I Picked Up a Witch from a Novel

**Chapter 10**

In this world, there is no such thing as a proper school.

To be precise, there was one, but it was solely for the nobility, leaving commoners like us with no choice but to learn at home.

Even then, unless your household was like ours, reasonably well-off and harmonious, there wasn’t really any proper education to speak of.

In that sense, I was living a somewhat blessed life as an extra.

“My son, are you a genius by any chance?”

“I’m your son, Mom. Why would you ask something like that?”

“Ah…, as expected, my son even has perfect answers. I knew you were smart, but I just realized how clever you truly are!”

Thanks to my mother, who, despite being a commoner, did not spend her days idly, I was able to gain knowledge.

I could breezily complete simple math and the Imperial language I’d been hearing and reading since childhood, all while receiving compliments.

“I’m sorry, Mom! If I had known our son would be this smart, I wouldn’t have met your father and would have somehow married a noble! I’m sorry I couldn’t send you to school!”

“…, I’m going to tell Dad.”

“Ah! Th-then shall we move on to the next subject…? Uh, history! Wow~ that sounds fun, right?”

Hmm, I’m looking forward to dinner.

It might be a good opportunity to witness a duel between two people who have never fought in their lives.

And thus began our history lesson.

“My son, are you an idiot by any chance?”

“I’m your son, Mom. Why would you ask something like that?”

“Ah…, as expected, my son has zero points for answers too. I knew you were annoying, but I just realized how unbearable you truly are!”

I’m sorry, but the history of this world isn’t properly addressed in novels.

Every question I asked was answered incorrectly.

Well…

I was still absorbing new knowledge without refusing it.

After all, I was trying hard.

Have a drink.

Since my son is stupid, he must be thirsty too, Mom.

Have another drink.

“….”

Thus, my weekends were finished with study.

If I were to mention why I study like this every weekend, about half of it is in efforts for my future travels.

And if I had to search for a reason for the other half, it was for the gray-haired witch.

Nobles don’t have to learn at home, as they go to school when the time comes.

Commoners, those with parents and homes, learn at least a bit from their mothers.

So then,

What of a girl who isn’t a noble and is too ambiguous to be called a commoner, who seems to fit the category of a non-existent peasant?

A girl who, lacking family or home, barely survives by laying planks in an alley.

Who is she learning from?

She learns language through the harsh words thrown at her by other children.

She counts the number of stones hurled at her to learn math.

She learns history through the disdain and contempt for her very existence, simply because she has gray hair.

Whenever I recall the clumsy words she managed to utter, I think this way.

And that’s the reason.

For my future self, for her future, and for the stability of the empire and the safety of my parents.

For those reasons, I have decided to take on the role that should have rightfully belonged to a mother until I become an adult.

One weekday.

“Get lost.”

“Yes.”

I grabbed the freshly roasted food, worn clothes, and the paper and pencil I had requested from Uncle and stepped out of the grocery store.

…, but I turned back and opened the store door again, peering my head in.

“By the way, Uncle.”

“Ah, what now!”

“There’s a widower smell coming from the clothes.”

“Put them back and get out.”

“Ah, sorry.”

I smiled and winked at Uncle before running away.

Of course, there’s no smell of a widower coming from the clothes.

Uncle was a respectable head of a family with a beautiful wife who seemed out of place and three children.

I took the food and clothes Uncle provided and headed toward the plaza, but then paused and turned my feet into a slightly awkward alley.

It was because the gray girl had moved.

It had become too well-known among too many children, and since I wasn’t there during the day, she was being bullied continuously.

It was also because I had met the so-called hero in the past days, who was somewhat, no honestly, quite terrifying.

So I told her to hold the planks and the few belongings we had and moved locations to avoid people.

A cleaner alley than where she stayed before.

Yet, it still seemed like a place with fewer foot traffic and less likely for children to come.

And as I entered that alley, I quietly spoke.

“Hello.”

“…, Ah.”

The girl’s gaze, which had been looking vacantly at the sky, quickly turned toward me when I spoke.

Still, seeing her almost unchanged face after about a year, I could feel some emotions.

And her current expression was one of welcome.

I slowly approached her and took out a wet towel from the shop I had visited on the way.

“You’re all dirty.”

“….”

I murmured and cleaned her face and arms, any part of her that was exposed.

Since she had to hide away like this, not having a place to wash was a significant issue.

I hoped a day would come when she could be properly washed, but for now, I only had to bring a wet towel and clean her up.

The good news was that since we moved to a new spot, she wasn’t getting new wounds from kids bothering her.

Plus, the old wounds and scars had become somewhat better with time.

After cleaning her up with the wet towel, I applied the ointment or regeneration cream I bought for her previously, and it was beginning to show effects.

So, after applying the ointment today, the witch and I only looked at each other quietly.

“….”

“….”

If I don’t speak first, she never utters a word.

In other words, I always have to initiate the conversation, and frankly, it’s quite awkward and hard for me to do so.

The truth is, the girl and I aren’t particularly close.

We’ve never introduced ourselves formally.

Plus, we don’t see each other every day, but rather once a month at most.

The girl in front of me is like a bomb that could explode with just one slip of the tongue or mistake.

So how about you start talking first at least once?

“Today….”

Uh.

“What… will you do…?”

I genuinely didn’t expect her to initiate conversation.

“….”

“….”

I found myself momentarily stunned as I stared at the witch, surprised by her unexpected words.

Somehow I ended up being the one left speechless this time.

Teaching her how to speak.

Even if her pronunciation is still awkward, she is slowly and gradually trying to repeat after me.

“Hello…?”

“Thank you….”

We started from the basics.

“Uh…, Princess, Empire….”

There’s the gray girl slowly making her way through what should be common knowledge.

She awkwardly follows along without complaints, trying to say even slight difficult place names.

“The capital of P, Reion….”

“It’s not Reion; it’s Prelion.”

“Prel, Lion…?”

“Yes.”

“Ah….”

Little by little, I expand her world.

Thus, her well that she could barely escape from in the alley begins to open up a tiny bit.

So I end up thinking while having these not-quite-conversations with the gray girl.

Things she wouldn’t have learned if she had been her original self, warmth she wouldn’t have received otherwise.

Could the witch change with these things I’m giving?

Since the starting point was slightly off, would she be able to escape from the storm of development?

Stepping out of fiction.

As a person, not a character.

While it might seem absurd, I harbored a small, fragile hope like a straw as someone who isn’t a character.

You.

What do you think about this worry of mine as you currently gaze at me with vacant eyes?

As always, the end of the day approaches, and I find myself facing the time to say goodbye.

Having spent some time teaching her, I brushed off my numbed legs from sitting on the floor and stood up.

“….”

“….”

This routine is now quite familiar.

And as I stand up like this, she begins to realize that it’s time for me to leave and starts hesitantly twitching her hands.

As if wishing I wouldn’t go, her hands slowly reach out toward me only to stop and retract, repeating that motion.

So as I silently watch that scene, I end up saying that I’ll come again, as it’s become a set routine between the witch and me.

However, today was a bit different.

“Ah…, Ain.”

“…, Yes.”

Instead of waiting for my greeting, she called my name.

“Ah, Ain….”

“Right.”

When I asked if she wanted to know something else, she raised her hand and pointed at me, which led her to speak my name, albeit with awkward pronunciation.

However, I do not know her name.

While it could have been Bellia as per the novel, she currently has no name being an abandoned child from birth.

So, I cannot call her a name unless I know the long time she spent before becoming Bellia.

But I don’t want to call her Bellia, which serves as a symbol of her curse.

At least, I don’t want to refer to her as just “the witch,” which could be somewhat childish or perhaps a form of rebellion against the novel’s setting.

However, gathering those reasons, for now, I simply refer to her as the gray girl in my heart.

“Ain.”

“….”

As I looked down at her muttering that multiple times, she eventually uttered the greeting I should have said first.

“Come again next time….”

She spoke with a pronunciation that seemed to have improved slightly.

In that case.

“Sure, I’ll come again next time.”

I couldn’t help but reciprocate that greeting.

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