Just a Sprout (2)

A tiny bird no bigger than a single flower went flitting about.

It was a hummingbird that lived on nectar, and it came calling on the neighboring flowers from the early morning. It hovered in place, wings beating furiously, then dipped its beak into a blossom. Slurp, slurp went the nectar.

Wow, you got your breakfast.

I waved my cotyledons in greeting. The hummingbird glanced back and tilted its head, studied me for a long moment, then whirred away. Apparently a sprout with no nectar wasn't worth its attention.

Well, I'm interested in you, so come again.

Come to think of it, maybe I should follow my hummingbird neighbor's example and fill my own belly.

I turned my focus to my roots.

Ever since I'd become a healthy sprout, my radius of perception had grown considerably. The territory my roots had to work over expanded along with it, which meant each pass took more time than before.

But I wasn't worried. A plant's life comes with no deadlines. Take things one step at a time, and one day you'll arrive exactly where you mean to be.

My roots probed at a buried stone in the soil below. It was an obstruction standing in the way of smooth expansion. I could have routed around it, but that meant abandoning my straight line.

You. I choose you as my next target.

I spread my roots over the stone's surface like a blanket. The moment I sensed a crack, I slipped into it delicately, filling every crevice with fine rootlets. The roots on the stone's surface pulled inward while the rootlets inside pried outward.

Heave-ho, heave-ho.

The stone gave off a faint grinding sound. To anything on the surface it would have gone utterly unnoticed, but to an earthworm passing by it must have been a deafening rumble.

Rainwater flowed through and dried, flowed and dried again, and at last the stone split open. Cool underground air exchanged places through the gap. My roots burrowed into the fissure and pushed through to the soil on the far side.

Yoo-hoo! Highway ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠officially open. That's one problem solved.

My field of vision stretched out all at once.

Beyond the yellow flower I'd only barely been able to make out at the edge of my range, a huge expanse revealed itself. A sea of yellow flooded my sight — row upon row of similar yellow blooms in full flower.

Whoa. The flower next door was from a big family? A huge big family, no less.

This was only a fraction of what I could see, but I doubted the field ended anywhere near here. So that's why everything looked so lovely — they'd clearly been raised with plenty of love. Being neighbors with such a beautiful, harmonious extended family made me the happiest sprout alive.

Yoo-hoo. Another happy day.

Then a fluffy little ball of fur padded into my flower-field territory. A small white animal with red eyes — a rabbit.

Wow, a rabbit!

So rabbits live here too? This world is wonderful.

The rabbit pressed its nose to a flower and sniffed.

You enjoying the fragrance too?

It was not.

Front teeth flashed, and the stem snapped. The severed flower vanished into the rabbit's mouth, the stem dangling out of it swaying back and forth as it chewed — and then it was gone.

Whoa?

The rabbit smacked its lips and licked its chops, savoring the taste. And finding it satisfactory, it let out a long, contented pii~yoook.

At that cry, my cotyledons trembled hard.

Oh no. Rabbit······.

R-rabbit.

I looked away. But even holding my cotyledons neatly at attention, I could feel an intense stare on me. It was the rabbit, now working on a fresh flower. Its eyes went round, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it dropped the flower mid-bite, and it came toward me.

W-whoa······.

The rabbit sniffed at my cotyledons.

I know, I know. I look pretty unusual, don't I? I'm a dicot, so I'm shaped like a sprout through and through — except I'm already as tall as the weeds next door. A sprout so big and thick you'd wonder why I'm still a sprout at all.

The rabbit inhaled deeply. The fragrance of my cotyledons got sucked in with an audible whoosh. The rabbit shuddered in rapture.

My cotyledons shuddered right along with it.

B-but look. Isn't a mystical sprout like me something you're supposed to protect? I might be a natural monument! I understand I look incredibly delicious, but let's hold our desires in check — together, for the future of this world.

Grit. Grit.

You can do it, right?

The rabbit bared its front teeth. A drop of drool fell onto my cotyledon.

Yeah. No, you can't.

But I have tricks of my own. Try to eat me easily, and you'll regret biting off more than you can chew!

The front teeth lunged without hesitation.

That's the spirit. Bring it on.

A level of focus I had never once known in my life as a plant took hold of me.

The teeth arrived right in front of my face. I strained my cotyledons back with all my might. My stem followed, flexing like a bow, and the teeth sliced through empty air with a clack of closing jaws.

One, two — HYAH!

I let go of my cotyledons. They snapped back to their place, the stem whipping after them, and the cotyledon flung out like a bullwhip and cracked the rabbit square on the nose. The impact rang out.

The rabbit leapt backward, scared out of its wits, puffed its fur up into a bottle brush, hopped in place a few times, shuddered — and bolted. You'd have thought it had seen a ghost.

Yoo-hoo.

That, my friends, is the fruit of the Growing-Taller Exercise. Do it every single day, and even a rabbit is beatable.

Attention, neighbors! I have bravely defeated a rabbit. From now on, you may call me the Rabbit-Slayer Sprout.

I spread my cotyledons wide and basked in the sunlight.

Victory sunshine. Thank you, as always.

The Rabbit-Slayer Sprout's days are solemn and dignified.

Survey the state of the root production grounds — solemnly. Wave the cotyledons — solemnly. Check the day's sunlight and spread the cotyledons wide — solemnly. Every single day.

My roots spread across the full breadth of my underground vision.

All set. Nutrients — you are released.

The nutrients surged through my entire body.

I grew taller, and my cotyledons thickened and swelled.

A still wider yellow flower field came into view. A droplet of water fell and set one blossom swaying. Then the rain came pouring down, and the whole yellow family swayed and danced along with it.

And then, among the yellow, I caught sight of a flash of pink. A single pink flower was dancing alone in the middle of that yellow sea. It was a beautiful dance.

Whoa — a pink flower.

You're the star of today's party. Gorgeous.

My cotyledons swayed along, keeping time with the rain.

A joyful day had begun.

Right, let's go dig up the underworld again today too.

I turned my focus to my roots.

This time, I planned a revolution in the way they grew.

What I'd learned so far was that there was no need to blanket my entire underground field of view in dense, packed roots. Spreading them just far enough to draw in nutrients, with plenty of open space in between, let the air circulate — cooler, cleaner, better. It even cut down on the nutrients and time consumed.

Until now I'd relied, sprout-like, on instinct and my trusty dense roots — but the time had come to choose the harder path.

It'll be exhausting at first, but once I get skilled at it, it'll pay off big.

Picturing the roots of a great tree, I stretched myself out. One thick root pioneered its way through the soil, and once it had extended far enough, smaller roots branched off it and burrowed into the surrounding ground. A bold design that abandoned my reliance on fine rootlets entirely.

I worried the sparse coverage might leave patches of territory unclaimed. But it was only a matter of slower versus faster — the smaller roots leisurely drank up nutrients from the surrounding range all the same. Not fine rootlets so much as achievable absorption.

Once I'd seen the results, I redesigned my existing roots.

I cut off the nutrients flowing into unnecessary fine rootlets, let them wither, and cleared them away. The core roots in key positions got extra nutrients instead, thickening them up. Some pruned, some reinforced.

Negative space — the beauty of the空白. Hmm, how do I put this. The art of knowing what to leave out.

By my current standards, anyway, this looks pretty clean.

Grow, grow!

My body shot upward. I was now tall enough to look down on the neighboring weeds with ease. What a novel feeling.

About four days passed. The cool chill of dawn arrived, pleasantly on schedule.

I maxed out the level!

Another decision about my future, huh.

I did put it off once before — it really is time I gave my future some serious thought.

So, what should I become?

A flower?

After watching the pink flower's exhilarating dance, my heart leaned toward flowers. I couldn't promise I'd dance that well, but I wanted to be a flower like that.

A tree?

There wasn't a single tree anywhere nearby, so I hesitated. It would have been so much easier to imagine if a splendid tree were my neighbor.

And so, I······.

You can put it off again, so I'll just stay a sprout for now.

"Different from the cotyledons up," is it? Thank you for the compliment.

I examined my body.

Did something about me change?

When I'd become a Healthy Sprout, my cotyledons had gleamed with a fresh sheen, and my whole body had felt full of vigor. It was a feeling you simply couldn't get from ordinary physical growth.

If I hadn't gotten healthy, I never would have become the Rabbit-Slayer, that's for sure.

But this time, nothing much registered. My body had grown, sure, but that was growth doing what growth does — nothing out of the ordinary. I poked around both cotyledons, scrutinizing every last corner between them, and I truly could not find a thing.

Maybe I should just be satisfied with the compliment.

The change revealed itself only when I examined my own interior.

Something new stirred within my body. Something so faint, so slight — and yet undeniably there.

Mana. So this is mana.

The moment I recognized it, I could feel mana's presence everywhere within my perception.

The wind and the air were steeped in it. The soil and the plants held none, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but I could feel it in the hummingbird sipping nectar.

I have mana now. The thing that shows up in all those — those webtoons.

I focused my mind on the mana. It was a faint current, but I could move it as I wished. Down into my roots it went, then back up to my cotyledons, again and again.

But how am I supposed to actually use it?

I pooled it in my roots and watched for anything to happen, but I couldn't tell what, if anything, changed.

Then, thinking of the water I knew best, I pushed the mana all the way out to a root tip. Nothing happened for a moment — and then, all at once, the mana sprayed out and soaked the soil.

Whoa?

I sucked the mana back in, and it returned.

Phew. Thought I'd lost it for good there.

I turned the question over in my mind. How was I supposed to use this? If only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd known, I'd have read those webtoons more carefully.

Then suddenly, a brilliant idea flashed through me.

Ooh — I've got it. A really, really good idea.

This time I gathered the mana into my cotyledons. I thought of water and pushed it toward the tip, and just as it hadn't with my roots, nothing happened at first — but I firmly believed something would, and bit by bit, moisture began to form.

A tiny droplet hung dangling from my cotyledon.

Whoa — a mana droplet!

Huh, so that's how it works. I wasn't exactly worried about it, but thanks for letting me know.

I pulled my mind out of the system window and carefully raised a cotyledon. The delicate control honed by the Growing-Tiller Exercise — the Growing-Taller Exercise — lifted the droplet along with it.

I can do this without dropping it. Here goes.

I flicked the tip up with a light tap. The droplet floated free for an instant, then settled snugly back onto the cotyledon. Yoo-hoo.

I tipped the cotyledon this way and that. The droplet rolled across the surface, swallowing up the dawn dew, and in no time it had grown plump and round.

Whoa, a chubby dewdrop!

I've never seen a dewdrop this big in my life. So cool.

Quivering with delight, I shook my cotyledon — and the droplet slid off, soaking into the ground.

Oops.