The Day I Was Born

December ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠24th. Christmas Eve.

This year, it wasn't real snow falling from the sky, but pure white fragments of mana, scattering down until the streets themselves seemed to glow.

The shards vanished the moment they touched the ground. Between them, all kinds ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of people moved along the avenues: couples dressed to the nines, hands tightly linked, trading tender smiles; children out with their parents, unable to hide their excitement as they watched the mana drift down.

Shopkeepers still hard at work even on a day like this bustled past, and so did hunters on patrol, weary faces bent over steaming cups of coffee as they walked by me.

"Ugh. Pulling duty on a day like this."

"I miss when things were normal."

"Come on, Captain. You make bank. What's there to complain about?"

"Kid, what's the point of making money if you never get a break? Even if we were scraping by, an ordinary life was better."

An ordinary life, huh.

Was it really so extraordinary that, every so often, mana shards from a closing Gate drifted down in place of rain or snow?

Was it strange that a witch on a broomstick or a bird beastman with wings might tap on an apartment balcony window to hand over a delivery?

A famous cosmetics shop had a poster of an idol with fox ears and a tail plastered across its wall. On the street billboards, an elf actor smiled and held up a potion in a commercial.

Was it not ordinary that people got the same disaster text, shrugged it off without a second thought, and went right back to staring at their phones?

I was still lost in that pointless train of thought when the person I'd been waiting for gave my shoulder a familiar clap.

"Min. Sorry I'm late. Been waiting long?"

"Nah. I just got here myself."

"Let's get inside. You're gonna freeze."

I didn't know much about anything else—but spending a sparkling Christmas Eve alone with my childhood best friend, a guy with dark skin and improbably white hair, was definitely a long way from ordinary.

Of course, two guys meeting up on Christmas Eve had always been a little weird, past or present.

"How do you manage to come see me every single Eve?"

"Huh? Of course I do. Tomorrow's your birthday."

"Then just come tomorrow afternoon. How do you clear your schedule for Eve every year?"

A world-famous rich Dragon Beastman with an eye-catching, dazzling appearance, a celebrity young enough to already be a professor at the Academy—coming to see me on Christmas Eve just because it was my birthday?

Wasn't that less "unusual" and more outright fantasy?

I'd spent more than twenty years as Lee Jihoo's friend. I knew better than anyone that the women after him weren't just one or two.

Every year around this time, classmates and seniors blew up my phone asking about his schedule until I was the one exhausted.

"You're not busy?"

"Why would a professor be busy on a holiday?"

"Forget it. Stupid question."

How did he kick every single invitation to the curb every Christmas Eve just to come see me?

Then again, last year he'd dragged me along to a mutual acquaintance's engagement party—one he absolutely had to attend—so maybe that said everything.

I'd been hauled into a chaebol party and sweated bullets under every stare in the room. And in the middle of someone else's celebration, this idiot had me receive birthday congratulations. I never wanted to live through that nightmare again.

I knew dragons got obsessive once they decided on something. But did it have to be their childhood friend's birthday?

"How's your mom doing?"

"You came by the restaurant last week and ate with us."

"Hey. Do you know how many meals your mom has cooked for me? I'm basically a son at this point. Of course a son has to ask how his mom is every time."

"You called her yesterday, you lunatic."

I wondered if the women who contacted me fishing for Jihoo's schedule had any idea.

That hanging around the Academy campus was a worse bet than just showing up at our restaurant for lunch every day if they wanted to run into him.

The son of a world-famous conglomerate family dropping by a no-name eatery whenever he had free time for a plate of spicy pork rice bowl? No one would believe it even if I told them.

"Man. Two guys out together on Christmas Eve really draws eyes, huh."

Does this lizard not realize the stares are all because of him?

A face that famous, the heir to a chaebol family that recognizable, cracking open soju at a neighborhood pork belly place—of course people were going to stare out of sheer curiosity.

The girl working the grill right now had her face bright red and kept sneaking glances at him.

"Hey. Eat already. This stew's good."

I half wondered if he even noticed the doenjang stew going into his mouth. I was stuck under the same stares every time. A little awareness would have been nice.

…Well. A guy with that much money still choosing a cheap place like this was its own kind of consideration, I supposed.

"Speaking of which—still getting a lot of Academy applicants?"

"Don't even start. Last time I got an application from someone born in 1918."

"…An elementary schooler?"

"No."

Awakening could reverse aging and extend lifespans, sure—but a hundred-year-old grandpa applying to the Academy?

"…You interested in the Academy?"

"Come on. What's a non-awakened guy like me got to be interested in? Curiosity, that's all."

No. I was plenty interested. Jihoo knew that perfectly well, too.

I'd been obsessed with hunters and awakened people since I was a kid, and I still hadn't given up—I kept throwing applications at related jobs even now.

He also knew I'd been staring blankly at a rejection notice from a company I'd just applied to, and that if he put in so much as a word, I'd pass without breaking a sweat.

But he also knew how uncomfortable I was accepting his help.

Even now, knowing I felt guilty about a single expensive meal, he'd deliberately picked a cheap place where we could easily go Dutch.

"Hey, hey. Slow down."

I really was an idiot.

One closed eye and I could have the job I wanted, the expensive meals—all of it, easy.

What was friendship worth, that I found it so hard to bend that scrap of pride?

"Kh. I'm fine."

I didn't really know myself.

"I told you to take it slow."

"Ah'm shstill… totally fine!"

"Bullshit."

Maybe my mood had been too complicated.

In the end I couldn't stop myself from overdoing it, drinking until my tongue tangled and I could barely form words.

Even after we got out of the taxi the alcohol refused to clear, and I only made it into the elevator leaning on Jihoo for support.

"Mom! We're home."

I couldn't even punch in the door-lock code properly. Jihoo entered it for me and opened the front door.

"Aigoo. I'm so sorry, Jihoo. You must've had a rough time."

"It's fine. It wasn't hard at all."

"It's late. Why don't you just sleep here? I'll lay out a blanket—go wash up."

"Then I'll take you up on that."

With Jihoo's help, I managed to collapse onto the bed.

I was too drunk to stay upright, but for some reason sleep wouldn't come.

I lay awake until Jihoo settled into the blanket Mom had laid out on the floor.

"Hey."

"What. You're not sleeping?"

What had I even wanted to say when I opened my mouth?

Words that wouldn't arrange themselves into anything coherent kept circling inside it.

"Thanks. Every year."

"For what."

"For ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠always remembering my birthday. Every year. Thanks."

A guy who lived in a completely different world from mine, just because we'd known each other since we were kids—hauling my drunk self all the way home, marking my birthday without fail every single year.

All the ways he seemed indifferent and still quietly looked out for me. I was grateful. And somewhere in the middle of always being the one receiving that care, I'd started feeling inferior all on my own.

"Quit talking nonsense and go to sleep. I only came so I could freeload Mom's hangover soup tomorrow."

"Yeah…"

Even a little would be enough.

I wasn't asking to stand as his equal.

Just a little. If I could stand even a little closer to the same line as him—that would be enough.

With that thought, I quietly closed my eyes.

"Kids! Get up and come eat!"

Mom's voice calling from outside slowly pulled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my eyes open.

I'd come home last night so drunk I couldn't walk on my own. I'd fully expected to spend the whole day wrecked by a hangover, barely able to open my eyes.

But somehow my eyes opened lightly, and my body felt clean and rested, like I'd slept perfectly.

Well. No hangover was a good thing.

I thought nothing of it, pushed the blanket aside, and sat up—

"…Huh?"

Sensations I'd never felt in my life flooded my head and threw everything into disorder.

An unfamiliar weight across my chest.

A line of sight a little lower than usual.

Air in the room filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heater.

And along my spine, the alien sensation of something that didn't belong—plus a thin, light voice I couldn't believe had come from my own mouth.

"M-Mom! Something's wrong with—ugh!"

Startled by the sudden change in my body, I tried to scramble out of bed in a panic—only for the strange weight running down my back to throw off my center of gravity. I stumbled, caught my leg on Jihoo still sleeping on the floor, and went down hard.

"Ack!"

I collapsed on top of him with a dull thud that filled the room.

"S-Sorry!"

"Hey! If you've got a hangover, just stay in bed and—"

Jihoo's voice, starting off annoyed through a pained grimace, gradually trailed off.

Then, with a look of pure shock, he wordlessly reached toward the mirror in my room.

"Ah…?"

What the mirror reflected was not two guys tangled together first thing in the morning.

It was a girl, staring into the glass from on top of Jihoo's body with a stunned expression.

Long emerald-green hair spilled over her shoulders. Her eyes were the same gemstone yellow as Jihoo's. A beautiful girl—with a pair of solid horns rising from her head, and a thick reptilian tail covered in scales the color of her hair, forced out through her clothes and swaying behind her.

Faced with a version of myself transformed overnight into something completely different, Jihoo and I froze without a word and simply stared at the mirror for a long time.

"Kids? I heard a loud noise…. Oh my."

"Ah…"

That awkward silence lasted until Mom, worried by the sound from my room, opened the door with a concerned look—

and saw the two of us piled on top of each other like something out of a scandal. She smiled as if doing us a favor, said nothing at all, closed the door, and left again.

"Mom!!!"

It's a misunderstanding!

I don't know what you're thinking, but it's a misunderstanding!