What Is a Good Child?
Even in the sunlit daytime, even until the moon rose at night, the girl sat still, lost in thought. What on earth was a good child?
Good. Being good probably meant Ain. Ain was good. She couldn't know what others thought, but at least in the girl's heart, that's what good meant.
No one else had tried to help her, but this one boy had appeared out of nowhere, casually approached, helped her, and left.
"…Ain."
She no longer had to clutch her hungry stomach to fend off sleep. The food the boy brought every month was still left over.
"Ain."
No new wounds appeared, and the old scars from being beaten were fading. Even the sadness inflicted by the kids who despised her was growing faintly distant in her heart.
"Ain."
What might seem like worthless scraps of wood to someone else was a house that blocked the rain and wind. A precious house the boy had built for her, hurting his hands in the process.
"Ain."
As she diligently recalled these things, the girl found herself smiling before she knew it. Emotions welled up.
The faint trickle of various feelings grew clearer and more distinct over time, gnawing away at her bit by bit.
The memories that had started with candy piled up and up, now springing vividly to life with just a murmur of the boy's name.
"Ain."
She loved even the trivial attention he gave her. She wanted to see that indifferent gaze soften into a smile again.
When they were together, her lips curved up without her realizing it.
Even though waiting for that long month was agonizing, the girl spent each day quietly sitting, passing the time.
"Ain."
In the serene alley—now the girl's peaceful alley—a soft murmur of one word echoed today as well.
"Ain."
It was the name of a boy no different from any extra.
"Ain."
It was a twisted cog that had ever so slightly altered the novel's flow.
"Ain."
And so, it became a sliver of hope that could change the gray-haired witch's doomed end.
Thus, the gray witch resolved herself. To become a good child. A good child the boy wouldn't hate.
She wasn't sure if she could become as good as him, but she vowed it anyway.
So he wouldn't leave her side. So he'd keep paying attention to her.
So she wouldn't be abandoned again.
She decided to become a girl who listened well.
The stage with its lights off. It wasn't utter silence, but no lines or actions continued.
With the novel's protagonists gone, the background stuttered to a halt, unable to keep up with the story.
Stagnant, eroded bit by bit by the phenomenon.
Until their attention returned, until they reappeared, it became just another unremarkable place, falling short even of ordinariness.
So.
The empire's capital, abandoned by the Hero and Saintess, was a darkened theater stage until the next event.
Occasionally, just as readers began to forget it, it appeared in a few lines as "news from the homeland."
What remained in the empire's capital were background characters described in a few words: the emperor, the imperial guard, countless imperial subjects.
And among them, barely scraping by with any role, the gray-haired witch.
Even that was so minor in her childhood that she couldn't even board the unfolding plot yet.
But at least she had a guaranteed role.
Maybe that's why I kept going to the witch—to ride the plot's flow.
To not be forgotten.
To not remain a background character.
To not get swept up in the novel's storm and die.
That's how I saw it: clinging parasitically to the witch's side, struggling to survive.
Gripping that thin lifeline, I eked out the next step in the quiet peace.
Creating a new role for myself as her watcher, giving myself meaning, as if I'd survived the storm.
Now, I began preparing to assign myself the next role: a wandering traveler.
It was a peaceful afternoon.
The grocery store's peak hours had passed, leaving me free to sit blankly at the counter.
Normally, I'd be bustling about even then, but as an employee, I was wasting time idly.
"…."
Maybe it was because of the send-off ceremony.
I'd told myself it didn't overwhelm me like when I was five, but ridiculously, it felt that way.
Because I'd indulged too much in the novel's tale.
Because I'd touched so vividly what had only been bundles of words.
Maybe that's why forgotten facts resurfaced one by one.
Travel funds were accumulating nicely. I hadn't counted exactly, but aside from witch expenses, I'd saved everything—no issue there.
"…Uncle."
"What."
"I can keep working here until I turn adult, right?"
As long as the good uncle kept exploiting me, there'd be no problems ahead.
"You think that's gonna fly?"
"Yeah."
"Spit out that jerky you're chewing and say it right, Ain. Now you're eating store goods like it's your job."
"Aw, why? This is leftovers from yesterday's sales."
"Ain, since when did unsold jerky become edible groceries?"
Well, that's….
"…."
Yeah, you're right. His words were spot on, but I kept chewing the jerky and flashed Uncle a grin.
"You're getting a pay cut."
"Ahh, I'll spit it out right now. Gimme your hand."
"…This crazy little punk. You really want that pay cut?!"
"If you keep letting me work, I won't eat and I'll work hard! You'll keep me on, right? Yeah?"
I was turning ten, my childish cuteness fading, sales dipping a bit.
Maybe I needed new charms to boost them again.
But still, I hoped he'd keep exploiting me until adulthood—no firing.
"Instead of yapping, grab this basket and make deliveries, you brat!"
Uncle, I'll work hard from now on, so don't toss me aside.
Anyway.
No issues with travel funds, but the biggest problem besides that was physical growth—or lack thereof.
Already ten, time flying from spring toward summer, yet I was still smaller than the witch.
I told myself it was just not puberty yet, but with regular sleep and lots of food, now I had to look up at her.
Seeing her look down with that lip-curling smile made me feel unfairly resentful.
"…."
"…Lately, why do you keep standing up?"
Like the witch standing before me now.
She used to just peek her head out from her plank house, but now she rose whenever I entered the alley.
Of course, I knew it wasn't because she was taller, but because she was welcoming me.
"…Looking up hurts my neck."
"…."
She still didn't think deeply about others' feelings, blurting that out.
Shit.
So was I looking up pain-free or what?
Staring intently with that in mind, her knees slowly bent, lowering to my eye level, as if reading my mood.
She must sense the subtle annoyance in my gaze, but she didn't seem to grasp how that irked me too.
As she descended to match my eyes, her already twitching lips curved up more.
Happy to meet my gaze, but unsure how to react to my less-than-thrilled face.
"…Don't smile?"
Unable to control her lips, she'd ask that, leaving me no choice but to shake my head.
I couldn't tell a smiling kid it was wrong to smile when happy, even if I was an adult inside.
So.
That was the reason in the end.
"No… just smile if you want."
"Yeah."
I nodded reluctantly to her question, and now she smiled quite naturally.
I watched her, suppressing my unease that her emotions were blossoming.
Her smiles came more often, her sluggish movements regaining speed.
Another turning point approached.
The moment her gray emotions deepened and overflowed grew clearer.
But even thinking that, I kept meeting her gaze.
Deep down, I thought her smile was more beautiful than my anxiety.
People said gray was just murky and hazy.
But gray shone serene and quite beautifully in its own way.
Even in eyes blurred like ash, light flowed with emotion.
Like the witch now—her rippling eyes bright with joy as her lips curved.
There was her own brilliance in the witch smiling faintly at me.
And yet.
Facing her, another thought crept in inevitably.
She was straightening her subtly bent knees and looking down again.
Not teasing, but her lips quirked mysteriously.
It could've turned serious, but with that right in front of me, it ended like this.
"…."
Gotta drink more milk when I get home. Damn it all.