The Coward’s Path and the Bearer of a Teddy Bear Bandage

Every time I wake up, I find myself thinking the same thing. What if I open my eyes and see the ceiling of my room in the world I came from? What if everything I’ve experienced until now was just a long, drawn-out dream? If I wake up, I’ll be in a room that’s a bit cramped, with walls that don’t block out sound very well, but with a bed that always makes me feel at ease. I’ll wake up to the sound of a noisy alarm, eat a simple breakfast because my mother always said, "A person runs on the strength of a good meal," and head to work. I’ll greet my boss, who spends his mornings shouting at his subordinates even when there’s nothing wrong, and then I’ll deal with my junior—a guy who works hard but lacks any common sense—while struggling to keep myself from screaming, "How many times do I have to tell you that’s not how you do it?" Then, lunchtime arrives. I’ll eat at my favorite kimchi stew place near ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the office, where the portions are huge and it only costs five thousand won, while chatting with my friends in our group chat about how much we want to quit. Before lunch ends, I’ll head to the breakroom to mix instant coffees for everyone, and when a colleague says, "You’d make a good barista," I’ll retort, "If you open a coffee shop for me, I’ll think about it." I’ll work frantically until clock-out time, get dragged out for drinks by my boss, and spend the night encouraging a pitiful breadwinner who complains that his second-grader is already starting to avoid him. Then, I’ll go home, force my tired body to wash up, and watch web novels on my phone until my eyelids grow heavy. When I’m so sleepy I can barely read, I’ll look at the family photo on my bedside drawer—the one with my mother, my father, and me as a child—say, "Goodnight," and drift off to sleep. Wouldn’t that ordinary day come back to me?

I opened my eyes slowly, clinging to that hope. The ceiling I’d been staring at for two weeks, now all too familiar, greeted me. It seemed this long, long dream—which might not be a dream at all—had no intention of ending today. I let out a deep sigh and sat up. Like the title of that famous song, it was a gloomy Sunday.

I spent until lunch staring blankly in my room, but even doing nothing felt like a burden, so I fled the room as if escaping. The weather was disgustingly sunny today. It was the kind of weather that would normally make anyone feel good just by stepping outside, but when you’re depressed, even such bright sunshine becomes nothing more than an excuse to feel even more miserable. I sighed repeatedly as I walked down the street, eventually finding a spot on a park bench I’d been visiting frequently lately, and took a deep breath. Looking at the people passing by, they all seemed to be smiling, as if to say it was a waste to be depressed on such a beautiful day. How many of these people would die? No, how many would actually survive? I wish I hadn’t known anything; then I could have smiled like them, too. It was too hard to look at them, so I hung my head. I was the only one who knew even a little bit about the horrific events that would befall this world. But knowing the future was nothing but painful. If I were the protagonist of the novels I’d read, I would have struggled to change the future. But I wasn’t a protagonist. I wasn’t someone who could act like one.

When I first arrived, I jokingly thought about whether I had a status window, but what I truly lacked wasn’t ability. It was courage. In a world where it wouldn’t be strange to die at any moment, where I could only breathe fire and had slightly enhanced physical abilities, knowing what was going to happen was the only lifeline I had to survive a little longer. But if I acted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to change the future, that lifeline would instantly shift into something whose end I couldn’t even trace. I was afraid of losing the advantage of knowing the future because of my actions. I had no guarantee that my efforts would change things for the better. What if my actions had a worse impact, causing people who shouldn’t have died to perish? I was terrified of being unable to take responsibility for the consequences of my own actions. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Besides, even if I tried my best, the future might not change at all. Just like how the class president became the temporary president even though I didn’t raise my hand. Perhaps, because of an irregular like me, there might be some changes in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠process, but wouldn’t the result remain the same regardless? I was afraid of witnessing the fact that I couldn’t change anything even if I acted directly, and then falling into despair. So, being the coward that I was, I chose the path that guaranteed the longest survival, even if it led to a cliff, rather than a path that might lead to ruin.

"Ohhh? Are you Evaniii?"

I was lost in thought with my head bowed when I heard a languid voice from in front of me. I looked up to see a small girl with dark purple hair standing there, her eyes half-closed in a drowsy expression. I was flustered, wondering if "Eva" was a shortened version of Evande. Did she know Scarlet Evande from before?

"I felt a familiar vibe, so I came overrr... but you look a bit different, huh? Are you wearing a disguiseee?"

The girl, who spoke in a slow, drawling, and incomprehensible way, suddenly started clapping her hands in front of me. *Clap, clap, clap.* After clapping for a moment, she tilted her head and said,

"Guess nottt... Though if you were Eva, you would’ve tried to kill me the moment you saw meee... Well, bye then, Eva-lookalike."

The girl waved her hand and said her piece before turning her back and walking away. Listening to her, it seemed she hadn’t known me, just mistaken me for someone she did know. Was it just a coincidence that our names were similar? I leaned back against the bench and looked at the sky. I must have spent too much time lost in thought, as the sun was beginning to set. I should head back.

I brushed off my skirt, stood up, and headed home. After washing up and eating dinner, I went to bed a little early to make sure I’d wake up early the next morning.

*Beep-beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep-*

I woke up, turning off the alarm on my phone. It wasn’t an auditory hallucination; it was the alarm I’d set to wake up early. It felt pretty good not to wake up to a "Good Morning" greeting. As I got up to wash, I found it a bit annoying to have to unwrap and re-wrap the bandage on my left hand every time. I briefly thought about just taking it off since it seemed healed, but I decided it would be better to stop by the infirmary and get permission before removing it, so I wrapped it back up.

I’d woken up early today to make macarons for Sylvia. Macarons get soggy from humidity if left out too long, so they’d taste best if I made and gave them on the same day. I whipped the egg whites with sugar using a whisk to make the meringue for the macaron batter; it’s usually quite a struggle to do by hand rather than with a machine, but I was grateful for my enhanced physical abilities. If you don’t have the money to buy a machine, you just use your body! Anyway, the macarons I worked hard on didn’t look too bad, even if the shape was a bit questionable. They were much smaller than the special macarons that cost 3,000 gold at the school store, but the fact that I made them myself was what mattered. I packed the macarons prettily in parchment paper and tucked them safely into my bag.

For breakfast, I stir-fried bean sprouts with the leftover egg yolks from the meringue, cooked them lightly in the remaining oil in the pan, and then popped the yolks over the sprouts to eat. The happiness of being able to get protein for breakfast... I finished a hearty breakfast and set off for school.

The wind was blowing strongly today. If I were a boy, I wouldn’t have cared, but my skirt was flapping wildly, so I had to keep pressing it down, which was a nuisance. A young boy was running along excitedly, wearing a hat with a pinwheel that was spinning in the morning breeze. I used to play with things like that all day long when I was little. I was smiling, feeling a sense of childhood innocence, when I heard a clattering metallic sound from somewhere.

An old sign, shaking in the wind, fell right over the head of the boy running behind me. There was a loud crash. Before I knew it, I’d thrown my body forward and swatted the falling sign away with my left arm. Thankfully, the boy seemed fine, save for his eyes being wide with shock. I released my right arm, which had been holding him, and asked, "Are you okay?" The boy nodded and stared intently at my arm. I didn’t feel any pain, but blood was seeping through the bandage on my left hand. I remembered the school nurse telling me not to overdo it or the wound might reopen. Am I going to get scolded for this... I gave a bright smile to reassure the boy, who was looking at me with worried eyes.

"Don’t worry. This doesn’t hurt at all."

As I said that, the boy started to tear up for some reason. He tugged at my sleeve and mumbled in a small voice,

"...Big sister, it looks like it hurts a lot, but you’re pretending it doesn’t..."

I gave a bitter smile to myself at the boy’s words. This is why I hate sharp-eyed kids... I thought I was hiding it well, but kids can be surprisingly perceptive. When I didn’t say anything for a moment, the boy said, "Wait just a second," and rummaged through his pocket to pull something out. He grabbed my left sleeve, pulled my hand toward him, and seemed to be doing something with his tiny hands. When he let go, I looked at my left hand. A small bandage with a teddy bear drawing was stuck over the blood-stained gauze.

...Damn it, I think I’m going to cry.

"My mom gave this to me to put on when I get hurt because I’m always falling while running. She said if you put this on, it stops hurting..."

The boy looked up at me with a worried face. I took a deep breath, smiled, patted his head, and said,

"Thanks to you, it doesn’t hurt at all now. Thank you."

Seeing him beam with relief, I waved goodbye and walked toward the school. I heard him shouting, "Bye, big sister!!!" from behind me, but I didn’t look back. If I looked back, I wouldn’t be able to keep my expression in check this time.

Near the school gate, I saw a trash bin. I peeled off the bandage the boy had stuck onto my gauze. I agonized over it for a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, so I tucked it into my pocket instead.