Humans are truly fascinating.
Really. Normally, most things can’t even pretend to come near me. Those of lower standing especially so. Very small and weak creatures often die just from realizing I’m nearby, countless times over.
Even when I don’t want to kill them.
Yet humans, despite being so fragile, are composed. They even approach me. Occasionally there are those who keep trying to reach out their hands, or try to take something, which is annoying, but anyway, it’s a fascinating thing.
Is it because it’s not my true form? But does it matter what my appearance is? Don’t tell me they really can’t recognize me just because I changed my outer form?
No way, that can’t be. They wouldn’t be that foolish.
Even insects and protozoa that don’t have the concept of intelligence itself recognize me, so how could an intelligent being that’s built their own language and society be like that? I really had a foolish thought.
That day too, I went to see the pretty thing—no, Miros.
“Hello. It’s a nice day.”
“…I was waiting.”
“For me?”
But that day, for some reason, Miros was waiting for me.
“Who else would come looking for me besides you?”
“I’m not human. I’m just something old.”
“There you go again, talking like you’re some kind of ghost.”
“I’m not a spiritual being. I definitely have a physical body.”
“…I was being sarcastic. I didn’t really say it because you look that way.”
Miros grumbled as usual. While scrunching up their face as if they didn’t like the words they’d spat out.
“Anyway, who else would come looking for me besides you?”
Strange. Normally there was no sign of looking for me. Most of the time they were doing something. Miros was waiting for me under a pile of very small, dark planks.
“Why were you waiting?”
“I have something to ask.”
Then, grumbling, they tap-tap on a bundle of wood beside them. Are they telling me to come? I carefully approached and sat there.
I got close to Miros. We’d never narrowed the distance this much before—how strange. I thought they didn’t like my approach. I sat almost hunched over, looking at Miros beside me.
Since I was just staring silently, Miros’s face reddened a bit. Then they opened their mouth curtly.
“What the hell do you do with your life?”
“In what sense are you asking?”
“I’m asking because you seem to have time to spare. You’ve been coming almost every day.”
Don’t they know what I am? Didn’t I tell them? No, I did. I told them the name humans used to call me, and although I changed my appearance, I didn’t really hide anything.
Ah, they said they had no protective individual. And they’re a hatchling. They’re asking because they don’t know exactly what I am. I spoke honestly.
“I exist. Because that’s my right and duty.”
“…What does ‘exist’ mean?”
“It means exactly that—to be.”
Did I say something wrong, or is it too difficult a concept for the pretty thing to understand?
I think it’s probably the latter. Well, it can’t be helped. By my standards, the pretty thing—no, Miros—was close to a newborn. It would be the same by human standards too.
I heard humans become adults after growing for 20 years. I don’t know exactly how old Miros is, but judging roughly by the aura I feel, by human time standards, they’ve barely passed 10 years.
At this level, it’s literally like their eyes haven’t even opened yet.
I don’t know how Miros understood my words. They just looked at me with an dumbfounded face and let out a hollow laugh.
“What, so you’re just a rich unemployed bum?”
“I don’t know what that is, but my existence is truly important work.”
“What’s so important about loafing around?”
“If I weren’t here, the plants and trees wouldn’t obtain their origin. They would slowly wither and die, disappearing one by one.”
Not everything would perish immediately. I don’t have the power to create or destroy. But half of the garden—the plants and trees—prove their origin through my existence. Beings who lose their proof fade away.
This world is one where things must be ‘proven’ through faith, hope, and love to exist.
In human terms, I could be seen as a kind of guarantor. I’m responsible for proving the existence of plants and trees.
It’s not that they die immediately without proof, but losing their origin inevitably destabilizes their existence. Then, they’d disappear one by one and ultimately perish.
Unless they find new proof.
“I asked seriously and you’re making such weird jokes. You’re talking like it’s really a big deal.”
But it’s true. This individual—no, Miros—must be very suspicious.
I’ve gotten somewhat used to it. Small and weak, but very fierce and sensitive individual. Miros just survived that way. They’re just independent in that manner.
“How can you be this beautiful?”
Living like that. Living vigorously despite being so fragile. How can they be so lovable? Newly realizing how beautiful. Originally beautiful, but even more so. How can something this beautiful exist?
“That’s really out of nowhere. Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m truly listening. That’s why I said it.”
“Don’t other people tell you you’re weird?”
“Well. At least there’s no such incident in my memory.”
The strangeness I think of and Miros’s strangeness are bound to be different. We’re completely different beings after all. Just look at the nightmare-eating whale—clearly different from me. Even though we’re both beings for ‘proof.’
The nightmare-eating whale embraced love and sank down. Isolating itself from everything that way. While I still remain above.
Others are leaving for eternity one by one. Or they isolate themselves. I remain.
Because I still believed in love.
But this young individual wouldn’t understand any of this. There’s no need to know either. Because it’s utterly useless talk for this small, fragile thing’s survival. Fulfilling their duty by protecting their life and enjoying the natural order.
“Fine. Whatever it is, I got that you’re unemployed.”
Miros seemed to accept it moderately in their own way. I don’t know what unemployed means, but I guess it’s roughly similar. Miros sighed shallowly and asked me again.
“Honestly, I know it’s shameless to want something, but don’t you have money?”
“Money? You mean human wealth?”
“I’m grateful for the food and valuable hides you give me, but these things don’t become money.”
“Can’t you exchange them with other individuals?”
“…I already tried.”
Miros grumbled on with the story. In short, it seemed they were saying that exchange wasn’t easy because other kin looked down on Miros. They only try to take things and don’t pay a fair price.
So they said they couldn’t exchange what I gave them for wealth, so they just collected them and used them themselves.
“I don’t know humans’ exchange methods. It’s not that I haven’t done the act of giving and receiving things, but this thing you call trading is unfamiliar. I don’t know how to gauge the value you all measure either.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying, but basically you don’t have money.”
“Yeah. I have no occasion to do something called trading with humans.”
Trading is said to be giving and receiving equally. The act of exchanging what each other needs by agreement. But things equal to me rarely have big enough matters to demand something from me.
If such a thing were to happen, there would be a big change in the world. That would be a big problem. It’s better if there isn’t.
I’ve occasionally helped humans, but it’s hard to see it as trading. It’s literally just that I felt like it and helped, that’s all.
The things humans gave were pretty but utterly useless trash. I just gave because I liked them. That can’t be called trading.
It’s nothing more than helping because the heart of those insignificant and trivial things wanting to do something for me was grateful and pretty.
Miros seemed to open and close their mouth a few times at my answer, then sighed again.
“Forget it, never mind. Even I think I was ridiculously shameless.”
“I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want. I really don’t have any.”
“I’m the bad one. Damn, I know.”
I’ve received various requests from humans, but a request for money was unfamiliar. In the first place, it’s wealth that humans make and humans consume—what would there be to request from me? I have no occasion to use it anyway, and it’s not pretty either. It’s just a small lump of gold or silver. No one has particularly tried to give it to me either.
I thought they knew I wouldn’t use it, but Miros didn’t seem to know that.
“Why do you need this thing called money?”
“…This week’s earnings were really poor. I don’t think I can pay the protection fee to Gellan’s gang.”
Protection fee? I don’t know what that is, but I know the word protection. I couldn’t help but question it.
“You’re saying there’s an individual protecting you? Then why were you starving?”
“It’s not that kind of protection. It’s money given on the condition they won’t kill me or take me away.”
“That’s not protection. To protect is to guard, cherish, and love you.”
“Ah, I don’t know. I can’t explain it either. Don’t keep making me say difficult things. Just know that such a thing exists.”
What on earth is human protection? Receiving this thing called money wealth while protecting—that’s tolerance? Just leaving them to live is protection? To their own kin?
“Did you invade their territory?”
“What territory would there be? In this shithole rat den. If you really have to say, it’s right to say it’s the area where they’re active.”
“Then, they’re regularly extorting from you in a communal area for nothing? And from a hatchling of a kin who ‘received a star’?”
Those who received stars are literally beings accompanied by blessings. Such things have value just by existing. Even natural enemies don’t touch star-blessed beings. Setting aside how precious they are, it’s because they become strength just by existing.
From what I know, something incomprehensible is happening. Miros, the party in question, only gave a bitter smile at my reaction.
“The way you talk, you sound like some young master who doesn’t know the ways of the world. Now that I think about it anew, you really must be from a noble family.”
For some reason, this seems to be natural for humans. Seeing that Miros doesn’t have any particular doubts, is this the order of humans?
Thinking about it anew, humans really are strange. Only they ignore the world’s promises. Yet they’re multiplying and living like this—they’re truly amazing in many ways.
However, even if I try to let it go, questions still remain.
“Did you… steal food? Did you harm their other hatchlings? Did you impregnate their mate? Or perhaps… do humans need to prey on and consume humans?”
Otherwise, I can’t explain why they’d have to pay for tolerance. Unless they did something wrong. At my words, Miros scrunched up their face as if they’d heard something they shouldn’t have.
“What power would I have to do anything to those bastards? And what’s impregnate?”
“I asked if you made them carry young.”
At my question, Miros jumped up from their seat in shock and shouted.
“How could that be! I’m only 12 years old! And separately from those bastards being trash, people don’t eat people!”
“Then what the hell do they do?”
“What do you mean what? They’re just thugs!”
Why did humans make such rules even for their own kin? They really are strange.
“Anyway, now that I know you don’t have any, that’s enough. Don’t come for a while.”
“Why? I like seeing you.”
“My earnings have been poor because of you. I couldn’t work because I was hanging around with you.”
“Does my presence interfere with your survival?”
At my words, Miros only gaped their mouth. They couldn’t spit out anything. There seemed to be some confusion somewhere. After fidgeting and floundering, they clenched both hands tightly and squeezed out words.
“Just a few days, just… come back after a little while. I’ll solve it before then.”
I don’t know what it was, but it seemed to be quite a big decision for Miros. Probably.
