Author Puff: Finally, we can really start the story! Yes, now I'm glad I persevered through the setup; it was really boring.
We'd been on the road for a week.
I knew that because my legs had started filing complaints somewhere around day four.
The village was gone now. Not just out of sight—out of reach. The dirt road stretched forward between open fields and forests that felt louder than home. Birds argued above us. Insects buzzed. Somewhere far off, something big moved through the trees without caring who heard it.
Adventure, I thought.
Also: very uncomfortable shoes.
Porlyusica walked ahead of me, cloak moving with the wind like it belonged there. She didn't hurry. She didn't slow down either. The road bent around her pace, not the other way around.
I stepped on a loose stone and nearly ate dirt.
"Careful," she said without turning.
"I am careful," I replied. "The road is just… rude."
"It's a road."
"Exactly. Zero manners."
She didn't answer.
But her shoulders shifted. Slightly.
I counted that.
A New Habit
That night, after we made camp, I pulled out my notebook.
Porlyusica noticed immediately.
"What's that."
Not a question. A statement.
"A diary," I said.
"…You don't look sentimental."
"I'm not," I replied. "This is so I don't forget things."
"You forget easily?"
"No. But if I survive long enough, I want to explain things properly."
She stared at me for a moment, then turned back to the fire.
"Strange child."
I smiled. "I've been told."
I started writing.
Day 7.
Still alive. This is becoming a pattern.
Porlyusica walks like the road owes her money.
Training hurts, but not in a 'call a healer' way. More like a 'grow up' way.
I paused, then added:
Note: If I die, please give this notebook to Dad. Also tell him I did NOT trip on purpose.
I closed it and stretched my arms. They shook a little.
Not badly.
Just enough to remind me they existed.
Training (Porlyusica Version)
Porlyusica didn't teach.
She assigned problems.
"Carry that."
She pointed at a thick fallen branch.
"How far?" I asked.
"Until you stop."
I stopped after an hour.
She nodded once. "Good."
"…That's it?"
"Tomorrow, longer."
That was the lesson.
Some days she had me walk with extra weight. Other days she made me stand still in uncomfortable positions while controlling my breathing. Once, she made me walk, stop suddenly, then move again without losing balance.
No explanations. No magic lectures.
Just work.
I noticed something after a few days.
My body recovered faster than it should have.
Not fast. Not flashy. Just steady. Like something inside refused to let me break down all the way.
I didn't mention it.
She did.
"You don't resist exhaustion," she said one morning. "You endure it."
"That sounds cooler than it feels."
"That means it's working."
I blinked. "…Was that praise?"
"No."
Absolutely was.
Rain, Roads, and Time
Rain caught us on the eighth day.
Not a storm—just steady, cold rain that soaked through everything and turned the road into mud.
We took shelter under a rocky overhang. I wrung water from my sleeves and shivered.
"…I look fantastic," I muttered. "Very heroic. Ten out of ten."
Porlyusica tossed me a cloth. "Dry off."
"Concern?"
"Practicality."
"Ah. Your love language."
She didn't respond.
I smiled anyway.
After a moment, I asked, "Hey."
"What."
"What year is it?"
She looked at me sharply. "You don't know?"
"I know a lot of things," I said quickly. "Just… not dates."
"X772," she said. "Early in the year."
I nodded slowly. "Okay. That helps."
"You react oddly to information."
"I get that a lot."
She didn't push.
Good.
Why I Left
That evening, as the rain faded, she finally asked:
"Why did you really leave the village?"
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
The safe answer came first.
"…To get stronger," I said. "So I can protect people."
She looked unconvinced.
That bothered me more than it should have.
I sighed. "Okay. That's not the whole truth."
She waited.
"I wanted to move," I admitted. "See places. Cities. Roads like this."
I gestured ahead. "If I stayed… I'd regret it."
I didn't say adventure.
I wanted to.
But that would sound careless.
She studied me for a long moment.
"…At least you're honest," she said.
"That good?"
"It's acceptable."
High praise. Legendary, even.
Before Sleep
That night, I wrote again.
Day 9.
Learned the year is X772. Good to know I didn't miss anything important yet.
Training continues. Arms shaking less than yesterday. That's progress.
Magic feels steadier when I focus. Still quiet. Still subtle.
Note: If Fairy Tail really is as loud as the stories say, I might die of noise before monsters.
I closed the notebook and stared at the fire.
The road ahead was long.
Training would get harder.
The world would get bigger.
And for the first time—
I was actually moving.
That felt right.