So, Is This a Pet?

Was I running a pet shelter now?

I mulled it over for a while, watching the village swell up around me at a ridiculous pace. When we'd first met, these people had been living a hand-to-mouth existence, scrounging every single day just to eat. Everything I'd given them amounted to exactly one thing: the potato.

Of course, the potato was no ordinary spud.

"Hey, you guys? Don't you get hungry eating nothing but potatoes?"

I'd asked them that once. The answer? "Nope. Eating potatoes alone gives us strength." Not only did they stay full, they apparently got stronger. And they kept growing like weeds straight through winter. They just grew slowly, mind you.

A stable food supply is truly a wondrous thing. Potatoes don't need many hands to plant, and the harvests are enormous — so naturally, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the surplus people drifted off to work the saltern, catch fish, and make tools.

At this rate, a country's going to build itself, I swear. Seriously. Watching them go, it honestly feels like a nation is about to spring into existence.

The biggest, most influential village in the region — and yet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠beggar-primitive folk showed up now and then, just like back when I first met Garungda. And every so often, some oddly commanding primitives would drop by as well.

Wait, then where's our Dangun? Where did he wander off to? Something tells me a wildly different history is about to unfold here. None of this is my fault, right? My friends are just... hardworking. Yeah, that's it.

Today, I was wandering the forest. The cat had been nowhere to be seen all winter, and I was worried enough to go looking for her.

"Kitty~"

Where on earth does she live? If I just wandered around aimlessly, this could go on forever. Maybe she dens up in a cave somewhere?

"Kitty~"

"Krrehung!"

Oh! A cat sound! She must be close by. I pushed through the forest, following her answering cries, until I found her — living among the rocky hills nearby, sprawled out in a crevice between the boulders.

"What the— why have you gotten so fat over the winter?"

"Krrrung."

Crunch crunch. She devoured the potatoes I offered with astonishing enthusiasm. Was she hungry again, even after all that?

"What, you didn't eat enough?"

Looking closer, though, it wasn't hunger at all. She seemed drained — no strength in her at all, just limp and listless. And watching her, I suddenly remembered Agna not long ago.

"Huh? Could it be... are you carrying kittens?"

"Krrrlung."

I pressed my ear gently against her belly, but couldn't tell a thing. She was so utterly slack that she clearly had no strength left in her whatsoever.

"Wanna come stay at my place for a while? I've got underfloor heating — it's warm as toast. And it's dangerous out here."

"..."

We stared at each other for a long moment. Did she understand me? She looked so pitiful. She was just so weak.

"Fine, my way it is! Come on — to our house."

I lifted her carefully in my arms — and yes, by "using my strength" I mean telekinesis — and carried her back to the village.

There was a bit of a commotion, but I stuffed straw into cloth to make a big plush cushion and laid her down on it. What a well-behaved thing. Does she know what I'm doing for her?

With the fire banked in the stove, she soon grew drowsy.

"Purrrr... purrrr."

Fast asleep. Honestly adorable. This cat might as well be a bit big for a cat, no? She's never once harmed anyone since we became friends — though the villagers still seem terrified of her, of course.

She'd clearly been through a hard time, spending days doing nothing but eating and sleeping. Still, within a few days she'd recovered her spirit, and there came moments when she'd sit herself up properly.

"Krrrlung."

"Ow! Your tongue is way too rough!"

"Kuhng!"

Whether it was her way of showing affection, she licked my face a lot — but her tongue scraped like sandpaper dragging over gravel.

"Your belly's gotten enormous."

I could feel it. It wouldn't be long before the kittens arrived.

"Khhuuung... khehung."

That night was also a spring night. She'd been in labor all through it...

"Kyaak. Kyaak."

What on earth are these little chicks? Four leopard cubs had been born, their cries so pathetically unimposing it was almost funny.

"You're going to have your work cut out for you."

The fate of a mother facing a long, hard road ahead. All I could do was stroke her head in silent tribute.

Primitive life never changes. Wake in the morning, work, eat when hungry, sleep when the sun goes down.

Back when I made them those shards of iron last winter, I figured basketball hoops would appear within days. Not a chance. They're still too busy hunting for the right kind of stone — the kind that yields metal. I should probably set aside a day sometime soon to go mining with them.

Anyway. The leopard cubs were about two or three months old by now, and—

"I said, why won't you GO OUTSIDE?"

I was pinned to the spot, surrounded by the cubs, unable to move a muscle. They'd grown absolutely enormous — only slightly smaller than their mother. Weren't these things basically full-grown by now?

"No— no! Don't pull! My HEAD hurts!"

Ah. There go the tears. I need to conduct a serious study on the structural relationship between hair and scalp. Shouldn't hair snap off or come out at this point?

God, this is exhausting.

"Where's your mother gone, huh?!"

"Krrung?"

Ah... she's back. Apparently fresh off a hunt. That's right! Big predators are supposed to eat meat, aren't they? You can't live on potatoes like this, kids! Come on!

Potatoes as the staple, meat as the side dish. These damn brats. Do they see me as some kind of potato vending machine? Is that why none of them will leave the house?

Ugh... I give up.

"Mom's back! Go on out! Shoo!"

They were so heavy that every time they piled onto me, I got pinched and squashed in a dozen places at once. This is misery...

Still, watching them start to venture outside after their mother — well, they really are wild animals after all.

"Hah... liberation. If I were human, this would absolutely count as full-body soreness."

One thing had worried me when I first brought the cat home: the livestock pen. The animals the village raised — what if she or the cubs made a meal of them?

Miraculously, they seemed to know better, and always hunted outside instead. But hadn't the time come for them to head back out for good? Were they planning to just keep freeloading forever?

Against my will, I'd acquired a house full of deadbeat guests.

So... is this a pet now?

Spring had barely passed since the cubs were born, and summer seemed to already be upon us. My friends were out there laboring away, panting and heaving.

Sheesh. You work so hard, my friends. Truly.

But we had a big problem. It was raining. Like, really raining. Last year's downpours looked like child's play by comparison.

"Whoa? What on earth is this?"

Before long, the floods came. This is the lower reaches of the river, remember? Houses and potatoes alike were being swept away wholesale.

The villagers stood there, stunned and desolate.

"Garungda. Does this happen here often?"

"Every few summers, it comes."

"Whoa. So what do we do about this?"

"It's fine. Potatoes. We build again."

Hm. Well, he's not wrong, but... Sigh. Fine, I guess I'd better step in. Time to gather some stones and throw up a barrier wall.

I hauled back mountains of stone from the far-off hills. No idea what kind of rock it was, but hey — just smash it in there and it'll work, right?

Squelch, squelch.

Ugh. The ground was still a soggy, muddy mess. Once again I drove long, square-hewn stones deep into the earth, ramming them down one after another.

Thud. Thud-thud-thud.

Waist-high should keep the water out, right? Maybe I'd brought too many big boulders, because the work was moving along at quite a clip.

Once I'd built a good stretch, I called Garungda over.

"There. Take a look. This is going to hold back the water."

"Amazing. You carried this many stones?"

"Oh, that part's easy for me. More importantly — pack those gaps tight and solid. Then the water won't get over, right?"

"Understood. Akta has good thing."

And with that, my friends brought over a white powder, mixed it with water, and started slathering it on.

Don't tell me that's cement? Where did you even get that?

Akta's always been roasting random rocks over fires, so did he find it doing that?

Hah... the end times. It really is the end of days.

"Hmm, though — isn't this a bit too wide?"

My friends didn't walk slowly, but every time they went to fetch more materials, they were gone ages. Even hauling a full round trip, the pouches were never enough stone. So this time, I built them a road.

A great crossroads, running straight through the land!

And thus a new profession was born: the stonemason. They reinforced the flood wall and built roads, and with every passing day the wall grew thicker and thicker. At this rate, they might start calling it a fortress wall soon...

"Um... Haneul-nim? Am I... doing this right?"

KRRRAK-BOOM.

The rain still hasn't stopped? Now there's thunder too?

Life in the prehistoric age is truly monotonous. The long and short of it: I was bored out of my mind.

So I decided to run a little experiment. Normally, when I sleep, I wake up when I decide it's time to wake up. What if I stretched that decision out nice and long? Could I actually skip through time?

As a test... how about sleeping for just one month?

"Mm? You... you guys? Would you MOVE?"

Those damn cats were lying on top of me in a heap, and I couldn't get up at all.

"Kyaung!"

"Yes, yes, I'm up. Now move."

"Kyarrung!"

"I don't speak cat, you know?"

They seemed startled? Or maybe delighted? Hard to say. Shoving the kids aside with effort, I opened the door and stepped outside.

"Oh! Haneul! You're awake!"

A month is a long sleep, I suppose? That startled me, though.

"Yep. Morning, Garungda~"

"Are you sick anywhere?"

"Nope. Don't worry — solid as a rock!"

"Thank goodness. You slept so very long."

Turns out, from what I heard, I hadn't slept one month. I'd slept one YEAR.

Ah... well, at least I didn't get bedsores.

"Everything okay around here? How was the summer?"

"The water, you mean?"

"Yeah, the flood."

"Blocked the entrance. Fine."

"Oh good."

But hold on... that thing isn't just holding back water anymore, is it?

Up close, it looked like it stood at least twice my height. At this point, I honestly couldn't tell what was what anymore.

"By the way, how did you get the stones up there?"

Those weren't little pebbles wedged into the top of that wall — those were enormous boulders. Too curious to resist, I followed along the length of the wall.

"Whoa~"

Should I call it a pulley? They were hoisting stones up using a wheel. They'd rigged a pulley at the end of a pole, pulled ropes from below to raise the stone, adjusted the pole's angle, and slotted the stone into place.

"Ohohoho. Insane."

Who thinks of these things ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and just builds them? Someone with the makings of a Jang Yeong-sil was clearly living around here somewhere.

Then again, I didn't see a single thing made of iron, so Akta was apparently still toiling away as usual. Hang in there, buddy.

"Hm? Looks like they're planting things besides potatoes now?"

Doesn't seem to be rice. So what's that stuff that looks like foxtail grass?

"Well, they'll eat anything, so why not plant it, right?"

Aw, look how neatly it's all planted in rows. My primitive friends never do anything pointless, so it's bound to be food.

I laid the roads down first, so maybe they're just copying me — but paths now ran in every direction, and with the fields laid out along them, the farmland formed tidy little squares. Beautiful to look at, honestly.

Those reddening, bowed heads suggested harvest time was near. Everyone would eat well this winter too, then.

"Kyaung!"

CRASH BANG

"KYAAANG!"

Ugh... go play OUTSIDE, will you? If there'd been any furniture in this house, it would all be in pieces by now.

"I leave the door open for you, don't I? Go roughhouse somewhere with actual space."

"Krrung."

The cubs had outgrown the house, so I built them a whole second house right next door — and they flatly refuse to use it. Cats don't do group living, do they?

Ah, right — lions. There are lions.

"I definitely remember reading piles of books while bedridden... but I can't say for sure."

I'm fairly certain I read something about it, but the memory's hazy. The long and short of it: I still have no idea whether leopards are actually social animals or not.

"Dr. Hamilton, are you feeling any better today?"

"Bah! You rascal!"

The doctor's mood looked no better today, either. At the moment, he was investigating the potato.

"Is this really a potato?"

"Isn't it? Potatoes are famous, after all."

"Doesn't it differ from other plants of similar species?"

"Which is why many argue it should be classified as an entirely separate species."

Its growth, fruiting, appearance — all identical to the American potato. The strange part was how this thing thrived in midwinter while its cousins elsewhere wilted. And then there was its unbelievable nutrition: a protein content you could almost call meat, and calories per unit of land rivaling rice.

"Tell me. Do you know what makes a great power?"

"Weapons, sir?"

"No. It begins with population."

"Population, sir?"

In the ancient world, the requirements of a great power were simple: powerful weapons and an enormous population. And the very first factor in sustaining such a population was — none other than food.

"One could say this single potato built Daehan."

"WHAAAT!?"

The assistant nearly jumped out of his skin. What on earth does ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that mean? By that logic, shouldn't every nation in Southeast Asia have become a great power?

"Weren't the other nations of Asia similarly populous?"

"Still, none of their food sources were as reliable as the potato."

"Is there really a difference?"

Regions ideal for growing crops were usually floodplains — and where the rains came, floods followed. A single flood wiping out an entire year's harvest was commonplace. But potatoes could be planted any time.

Even in the dead of winter.

"And then there was the open-pit mine. That mattered a great deal."

"Ah, that's famous even now, isn't it?"

"A mine of that staggering scale, lying open at the surface — remarkable, truly. That's why they skipped the Bronze Age entirely, and why their Iron Age arrived so early."