c41-c60 · 054-ch54

Chapter 54: I Was Happy - Perspective: A Certain Girl

When I was 12, my parents died. It was an accident.

I don't really remember much else about the funeral, probably because I spent the whole time crying beside my big sister.

A distant relative took us in, having no other relatives. I didn't even know her name, let alone what she looked like, but she said she didn't mind taking in kids like us.

The small apartment with just one 6-tatami room was so cramped that we'd bump shoulders if we weren't careful. The aunt worked constantly without coming home, just so we could live properly. We threw away most of our things when we moved, but my sister laughed and said it was better to have almost nothing in such a small room.

I didn't make many friends at the school in that unfamiliar town. In the notebook I bought with what little allowance I had, I wrote down all the lesson content in tiny, cramped letters. For the pencil and eraser, I secretly used the ones from the lost and found. During break time and even in PE class, I'd pretend to be asleep at my desk. To save as much energy as possible.

We were always hungry, and after school, we'd share the stale bread with red stickers and a packed lunch that had been split between us. Still, it was never enough, so I tried digging through nearby trash dumps or putting grass in my mouth, but my sister would scold me every time.

I felt bad about turning on the lights, so as soon as it got dark, I'd dive under the futon. There was nothing to do anyway, and I didn't mind that. The thin towel couldn't block the wind coming through the gaps, so we'd sleep huddled together. My sister's body was so warm that I'd fall fast asleep.

Sometimes my dead mom and dad would appear in my dreams, talking to me with smiles. I'd forget everything they said as soon as I woke up, but I vividly remember that my sister was always crying in the dream.

So, there in the cold futon, while watching my sister preparing for the morning, I suddenly thought this.

Did my sister cry at the funeral, I wonder.

That was our daily life back then.

When I graduated middle school and turned 16, I followed my sister and became an explorer. With my uncertain background, no education, and no skills, that was about the only job I could do.

The new room the two of us rented was just as small and run-down as the aunt's place. Even so, it shone brightly to me. Because it was, without a doubt, a world that belonged only to us.

But reality wasn't that kind.

To put it simply, I had no talent.

I could barely use skills or magic, and without money, I couldn't even buy the minimum equipment. If I got seriously injured, all the savings I'd painstakingly accumulated would disappear, so I had no choice but to be cautious. All I could do was take what others left behind after stripping monsters, or scrape walls to collect piles of stone rubble that was worth next to nothing.

In the end, we beginners just kept repeating the cycle: exploring the dungeon's lower floors all day long, then going home and sleeping covered in mud.

It was so unsuccessful that I felt like middle school had been easier. We were just barely scraping by each day, with no room to think about tomorrow.

But, I never once thought I was unhappy during those days.

Because---