Chapter 3 : Ugly five years old (3)

Bellia.
Oh, a creation cursed by the era.
Ashen hair, ashen eyes filled with nothing but emptiness.
You shall never be loved by anyone in your lifetime, destined to perish amidst the scorn and persecution of many.
A cursed child, conceived with the blood of demons, abandoned even by your mother.
Your path, stained ashen, will be filled only with thorns.

Thus.
Not a single shred of light will be granted to your path.
Do not even dare to hope for something as futile as hope.
Only death shall be your salvation.

[Excerpt from Episode □□. The Cursed Child]

*****

No way.
“…You idiot.”
That girl, sprawled in the alley, looking even more like an extra than me.
Her faded ashen hair and murky, almost blind ashen eyes—only now do I recall who she is.

The Ashen Witch.
You could call her the Empire’s calamity.
That frail, powerless orphan girl, dressed in tattered rags, looking so pitiful.
She’s the witch who will one day bring danger to the Empire.

I thought she was just another common orphan based on her shabby appearance.
But that small girl isn’t some insignificant extra like me with no role assigned—she’s a calamity destined to be a trial for the Hero and Saintess.
Even though it’s clearly written that in this era, in this novel’s world, only two people with ashen traits are assigned proper roles, I only remembered this after getting home. What a fool I am.

“Son, it’s nice to see you reflecting, but where did you learn such bad words?”
Oh.
“…Sorry.”

And right now, I’m dealing with the wrath of my mother, who shed tears thinking she’d lost me forever.
“Keep your hands up properly. I’m not done being mad.”
“….”
Yes, ma’am.

I clamp my mouth shut and, following Mom’s stern words, raise my trembling hands closer to my ears.
I teased her for acting childish, but this time, I really messed up.
Honestly, I didn’t expect her to rush to the lost-and-found, crying and hugging me tightly.
As someone who was only thinking about how to get scolded less, that scene pricked my conscience hard.

“Son, your hands are slipping.”
“N-No, they’re not…”
So.
As a dutiful son, I have to grit my teeth and endure, no matter how tough it is.

But, honestly.
It’s not entirely my fault that I lost her hand, right?
“You look like you’ve got a complaint, son.”
“…No way.”

Yeah, it’s definitely my fault.
How could it not be when Mom cried so much her eyes are still swollen?

But still.
“What.”
“…I didn’t say anything.”
What’s a guilty kid supposed to say?
Just shut up and keep my hands up.

It’s so unfair.

What should I do?
I’ve been thinking about the ashen girl for a while now.
When she’s still young and weak.
When she’s just sprawled in the alley, barely clinging to life as a powerless figure.
When she’s not yet a calamity—could there be something I can do? A pointless thought like that.

It’s not out of pity or sympathy for the ashen girl.
I can’t say I feel nothing for her, but to be precise, it’s worry for my parents, who’ll still be here in the Empire when I leave to travel, unlike me when she becomes the calamity.
Even if this is a novel’s world, I don’t want the people who raised me to die.

So.
This is me, a nobody with no role, trying to find a new purpose for myself.
Before I grow up and take on the role of a traveler, this is about creating meaning for my life until then.
Another role.

Since I’m a blank slate, it’s my free choice to make, a dilemma born from recognizing the ashen girl’s existence.
I know a bit about the Ashen Witch’s life from a side story.
If left alone, she’ll never see light until the moment she dies.
That’s the role this world has assigned her, her forced destiny.

Even in that pitiful state, sprawled in the alley, she receives no help from adults.
Despite being a weakling with nothing, crouching to survive, she’s bullied by other kids.
Hated by the world, enduring its scorn, and then miraculously gaining power, she’ll be treated as a calamity and defeated by the Hero and Saintess.
And since she’ll become a madwoman who kills the Empire’s citizens with a bright smile, calling her a calamity isn’t wrong.

That’s the meaning of “ashen” in this world.
From the moment of birth to the moment of death, her role as the Ashen Witch is to suffer, shed tears, and crumble.
As a character in the novel, she exists to make the protagonists shine before gloriously burning out as Villain #1.

Even for the Hero and Saintess, who later learn of the pitiful story of the young girl, and for the witch herself, cut in half by the Hero’s sword, there’s nothing good in this tale.
When I read it as text, I might’ve just nodded along, but now that it’s reality, it stirs a strange emotion.
It’s like a law of this world.

So.
I keep wondering if it’s okay for an extra like me to decide what to do with such an important scene.

After much thought, I decide to go back and check on her.
Mom’s anger has finally subsided, and I’ve done some reflecting while dangling my numb arms.
So, I’ve assigned myself the important role of keeping an eye on the seed of calamity.

“…Mom.”
“No way.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet…”
“I’ve thought about it, and you’re grounded for a while.”

What’s this?
Is she the villain now?
“Uh, Mom, I just wanted to go for a walk with you…”
“It’s okay. The outside seems too dangerous until you’re a bit older, so I’ll hold off too.”
“….”

No, you don’t have to hold off on that.
I didn’t expect Mom, who loves our walks, to say she’d give that up too.
My plan was to casually check out that alley during a walk, but now…

With that in mind, I carefully speak up.
“So, how much older do I have to be to go out?”
“Hmm, I think it’s best if you wait until you’re at least six, Ain. That sounds good, right?”
“….”
“Sweetie, don’t want to answer?”

No, damn it.
I’m not sure if it’s okay to leave her in that alley for a whole year before checking.

I tried my best to persuade her to let me go out, but I lost to what might be the novel’s mechanics.
The roles assigned to me and to you.
The inevitability of a child following their mother.
This interaction between mother and child is something I keep questioning but can’t bring myself to resist.

Pulled into Mom’s warm embrace, my small body, struggling so hard, stops resisting the moment I feel that comforting warmth and ends up accepting it.
“Son.”
Even when her affectionate call makes me pout, I can’t help but respond with affection too.
“…Yeah.”
“I was so scared.”
“I’m sorry.”

I pretend not to notice her trembling hands wrapped around me, but thinking about the five years with this woman, I can’t ignore even these small things.
“I know you’re more mature than other kids, but to me, you’re still my precious, too-young first child.”
“…Got it.”

How can parents care so much for their kids?
It was always a mystery in my past life, and even now, as an extra with no set role in this novel’s world, I still feel that wonder.
“I won’t really keep you locked up until you’re six. Just stay home with me for a while, okay?”
“Okay.”

So, nestled in her cozy embrace, I nod and slowly drift into sleep.
Even as my eyes close and my mind grows hazy, the hand stroking my back is gentle and kind.

And yet.
I can’t help but think again.

This love.
This affection poured onto me.
These emotions, as devoted as those from my parents in my past life—what are they?
Are they just a predetermined setting in this novel’s world?
Or are they her and his genuine feelings?

Over the past five years.
I keep grappling with that question.

In the alley, where even the air feels heavy and dark, there’s a single stirring.
A movement to clutch tattered rags tightly, hugging a rotting plank to ward off the cold.
Around that plank lie scattered small stones.

Despite being a small girl who’s done no wrong, passing children throw stones at her and torment her as if it’s only natural.
Adults don’t bully her, but if their eyes meet hers, they shoot her looks of disgust before walking away.
‘…It hurts.’

When a stone hits her head, leaving a wound, it stings and itches for at least two weeks, often festering from scratching.
‘I’m hungry.’
The only food is what she can scrounge from the trash bins just outside the alley.
If she’s lucky, she might find a half-eaten pie or bread scrap.

The girl looks up at the sky with her hazy, ashen eyes.
The light that poured down from the heavens.
The mysterious song of the sky, ringing out with a la.
Her blank expression seems to recall those things, but in truth, she’s thinking of something else.

A boy whose name and age she doesn’t know.
A small boy who seems about her age.
‘He just passed by.’

Someone who didn’t throw stones despite seeing her ashen hair and eyes.
Someone who didn’t look at her with disgust.
‘…A strange person.’

It was just ignoring her and moving on, but still.
The girl thinks this, nodding faintly for a moment.