There were plenty of excuses for not fighting—paid leave, venue rental, surprise hygiene inspections from upper management, you name it. A-Ji was too honest to make these up on the spot, so I acted as its spokesperson and fabricated them. Thanks to this, many heroes with protagonist auras were casually turned away, and A-Ji had a much easier time fighting the ones without.
The coins in the little treasure chest kept growing every day.
I even caught A-Ji's bad habit of wiping coins whenever there was free time—the two of us sitting across from each other polishing gold, counting and recounting, getting tired of counting and then making a bowl of noodles. Sometimes when we'd eaten too much, A-Ji would pick up a defeated hero's fallen sword, and we'd playfully spar like we were reenacting the hero-slaying-dragon dreams of our childhood.
Those were truly good days.
Days with a goal and a companion—the best.
But I was just an NPC. Using this world's bug to help someone else cheat couldn't last forever.
Gradually, I started losing the ability to see protagonist auras.
They became blurrier and blurrier in my vision.
This meant my tips to A-Ji grew less and less accurate. Several times, I said a hero couldn't be fought, only for a dragon from another mountain to prove they were just weak. And heroes I said could be fought ended up being so fierce they nearly beat A-Ji senseless.
Once or twice was fine, but after it happened too many times, even someone as slow as A-Ji started getting suspicious, looking at me with uncertainty in its eyes.
I grew increasingly guilty, my intuition telling me something bad was about to happen.
That bad thing was A-Ji discovering the articles I'd written for the city gossip tabloids. In those pieces, I'd used all sorts of rhetorical tricks to vilify the dragon and whitewash the heroes, fabricating one crowd-pleasing "punishing evil and promoting good" story after another.
To ensure good prices, I'd even attributed the misdeeds of dragons from other mountains to A-Ji.
I'd thought all those articles had been dealt with, but somehow some had slipped through, and A-Ji found them.
This was probably the world's controller punishing me for cheating.
I still remember that day—A-Ji threw a tremendous tantrum, its fire breathing scorching half the mountainside's forest. It roared, accusing me of being a shameless liar, fabricating the whole protagonist aura theory to trick it, when really I was in cahoots with the heroes, just watching it make a fool of itself. I tried to explain, tried to tell it those articles were written before I knew A-Ji, and begged it to forgive my past ignorance and stupidity.
But the trust in A-Ji's eyes toward me was gone.
I knew I'd lost this friend.
Packing my bedroll, I walked down the mountain, and at the last moment, I couldn't resist turning back. I saw that large dragon standing at the entrance to the lair atop the mountain peak. In the dead of winter, snowflakes drifted down and settled on its body, covering it in a thin layer.
Like a sculpture that had lost its soul.
---
I became a layabout NPC once more.
This time, even the ability to see protagonist auras was gone.
Lost and adrift, I began wandering—no longer trailing after people with protagonist auras, but truly on my own. My decisions were my own, and my hardships were my own to bear. Over several years of wandering, I saw many wonders I'd never imagined and learned many astounding skills.
Dangerous battles, naturally, I encountered quite a few. At first, this was an enormous challenge for someone who could no longer see protagonist auras—I couldn't tell which opponents were strong or weak, and was often badly beaten by fierce adversaries. But after scraping by in adversity for so long, I actually grew capable of wielding that old sword I'd picked up from the ground behind some defeated hero, defeating one vicious opponent after another and claiming victory.
I even had the misfortune of getting caught in several dragon battles, both strong and weak, but the goddess of victory always favored me.
Probably those playful sparring sessions with A-Ji back in the lair hadn't been entirely useless.
Defeating dragons brought me fame.
But I had my principles—I never took the coins from their treasure chests.
Not that I needed them. Fame already brought me various benefits; cities and towns had started spreading legends about this "uncertified strongest hero," and the more challengers came, the more rewards I earned after each victory.
Without realizing it, I'd acquired almost a full chest of gold coins, glittering brightly.
Was this what I wanted most?
It seemed so, yet not quite.
Somewhere along the way, I'd forgotten my original purpose.
---
Life is so unpredictable.
When I had nothing, I lost the ability to see protagonist auras, unable to tell who was a powerful opponent, stumbling through life's mire, covered in injuries. And now that I'd become strong and no longer needed to dodge anyone, the ability had returned.
And I could see clearly—a protagonist aura had appeared above my own head.
I sat alone on an empty hill, gazing at the star-filled sky, chugged a full jug of wine, thought about the twists and turns of these years, and the promise I'd made, and laughed loudly. Then suddenly, I couldn't help crying.
Why?
Honestly, I didn't know either.
---
The challenger this time was a very strong hero—perhaps the strongest I'd ever faced. I came close to losing.
But in the end, I won.
Watching him walk away with his broken sword, slumped in defeat, I let out a breath of relief—then noticed a gold coin had just fallen from his pocket, rolling to my feet.
The pattern on the coin was a fire-breathing dragon, fierce and imposing.
I froze.
After a long time, I bent down and picked it up.
And habitually wiped it with my sleeve, over and over.
I'd never gone to get certified as an official hero, never had that gold credentials badge pinned to my chest.
But this
But this coin, I recognized.
In this world, there was only one like it.
Big Treasure.
After making sure, I went to find A-Ji. I'd never gone back to the old lair. Not because I didn't want to—but by the time I finally gathered the courage, the lair had been taken over by another dragon. A genuine, menacing Great Villain with double the ferocity and a genuine protagonist aura.
I fled for my life.
Many times, I went back to that mountain, gazing at the distant lair entrance, and countless times I had to reluctantly turn away.
A-Ji wasn't there anymore.
But I kept searching for it among the dragons I fought, and in the end, not by my own ability or my protagonist aura, but through sheer coincidence, word of my search spread. Someone told me that the dragon named Jiji was living on another demon mountain outside a different city.
When I finally found it and saw that its feet were bare and its scales were gray and withered—the note I'd placed on its postponed-work notice had long since blown away.
My emotions came flooding out. I couldn't hold back, and called out loudly: "A-Ji, why aren't you wearing your clothes?"
Yes—I'd always called it "Big Treasure."
I always told it, "Don't swagger."
Don't swagger, A-Ji. It doesn't matter whether you have a protagonist aura or not. Whether or not you become a Great Villain isn't important either. All of that—the titles, the recognition, the shiny coins in your treasure chest—those are all just extra gifts the world gives you, not proof of your worth.
In reality, there are some stories that don't have a particularly dazzling protagonist.
But they still exist.
A-Ji recognized me too, its eyes widening, and it almost tripped over its own tail in its excitement—though it quickly composed itself.
Or rather, it tried to.
"Welcome—" A-Ji had started its usual professional greeting for challengers, but its voice cracked, and it couldn't finish.
I smiled and strode over, striding toward it with firm, deliberate steps—it felt like returning home after many years away, carrying a full chest of gold coins and endless stories to tell.
"I've kept my promise."
---
"A-Ji," A-Ji had asked me for my name earlier.
But I hadn't given it. I'd just said, "I'm just a nameless layabout."
A-Ji had immediately puffed up, looked at me, and then secretly said to me: "Then I'll call you Big Treasure."
Just one Big Treasure. The only one.
Now, sitting together on a mountain peak, watching A-Ji startle small animals with its sonorous singing—just like it had promised that day on the mountain when it saw the shooting star—I said, "Then I'll call you Jiji."
A-Ji liked the name. It gave me a dragon salute.
When I'd first arrived with my little lantern, A-Ji said it would take me to see the world.
"A-Ji wants to see the outside world too."
---
Time passed faster and slower than expected.
I fulfilled my promise, taking A-Ji on a long journey, away from all the demon mountains and dragon lairs, to the farthest corner of this world.
Here, there was no constant stream of challengers, no beaten-up dragon groaning in pain while polishing its gold coins.
Only the most beautiful, radiant, and peaceful scenery I could imagine.
Sometimes I sat with A-Ji on a hill, watching shooting stars streak by and silently making wishes; sometimes I studied its rare smiles and expressions; sometimes a bird would suddenly fly over, and A-Ji would immediately hide behind me in fear.
In this world too, A-Ji was a big coward.
But Jiji needed friends.
And I was A-Ji's friend.
We had a long road ahead—across deserts and snow mountains, traversing rivers and oceans—but it didn't matter. Wherever A-Ji went, I would follow.
Jiji would protect A-Ji—my important friend.
END