Chapter 9 — Bursting Out
Kassirian hurriedly shut the door and stepped inside.
Then, without hesitation, he dropped to one knee and grabbed my front paw, pulling it toward him.
“What’s this? Why does it look like this?”
His expression was so serious that I panicked too.
Looking down, I saw my paw stained bright red — from the Rudin berries.
“P-pii! Piiiik! (Ah, that—it’s from the Rudin berries…!)”
Even if I tried explaining, he wouldn’t understand.
Kassirian examined my paw closely, his face darkening more by the second.
“Don’t tell me…”
With a groan, he suddenly brought my left paw to his lips and put it in his mouth.
Something hot and wet brushed against my paw pads.
“Piiik?! (What the—are you insane?!)”
I shoved at his cheek with my other paw, and to my surprise, his face actually moved back.
A small frown creased the bridge of his perfect nose.
“Where is it?”
Before I could react, his fierce crimson eyes darted across the room, scanning everything.
“Damn it.”
He found the crushed Rudin berries I’d hidden behind my cushion.
Kassirian strode over and lifted the cushion, revealing the pile of smashed red fruit I’d been collecting.
“They’re still fresh. You must have picked them today. How much did you eat?”
“Piiik! Piii! (I didn’t eat any! It was that pig, Pigden, who drank it!)”
He tilted his head, frowning slightly.
So I stood up on my hind legs, crossed my front paws in an “X,” and shook my head hard.
“Haah…”
He finally seemed to understand, sighing and rubbing his face with both hands.
“If you keep doing reckless things like this, you won’t even live as long as a normal marten.”
His words hit me like lightning.
Wait—how long does a marten even live?
In the animal encyclopedia I’d read as a kid, wild weasels lived around five years.
Five years?
Was that… all the time I had left?
“Piii… (That can’t be real…)”
I froze, staring blankly into the air. I’d never thought about it until now.
“Even if you’re a divine beast, you’re still just a small animal. Push your limits too far, and you’ll die young.”
Kassirian’s sharp tone stabbed straight into my chest.
It sounded less like a warning—and more like fate itself mocking me.
So that’s my destiny here?
To be nothing more than the “trigger” that pushes him into darkness?
I had barely accepted the fact that I’d been reborn as a four-legged creature.
I’d even tried to accept that, once I left the north, I’d have to eat bugs and rats just to survive.
As long as I could live, I was ready to endure anything.
After all, my past life hadn’t been easy either.
A freezing rooftop room, a tiny meal on a chipped plate, waking up before dawn every day to work.
Living in constant fear of money running out, suffering quietly just to keep going.
And yet, I never gave up—because somewhere deep down, I believed that one day,
I’d finally live without worry.
That someday, I’d be happy.
I was stupid enough to cling to that hope—
but that’s what kept me alive.
And now, the god who sent me here…
hadn’t just crushed that hope—they’d torn it into shreds.
Die young as a marten,
or die tragically as a divine beast.
Those were my only choices.
My chest pounded painfully.
“I guess I always knew,” I thought.
“That I was never meant for an easy, happy life. But I didn’t know the end would be this cruel.”
“There are berries in the North that are lethal even in tiny doses for small animals like you,” Kassirian said. “When you go there, don’t just eat whatever you find.”
“Eat whatever I find?”
That phrase broke something inside me.
“Do you think I wanted to become a divine marten? That I chose to live like this—tiny and useless?!”
Even I had my pride.
Pretending to limp every day, acting pitiful—it humiliated me.
Every single moment was agony.
“I wanted to live like a person too! I don’t want to die like some pet beside you!”
The more the resentment swelled, the colder my body felt.
Kassirian’s indifferent gaze—his pitying eyes—made something in me snap.
“Fine. Whether I die out there or here beside you—it’s all the same!”
I lunged toward the crushed Rudin berries under the cushion, scooping up a handful with my paws.
His red eyes widened.
“What are you—”
I stuffed them all into my mouth.
“…!”
Just as I was about to swallow, Kassirian grabbed me and pinched my nose shut.
I choked, coughing the berries out onto the floor.
“Have you lost your mind?!”
The smashed fruit scattered across the ground looked just like me—broken and pathetic.
“I wanted to live like everyone else!”
“Without worrying about rent, or food, or survival! Just an ordinary, boring, peaceful life!”
“Piiiii! Piiiiiik! Piiiii!”
I screamed like a child who’d had their candy snatched away, tears spilling uncontrollably.
Kassirian froze.
For a long moment, he didn’t move—then awkwardly patted my back.
“Alright. I’m sorry. I was wrong. Just… don’t cry like that.”
But I couldn’t stop.
I had kept saying “I’m fine” for so long—pretending I was okay—
that I hadn’t realized I’d reached my breaking point.
“You can stay here from now on,” he said softly, leaning close to my drooping ear.
“I can take care of one little thing like you.”
It was probably just empty comfort,
but I couldn’t stop crying.
Because I wasn’t crying for what I’d lost—
I was crying because of what I’d become.
I’d lived decades as a human,
and now I was nothing more than a wild animal that wouldn’t even last five years.
To crawl through the dirt, die nameless and alone—
it was too cruel.
All the pain and anger I’d buried deep inside finally erupted,
and I let it consume me.
I didn’t want to fight it anymore.
***
Later…
Kassirian sat motionless, watching the little white fluffball sniffling on the cushion.
No one had ever cried like that in front of him before.
He’d spent his whole life hiding his emotions,
so seeing raw, unfiltered sorrow like that—it shook him.
“It might be depression,” said the elderly doctor.
“Animals can have depression?”
The old man adjusted his monocle and nodded.
“They’re no different from us, Your Grace. Changes in environment, loss of family—anything that causes stress in humans affects animals too.”
“A change in environment? It’s living in comfort instead of that freezing forest. And that’s supposed to make it sad?”
“Martens are wide-ranging creatures. They can roam the entire northern forest in a single day.
If you confine a creature like that indoors, the stress could make it ill.”
“So what do I do? I can’t just release it back into the wild.”
Kassirian clenched his hand.
He’d just promised to care for it—not even an hour ago—and now the idea of sending it away made his chest tighten.
“Not yet,” said the doctor. “At this age, it should still be nursing. Its body can’t even regulate temperature properly. It could freeze to death if released.”
The doctor rummaged through his bag and handed Kassirian a small bottle of yellow tablets.
“Take it out for walks on sunny days. If there’s no sunlight, feed it one of these.
They’ll help with depression.”
Kassirian took the bottle, his voice low and heavy.
“Earlier, you mentioned family loss…”
“You said you found it collapsed alone in the woods, didn’t you? Then its mother is likely dead.
Usually, the mother cares for the kits until they’re eight weeks old.
Since this one was alone, it probably has no siblings either.”
Kassirian looked quietly down at the sleeping marten.
That kind of loneliness—being left completely alone in the world—
was something he knew too well.
His rough, calloused hand gently brushed away the dried tears beneath its red eyes.
