Side Character Aura
I have a kind of superpower.
I can see who among the people around me has a protagonist aura on their head.
Sounds amazing, right? But considering I live in a fairy tale world with witches who can cast spells, dragons who breathe fire, and heroes who beat up said dragons, this ability isn't all that impressive.
All it does is let me see who has a protagonist aura. It can't give me one of my own.
Honestly, I'd rather not be able to see them at all.
If I couldn't, I might not have given up my childhood dream of becoming a dragon-slayer, and I wouldn't have become the useless layabout I am now.
Because seeing through the cruelty of this world's mechanics from the very beginning is no fun.
I've seen too many heroes stride boldly out the city gates, heading to the demon mountain surrounded by brambles outside every city, descending into the unfathomable dragon's lair, and challenging this world's great villain—the dragon.
Countless victories and failures piled up to become the bedtime stories every child in the city grew up with. Every child dreamed of growing up to become the hero who slew the dragon and became part of those legends. To reach that goal sooner, boys and girls of all sizes would pretend-sworn their wooden toy swords and run around the streets brawling.
I used to be one of them.
I thought that as long as I worked hard, trained diligently, and forged good equipment, I could become the invincible hero instead of one of the poor souls devoured by the dragon.
In the legends, those unfortunates were categorized as lazy failures, unworthy of sympathy, fit only to serve as laughable minor characters for the storytellers to mock.
Only I knew the truth was different.
They failed not because—or at least, not entirely because—they weren't hardworking or ambitious enough, just as those who succeeded weren't entirely so because they were.
The decisive factor was whether someone had a protagonist aura.
As long as you had that thing hovering above your head, then no matter how terrible the predicament, no matter how desperate the situation, good luck would fall from the sky, assistance would arrive, dangers would be averted, and you would become the hero who defeated the dragon, earning supreme honor, great wealth, and perhaps even a princess's heart.
But if your head was as bald on top as my bald second uncle's—smooth and empty—well, then no amount of struggling would help. You'd become a destined-to-fail sad sack, knocked down by the dragon, swallowed in a single gulp, leaving behind only the endless mockery and scandalous anecdotes for those who didn't understand your bad luck and terrible circumstances to attribute your downfall to some personal failing.
So it was better to just follow my example—see through reality early, do nothing, compete for nothing, and be an NPC in this story whose name nobody remembers. That was fine too.
That said… if someone had to walk back and forth on the same street for years on end with only two or three lines of scripted dialogue, they'd get pretty bored.
Take me, for example.
Even though I'd long resigned myself to being a side character without a protagonist aura, I still couldn't help daydreaming occasionally, hoping at least to intersect a little with the main storyline of this story.
Like, at least becoming the protagonist's friend, so I'd have more chances to share the spotlight.
That was when my superpower finally came in handy. I could easily pick out those with protagonist auras from the crowd, then cozy up to them, help hold their horses and carry their bags, tag along to hidden maps ordinary folks couldn't access, witness spectacles ordinary folks couldn't imagine, and—thanks to my ability—predict when I might be standing on the opposite side from someone with a protagonist aura and bolt in time, ensuring no trouble entangled me and I faced no responsibilities or problems whatsoever.
Sometimes I even snuck to the foot of some demon mountain outside the city, hid near the dragon's lair entrance, and peeked at the fierce battles between heroes and the dragon.
Of course I never worried they'd lose—their protagonist auras had already spoiled the ending for me.
Watching them fight in that lair with all the clanging and flames was pretty entertaining. I'd always munch on popcorn and cheer loudly.
Every hero who defeated the dragon emerged from the lair with a haul of coins and gems, and the protagonist aura above their head glowed even brighter under the wealth.
Honestly, I was a little envious.
Even though I knew I could never become one of them.
But this sidekick business didn't last long before I didn't want to continue either. For one thing, people with protagonist auras were extremely rare in this world. Sometimes I'd wander between cities for days without spotting one, and my meager living expenses couldn't cover that kind of freeloading. For another, nobody was born wanting to carry other people's bags—it was exhausting. Someone as lacking in ambition and endurance as me couldn't handle that kind of labor.
Still, once I'd seen the wider world, it was hard to go back to my same old small city and repeat the same tedious daily routine.
What to do, then?
Oh! A brilliant idea suddenly came to me.
Why did I have to run all over the world looking for heroes? Since every hero's ultimate mission was to challenge the dragon, I could just wait at the dragon's lair entrance like a fisherman by the stump!
Inspired by my own cleverness, I packed my meager belongings, hoisted my bedroll, and climbed up the nearest demon mountain. I'd been here many times and knew the terrain well. I knew there was a small cave next to the dragon's lair—warm in winter, cool in summer, no rats or cockroaches—the perfect spot to set up my humble nest.
As for the dragon living in the lair, honestly, I wasn't afraid of it at all.
Sure, the legends always described it as fearsome and terrifying, breathing fire and eating people. But after seeing it so many times, I knew the truth was nothing like that.
It did breathe fire, but fighting heroes was just its job. It didn't have any violent tendencies to assault people outside of work hours.
My theory was that, different species notwithstanding, the same logic applied—no one likes working overtime. No matter how ferocious a dragon, once beating people up became your job, you didn't want to touch it after hours either.
As for the fear of being swallowed whole by the dragon—that was unfounded. Based on my analysis of the kitchen waste in the garbage pit outside the dragon's lair, this dragon was a vegetarian! It only ate fresh fruits and vegetables and wouldn't touch meat at all.
Those terrifying legends were mostly rumors spread by failed challengers.
After all, if you didn't make your enemy sound fearsome enough, how embarrassing would your own failure be?
Wondering how I knew this? Please—since I set up camp here, I'd accidentally stumbled upon the scenes of defeated heroes huddling outside the dragon's lair entrance, conspiring to coordinate their cover stories and swearing never to reveal their embarrassing defeats at least seventeen or eighteen times.
Some defeated heroes even chose to leave their homeland forever rather than return, becoming "missing persons"—which was probably where the rumor about the dragon swallowing challengers whole came from.
But I could understand their reasons.
Who would readily admit that after years of hard work, they were ultimately defeated by something as absurd as not having a protagonist aura?
Anyway, living at the entrance of the dragon's lair, I got to see all kinds of heroes, hear wild stories from all over the world, and watch free dragon-hero battles from time to time. Life was far more exciting than in my stuffy old city.
And whenever I embellished these experiences into articles, took them down the mountain, and sold them to the city's gossip tabloids, I earned a nice little income, enough to get by.
I was quite satisfied with this life.
---
But after a while, my curiosity—already spoiled by too many spectacles—grew restless again.
I wanted to meet my dragon neighbor, who was always holed up deep in the lair and never came out.
Though I'd watched many battles between it and the heroes from the lair entrance, we'd always been far apart and I couldn't see clearly. I wanted to meet it face to face, see what it really looked like, and—if luck was on my side—maybe even chat and have some tea.
The thought made me a little excited. Maybe I'd become the first person in the world to befriend a dragon.
Even without a protagonist aura, that would be worth it.
In this rule-bound fairy tale world, this was quite an outrageous idea. But I was an NPC with initiative, and once I made a decision, I acted on it quickly. I picked the nearest public holiday—ensuring the dragon wasn't on shift to beat anyone up—grabbed a small lantern, and tiptoed into the cave.
Sure enough, the front office area of the cave—where the dragon usually fought heroes to a standstill—was completely silent. Not a ghost in sight. Clearly not a workday.
So I braved the corridor deeper inside, pretending not to notice the "Private Residence, No Entry" sign at the entrance.
I'd mentally prepared myself before coming, imagining the corridor would be a pitch-black unknown territory, with eerie winds howling into the depths, lined with bones and remains—absolutely terrifying.
Turns out, I'd overthought it.
The corridor was well-lit, with stone steps swept spotlessly clean, not a speck of dust to be found. The walls on both sides were covered in bright, garish graffiti and slogans, all incredibly motivational—things like "Exercise one hour a day, work healthily for fifty years" and "Stored grain is stored gold, with grain you have no worries."
You'd think this was the entrance to the university cafeteria up north.
At the end of the corridor was a door, left slightly ajar. I figured I should be polite and knocked softly.
"Just leave deliveries in the cabinet outside," came a muffled voice from inside, accompanied by the slurping sound of noodles. "Thanks."
My curiosity got the better of me, and I pushed the door open.
Inside was a tidy, well-organized room. In the center sat a large dragon, entirely white, holding a big bowl of instant noodles with its two stubby forearms, slurping away. Seeing me burst in, it looked confused, forgot to eat, and had half a noodle dangling from its mouth, wobbling back and forth—neither swallowing nor spitting—just staring at me with a very awkward expression.
After a long while, it finally said weakly, "I'm not on duty today."
"I'm not a hero," I quickly explained. "I didn't come to fight you."
Real heroes had to pass a certification exam, earn a gold-plated credentials badge to pin on their chest, proving their qualifications. A layabout like me didn't have that.
"Then you're…" The dragon looked confused, then quickly switched to a panicked expression, dropped its noodle bowl, grabbed a piece of furniture to hide behind, and turned around, presenting me with its large tail. "Sorry, let me put some clothes on first."
"Huh?" I didn't understand.
Then I watched its scales change from pure white to deep gray.
That looked more like what I'd seen from a distance.
So the dragon's "clothes" were the patterns and colors on its scales. I made a mental note of this new knowledge, and the dragon turned back around, frowning at me. "May I ask what brings you here?"
"Just visiting," I answered casually. "I'm your neighbor, from the small cave next door."
This dragon didn't look fierce at all—more like a lovable oaf, completely unthreatening. I suddenly realized I'd shown up empty-handed, which seemed improper, so I awkwardly offered the small lantern I'd brought. "Look, I even brought you a gift."
"Oh, thanks." The dragon picked up its overturned noodle bowl, looking both surprised and a little bashful. Its manner was endearingly earnest. "Are you hungry? I can make you some noodles."
Even though it seemed incredible, I was probably the first person in the world to share instant noodles with a dragon.