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“One could say that humans are a prime example of beings who gain their place in the world by banding together. But Master Finis, why were you so lonely in life?”

One day, Lullus asked me that. As usual, her words were sharp, but I understood what she meant. And I couldn’t exactly deny her point either. It wasn’t exactly the same for this world, but if I spoke in terms of Earth, then humans weren’t all that strong on their own. That’s precisely why they built villages, towns, and nations, and why they ended up ruling the world.

After all, unless you lived self-sufficiently on some deserted island or deep in the forest, no one survived without relying on others.

“Because humans held dominion, there were no external threats. Which meant that even if someone was isolated among people, they could still live. So, even in loneliness, it wasn’t really a problem. Or at least, that’s how it should have been.”
“Is that so?”

Lullus, with a face so similar to mine, tilted her head curiously. Even though she now looked human, she wasn’t actually human. Perhaps that was why it was harder for her to grasp such things.

“I’ll tell you about it since I’m bored, but it’s nothing pleasant. It’s the story of a childish, mentally immature boy. A pitiful one at that.”
“And yet, you’ll tell it anyway?”
“Well, I’m bored.”

Truth be told, everything I did in this world was basically just to kill time. Besides, I felt no shame anymore in talking about my days as Toriyama. Whatever insults people threw at me, I’d just respond with a flat, “Yeah, true.”

In fact, I might end up stuck only being able to say, “Yeah, true,” and nothing else. They say running the same joke only works about three times, after all.

“Once upon a time, there was a boy named Toriyama who hadn’t yet turned ten. He broke a promise he’d made to his mother. Specifically, he broke curfew. He was supposed to be home by five, but came back at six. Naturally, his mother scolded him harshly. But since he had just been having so much fun playing, young Toriyama sulked instead.”

The reason I could recall this memory so vividly was that it was important. Or maybe it was just that bad memories never quite fade. Either way, it was one of those times where being scolded had really stuck with me.

“Seeing him sulk, the mother explained why curfews existed and what it meant to break a promise. Honestly, though—what did she expect by talking about ‘trust’ to a kid who had just started grade school?”
“What is grade school?”
“Think of it as children being taught things. It’s normal for kids to go to school there.”

I doubted Lullus really cared, but I wanted to avoid the cliché misunderstanding of going to school = upper class.

“So basically, you mean when you were very young?”
“Yes.”
“And was it because of those words that you became a loner?”
“Not yet. Let’s have the butterfly flap its wings a little more first.”
“Butterfly…?”

I ignored Lullus tilting her head again and continued. Things like the Butterfly Effect, or the “when the wind blows, the bucket maker profits” proverb, were apparently not known in this world. Or at least, not phrased the same way.

“The boy took his mother’s words to heart, and from then on, he tried his best to keep his promises. Not because he thought about trust or anything like that, just… because. But then one day, his mother broke a small promise she had made to him. When he got angry about it, she just brushed it off with a quick apology!”

I exaggerated the telling, but it wasn’t really all that unusual. Nor was it some great injustice. If I remembered right, it had been something like, “Help out and I’ll buy you a snack.”

Just a small thing. But at that age, it had been a shock. When you’re little, you think adults can do anything. You see them as complete, responsible beings.

“From that day on, the boy decided he would never break a promise again. Promises grew in importance inside him until he became someone who valued them above all else. The end.”

Of course, some children would take that in the opposite direction, thinking promises didn’t matter. Others might not change at all. But me, back then? I grew stubborn. I swore I would never be a pathetic person like that, and so I began to hold promises as absolute. Something like that.

“So that’s why you obtained the Contract skill. Because you clung to promises so strongly. But… was that story really enough to go that far?”

I had my doubts too. I wasn’t really sure if that alone was enough to grant me the skill. Life could’ve gone any number of directions. It just happened that mine led here. But still, I was proof that a person could cling to something so tightly it became a skill. Life could be changed by the smallest things.

Sometimes, by things so trivial that people would ask, “Really, just because of that?” And yet—

“That’s what it means to be human.”
“…Incomprehensible. It is difficult.”
“You can just say incomprehensible.”
“Understood. But that still doesn’t explain why you were isolated, does it?”
“Well, even after that… I was just childish, you know?”
“… We’ve gone in a circle. Are you bored?”
“It’s really nothing special. Just bad luck, mostly. Talking about it feels pointless.”
“…I see. Still, thank you for sharing up to this point. Over that mountain, I believe there’s a great canyon. If you’re free, shall we go see it?”
“Sounds good. Lead the way.”

At the very least, it seemed far more enjoyable than dragging out this conversation any further.