Chapter 4 : Ugly five years old (4)

A curse clings to the ashen.
Those born with it are fated never to die a natural death.
It’s not divine revelation, but a tale passed down like folklore, even whispered among children.

Their color is impure.
Faded and blurred, left as a mark.
Always stained ashen, like the scenery of the demon realm.
Simply being born with ashen hair brands one a cursed child.

It spares no race—humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, even dragons are marked by this ashen hue.
And it truly imbeds a curse deep within the body from birth.
Seeds of calamity, accursed offspring.

In childhood, it may lie dormant, but as time passes and they grow, its true nature slowly reveals itself.
Lacking something human, yet overflowing with something else.
Emotions that should be restrained spill over, often acting half-mad.

No one knows why this happens, but all know the end they meet.
Witch hunts.
From ancient times to the present, across every era, they meet their end in tragedy at least once.
In every age, the story of the ashen unfolds this way.

But what of a child born with not just ashen hair but ashen eyes as well?
What curse do they bear, what is lacking, what overflows?
And their end—
Does it conclude in the same witch hunt?

That is a tale unprecedented, not even found in ancient texts.

• [Excerpt from Episode □□. A Scholar’s Journal]

Time passes, and it’s early winter of my fifth year.
I haven’t stepped outside the house since that day until now.
It’s absurd to think I’ve stayed indoors for nearly half a year, but no child could whine about going out after seeing their mother’s expression back then.

I’ve been quite well-behaved, staying cooped up at home, but Mom would frantically search for me if I was out of sight for even ten minutes.
A woman who always wore a playful smile showed such raw anxiety that I had to play the part of an obedient child, which felt so unlike me.

So, it wasn’t until the chilly fall passed and Mom’s anxiety eased that I finally brought up going outside.
“Mom, I think it’s about time I could go out.”
“….”
“You don’t get to stay silent only at times like this.”

I seem to recall her asking who I got my annoying habit of always having a comeback from.
Looking at her now, I think I know without saying.
She’s just like her son.

“No, it’s not that I’m staying silent… If you want to go out, you should, but… didn’t we agree to wait until next year?”
“You said you wouldn’t really keep me locked up until I’m six.”
“…Hmm, I don’t quite remember that…”

Sure.
I’m not sure you can claim memory loss when you’re so obviously avoiding my gaze.
With that thought, I shoot her a side-eye and quietly speak.
“As a kid, I keep my promises, but grown-up Mom lies and breaks them.”
“Ugh…!”
“They say parents are a mirror for their kids, so I guess I don’t know what I’ll turn out like.”
“Urgh…!!”

Each word I say makes Mom clutch her chest like she’s been shot, looking at me with pleading eyes.
“They say if you listen to your parents, you’ll wake up to bread in your sleep, but I was a fool for following you.”
“Gah…! Fine, go out! I’m sorry for lying!”

Finally, her permission to go out slips from her lips.
Seeing her squeeze her eyes shut as if she has no choice, I nod with a strange sense of pride.
Hmm.
Is this what they mean when they say no parent can beat their kid?
Though, I did let her win for half a year, so maybe it’s the other way around.
Or maybe we’re both just childish, so it’s a draw.

While my head fills with such nonsense, Mom calls me with a slightly brighter voice.
“But, son!”
“Yeah?”
“It’s the child who’s the mirror of the parents, and it’s rice cakes, not bread!”
“….”
“Ehehe…”
“…I’m not going out.”

I’d probably get lost if I went out being this dumb.
Unlike Mom, her not-so-smart son should stay home and study.
“Hey, son! You’re smart like your mom! The child’s the mirror of the parents!”
“….”
Crash.
That mirror just shattered.

And.
Stop twitching your lips like you want to tease me.

So, Mom and I are getting ready to go out.
“Son, did you dress warmly?”
“I did, I told you. I’m not some kid.”
“Well, anyone would say you’re a kid.”
“Whatever.”

I leave my giggling mom behind, slip on warm gloves, and pull a winter hat snugly over my head.
It’s pretty cold today.
I’m not a kid, so I’m fine, but it’s definitely chilly for a kid to handle.

If you ask what that means, I’d say I don’t know either.

Finally dressed, I quietly grab an old, thick piece of clothing from the bottom of the wardrobe.
Mom’s old knitted cardigan, one she keeps muttering about throwing out.
Anyway, it’s a lint-covered lump she doesn’t wear anymore.
Seeing me hold it blankly, Mom tilts her head.
“Hm? Son, why’re you taking that?”
“It’s cold out.”
“I don’t get how a chilly day means you need to take some worn-out old clothes. If you’re cold, just layer up more.”
“…You never know.”
“Ain, I don’t even know what you mean by ‘you never know’… You’re not planning something weird the moment we go out, are you?”
“I just grabbed it, okay? In case I see a shivering puppy or something.”
“Hmm… Alright, if you say so.”
“….”

Exactly.
I just grabbed it.

You never know.
If I see a shivering puppy in the alley, even this worn-out old thing might come in handy.
That’s the only reason.

It’s cold.
Even wrapped up in clothes, a hat, and gloves, the biting wind cuts through.
It’s enough to make me shiver through the gaps at my neck or wrists.
“Son, are you cold?”
“Nah, I’m not some kid.”

But.
Even if I’m just an extra, my mind’s that of a tough guy who’s been through the military.
I’m not the kind of man who’d give in to a little wind like this.
“Then wanna strip down?”
“….”
“You’re not a kid, so why’re you all bundled up? Since you’re all grown, let’s run around in just one layer.”
“…Your son’s a bit cold.”

Damn.
I’d freeze to death walking out here—what kind of man am I?
I scowl as another gust of icy wind hits, thinking to myself.
A child’s body is just so frail, so delicate, it feels like it could snap with a single mistake.

No matter the strong spirit of a former adult or the thick clothes I’ve layered on for protection, it feels like one small mishap could make me collapse.
This damn body.
I swear, for the hundredth time since being reborn, I need to grow up fast and become an adult.

Anyway.
I tightly grip Mom’s giggling hand and try to block the gaps where the wind sneaks into my clothes.
I even use the lint-covered lump I “just” brought to wrap myself up tighter.
“Pfft… I told you to layer up more instead of using that old thing.”
“…Whatever.”
“If you’re too cold, want me to carry you? You might be a bit heavy next year, but I think I can still manage now!”
“No thanks. I’m not a kid…”
Whoosh—

Another strong gust slips through the clothes I tried so hard to secure.
And that biting wind is too much for a child’s body to handle.
“Okay, carry me. Your son’s cold…”
“Heehee! Snort, come here, son. Haha…!”
Ugh, this damn body, seriously.

I’m a tough guy who’s been through the military.
A man who doesn’t give in to mere wind…

“….”

Ugh, f*ck.
Whatever, waaaah.
Mommy, hold me.

Carried in Mom’s arms, we arrive at Kate Square, or rather, near the alley we didn’t quite reach half a year ago.
“So, son, why’d you want to come here? Trying to escape Mommy’s arms?”
“…No, I just didn’t get to look around properly last time because of the chaos.”

Escape her arms?
I’m freezing my butt off right now.
Thinking that, I turn my head, scanning the area around that alley.

The witch.
Is the Ashen Witch still living in this alley?
Since the novel’s plot is ongoing, she probably hasn’t died, but her childhood home was never detailed in the story.

Of course.
The protagonists of this world aren’t her or me.
The Hero, Fris.
The Saintess, Lua.
It’s unmistakably their story.

So.
“….”
Even the pitiful childhood and wretched life of that girl still in the alley are reduced to a mere few lines in the novel, crumbling away.
Not to mention me, an extra not even worth a single line.

“…Mom.”
“Yes, sweetie? Ready to head back?”
“No, put me down for a bit.”

The trembling in my body fades.
My face still scrunches from the cold, and my hands clench against another gust, but the ashen eyes staring directly at me from the alley make reality slip away.
“Son, it’s cold. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just want to go over there for a sec.”
“The alley…? Hmm, it’s probably not a good idea to go there…”
“Just for a moment.”
“Then let’s go together, son.”
“….”

Is it okay to go together?
Is it the right choice to bring my mom, a character in this novel, into that alley?
She’d never let me go alone, but regardless, choices like this are always tough, in reality or in a novel.

So, seeing the worry in Mom’s voice and expression, I nod and take small steps forward.
I, an ordinary person with no ties to this world, step into the novel.
It might take courage.
No, it definitely takes courage.

I could just live as a background character, enjoying a peaceful life.
My original goal was to explore the world, to travel beyond. That should be enough.
Yet stepping even slightly into the novel’s plot is a big deal.

Clack, clack—
The sound of Mom’s shoes follows me, drawing closer to the alley, toward the calamity.
And soon, the response to my choice comes in Mom’s voice.
“…Son.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, let’s go back.”

A voice filled with slight disgust, slight unease, and heavy worry for me.
It’s the novel’s setting, an involuntary rejection triggered by the curse of the ashen.
“Only for a moment, it’s fine.”
“Son, listen to me…! It’s not fine at all!”

The curse of the ashen that can’t help but provoke aversion.
The reason I keep questioning, even as I call her Mom.
“…She looks cold, so I just want to give her this.”
“Son, I said don’t get close!”

Is her warm heart, her love and smiles toward me, just a novel’s setting or genuine?
Are those eyes of disgust toward the ashen girl a setting or sincere?
I keep seeking answers to those questions.

“I said earlier, didn’t I? I’d give it to a shivering puppy if I saw one.”
I brought this old clothing for no reason.
I even said I’d give it to a shivering puppy if I saw one.

Saying that, I toss the old clothing onto the plank.
My indifferent gaze meets the girl’s hazy, clouded eyes.
I’m quickly pulled back into Mom’s arms, moving away from her at a rapid pace.
But those ashen eyes hold me until they vanish from the alley.

I’ve taken a step into the novel.
And with that, my role is assigned.