Twelve Years Old
Two years had passed since last autumn. If someone asked whether anything noteworthy had happened in that time, the answer was probably no. There hadn't been any real problems, and if he had to point to something, it would be the growth he'd achieved over those two years.
He now looked down at the girl with the gray hair—the girl who had grown just a bit too mature to call a simple child anymore. The height difference between them had widened considerably, so whenever he headed to the alley, she'd be waiting for him perched on a wooden crate or something similar. Her intention to match his eye level was so obvious that he couldn't help bursting into laughter every time he saw her like that.
But even that wasn't enough to close the gap completely, so she'd end up scanning him over with a subtly pouty expression—a sight that had become routine. When he tilted his head in imitation, she'd wave her hands frantically up and down as if telling him to bend his knees. She must have loved feeling taller than him, the little rascal.
On top of that, puberty had hit him right on schedule for a boy his age, changing his voice dramatically. The boyish tone close to a soprano was gone, replaced by a rougher, more gravelly one that even surprised him a little.
His mother found the new voice creepy, while the gray-haired woman, unaware of what puberty was, fretted every month that he might be hurt somehow.
So, even if nothing major had happened, there had been changes in his life—changes that made him keenly feel the passage of time compared to before.
However, the muscle-bound bald guy's thoughts were a bit different.
"Hmph, no talent at all. In two years, that's all the muscle you've built?"
"This seems like plenty to me."
He wanted to say that training consistently for two years without missing a day had definitely bulked him up noticeably.
"But if that's all you've got, you're still just a boy, not a man."
"I'm twelve years old—of course I'm a boy. What do you mean, man?"
Despite having muscles unusual for a boy his age, the gym instructor grumbled from the sidelines.
"No, twelve is old enough to be a man. It's the age when you can't use the training hall for free anymore."
"... "
What a weirdo. He was dead serious, too—this guy hadn't changed a bit in two years; still completely nuts.
"Rini, cut it out with the weird talk when you send him off. That's why you don't get new members. Just advertise normally, and you'd rake it in."
Forget the fact that a ripped bald guy like him had such a cute name as Rini.
"Boy, what good is a windfall?"
"What do you mean? You'd make a ton of money."
The man was undeniably skilled, but his head was so screwy that hardly anyone signed up as a new member.
"But money like that can't be converted into muscle. So no matter how much you have, it's useless, boy."
"Then don't take the useless money and just make it free."
"... But before being a muscle man, I'm a person who has to pay rent. So pay this month's fee before you go, boy."
The nutjob was weirdly realistic about stuff like this.
"... "
"... "
Damn crazy bald bastard—look at him turning his head away like he's embarrassed by his own words. If you're gonna charge a twelve-year-old a fee, then don't go on about not needing money.
With those thoughts, he paid this month's fee and headed out.
So, the changes over two years had all been good for him. Even the toughest issue—physical growth—was gradually resolving itself. Everything was a positive sign.
"Hmph, sales at the shop are dropping, though. What do you think, Ain?"
"... "
At least, that's what he'd thought until Rendo's voice reached him.
"Ain, you heard me, right? I said sales are dropping."
"Wh-what? Why... why are sales dropping...?"
He played dumb for now, but he knew full well why they were down.
Twelve years old. Muscles that had bulked up in a way no boy his age should have. Height that had shot up steeply. A gravelly voice transformed by puberty.
"Yeah, looks like you really don't get it, so I'll spell it out."
"... Spare me."
A grocery store popular with mothers had a special trait: a child's cuteness drove sales. And without something new to replace that, it was doomed to fade away.
In short, his lost childlike charm hadn't been replaced by any new appeal, and sales had reverted to normal.
"Your salary went up as much as sales did, so it makes sense for it to go back down the same amount, right, Ain!!!"
"N-no...! Uncle, please!"
But the uncle didn't waver, even seeing him beg.
"Hahaha!! Blame yourself for not proving your worth this year! That's what the contract said!!"
"Aaaah... "
Instead, the man whooped in victory and did a little dance right in front of his despairing face.
Damn it. Two years wasted on this asshole. Give me back my salary.
As he went through all that to get through the day, the sky gradually began to dye itself in sunset hues before he knew it.
And when the streets started glowing orange at this hour, he always thought of a certain woman.
Once a month. For two years now, he'd been encountering the gray-haired woman in some alley just before twilight.
She'd changed as much as he had over the years, yet she still lived in that unchanging alley.
She'd matured quite a bit. When they faced each other, the childish air had mostly vanished, leaving her with a look that felt oddly ambiguous—not quite a child or a girl anymore—as she tilted her head.
"Ain."
"Hey."
Her appearance was evolving into that of a beautiful woman, but her behavior remained straight out of the past, unchanged.
Her gray emotions had sharpened, but she always greeted him with a dazed expression and parted with a faint smile.
She still approached with quick little steps to meet him.
"Not sick today?"
"Yeah, not sick."
She'd turn her head this way and that, checking if he was hurting anywhere. Her dress fluttered as she fussed over him, but staring at her like that, he realized the dress had gotten short. Just as he'd grown, so had she—her legs now peeked out white and bare past her knees from under the hem.
The novel never revealed the gray witch's age, but he figured she had to be older than him, at least.
"Ain, no injuries."
"... Why do you sound disappointed, like you were hoping I was hurt?"
So, in other words, it was about time to buy her new clothes. She'd grown enough that she probably ate more too, so he'd need to bring extra food. The wooden plank house she lived in needed more materials for expansion—or maybe he should just build her a new one.
"... "
His salary was shrinking while his expenses grew—an ironic situation. But looking at the woman staring blankly at him from her seat, he couldn't bring himself to say he wouldn't do it.
The responsibility was lasting longer than expected, but it was spending born of his own choices.
Resigned to it, he let out a small sigh.
And at that tiny sigh, she whipped her head up and poked her face toward him.
"Ain, your face looks bad."
"Ah, it's nothing."
Even if he said it was nothing, she'd gaze intently at his face, then shake her head side to side.
"But your face looks bad. You must be sick somewhere."
"No... "
If he had to explain, he wasn't sick at all—his wallet was just hurting a bit.
No point hiding it; the woman in front of him would keep shoving her face in and persistently ask why.
So he answered honestly in the end.
"Mm, my salary got cut a little, that's all."
"Eh...?"
"It's not a big deal, so don't worry."
He wasn't just saying it to reassure her; it really wasn't something to fret over. He'd saved up diligently without spending much, so there were no real issues.
Exaggerating a bit, it just meant swapping a fancier carriage for a less fancy one, or a sharper, sturdier sword for one that needed replacing more often.
He'd earn money traveling anyway and upgrade to better stuff.
But if she asked why he'd sighed anyway... well, no one would be happy about a pay cut.
Still, she seemed to take his words more seriously than that. Her eyes trembled unusually, and she shot to her feet.
Then she toddled—dotdotdot—back to the plank house, head-butting her way inside as she rummaged frantically for something.
"No, really, it's fine... "
"... Wait, just a sec, Ain."
Even repeating that it was okay didn't stop her; she'd already started searching.
A bit flustered, he stood and approached her.
"Um... "
As he stood behind her, wondering how to explain, her voice came.
"Ah... found it."
And she triumphantly held up what she'd been hunting for, offering it to him.
It was a small, shiny object.
"This."
"... "
Perched on her slender hand, it looked valuable at a glance.
"Sell it for money?"
"... "
He pictured the little girl who'd hidden it away just because it was pretty, not knowing what it was.
"Not?"
"Pfft... "
And here was the woman handing over something she'd treasured, without a second thought at his single word.
Staring blankly at her, he finally burst out laughing.
"Won't make money...?"
She gazed at him expectantly yet anxiously as she held it out. He gave her the affirmative.
"... No, this'll do. This alone could cover what I lost."
She'd been shrinking back, but relaxed at his words, her lips slowly curving up.
What she'd offered were two shiny marbles—the kind colorful ones kids played with.
So he'd lied.
"Really?"
"Really."
When she asked if he meant it, he confirmed immediately.
"Then take them, Ain."
"Yeah, thanks. I'll put 'em to good use."
He took the two marbles from her and tucked them carefully into his inner pocket.
"Good... I helped... "
"... "
Seeing her smile even deeper than before, he smiled back.
Now, he couldn't tell anymore. Were the calculated intentions and pity that started all this still driving it? As time passed and so much changed, these ongoing meetings with her had transformed him somehow.
Even two mere marbles in his hand tipped the scales off balance with their lightness.
Was it just that her offering them innocently seemed cute?
Or that handing over her treasured things without hesitation tugged at his heart?
Or maybe... her beaming smile at having helped him made his heart skip, if only for a moment.
Like he was truly a kid now.
Before long, he'd come to see everything as a jumble of unknowables.
Spring at twelve years old. He began preparing, bit by bit, to set out on his journey.
And the gray-haired woman prepared to become a witch.