Chapter 18 : Ugly twelve years old (1)

Twelve years old.
Two years have passed since last autumn.

If you ask if anything notable happened, I’d say not really.
No major issues, but if I had to pick something, it’d be the growth I’ve achieved over that time.

The ashen girl—now too mature to call a girl—I now look down at.
The height gap has widened so much that she waits for me in the alley, standing on a wooden crate.
Her intent to meet my gaze is so obvious I can’t help but laugh each time.
But the crate doesn’t fully close the gap, so she glares at me with a pout, now a daily ritual.

When I tilt my head, mimicking her, she frantically waves her hands, urging me to crouch.
She must love being taller.
Cheeky, honestly.

Plus, as a boy my age, puberty hit, and my voice changed.
The childish pitch is gone, replaced by a rougher tone that even surprises me.
My mom finds it grating, and the ashen woman, clueless about puberty, worries monthly if I’m hurt.

So.
No big events, but these changes mark my life.
Proof that time has passed, unlike before.

But the bald musclehead sees it differently.
“Hm, no talent. Two years, and just that much muscle?”
“I think I’ve gained plenty.”

I want to say two years of consistent training shows clear results.
“But that’s all? You’re still a boy, not a man.”
“I’m twelve. Of course I’m a boy, not a man.”

Despite gaining muscle unusual for my age, the gym owner grumbles beside me.
“No, twelve is a man. You can’t use the gym for free anymore.”
“….”

What a weirdo.
Seriously, two years haven’t changed his relentless lunacy.
“Rini, stop with the nonsense. Your weird promos are why new members are scarce. Normal advertising would make bank.”

A muscular bald guy named Rini, exuding cutesy vibes, is odd enough, but—
“Boy, what’s good about making bank?”
“What else? You’d earn loads.”

Despite his skill, his eccentricity keeps new members away.
“But money can’t become muscle. So it’s useless, boy.”
“Then don’t charge for useless money and make it free.”
“…But before a muscleman, I’m a man who pays rent. So, pay this month’s fee, boy.”

The lunatic’s oddly pragmatic about this.
“….”
“….”

Look at this crazy bald guy, turning away in shame after his own words.
If he’s charging a twelve-year-old, don’t act like money’s beneath you.
Grumbling, I pay the fee and leave.

So.
The past two years brought only good changes.
Even the toughest issue—physical growth—is gradually resolving, a promising sign.

“Hm, shop sales are dropping, Ain. Thoughts?”
“….”

At least, I thought so until Lendo’s voice hit.
“Ain, you heard me, right? Sales are down.”
“W-What? Why would sales be down…?”

I play dumb, but I know why.
Twelve years old.
Muscles too bulky for a boy, a sharp growth spurt.
A rough voice from puberty.

“Right, since you don’t know, I’ll spell it out.”
“…Spare me.”

The shop’s clientele—mostly mothers—relied on a kid’s cuteness to boost sales.
Even without that, stagnation comes without new appeal.
My childish charm’s gone, and I haven’t found new allure.
That reality, with sales reverting, has arrived.

“Your pay, raised with sales, should drop with them, Ain!!!”
“No, please! Uncle, I beg you!”

He doesn’t budge at my pleas.
“Haha! Blame yourself for not proving your worth this year! That was the deal!!”
“Ugh…”
He dances victoriously, cheering over my despair.

Damn it.
Time, you cruel bastard.
Give me back my pay.

Amid these trials, the day passes.
The sky slowly turns to sunset.
When orange light bathes the streets, I think of a certain woman.

Once a month.
For two years, I meet the ashen woman in the alley just before dusk.
She’s changed as much as me, yet lives in the same unchanging alley.

She’s matured.
Facing her, the childish air is nearly gone, making “girl” or “child” feel off as she tilts her head.
“Ain.”
“Hey.”

Her appearance grows into a beautiful woman, but her actions remain much the same.
Her ashen emotions sharpen, yet she greets me blankly and smiles faintly when we part.
She still hurries to me with quick steps.
“Not sick today?”
“Nope, not sick.”

She checks for injuries, turning her head side to side.
Her dress sways as she inspects me, but it’s noticeably shorter now.
As I’ve grown, her white legs show past her knees—she’s grown too.
The novel never revealed the ashen witch’s age, but she’s likely older than me.

“Ain, no injuries.”
“…Why sound disappointed?”

So, to put it simply.
She’ll need new clothes soon.
With her growth, she’s eating more, so I’ll need to bring extra food.
Her plank house needs expansion or rebuilding with more materials.
“….”

Ironically, my pay’s down, but expenses are up.
Yet, seeing her stare at me, I can’t say I won’t help.
It’s my choice, after all, even if the responsibility feels longer than expected.
Sighing softly, I accept it.

At that small sigh, she jerks her head toward me.
“Ain, you look upset.”
“It’s nothing.”

Even when I say it’s fine, she stares, then swivels her head again.
“But you look upset. Are you sick?”
“No…”

If anything, my wallet’s the one hurting, not me.
Hiding it won’t help—she’ll keep probing stubbornly.
So, I answer honestly.
“Well, my pay got cut a bit.”
“Huh…?”
“It’s not a big deal, so don’t worry.”

I mean it—it’s not worth her concern.
I’ve saved enough that it’s not a problem.
Exaggerating, it’s just a fancy carriage becoming less fancy, or a sharp, sturdy sword needing frequent sharpening.
I’ll earn more traveling and upgrade later.
If you ask why I sighed… who’s happy with a pay cut?

But she takes it seriously.
Her eyes tremble, and she leaps up, dashing to her plank house.
She rummages frantically, head buried inside.
“Hey, it’s really fine…”
“…Wait, Ain.”

Despite my reassurances, she’s focused on her search.
Panicking, I stand and approach.
“Um…”

As I ponder how to explain, her voice rings out.
“Found it!”
She holds something up, thrusting it toward me.
A small, shiny object.
“This.”
“….”

It looks valuable at a glance.
“Will it make money if you sell it?”
“….”

I picture a young girl hiding this, thinking it’s pretty, not knowing its worth.
“No?”
“Pfft…”

And now, she offers it without hesitation at my words.
Staring, I burst into laughter.
“It won’t make money…?”

Her expectant yet anxious expression meets my gaze.
I give an affirmative reply.
“…No, it’s enough. It could cover all the money I need.”

Relieved, her hesitant face breaks into a smile.
What she offers is a shiny marble.
Two colorful marbles, used for children’s games.
So, I lied.

“Really?”
“Really.”
I confirm at her question.
“Then take it, Ain.”
“Thanks. I’ll use it well.”

I pocket the marbles carefully.
“Good… I helped…”
“….”

Her deeper smile prompts mine in return.

I don’t know anymore.
I can’t tell if the calculated pity that started this still drives me.
As time passes and things change, these meetings with her make me unsure.

Two marbles in my hand shouldn’t tip the scales, yet they do.
Is it because her innocent offer seems cute?
Or does her selfless giving of something precious stir me?
Or perhaps.
Does her bright smile, thrilled to help, make my heart race?

Like a real child now.
I’ve come to think everything’s a mystery.

Spring at twelve.
I prepare for my journey.

And.
The ashen woman prepares to become a witch.