Chapter 22 : Ugly twelve years old (5)

There’s a wall shielding against the wind.
A soft bed to lie on.
Food always ready to eat.

All of it holds a lingering warmth.

Even when the bright flames die out, and the crowd that filled the space vanishes, leaving only silence—
the woman, alone in that quiet, feels it.

Once.
Back when she lived day-to-day in the alley, Ain taught her a word.
“…Happiness.”

She recalls him scratching his head, troubled by the word from his studies.
She remembers herself, tilting her head, clueless about what happiness meant or what it should evoke.

She recalls:
“Ain, what’s happiness?”
“…Uh, feeling satisfied and joyful in life?”

His awkward, dictionary-like answer, head tilted.
“How do you feel satisfied and joyful?”
“Um… that’s…”

His expression, stumped by her odd question.
“It’s okay. You don’t know everything. Teach me something else.”

Her attempt to move on, sensing his discomfort.
She holds those memories close.

But clearer than all else:
“Then next is this…”
“Forget that. Let’s do this: I’ll make you happy later.”

His promise to make her happy.
“Huh…?”
“I’ll help you feel it, so you’ll understand then. Got it?”

She dwells on his confident voice, his steady gaze, embracing the memory.

So she reflects again.
Is she happy?
Does she feel happiness now?

The answer comes without hesitation.
“…Happy.”

She thinks she’s happy.
“I think I’m happy, Ain.”

Unsure how to handle this new emotion, she fidgets, speaking softly.
“Ain.”

In the empty shop at night.
“Ain.”

On a soft bed with blankets.
“Ain.”

With stew still warm.
“I’m happy.”

And Ain.
“Ain.”

Her heart thumps.
Emotions rise, tinting her cheeks red.
To hide this unknown feeling, she burrows into the blankets.

A month has passed since the woman began living at the shop.
Observing her, her emotions have clearly grown richer.

“Ain, thanks?”
“Thanks.”

Her communication is clearer, her eyes sharper with clarity.
“Then should I help more?”
“No, it’s okay to rest.”

Her once-slow, slurred speech is now crisp.
“But I want to help more.”
“…Then grab a bit more stock from the storage.”
“Okay, got it.”

Her sluggish movements have normalized.
Yet her dodo-do scampering remains unchanged, which is a bit funny.
Watching her head to the storage, I can’t help but smile.

But someone disrupts the moment.
“You’re grinning like a fool. Just so you know, no workplace romance in my shop, Sniveler.”
“…Sorry, but I don’t feel that way at all.”

I’m just watching her grow, like a proud parent, but this idiot Uncle tries to twist it.
“Grinning like that, and you say no? You dimwit.”
“You wouldn’t get it, Uncle, with three sons and no daughter.”

He prayed fervently for a daughter but got three sturdy sons like him—a running joke in the market.
Plus, his long-time shop assistant is a gruff boy like me.
Uncle’s got no daughterly blessings, ever.

His face reddens, about to explode, at my jab.
“You cheeky brat, hitting my sore spot!”
“Wait, hold on…”

I brace for the usual forehead flick, but—
“…Don’t hit Ain.”

She steps in front of me.
Holding the ingredients I asked for, she pouts at Uncle.
“Hitting Ain is bad, you said.”
“….”
“….”

Her words are undeniable, leaving Uncle and me staring blankly.
Finally, he lowers his raised hand, sheepish.
“That’s cheating.”
“Even joking, hitting hurts. So no.”
“Ugh… Fine, you two finish up.”

Uncle chuckles, defeated, and retreats. Thankfully, no ashen aura flares.
I thought her emotions could surge wildly, but she stays calm, composed.

As Uncle leaves, she whips around, offering the ingredients.
“Ain, I got these. Thanks for this too?”
“Yeah, thanks.”

She smiles at each “thanks.”
“Earlier, Uncle was just teasing.”
“I know. But hitting hurts.”

She stares at me intently.
“Don’t get hurt, Ain.”
“…Thanks.”

I take the ingredients, stocking the shelves.

Lately, something’s felt odd.
Sitting with Uncle, with her squeezing in beside us—
“Why’s the revenue…”
“…going up again?”
“Ain, is it bad if revenue rises?”

The revenue, which peaked with my childhood charm and dipped, is climbing again. We all tilt our heads.
“Sniveler, anything boosting it?”
“I noticed more customers, but I’m not Sniveler.”
“Is rising revenue good?”

I’d sensed more customers lately.
Not the returning mothers, though.
The new ones bought cheap items, so I didn’t think much of it.
But, like dust piling into mountains, it’s boosting revenue significantly.

“This might not be your doing, so no raise, Sniveler.”
“What? It’s obviously me, not you.”
“Is it Ain’s doing?”

If I had to guess, this uptick’s likely my fault.
Because—
The age and gender of the new customers make it obvious.

But my thoughts are cut off by a sulky voice.
“Ain, why aren’t you answering me?”
“Oh, sorry…”

Upset at being ignored, she bumps her head against my shoulder, pouting.

Anyway.
The new customers? Girls my age.
In the rush of work, I overlooked it, but thinking back, there’s been a surge of girls my age.
They don’t buy big like the mothers—just candies or snacks—so I didn’t dwell on it.

“Here, please ring this up…!”
“Sure, I’ll scan it.”

Seeing a trembling hand offer a handful of candies, even someone not full of themselves would notice.
“That’s 15 deni total.”
“Ah, y-yes…! H-Here, have one!”

Handing me a candy before fleeing the shop—yeah, that’s the vibe.
“…Next customer.”

So.
Dust gathers into mountains.
I’m raking in these girls’ pocket change, converting it to my paycheck.
That’s what I end up thinking.

Heh.
My paycheck.

Feeling smug, I flash my salesman smile, serving customers eagerly.

Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have done that.
Instead of grinning, I should’ve been stoic.
“…Ain.”
“Yeah? Need something?”
“…”

“Why?”
“…Nothing.”

I should’ve noticed her peeking from behind, fidgeting, at a loss.
Maybe then I’d not have been ambushed later that night.

The woman’s pupils shake wildly.
“A-Ain…”

She loves his smile, straining to see it, but—
hates that it’s aimed at girls her age. She wants to stop it.
But acting on it might not help her, so she hesitates, stomping her feet, fidgeting.

She musters courage to call him.
“…Ain.”
“Yeah? Need something?”

His quick turn to her lifts her spirits; she wants to voice her wish.
“…”

Don’t smile at other girls.
Smile only for me.

Her lips part, yearning to say it.

A first-time emotion.
Her heart races, cheeks flush, stomach churns, a stabbing pain hits.
It’s uncontrollable, aching and thrilling, pounding in her chest.
But she doesn’t know what it is.
She fears what revealing it might do to them.
That fear overwhelms her.

“Why?”
“…Nothing.”

She shakes her head.

She stomps, hands restless.
Each smile he gives stabs her heart, and she bites her lip.

Thump.

A pounding echoes in her ears.
Thump.

It doesn’t stop, ringing again and again.
Thump.

Scared, she crouches, covering her ears, but—
Thump.

The sound persists.