Sometimes, I remembered that trials came when they were least wanted. The deeper your suffering, the colder other people seem to treat you. And it’s when you are drowning that they seem the least inclined to help you. Though I didn’t have any specific examples in my memories to back up these thoughts, I certainly felt them to be true.
If the boy were a god, he would be the most extreme of misanthropes or certainly a sadist.
I sought a quiet environment to practice releasing essence. If there wasn’t any, I would have liked somewhere that had a consistent noise. However, that was taken from me, and it was the fault of the children in the other rooms. There were those who complained loudly about the rooms they had been allocated, and so roommates were reshuffled. I thought that the adults decided who stayed in which room, but they only determined which cohort occupied which part of the building. Who slept where was up to the children. That led some to some rooms having more occupants than others.
Though I didn’t realize it at the time, the kids who were released from their reflection rooms first all took different rooms and then decided where to place those who were let out later. While it warmed me to think that my roommates had chosen me specifically, it only made parting from them all the more painful.
It was only after I moved rooms, as suggested by those very same roommates, that I realized they had tricked me. I wanted to break the demonborn’s horns and rip off the catborn’s tail. It wasn’t because they found a three-person room too crowded that they had asked me to move.
“Thanks a lot, guys...”
It seemed I was to be the dragon girl’s new caretaker.
The room was a wreck. The bedding had been torn to pieces, straw and feathers scattered all over the floor. As if that weren’t shocking enough, I turned to the walls to see diagonal markings in them: scratches left there by sets of four claws. It felt like I had entered a bear’s den. Even among all my memories of the dragon girl, I couldn’t remember her lashing out in such a way to cause this amount of damage. It was probably her releasing her anger from being punished by the instructor. She must have had extraordinary recovery powers to be beaten within an inch of her life every day and still return ready to fight back each time.
I sighed quietly, finally letting my gaze settle on the presence in the center of the room, the thing that had been begging for my attention since I arrived.
Her silent eyes were fixated on me. Everything, from her silver scales to her golden pupils, and especially the horns protruding from her temples, screamed dragon. Her tail, thicker and more impressive than mine, was swishing from side to side. She had been lying on her back on the bed at the far side of the room. Only her eyes were focused on me, peering out from the beneath hair the same shade of silver as her scales. She was probably trying to work out whether I would do anything to upset her. I realized then that she had forgotten who I was. While part of me was relieved, I also felt oddly frustrated.
However, I had learned how to deal with her, and so I knew better than to ask whether she remembered me or not. A proverb best summed up how my memories said I should treat her: Let sleeping dogs lie.
To put it kindly, she had a strong sense of pride. To put it less kindly, she was conceited. There was nothing she loathed more than having her ego damaged. For example, should I steal her pillow, she would go berserk. She wouldn’t be able to stand the idea that someone thought it acceptable to steal from her. If she had no pillow and I offered her one, she would go nuts as well. She wouldn’t be able to stomach that someone felt sorry for her.
If I had a menu in front of me with options to talk, fight, or run, all three of those would result in a game over. The correct answer was to put the controller down and wait for the menu to vanish completely while trembling from head to toe.
Fortunately, she seemed to be in a good mood—or so declared the boy inside me. It still looked like she was glaring at me. I dipped my head slightly, hoping to convey respect. If I didn’t, she would feel I was ignoring her and snap. Bowing to her felt very natural, indeed. Apparently, the boy had mastered the gesture.
I looked around for an undamaged mattress. When I saw that she was lying on four of them, any lingering affection I might have had for my former roommates vanished. I gathered up the scattered straw and feathers and stuffed them back into a torn duvet. After that, I tied up the torn opening securely so that none of the contents could fall out again and then lay down with that makeshift body pillow.
I stopped feeling her eyes on me at some point. It seemed I had passed the trial.
Her pride was as strong as ever. She did not flatter, concede, or reflect. Her disposition was spikier than a hedgehog. I found myself wondering how long she would remain stubborn as my physical and mental exhaustion lulled me to sleep.