The Dream That Refuse to End
"I told you not to go around alone by yourself without your grandpa!"
The booming voice boomed above the din of the market like a hammer. The girl winced at first, taken aback by the sudden rebuke, but rather than shoving him away, she buried herself in the arms of the old man who had rushed through the crowd towards her. His grip was tight, protective—so filled with concern that it looked almost painful.
Then, with that disarming childishness of hers, she tilted her head back, flashed a bright grin, and said,
"I'm fine! The potatoes are fine too!"
She proudly lifted her basket, which somehow was still brimming with steaming potatoes, as though she hadn't lost a single one.
The eyes of the old man shook as he kept her in his arms, then gradually raised his eyes to me. His gaze also shook, but not with anger, with fear. It was the kind of gaze from one considering every option—whether I had been hurt, whether this daughter of his had done something she could never retract.
The disparity hit me. My tidy, high-priced outfit, so incongruous in this chaotic, dirty marketplace, most likely made me appear inaccessible to someone like him.
His tone was low, quavering, near-rehearsed.
"My little girl doesn't know much about the world yet… I wonder if she did something to displease you, Young Master…"
I almost laughed. Pretending to be a pitiful old man? Hiding behind a mask of humility? He was playing the role well, but I knew the truth.
This was no ordinary elder. He was Max—one of the Heavenly Paragons, a being so strong that even the Leader of the Alliance of the Ten Clans could not compel him to bow. The very notion of him addressing me in such a manner would've been ridiculous… if I wasn't standing before him.
I composed myself, folded my hands gracefully, and replied,
"Oh, there is no problem whatsoever, sir. To the contrary—I was quite hungry, and this young woman very graciously offered me one of her scrumptious potatoes. I am truly thankful for her kindness."
The old man stopped dead. His eyes opened wide, looking at me in shock. Maybe it was the seriousness of my voice. Maybe it was because I, obviously a kid, used such careful language. Either one, though, he wasn't prepared for.
Perhaps I was doing it too much. But this was just a dream, right? What harm could there be in going along?
I went on, bowing slightly.
"The only thing I could repay her with was a few bits of chikki. So if anything, I am the one who owes the apology for giving so little."
Silence.
The market shouted around us—vendors hollering, buyers hollering, dumplings sizzling—but between us was an odd quiet. Max's eyes were no longer shaking; they were piercing now, stern, as though peeling away layers of me with his gaze.
Had I spoken amiss?
The gravity of that gaze weighed on me until, blessedly, my escort intervened. His tone was smooth, but I saw his fingers quivering against the blade of his sword.
"…Young Master, I think it's time to go back."
I turned a little, raising an eyebrow.
"Already?"
"Yes," he asserted, though his eyes were shaking. "If we wait any longer, we'll be back after dark."
I breathed slowly and nodded.
"Very well. We shall go back."
Turning to Max once more, his face had reverted back to that same somber mask, the sad face of an old man.
"Senior," I said calmly, "it seems I must bid you farewell."
Before he could answer, the girl in his arms wrapped herself around his robe and exclaimed,
"You're leaving already…?"
Her big eyes, sparkling with disappointment, fastened onto me. That one glance cut more than I would have thought.
But it was sufficient.
The past I had been trying to erase, the sorrows I believed I could temper—it had come to an end. My wretched little existence, my impossible weights… I had borne them far enough.
'It's time to wake up.'
I said that to myself. Again and again.
If anyone had asked what was different, I'd have no idea.
If someone had asked whether I felt relief, I'd answer no.
But still—I'd done all I could do.
Mustering a smile, I turned to the girl.
"If fate permits, let's meet again. Your potato… it was delicious indeed."
I waved goodbye with my hand. She flashed a broad smile, her vacant tooth prominently displayed, and flapped both arms as vigorously as she could.
Max repeatedly bowed his head, apologizing like the burden of the world rested on his shoulders. That mock modesty disturbed me more than any menace—because I knew precisely who he really was.
Then, with the girl clutched close to his chest, the old man disappeared into the crowd.
"…I was scared to death."
The words escaped before I could stop them.
My escort gave a sour smile, his voice low.
"Yes, let's go back."
He assumed I meant home. But in reality—I couldn't even remember how to get home.
Nevertheless, I nodded.
'That aside… why am I still not waking up?'
This dream should've ended when I'd carried out my role. Why was it dragging on?
"Young Master? You're on the wrong way."
I'd been walking down the wrong street. My escort gently corrected me, leading me down the right road. Each time I wandered off, he guided me back with patience, and I trailed after.
'Whatever. This will all be over soon anyway.'
Resentment burned in my breast. Why was I being made to linger within this delusion? Why couldn't I simply disappear peacefully?
But I could do nothing.
So I gave up, allowing the dream to sweep me along as it pleased.
But a few days down the line, one thought hit me like a knife to the stomach.
"…Why isn't this crappy dream over?"
That's when I understood—
This wasn't a dream.