Grow on Love

R. Random. A random-increase trait had come up.

Random traits were one of the least researched areas of the game, even after more than a year of service — and the prevailing consensus was that they were, by and large, a chicken-rib kind of characteristic. Good enough that you hated to throw them away, useless enough that you hated to keep them.

When a specific condition is met, a random stat increases by a random amount.

It looked good at a glance. But because the system was so unfriendly that it never displayed progress, players almost always treated the trait as if it didn't exist when they planned a character's growth strategy.

No matter how many times people petitioned for a detailed progress display, the patch never came. Eventually conspiracy theories sprang up claiming the developers had started working on related content, then abandoned it halfway and left the trait as a discarded husk. The unreasonableness was everywhere — for example:

What exactly counted as "displaying a drive for self-improvement" inside the game was never clear, and with no progress bar there was no way to find out. Meeting the condition itself was already a hurdle.

And even if you somehow managed to meet it, the next problem was the randomness baked into random stat, random increase. That single phrase was the chief culprit behind your inability to check how much a stat had gone up, or predict how much it would go up next.

Worst case, a stat could rise by 0.1, or 0.01, or 0.000…0001…

In the end, players could never tell how much the trait had actually contributed to their stat growth. It must have done something — but you could never pin down how much help it had really been.

So even though it was a stat-related trait, random increase got treated like a chicken rib. Too precious to discard because it touched stats; too dubious to keep, because you couldn't tell whether it was doing anything worthwhile.

Truthfully, the further you got into the late game, the more traits like I Want to Keep Watching You! (S): Dance +3 — fixed increases that lived outside the status window and raised a hard cap — utterly outclassed it. Calling them the same category of "stat trait" was almost embarrassing.

But this one is more useful than people think.

Surprisingly, the conditional random trait everyone else dismissed as a chicken rib was showing excellent efficiency when it came to raising my early stats.

About ten days had passed since I drew the trait. In that time, Singing had gone up by one and Dance by two. Ironically, Dance — the stat I hadn't put any effort into yet — had risen by two points.

It was clearly growth from Grow on Love (R). To clear the Guide Mission "Reach Singing B0," I still needed one more point in Singing, but results like this already made drawing the trait worth it.

Is the increase this noticeable because the stats are low?

I didn't know why, but progress was displayed next to the trait — so the inconvenience I'd worried about never materialized.

Being able to see progress was an enormous advantage. Even if filling it to 100% only raised a stat by something as microscopic as 0.00001, once you could watch the bar with your own eyes, you could figure out which actions actually satisfied the condition.

People begged for that patch for so long. Did I get it as a parting gift for dying?

Anyway — this was a better trait than I'd expected. Stats were rising well right now. Maybe it was even more necessary to me than a simple fixed increase. My Singing and Dance were both still low, after all.

I stared blankly at the trait description.

"Love, huh…"

The word slipped out of me and echoed through the empty house. Over the past few days I'd put together the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bare minimum of a livable space, but it was still bleak. Expensive appliances like a TV, a sofa, a bed, a bookshelf — anything bulky — I had no intention of bringing in yet. There was always the chance I'd have to move again.

Bzzzt. Ding-a-ling.

An alarm went off on the smartphone I'd bought a few days ago.

Already that time.

I had to go to the hospital again today, so I started getting ready. It had snowed heavily, and I meant to leave a little early; I tidied away the knitting yarn I'd been working with and put everything neatly aside.

I picked up the shopping bag full of small gifts for today's event, then glanced at the guitar case leaning against the wall before I stepped out.

I'd seized on it in a rush, blinded by the trait draw — but the truth was, I didn't really want to play the guitar if I could help it. It might have sounded spoiled, but that was how I felt.

Maybe I should get rid of it.

Every time I looked at it, my heart only grew ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠restless.

But I had places to be. I locked the door and hurried through the snow. Only after I spilled out onto the main road did my steps slow. Even in daylight, alleys were not a welcome place.

At the bus stop I sat down and opened the status window under the pretense of checking SNS. Buying a phone had automatically installed a status app, which left me with a strange feeling — like ordinary reality one moment, and then, in moments like this, like I really was a character inside a game world.

It had gone up one percent in the meantime. The cycle had run about five times so far, and I could feel the interval getting shorter.

I wish I'd researched random traits myself back when I was playing…

Unfortunately, I'd never drawn this kind of trait, so I had no choice but to rely on other people's guides. Even characters in the seventies — outside of those early days of thrashing around on bare ground — I hadn't run many of them, so gauging things precisely was hard.

Once you got familiar with the game, the orthodoxy was to raise only characters whose starting stats were eighty or higher, and my own playstyle hadn't been much different. Especially up through the first major fork — debut — I preferred to steamroll on the strength of pure grade.

My gacha luck in this game had always been so good that I'd avoided every minefield other people warned about.

Is this what they call karma…?

You never know how a person's life will turn out, they say.

"Hello, come this way, please. Would you mind sanitizing here?"

"Yes, thank you for guiding me. Ah — I'll sanitize this too."

"All finished?"

"Yes, everything's done."

"Wonderful! Thank you for your hard work."

After sanitizing before entering the pediatric ward, I exchanged small courtesies and followed the nurse. She was an extremely kind person — the head nurse, in fact. Even with how busy she must have been, she sometimes came by in person just to check on me. At lunch she was always rushed; when she did stop by it was usually just a brief flash of her face. Today she must have had a little room to spare.

Nothing raised stats quite like stage experience, so after busking a few more times near T Hospital, I had somehow ended up doing music volunteering in the pediatric ward. Apparently there was registration involved, but with help from hospital staff it was handled almost immediately.

I'd also gotten a health checkup here, and that was when I learned my exact height: 179.8 cm. Nearly three centimeters shorter than before.

It'll grow back.

Anyway — a fixed place where I could put on a stage was something I welcomed, so I accepted the offer. It also happened to be a perfect environment for testing the trait.

Whether to call it music volunteering, play volunteering, or just hospital visiting was hard to say — but I came almost every day without fail. Once I started volunteering, the trait cycle turned smoothly. Of course I kept coming.

And it's more pleasant than I expected.

Children were good listeners. Good audiences. They didn't care whether the singer had a rich volume, whether they controlled pitch well, or what technique they used to produce a beautiful tone.

If it felt good to watch and hear, they liked it.

Honest about their feelings.

The children's immediate feedback helped me build a stage. I could check which voices and expressions got the best reactions.

Sometimes you needed that kind of honest, intuitive evaluation.

Warming up to a stranger can't be easy, but they accepted me so quickly.

It felt like we'd only just met, and already the goodbyes were getting harder every time.

Stepping further inside, I saw a familiar little crown of hair — bouncing in a way that looked like crying. Beyond it, Min-a's eyes met mine with an awkward expression.

"Hye-ji, why are you crying?"

The face that whipped around toward me was pure grievance. The small body came running, and I dropped to my knees on instinct and opened my arms. She slammed into me; the shopping bag hanging from my wrist swayed and bounced. Her voice trembled against my chest.

If she keeps crying, her fever will go up.

The body pressed against me was already warm. I scooped up her less-than-twenty-kilogram frame and rocked her gently as I walked, and a tiny face peeked up.

"Me too… a hat…"

I quickly dug through the shopping bag. Luckily, a white hat was right on top.

"Here. White — Hye-ji's favorite."

Then I carefully set the child, now thoroughly distracted by the hat, down on an empty bed. Her face was a little red, but she seemed fine. I was glad she'd stopped so quickly.

Min-a came up beside me and caught my sleeve. She was wearing a familiar hat — of course she was. I was the one who'd given it to her.

It suits her well.

In high school I'd been earnest about knitting hats for children overseas. When I looked, there was still yarn left in a box, and a lot of the kids here were already wearing hats, so I'd tried making some.

Getting a gift makes people happy. It's a good way to get close, too.

With the snow and the cold keeping people off the streets these past few days, I'd been focusing on the hospital volunteering. While memorizing the lyrics for each day's songs, I still made time to knit diligently.

I'd gotten hooked on knitting again after so long and started carrying a little yarn in my shopping bag to work on whenever I had a spare moment. Min-a must have been watching closely.

Yesterday, while I was waiting out a snowstorm in the break room knitting a hat, she'd followed me all the way there, fallen in love with a freshly finished orange one, and I'd given it to her first.

I figured I could finish the rest by today anyway. One day wouldn't matter.

The grown-up little girl seemed to think she'd put me in a difficult position by wearing a hat first; her face was dark. Min-a had said she was ten, I thought. To fret over every little thing like this — wasn't that excessively considerate?

It wasn't like she'd stolen it. Feeling guilty for wearing a gift was unnecessary. It wasn't a big deal.

If the other kids feel left out, I'll just soothe them.

I cooled Hye-ji's reddened eyes with a cold hand, then took the white hat from her small, fidgeting fingers and settled it on her head. The dangling pom-pom — one I'd made myself — was still cute.

"Pretty."

Tear tracks still marked her face, but the smile she gave me when our eyes met was truly lovely. I'd made the hat hoping for a smiling face; I wanted her to smile if she could.

I started an MR track on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my phone. It was the song I'd sung every time I began music volunteering.

Of course, the selection was entirely deliberate. A carol: Please Give Me Love.

As I sang, I handed out the hats I'd brought, one by one. Christmas had already passed, but with the snow falling and a carol in the air, I felt a little like Santa.

The real show got going and the children squealed with delight. Gifts were good; songs were good — you could see it on their faces. It had taken a bit of work, but I felt proud enough.

Seventy-five percent… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one or two more cycles and…

I hid the calculating thought and sang with a smile. Wasn't the world give-and-take to begin with? And since no one was losing anything, this was a win-win.

Singing along to lyrics that might as well have been a manifesto for Grow on Love (R), I watched the percentage climb bit by bit. Love.

I'd chosen the song for several days running, and because it was a carol — repetitive, easy melodies — the children's voices joined in.

Among the little voices piping along, Min-a's stood out. Precise pitch. Precise rhythm. A promising sprout — that phrase must have been coined for exactly this kind of child. Would she grow up to be a singer?

I repeated the chorus a few times and glanced around. Every face was smiling. These children's voices really were uniquely pleasant to hear. Plenty of them sang well enough that they could have formed a choir. Was this a choir rehearsal, then?

"Next! Do the next one too!"

The flood of requests was welcome. I mostly sang soft, warm songs — ones that didn't demand high notes, quiet and rhythmic and easy on the ear. Now and then I mixed in something with an addictive hook that was easy to sing along to.

Sometimes we sang together; sometimes they just listened. Each child enjoyed the performance in their own way. I watched their faces carefully, rested when I was tired, and shared fruit and juice as the hours passed. There hadn't been snacks like this at the beginning, but more and more kept appearing.

To be able to gain stats through days as healing as these…

If only every day could stay like this.

I sank into the languid feeling and thought. Love. A heart that had been a little skeptical was, the more I repeated this time, starting to unclench.

Have I wandered into a fairy tale?

It was affection hard to doubt on impulse. Between the trait percentage rising right before my eyes and the children's expressions and gazes, I almost felt I could see their hearts.

It's like some kind of therapy.

A feeling so good it could become addictive.

But that peaceful, sheltered everyday life didn't last long. The moment February arrived, rest time felt like it had been the whole of what I'd been given — and everything got seriously busy.

It was the starting gun that said goodbye to my mental health and peace of mind.