As time passed, the children slowly grew up.

Especially during their early teens—girls developed quickly. It felt like the blink of an eye before she’d shed the childishness from when It first arrived. The kids who’d once bullied her now barely reached her shoulder.

Logically, It should’ve grown too. But It didn’t truly age. So It manually adjusted Its height.

And since it was manual? It could set it however It pleased.

"You’ve grown so much too! Let’s compare!" Suddenly realizing this, she tugged It toward an open patch of ground. Backs pressed together, they stood side by side.

"161 centimeters," It stated. It didn’t resist touch, but clearly disliked this game.

"C’mon, c’mon!" she insisted. After measuring, she grabbed Its hand, grinning. "I’m still taller! But it’s okay—girls grow faster than boys. You’ll shoot up later!"

"Hmm…" It barely cared about the topic.

If It wanted, It could swell to the size of a city. But there was no need. Or rather—it wouldn’t.

During Its time at the orphanage, beyond human language and writing, It had learned most about human… habits.

Humans didn’t suddenly grow hundreds of meters tall. This size was fine.

Besides, humans were fragile creatures…

"Hey!" She suddenly spotted two kids climbing a tree and dashed over. "What are you doing? It’s dangerous up there! Get down!"

"No!" shouted a boy already halfway up. "I’ll reach the top and grab… grab that special fruit! Then I’ll pass the trial and become a hero!"

"Hero…" She muttered the word, then snapped her head up. "You’ve been reading manga again! Down now!"

It followed, then spoke calmly: "Fruit holds a tree’s seeds—for its children. They don’t grow at the very top."

"I don’t believe you! It’s there! I *am* the hero—and I even have a partner!"

His "partner" was the little girl trembling beneath the tree, small hands braced against the trunk as if fearing it might collapse. They’d arrived together recently, already knowing each other.

"Okay, okay," she coaxed. "A true hero wouldn’t worry their partner, right? Come down. I’ll give you candy."

"Hmph! You don’t trust me!" The boy pouted—and jumped.

Two meters was dangerously high for a child. He’d surely be hurt.

She froze, stunned.

It caught him mid-air.

Only after It set him down did she gasp, hand flying to her chest. Her scolding died when she saw the gash on his arm. "You’re bleeding! Quick, the infirmary—"

"I’m fine! I have my partner!" The boy winced, tears welling as he turned to the girl.

Silently, she pressed her palm over his wound. A soft white light glowed—and the cut sealed itself.

"See? Believe me now?" The boy beamed, pain forgotten.

"You have superpowers?" she whispered, awestruck.

The girl nodded.

Orphanages sometimes housed children who awakened abilities.

When they did, they’d be taken away—not to be eaten like in manga, but trained as precious talents. Some even returned to visit.

She felt genuine joy for the girl.

But It watched the girl twisting her skirt nervously and asked: "Do you want to leave him?"

The girl froze.

She’d never shown her power before. Her closeness to the boy was obvious. Yet after using her ability, the scent of power clinging to her would be detected. She’d be taken. He, without powers, would stay. They’d be separated.

At It’s question, the girl shook her head fiercely, clutching the boy’s arm.

Two days later, outsiders came. They took the girl away. The boy screamed and cried, but couldn’t stop them.

After she left, he changed. No more mischief. Barely any words.

Watching him, she felt lost. "Isn’t going outside… a good thing?"

It met her gaze. "The best place is where you belong."

"…" She fell silent.

Then It added: "But life always finds its way."

Days later, a shift.

The boy still spoke little—but he began reading.

"I’ll study hard," he muttered. "Then I can go see her someday."

Seeing his change, her spirits lifted.

Later, outsiders brought the girl back. Hand in hand, the two whispered about the future.

She smiled for them.

It felt nothing—but her happiness mattered.

Alone together, she asked: "Will you leave too someday?"

"No." It answered without hesitation. "Why ask?"

"Because you’re not ordinary. You’re different." She smiled. "Remember when you carried me onto the roof?"

It stayed silent. Back then, It hadn’t understood human rules. Mistakes happened.

"It’s okay! You said it yourself—where you belong is best." She ruffled Its hair.

"…"

Later, she brought the manga the boy had read. They flipped through it together.

It frowned at a line:

【My name is Kliman. My dream is to become a hero.】

"What does ‘Kliman’ mean?"

"It’s his name! Names call specific people…" She tilted her head. "You don’t know?"

"I know names exist. But what does ‘Kliman’ *mean*?"

At the orphanage, It had learned much—including names. She was "Sister." It was "Little Monster."

Others had called It "bad kid" at first. But as Its "mischief" grew, "Little Monster" stuck.

"So you still don’t get it," she sighed. "Names hold hopes for the future. What you described is a nickname."

"What’s *your* name?" It asked.

"Me? I don’t have one. Maybe no one hoped for me." She shrugged, not sad. "But it’s not good to be nameless. I can hope for myself!"

"How?"

"By choosing my own name!"

"Oh."

"Don’t just say ‘oh’! Books say it sounds impatient. Like you’re brushing me off." She pouted.

"Oh… like *this*…?"

"Hmm… that works. Say it again?"

"*This*."

"…"

Days later, she announced her decision.

"My name is Green Grass! Grass survives anywhere—tougher than anyone."

"What about a surname?" It had learned names needed those too.

"Can’t I just be ‘Green’?"

It had no answer. Surnames came from parents. What about parentless children? Couldn’t they hold their own hopes?

"You should pick a name too. Everyone deserves one." Newly named, she beamed. "Or should I choose for you?"

"No." It rarely refused her—but not this.

It wouldn’t be named after a plant.

"Then pick your own!"

"…Moming." It had secretly considered it.

"‘Mo’ means ‘no.’ ‘Ming’ is ‘name.’"

"Moming? ‘No name’? What kind of hope is that?" She couldn’t grasp it.

It shook Its head. "Having a name *is* the hope."

"That… makes sense," she said slowly, straining for an explanation. "Like… living as an ordinary person among the masses. That’s good too."

"Among the masses…" It pondered the phrase.

"Ordinary people! Living simply, like everyone else!"

"Understood." It accepted this.

"If your surname is Mo, I’ll be Mo Green Grass too!" She copied eagerly.

"‘Mo’ means ‘no.’ So ‘No Green Grass’?" It countered.

"Then just Green Grass! Nowhere without grass is worth living." She dropped the borrowed surname instantly.

For orphanage children, "becoming a hero" was the grandest dream. Most just wished to survive.

Like grass.

For It, merely living as human—with a name—was rare fortune.

From that day, It had a name.

It was Moming.