A Childish World
"Can you stand up?"
"..."
I'd just woken up. The stark white hospital room, the curtains, the nurse in her whites—it was all too much for me to fully process after the repetitive routine I'd fallen into. A few days ago, it felt like we'd held Seola's funeral, but my memories were all jumbled up.
"The meds are still in your system, so you might feel dizzy. Want to hold onto sis's hand?"
I nodded. For some reason, words wouldn't come out easily, so I just nodded instead. In VR, thoughts turned straight into speech effortlessly, but reality felt like it had an extra step. I opened my mouth, but the words I wanted to say got stuck in my throat.
The hospital. A boring place that forced tedious things on you. Maybe because I was in a kid's body, the boredom was harder to endure than I'd expected. I twisted my body this way and that, rolled my eyes to count the other patients—anything to kill time.
"103 cm, 15.8 kg... She's even smaller than a typical five-year-old."
The doctor muttered to the nurse as he took the chart from her. Then came a string of dull tests. Covering one eye to identify shapes, hugging a giant teddy bear. Hold your breath for a bit—they even used the teddy for chest X-rays these days? Kid-friendly.
Having tasted the sweet bliss of deep sleep once, I now slept 12 hours a day and still felt drowsy, even though I used to get by on less than six. While I dozed off in the chair, nodding my head, someone I assumed was my guardian had sat down beside me, listening intently to the doctor.
The doctor explained calmly, but the uncle next to me looked pretty grave. Or maybe that was just his default face. His features were so rugged, it was hard to tell.
Exams always ended at the pharmacy. That much matched my common sense, at least. The world was so bizarre, it was tough to tell what was normal anymore.
"You'll have to drink this every day from now on."
The uncle handed me a drink that looked just like PoxXri StXrst. He'd even popped the tab for me. How thoughtful. Ah, this taste—I knew it. Not PoxXri, obviously. The nutrition label on the back confirmed it: mana potion, my daily meal replacement. They sold it in the real world too, huh.
"Tasty?"
It wasn't delicious, but palatable enough. I didn't comment. He didn't seem bothered by my lack of response.
"You've got nowhere to go now. This is a mess."
He took the empty can-like mana potion, crushed it, and tossed it in the trash.
I'd never had a place to go anyway—what was he talking about?
"What a bunch of stuck-up assholes. No support because you're not officially classified as a terror victim? Insurance this, eligibility that. No biochip, so they can't even confirm you're Korean. Damn it, if the mom's Korean, the kid obviously is too."
How did the country end up like this? The uncle's grumbling went on for a while. His dialect made parts hard to follow, but the gist was that Seola's victim compensation had all gone to funeral and hospital bills. Now, even one more day in the hospital would rack up astronomical costs on my tab.
"Sigh. What would you know anyway? You're just so damn pitiful."
The National Intelligence Service and prosecutors had washed their hands of it. At my age, I probably knew nothing about the terror anyway, and pinpointing the perpetrators was tricky. Walpurgis had been officially declared eradicated from Korea, so reopening the case was awkward. The state probably saw me as just a poor girl who'd lost her mom to some terrorist group—not even a full citizen, so no basic livelihood aid.
Detective Ma Beomil seemed driven by professional duty rather than stats. His words were rough, but his grip on my hand was gentle. In his other hand, he clutched my health report, flipping through it as we walked.
"I'd love to take you home, let you meet Ji-hye... but the law says no. Blame the job."
Ji-hye—his daughter's name? It sounded soft and round, the opposite of his.
Bottom line: I wasn't a terror victim or a legal citizen—just an illegal refugee of unknown origin.
We drove over mountains and across rivers to a remote orphanage. The building looked rundown, but the gate bore an official government seal—certified.
The uncle must've called ahead; a middle-aged woman with graying hair was waiting to greet us.
"Please take good care of her."
"Don't worry."
"I'll visit often."
"In 25 years here, I've never seen anyone who says that actually follow through."
Quite the cynic. That was our farewell to Detective Ma Beomil. Short connection, nothing dramatic, but I thought he was pretty kind.
"Name's Name? That's unusual..."
"NoName."
The aunt glanced at the intake form and spoke. I corrected her right away.
"NoName."
* * *
After passing through several hands, my battered comprehensive health report finally reached me. Not being an expert, some terms stumped me, but the summary? A walking hospital.
Stunted growth and underweight were basics. My body was beyond adapted to mana potions—full-on addicted. No potion, no life. Internal balance? Wrecked. Muscles barely enough to breathe, let alone walk—that took serious mental effort. The numbers were insane.
At least intelligence was fine. Mild autism traits and speech issues were the catches. Come to think of it, eye contact was tough. Had I even made proper contact before? The speech thing would improve, so I ignored it.
The orphanage aunt struck me as colder and ruder than Detective Ma at first, but she barely blinked at my condition—just no prejudice. Makes sense; unflappable types survive in social welfare.
Merlin Orphanage
This was my new home. A two-story wooden mansion you wouldn't find in the city. Rooms were tiny—barely fit a bunk bed.
Aunt Park Young-hee (name tag gave it away) finished intake and led me to my room after. Room 206, farthest from the stairs on the second floor.
Hwang Bo-young
Baek Arin
She peeled off the top name tag from the door.
"Bo-young moved to the first floor yesterday, so you take her spot. Arin gets the bottom bunk, you the top. It's lunchtime now—everyone's in the cafeteria. Grab some if you're hungry."
With that, Aunt Young-hee vanished.
No luggage. Even these clothes were from Uncle Ma. Not hungry, though.
Time hung heavy. I tried opening a mana potion can, but no dice with my strength. Gave up and headed to the full-length mirror by the door.
First time seeing my full reflection, I think. No mirrors in the hospital.
Seven years' uncut hair reached my waist. I swept the unparted bangs—half-hiding my face—to the side. Thick and pitch-black hair contrasted my sunless, ghostly pale skin. Eyes like Seola's dominated my small face—maybe a bit slanted, giving a fierce vibe. Staring down my own three-white eyes in the mirror sent a chill.
Arms and legs were sticks. Not just no muscle—barely any fat. White skin clung to bone contours.
"Who... are you...?"
A timid girl whispered from the door crack. Seeing me blankly at the mirror, she eased in.
"The new girl the nun mentioned today...? Wait, yeah?"
Nun must mean Aunt Young-hee.
"What's your name? I'm Arin. Baek Arin."
"NoName."
"Name? That's your name?"
I nodded.
"NoName's tiny. First kid younger than me. I'm seven—what about you?"
Tried saying seven, but it stuck again. Held up seven fingers instead.
"Seven? Liar!"
She couldn't believe a kid a head shorter was her age.
"Hey, white shark! Loving the solo room? Not bored without me?"
A tall, boyish girl burst in. No time for Arin to react—she slung an arm around her neck.
"Ah, Bo-young unnie..."
"Who's this? Oh, the new kid! Nice to meet ya. I'm Hwang Bo-young. You?"
"..."
"Huh? Ignoring me? Rude."
"Sh...! Her name's NoName. Right, NoName?"
"Can't talk much? Or just messing with me?"
"Nah, she's new and nervous, I bet."
"Fine, whatever. You two tiny ones suit each other."
Once Bo-young dashed down the stairs, Arin sighed in relief.
"That's Bo-young unnie, my old roommate. Fifth-grader, knows all the scary seniors. Be nice if you run into her."
Downstairs, she herded other kids. Elementary boss, apparently. Maybe that's why Arin roomed with her—bottom of the pecking order. Arin was bouncing now, reclaiming her bottom bunk.
Not interested in kids' palace politics.