It's a Misunderstanding!
Turns out, it was all a big misunderstanding. The Bear Elder had gone on about the tribe's direction and set the mood just to apologize for missing my birthday. "I'm sorry it had to turn out this way for you. But know this: we were looking forward to your birthday just as much as you were—"
"Hold on! Hold on a sec!"
I cut off the Bear Elder, who was sheepishly scratching his beard as he tried to apologize, and pieced the situation together. "So... what you're saying is, you can't celebrate my birthday. That's it?"
"Don't dismiss it so curtly—it makes you seem so heartless. There were just unavoidable circumstances—"
"Nah, it's fine, it's fine! Ugh. And here I thought it was something serious. You don't need to worry about something like that."
Maybe it was the tension easing, but I kept interrupting him without thinking—rude by civilized standards, sure, but oh well. "How could we not? Even if you say that, I saw how full of expectation your actions were."
"...You saw wrong. I don't even know my age or my birthday, so I don't care. Don't sweat some arbitrary date I picked."
The Bear Elder had told me I'd collapsed on a barren hill in the Great Plains at dawn during a thunderstorm. They thought I'd been struck by lightning, so they rushed me back to the village. Surprisingly, there were no external injuries. Soon after I came to, they asked me all sorts of questions and concluded I was an "orphan who'd lost her memories to a lightning strike."
I was shocked at the time. I opened my eyes to find animal-eared people huddled around me, staring. The lightning excuse was lucky—it let me play the amnesia card right after reincarnating, without raising suspicions while I fumbled around. Or maybe it was real amnesia. Maybe this body had an original owner who died from the lightning, and I possessed her corpse. That would make me a soul-possessor, not a reincarnator. I couldn't have just dropped from the sky, after all.
Anyway, a lot happened back then. After the interrogation, they decided I was a "ten-year-old orphan bear beastkin without parents." How'd they figure that? Age from my teeth—all baby teeth gone, molars just coming in. Orphan because of genetics—no bear beastkin couple could produce a child with "black hair and red eyes" like mine. And another reason—
I was too pretty.
Even as a chubby-cheeked kid covered in dirt from the plains, my face supposedly shone. They said no beastkin around could produce such looks. I still remember Frost Fang locking eyes with me and murmuring in awe, "How can a child be so lovely..." That was the kindest she'd ever been to me.
So, couldn't I just be human? Well... the bear beastkin part, I'm still not sure about. I don't have ears or a tail like the others. Visually, I'm just a regular human. Well, humans with red eyes? Vampire? Nah, too far. I've never felt any bloodlust. Physically, there was no proof I was beastkin. But the adults took it for granted. They said beastkin can tell each other at a glance. There are rare ones without visible animal traits, even if this tribe didn't have any. Wonder if I'd recognize one too.
That's how the Bear Elder named me Ursa and tossed me in with the little ones I live with now. The kids instantly knew I was a bear beastkin too—"Pretty bear's here!" My birthday got set as the day I arrived.
While I reminisced, I spotted the Bear Elder fidgeting awkwardly, his massive frame at odds with his hesitation. It wasn't a big deal, so time to wrap it up. I still had to pack.
"Anyway, as long as you're not ditching me, it's all good. I've got some pride, so no need to worry abou—"
"Ditching you? What do you mean by that, Ursa?"
"...Ah."
Crap. Foot in mouth.
.
.
.
"Answer me, Ursa. What were you thinking when you said that?"
Unlike his sheepish demeanor earlier, the Bear Elder narrowed his eyes and asked in a lowered voice. "No matter how tough things are, to speak of being abandoned! How could such a thought even cross your mind?!"
"Ah... no, misunderstanding! It was just a slip—sorry..."
"Words carry the heart. If that thought wasn't in your heart to begin with, it wouldn't have slipped out."
Excuses like "slip of the tongue" usually come when the hidden truth leaks first. If I hadn't considered abandonment a possibility, the word wouldn't have come up. This seasoned beastkin saw through it all in an instant—he wasn't someone I could brush off with lame excuses.
"...."
I couldn't say a word, just stared at the floor.
After a moment, his sharp edge softened. Maybe he wasn't truly angry. "Hoo... Now I finally understand why you're so reluctant to show respect."
Beastkin generally don't use formal speech. It's not forbidden, but casual is the default, even with superiors or elders. I wasn't being arrogant by bantering casually with the Bear Elder or other adults! Sure, a few beastkin use formal speech with everyone... but most reserved it for parents. So what he just said meant: We treated you like family, but you didn't see us that way, huh?
"No! The other kids talk casually too, so I figured that's how it was, and it stuck! It's not like I refuse to be polite or anything!"
"Then try being polite to me now."
"That's only for parents!"
"I've raised you like my own daughter all my life."
"I've been here less than a year!"
Daughter? At your age, you old bachelor!
...I rolled that last bit around in my mouth and swallowed it. Say it out loud, and there'd be no going back.
Argh! Why's this guy so persistent? He latches onto one slip like a dog with a bone.
Feeling awkward and tsundere-ing out, I made his face fall. "...We must not have earned your trust... All my fault for falling short."
Ah. Menhera mode again. Another misunderstanding. The Bear Elder occasionally flipped into acute self-pity like this. For such a big guy, he sure didn't live up to the stereotype. Messing with him now would only make it worse. One fix for this: pat-pat.
"...Bear Elder. I'm sorry. My bad. Don't be mad, okay?"
Ultimate aegyo attack. I hopped down from the chair and patted his drooping arm. He wanted daughter vibes? Fine, it'd cheer him up. My stomach twisted at acting this out, but it was my slip-up. As a civilized soul, I'd own it to the end.
Realizing he was being comforted by a kid half his leg size, life returned to his faded eyes. "Ahem... Enough of that. It's fine now. You're a smart girl—you get what I meant."
"Feeling better?"
"...Mm! Time's gotten away from us. Off you go. I need to prepare too."
"Got it, Bear Elder. See ya~."
The second the dismissal dropped, I bolted outside, sprinting full tilt in case he called me back.
Thud-thud-thud!
"Phew~ One wrong word, and it almost blew up. What a way to start the morning."
.
.
.
In the cramped tent, the massive bear beastkin stared blankly at the flap Ursa had exited through.
"...So that's what she was thinking."
He pictured the girl's face. A child whose sharp mind belied her ten years. Smart kid. As the oldest among the ones she lived with, she'd won them over in under a month despite the unfamiliar surroundings. Now, controlling or caring for the others without Ursa was impossible. She was their guardian.
Her cute looks that naturally lifted the corners of his mouth played a part, but he figured it stemmed from her inherent kindness. How diligent was she? She'd poke around everywhere, ask questions, and master things fast. Ignoring the occasional mysterious mutterings, she was a treasure who brought life to the tribe.
He'd chalked it up to natural charisma and thought nothing more.
But.
I was wrong.
He'd heard her true feelings. Felt her anxiety. Knowing that reframed everything. Volunteering to watch the kids? To feel useful. Trying everything? Fear that without it, she'd have no place. How could he let that stand?
Kids should eat, sleep, and play—that's their job. No need to fret over worth. A child's brightness comes from worry-free days. Forced smiles to hide cares? Not for her.
"I can't just let this slide."
Let her be a child. That was the Bear Elder's resolve.