It was when I, Bruno, was eight years old.

In the village where I lived, there was an annual festival, coinciding with the wheat harvest. The streets were lined with stalls, and it was quite lively and fun.

For a child, any place with games or activities is enjoyable. I was no exception, and I fully immersed myself in the festival.

As a young boy, I stopped in front of one particular stall.

It was a game called “Turtle Scooping,” where you could win a turtle if you managed to scoop it up using a thin cloth stretched across a wooden frame. The game cost one silver coin per try.

My father had given me one silver coin and five copper coins for the festival.

Since I had already used up four copper coins, I’d be left with only one copper coin if I played the turtle scooping game. In other words, after that, I’d only be able to enjoy the festival atmosphere without participating in any more activities.

"Hey there, kid. You want to try turtle scooping?"

"Yeah!"

I replied as the man running the stall handed me the cloth attached to a wooden stick.

The reason I decided to spend a whole silver coin, such a large amount of money, was because of one particular turtle swimming in the tank.

Typically, turtles are green creatures. But this turtle was a striking indigo blue.

It was so beautiful that, in my eyes, it looked like a living gemstone.

I was so captivated by it that I couldn’t resist the challenge.

Before I even started, I had already secretly named that turtle Ivy.

"That one’s popular. Lots of folks have tried to catch it, but no one’s managed to yet," the stallkeeper said with a chuckle, noticing that I was aiming for Ivy.

Apparently, everyone thought the same thing. Realizing that, I figured playing the game normally wouldn’t work.

Ivy was probably meant to be a crowd-pleaser, a way to attract people to try turtle scooping.

The stallkeeper must have been laughing, thinking I had no chance of catching Ivy.

Even at my young age, I could sense that. So, before dipping the cloth into the water, I thought carefully.

How could I catch Ivy? I stared intently at her, wanting nothing more than to take her home.

"Hey, don’t take too long. Other kids might be waiting for a turn," the stallkeeper said, but I didn’t hear him anymore.

I kept staring at Ivy. And then, something strange happened—she turned to look at me.

With her small, round eyes, it felt like she could see right through me.

I knew at that moment that Ivy was smart. Maybe she even understood why she had been placed in the tank.

"Come here, Ivy. Come live with me at my house."

Talking to a turtle—would you laugh at me for that? Like the stallkeeper across from me, who thought I was foolish?

If you do, then you’re the real fool.

Because the truth is—Ivy could understand human words.

"Mee..."

"Huh?!"

To my surprise, Ivy swam straight toward me, weaving through the other turtles in the tank.

It was astonishing to hear a turtle make a sound, and it was a much higher-pitched voice than I expected.

I slowly dipped the cloth into the water, unsure of what to do next.

Ivy calmly climbed onto the cloth.

When I gently lifted her, she was incredibly light.

People often say something is "light as a feather," but Ivy was even lighter than that. It felt like she was flying on her own, with no weight at all.

I placed her in the small cup I’d been given along with the cloth.

Once in the cup, she hooked her claws on the edge and lifted her head (I later found out that Ivy was female).

She curiously gazed at the world outside the tank, clearly fascinated by her new surroundings.

"No way! That turtle should be too heavy for that flimsy cloth to hold! You must have cheated, kid!" the stallkeeper shouted angrily, but I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I handed the cloth back to him to inspect, and he slumped in defeat.

I felt a bit bad, but since he had put Ivy in the tank as an impossible prize, it wasn’t really my fault, I reasoned.

For some reason, Ivy seemed pleased as the stallkeeper grew more disheartened.

I gently placed Ivy on my shoulder and began walking.

The stallkeeper, now slightly softened, had advised me that keeping her in my hands too long would cause her stress.

And that’s how I ended up with Ivy.

And Ivy continued to grow rapidly.

One year passed.

Ivy grew so much that I couldn’t hold her with just one hand anymore—she had become too heavy.

Apparently, regular turtles don’t grow this quickly. I felt proud, knowing that Ivy was special.

Two years passed.

Ivy grew to be the size of Randolph’s hunting dog, the one from the house next door.

Strangely enough, even though she was that big, I could still carry her with ease.

At first, I thought I had become super strong, but that wasn’t the case.

It seemed that Ivy had the ability to make herself lighter.

I finally understood why I’d been able to scoop Ivy so easily at the festival—two years after the fact.

Sometimes, Ivy still tries to climb onto my shoulder, reminiscing about the past.

"You can’t sit on my shoulder anymore, Ivy," I’d say, and she’d look sad and hop down.

But she didn’t give up; every now and then, she’d try again.

I didn’t think it was possible, but I admired her determination.

Three years passed.

Ivy had grown taller than me, and she showed no signs of stopping.

She no longer lived inside the house; she now had her own shed next to it.

Ivy had finally given up on sitting on my shoulder, but now she wanted me to ride on her back.

At eleven years old, I was starting to get heavier, but Ivy didn’t mind at all. She carried me effortlessly on her back as we went for walks.

My house was on the outskirts of the village, and a straight path from the back door led into the forest.

The forest became our favorite walking spot.

My latest hobby was lying down on Ivy’s back and napping there.

It was strange—her back never shook, making it the perfect cradle for a good sleep.

But recently, I started noticing something.

My parents had begun acting strange around Ivy. I think they were starting to see her as a problem.

Sure, she wasn’t a normal turtle, but... Ivy is still Ivy, Mom.

"Mee..."

"It’s okay, Ivy. Don’t look so sad. You’re part of the family now."

Five years passed.

"You need to get rid of that monster, Bruno."

My mother finally lost her patience.

"She’s not a monster! Ivy is family!"

My mother called Ivy a monster.

For the first time in my life, I yelled back at her.

Yes, Ivy wasn’t a normal turtle. But she had been a part of our lives for years—a precious companion.

Ivy understood me when I spoke to her, and she was there for me whenever I was feeling down.

Ivy, who I could talk to about things I couldn’t tell my parents, had become an irreplaceable part of my family.

Hearing my mother’s words, Ivy looked like she was about to cry.

She had grown so large that she no longer fit in the shed. There was no more room for her at the house, so she made a bed for herself in the animal trail between the forest and the house.

I stroked Ivy’s smooth, cool body, which still gleamed beautifully.

Unlike regular turtles, she was clean and didn’t have that musky smell.

"Don’t worry, Ivy. No matter what Mom says, I’ll always be on your side."

At those words, Ivy perked up. But perhaps sensing something, she started spending more time deeper in the forest.

With some mediation from my father and me, my mother eventually calmed down.

But lately, I noticed that Ivy’s growth had started to scare the villagers.

I just hope no one else lashes out like my mother did...

Six years passed.

A group of adventurers—monster hunters—came to the village to kill Ivy.

The villagers, secretly fearing Ivy, had called them in.

I only found out when some villagers laughed at me, saying that the "monster" must be dead by now. Immediately after, I heard shouting from deep in the forest and rushed in.

There, I found the adventurers who had come to kill Ivy, unconscious on the ground—without a single scratch on her.

There was a thin man in a white coat, two women, and a burly man carrying a huge sword.

After checking to make sure they were still alive, I thought about what to do.

Killing them wasn’t an option. If Ivy was officially declared a dangerous monster, she would truly be at risk of being killed.

Ivy must have realized that too, which is why she only knocked them out.

I decided to take care of them.

After explaining the situation to my parents, we brought the four of them into our house.

By the way, lately, my mother had started calling Ivy by her name again.

Sometimes she even joined me on rides atop Ivy’s back.

By now, Ivy was big enough to carry two people with ease.

Pretty soon, even Dad might be able to ride with us.

I’m really glad Mom made up with Ivy. I hate it when the family doesn’t get along