The memory of that day had long since faded into a blur. In a single, searing instant, reddish-brown flames had engulfed my entire being. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry out for help. All that lingered in my mind was an overwhelming, primal terror.
Terrified. Utterly, completely terrified.
Anyone, please! Please, save me!
When I next awoke, I found myself in a hospital bed. Every inch of my body screamed with the agony of the burns, yet even that excruciating pain paled in comparison to the horror of my reflection after I was discharged.
Hideous. Disgusting. Ugly. A monster.
The incident’s origin remained untraceable; I had entirely forgotten the circumstances of my burns. Ultimately, the blame was conveniently laid upon the maid who perished in the blaze, her supposed negligence cited as the cause. But by then, such details held no meaning for me.
One day, I overheard the doctor addressing my parents. “Given the extent of these burns,” he stated gravely, “even the most cutting-edge reconstructive surgery abroad may not fully remedy them. Please, prepare yourselves.”
Was I truly condemned to live out my days in this horrific state?
The gazes—whether filled with fear, pity, or outright disgust—had become unbearable. I approached my parents with the idea of moving to a remote, secluded villa. They likely found me an unsightly burden as well, for they readily granted my request.
And so, I settled into that distant residence. Servants delivered my three daily meals, and fearing the sun’s harsh rays on my scarred skin, I kept the room’s curtains perpetually drawn. Gradually, I transformed into a local urban legend: the hideous witch.
It was fine. This solitude was enough.
****
“Look! The monster has appeared!”
“Surround her, everyone! Don’t let her escape!”
“Hit her! Beat her to death!”
One day, venturing out to retrieve my food, I was ambushed by children lurking near the entrance. They forcibly dragged me from the house, subjecting me to a barrage of punches and kicks.
‘Why are you hitting me?!’ I wanted to scream, but deep down, I already knew the answer.
‘Because I was a monster.’
The pain. It was excruciating.
Would I simply die here?
‘Perhaps… that wouldn’t be so bad.’
To die now, rather than endure a lifetime as a monster, seemed a merciful end.
As these thoughts drifted through my mind, my consciousness began to wane.
“Hey, hey, hey! Even bullying requires a bit of decorum, you rowdy brats!”
A figure, distinct from us and our tormentors, suddenly materialized.
I forced my eyes open, catching sight of a figure I knew I would never forget. He was breathtakingly beautiful, a stark contrast to my own wretchedness. He seemed a divine child, embodying all the world’s beauty and blessings. Instinctively, I recoiled, fearing his radiance might further wound me.
For some inexplicable reason, I desperately wished he wouldn’t see my hideous form.
The other children, too, were stunned into silence by the newcomer, momentarily forgetting their assault. After a long moment, their leader cautiously stammered, “W-what are you doing here?”
“I was merely roused from my nap by the commotion,” he replied, “so I came to investigate. Look, it’s perfectly normal for children to play-fight, but this has gone too far, hasn’t it? Can’t you see that girl is bleeding?” He gestured towards me.
What an peculiar boy he was. Though clearly a child himself, he spoke with the wisdom of an adult. A strange warmth bloomed within my chest. No one had referred to me as a ‘girl’ since my transformation.
Could this be… joy?
“Don’t be ridiculous!” one child scoffed. “She’s just a monster! What’s wrong with hitting a monster?”
“Huh?” the boy retorted, a smirk playing on his lips. “Watched too much Ultraman, have we? Fine, if you’re so bored, why don’t you try fighting me instead? Compared to her, I’m the real monster, you know.”
The children exchanged bewildered glances, uncertain how to react. Even I was momentarily stunned. ‘It must be a lie,’ I thought. ‘Such a beautiful person… why would he call himself a monster?’
The very next moment, however, I realized my mistake—a profound one.
“Not going to make a move?” the boy said casually. “Then I’ll go first.”
In a flash, before I could even process what was happening, all the children were sprawled on the ground, clutching their bellies and groaning in agony.
“What’s wrong?” the victorious boy sneered, arms crossed, his gaze cold as he looked down at my erstwhile tormentors. “Weren’t you all so tough? Is bullying a little girl truly that amusing? Come on, try again!”
“M-monster!” the children shrieked. It took them a moment to scramble to their feet before they fled in terror.
“Hmph, nothing but a bunch of cowards,” he mumbled, before walking over to me and extending a hand. “Hey, are you alright? Do you need me to take you to a hospital?”
I reached out to grasp his hand, only to recoil at the last instant. Lowering my head, I murmured, “Why… why did you save me?”
“Hmm? Why wouldn’t I save you?” he countered, a hint of confusion in his voice. “Are you perhaps a masochist who enjoys being beaten? If so, my apologies for interrupting your… particular enjoyment.”
I couldn’t fathom what he was saying, but I pressed on. “I’m so ugly. I’m a monster. Why… why would you still save someone like me?”
“As for why…” he began, “weren’t you crying for help?”
“Huh?”
‘I… cried for help?’
“Didn’t you notice yourself?” he asked. “Though it was barely a whisper, I still heard you. You were saying, ‘Someone, please save me,’ weren’t you?”
‘So, even in my subconscious, I still yearned for salvation?’
“Because I am a god,” he declared. “And for a god, listening to people’s prayers is simply the natural order of things, wouldn’t you agree?”
‘A normal person… would call themselves a god?’
“But for someone like me,” I questioned, “even if I survive, what purpose would my life hold?”
“So, you’re concerned with what others think of you?” He sighed, then knelt before me. Gently, he cupped my head, preventing me from looking away, and fixed his gaze intently upon my eyes. “Look closely,” he urged. “Can you see my eyes?”
“So beautiful,” I breathed, involuntarily captivated by his large, gem-like eyes, which shimmered with a crystal-clear brilliance. What struck me as peculiar, however, was the distinct and incredibly rare color of his pupils: one was pure black, the other a striking reddish hue, yet they maintained an unusual, captivating balance.
“Though you might find it hard to believe,” he continued, “I can perceive many things that remain invisible to ordinary eyes. For instance, your soul, unlike those of others, radiates a vibrant, multicolored glow. It’s truly beautiful.”
A lie, surely? To be called beautiful by someone so exquisite… for the very first time.
“So, please continue to cherish that,” he concluded, “and never let your soul be tainted by this mundane world.” With those words, he vanished as abruptly as he had appeared.
‘I… beautiful?’
Ultimately, his name remained a mystery to me.
From that day forward, I abandoned my previous desire for death, choosing instead to pursue a life filled with joy. I implored my father to hire a Taekwondo instructor, and enduring his palpable disgust, I dedicated myself entirely to the art. Before long, the neighborhood children could no longer best me, and they soon ceased their torment.
I remained within the villa, perpetually anticipating our next encounter, yet he never reappeared.
Still, I held onto a fervent belief that, one day, we would meet again.