“I never thought of Scarlett as a friend from the very beginning.”
After saying that, Sylvia swiftly turned around and headed back to the classroom.
I stared blankly at Sylvia’s back when I felt something lightly tapping my leg.
Looking down, I realized my hand was trembling uncontrollably, repeatedly brushing against my legs.
…Hmm, is tremors something that can appear later in life?
I clasped my shaking hands together, applying a bit of pressure, which calmed the tremors slightly.
By the way, Sylvia seemed particularly on edge today.
Well, being a girl, there are bound to be days like that each month.
It seems elves aren’t so different from humans when they get hit by magic.
If we’re in “Magical Elf Sylvia mode,” I should probably be a bit cautious for a while.
Even I think that’s a pretty ridiculous thought.
I’m just stuck in my own silly thoughts right now.
So, manage your expression.
My contorted face reverted back to an expressionless state.
When lunchtime ended and class began, the strangely tense atmosphere in the classroom seemed to ease up a bit.
It might have been because Sylvia and Yoon Si-woo’s faces were less rigid than in the morning, but I bet the biggest reason was the teacher in front of the class.
“As you’ve entered Aegis Academy, you can already consider yourselves heroes! Aegis only admits the strong, so being here means you possess a certain level of strength already!”
The female teacher responsible for the subject called “The Mindset of Heroes.”
At first glance, she looked very calm, but once class started, she spoke passionately enough that you could almost hear flap-flap sound effects echoing around her.
Despite being a woman of average height or taller, watching her made me think of a small bird flapping its wings energetically.
The other students listening to the class wore smiles as if they were watching an adorable creature moving about, clearly thinking the same thing.
“Don’t think that protecting people is some grand act of noble obligation! It should be something taken for granted by the strong!”
The teacher continued her explanation with enthusiasm.
The children listened with joyful smiles, soaking in her words.
“When we only consider the strength we possess, if ordinary people are like babies, you are fully grown adults! When danger arises, even if it poses a risk to adults, we cannot just leave those defenseless babies behind. Understand, everyone?!”
At her typical phrase, “Understand, everyone?!”, the kids laughed and loudly replied, “Yes!”
While I was busy checking if Sylvia’s mood was improving, I was the only student who hadn’t answered the teacher’s question. Yet, I only had one thought drifting through my mind during the lesson.
Even a somewhat irritable Sylvia is pretty.
Beyond that, nothing else really mattered to me.
On my way home after school, I saw a man carrying a child on his shoulders.
The child, looking much higher than his father’s eye level, was grinning widely as they surveyed the world from that greater height.
I wondered if the child even realized that his father was sweating profusely.
Despite that, the man quietly walked without uttering a single complaint.
I got so lost in that scene that before I knew it, I was home.
As per my routine, the moment I got home, I stripped off my clothes and took a shower.
After showering, I opened the fridge to prepare dinner.
“Ah…”
I completely forgot that I needed to buy groceries on my way back.
I thought about going out now to grab some, but after showering and changing into my pajamas, I lost all motivation to step outside.
Do you know what it feels like when you’ve returned from work, taken a shower, and changed clothes only for everything to collapse?
I might as well skip dinner…
Thinking back, I even missed breakfast because I rushed out to avoid being late.
I earned money, but why can’t I spend it…
Yesterday, I had some bizarre streak of good luck…
With a sigh, I threw myself onto my bed.
It was too early to sleep.
Am I going to have to kill time again?
Sigh, I really wanted to avoid any more turmoil…
If only my special ability allowed me to sleep as long as I wanted.
Then, I wouldn’t have any unnecessary thoughts, and I could just sleep.
I wondered if tomorrow might lift Sylvia’s spirits.
With that thought, I clasped my trembling hands together again and closed my eyes.
When I was a child, I loved my father.
No matter how much money someone else’s father made, or what their job was, I never felt envious.
People said my dad was among those rare ones you could hardly find in today’s world.
Kind, devoted to helping others, valuing connections, determined to repay kindness multiple times, and able to generously forgive others’ mistakes.
I thought my dad was the coolest guy in the world.
I constantly wanted to be just like him.
But unlike the stories I read as a child, the world wasn’t a place where being good was rewarded.
In fact, it seemed to be the opposite.
At some point, unfamiliar faces began to come to our home more often.
Whenever I heard someone knocking on the door, I would crawl into the closet.
My father and I had agreed that the sound meant it was time for hide and seek.
The only hiding place was that big closet, so I’d always sit in the pitch-black space behind the doors, waiting until the loud noises subsided.
When the noise died down, my father would open the closet door with a smile and tell me how well I had hidden.
Honestly, being alone in the closet was scary, but I was happy to hear those words from my dad.
It was because of those encouraging words that I could muster the courage to endure the darkness of the closet.
One fateful night during such games…
At a time when I should’ve been asleep, I couldn’t, my heart racing anxiously. My father, seeing this, held me tightly and stayed that way for a while before finally saying in a trembling voice:
He apologized, saying that he wasn’t clever enough to find a better solution and felt sincerely sorry.
Then, he reached out his pinky finger, asking for a final promise.
He taught me that promises made with a pinky should never be broken.
I intertwined my pinky with his, deeply engraving his words into my heart.
That was the last moment I remembered with my father.
After we made that promise, I woke up and went to school, only to return to a house covered in red papers, with my father not coming home until late.
The next day, and the day after, he still didn’t come home.
My dad incurred debts.
That’s all my mother said, and as I grew up, I eventually concluded that my father had fled in the dead of night, leaving my mother and me behind because of those debts.
I used to think my father would never do something like that. So, I was even more disappointed that he vanished, abandoning us.
I held this belief until an unfamiliar face, claiming to be my father’s friend, knelt before me.
A guarantee.
He said my father had incurred a massive debt because of him.
He sobbed as he admitted to running away and leaving my father with the burden.
My father’s name was written down as a guarantor on the paper the man held.
Next to it was a name that seemed familiar, probably that of the friend.
It was a name I had heard many times when my father spoke of a great friend.
The debt my father had taken on for that man was far beyond what could be compensated by simply taking away our furniture.
It was a sum so vast that losing the entire house would hardly be an exaggeration.
In that moment, it finally clicked.
My father hadn’t fled.
He left to fulfill his responsibilities as a father, to protect the home where my mother and I would live.
I recalled my mother’s words.
If debts aren’t repaid, other people suffer.
It wasn’t my father who failed to repay his debts but this man, and the one who must have suffered most was likely not my mother or me, but my father.
My father must have told my mother not to share the truth with me, fearing I would live hating the man who betrayed him.
My father, who always said that hating someone wouldn’t do any good in life.
That’s the type of person my father was.
Without a word, I helped the man, who was crying and begging for my anger, to his feet and sent him away.
Cursing him wouldn’t bring my father back.
And I doubted my father would have wanted that either.
In the end, the person I had no choice but to stop blaming was neither my father nor this man.
The world was a cruel place for good people.
It was a place where trust was exploited, and faith was betrayed.
A place where doing good makes you a laughing stock.
Why must it be that good people always suffer?
That’s why I hated the world.
That day, I remembered the promise made with my father.
“Even when times are tough, let’s promise to live courageously, Dad.”
The weight of the promise made with a pinky felt particularly heavy on that day.
Feeling constricted, I silently asked:
Father, am I doing well?
Naturally, there was no answer.