The Potato and the Chikki
What's going on… what's happening…
I found myself standing in the middle of a bustling marketplace, surrounded by noise, color, and life.
I tilted my head back and stared up. The sky stretched above me, clear and cloudless, the bright sun burning so sharply it forced me to squint. That light—warm and merciless—was something I hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity.
The air carried a thousand scents. Steam rose from food stalls, curling with the fragrance of fresh dumplings and sizzling skewers. Vendors shouted over one another to draw customers in, their calls clashing with the chatter and laughter of the crowd until the whole market pulsed like a living heart.
I stood frozen, just watching.
It had been… ten years, at least, since I had seen anything like this. Ten years since life had looked this ordinary.
Could this be a dream?
I should have died—my heart had shattered. I should be nothing but a corpse.
So why was I here? Was this some fleeting illusion, my mind clinging to a piece of my past? Did I long for something this simple, this human?
A bitter chuckle escaped me.
"What a joke."
And then I froze.
I could speak.
That was impossible. My throat had been ruined long ago, torn apart until silence was all I had left. Yet my voice had come out clear—though thin, high-pitched, like that of a young boy.
I raised my hands and stared. No scars. No calluses. Just small, soft hands that couldn't possibly belong to the adult I had become. My perspective was lower, too.
A child's body… mine.
"Could this be one of my old memories?" I muttered.
But… when? I couldn't remember ever walking through the marketplace at this age.
As if to answer me, I spotted a man weaving through the crowd, frantic, searching. My escort. The memory clicked into place.
Yes. This was that day—the day I had secretly slipped away and met her.
I turned, and there she was. A girl my age, struggling with a basket bigger than her head, her messy hair spilling into her face. Dirt clung to her clothes, but when she saw me, she smiled as though she'd just found a treasure.
She held out a steaming potato with both hands.
"Want a potato?"
The words hit me like a thunderclap.
"…Huh?"
It was exactly the same. That first meeting, that first offer.
I remembered what I had said to her back then. My lips had curled, my voice sharp with arrogance: How dare you hand me such a thing! Perhaps I had said something even worse. I couldn't remember the exact words, only the shame of them.
Why? Because of her ragged clothes? Because I was too proud, too blind? No excuses mattered. I had simply been a brat.
If I had known what she would become… if I had known where life would take me… would I have treated her differently?
I wanted to say yes. But honesty cut sharper. Back then, I was too ignorant to care.
Her timid voice pulled me from my thoughts.
"Erm… uh… Do you not like potatoes?"
She shrank back when I didn't answer, her voice trembling.
I studied her. Clothes tattered, hair hiding her face, skin smudged with dirt. Anyone else would've mistaken her for a beggar.
A bitter laugh slipped out. "If this memory is the one being shown to me, I guess I regretted it a lot."
"Eh?" She tilted her head, confused, not understanding my muttering.
Would this illusion erase my regrets?
No. Never.
But I still reached out and took the potato.
Her entire face lit up, a smile blooming wide, missing one tooth but radiating joy.
"Thank you very much," I said softly. "I'll gladly eat this."
Her cheeks flushed.
"Ye-Yes…! That's from my g-grandpa's farm!"
She grabbed another potato from her basket and bit into it, steam rising.
I copied her. And instantly regretted it.
The potato was scalding hot. Heat seared my tongue, my cheeks burning red as I struggled to chew.
She burst out laughing. "Ahaha! Your face is red!"
I glared, but couldn't deny it. She, somehow, ate hers without flinching. I endured, forcing down bite after bite until I could finally breathe again.
She leaned closer, eyes sparkling. "It's tasty, right?"
"Yes… it's delicious."
And it was. Shockingly so. The taste was rich, earthy, comforting. It felt real—too real for a dream.
I had barely finished when a shadow fell over us. My escort had found me at last.
"Young master…?" His voice carried both relief and reprimand. His eyes landed on the girl, and instantly hardened. His hand went to the hilt of his sword.
"How dare you put your hands on—"
"You got any chikki?" I interrupted.
"…Huh?"
"Do you have any chikki?" I repeated firmly.
He blinked, startled, then fumbled at his robes. Against all odds, he actually pulled out a small packet.
I took it and turned back to the girl. "You want to try this?"
Her hair still covered her face, but I saw her eyes widen. "R-really? You're really giving me this!?"
I smiled faintly. "You gave me such a delicious potato. I can only repay you with this meager offering."
Truth was, I lived off sweets back then. My tantrums had been silenced with chikki more times than I could count. That my escort—trained to wield the blade—was reduced to carrying confections for me… perhaps that was its own kind of humiliation.
But the girl didn't know that. She leapt with joy, nearly spilling her basket of potatoes. "Thank you so much! This is the first time I've ever been able to eat something like this!"
"That so? Hey, you got any more?" I asked, glancing back at my escort.
"I apologize, Young Master," he said stiffly. "That was the last one."
"Shame…" I muttered, disappointment settling in my chest.
My escort was staring at me strangely now, as though my very being had shifted.
I frowned. "Why do you keep staring at me like that?"
"Oh, it's nothing, Young Master," he said quickly, eyes lowering.
Meanwhile, the girl placed her basket carefully on the ground and held the chikki in both hands as though it were treasure. She bit into it.
Her eyes widened. Her whole body seemed to lift, shoulders trembling. "I-it tastes so good…"
"I wish I had more to give," I admitted.
She shook her head fiercely, hair bouncing.
The sweet vanished in a handful of bites. When it was gone, her lips trembled, and tears welled in her eyes.
"This was the first time I ate anything as delicious as this…"
I smiled faintly. "I'm glad you found it delicious."
She quickly stuffed a potato into her mouth again, but her expression betrayed her—nothing could compare to the taste she had just discovered.
After a pause, she peeked at me shyly.
"Thank you… Can I have your name?"
Her sudden timidness almost made me laugh. Why was asking for a name harder than offering a potato?
I straightened and said clearly, "Davis Fireheart. My name is Davis Fireheart."
The words echoed in my ears. It had been so long since I had spoken my own name.
She repeated it softly, testing it on her tongue. "Davis Fireheart…"
Her lips curled into a shy smile. And just as she was about to say more—
"Isabella!"
An old man rushed from the crowd, scooping her up in his arms.
"Grandpa!" she exclaimed, clutching him tight.