The Strange Flowerpot (3)
"Water. That's what she wants." That's how I interpreted it. Come to think of it, I couldn't even remember the last time I'd watered the flowerpot.
There has to be something around here. I rummaged through the junk I'd shoved into a box and sealed away in the corner of my room under the pretense of "organizing." Sure enough, I found the spray bottle I'd half-used before. I'd gotten this spray bottle from the landlord along with the flowerpot. It was really meant for misting bonsai trees during cleaning rather than actual watering, but it seemed better than just pouring a cup of water like usual. I quickly filled it up and returned to her, who was still praying fervently.
I had no idea how much to spray or if this would even be enough, so I took a deep breath and aimed the nozzle at the flowerpot. It was such a trivial task, yet my heart felt heavy for some reason. This wasn't like the ant farms we'd played with as kids, following the crowd. I was afraid my hasty actions might hurt her or ruin everything. She wasn't just some simple beast, after all.
"Ah."
But as I made up my mind and began lightly misting with the spray bottle, I let out a small sigh. My gaze was fixed on her through the scale adjustment. It was raining. Inside the flowerpot, rain was really falling. The source of the rain gently soaking the bonsai, the soil, and her was unmistakably the water from my spray bottle. Keeping my eyes locked, I frantically worked my finger. Thanks to that, the drizzle strengthened into thick streams, thoroughly drenching the world inside the pot.
Is she happy? She stood up, showing no intention of avoiding the rain. With her face and body soaked through, she reached her hands toward the sky—toward me. And she smiled and waved. Even though we couldn't communicate, even though we were different species, I could clearly read her emotions through those vivid green eyes.
"What is she doing?"
But her work was just beginning. Once the heavy rain that had soaked the flowerpot cleared, she wiped off her wet body and started toddling around her house and the bonsai again.
Is it the apple seed from yesterday? I recognized what she pulled from her bosom—the spot where she'd dug with the shovel I'd given her yesterday. The seed from the apple I'd gifted her. She placed it in the hole and covered it with soil. Seeing that, I felt a bit awkward. Germinating seeds from store-bought apples wasn't easy. And even if it sprouted, growing a full apple tree would take a ton of time. Since she seemed interested in farming, maybe I should give her seeds from other crops?
I averted my gaze for a moment and turned on my phone. I deleted my searches from yesterday on miniature items that might help her and started looking up various crop seeds.
The World Tree is vibrating.
"...?"
But right then, I hurriedly set my phone down and turned back to the flowerpot. Some inexplicable anomaly was happening inside again.
"--- -----."
The flowerpot was literally vibrating. The tremor was faint enough that I could barely feel it with my hand on it, but this thick, heavy pot was definitely shaking. The source was the bonsai. A faint blue glow from her body—standing before it with eyes closed, murmuring something—was resonating with the bonsai.
The World Tree's power manifests.
And the end of that resonance was a miracle. The soil at her feet writhed, and something suddenly burst up from the ground. Right where she'd planted the apple seed moments ago.
"No way."
I couldn't believe my eyes even as I watched it, letting out a hollow laugh. It was growing. The apple sprout from the seed was growing at an insane speed, defying limits of time and nutrients. Of course, compared to a real apple tree, it was just a weed in the pot, a speck of dust. But to my eyes at normal scale, it was already a full tree towering far above her height.
A power that truly bent reality. Fantasy made real. She bounced her elastic body up the apple tree in one leap, reached out to a branch, and plucked a ripe, red fruit. Sitting astride the branch, she bit into it. Her satisfied smile said it was delicious. A sight that utterly shattered my common sense and prejudices—and one so beautiful I found myself staring blankly.
"Those damn ants."
But intruders disrupted that beauty and peace once more: house ants identical to the ones that had attacked her yesterday. They raised their antennae toward her resting on the apple tree and charged straight at her.
"Where the hell are they even coming from?"
I couldn't hold back my irritation, grumbling out loud as I did a rare balcony cleanup, scrubbing every corner spotless and spraying the pest repellent I'd bought. Of course, she instantly shifted gears, wielding the tools I'd given her to smash three ants in a flash. One hand with a hand axe, the other with an iron pipe—she swung them so fiercely it made even me flinch.
...Is this really the right way to handle it?
But after finishing the cleaning and returning to the flowerpot, I felt far more confused than angry at first. Now there were two apple trees in the pot. She'd planted over eight seeds, but only grew one—then, after killing the ants and extracting a blue glow from their bodies, she grew another right away. As if hunting them had lifted some restriction. Those unidentified messages didn't explain everything; there was still so much I didn't know.
In fact, she now looked resolute, preparing for the "hunt" with a grim face. Not just the tools I'd given her—she even carved and shaped branches from the apple tree with the axe into a longbow. I'd never seen anyone make a bow like that, elf or not. She plucked strands of her long hair to string it, split the toothpicks I'd given her yesterday into arrows, gathered them, and headed off somewhere.
Was the anthill inside the pot? I've never seen it till now. Only then did I shift my scale-adjusted view from her to other parts of the pot. It was a vast wasteland of dark soil, rotten flooring, shattered leaves and branches. But there, wriggling about, were the ants. They'd infiltrated my home and dug tunnels into the pot's soil. At this scale, they looked like ferocious monsters, but in reality, one flick of my finger could crush them. Still, even if I could intervene, I'd hesitate. Now that I thought she'd hunted the ants, harvested something from their corpses to grow the apple trees, meddling rashly might ruin her plans.
"..."
While I pondered, she trudged diligently across the ground and knelt on one knee near the anthill, inspecting the dirt. She even touched the soil and examined it closely. Makes sense—from her perspective, this pot was a vast world, so caution was wise. Still, it was a bit frustrating; I wanted to tell her to just go straight ahead.
"Here they come."
Whether her scouting skills were good or not, she pinpointed the direction instantly and advanced on the anthill. I could see the ants noticing her approach, a few heading her way. Without a hint of hesitation, she nocked an arrow on her bow and aimed at the clacking, charging ants.
Precise. It wasn't my first time seeing her fight, but with a bow, she was something else—like elves were born for archery. Her makeshift arrows from cut toothpicks pierced the ants' heads and bodies, dropping them instantly from afar. Her stance, speed, and breathing looked perfect even to me, a total novice. One-sided slaughter before they could even close in. Watching closely, I realized her arrows weren't ordinary—they glowed faintly blue.
Won't she be in danger if she goes further?
She shot down over a dozen charging ants, then grabbed her tools and pressed on. While she retrieved her arrows, I checked the anthill entrance. The massive hole leading underground felt eerily still now. Were the ants planning to fight inside?
But I figured out why when she reached it. The entire flowerpot had changed. The transformation hadn't stopped at the bonsai becoming the World Tree.
"---!!!"
Both she and I widened our eyes in shock. From the unfathomable abyss of the anthill emerged another ant. With its massive head, razor-sharp jaws, blade-like forelegs, and spines covering its body, this one was no ordinary ant.