* * *
Humans are truly fascinating.
Really. Normally, most things wouldn’t even dare to come near me.
This is even truer for those of lower status.
It’s quite common for very small and weak creatures to die just by realizing I am nearby.
Even if I have no intention of killing them.
Yet, humans are so fragile, and yet they act so casual.
Sometimes they even approach me.
Occasionally, there are those who repeatedly try to reach out or take something away, which can be annoying, but it’s still fascinating.
Is it because this isn’t my true form?
But does my appearance even matter?
Could it be they really don’t recognize me just because I changed my looks?
No way. That can’t be it.
They can’t be that foolish.
Even insects or protozoa that have no concept of intelligence can recognize me; surely an intelligent being that has built its own language and society could not be so ignorant.
I suppose I was thinking of something quite silly.
That day, too, I went to see the beautiful thing—no, Miros.
“Hello. It’s a nice day.”
“…I was waiting for you.”
“For me?”
For some reason, Miros was waiting for me that day.
“Who else besides you would come looking for me?”
“I am not human. I am just something old.”
“There you go again, talking like you’re some kind of ghost.”
“I am not a spiritual being. I definitely have a physical body.”
“…I was being sarcastic. I didn’t mean you actually look like one.”
Miros spoke grumpily, as usual.
They crumpled their face as if they didn’t like the words they had just spat out.
“Anyway, who else would come looking for me except you?”
It was strange.
Usually, there was no sign of them looking for me.
Most of the time, they were busy doing something.
Miros was waiting for me under a very small, dark pile of planks.
“Why were you waiting?”
“Because I have something to ask.”
Then, grumbling, they tapped the bundle of wood next to them. Were they telling me to come over? I approached carefully and sat there.
I was close to Miros.
Our distance had never been this narrow before; it was quite strange.
I thought they didn’t like me getting close.
I sat almost huddled and looked at Miros beside me.
Because I just stared blankly without saying a word, Miros’s face turned a little red.
Then, they spoke bluntly.
“What on earth do you do for a living?”
“In what sense are you asking?”
“I’m asking because it seems like you have too much time on your hands. You come here almost every day.”
Do they not know what I am?
Did I not tell them?
No. I even told them the names humans called me, and although I changed my appearance, I didn’t exactly hide anything.
Ah, they said they had no guardian. And they are a hatchling.
Maybe they are asking because they don’t know exactly what I am. I spoke honestly.
“I exist. That is my right and my duty.”
“…What does ‘existing’ mean?”
“It means exactly what it says: to be.”
Did I say something wrong, or was the concept too difficult for the beautiful thing to understand?
I suspect it’s the latter. I suppose it can’t be helped.
To me, the beautiful thing—no, Miros—was close to a newborn.
It would be the same by human standards.
They say humans need twenty years to become adults.
I don’t know exactly how old Miros is, but based on the energy I feel, they’ve barely passed ten years by human time.
At this stage, they might as well have not even opened their eyes yet.
I don’t know how Miros understood my words.
They just stared at me with an absurd expression and then let out a hollow laugh.
“What, are you just a rich guy with no job?”
“I don’t know what that is, but it is very important that I exist.”
“What’s so important about just playing and eating?”
“If I am not here, the grass and trees cannot obtain their source. They will slowly wither and die, then disappear one by one.”
Everything wouldn’t perish immediately.
I don’t have the power to create or destroy.
However, half of the garden—the grass and the trees—prove their source through my existence.
An existence that loses its proof fades away.
Because this is a world that exists only when it is ‘proven’ by faith, hope, and love.
To put it in human terms, you could see me as a kind of guarantor.
I take responsibility and prove the existence of the grass and trees.
Losing proof doesn’t mean immediate death, but without a source, one’s existence inevitably becomes unstable.
Then, they would disappear one by one and eventually face ruin.
Unless they find a new proof.
“I’m asking seriously, so don’t make weird jokes like that. You’re talking like something terrible is going to happen.”
But it’s true. This individual—no, Miros—seems to have a lot of doubt.
I’ve become somewhat used to it.
They are small and weak, but a very fierce and sensitive individual.
That is simply how Miros has survived.
That is the way they have been independent.
“How can someone be this beautiful?”
They are living like that.
Even though they are so fragile, they live so vigorously.
How can they be so lovely?
Once again, they are so beautiful.
They were already beautiful, but now they are even more so.
How can such a beautiful thing exist?
“That’s really out of nowhere. Are you even listening to me?”
“I am truly listening. That is why I said it.”
“Don’t other people tell you that you’re weird?”
“Well. At least not in my memory.”
The “weirdness” I think of and the “weirdness” Miros thinks of are bound to be different.
After all, we are completely different beings.
Just look at the whale that eats nightmares; it is distinctly different from me.
Even though we both exist for ‘proof.’
The nightmare-eating whale sank down, holding onto love.
In doing so, it isolated itself from everything else.
Meanwhile, I am still up here.
Others are leaving for eternity one by one.
Or they isolate themselves. I remain.
Because I still believed in love.
But this young individual probably doesn’t understand any of this.
There’s no need for them to know, either.
To this small, fragile thing, these words are completely useless for living.
They fulfill their duty simply by protecting their life and enjoying the natural order.
“Fine. Whatever it is, I get that you don’t have a job.”
Miros seems to have understood in their own way.
I don’t know what a “jobless person” is, but I guess it’s something similar.
Miros gave a shallow sigh and asked me again.
“Honestly, I know it’s shameless of me to want something, but do you not have any money?”
“Money? Are you talking about human currency?”
“I’m grateful for the food and the valuable leather you give me, but these things don’t turn into money.”
“Can’t you exchange them with other individuals?”
“…I already tried.”
Miros grumbled and continued the story.
In short, because other humans looked down on Miros, exchange wasn’t easy.
They said people only try to take things away and don’t pay a fair price.
So, they couldn’t exchange the things I gave them for currency, and they just piled them up and used them for themselves.
“I don’t know the human way of exchange. It’s not that I haven’t tried the act of giving and receiving, but this ‘trade’ you speak of is unfamiliar. I don’t know how to measure the value you people use.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but basically, you don’t have money.”
“Yes. I have no reason to trade with humans.”
Trading meant giving and receiving equally.
An act of exchanging what each other needs based on an agreement.
But there isn’t much that those equal to me would need to ask of me.
If such a thing were to happen, there would be a great change in the world.
It would be a big problem. It’s better if it doesn’t happen.
Occasionally, I have helped humans, but it’s hard to see that as a trade.
It’s truly just because I felt like helping.
The things humans gave me are pretty but are essentially useless trash.
I only gave because I liked them.
That cannot be called a trade.
It just means I helped them because the hearts of those small and insignificant things, trying to do something for me, were grateful and pretty.
Miros seemed to move their lips a few times at my answer, then sighed again.
“Fine, forget it. Even I think I was being ridiculously bold.”
“I am sorry I cannot give you what you want. I really don’t have it.”
“I’m the bad one. Damn it, I know that too.”
I have received various requests from humans before, but a request for money was unfamiliar.
In the first place, that is a currency humans make and consume, so why would they ask me for it?
I don’t use it, and it’s not even pretty.
It’s just a small lump of gold or silver.
No one has ever specifically tried to give that to me.
I thought they also knew I wouldn’t use it, but Miros must not have known that.
“Why do you need money?”
“…Earnings this week weren’t very good. I don’t think I can pay the protection tax to Gellen’s gang.”
Protection tax?
I don’t know what that is, but I know the word “protection.”
I couldn’t help but have a question.
“There is an individual who protects you? Then why were you starving?”
“It’s not that kind of protection. It’s money you give on the condition that they don’t kill you or take you away.”
“That isn’t protection. Protecting is guarding, caring for, and loving someone.”
“Ugh, I don’t know. I can’t explain it either. Don’t keep making me use hard words. Just know that such a thing exists.”
What on earth is human protection?
Giving currency to be protected is just… neglect?
Is just letting someone live called protection?
They do that to their own kind?
“Did you invade their territory?”
“What territory? In this rat hole of a gutter. If I had to say, I guess it’s true that it’s the area where they operate.”
“Then, those things are nothing in a public area, but they regularly extort from you? And from a ‘star-blessed’ hatchling of their own kind?”
Those who receive the star are literally beings accompanied by a blessing.
Such things have value just by existing.
Even natural enemies do not touch those who have received the star.
Aside from the fact that it is precious, just existing provides strength.
From what I know, something completely incomprehensible is happening.
Yet Miros, the person involved, only gave a bitter smile at my reaction.
“When you put it that way, you really sound like a young master who doesn’t know how the world works. I’m realizing this again, but you must be a human from a very noble family.”
For some reason, this seems to be a natural thing for humans.
Seeing that Miros doesn’t have any particular doubts, is this the order of humans?
Once again, humans are truly strange.
They are the only ones who ignore the promises of the world.
Yet they live on by increasing their numbers like this—they are impressive in many ways.
However, even if I try to let it go, a question still remains.
“Did you… steal some food? Did you harm another of their hatchlings? Did you impregnate their mate? Or perhaps… do humans have to use other humans as prey and consume them?”
If it’s not that, there’s no way to explain why one must pay a fee for neglect.
Unless you did something wrong.
At my words, Miros crumpled their face as if they had heard something they shouldn’t have.
“Do you think I have the strength to do anything to those guys? And what is ‘impregnate’?”
“I asked if you made them carry a young one.”
At my question, Miros was horrified, jumped up from their seat, and shouted.
“How could that be possible! I’m only 12 years old! And aside from those guys being trash, people don’t eat people!”
“Then what on earth are those things?”
“What else? They’re just thugs!”
Why did humans create such rules even for their own kind?
They are truly strange ones.
“Anyway, I know you don’t have it, so that’s enough. Don’t come for a while.”
“Why? I like seeing you.”
“My earnings got bad because of you. I couldn’t work because I was hanging out with you.”
“Does my presence interfere with your survival?”
At my words, Miros only moved their mouth.
They couldn’t spit anything out.
They looked somewhat confused.
They seemed restless and flustered, then they squeezed their hands into fists and said as if wringing the words out.
“Just for a few days… come back in a little bit. I’ll settle things before then.”
I don’t know what it is, but for Miros, that seemed to be a big decision in its own way. Probably.
* * *
