Fiddling with the Necklace
She fiddles with the necklace. The one hanging around the woman's neck gleams vividly in the moonlight.
"Hee…."
After toying with it for a good while, a laugh slips from her lips. It might sound a bit strange since she's never laughed in her life before.
"Hee hee."
It's the first deep emotion she's ever shown. Her restrained feelings, tempered by magic, burst forth uncontrollably, spilling out onto the floor.
"Ehehehe…."
Gray ash swirls through the room. Her surging emotions transmute into clumps of gray mana. It could be seen as a dangerous state, but she keeps laughing until she suddenly digs her nails into her forearm.
The wound draws blood, and through the pain, she vows not to let her emotions pour out. She fears losing control over them. She knows it's far from the "good girl" Ain described, so she reminds herself over and over.
She must be a good girl. She doesn't want to change into something he'd hate.
And so.
"Hff, hee…, mmph."
She grips her trembling body tight, fighting to control her emotions.
"A…, Ain."
She repeats his name like a mantra. Her nails keep burrowing into her arm, drawing crimson tears, but she doesn't stop until every emotion settles.
The emotions, swollen from her awakening power, don't subside as easily as they did when she was little.
She mutters to herself for a long time, repeating the process.
And as time passes, she stares blankly at her blood-soaked clothes and wounds.
"I bestow the shade of green."
⟨ Cleansing Spell ⟩
All traces vanish naturally.
Time flew by, and winter had arrived before they knew it. The one thing that had changed in the unchanging scenery was.
"Welcome."
The woman sitting at the counter, greeting customers like that. With ordinary black hair and deep brown eyes, she was still strikingly beautiful, nodding curtly with a blank expression—the only change in the landscape.
"That'll be 315 dera total."
Ain had told her it'd be better if she smiled, but she apparently didn't want to, handling customers with a stiff face.
"Thank you. …, goodbye."
She sends them off with some odd polite phrase, then turns slightly toward Ain and asks,
"Ain, did I do well?"
Every time she handles a customer, she asks like this, waiting for his answer.
So he gives the same response for the umpteenth time.
"…, Yeah, you did good. But instead of 'goodbye,' try 'farewell' next time. That'd sound better."
"Okay, I'll try."
Right. Then the next customer comes.
"That'll be 208 dera total."
She tallies it up, takes the money, and follows with her greeting.
"Thank you. Go on."
But didn't she forget something big there? You.
"Ain, did I do well?"
"…, No."
"I did bad?"
"…, No, you did good."
She's nailing everything else perfectly, turning to ask if she did well. Why's that the one thing she never forgets?
Still, her little slip-ups strangely boost sales. Just as female customers increased when Ain manned the counter, word must've spread after she started, because now male customers are pouring in.
Young men and middle-aged guys who'd probably never set foot in a grocery store come with baskets, buying this and that.
"That'll be 670 dera total."
They steal glances at her despite her curt tone.
"Thank you. You can go now."
Even with the weird farewell, they grin and leave happily.
"Ain, I did good this time, right?"
"…, Yeah. You did good."
It leaves Ain with a strange feeling. She smiles only at him, then turns back to customers with her blank face, but somehow his chest tightens.
"That'll be 180 dera total."
Not her mechanical responses, but the male customers make him uncomfortable for no reason.
"Thank you. Farewell."
He can't focus on his work, keeps glancing at her back.
And a gravelly voice calls out to him.
"Ain, you jealous or somethin'?"
"…, Not jealous. Just worried weirdos might show up."
She's still so naive, emotions unstable. Her beauty could attract the wrong types. High mages or skilled adventurers spotting her would be trouble.
"Keh heh…, but your eyes don't look worried."
"…, I am worried. Guys who never come to grocery stores are showing up."
He's just concerned for her safety.
"Yeah, yeah. Looks like it'll take both you idiots forever to figure it out."
"Ah, quit saying weird stuff, old man."
It's just proper vigilance as her guardian against witch stuff.
He keeps glancing at her until the customers clear out.
A month passes in a flash.
"Time for sales and payroll, kiddos."
"Whoa…, but aren't we a bit too big to call kiddos now?"
"In my eyes, you're both still brats, so it don't matter. If ya don't like it, get older than me, punk."
"No, it's not that…. Let's just settle up."
His age is still kid-level, so it's not irritating per se. But calling her—who's lost most childlike traits—or him, tall and muscled, still "kiddos" is a bit embarrassing.
Anyway.
The old man grins and tallies the month's sales. After a moment, he lets out an impressed whistle.
"Whoa…, sales really shot up. More than when you two weren't here."
"Looks affect sales big time."
It's an eternal truth, maybe older than prejudice against gray. Cute, handsome, pretty—works in any world.
"What, punk? You sayin' sales were low 'cause I'm ugly?"
Yes. Time to admit it, old man.
Ain smiles, sticks out both hands confidently.
"If you get it, hand over our bonus."
The woman beside him stares blankly, then mimics him.
"…, Bonus please?"
She extends her slender hand, tilts her head, speaks awkward polite words to the old man.
When Ain wiggles his fingers like "gimme," she does the same, clueless.
When he leans forward, she copies, staring at the old man too.
"Give us a fat bonus, old man."
"Fat…? Bonus please."
Ain grins as he says it; she repeats the words but smiles at him, not the old man.
The old man lets out a helpless laugh at their antics.
"Jeez…, punk. Teachin' 'em bad habits like this—what're you tryin' to do?"
"Not bad habits. Teachin' 'em how to survive."
"This is survivin'?"
It's extra income from built-up rapport and good looks.
"Yeah, do this to survive. Got it?"
"Got it, Ain."
To survive this harsh-yet-peaceful world, you gotta.
He tells her, who gazes blankly at him.
"Like hell you do, you brats!"
The old man's bellow follows.
They get their monthly pay pouches.
"But old man, feels like I didn't get a bonus."
"You shameless punk, why the hell would you get one? She did the work this month."
"'Cause I taught her good."
Memories from fall to winter are vivid. Taught polite speech, store basics, tips, even gave her expensive appearance-altering necklace. That's why she's sitting there blankly with black hair, brown eyes, peering into her pay pouch—his doing.
But the old man shakes his head firmly.
"Nah. You said looks boost sales. So whose bonus is it, huh?!"
"Kinda disappointing."
"Punk, I'm more disappointed!"
As they banter, a small "hup" and she stands.
"Cheap old man."
"Skinny twig."
Heading to the bathroom? They keep playful jabs.
"Potbelly."
"Dried anchovy."
Hah, as a gym rat, that's unforgivable.
"No, come on. Can't you see these muscles?"
"Win arm-wrestle, and I'll take it back."
Light footsteps patter closer.
"Cheatin' by tellin' a twelve-year-old to beat you with strength?"
"What can I do? You're a dried anchovy then."
"Old man's all fat, no muscle."
"Wanna test that fat?"
Coins jingle in pouches.
"Jeez, always threatenin' to hit…."
"Ain."
The jabs crumble as she approaches; her voice stops them.
"Huh, got somethin' to say?"
"This."
She beams, holds out her pouch.
"…."
"Ain, take it. I don't need it."
No hesitation, no regret—she offers it freely.
"You said you wanted to earn money too."
"So it'd help you even a little."
Her reason for wanting pay was twisted from the start. Not for herself, but to aid him through hardship.
And he doesn't want that.
He knows he takes up much of her life, but he hopes she'll live independently.
"It's yours, so you don't have to give it to me."
"But…."
She flinches at his refusal, shrinking back, but this emotional shift is fine by now.
"Keep it safe. Even if you don't need the money you earned now, save it—you'll need it someday."
"What if that day never comes?"
It might be after he leaves on his journey.
"You're human, I'm human—money needs come anytime."
"Humans get those moments?"
"Yeah."
It could be her adapting to normal life.
She's clumsy and awkward now, but her grown future is unknown. The plot's already changed. The straight path twisted when he took that one step. The big frame holds, endings might converge, but at least the woman before him will write a different story. He believes that.
And as if answering his heart, she nods vigorously.
"Okay, I'll save it like you said, Ain."
"Good plan."
She tucks the pouch away.
"Yeah, but if you need it, just say. I can give it all."
"…, Thanks."
Her face now brightens naturally at "thanks." She twitches with emotions, fidgets hands and feet.
And he finds it utterly cute.
But.
A villain ruins the scene.
"Quit yer yappin'. If ya got time to goof off in my store, take that money and buy somethin' tasty outside!"
The kind villain slaps enough cash for a meal on the counter, shoos them out.
"What a softie old man."
"What, punk? Scram. Store's closin' for the day."
He chuckles at the waving hand, pockets the money.
Takes her hand—she'd been staring blankly—and heads out.
He asks her,
"What do you wanna eat?"
"Me, that."
"Huh? What's that?"
"Cotton candy."
"…, Alright. Let's get cotton candy."
No need to ask, really.