An Unlovely Eight-Year-Old
The night sky was pitch black, and just as empty. Cold. And quiet. Like a stage shrouded in a massive black curtain after the play had ended, it stole every scrap of light from the alley where the gray-haired girl huddled.
"…."
In that deep darkness, the girl mumbled to herself with her mouth. Sweet. Incredibly sweet, sticky enough to keep rolling that tiny lump around on her tongue. The candy from that nameless boy. To keep it from anyone else, the gray-haired girl hid them away tight, taking one out only when night fell and the air grew cool. Each one was so precious. Filling her mouth with sweetness, staring blankly at the sky, she felt a strange fullness that could carry her through the day. Her mind grew hazy, intoxicated, and leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, even the pain from her festering wound seemed to fade. Memories, hazy as they were, sharpened with just one little candy. She hid them carefully in the gaps of the wooden planks, rolling them slowly on her tongue only after the black curtain of night fell. Eventually, they melted away after rolling them long enough. But the aftertaste of candy lingered sweet. And so the girl replayed that day. She recalled the scene of the boy turning to leave, and how she'd blurted out those words.
"…, If you don't go, can't you… stay…?"
In truth, after blurting that out, her head hadn't filled with her own feelings so much as regret for her mistake toward him. The boy who hadn't seen her as human. He'd looked down at her like she might vanish forever at any moment. To whine like that to someone who could slip away like an illusion on a whim—it flustered her in a way that wasn't like her at all. An apology? No. More whining? That wouldn't do either. What words, what actions could smooth over her blunder? Staring blankly at the boy, her mind raced with such thoughts.
"…, I'll come again next time."
His single sentence had made her heart sink with a thud. And so she repeated it in her mind, over and over. Next time. He'd promised a next time. So. Now she had a reason to stay here.
To do what I wanted, there was one thing more important than anything else. The witch's feelings, my parents' permission, the storm of plausibility from the novel's setup. More important than all that—one thing.
"Mom, I want to make some money."
"Huh…? So sudden?"
No money. So many things I wanted to do, but no cash to make them happen. Sure, you might think what does an eight-year-old need money for, but beyond helping the gray-haired girl, I had grand plans for travel in the future. I planned to leave the empire for the duchy as soon as I hit adulthood. Not for romance, but practical reasons—the duchy had cheap prices and low adventurer registration fees. Time was tighter than it seemed. Adulthood in the empire was sixteen, and I'd hit half that at eight. Eight years might sound long, but it wasn't enough to change the landscape.
"If I wanna travel later, I should start earning now."
"Uh…, was that the worry you told your dad about last night…?"
"Yeah, he said it was okay."
He'd told me to do what I wanted yesterday, so part-time work seemed like a good start.
"No, no. I doubt there's much an eight-year-old can do…."
"If not, I'll deliver newspapers. There's more out there than you think."
"Son, don't talk like it's no big deal!"
Mom slapped her forehead in disbelief and yelled at me. Hey, why? Eight is basically grown-up. After hashing it out with her for a while, we agreed to look for a job together.
"…, I said I could just do newspapers in the morning."
"Son, hush! You can barely open your eyes in the morning—what newspapers?!"
"No…, that's."
That's not because I'm a kid—it's because I have nothing to do in the morning, so I sleep in. Even adults without jobs don't wake till two in the afternoon. And Mom does the same on weekends—why pick on me?
"H-hey, Mom only sleeps in on weekends…! Don't look at me like that, son!"
"I didn't say anything."
"Those eyes. Your eyes are so impure?! Anyone can see they're judging your mom?!"
"…, Probably not. Maybe."
"Son…, the 'maybe' at the end sealed it…."
She reads my mind like a ghost. Every time, I wonder who came up with "parents always win." Just look at this scene—another fight leaving scars. After the brief commotion, Mom and I headed out anyway. To find a job for an eight-year-old—sounded ridiculous even to me, but we'd promised last night.
"Zuben's dead when he gets home today, for real…."
Hmm. Seeing Mom mutter that, I figured a prayer for Dad's safety was in order. Anyway.
"…."
Not my business. So Mom and I started wandering around.
"Uh…, so it's not you, ma'am, but the kid who wants to work?"
"Yes, is there anything my child could do…?"
"Hmm…, we don't have anything for kids, sorry."
"I see…, thank you…."
We'd hit maybe ten places already, and rejections like this were the norm. Adults giving Mom suspicious side-eyes, then warm looks like "you gonna help?"—so endearing. But it was killing Mom.
Bonk— She lightly smacked my head, eyes misty as she stared at me.
"…, That hurt."
"I told youuu…. No parents make their eight-year-old brat work…. They're all staring weird…!"
Well…, too bad. I said to her,
"Let's check a few more places."
"Waaah…, son. Mom'll just give you allowance, okay?"
"How much?"
Yeah. Let's hear how much it'll take to buy me off into filial impiety. Early shifts, back-breaking work—could Dad's tears handle that amount? Speak.
"Uh…, twenty dera a month…?"
"Yeah, let's go find a job."
"Th-thirty dera…!"
"Got it, so let's hit the next shop, Mom."
Twenty dera was about a handful of the candies I'd given the witch last time. A handful a month—twelve months makes ten bags maybe. Oh, save up hard and I could travel.
"…."
Cheapskate mom. After five more spots,
we finally found a taker.
"Kuhaha! Rain, you look wrecked! Should've come straight here!"
"Yeees…, probably. Take care of our Ain, then…."
"Don't worry, head home! You look ready to collapse, hahaha!"
Predictably, the familiar grocery. Last stop after dragging exhausted Mom around. The usual counter guy heard us out and boomed a laugh, agreeing.
"Son…, Mom's heading home to prep dinner—you can get back okay?"
"Yeah, go ahead. Don't get lost."
Her eyes half-shut, utterly drained, so I nodded and waved her off.
"Okay, Mom's going first. I'm really gonna drop dead…."
Mom shuffled out, limp as a rag. Alone with the shop uncle, he spoke first.
"Kuhaha! Hired a few, but never a tiny brat like you!"
"Please take care of me, sir."
I'd never worked this young either. Bowing, he laughed again, amused.
"Haha! So, brat, how much you want and what can you do?"
Grinning, but I had to answer straight. Kid whimsy, and he'd dismiss it. Not letting my plans be kid's play. Realistic it is. Looking up at him,
"I'm a kid, so two thousand dera a month for now. Raise it if I do well."
Two thousand dera—fifty grand won-ish. Low for adults, big for kids who can't do much.
"Hmm? What can you do, then?"
"Shop opens at ten, so I come early, tidy warehouse and shelves. Restock from storage."
Staring him down, he laughed heartily.
"Haha! Sharp for a brat, but not quite enough!"
"And me at the counter beats a scary uncle there—boosts sales. Moms go soft for kids."
"Ha! Bold brat! If sales stay flat, you okay with a pay cut?"
Funny guy. Forgot how he cut prices and gave candy 'cause I was cute?
"Deal. But if sales rise, so does my pay. Bet?"
"Kuhaha! You're on! Let's see who wins!"
He thrust out a huge hand, booming. I grinned, shaking it. For money, I can play cute kid—coo and all. Capitalism runs on that; no shame in earning. So, uncle's wallet? Mine.
Yeah. I'm a kid. Not adult, just cute eight-year-old. Wheedling, charming adults.
… Fuck, waaah.