the overflowing tide.

Only when blood flows and scars form does she sigh in relief, her emotions forcibly calmed.
Bewildered by the deepening hues of her feelings, she makes this choice.
No way to suppress the flood comes to mind, so she sinks it with pain.

She told the boy she’s fine, that she can wait longer, but her trembling, bloodied form suggests otherwise.
Yet she thinks:
A good kid.
She must be a good kid.
To avoid being abandoned, she must face him as a good, ever-good kid.
If she spills these suppressed emotions, he’ll surely flee.
Better the familiar pain of her childhood than that.

“Ain.”
I’m still waiting.
“Ain.”
I can keep waiting.
“…Ain.”
So don’t abandon me.

In the cool breeze of an ordinary autumn, another scar forms on her body.
Not someone’s torment, yet undeniably torment.

Autumn.
When the harvest season arrives, the Empire’s citizens bustle.
The Harvest Festival.
Unable to hide their excitement, everyone steps into the festive mood.

Since before I was five, through every autumn at ten, this joy has persisted.
It’s a given now, but—
Everyone smiles happily, except the ashen girl.
And I was no different.

The annual festival is delightful, its days-long atmosphere stirring the heart.
Even as mere words, the scene felt beautiful; in reality, it’s ticklishly enchanting.
Unknowingly, I’d slip into it, savoring, my lips curling up.

But there’s a subtle bitterness.
The rationalization of leaving the witch in the alley.
Her image, watching only me, waving to say she’s fine.
From her blank, tilting head to her newfound emotional smiles.
These make my heart uneasy, yet I brush it off with “it can’t be helped.”
Every autumn, from before meeting her until now, has been like this.

“Ain.”
“….”
But.
“Have fun.”
“….”

Emotions are never constant.
Her casual wave to send me off sways me.
Her gaze, fixed on me, her lips curling, stirs me again.
“…This time, come with me.”
“Huh…?”

I made an emotional choice I don’t understand.
“You’d want to see the festival too.”
“Can I… go?”

Grabbing her wrist, I lead her.
“You can.”
“R-Really…?”

Her lips rise with joy, her eyes tremble with unease.
Unsure which emotion to express, she asks repeatedly. I nod.
“You’d want to see it. Let’s go.”
“…Okay.”

Suppressing the unease this choice brings, I smile.
“Thank you…”
Her bright smile meets me.

So.
Even the ashen, deemed ominous, can shine at the festival.
This girl, yet to commit any sin, deserves to enjoy it.
If it’s called a festival for all, she, smiling brighter at a simple invitation, deserves to slip into its joy.

Others might disagree.
But an extra with no assigned role—
I, who gave myself the role of her watcher—say she does.

The Harvest Festival begins as the sun sets.
When the sky turns purple and the citizens’ decorations deepen in hue.
“Keep your robe on tight, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll keep it on.”

Holding her robed hand, I step into the crowded festival streets.
Two small steps join the scenery I’ve always found beautiful.
Boom—
Fireworks signal the festival’s start.

“Oh…”
The girl stares blankly.
I wondered what she’d feel, seeing this for the first time, but I don’t need to ask.
Her hand, gripped in mine, loosens as she’s captivated by the spreading colors.
Her eyes, once fixed on me, now dart between the fireworks and the long line of stalls.

I tighten my grip and speak.
“Don’t let go.”
“Oh…”

I want her to enjoy the mood, but this world cruelly denies her happiness.
A forced pull toward misfortune exists.
Relieved she seems to like it, I must ensure we don’t lose each other in this crowd.
If her robe slips, revealing her, people’s hateful stares would follow.
Adults might keep distance, but kids could throw stones, mocking.
The Empire’s guards might swarm, seizing us.

It feels like a common fear, yet it could become reality.
I hold her hand, slightly exposed from the robe, tightly.
The perception-lowering magic hides her ashen hair and eyes, but without it, it’s just an ordinary robe.

So.
Noticing her slightly downcast expression, I press her hood and head toward a less crowded area.
We can enjoy the festival without being noticed.
At least today, I’ll let her smile and savor it like others.
With that, I guide her toward things she might like.

The festival’s energy is beautiful from afar, but up close, it’s dizzyingly chaotic.
“Come on, skewers for 20 dera! Two for 30!”
“Fruit shaved ice, get yours! Hey, pretty lady, come now for a discount!”
Merchants’ shouts ring from the stalls.
“Mooom! Buy me this! I want it!”
“How many times—no! You already have one at home!”
Kids whine with their mothers.
Waaa—
Cheers, almost screams, erupt from nearby performances.

These are familiar to me after years, but not to her.
“A-Ain…”
She was eagerly scanning earlier, but now, overwhelmed by the crowd’s fervor, she clings to my back, nearly hugging me.
I feel her trembling hands on my waist.
Instead of telling her to let go, I say something to reassure her.

“Want anything to eat? Let’s grab it and find a quieter spot.”
“E-Eat…”

She lifts her head, sniffing rapidly around.
Not a dog, yet she turns her head by scent, a bit odd.
Her gaze soon fixes on one spot.
“Can I try that?”
“Oh… sure. Let’s get it.”

Nodding, I head toward her choice.
Not quite food—more a snack.
“Sir, two cotton candies, please.”
“Haha! Sure, two for 20 dera! Wait a sec, I’ll whip ‘em up!”

What the ashen girl stared at, wanting to try, was soft, cloud-like cotton candy.
As I’ve thought, her love for sweets, sparked by the candies I brought since childhood, is strong.
When I visit monthly with food, she always checks the basket for candy.

And now.
“Oh…!”
She watches the cotton candy form from nothing.
As the man swirls the stick, her head follows.
He can’t see her face under the robe but finds her movements cute, chuckling as he swirls more dynamically.
Her head bobs along, almost like a small animal.
Focused on food dangled before it, she’s adorably similar.

“Hahaha! Cute kid! Here’s your cotton candy!”
As the large, fluffy candy is handed over—
“Wow…”
She holds it preciously, her bright eyes flicking between me and the candy.

“Let’s go.”
“Okay…”

As I’ve said.
Ashen has its own radiant light.
Even hidden by the robe, it sparkles, revealing her emotions.

I lead the excited girl, cotton candy in hand, to a building’s rooftop.
She follows, her gaze glued to the candy.
If I look away, the cloud shrinks bit by bit.
By the time we reach the rooftop—
“….”
“Eat mine too.”

Her stick is empty, so I chuckle and hand her mine.
“Can I…?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”

I don’t care for sticky, sweet snacks like cotton candy, so I offer it to her eager eyes.
Predictably, her gaze follows it.
“…Thank you.”
Her thanks, with a smile, is aimed at the candy, not me.
It’s cute, but losing to cotton candy feels oddly humbling.
Still, her earnest munching on the fluff dispels that with a laugh.

Evening falls, the sky darkens.
From the rooftop, streetlights glow, and citizens still swarm.
Though we’ve stepped away briefly, I want us to rejoin that scene, becoming part of it.
A mere background kid and an ashen girl can shine on a stage without protagonists.
I don’t want a mediocre life or a tragic death.
I’ll break free from assigned roles for a new life.
I reaffirm this vow.

But I keep these thoughts inside.
Like I’d ask an ordinary person, I turn to the girl, who’s finished her candy and stares at me.
“Fun so far?”
“Yeah… it’s fun.”
Her clear, no-longer-halting reply.
“Anything else you want to do?”
“I… want to see that performance.”

Her eyes, full of anticipation, shift between me and the scene. I nod.
“Okay. Rest a bit, then we’ll go.”
“Okay.”

As her smile blooms and she sidles closer, I return it.

The festival stretches on.
We weave through it.