The Fire Spirit

I carefully pushed nutrients into the lighter's flame.

The green orb cradled in my other hand melted away like cotton candy, shrinking steadily as the flame—once no bigger than a ten-won coin—swelled larger and larger.

Before long the blaze roared with a ferocity no one would ever believe had come from a cheap plastic lighter.

Yet something still felt off.

What is it? What's missing?

I knew instinctively that if I couldn't fill that gap, the spirit creation would fail. All of Pete's hard work shaking down the neighborhood alley cats for nutrients would have been for nothing. We'd just end up with a "wasted effort spirit."

When I first made Pete, how the hell did I do it...?

Desperately combing through my memories, I began sculpting the outer surface of the flame. Form first.

Copying myself the way I had with Pete was out of the question. This was a spirit I planned to put up for adoption and charge money for, after all. But if I wasn't the template, what was?

A puppy? A cat?

The safest, most marketable options—and I rejected them on the spot. A lifetime spent cooped up in my room with only Pete for company meant I'd never properly observed real animals. Better a familiar humanoid than some half-assed abomination that looked like neither.

I kneaded the flickering flames, coaxing them into a human silhouette. Nutrients were critically short. For Pete I'd poured in a full month's worth; right now I held barely a week's supply. Naturally I had to shrink the overall size drastically—stubby limbs, short bob instead of long hair. A desperate bid to keep maintenance costs down.

I was starting to understand, just a tiny bit, how those snack companies that sell mostly nitrogen packaging felt.

The finished frame was a cute little three-head-tall body. Next came the face.

...This is annoying. Should I just slap my own face on it for now?

I used the remaining nutrients to roughly copy my features. But jamming my face onto that stubby little body...

"Ugh!"

It was pure uncanny valley. Was this that "uncanny valley" thing people talk about?

No choice. Just mash it like a steamed bun.

That way I could still protect my own face somewhat. Offering silent condolences to the soon-to-be-born creature, I punched the flame's face with my fist and rounded it out. Flattening the features drastically and leaving only vacant eyes and a tiny mouth brought out a surprisingly cute vibe.

Last step: personality.

I was about to spoon in a little passion and heat befitting a fire spirit when—

"Whoops!"

My fingertips slipped and dumped a massive load of "sleepyhead" and "crybaby" attributes instead. I scrambled to scoop them out, but the nutrients had already soaked completely into the flame.

"...Well, whatever?"

Soon enough this little one would be nestled in the arms of some rich, reliable Climber. A sensitive streak could even be a selling point. Surely no lunatic would return an adopted pet just because its personality was a bit weird?

"Right?"

...If such a nightmare customer existed, all I could do was pray they never became the owner. I squeezed my eyes shut and compromised. Beginners always struggle with everything.

A few more tweaks ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and prods later...

I turned with a satisfied smile.

"Shall we write the adoption post now?"

At my words, Pete hoisted an empty plastic bottle with a determined expression, eyes sparkling.

One day, a post appeared on the Climber Gallery.

In the Climber Gallery, "WoodenStoneHeart" was a fairly well-known named regular. He parked himself in the gallery twenty hours a day; call out "WoodenStoneHeart-nim?" and a reply landed in under ten seconds.

Up to that point he was just another ordinary basement-dwelling Climber scrub. But the fact that he never missed a single day—morning, noon, and night, like three square meals—of dropping "cultured" shitposts was still pretty novel even to them.

Of course, the only reason that kind of bait worked was because real Climbers barely used the gallery at all. Famous high-rankers and guild Climbers had their own closed private networks. So nine-tenths of the people camping here were either eternal bottom-floor third-rate Climbers or completely unawakened shut-ins whose only talent was running their mouths and giving unsolicited advice.

"Huh?"

After that, the gallery's atmosphere started flowing in a weird direction.

The bait flipped in an instant from "spirits" to "custom plastic figure commissions." Their interest had completely migrated to the juicy asses and tits of 2D beautiful girls.

Even in an age when superhumans climbed the Tower and smashed monsters, the instincts of males ruled by their lower halves hadn't changed one bit.

"...Is this the Climber Gallery or the Figure Gallery?"

I stared blankly at my smartphone screen.

"Haa..."

Watching from the sidelines, all I could do was let out a hollow laugh. Pete, the actual party involved, slapped its tiny forehead with a short hand—chap!

We had underestimated human desire.

Ding!

"..."

I casually shifted my gaze to the work laptop.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

"Oh boy..."

Pete, already white, turned even whiter, dropped the plastic bottle it was holding, and clutched its head with both hands.

Thud. Rollll...

As if mocking Pete, the laptop spewed alarm sounds like a madman.

Ding!Ding!Ding!Ding!Ding!Ding!Ding!Ding!

Inquiry emails and messages poured down like a waterfall, filling the laptop screen completely. In the end Pete mimed foaming at the mouth and flopped flat on the floor.

For the time being, the idea of kicking Pete outside to go fetch more nutrients was completely off the table.

Ding.

Then, amid the flood of figure commission notifications, one alien alert sound cut through. Looking at my phone, a notification window floated at the top of the screen.

A single message that had arrived through the gallery messenger.