Ugly Sixteen
The empire's final tale in the end begins to sing. The Hero and Saintess depart the empire after the send-off ceremony, continuing the protagonists' journey. The lights of the empire, where those two marked the story's beginning and end, go out one by one with soft pops—pop, pop.
A few lights remain, illuminating the beautifully arranged stage props, but the stage without its protagonist grows shabbier by the moment. Yet the empire's stage doesn't go completely dark, thanks to the witch bearing gray within her. A consumable in the tale, a spectacle for the masses. The pitiful woman meant to die for the protagonists' saga lingers in the empire's dingy alleys.
But looking back now, even though the story didn't unfold that way, the lights have gone out with another pop, darkening the scene further. It's a twisted tale. A landscape crafted by a willful little boy who arbitrarily altered someone else's story, meant to brim with sorrow, pain, curses, and rage.
The gray witch grew up showered in affection. She ate ordinary food, wrapped in clean bandages. She lived in a ramshackle house, took clumsy baths. But all of it was love she was never meant to receive, so the gray girl's story veers in a different direction.
Meanwhile, another light pops off, the stage darkening further. The girl is saved, becomes a woman, lives an ordinary life in her beautiful form. Another light pops out, until only one remains to light the empire.
And what that final light illuminates is an ordinary background character who was never meant to stand beneath it. He was a tiny child, a little boy. An extra with no role assigned, living a life falling short of mediocrity. So he became a strange man who demanded a role for himself. The culprit who twisted his own fate by defying the tale.
Perhaps that's why the empire's last light shone so clearly on him alone. Time flows. Even that final light begins to flicker faintly. The tiny child, mere background, has grown and now steps off the stage. He knows the end approaches as he prepares for the next one.
And when that moment arrives at last, that day finally dawns. Go forth. Sing a new tale. The light that shone on him whispers this, then goes out with a tick.
Thus, the empire's final tale becomes the first of the next.
The next day arrives. I decide to bid farewell to each connection I've built, one by one. First up is the nearest spot from home: the Shinmin Library.
"Ah, so today is the day you leave. I had no idea."
"...I definitely told you last time it was today."
She doesn't even care that I'm leaving, her head buried in stacks of paper as she mutters indifferently.
"Sorry, Ain, but your departure isn't worth remembering."
"...".
I'd hoped she'd at least look up when someone comes to say goodbye, but this librarian is always the same.
"Actually, on second thought, it does have value. If you encounter new gray during your travels, or find new books, legends, or tales about it, please send them here to the Shinmin Library."
"No thanks."
Always prioritizing efficiency. Always obsessed solely with gray.
"If you won't, well, helping Asha will just take a bit longer. Can't be helped. There goes the value of your journey again."
"...You're unbelievable."
"So petty. If you're not sending anything, just go already."
She glances up briefly at my face, nods in a half-hearted goodbye, and that's it.
"...Fine, I'll send some."
"Thank you. Safe travels. And take this—it's a book compiling materials that might help on your trip."
"...".
I hadn't expected anything, but contrary to her claim of not knowing I was leaving, she slips me something useful and bashfully buries her head back in the papers. Somehow, I've slipped into Idrin's fold too.
Next, the training gym.
"Hmph, even at the moment of departure, you still haven't become a muscle man, you failure."
"...".
"I'm disappointed in you. How can you talk about leaving on a journey with such a soft body?"
Looking up at the insane, muscle-obsessed bald guy's frowning face, I feel a twinge of regret.
"...I told you from the start I wasn't aiming for your grotesque, writhing muscles, Rini."
"Your thoughts are none of my concern. I trained you with the conviction to turn everyone into muscle folk."
"Not bummed about losing a member and the dues?"
"Then pay up before you go."
Aw, fuck. Should've just left without saying goodbye. I slap a thick coin pouch on the counter.
"...That's two years for Asha, so don't bug her for money."
"Hm, muscles lacking, but generous heart. Come back and re-register. Travel safe, kid."
"...".
Even after years, this guy's as weird as ever. As I head out after our exchange, he comes after me loaded with stuff, handing it over piece by piece.
"Protein. Eat it religiously on your journey."
"...".
Two boxes of protein.
"40kg dumbbells. Hold 'em till you drop."
"...".
Two 40kg dumbbells.
"20kg sandbags. Wear 'em on wrists and ankles always."
"...No."
Four 20kg sandbags.
"Waist band, sneakers, wrist guards. Filled 'em light at 10kg each—wear constantly."
"No, fuck, stop it."
Is this a send-off or home workout gear? No clue. But he ignores me, thrusting more at me.
"Kid, watch the strong language. Makes you look weak."
"...Fuck."
"Cursing again? As frail as those puny muscles. Train hard, kid."
"...".
I glare at him, grab the haul, and head to the next spot. I know it's his way of showing worry and affection. But honestly, his heart's too damn heavy.
Ah. Fucking heavy for real.
Next stop.
"...What, you off on a workout trip?"
"Yansen, this is the 'farewell gift' from the gym nut you recommended."
"Ah, sorry. He's not a bad guy, though—cut him some slack."
I visit the adventurer's shop and meet Yansen.
"You know I'm leaving today, right?"
"How could I not? You worked hard. Came in as a real little squirt, but now you won't die like a dog anywhere."
He's normal, unlike those two lunatics, so the talk flows halfway decently.
"Any pricey farewell gift to eliminate even the slightest chance of dog-death?"
"...Why do you always try to mooch off me? Pay up fair and square, you damn punk."
"Nah, with all our history, you could toss a worried gift my way."
In this scene, I feel like the weirdo.
"History make money?"
"It does for me."
"Not for me."
"Aw, c'mon, just give it. You were gonna anyway."
Like always, we bicker routinely for a while.
"No, you little thug. I told you a million times—ask nicely if you want something."
"Please bestow your grace, Elder Yansen."
"Nah."
We chuckle through it, and shamelessly, I hold out my hands politely.
"See? Always like this—no politeness. I'm busy, so hand it over quick."
"Aw... Take this and scram, punk."
"Heh, thanks, Yansen."
For all his tough talk, he grins and tosses me pricey stuff like a dagger and armor as "gifts." First impression was pure money-grub, but now he's bashfully generous. I knew the wagon, tools, gear he sold me were better than what I paid for.
"Just in case, but don't charge into anywhere recklessly on a whim, Ain."
"Don't worry. Gotta live to mooch more off you."
"Such a mouth on you."
We grin at each other and say goodbye.
Finally, the grocery store.
"Leavin' now? Safe trip."
"That's it?"
The old man's nonchalant greeting as I lug stuff inside.
"What else? Seen you over eight years—said all there is, kid."
"Fine, words are whatever. Gimme long-shelf-life groceries."
That's the hidden sentiment he's been pouting over lately. Affectionate guy hides his hurt with gruffness, turning away. Eight years lets me see through it.
So we act normal.
"Packed up?"
"You were gonna give 'em anyway."
"When the hell did this punk pack? Asha, you know?"
"It's Ain. Whatever."
"Hm, unavoidable then. Eat and go, Ain."
Like scripted, he tosses a fat bundle of prepared grub; I catch it and bow.
But separately, does Asha know "It's Ain" stings a bit? Seemed unscripted.
Anyway, final goodbye.
"Thanks, old man."
"Yeah, get goin'."
"Stay healthy till I return. Maybe make a fifth kid while at it."
"You brat! Got two girls—no more kids!"
He roars heartily, gently placing a hand on Asha's shoulder. She smiles normally now at such touches, nodding.
"I'm really going now."
"Yeah, scram. Asha, see off this hopeless punk."
We grin, turn away.
And the two step out, footsteps slow. Thud-clack—shoe sounds echo, no talk. Market bustle fills the air. I steal glances at her as we walk in step.
Her gaze, always on me, now faces front. She surely feels my eyes but stares ahead stubbornly. Unlike days ago, beaming with emotion, longing looks—now calm, serene steps.
"...".
"...".
But I know it's not indifference. Reassuring myself would be dumb after all we've seen. I keep stealing looks at the woman pretending composure, trailing her.
Can't help worrying, so I shadow her silent back.
We reach the wagon in silence. I load the cargo hold thunk, climb the driver's seat. She stands head bowed blankly.
"Asha."
I speak first.
"Yeah, Ain."
Her reply comes quick. Voice steady, eyes hiding no sorrow. She beams innocently, waving.
"Go on, Ain. You're late already—hurry."
Urging me like she doesn't care.
But one difference in the familiar scene.
"I'll be fine. Go and come back safe."
"...".
No more stubborn formality. Unaware, she flaps her hand mechanically to send me off. I gaze steadily.
"Listen to the old man."
"Yeah."
Like her forced words wrapped tight, I play nonchalant too.
"...Eat proper, sleep well."
"No worries."
Can she really?
"Hit the gym steady, don't do everything Idrin asks."
"Obviously."
Won't she crash trying alone?
"If you need help, old man's there. If not enough, Mom too."
"Got it."
What if trials overwhelm her guardians?
"Wait, and I'll return on time."
"Yeah, I'll wait."
Despite inner worries, we exchange ordinary words.
"...".
"...".
And with that, I'd leave. Rationally, best farewell for us both. Even she nods agreement.
But staring, I think: Don't wanna see forced smiles. Her mechanical waving pities me. Farewells needn't be plain.
Can't hold back unease. Time to speak the bottled words.
So I say:
"If the bracelet breaks naturally..."
"...".
Recalling her words when receiving it: hope her wish comes true.
"Do whatever you want then."
"...Ah."
Her beaming face was so beautiful—I hoped for that.
Her calm expression crumples instantly. Pent emotions spill bit by bit. Faint gray ash scatters.
Strange mix of feelings, she approaches, buries face in my lap.
"If I don't return by then, do as you please. It's fine."
"E-even if you say that... it's okay?"
"Yeah, promise."
Bit cowardly promise. Bracelet lasts years at least. Tightly bound—won't snap suddenly.
Yet that time lets me reach my goal's edge.
Child or now, in crucial moments, I make sly choices.
And she rubs her face on my leg, lifts head, looks up.
"It's a promise, Ain."
"Yeah."
Back to formal speech unaware.
"If it breaks, I'll really do what I want."
"Do it."
Scattered ash vanishes; only her smile remains.
"Don't regret it then. I warned you."
"No regrets."
She yanks me down from the seat, hugs tight, final words.
"Come back safe, Ain. I'll wait nicely, obediently."
"Yeah. See you, Asha."
So. Just an ordinary farewell. Beautiful woman waves; unremarkable man rides off in wagon.
Plain scene.
Thus, the last light ticks off. Empire stage fades behind.
Ain and Asha. Their intertwined tale snaps pop.
Parallel lines diverge, though same direction.
Amid wagon jolts, two orbs in my inner pocket clack together. Colorful marbles in my chest. Bracelet wraps my wrist. Thinking of them, I grin.
And so the tale begins. The saga of a character who never even appeared stirs, leaving the empire for the wider world.
A cog halted defying god's will. One small piece twisting the flow bit by bit.
The moment he steps forward, it turns unstopping.
Gray witch's watcher. His first intended role won't release him.
Wanderer of the world. Thus, embrace the new role and advance.
From the moment wished, stopping is no option.
So go forth, ever forward. Reach your end.
Become protagonist of the newly written tale.
That is the fate you chose, forsaking the ordinary.