"Give me your balloon."
The boy handed his balloon to the Mushroom-headed boy.
"Here, you can have mine."
When the Mushroom-headed boy didn't react, the boy simply shoved his own balloon into his hand.
"Take it."
Huh?
The Mushroom-headed boy looked utterly bewildered.
W-what?
He stared blankly at his new balloon.
"Okay."
The boy looked at the balloon he'd been longing for, now in his hands, and his heart bloomed with joy.
He did his best to keep a straight face.
"Now I forgive you."
"And I won't look for your mom, dad, or grandparents anymore."
After saying this, the boy turned and left.
His little hand clutched tightly at the balloon he'd finally gotten—the one he liked best.
His steps were light.
He almost skipped.
The Mushroom-headed boy realized what had happened a moment too late and pouted.
Tears welled in his eyes.
"My balloon..."
He'd begged his grandparents for ages... before they finally bought him that balloon.
Balloons like this were "pretty but impractical." They always deflated after just one night.
His grandparents thought buying them was a waste of money.
They'd rather buy something useful, like food or clothes.
But children loved these balloons that seemed to serve no real purpose.
The Mushroom-headed boy was no exception.
And he'd been especially lucky: his was the last balloon of that design.
The man selling balloons had even told him how lucky he was.
He'd been so happy.
His grandparents had patted his head and told him he was a lucky child, too.
Their faces had relaxed, their brows and eyes easing.
They were no longer unhappy about buying him a balloon in the first place.
The Mushroom-headed boy had grinned from ear to ear.
But...
His lucky balloon was gone.
"Plop~"