Miss Witch Doesn't Want to be a Diva

Snow, falling incessantly.

The ground was no longer visible, only the slick, icy surface that had been compacted by the tread of people and vehicles. Thawing and refreezing several times, an ugly tableau formed, with the white ice mixing haphazardly with the dirty water, freezing together in a pitted mess that was perilous to step on without caution—one misstep could send a person sliding to the ground.

This is the North Ninth District, a place within Jade Skirt where few ventured.

Many abandoned buildings could still be seen along the streets, temporary structures left from the mining boom that were never meant to last. After a decade with no maintenance, they gradually decayed and collapsed under the assault of the rain.

"Whimper, whimper—"

A filthy stray dog rummaged through a garbage can in the snow, trying to scrape out something to eat. But obviously, in the vicinity, there was only a small, unpopular bar. The trash they dumped had already been picked over by rats, stray cats, and scavenging birds, leaving nothing useful behind.

Every now and then, a loaded truck with bright headlights would drive through the street in the foul weather, stirring up a bit of noise and activity.

"Thump..."

The garbage can toppled by the dog rolled on the ground a few times before coming to a stop.

Seemingly startled by the noise, the emaciated stray dog with a limp hobbled away.

In the dim, snowy afternoon, quietude once again settled in.

More than twenty minutes passed before a boy in tattered clothes appeared out of the misty distance.

His pace was slow, pausing to rest along the way as if conserving precious energy. His grimy cheeks were hidden under his hat, making them difficult to distinguish.

As he drew closer, the haphazard arrangement of different fabrics on his worn clothing caught the eye, these jackets and coats layered atop each other, shielding the slender figure beneath.

When he reached the roadside, he saw the overturned trash can and stopped, squatting to search within it, but, like those before him, found nothing of use.

He then stood up and looked around until he finally located the slightly intact bar hidden among the ruins, Concealment.

Standing at a distance, he observed the bar for a long time before slowly approaching and coming to a stop nearby. He turned half around, examining it carefully.

At last, he committed the location of the bar to memory and then left slowly, conserving his energy just as he had when he arrived, disappearing into the depths of the wind and snow.

To most, this might have seemed trivial, but two days later, the boy returned to the vicinity of the bar, this time with a companion in tow.

Both children were small, probably not even ten years old, wearing a haphazard mix of old outerwear. They watched from a snowy corner, eyeing the building that emitted light and a slight warmth.

They had no intention of entering the bar; they just watched from a distance, taking turns to rest until one evening, they saw a fat woman carrying bags of trash from the bar, disposing of them in a bin a fair distance away.

After the woman left, one woke the other. Together, they cautiously approached the garbage can and tore open the newly deposited trash, searching for anything useful.

Although there was a lot of rotten stuff in the trash, there were also some uneaten leftovers, semi-moldy vegetables, and fruits.

They picked out the usable items, found a relatively clean bag to carry them in, and then slowly left the place.

This scenario was repeated several times until they gradually figured out the bar's trash disposal schedule and could just come at the right time.

If they arrived at this time, they would find something useful six out of ten times. Although sticking around could ensure they didn't miss out, it was too exhausting mentally and physically, and besides, they had other similar 'spots' like this bar to patrol.

For them, every source of food was precious.

Of course, life wasn't always so smooth.

"Grrr—growl—" the snarling stray dog growled low, eyeing the two approaching the garbage bin. Its dirty, matted, black fur was knotted in places, revealing pus-filled wounds where the hair had fallen out.

The hissing stray dog bared its yellowed teeth, from which wafted the stench of decay, visible in the white breath it exhaled into the snowy night.

Faced with such a dog, the two boys gripped their sticks and edged closer, throwing a stone midway in an attempt to scare it away.

Finally, comparing its size against the two youths, the reluctant stray dog backed away, ceding the garbage can to them.

The two continued to search, selecting the edible parts and packing them up. But before they could leave, a chorus of barks approached.

The dog from before had returned, bringing companions—five in total, of different breeds, yellow, white, black, and grey. Still, they shared the common traits of being dirty and thin.

With its pack alongside, the dog was no longer as polite or fearful as before and charged forward. The boys managed to fend off one or two with their sticks, but were quickly beset by the rest.
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One aimed for the lower leg, another latched onto a swinging wrist, and a third tried to circle behind for the neck, which the boys barely fended off in time to prevent the dogs from succeeding.

Pain shot through their legs, and their clothes were ripped violently. The boys grew panicked and began to strike harder with their sticks, although most of their blows missed, with only a few connecting.