<Chapter 5>

Ardishu could handle anything with ease. When learning songs, she always checked the lyrics on the board first, having already mastered reading.

‘And she sings along so confidently, too.’

Even though the class was using a simple piano app on a phone for accompaniment, the lesson proceeded smoothly.

“Let’s all clap together!”

Clap, clap!

Seeing Ardishu follow along with the gestures so diligently, I felt deeply moved.

“Shall we try singing with different lyrics this time? The first verse says ‘Clap your hands,’ and the second verse says ‘Stomp your feet.’ What do you think we should add next?”

Since this was an easy task, I expected the diligent Ardishu to eagerly offer her ideas.

I looked at her expectantly. But instead of answering, she avoided my gaze.

“Uh, um…”

Seeing her hesitate and glance nervously at me, I quickly followed up.

“What about ‘Shake hands’?”

“That sounds good.”

Once the lyrics were settled, Ardishu instantly regained her enthusiasm, as if she’d never been nervous at all.

‘Well, she is a reserved child.’

Since she was still adjusting, I decided to switch the second lesson to an art class to better suit her.

We took a walk around the daycare, then returned to draw what we had seen.

I leaned over to look at Ardishu’s sketchbook.

“You’re really good at drawing lines, Ardishu.”

“Lines?”

“Yeah. Your strokes are smooth and unbroken, and you adjust the pressure naturally. Plus, the way you’re coloring with colored pencils makes the picture feel warm and inviting.”

“So… it’s not that I drew well?”

“Huh?”

Ardishu stopped coloring and looked up at me. Her eyes, for some reason, carried a hint of disappointment.

“Of course you drew well. I was just explaining why it looks so good,” I added a calm explanation.

‘Was my compliment too vague?’

I had learned that when praising children’s artwork, it was better to highlight specific strengths rather than just saying it was good or cool.

“It’s so well-drawn that it looks like a photograph! It feels like the daycare has been captured perfectly in your sketchbook,” I spoke excitedly, and a small smile appeared on Ardishu’s lips.

“Next time, I’ll draw you too, Ms. Sora.”

“Really? I’ll be looking forward to it.”

I smiled warmly at Ardishu.

As she returned to her drawing, I took out my notebook.

<Ardishu (Elf): Reserved. Diligent. Finds it hard to voice opinions. Speaks well and reads fluently. Excellent artistic ability.>

After a moment’s thought, I crossed out the last part and revised it.

This wasn’t an uncommon trait. In my world, it was so common that it was practically everywhere.

‘For an elf, she sure seems like she was raised with rigid, human-style education.’

As I pondered, Ardishu finished her drawing.

It was truly well done, especially for her age, but…

Somehow, it felt a little empty.

“Shall we hang this up in the classroom?”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

As we packed up to return to the classroom, I noticed a banana peel on the floor in the hallway.

“Watch out! Oh no, it looks like Chef Jiho dropped it.”

“I’ll pick it up.”

Ardishu quickly ran over and picked up the banana peel.

“People call seven-year-olds troublemakers, but our dear Ardishu is the sweetest. You’re an angel, really.”

Even as I praised her, my mind was preoccupied with reminding Jiho to be more careful.

‘What if someone had slipped on that?’

If my little angel had gotten hurt, I wouldn’t have let it slide!

That afternoon, we took a walk around the daycare. When we returned to the classroom, we talked about what we’d seen.

“There were a lot of leaves on the ground.”

“That’s right. And you were busy picking them all up and stuffing them in your pockets.”

“Yes. The tree dropped them, so the ground got messy.”

Was it really that bad? It seemed pretty normal to me.

“I’ll keep cleaning up from now on.”

Since Ardishu was so firm about it, I could only nod in a daze.

That night, I added another note to my notebook.

<Could she have obsessive tendencies?>

But then again, she had no problem picking up trash with her bare hands… and even putting it in her own pocket.

The more I got to know her, the more puzzling she became.

*  *  *

“Good morning!”

“Ardishu, you’re here!” I greeted her cheerfully.

After days of gloomy weather, the sun was finally shining brightly, so I had prepared a physical activity lesson.

We played a game where we passed around a woven bamboo ball by bouncing it off bent branches.

“Ah!”

Ardishu stared at the ball but fumbled and missed it.

She was talented in art and sang well, but she didn’t seem to be very good at sports.

Aside from that, we also practiced the song we learned yesterday and wrote letters.

No matter how I looked at her, Ardishu was a model student.

“Today’s lunch is curry.”

“I’ve never had it before!”

Ardishu’s eyes lit up with excitement. Well, technically, it wasn’t real curry—just something that resembled it.

It was a dish made by stewing carrots, potatoes, and meat in a sauce with aromatic spices, then mixing it with rice.

‘At least it looks like curry.’

Surprisingly, it even tasted like curry.

The more I ate Jiho’s food, the more impressed I became. He always seemed careless when cooking, yet everything turned out great.

“It’s hot, so blow on it before you eat.”

“Okay. Hoo, hoo.”

I stole a glance at Ardishu as she puffed up her cheeks and pursed her lips to blow on the curry.

Her cuteness was off the charts.

But then, she suddenly peeked at me from the corner of her eye, hesitated, and slowly set her spoon down. Her face turned somber, as if she were about to cry.

“D-did I do something wrong?”

“Huh?”

“You were staring at me…”

“Oh, sorry. It’s just that you looked so cute, I couldn’t help watching. Our dear Ardishu is the cutest, don’t you think?”

“I thought… you were going to scold me for not eating my carrots.”

Oh? Hold on a second.

That uneasy feeling I had earlier—was this the answer?

Could it be that Ardishu has a ‘good child complex’?

*  *  *

Young children rely on the judgments of others.

Some children, in particular, place absolute value on being called ‘good’ and become obsessed with earning that praise.

This was what they called the ‘good child complex.’

I remembered studying similar cases in my ‘Child Observation and Behavioral Studies’ course.

‘Why am I only realizing this now? The signs were all there.’

Ardishu constantly watched my reactions, became overly happy when praised for being good, and developed an almost compulsive need to tidy up after being complimented for picking up trash.

Yeah. Ardishu wasn’t just a reserved child.

I observed her again.

Before nap time, she picked up trash once more, glancing at me expectantly.

“Thanks to Ardishu, the classroom is so clean.”

I deliberately left out the word ‘good’ from my praise.

Maybe that’s why? Ardishu’s eyebrows drooped slightly.

“I-I need to clean more…”

“No, this is enough.”

“But…”

“Ardishu.”

It was a little early, but the timing was just right for persuasion. I knelt on one knee, meeting Ardishu’s gaze, and spoke:

“Listen, you don’t have to be a good child all the time. Even if you’re not—”

“I-I’m not a good child anymore?”

Ardishu’s eyes welled up with tears, her face stricken with shock.

Oh no. That’s not what I meant.

“W-what are you talking about? There’s no child as good as you, Ardishu. O-okay?”

“But just now… Hic…”

What do I do? What should I do?

I tried my best to console Ardishu as she burst into loud sobs, but I completely failed to salvage the situation.

In the end, Ardishu left for home with a gloomy expression.

*  *  *

I don’t believe a child needs to be good.

Of course, it’s great to be kind and positive. It’s not about telling them to be bad.

But for some children, the label of being ‘good’ becomes a shackle.

Rather than growing up as a ‘good child,’ I want Ardishu to grow up as herself.

“……”

The real problem is figuring out how to convey this to a child.

How could I get Ardishu to understand?

At 2 AM, I lay awake, staring blankly at the white ceiling. I couldn’t stop thinking about Ardishu, her eyes swollen from crying.

“I should’ve prepared better before saying anything. I got too ahead of myself. And why on earth did I bring up being good again? Anyone watching would’ve thought I was just trying to smooth things over.”

This isn’t right.

Frustrated, I grabbed my pillow and hurled it at the wall.

‘Maybe… I’m not fit to be a teacher…’

If only I could ask my mentor for advice in times like this.

But there is no mentor here. No textbooks I once trusted.

I have to take full responsibility for this classroom on my own.

“I need to find a solution.”

Because I’m the teacher. Because Ardishu is my student, and this daycare is my classroom.

*  *  *

Since that day, Ardishu had been noticeably on edge.

Even after arriving at the daycare, she hesitated to get off the bus, lingering for a long time before finally dashing up to me.

“M-Ms. Sora! I’ll do better from now on!”

“Ardishu, you’re already doing well.”

Once I noticed it, I started seeing more.

Ardishu always listened to me. She followed lessons well and worked hard at everything.

But that was it.

Despite doing everything well, she never expressed her own opinions. Not even a little.

“Shall we play in the sand? There’s some outside as soft as silk.”

“Okay.”

As expected, Ardishu obediently followed along.

‘Today’s lesson objective: draw out Ardishu’s true feelings.’

I planned to try different approaches to get through to her.

“This way.”

The open space was filled with soft, fine sand. It felt smooth and pleasant in my hands, glistening in the sunlight like crushed gemstones.

“I’ll give you a present. What would you like, Ardishu?”

“A present?”

“Yes. A sand present, though.”

I let the sand trickle gently through my fingers as I spoke.

“I… I like rabbits.”

“Alright. A rabbit it is.”

Rolling up my sleeves, I started piling up the sand, carefully shaping it while sprinkling water to mold it into form.

“Wow…”

Ardishu stared at the sand rabbit, unable to take her eyes off it. Her gaze sparkled with admiration.

“But the rabbit is too big.”

“Is it? The rabbits I know are about this size.”

“No, no. Rabbits are only as big as two fists put together.”

We got into a lighthearted debate over the size of rabbits.

Ardishu excitedly explained what she knew about rabbits, passionately detailing their size, fur, and habits—until she suddenly stopped, her face dropping.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Can you tell me more about the rabbits you know?”

“…Why?”

“Because this rabbit is based on the ones I know. I want to make one like the ones you know, too. That way, we can compare them.”

I explained gently, and though Ardishu hesitated, she soon started talking about her rabbits again.

“The rabbits I know are…”

Following her description, I sculpted a smaller, daintier rabbit in the sand.

It looked just like Ardishu—small and delicate.

“It’s so cute!”

Ardishu let out an awed gasp at the finished rabbit.

“Should we give them names? Mine will be… let’s see… Azalea!”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s my favorite flower. A pink one that blooms in spring.”

“Hmm… I’ll name mine…”

Ardishu fell into deep thought. I gave her time, fiddling with the sand to keep her from feeling rushed.

“Eldic… I’ll call it Eldic.”

“You’re naming it after your father?”

“Huh? No, it’s my older brother’s name.”

“Oh, really?”

So Ardishu must be the youngest child in her family.

“I want to show this rabbit to my brother. Can I? Since it’s a present, it’s… kind of mine, right?”

“Of course. I’ll take good care of it so you can bring your brother to see it next ti—wait, huh?”

I trailed off, blinking in shock.

A gentle glow spread from Ardishu’s small hands, wrapping around the sand rabbit. Then, before my eyes, the rabbit began to float—

—And disappeared.
 

<To be continued>

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