A Name for the Squirrel
The protagonist and the nun seem to have only recently become acquainted. Apparently, they hit it off quickly because she found his diligent and warm demeanor—so unlike the typical adventurer—to be quite endearing. Watching them bicker, I couldn't help but think they’d become a little too close in such a short time. When he first brought me to the temple, she’d assumed he had rescued a slave from somewhere or was temporarily protecting a runaway, and she had thought, "He really is different from the others." That explained why she looked so deeply betrayed when I called him "Master." If it weren't for me, would they have developed into something more? Leaving that past connection behind, the debate over who would be my guardian continued on a parallel track. The nun was making valid points, but since the protagonist held the leash, a resolution wasn't coming easily. Halfway through, he seemed to realize this, too, and began offering only occasional interjections, adopting a defensive posture. It was a great strategy, provided you ignored the fact that his favorability rating was plummeting in real-time. After a long conversation, the conclusion finally arrived: "Hey, why don't you live here with me? Or... do you want to go with that guy?" It was the classic, "Do you want to live with Mommy or Daddy?" question. Seriously, that’s incredibly scarring for a child.
✠ I wanted the child to stay here. I hold his character in high regard; he is a sound and steady man among adventurers. Even setting aside the title of "adventurer," he is a genuinely good person. That is why his circumstances were so heartbreaking. I don't know what happened in the short time since we last met, but if he’s in a position where he has to take in a slave, he must be backed into a corner. Seeing him spare no expense on medical bills for a slave while he himself is struggling shows he has a truly upright heart. After all, there are plenty of people in this world who think it’s more efficient to use a slave and then discard them. Still, my selfish desire was for this child to avoid experiencing anything dangerous. I want her to grow up like a child should. I don't want her to suffer the pain I have. My left eye began to ache for no reason. Even though that shouldn't be possible.
Having made her decision, the child stepped out of my arms. She walked carefully on her short legs and gripped his sleeve tightly. She really is a quiet child. Now I don't even have an excuse to hold onto her. You have to let go of those who have chosen their own path. "I won't hold you back any longer, so come here." Is she sorry? I pulled the child, who was approaching hesitantly, into my arms. She had that savory, nutty scent unique to beastkin. I must have grown fond of her in that short time, given that the desire not to let her go outweighed any other reason. "If you're sick or having a hard time, come find me. I'm an expert at such things." I just hope you never have to. I hope you never get sick. I swallowed the rest of the words. I didn't want her to end up hiding her pain like I do. Behind the child, I saw the face of that detestable guardian. Until a few days ago, I thought he was reliable, so why does he look so untrustworthy today? Since there was nothing scheduled for the day, I thought it wouldn't hurt to bestow a small blessing. I pulled the child from my arms and met her eyes. Her face was expressionless, but that only made her cuter. "My name is Ameryel. Could you tell me yours?" When I asked, the child turned her head to look behind her. Is she asking for permission? "He isn't small-minded enough to interfere with something as simple as that." When I looked at him, asking, "Right?" I saw a lukewarm expression. No, not lukewarm—something else...
Ah. "Don't tell me... you don't have a name?" The child slowly nodded. I really wish she had stayed here.
◆ There was a minor issue at the end, but my custody was successfully transferred to the protagonist. He glared at the protagonist quite fiercely when he heard I didn't have a name yet. If he were a heroine, I’d suggest he look for someone else. I felt a bit sorry for him. But, wow. I really don't have a name yet. I gave the sleeve I was holding a light tug. The protagonist stopped walking and looked back. "Master." "Ma—Master! W-wait a second." After saying that, he scanned his surroundings as if he’d just said something he shouldn't have. Doing that just draws more attention, you know. It was a strangely amusing reaction. "Call me Jiun." "Jiun-nim." "Drop the 'nim'... no, never mind. Why did you call?" "What is my name?" "How about Hazel?" The answer came without a pause. I wonder if he’d thought of it beforehand. Did he name me after a hazelnut? Isn't it nice? It's cute. When I nodded, the protagonist's face brightened. "It's nice, right? It's a name taken from a nut called a hazelnut. I'll buy you some when I get the chance. You'll like it." So, this is the kind of person he is when he makes that face and says things like that. I’d only thought he was the type to lower his voice and speak rudely. It was unexpected. If I learned one thing from spending a day with Ameryel, it’s that the "quiet child" persona is incredibly useful. Perhaps it’s because the short history of "sold into slavery" stimulates the imagination. If I keep my mouth shut, nodding or shaking my head, people seem to let their imaginations run wild, looking at me with soft eyes even during mundane conversations. It was comfortable for me, too. In this world, my life began in that narrow cage. Asking about the past was troublesome. Names, family, and the like. You know how it is—when things get friendly, the "good" protagonists always try to send you back to your hometown, don't they? If you respond to those efforts one by one, you eventually become a suspicious person with an unknown identity, or you end up buried under the weight of the lies you’ve piled up. "I came from a country in the far east, where we eat rice instead of wheat, and there's a seasoning called soy sauce..." That sort of thing. If I were the protagonist, I wouldn't have known, but I’m in the position of having to turn lies into plausible truths: "The far east! Korea! Zipangu! You’ve come from the legendary land!" Silence is the best lie. If you talk too much, you eventually get caught.
I tightened my grip on his sleeve. I felt like if I let go, I’d be dragged back to that cramped basement. Unlike those dreary, depressing feelings, walking through the streets was something I enjoyed. Low-rise buildings stood roof-to-roof in a continuous line, and the ground was paved with uniformly carved stones. Watching the various races pass by, my heart raced. This was the moment it finally hit me: I’d really fallen into a fantasy world. As we continued walking, the crowd thinned, as if we were heading toward the outskirts of the city. There were more single-story buildings, opening up the sky. From a distance, I could hear the sound of flowing water and the rhythmic clanging of metal. "Can you hear it already? You have good ears." As I twitched my ears, the protagonist lightly patted my head. It didn't feel bad at all.
◆ As expected, there was a blacksmith shop at our destination. A large waterwheel was attached to the side of the building, and thick, black smoke billowed from the chimney. As we got closer, the sound of metal being hammered was quite loud. Every time it went clang, clang, my ears tingled. I wondered what to do, so I pressed my ears as flat against my head as I could. That felt a bit better. I was thinking he might be buying something from the blacksmith, but the protagonist took my hand and led me into the building next door. The small shop was packed with goods. Most were metal equipment, but there were also plenty of non-weapon items like leather armor, cloth clothing, and other supplies. "Master! Please show me some protective gear that would fit this child!" When the protagonist shouted, an answer came back immediately. "Ha! What kind of impudent, green-behind-the-ears brat is telling a busy man to come and go!" I made eye contact with the shopkeeper who walked out. It felt strange to meet someone whose eye level was similar to mine. "A brat dragging around an even smaller brat." The shopkeeper clicked his tongue and stroked his long beard. He was a dwarf. Unlike his rough tone and appearance, he was a skilled craftsman. He tried various pieces of equipment on me and quickly adjusted the lengths to fit my body. In an instant, I became Armored-Hazel. Even if it was just greaves, bracers, and joint protectors.
"What about a weapon?" "Do you have a staff of the right length? Something with metal added to the tip would be good. I’d like it to be a bit longer than a short staff for a child, but..." "You’re making some difficult requests. Just look around for a bit." With that, the dwarf went into the back room of the shop. "In that case, shall we buy some adventure gear?" The first thing the protagonist did after saying that was to pick out a bag. The bag he brought was a small, round one—low in height and chubby on the sides. The kind of round bag a small animal character would carry, stuffed to the brim. He’s got good taste. Maybe it’s because he’s a transmigrator, but we seem to see eye-to-eye on many things. If I hear his name, it sounds like he’s Korean; maybe we could be good friends. I nodded in affirmation. It would definitely suit me well. I’ll have to show Ameryel later, too.
◇ She really is a child who doesn't ask questions or talk back. Feeling guilty about the brand engraved on her right hand, I pulled up the glove that covered it. I feel like I'm doing something I shouldn't.