FORTUNE, MISFORTUNE

My first impression of the person called Hiiro Wakaba was that she was “winning at life.”

My nickname in my old life was Rihoko.

It’s short for “Real Horror Girl.”

No creativity. No appeal. Just a nickname concocted purely to make fun of me.

That was my nickname in high school, by the way. In middle school, they called me “the vampire.”

Maybe those nicknames were just easier to remember than my real name, Shouko Negishi.

At any rate, I think it was inevitable I’d get called things like that.

My old appearance couldn’t be considered attractive by any standard.

Extremely pale skin.

A scrawny, bony body.

When I looked in the mirror, I was greeted by a deathly face with sunken cheeks and vacant eyes.

My teeth were crooked and uneven, with a single canine tooth prominently jutting out.

I was ugly, plain and simple.

In that life, I hated the way I looked.

Wouldn’t you?

I hadn’t done anything to deserve it, and yet I was constantly bullied or the target of some gossip solely due to my awful appearance.

For someone like me, a girl like Hiiro Wakaba seemed blessed beyond belief.

Namely, her looks.

The first time I saw her, I was amazed that someone so beautiful could actually exist in real life.

That’s how pretty she was.

That’s why she was “winning at life.”

At the time, I thought if only I looked like that, I’d have it made for the rest of my life.

I was jealous, to be honest.

This girl had everything I didn’t, at least in terms of good looks.

And so, I spent a lot of my high school days watching her.

She hardly ever spoke a word.

She never said anything unless it was absolutely necessary, and she certainly didn’t make any attempt to communicate voluntarily.

So conceited, I thought.

It wasn’t really fair of me to think that, but compared to how others avoided me because of my appearance, her case was more like she wouldn’t let anyone near her.

The end result was the same but for completely opposite reasons.

People bullied me from a distance, but they seemed to worship her from the same distance.

Perhaps you could describe her as “aloof”?

Whatever you want to call it, she had a certain air about her that made her easy to admire but hard to approach.

The main difference between Hiiro Wakaba and me was our appearance.

But that one factor was enough for people to treat us totally differently.

The better you look, the better people will treat you.

The worse you look, the worse people will treat you.

It’s a disparity we’re all born into, a distance between our starting lines that can’t be changed with any amount of effort.

Hiiro Wakaba was born with all the blessings I lacked, yet for some reason, she always seemed bored.

I don’t know what was bothering her, but not once did I ever see her look like she was having fun.

She always wore the same unimpressed expression.

It was as if those inscrutable eyes weren’t staring at the world around them.

Yet despite this apparent detachment, her gaze seemed to pierce right through everything.

As much as it galled me, I understood why everyone worshipped Hiiro Wakaba.

There was something about her that was beyond any normal person’s comprehension.

Coupled with her good looks, it gave her a certain mystique in everyone’s eyes.

Hiiro Wakaba had all kinds of things I didn’t.

I nursed a one-sided jealousy toward her and, at the same time, hated myself for feeling such an ugly emotion.

But how could I help it? What should I have done? If I had a pretty face, would my life have been different? Does that mean my life was on the wrong path from the moment I was born? Being ugly on the outside makes you ugly on the inside, if you ask me. That’s just how life goes.

If you have good looks, then you’ve already won at life.

That was my conclusion.

“Okay, we’re gonna spend the night in that town. You wait around here, ’kay, White?”

Yet my prime example of a winner—Hiiro Wakaba, now known as White—is currently shouldering some heavy misfortune herself.

We’ve been avoiding drawing human attention to ourselves for various reasons, but we can keep that up for only so long.

Thus, we’ve decided to stop in the nearest town to buy food and miscellaneous supplies, but White can’t go in because of her current form.

So we’re leaving her behind out here.

Let me be frank about my feelings at the moment.

Serves her right!

No matter how pretty you might be, obviously a nonhuman can’t go into a town!

You see, Hiiro Wakaba isn’t a human anymore.

Aside from being pure white, her upper half looks pretty much the same, but her lower half is the body of a spider.

In other words, she’s a monster called an arachne.

I’ll admit, I always wondered (rather rudely) whether she was even really human in our old world, but I never expected her to actually stop being one.

Although it’s irritating that she’s somehow still as beautiful as ever.

But that’s not the reason I’m gloating over her misfortune now.

No, my issue is how she’s been treating me on this awful journey!

I’m still a baby, you know?!

I shouldn’t be able to stand, let alone walk, so why does she have to force me to hike along these mountainous paths?!

Doesn’t that seem wrong? It seems wrong to me!

If Ariel hadn’t explained the reasoning behind those little training exercises, I probably would’ve snapped by now.

But according to her, it’s to increase my skills and stats.

This world has a strange setup where things like skills and stats actually exist, and the more you train them, the stronger you become.

Ariel says that White has been putting me through the gauntlet to improve my skills and stats.

Supposedly, she’s thinking of my future, but I don’t know if I buy that.

Incidentally, the nickname “White” came about after the following exchange:

“Why don’t we call you ‘Princess’? Do you want me to put a ribbon on you? You won’t be able to transform into a magical girl, though.”

“No.”

“How about ‘White,’ then? Although that one kinda sounds like a pet cat.”

“…Do what you want.”

If you ask me, “Princess” is a much better name, but whatever.

And what was all that about a ribbon?

There was a lot to unpack in that little conversation, but at any rate, Ariel really did start calling her “White” after that.

I’m pretty sure Ariel picked a weird name on purpose just to annoy her, but her would-be victim doesn’t seem to particularly mind, so even Merazophis and I have jumped on the bandwagon and started calling her White.

Considering how she’s treated me so far, I like to think I’m allowed to be a little petty.

“Awww, poor White. You won’t get to eat any tasty food at the inn or sleep in a nice comfy bed. It sucks, but what choice do we have, right? But don’t worry! I promise I’ll enjoy it twice as much in your honor!” Ariel grins, clearly aiming to add fuel to the fire.

White is expressionless as always, but she’s exuding even more intimidating energy than before.

There are practically sparks flying between these two.

Scary.

Just like that, my dark little “Serves you right!” celebration is over.

This is it.

This is why I can’t stand up to these two, no matter how unreasonable their actions get.

They both hold overwhelming power.

Either one of them could probably take on a whole army alone.

That strength is granted to them by stats, a concept that would be unthinkable in our old world.

Merazophis and I aren’t even close to comparable.

Whenever I think about what would happen if I made one of them mad enough to turn that power against me, I can’t help but go along with whatever they say.

“That is quite enough, you two. You are upsetting the young miss.”

And yet, Merazophis tells them off without a second thought.

“Oopsie daisy! Sorry about that. All right, let’s go. Don’t sulk too much, White. I promise we’ll bring you back a souvenir.”

Ariel’s overwhelming aura disperses at once, and she waves lazily as she turns to walk away.

Watching her leave, White emits a small sigh before sitting on the ground.

Flanking her on either side like guards are two puppet taratects, mannequin-looking monsters summoned by Ariel.

“Now then, excuse us.”

As I absently gaze at White and the puppet taratects, my body is gently lifted into the air.

Looking up, my eyes meet with Merazophis’s under the shadow of his hood.

Since White’s been forcing me to walk all this time, it’s been a while since Merazophis carried me like this.

Right, I suppose it’s more natural if he holds me when we go into town.

I was about to try to follow after Ariel on my own two feet. Maybe this indoctrination is really starting to get to me.

Merazophis quickly catches up to Ariel.

Since she’s so short, especially compared to Merazophis, it’s an easy feat for him.