The next morning, I rose before the sun. The village was quiet, the air cool and still, but the weight of what I needed to do pressed on my chest. Dad lay resting, pale and weak, yet I could sense the faint rhythm of his breathing steadier than the day before. Around the village, others moved slowly, coughing, pausing, pale-faced. Friends like Miko and Taro were weaker than yesterday, struggling with even simple tasks. My hands itched to help, to do something, anything.
I packed a small satchel with water, a few simple herbs I had learned from Dad and Garron, and set off toward the edge of the village. Each step was careful, deliberate. My Massage Magic thrummed faintly beneath my skin, warm and steady, responding to my determination, my hope. Just like Makarov had said once—magic reacts to the heart. I clenched my fists subtly, feeding my quiet energy into it. It wasn't healing, it wasn't control. It was a small edge, a way to hold myself together.
The path to the clearing where I had seen her yesterday felt longer than it should. I kept my pace even, quiet, thinking over what I would say. A deal. That was the only way. I would offer help with her plants in exchange for guidance. Even the smallest hint could make a difference for Dad—and for my friends, and for the village.
When I reached the clearing, she was already there, crouched among the herbs, picking with the same precise motions I had noticed before. She didn't look up. She didn't acknowledge me yet.
I took a deep, steadying breath. "Excuse me," I said, voice calm but firm. "I… I want to ask you something. I can help with your plants. In return… maybe you could give me guidance, just enough to help someone who's very sick."
Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing, but she didn't rise or step back. She studied me briefly, as if measuring my seriousness. There was no warmth, no sudden trust—only distance and careful observation.
"You're very small," she said finally, voice clipped, neutral. "You know nothing about these plants, or the forest."
"I've learned what I could," I replied evenly. "From my father, and from someone who taught me about the forest. I may be small, but I can be careful. I can follow instructions."
Her gaze flicked to the herbs in her hands, then back to me. "…Why should I care?"
"Because the people I care about need help," I said, voice controlled, desperate but calm. "Not just my father, but my friends and the village. They're sick too. And maybe, in return, I can make your work easier—find what you need faster, carry things, observe details you don't have time for. I just need a chance to show I can be useful."
She didn't respond for a long moment. I could feel my hands twitch, the faint hum of Massage Magic beneath my skin, warmer, steadier. It responded to my hope, my worry for the village, my determination to do what was necessary. Not healing. Not control. But enough to keep me grounded.
Finally, she spoke, still crouched, still detached. "You can watch. You can follow the instructions I give. You can carry what I need. Nothing more."
I nodded once, deliberately slow. That was enough. A door, even a small one. I could work with that.
She continued picking plants, her movements precise, deliberate. I followed at a careful distance, remembering every step, every choice, every leaf she selected. I didn't ask questions—yet. Today was about proving I could be trusted, that I could help without messing up.
As we moved, I tried to commit details to memory: the shape of leaves, the angles of stems, the way she handled fragile roots. My own knowledge from Dad and Garron helped me anticipate her needs. I handed her plants without hesitation, carried the heavier bundles, kept quiet when she didn't speak.
It was exhausting. Not just physically, but mentally. I had to be precise, calm, aware. And yet, I felt… a spark of hope. My magic pulsed faintly beneath my skin, synchronized with the effort, with the careful focus I poured into every motion. It wasn't grand or flashy. It wasn't anything extraordinary. But it made me feel capable. Ordinary, yes—but capable.
By the time we returned to the edge of the clearing, my satchel nearly empty, the sun already warm on my back, I had a plan for the next day. I would return.If she revealed even the name of a rare plant, I could use my experience from Dad and Garron to assist. Maybe then, she would let me learn more, enough to help my father, my friends, and the village.
I stepped back, gave her a respectful nod, and began the walk home. The village lay ahead, quiet but tense. The illness was still there, slowing footsteps, soft coughs, pale faces. I imagined Dad resting, my hands ready to ease his stiffness with the faint hum of Massage Magic.
It wasn't a cure. It wasn't power. But it was something. And right now, something mattered more than nothing.
As I entered the village, I felt the weight of responsibility settle around me, heavier than the sun overhead. Friends like Miko and Taro coughed and paused more often. Adults whispered more frequently, moving slower than usual. Each step reminded me that time was short, that every action, every careful motion, every quiet choice could make a difference.
I knelt beside my father's cot, hands warm, letting the subtle vibrations of my magic flow softly through him. He didn't know the details—he didn't need to—but I did. Every breath, every careful motion, every cautious touch was a promise: I would do everything I could.
Tonight, I planned quietly in my mind: tomorrow, I would return to her. I would offer help, show what I could do, and hope she would trust me enough to provide guidance. Maybe then, I could finally start making a difference—not with grand power, not with talent, not with words—but with ordinary, steady effort, careful observation, and a quiet heart determined to act.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, that vague recognition lingered: pink hair, sharp eyes… Porlyusica. I wasn't certain, but the thought gave me a sliver of hope.
For now, I rose from my knees, hands lingering a moment on my father's shoulders, and whispered quietly to myself: tomorrow, I will try again. I will do everything I can. I won't fail.
Outside, Date Village remained quiet, holding its breath under the heavy sun. Friends, neighbors, and adults alike moved slower, their weakness a reminder that every small act counted. And somewhere beyond the fields, a healer continued her work, unaware of the small boy whose ordinary magic and ordinary determination would meet hers again.