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The daycare center that I started attending with Alfe had undergone a dramatic improvement in its environment.

The significant change was the division of rooms by age, with each group classified into its respective class, and it turned out to be more comfortable than I had imagined.

Alfe seemed delighted to have some time alone with me, and according to Judy, she was eagerly looking forward to going to the daycare center.

For me, the daycare center, where everything was tailored for children, felt more liberating and relaxing than being at home.

From child-sized desks and chairs to furniture adjusted to the height of children, everything was provided.

Even the clocks were hung at a considerably lower position on the walls so that we could see them well. The calendar, in particular, had become much clearer, which I appreciated as at home, it was a bit distant and hard to read.

According to the calendar displayed on the daycare center’s wall, it was now the year 808 of the Holy Flower Era.

It was a world approximately three hundred years after the death of Glass Dimelia.

Realizing this was a significant harvest.

Another harvest was the increased number of subjects for observation.

While Alfe was the only one in our class, there were opportunities to observe older children within the daycare center. Being able to confirm childlike behavior classified by growth stages here was undoubtedly a significant benefit for me.

And so, the routine of attending the daycare center became a part of Alfe’s and my daily life.

In the morning, we would be left at the daycare center, and in the evening, our mothers would come to pick us up. In the midst of this routine, both Alfe and I grew like normal children.

A “birthday party” was held, and three months after my second birthday, Alfe also turned two.

Our range of activities expanded, and we could now enter a corner of the hallway that served as a library. Alfe was engrossed in the newly added “pretend play” in the room. It involved a wooden kitchen, ingredients, dishes, pots, and pans, allowing them to play as if it were a real meal. Watching Alfe play innocently, I couldn’t help but think that it was a unique game in a world where there was no shortage of food.

“Leafa, let’s play.”

Having finished setting up the pretend meal, Alfe comes over to me. When we first entered the daycare center, Alfe was still speaking in broken sentences, but now, she could communicate reasonably well.

“I’m reading a book right now.”

Even though we could communicate, Alfe always wanted to play with me. Although classes were divided by age, there was still some interaction allowed between different classes. However, the older kids in the other class didn’t seem interested in playing with us younger ones, so Alfe and I continued to spend most of our time together.

“Later?”

Alfe processed my words and returned a question. It seemed that her determination to play with me at any cost remained changed.

“Except for pretend play.”

Closing the book I just finished, I took out a new one from the bookshelf and spread it open. Despite my invitation to play something other than pretend, Alfe, undeterred, sat next to me.

“Reed book.”

It seemed she understood the word ‘except.’ Faced with an option other than pretend play, I sighed and got up, heading towards the bookshelf.

“Leafa?”

From the picture book shelf, I picked up Alfe’s favorite, ‘The Cat and the Princess,’ and turned around to show it to her.

“Yes!”

Immediately, Alfe’s face lit up with a smile. When she looked at me like that, I couldn’t help but feel good.

As I opened the picture book, Alfe focused on it with a serious gaze, completely engrossed in the story.

“Once upon a time, in a place far, far away, there was a lonely princess—”

It was a picture book I had read to the point of almost getting tired of it, but Alfe was always completely engrossed. Come to think of it, that large cat in the book resembled the big stuffed animal at Alfe’s house.

Though I usually didn’t pay much attention, I suddenly became curious, so I decided to ask Alfe.

“…Alfe, is this big cat in the book the same as the stuffed animal at your house?”

In response to my question, Alfe blinked her eyes in surprise, then widened them.

“Yep!”

Alfe nodded enthusiastically, seeming pleased with my observation.

“Your mother probably read this book to you too, right? My mother used to do that before bedtime.”
“Same!”

While the picture book my mother read me wasn’t ‘The Cat and the Princess,’ it seemed like this was a common experience in many households. Alfe smiled happily, cradling the finished book in her arms, and then walked over to the bookshelf with small, deliberate steps to put it back.

I didn’t recall seeing that book at Alfe’s house, but she must have had it read to her at bedtime. Remembering that book, she kept asking me to read it.

It’s surprising how memories from infancy are retained. However, that only happens if your environment gives you enough leeway for it.

Thinking about it, I felt like I understood a bit about what is considered “normal.” Being born into a household with parents who lovingly care for their children, living without significant hardships – that seemed to be the “normal” in this world.

The happy life the goddesses talked about might be referring to a life like ours now.

“Leafa, I love you.”

Alfe, returning after putting the book away, clung to me and spoke in an affectionate tone. It had been like this for a while. After finishing a book, instead of saying ‘thank you,’ Alfe would express love in a sweet voice.

However, I still didn’t know the words, or their significance, that I ought to say in return to Alfe.