When I was little, our family ran an inn.
From a young age, I helped my parents with the chores around the place.
My friends pitied me, saying it must be tough, but honestly, I enjoyed lending a hand.
The inn's first floor doubled as a tavern, where adventurers would occasionally drop by for a mug of beer. As a kid, I loved listening to their tales.
Of course, ours wasn't some big city, so legendary adventurers who shook the continent rarely passed through.
But that didn't mean their stories lacked flair just because they weren't famous.
In fact, from experience, the less skilled ones tended to spice things up with exaggerations and bravado—and those embellishments actually made the tales more thrilling.
Sure, even as a child, I was sharp enough to tell bluster from truth.
But there was no need to call them out and ruin the mood.
I'd nod along enthusiastically, savoring their over-the-top adventures.
Except today, this particular adventurer's boasting was too much to play along with so cheerfully.
"So, you're telling me you're the Erosion Demon King, mister?"
"Kuhaha! That's right, that's right."
A middle-aged man with a bulging belly and a nose red as a drunkard's.
The moment I said I wanted to hear adventure stories, he boldly declared himself a demon king—one even a seven-year-old like me knew by name.
"The Erosion Demon King is number one among all demon kings, though?"
"Hahaha. Kid knows his stuff."
"Plus, he's the demon king the Empire's been hunting high and low for but can't catch. If you're gonna make something up, why not pick a different one?"
"That's on their incompetence, not me."
"Fine, let's say you are the Erosion Demon King... What have you been up to lately?"
He gulped down his ale.
Thud.
He slammed the mug roughly onto the table.
In that instant, I felt his presence shift.
"Stomping out promising sprouts wherever I find them."
"...Huh?"
"Come to think of it, you've got some potential yourself."
"...".
"Still, outright killing you would be a waste of talent. Corrupt you right, and you'd make fine material."
I froze.
Not because the words creeped me out—I couldn't even grasp what he meant.
It was just that his eyes, which had belonged to a run-of-the-mill drunkard moments ago, had sunk into an icy chill.
As I sat there speechless,
"Dai-il! Bring this out here."
Dad's voice called from the kitchen.
I shot to my feet and bolted there like I was fleeing.
From behind, it sounded like he muttered,
"What curse should I use...?"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
A month after that bizarre man claiming to be the Erosion Demon King left.
One evening, after finishing an errand and returning to our home-slash-inn, Mother was gone.
Not that she'd run away or anything dramatic like that.
It was her appearance that had vanished.
The two are entirely different things.
"Daaaai-iiiil, yooou're hoooome."
"...".
"Whyyy dooo yooou looook sooo daaaark and broooody?"
It was a terror I'd never felt before.
That thing stood in our kitchen.
Where Mother should have been prepping dinner.
But Mother's form was nowhere to be seen.
In its place was a monster.
Or maybe not a monster—more like a phenomenon?
If I had to describe what I saw, it was like this:
Tiny, translucent white squares stacked layer upon layer.
Countless squares blanketing its entire body, giving it a monstrous look.
"Gah! W-what are you? Who are you?!"
"Whyyy yooou gooone and yelliin' like thaaat."
To make matters worse, even the voice was warped.
If voices were visible and tangible, it was like someone had grabbed it from both ends and stretched it like taffy.
I couldn't tell if the speaker was male or female, what emotion colored the words, or even what they meant.
Young as I was, I froze solid.
Tap.
Someone patted my shoulder from behind.
"Dai-il? Why are you standing there like a statue?"
It was Father.
I was genuinely relieved to see him unharmed.
Clinging to his arm, tears streaming, I stammered with a trembling voice,
"Waaah. D-Dad. There. Over there!"
"Over there?"
"There's a monster standing there. Can't you see it?"
"What? You little—"
Whack.
Father cuffed my head hard.
Not his usual playful flick—he was seriously pissed.
"What kind of way is that to talk about your mother?"
Right.
That thing was Mother.
The same Mother who'd been bandaging my scraped knee and blowing on it just yesterday.
After that day, Mother's appearance never returned.
My parents never breathed a word of my strange affliction to outsiders.
They acted with all their might like everything was normal, and forced me to play along.
Around then, I believed the monster before my eyes had swallowed Mother whole, so I resisted as best a kid could.
"Does this look like Mom to you, Dad? It's a monster. The monster ate Mom!"
"You rascal!"
"It's true! I have a hunch about this. Please listen. Please!"
I spilled everything about that so-called "Erosion Demon King" who'd visited our inn a month prior.
How he'd said he went around crushing promising sprouts.
And that I had potential too.
"So he cursed me. He said, 'What curse should I use...?'"
"Dai-il, please..."
"That curse is what made the monster devour Mom. Believe me, Dad. Please?"
Father just let out a deep sigh instead of answering.
And the monster sniffled as if it were truly Mother.
"Whyyy iiis our baaaby saaaayin' suuuch thiiiings."
The house grew darker and more depressing by the day.
Half by force, half willingly, I was confined to my room, cut off from the outside.
Looking back now, it wasn't control—it was protection.
No telling what the villagers might do if word spread I was cursed.
"Dear, don't cry. Dai-il will snap out of it soon."
"Snnniiiff."
"You know I have some connections at the church? I put in a request for the Saintess to come. Once she does, everything will be fine."
"Pleeease cooome quuick, deeeear."
Father said he'd summoned the Saintess.
In hindsight, that was probably delusion soaked in desperate hope.
Sure, he worked at the church, but a rural outpost like ours had no pull to call her.
"...".
Peering through the crack in the master bedroom door, I bit my lip.
The one Father should hold and comfort was Mother.
Not that grotesque monster!
But with Father completely fooled, there was nothing I could do.
After that, I spent my days suppressing my emotions as much as possible.
Holding back the urge to bolt from the house was torture for a child.
Time never stops.
Two months later, Father came to me with a grave expression.
"Your mother's very sick."
"...!"
I brightened up.
Seeing that, Father gritted his teeth and continued.
"Don't look so happy."
"Dad."
"Go nurse her, hold her. She's bedridden from the shock you caused."
Of course, I didn't.
I couldn't even believe the monster was ill.
To me, it was the same opaque white squares and chilling, mushy voice.
Yeah. I never went looking for the monster.
But it came seeking me every day.
"Myy baaaaby."
"Yooou're suuuch a gooood chiiiild."
"Mom's feeelin' a biiit better tooo, so cooome see her."
See?
Sick, my foot. Total lie.
Just Father's ploy, bewitched by the monster, to draw us closer.
That's what I believed back then.
So I'd shove it away, dodge it daily, even insult it sometimes.
And so more time passed.
Half a year since Mother vanished and the monster appeared.
That day, oddly, it didn't come to me.
Days like this make the heart a little lighter.
That's all I thought, holing up in my room all day.
Then, deep into the night—around midnight, maybe.
Knock knock.
A knock at the door.
I didn't answer, but the door creaked open gently, carefully.
There stood the monster, as expected.
"Is myy baaaaby asleeep?"
The monster's voice still sounded stretched, but compared to the start, it wasn't total gibberish.
Not that its speech had improved—more like I'd grown used to deciphering its tongue.
Normally I'd ignore it, but that night, I paused, then replied.
"Not yet."
"Caaan we taaalk a biiit?"
"What do you want, monster?"
"Dooon't tell yooour mooom."
"You're not my mom. Give her back."
The monster fell silent.
Its face, shrouded in stacked white squares, was unreadable.
No emotion seeped from the voice.
I had no clue what it felt looking at me.
But somehow.
For some reason, it felt like the monster was sad.
"Yooou haaate thaaat Mooom's a biiit siiick."
"...".
"Feeelin' straaange too."
Mom's not feeling great today.
Mood's off.
Something like that, probably.
I shot back flippantly.
"So? What do you want me to do about it?"
"My baaaaby."
Something was off.
The monster's voice was clearing up.
Objectively, it was still that mushy slur.
But was I focusing that hard?
For the first time since Mother was devoured, I heard the monster's words pure and true.
"If Mom upset you somehow, I'm sorry."
"...".
"Can't you make up with her? It's Mom's wish."
If only at that moment.
Why didn't I run into those arms and beg forgiveness then?
Instead, like a fool, I hurled my pillow and yelled,
"Get out of my room right now!"
The monster caught the pillow and stayed wordless for a while.
Now I know.
It was definitely crying then.
Of course, back then, I saw no tears.
"All right. But just one thing—hear Mom out."
"...".
"Baby, your condition won't heal easily. Remember what Mom says: Never tell anyone about your symptoms."
"...".
"The world's cruel and frightening. If they learn you have... some kind of mental illness, they'll shun you, curse you, point fingers. Mom couldn't bear that for her son."
The monster's long speech.
Words I'd never have understood before.
But that night, somehow, every bit came through clear.
No emotion in the voice.
No rise or fall to betray feeling.
The more I heard, the creepier it got.
Yet the content was pure worry for me—and that irked me to no end back then.
So without thinking, I screamed,
"Get out! Get out! Drop dead! Just die already!"
"...".
The monster didn't react for a long stretch.
Minutes later, it finally spoke one last line.
"Mom loves you so much, my baby."
The monster rose and left.
And the next day—
"Aaaah! Dear, please open your eyes. Please!"
I raced to the master bedroom at Father's scream.
"...!"
And there I saw it.
Father clutching a still, unmoving body, sobbing.
The body he held wasn't the monster's.
"M-Mom."
Mother. My real mother's face.
But not as I remembered.
Her face bore far more wrinkles and weariness than in my memory.
The bright golden hair she'd prized was now white as an old woman's.
Her body was gaunt, skin and lips chapped, back hunched.
I gaped, then managed,
"M-Mom?"
"...!"
Father whipped around to me.
His eyes held endless grief, despair, and a flicker of hatred toward me.
"Only now you recognize your mother?"
"W-why does Mom look like that...? Why's she so old?"
"Why do you think? Who do you think caused it?"
"...".
"Your mother hasn't slept a proper night from worrying about you! She spent every evening in tears, wondering if you'd ever see her again."
"...".
"She wasn't sturdy to begin with, and heartbreak finished her off."
Father stroked Mother's face as he spoke.
"I know she went to your room last night. What did she say?"
"...".
"When she came back, your mother said it was no use. She just wanted to die..."
I clapped a hand over my mouth.
My stomach lurched.
"Urk."
I couldn't hold back the vomit and dashed outside.
Father shouted something behind, but it didn't register.
The world spun dizzily.
"Bleurgh."
I heaved spectacularly under the tree next to the house.
After emptying my guts, I slowly lifted my head.
And realized someone stood before me.
"Heh heh."
It was him!
The self-proclaimed Erosion Demon King who'd cursed me.
Still pot-bellied, nose beet-red.
No shred of dignity in his grubby look.
But those sunken eyes chilled me to the bone.
"Still haven't fallen, huh?"
"U-ugh."
"Strong will. Holding out better than expected."
"Y-you... it was you..."
"Guess I'll have to crank it up."
Snap.
He flicked his fingers.
I blinked reflexively.
Nothing changed at first.
The Erosion Demon King who'd been there a second ago was gone.
I exhaled the breath I'd held.
Then—
"Nooow gooo to yooour mooom."
That sickeningly familiar mushy, stretched voice.
Shuddering, I turned.
"Sooorry for yelliin' at yooou earliier, Daaad."
"Uh...".
"Leet's heeeal Mooom nooow."
I clutched my face and wailed.
The form overlaid with white squares.
Father had changed too, at last.
"Aaaah!"
I bolted from the house like a madman into the village.
I hadn't set foot outside in nearly a year.
Villagers who saw me gaped in shock, calling out.
"Isss thaaat Daaaai-iiiil?"
"He muuust be siiick or sooome thiiing."
"Whyyy're yooou screeeamin' and ruuunnin' like thaaat?"
Of course, I couldn't make out a word they said.
Those mushy voices.
Those forms turned to white squares.
From that day on, my world filled with monsters.