Chapter 7 : Ugly eight years old (3)

The night sky is terribly dark, and just as empty.
Cold.
And quiet.
Like a stage shrouded by a massive black curtain after the play has ended.

In the alley where the ashen girl crouches, not a sliver of light remains, all stolen away.
“….”

In that dark alley, the girl chews slowly.
It’s sweet.
So sweet and sticky that she can’t help but roll the small lump around with her tongue.
Candies given by a boy whose name she still doesn’t know.

The ashen girl hides them carefully, ensuring no one can steal them, and only takes one out to eat when the night grows cold.
Each one is so precious.
The sweetness fills her mouth, and as she gazes blankly at the sky, a strange sense of fullness makes her feel she can endure the day.
Drunk on it, her mind grows hazy, and leaning against the wall with closed eyes, even the pain of her festering wounds seems to fade.

Memories are blurry, yet a single candy brings them back vividly.
She hides them in the cracks of the plank, only rolling one on her tongue after the night’s black curtain falls.
After lingering in her mouth, it eventually disappears.
But the aftertaste of candy is sweet too.

So, the girl recalls that day.
The moment she impulsively spoke to the boy’s retreating figure.
“…Can’t you… stay?”

In truth, after saying that, she was more overwhelmed by the thought of her mistake than by expressing herself.
A boy who didn’t see her as human.
A boy who looked down at her as if he could vanish forever.
To speak such a childish plea to someone who could disappear like a fleeting whim made her, uncharacteristically, flustered.

An apology?
No, that’s not it.
Another plea?
That won’t do either.
What words, what actions could undo her mistake?

Staring at the boy with a blank face, her mind raced with such thoughts.
“…I’ll come back next time.”
His single sentence made her heart sink with a thud.

She repeats those words in her mind, over and over.
Next time.
He promised a next time.
So.
There’s a reason to stay here.

To do what I want, one thing matters most.
The witch’s emotions, my parents’ permission, the storm of causality the novel’s setting might unleash.
Above all that, one thing.

“Mom, I want to earn money.”
“Huh…? So suddenly?”

Money. I need money.
I have plenty I want to do, but no money to make it happen.
You might think, what does an eight-year-old need money for? But beyond helping the ashen girl, I have grand plans to travel in the future.

I plan to leave the Empire for the Duchy as soon as I become an adult.
Not for romance, but because the Duchy is cheaper and adventurer registration fees are lower—a practical reason.
So, time is tighter than it seems.

In the Empire, adulthood is at sixteen.
I’m eight, halfway there.
It might seem like a lot, but eight years isn’t even enough to change a mountain.

“I need to start earning money if I want to travel later.”
“Uh… Was this the worry you told Dad about last night?”
“Yeah, he said I should do what I want.”

He clearly told me to do what I want last night, so I figure I’ll start with a part-time job.
“No, no. I don’t know if there’s work for someone your age…”
“If there isn’t, I’ll deliver newspapers or something. There’s more I can do than you think.”
“Son, don’t talk so casually about this!”

Mom, exasperated, puts a hand to her forehead and shouts at me.
What?
Eight is plenty grown-up.

After a long discussion, we agree to look for a job together.
“…I said delivering newspapers in the morning would be fine.”
“Son, be quiet! You can barely open your eyes in the morning, and you’re talking about newspapers?”
“No, that’s…”

It’s not because I’m a kid; it’s because I have nothing to do in the morning, so I sleep in.
Even adults, if they’re unemployed, wake up at 2 p.m.—that’s normal, right?
And Mom’s the same, so why’s she only scolding me?

“Uh, Mom only sleeps in on weekends…! Don’t look at me like that, son!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Those eyes. Those are some shady eyes! Anyone can see you’re judging me!”
“…No way. Probably not.”
“Son… The moment you added ‘probably,’ it’s already over…”

She reads my mind like a ghost.
Every time this happens, I wonder who came up with the saying that no parent can beat their kid.
Just look at this scene.
Another fight where we both end up hurt.

After the commotion, Mom and I head out together.
To find a job for an eight-year-old—a purpose that even I find a bit absurd, but what can I do? It’s because of last night’s promise.

“Zven, you’re dead when you get home…”
Hmm.
Hearing Mom mutter quietly, I think I should pray for Dad’s safety.
Anyway.
“….”
I know nothing about it.

So, Mom and I start wandering around.
“Uh… So it’s not the wife, but the kid who wants to work?”
“Yes, is there anything our son could do…?”
“Hmm… I don’t think we have any work for a child.”
“Yes… Thank you…”

We must’ve visited ten places, and most rejected us like this.
The adults’ warm hearts, glancing suspiciously at Mom and sending me sympathetic looks, are oddly endearing.
But for Mom, it’s clearly torture.

Bonk.
Mom lightly smacks my head, looking at me with teary eyes.
“…That hurts.”
“I told you… No one hires an eight-year-old… They all look at me weird…!”

Well, that’s unfortunate.
I say to Mom, “Let’s try a few more places.”
“Ugh… Son, how about I just give you an allowance?”
“How much?”

Alright.
Let’s hear how much money she’ll offer to tempt me into being an ungrateful son.
Let’s see if it’s enough to ignore Dad’s hard work and tears.

“Uh… 20 dera a month…?”
“Okay, let’s keep looking for a job.”
“30 dera…!”
“Got it. Let’s head to the next shop, Mom.”

20 dera is roughly the price of the handful of candies I gave the witch.
A month’s allowance for one handful of candy.
A year would be about ten bags of candy.
Oh, that might be enough to save up for travel.
“….”
Stingy Mom.

After visiting about five more places, we finally find somewhere willing to hire me.
“Haha! Lane, you look awful! Why didn’t you come here first?”
“Yes… I should’ve done that. Please take care of Ain…”
“Sure, don’t worry and head home! You look like you’re about to collapse, haha!”

Of course, it’s the familiar grocery store.
After dragging an exhausted Mom around, this was our last stop. The uncle at the counter, as always, listens to our situation, laughs heartily, and agrees.

“Son… I’ll go домой and start dinner. You can get back okay, right?”
“Yes, go ahead. Don’t get lost.”

Her eyes half-closed with exhaustion, I nod and see her off.
“Okay, I’ll head home. I’m so tired I might collapse…”
Mom trudges out, and alone with the uncle, he speaks first.

“Haha! I’ve hired plenty of workers, but never a kid this young!”
“Please take care of me, uncle.”

I’ve never worked at this age either.
Bowing, I make him burst into laughter again.
“Haha! Alright, kid, how much do you want, and what can you do?”

He grins, but I know I need to answer seriously.
If I respond childishly, he’ll think it’s just a kid’s curiosity or play.
I don’t want my plans and resolve treated like child’s play.
So, a realistic answer.

“I’m still a kid, so for now, I’d like 2000 dera a month. And if I do well, a raise later.”
2000 dera is about 500,000 won—small for an adult, but for a kid who can’t do much, it’s a bold ask.

“Hmm? Alright, what do you think you can do?”
“The store opens at 10, so I can come early to organize the warehouse and shelves. I can restock from the storage too.”

Staring at him intently, he laughs heartily and continues.
“Haha! You’re sharp for a kid, but that’s a bit lacking!”
“And having a scary-looking uncle at the counter isn’t as good for sales as a kid like me. Moms are soft on kids, right?”

Funny guy.
Doesn’t he remember giving me a discount and candies because I’m cute?
“Fine. But if sales don’t change with you at the counter, you okay with a pay cut?”
“Deal. But if sales go up, my pay goes up too. It’s a bet, right?”

“Haha! Let’s see if the kid wins or I do!”
Laughing loudly, he extends a huge hand, and I grin, shaking it.
For money, I can act cute or playful like a kid.
That’s how capitalism works—no shame in earning cash.
So, uncle’s wallet?
I’m gonna clean it out.

Right.
I’m a kid.
Not an adult, just a cute eight-year-old.
Acting cute, being playful.
Charming adults.

…
F*ck, waaah.
A kid kneeling to capitalism.