SWNOVELXO Chapter 19
**Chapter 19**
Can a person with gray skin be sick in an ordinary way?
Is there a pain that comes not from being hit by stones or stabbed by knives, but from illness and bacteria?
Until they go on a rampage, their emotions are not revealed much at all.
The abilities they acquire can only differ significantly from the ordinary.
Since ancient times, we have classified them differently from the ordinary.
Even if we call it a curse and reject it, everyone considered it an evolution in a twisted direction.
Even if we say it’s dangerous and look upon it with disdain, for someone it was a power they longed for.
And based on the data accumulated up until now, they cannot feel pain in a normal way.
They do not get sick.
They do not get infected by bacteria.
Because they harbor something far worse within, such trifles cannot dare to take root.
So, if they are suffering from something not caused by external factors and are bedridden.
If they suddenly collapse and are bedridden for days on end.
That might be the only chance to kill them without any cost.
A moment may come when they are so weak that they could die from just being hit by a stone, which is unimaginable for someone gray.
Do not hesitate at that crossroads of choice.
This is a tale of losing consciousness in a defenseless state in order to awaken power; otherwise, it is a tragic end caused by the emotional exhaustion of someone gray.
To prevent a witch hunt, to ensure that their deeply rooted perceptions do not strengthen even further.
You must firmly shut your eyes and cut off that sprout.
If you cannot do it, at least run away far.
If you do so, perhaps you can survive.
– Excerpt from 【Episode □□. Researcher’s Diary】 –
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It was just another ordinary day.
Waking up in the morning and working at the grocery store from early hours.
Screaming in harmony with Rini’s forceful training at the gym.
Thinking that I should slowly start studying languages, I began to study a few foreign languages little by little.
By evening, I would return home and share a meal with my mom and dad as usual.
Then, a month goes by, and I would find myself meeting the gray woman in the alley.
Two years have passed, and the Hero and the Holy Girl are still moving forward.
The story I knew continues somewhere beyond where I can even look.
The dimly lit stage, gradually fading as a trace of them, should have no incidents or accidents occurring.
So, I was also resting easy on that safe stage.
I believed that nothing would happen to me until I became an adult.
So, I loosened my stiff body and got up from the counter to speak.
“Uncle, please make me some food.”
“…You seem to think that’s too much a given now. At least you should be thinking of making it yourself, right?”
What the uncle said isn’t wrong, but the problem is that I can’t catch up with the skill that comes from experience.
He just eats the food I make far more deliciously than what I cook.
Sadly.
“I can’t match the taste your cooking has. Oh, and if possible, could you make it a bit more? The stray dog has grown a lot, so its appetite has increased.”
“It’s not a stray dog; it’s like raising a pig…. Ugh, just wait while I clean up!”
With that, the uncle gives me a light pat on the head before heading into the kitchen, and I find myself in the familiar scenery of cleaning up as instructed.
And as time passes, the uncle soon brings over food steaming with heat and announces loudly.
“Here, you little rascal… now scram with this!”
“Hehe, thank you! See you tomorrow!”
I smile at his familiar shout and leave the grocery store.
That is the routine.
Nothing happens, just the ordinary days continuing until adulthood.
And.
I realized it was not an ordinary day only after I entered the alley and thought so.
“Uh…?”
In the familiar alley, the woman who should have greeted me as always is collapsed on the ground.
There are no visible wounds on the outside, and the floor shows no traces of blood.
Yet, she welcomes me as if she’s about to die, convulsing.
Reality hits me hard, and my heart, which had only been gently pounding, begins to thump wildly.
The gray woman is lying there.
Her expression twisted as she lets out weak breaths.
Words drift through my mind.
“The gray cannot feel pain normally.”
“They do not get sick.”
“They do not get infected by bacteria.”
“Because they harbor something far worse, such trifles cannot dare to take root.”
That was the reason she had been cared for with appropriate attention, even while living in an inadequately healthy environment.
They cannot easily be hurt.
As long as they avoid the gazes of people, and receive food.
There should be no problem surviving.
However.
The story tells that a moment has arrived.
“A moment may come when they become so weak that they could die from just being hit by a stone.”
“Do not hesitate at that crossroads of choice.”
“This is the tale of losing consciousness in a defenseless state to awaken power; otherwise, it leads to a tragic end caused by the emotional exhaustion of the gray.”
The drifting words don’t end there; they continue, finally saying that the moment has arrived.
Showing me the crossroads of choice again, they whisper.
They ask me to choose between an easy path and a thorny road.
And the narrator is clearly saying.
It whispers to me to choose without hesitation to kill the witch.
“…, Stop it.”
So, I throw away the packaged food I was holding and head towards her.
Kneeling down beside the collapsed woman, I pull out my robe and gently cover her body, lifting her up.
I dismiss the whispers urging me to kill, steeling my resolve that I’ve held until now.
I have gone through a lot of hardship just to save one person, so I won’t compromise the meaning of those actions now.
So this is not the moment of choice urged by the narrator, but rather a moment of decision I have made myself.
Believing I would not be deceived by the given crossroads, and instead carve out a different path.
Even though I have resolved to save the gray woman, there isn’t much I can do as a child.
I hastily blame my still young body as I hurriedly move my feet.
The sun is setting.
Even if I say it’s light, running while carrying someone is a bit overwhelming.
“Gah, haah…. Huh!”
The market I re-enter is now dark, yet many people are still around.
“Hey? Ain, is that you! Is something wrong?”
Someone speaks to me first, sending a worried glance my way.
Normally, I would have greeted such people with a smile, saying everything is fine, but I don’t have the luxury to do that now.
So, I ignore everything and head toward my destination.
It feels like she will die.
The woman cradled in my arms seems like she will perish at any moment.
I tried to remain emotionless, just a character, but seeing her shivering in my embrace, my hands shake as I grip her tighter.
So, my steps quicken, and though I am gasping for breath, my gaze is fixed solely ahead.
The decision I have made.
The road that has been steadfastly obstructed by the story.
I chose it, and in my urgency, I shout to the person locking the store.
“Uncle!!”
“Huh? What is it, Ain? Why is the kid who said he was going out to see the stray dog here…?”
But I still cannot know if this is the right decision, and despite my resolve, my voice trembles as I speak.
“…, C-could you help me? It’s okay if you tell me to quit my job, but just this once… just help me once.”
It was a decision I couldn’t make for years.
Because I was still just a child who could do nothing.
There was no one around I could trust.
Even if I asked for help for the gray, I felt like I would just be met with disdain.
“…”
“Just once… this one time, please help me, uncle.”
It was the moment I desperately hoped would not come, yet it was that determination.
A decision that was inevitable and reckless, asking for help from an adult in the story when I was still young and could do little.
“…, Uncle.”
And so I earnestly begged in a way I usually wouldn’t.
Looking straight into the uncle’s eyes, which had sunk with worry as he saw what I was holding, I spoke.
“Ain, are you out of your mind….”
“Please, just… help me this once. You’re the only one I can ask… the only one who is capable of it.”
I revealed the feelings I had kept hidden from everyone.
I begged him to listen to my side once, not the setting of the story.
I pleaded for someone, anyone, to prove their humanity to me.
Repeatedly murmuring for help, I grasped his sleeve with trembling hands.
I thought it was a stupid and foolish act.
I believed it was a crazy thing that could ruin everything I had built.
Choosing to confront the deeply entrenched hatred and story’s setting that had accumulated for hundreds of years was clearly reckless.
And yet, I reject the whispers telling me to give up on the witch, turning away from the path the narrator urged.
Emotion has mixed together in a chaotic jumble.
Now I cannot even understand what actions I am taking.
I felt as if he would look at us with loathing.
Holding the woman who was groaning in my arms tighter, I continued muttering.
With tearful eyes, I faced him.
“…, Please help me just once.”
“…”
“Just this time…, just help me so she doesn’t die, uncle.”
It was an earnest plea from someone insistent on the depths of his heart.
Amidst all those mixed emotions I voiced, I clung tighter to his sleeve.
There is a cold gaze watching me closely.
Despite my desperation, I do not hear his response.
A cruel gesture shakes off my hand, which gripped his sleeve.
However.
Time passes, and the grocery store door begins to open again.
In the space I had grown accustomed to over the years, a heavy atmosphere lingers.
At least in the small room beside the storage area, a feeling of weight hangs in the air.
There is a woman groaning on the cot.
Her gray hair spills onto the blanket, and a cold, damp cloth rests on her forehead as she merely groans.
And.
“Ain.”
“…, Yes.”
Two people stand guard beside her.
“I certainly didn’t think of it as ordinary. You wouldn’t be so devoted to just a street dog. I figured there had to be a reason she isn’t a woman who would reject raising a dog.”
“…”
I am at a loss for words at the uncle’s unexpectedly serious and low-toned voice.
“But she is not gray. Even if you say you are still a child, you know all the facts.”
“…, She’s a good, kind girl.”
“And a dangerous one. Because one wrong choice of yours could lead to everyone’s death.”
“…”
I can find nothing wrong in his words, unable to refute them.
“Why on earth did you make such a choice, Ain?”
But I gave an emotional response.
“…, She was just sitting there blankly, but was being hit with stones by the children in the alley. The scars from the wounds she got from that are still there.”
“…”
These are words I read in the story, those very words.
“She was so hungry that she was foraging through trash cans to eat spoiled food, and she spent winter trembling on a moldy plank with no place to sleep.”
“…”
My memories discovered between the passage of time, an illusion like that.
“She couldn’t escape from the alley, couldn’t wash, and had only a single rag to call her clothes, living like that.”
“…”
I cannot specify what it is, but I know it should not have been something she had to experience.
I pour out my thoughts towards the uncle.
“…, She’s a good girl.”
“…, Ain.”
She is not a bad child who should be despised by people.
“Despite being hit with stones by the children, she is a foolish child who doesn’t show annoyance even once.”
“Stop… just stop it.”
She is simply a foolish child.
“She is a poor child who cherishes even the discarded clothes that someone threw away.”
“…”
She was just a pitiful child.
“She is just an ordinary girl, amazed and happy about experiencing everything for the first time.”
“This foolish child….”
That is how I convey the vision of the girl I have seen.
Although the story of the novel says she is a sinner based on the world’s history.
She has yet to commit any wrongdoing.
So.
“Just because she was born with gray hair and gray eyes, saying she has to live like this… that doesn’t make sense, uncle.”
“…”
I continue to hold the groaning woman’s hand, pouring out my emotions.
I grit my teeth as I look at the uncle.
I wish.
I wish he would prove he is not just a character in the story.
To meet him face to face, to experience it directly.
To be someone who can make judgments for himself.
Though it may be a boundary that the story does not allow, it is a new path I wish to forge.
And he proves it.
“…, Alright.”
“…”
He declares he is not a character who acts as written.
“I might have been too set in my ways.”
“…”
At the very least, he will face it himself and make a judgment.
“Ain.”
“…, Yes.”
He says he will stand by me, believing in my childish words.
“For now, I will take care of her, so you should go home. If you return too late, Rain will worry.”
“…Thank you, uncle.”
Saying this, he gives me a gentle pat on the head.
Ink, which seemed unchangeable on a page, begins to blur.
Even the setting that had endured for ages begins to crack.