Chapter 24 : Ugly twelve years old (7)

She toys with the necklace.
Hanging from her neck, it glints sharply in the moonlight.
“Hi…”

Fiddling with it, a laugh escapes her lips.
She’s never laughed like this before, so it might sound odd.
“Huhi.”

It’s the first vivid sign of her deep emotions.
Her magically restrained feelings leak out, spilling onto the floor.
“Euhihi…”

Ashen mana swirls in the room.
Her emotions surge, transforming into clumps of ashen energy.
Dangerous, perhaps, but it’s her joy.
Yet, she digs her nails into her arm.

Blood seeps from the wound, pain anchoring her resolve to not unleash her emotions.
She fears losing control she feels slipping away.
Knowing this isn’t the “good kid” Ain expects, she repeats it.
She must stay good.
She doesn’t want to become a version of herself he’d hate.

So.*
*“Hu, hi… hmp.”

Her trembling body shakes as she grips herself tightly.
“A-… Ain…”

She chants his name like a spell.
Her nails dig deeper, drawing red tears, refusing to stop until her emotions settle.
The emotions emotions, swollen since her awakening, don’t fade easily like in childhood.
She murmurs, repeating the process for hours.

Time passes.
She stares blankly at her bloodied clothes and wounds.

“I drape a shroud.”

With a whisper, she erases all traces.

Time flows, and winter arrives.

In this unchanged scene, one thing’s new:
“Welcome.”

Her at the counter, greeting customers.
With plain black hair and deep brown eyes—still beautiful—she nods curtly.
The only change in the shop’s landscape.

“Total’s 315 dera.”

I told her smiling would be better, but she keeps a stiff face.
“Thank you… Goodbye-seyo.”

Her odd formal speech sends customers off, then she turns to me.
“Ain, did I do good?”

She asks after every customer, waiting for my reply.
I give the umpteenth answer.
“…Good job. But say ‘Annyeonghaseyo’ instead of ‘Goodbye-seyo.’”
“Okay, I’ll try.”

Right.

Next customer.
“Total’s 208 dera.”

She tallies, takes payment, and follows with—
“Thank you. Go-seyo.”

Didn’t you forget something big?
“Ain, did I do good?”
“…No.”
“I didn’t?”
“…No, you did good.”

She nails everything but forgets that one phrase.
Why’s that the only thing you ace?

Oddly, her small slip-ups boost sales.
Like how girls my age flocked when I manned the counter, her presence draws men—handsome youths and older guys, basket in hand, buying random stuff.

“Total’s 670 dera.”

They sneak glances at her, ignoring her curt tone.
“Thank you. Now go-seyo.”

Despite her weird farewell, they grin and leave.
“Ain, this time I did good, right?”
“…Yeah, good job.”

It feels strange.
She smiles only at me, then turns stoic for customers, yet something presses my chest.
“Total’s 180 dera.”

It’s not her mechanical replies but the men’s gazes that irk me.
“Thank you. Annyeonghi gasigo.”

I can’t focus on my work, stealing glances at her back.

A gruff voice interrupts.
“Ain, you jealous or what?”
“…Not jealous. Worried weirdos might bother her.”

She’s still naive, emotions unstable.
Her beauty could attract trouble.
If a high mage or skilled adventurer came, it’d be bad.
“Keh, your eyes don’t say worry.”
“It’s worry. Guys who’d never shop here are showing up.”

I’m just concerned for her safety.
“Sure, sure. You and her’ll take ages to figure it out.”
“Stop saying weird stuff, Uncle.”

It’s my duty as her guardian, as the witch’s watcher.
I keep glancing at her until the customers clear out.

A month passes quickly.
“Time to settle revenue and wages, kiddos.”
“Kiddos? Aren’t we a bit big for that?”
“You’re both still brats to me. Don’t like it? Get older than me, punk.”
“Fine, not mad, just let’s settle.”

My age is still “kiddo,” but it’s not resentment.
With her childlike traits nearly gone and my height and muscles, being called that feels awkward.

Anyway.
Uncle grins, tallying last month’s revenue.
After a bit, he exclaims in awe.
“Whoa… Sales are up. More than when it was just you two.”
“Looks sell.”

It’s an eternal truth.
Older than ashen stigma, an unchanging rule.
Being cute, handsome, or pretty always pays off.
“What, you saying my ugly mug tanked sales?”

Yes.
Time to admit it, Uncle.
I smile, holding out my hands boldly.
“If you get it, give us a bonus.”

Beside me, she watches blankly, then mimics me.
“…Give us a bonus-seyo?”

She extends her delicate hands, tilting her head, using clumsy formal speech.
I wiggle my fingers, urging; she copies, cluelessly.
I lean forward; she mirrors, staring at Uncle.

“Make it hefty, Uncle.”
“Hefty…? Give-seyo.”

I grin; she echoes my words but smiles at me, not Uncle.

Uncle chuckles, exasperated.
“You brat, teaching her bad habits!”
“Not bad—teaching her how to survive.”
“That’s surviving?”

It’s extra profit from our bond and good looks, earned over time.
“This is how you survive. Got it?”
“Got it, Ain.”

In this harsh—peaceful but harsh—world, this is how it’s done.
I tell her, staring blankly at me.
“No way, you two!”

Uncle’s roar follows.

I got my month’s wages in a pouch.
“Uncle, where’s my bonus?”
“You shameless punk, why’d you get a bonus? She’s the star this month.”
“I taught her well!”

Memories since autumn are vivid: teaching her formal speech, shop basics, tips, and buying that pricey disguise necklace.
I made her—this black-haired, brown-eyed woman gazing into her wage pouch.

Uncle shakes his head firmly.
“Nope. You said looks drive sales. So why your bonus?”
“That’s harsh.”
“I’m harsher!”

As we banter, a soft hup sounds, and she stands.
“Stingy Uncle.”
“Sniveler punk.”

I think she’s heading to the bathroom, continuing our playful jab—
“Potbelly.”
“Skinny anchovy.”

That’s too much for a gym-goer.
“That’s low. See these muscles?”
“Beat me in arm-wrestling, I’ll take it back.”

Dododo—soft steps approach.
“Challenging a twelve-year-old to a strength contest? Dirty.”
“What then? You’re an anchovy.”
“You’re all fat, no muscle.”
“Wanna feel this fat’s punch?”

Jingle—coins clink in a pouch.
“Always resorting to hitting…”
“Ain.”

Her voice cuts through, shattering the moment.
“Yeah, something to say?”
“This.”

She beams, offering me her pouch.
“….”
“Ain, take it. I don’t need it.”

No hesitation, no regret—she wants to give me her earnings.
“You said you wanted to earn money.”
“So it can help you a bit.”

Her reason for wanting money was skewed from the start.
Not for herself, but to help me through her efforts.

I don’t want that.
I know I’m a big part of her life, but I want her to live independently.
“It’s yours. You don’t have to give it to me.”
“But…”

She flinches at my refusal, hesitant, but her emotions seem stable enough from past experience.
“Keep it. Even if you don’t need it now, save it. You’ll need it someday.”
“What if that day never comes?”

That could be after I leave to travel.
“We’re human. Money’s always needed sometime.”
“Humans always need it?”
“Yeah, that’s how it is.”

It’s for her to adapt to a normal life.
She’s naive and clumsy now, but her future, grown and changed, is unknown.

The story’s shifted.
The straight narrative veered when I took that step, twisting to a new path.
The big picture might still lead to one end, but I believe she’ll write a different story.

As if answering my thoughts, she nods firmly.
“Then I’ll save it like you said.”
“Good call.”

She tucks the pouch away, hugging it, and says,
“If you ever need it, tell me. I’ll give it all.”
“…Thanks.”

Her bright smile at my thanks is natural now.
She fidgets, hands and feet restless with emotion.
I find it pretty cute.

But a villain ruins the mood.
“What a circus! If you’ve got time to flirt in my shop, take this money and eat something tasty outside!”

A kind villain slaps enough coins on the counter for a meal, shooing us out.
“Such a good guy.”
“What, punk? Get out. Shop’s closed.”

I chuckle at his waving hands, grab the coins, and take her hand—still staring blankly—as we step outside.

I asked her,
“Wanna eat something?”
“That.”
“Huh? What?”
“Cotton candy.”
“…Sure, let’s get cotton candy.”

No need to ask, really.