Chapter 2
"I hang my lifeblood and true name upon the Scale of the Dead, and swear upon my Heart to speak only the truth. O primordial original sin blooming in the abyss, O slave of pleasure craving amusement! I, Yuri Alcast, desire a fair and just Contract with you!"
"...?"
Not a twisted Mutant or a deranged Madman, but a normal Human.
And a young Child who looked to be about a Middle Schooler at that.
Black hair reaching down to the Shoulder, an androgynous appearance that caused fatal errors in determining their gender, and an ambiguous, pleasant voice caught somewhere between the high and low pitches typical of puberty.
An anachronistic outfit called a worn, baggy Robe, and a mysterious black book held open in one hand.
A terminal eighth-grader syndrome (suspected) Patient, indistinguishable as a Boy or a Girl, who had come to a Survivor standing just one step away from the ending.
In this clearly abnormal situation that went far beyond the ordinary, there was only one thing I could say.
"A Contract. That piques my interest quite a bit."
"?!!!"
If it meant I could escape that damned Hell, I had no choice but to become a Demon.
Excuse me, but are you my Master?
***
Old, discolored yellow wallpaper and a wooden ceiling with Spider webs spun in every corner.
There was absolutely no furniture.
A cramped, desolate room seemingly stripped of any traces of life.
And standing proudly in the center, kindly announcing who the Master of this shabby room was, stood a single Black Magician Cosplayer Little Kid of unknown origin, unknown gender, and confirmed eighth-grader syndrome.
The small hand stretched out confidently toward me was trembling slightly, perhaps because their arm had gone numb.
No, honestly, I couldn't really tell if their hand was small.
The sleeves of the Robe were so large that I couldn't even see it.
Cheap candles arranged in a pentagon flickered precariously as they dripped wax, reflecting an inorganic red wall instead of a beautiful landscape. Having lost its essence as a window.
Raindrops were now fiercely striking against something that truly deserved to be called an unfortunate pane of glass stuck between the walls.
In this cramped space, where the smell of mold was breathtakingly charming, there was no sound at all except for the rain and the occasional sound of breathing.
"...."
"...."
After the Little Kid's lines about lifeblood, true name, and sometimes the abyss or whatever ended.
About five minutes had passed in an indefinite, meaningless, and speechless standoff, sparked by my naturally flowing remark about my interest or whatever.
In this great era of encounters where even brushing collars is considered destiny, what I realized after calmly exchanging only our breaths without a single word or action for a whopping 300 seconds was...
...the fact that we lacked social skills.
And a terribly abysmal singularity of communication at that, one that required disgraceful modifiers like very or extremely attached to the front.
Having played solo for decades in a hardcore apocalypse survival virtual reality game, where glowing corpses ran wild and the only person I could trust was my own reflection in the mirror, I...
...am not exactly proud of it, but I pride myself on having extremely poor social skills.
If so, then what about the beautiful Girl or Boy whose trembling had moved past their arm and all the way down to their legs?
Just what kind of humiliation had they suffered at such a young age to be so shy around strangers?
'Hmm.'
Amusingly, the answer to my dilemma came from my long, black fingertips, which habitually reached for my face whenever I was deep in thought.
-Tap.
What the three thin, long Fingers attempting to wrap around my lower face touched wasn't an angular, fleshy jaw, but something smooth and hard.
A long, protruding beak and a dark Lens, a mysterious harmony of seamless black Leather and glossy black iron.
A bizarre object that seamlessly wove in a modern tactical sensibility while evoking the imagery of a medieval Plague Doctor mask.
This was definitely the cause of the Child's communication issues.
I see.
Viewed objectively, I...
...might look incredibly repulsive?
-Creak.
"...!"
"...."
Staying in the same posture for a long time is incredibly difficult for a living creature that seeks change.
Even if it doesn't consume any stamina.
It wasn't the discomfort of physical or physiological pain, but an emotional discomfort.
Even I, who was temporarily distancing myself from normality for some reason, naturally felt uncomfortable standing in one pose for too long.
That was why I merely tried to shift my posture a little.
But the moment I tried to lift my foot off the ground, an unpleasant sound rang out.
And the Boy or Girl flinched at the noise.
Life has no choice but to react to stimuli.
Therefore, it was a perfectly natural reaction for their gaze to be drawn to the Bomb of stimulation—a 'repulsive sound' coming from a 'repulsive being'.
"!!!"
The Little Kid couldn't help but gape in awe at the sight of my stylish Combat Boots.
Well, actually, it was more likely that they were horrified by the thick bloodstains sullying the floor.
Doctor, even in death, you can't stand to see things go well for me. I hate you.
It was a relief, at least, that no chunks of blood or fat had gotten on my Coat.
You ate very cleanly, Magpie.
"Chirp!"
"...!"
"...."
The Trait that suspiciously caught on to the Player's thoughts read the fleeting hint of praise in my mind, and expressed its joy outward, making an already awkward situation even more complicated.
Perhaps they were experiencing cognitive dissonance after hearing such an adorably cute sound that shouldn't, couldn't, and definitely must not have come from a towering, emaciated Crow-headed Phantom over two meters tall.
The eyes of the Boy-Girl-Mister-Miss began to lose focus.
The arm they had been stretching out so confidently had long since been lowered.
The emotions felt from their black Pupils, shaking from side to side like a leaf, were bewilderment, confusion, fear, and curiosity.
And.
A faint sense of expectation and hope.
Their slightly trembling lips were sealed tightly as if they had a lot to say, and their tiny, barely noticeable Adam's apple looked very busy gulping down dry saliva.
'Just looking at their face is entertaining.'
A small and refined hobby I picked up in this post-apocalyptic World where many fans followed me around, yet none of them were actually Human.
Observation.
A minimalist observer who found joy in the subtle differences of discolored ceiling tiles, and smiled while leaning against a rain-soaked window, blankly staring at the stains reflected in the Water Drops.
To someone like me.
A sweet rain during a drought that had come to the one and only Survivor of the post-apocalypse, whose emotions had dried up to the point of converging on zero.
It was a shame that I couldn't see the ending, but this situation was maddeningly interesting.
Every single moment of that Child making different expressions in response to the stimulus known as 'me' was incredibly colorful.
I was afraid that if I carelessly opened my mouth, all these moments would vanish like a fleeting dream.
As a super-duper coward, I simply stood there silently, posing and pretending to be a mysterious Demon. Just until the Black Magician Little Kid brought up the abyss or that Contract again.
It would look too weak if the Demon begged for a Contract first, wouldn't it? Don't you think?
"...."
"...."
If I were a proper Adult, it would be right to speak first and lead the conversation, but for someone like me who was faster at pulling the Trigger than speaking, normal communication and leading a conversation were far too overwhelming.
The only area I, a super coward disqualified as an Adult, had any confidence in was waiting.
For hope to arrive.
Or.
For the end of a miserable life to arrive.
I just waited endlessly.
"...."
Waiting in the past, where the subject was neither clearly defined nor confirmed to exist, was merely a form of torture—like an endless dripping Water Drop slowly carving away at my forehead.
Now, it's different.
They're breathing.
Making eye contact.
Because there is a clear subject to my waiting, their tiny lips twitching as if they're about to speak at any moment.
All I have to do is relax, leisurely observe this fascinating and amazing being, and savor the sweet anticipation.
However, if I literally just stand still and wait, then I'm a completely failed Adult and nothing more than an amateur who hasn't grasped the true aesthetics of waiting.
-Thud.
"...!"
I go down on one Knee to meet the Little Kid's eye level.
Calculated respect, fabricated tenderness.
That's right. True waiting is...
...waiting with action!
How contradictory!
If you're going to take action, then don't call it waiting, you punk!
The Little Kid must have been startled, too, as their mouth opened a little wider to form a perfect circle.
A brief moment, and a little bit of time passed.
As if having made a decision, the Little Kid bravely furrowed their black eyebrows and took a step toward me.
-Tap.
Ah, how magnificent.
Is this what it felt like to stand beside the first astronaut to leave a footprint on the moon?
Awe, amazement, astonishment, appreciation, admiration, and affection.
A feast of endless 'A' words.
That may have been one small step for the Little Kid, but to my eyes, it felt like one giant leap.
Look at that majestic sight, stepping over fear and reaching out toward the unknown!
They're trembling slightly like a newborn Chick and maintaining an incredibly awkward, subtle gaze, but what does that matter?
What's important is the fact that they took a step forward anyway.
I rotted in that gutter for decades because I couldn't even manage that one thing.
"...."
Everything is unfamiliar and awkward at first, but like a small Snowball rolling down a snowy mountain, that little courage swells in an instant.
Before I knew it, the Little Kid had reached right in front of my beak.
There is a slight tremble, but no hesitation in their gaze.
The pleasantly beautiful voice flowing from their slowly opening small mouth—to reconstruct the entirety of the words born from that low yet high, underdeveloped vocal organ, it goes like this.
"Please form a Contract with me! Demon!"
And the Demon(?)'s reply to that.
"I'll think about it."
"Huh?"
Just like that, the bizarre cohabitation between the Boy or Girl and the Phantom wearing a Crow Mask began.
.
.
.
...is the emotion-filled story I was expecting, but reality wasn't so forgiving.
"Um.... Excuse me, but if you aren't going to form a Contract, please leave quickly. And I'd appreciate it if you wiped up the blood on the floor."
"!!!"
Ah. Does this Little Kid really not know how to play hard to get? Their sense of romance must have surely perished.
'This... isn't right....'
Day 1 of cohabitation.
The astonishing crisis of a catastrophe. The curtain rises.
Read more at: https://noveldex.io/series/novel/i-became-the-demon-of-terror-in-the-dungeon-city