Diary of the Improper Monster Girl Transformation.

Chapter 543 "Mom" (Bonus Chapter 304, 6.4K views!)
Some say that nothing is more beautiful than a young girl's blush.

But there is a very important premise—

The girl's face wasn't red from holding it in.

"Heh heh! Cough... cough!"

Caught off guard, Teresa blushed and coughed awkwardly a few times before finally managing to cough up the potato chunk stuck in her throat. She looked at her mother with a resentful expression.

"mom!"

The firewood crackled in the stove, and the flames cast a warm glow on the stone walls of the kitchen.

With a flushed face, Teresa sat at the table, holding a wooden bowl in her hand. The steaming potato soup in the bowl, mixed with the aroma of toasted charcoal bread, wafted into her nostrils.

Her mother, sitting opposite her, watched her with a smile, gently stirring the thick soup in her bowl with a wooden spoon.

"Oh dear, I didn't mean to! Who knew you'd get so worked up?"

The father sat to the side, holding a piece of hard bread in his hand, chewing slowly, his gaze fixed on the mother and daughter with a gentle expression.

"Humph."

Theresa pouted, snorted, and decided to ignore her boring mother.

However, her mother wasn't about to let her off the hook at this point, and continued to ask, "So, judging from your agitated state, it's because I've hit a nerve?"

"Cough cough!"

The girl nearly choked again, put down the wooden bowl, and asked helplessly, "What are you talking about? I mean... why are you suddenly bringing this up?"

Theresa pursed her lips, seemingly reluctant to delve deeper into the topic.

"That's because—you seem to be waiting for me to ask that question. Otherwise, why have you been staring blankly at your rice bowl while eating lately?"

The lady smiled as she looked at her daughter, who seemed hesitant, and then spread her hands in a seemingly helpless manner, pointing to the soup she hadn't even drunk half of.

"Does that mean you don't like my potato soup? If so, Mom will be very sad!"

?

That's why!
Theresa blinked, intending to simply shake her head and end the conversation, but the words she was about to say took a different turn.

"Well... well, it's not that I don't like it."

She hesitated for a moment, but couldn't help complaining, "But Mom, don't you think we've been eating potatoes a little too often lately?"

Potato soup, stewed potatoes, mashed potatoes, baked potatoes...

Potatoes are delicious on their own, and with the recent bumper harvest, plus my mother's cooking skills, none of these dishes are bad.

But the problem is, they've been eating it far too often!
Eat it every meal, every day!
It's potato hell!
By the end of the meal, Teresa felt overwhelmed just looking at the potatoes and found them difficult to swallow.

"So what? As long as we're full, isn't that enough?"

The mother seemed quite indifferent, casually waving her hand before asking, "If you don't want to eat, we can make something else tomorrow, like boiled beans or something..."

When Teresa heard this, her lips twitched. She thought of the days before the potato harvest when she ate boiled beans every day and felt that she was better off not mentioning it.

"Um, potatoes are delicious, but do we have to make them every day? Can't we do them every few days?"

"That won't work!"

The woman snorted and muttered, "Hmph, you bunch of ignorant fools who don't understand the benefits of potatoes, I'll make you all understand the goddess's good intentions!"

Her face showed the expression of a devout believer, and she nodded with heartfelt gratitude.

"It is because the great Lord of Nature commanded His servants to select the crops most suitable for this soil that we are able to have enough to eat!"

At this moment, the father, who had been silent, suddenly interjected, "That one, wasn't chosen by the druids? It has nothing to do with the goddess... cough, never mind, pretend I didn't say anything."

Under his wife's sudden, sharp gaze, he immediately realized that he should lower his head and eat quietly.

Don't interrupt when it's not your turn to speak!

"Humph~"

The woman was pleased with her husband's thoughtfulness, so she added another spoonful of potato soup to his bowl, then turned to her daughter and said, "By the way, I still think you have someone you like."

?

Theresa was completely exasperated and said helplessly, "Mom, why are you still talking about this? You might as well continue talking about making potatoes..."

"Haha! It's because you obviously don't want me to ask, you must be hiding something from me."

The mother laughed even harder, her whole being beaming with joy. She sighed, "Oh dear, my little Theresa is already this age. I can't even ask her about it anymore?"

"It's not..."

"You're hesitating, which means you've already chosen someone! But you don't want to tell me."

"I... well, whatever makes you happy, Mom."

After leaving the woman exasperated by her questioning, she nodded to herself, not really wanting to find out anything, but simply looking for a topic to chat about during the meal.

The proof is that she turned to her husband and continued on the topic: "However, regardless of whether our little Theresa has someone she likes, it seems that we should indeed consider her future husband."

As she spoke, she brought up a candidate.

"I think the blacksmith's eldest son is quite good; he's honest and strong..."

"Cough cough."

Having learned his lesson, the father, who had been preparing to remain silent and watch the show, paused, coughed twice, and interrupted his wife's rambling.

"Well, he is indeed a very honest person, and he is very strong, but he is already forty-five years old. Isn't that a bit too old?"

The old father shook his head slowly with a deep expression, saying that he absolutely could not hand his daughter over to an old bachelor.

No, I won't hand my daughter over!
No way!

However, no one heard the old father's heartfelt cries, and even if they did, no one cared.

"Yes, what you said does make a good point."

After thinking for a while, the woman reluctantly agreed with her husband's suggestion and continued to ask, "If the eldest son won't do, what about the younger son?"

“No, no, no, his youngest son is also forty-four years old, isn’t that the same?” the father exclaimed again, his voice trembling with emotion.

No!

"Oh, I was just asking, why are you in such a hurry?"

The woman glared at her agitated husband and snorted, "Honestly, you and your daughter are both so unreliable."

???

The father and daughter, who were being teased, exchanged a glance and both saw the helplessness in each other's eyes.

"Cough cough..."

"Ugh……"

Forget it.

Don't argue with her; you won't win.

As long as she's happy.

Meanwhile, the mother paid no attention to the father and daughter's little antics and continued to list the candidates with a smile.

"I've heard the tailor's child is quite good, but I think her child is only..."

Three years old.

The father was too tired to complain anymore. He quickly drank the thick soup in his bowl, gave a half-hearted reply, and then took the bowl to the kitchen.

"Oh, three years old? That's a bit young."

It's just a little small!?

Theresa suppressed her urge to complain, lowered her head and didn't reply, and began to fight with the thick soup in her bowl.

The atmosphere at the dining table became warm again, with only the mother's soft whispers and the gentle clinking of bowls and chopsticks.

"……hehe."

However, listening to her mother's constant nagging in her ear, Theresa's lips curled into a smile without her noticing.

Theresa secretly glanced up at her mother's gentle profile and her father's busy figure in the kitchen, and felt a warm feeling in her heart.

This scene has been repeating itself for several months since I woke up from that dream.

Theresa had long since become completely sober and no longer considered the experience in her dream as real; she had forgotten it all.

However, for some reason, she still sometimes felt as if she were dreaming.

"I always feel like this kind of happiness doesn't belong to me..."

"Hmm? Theresa, did you say something?"

When her mother asked, Theresa shook her head slightly.

"...No, it's nothing."

After the meal, Theresa took the initiative to clear away the dishes and took them to the kitchen to wash with her mother.

Her father went to the inner room to get the farm tools, and after she finished getting ready, he was already standing at the door with a hoe on his shoulder, waiting for them.

"We have to dig up all the potatoes in that field on the east side today. If we don't, we won't have time to sell them to passing merchants."

Her father's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a reassuring strength. Teresa wiped the water from her hands and picked up the small hoe from the corner of the wall:
"I understand, Father."

The family of three walked towards the fields to the east. The village was very quiet, and occasionally they could see neighbors busy in their yards. When they saw them, they would greet them warmly.

Harvest season is always a joyful time, even if it requires a lot of effort.

Theresa, carrying the hoe that was a size too small but still somewhat heavy for her, followed her father toward the edge of the field.

The earth, still warm from the sun, felt soft underfoot.

The father silently wielded the hoe in front of him, his movements skilled and rhythmic, turning over the soil to reveal potatoes of varying sizes, covered in fresh mud.

Teresa imitated him, swinging the hoe down forcefully.

Her movements were not as fluid as her father's, and she almost dug into the potatoes several times, but she was much more skilled than at the beginning.

Before long, my arms started to ache, my back was covered in sweat, and my breathing became a little rapid.

I'm exhausted, really exhausted.

My palms quickly became red from being rubbed by the rough hoe handle, and my lower back began to ache.

The sunlight wasn't glaring, but it was still quite warm, making her cheeks feel hot.

Theresa straightened up, rubbed her sore arms, and looked at her parents not far away.

The father continued digging, his movements steady and powerful, while the mother nimbly and smoothly packed the dug-up potatoes into a basket.

"Take a break if you're tired, don't push yourself too hard."

The mother noticed Theresa's gaze, turned around and smiled at her.

“It’s alright, Mother, I can still dig.” Theresa shook her head and wiped her sweat.

She bent down as well, picked up the round potatoes, and carefully placed them into the basket next to her.

As she watched the basket gradually fill with the harvest, an indescribable sense of fulfillment and joy welled up from the bottom of her heart.

Sweat dripped down her forehead and onto the soil, but she couldn't help but laugh.

Her father would occasionally stop to check on her progress, without saying a word, but simply using his eyes to signal her to pay attention to technique.

Although Teresa was very tired, as she watched the potatoes in the basket increase, her joy gradually grew.

She liked this sense of security; every potato she dug out felt like a small piece of happiness.

The three of them dug until it gradually got dark and the stars began to twinkle in the sky, before they finally finished digging and brought the basket full of potatoes home.

Theresa sat on a stool to rest, feeling strangely light-hearted despite her physical exhaustion.

How long has this been going on?
Theresa couldn't quite remember; it seemed like it had been several months, or perhaps many years.

Every day is similarly peaceful and fulfilling.

I wake up to the crowing of roosters in the early morning, eat a simple breakfast made by my mother, and during the day I may help with some housework and farm work. In the evening, the whole family sits together for dinner and listens to my mother talk about the trivial matters in the village.

For example, whose family has had a new lamb, how is this year's harvest looking, whose couple is arguing again, whose child is being naughty and getting a beating...

The neighbors are very kind; they greet each other warmly when they meet and occasionally bring some vegetables they've grown themselves.

Both parents are alive and in good health.

Although life was simple and frugal, it was carefree.

No conflict, no danger, no imminent pressure. This was simply the most beautiful and perfect life she had ever imagined.

So perfect...it looks unreal.

"..." Theresa pursed her lips and silently gritted her teeth.

This wasn't the first time this thought had crossed my mind.

Like a cunning bubble at the bottom of the water, it always silently rises to her mind during her happiest and most relaxed moments, then bursts with a "pop," leaving behind a cold ripple.

Why do I always feel like a stranger?

She watched her mother's profile as she mended clothes under the lamp, watched her father's back as he silently wiped the farm tools, and watched the simple yet warm and welcoming house.

Everything felt so real, so within reach.

The mother's nagging was real, the father's silence was real, and the slight stinging on the palms from labor was real.

But why is there always a small, empty space in my heart, as if a very important piece of the puzzle is missing?
Why does she sometimes stare blankly at something familiar, feeling that it "shouldn't be like this"?
A vague unease lingered in my mind.

Like an extremely fine thread, it coils around her heart. She doesn't usually feel it, but in certain quiet moments, or when she is immersed in excessive happiness, it will quietly tighten, bringing a barely perceptible yet undeniable sense of suffocation.

Theresa even felt a slight... fear about her current life.

It's not a fear of specific things, but a fear of the overly perfect, flawless life before me.

It was too perfect, so perfect that it left no gaps, so perfect that it made her feel like an intruder, like a thief who had stolen someone else's happiness.

She was afraid that one day this perfect bubble would burst, afraid that it would all vanish like morning mist, afraid that she would wake up to find herself still penniless...

What kind of self am I?
She frowned, trying to grasp the blurry image that flashed through her mind, but she couldn't hold onto anything.

Only that inexplicable, heavy unease, like the night, slowly settled down, pressing down on my heart.

At night, she lay on her soft, comfortable bed, listening to the familiar chirping of insects outside the window, but she couldn't fall asleep for a long time.

The bed beneath me was very comfortable, and the room smelled of sunshine. Thanks to my mother's care, everything was perfect.

But the more she did this, the clearer the sense of unease she felt became.

This scene was both incredibly beautiful and... strangely unsettling.

She rolled over, buried her face in the sun-scented pillow, covered her ears, and tried to ignore the increasingly loud alarm in her heart.

Is this really what she wants?
Or rather, is this really... her life?
That night, Teresa had a dream.

One, having the same dream many times.

In her dream, she saw a giant mirror.

What flashes repeatedly in the mirror is a young girl's experience.

That was... another version of myself.

She didn't talk to that version of herself; she simply observed silently from the perspective of an outsider.

Gazing at that life, so different from my current one.

"..."

Theresa watched quietly, without surprise or fear.

Because she had been watching for a long time.

She can't remember it when she's awake, but in her dreams, she can recall everything and remember where she saw before.

Theresa didn't know why she was watching such a pathetic, even tragic, "other life," but she instinctively felt that it was important to her.

So she started watching, little by little.

Watching that girl, who lost her mother from the very beginning, grow up little by little, growing up in loneliness.

In the mirror, the same villagers appeared, yet they displayed different attitudes towards her.

To be honest, Teresa didn't like the stories in the mirror.

It's not fun at all, and it doesn't make people feel comfortable at all.

Her mother passed away early, and her father was rarely seen either, leaving her alone in the empty room.

Later, they were reduced to slavery and transported to the altar of the evil god.

A miserable life, tainted bloodline, and not a single good thing has ever happened to me.

She didn't want to live that kind of life at all.

Honestly, I don't want to at all.

Until—that transformation occurred.

That perfect knight, who almost only exists in dreams, is the savior who saved another of hers.

Lord Herbert.

A holy knight, as radiant as the sun, appeared beside her in a moment of danger, rescuing her from all suffering.

Just like a legendary hero.

Theresa knew that her other self liked him, though it was just a secret crush from a young girl, and she never dared to express it aloud.

No, anyone would have succumbed in that situation, wouldn't they?
That immense kindness alone was enough to move anyone, not to mention that the person in question was truly handsome...

Even if it's just myself outside the mirror, I'm probably a little bit tempted!
It's really only a tiny bit.

In the mirror, that adult once said something to another version of himself.

他 说:

"You have the power to choose."

"Furthermore, you are not 'unable to make a choice'...this is your choice."

"Accept yourself, whether you have the blood of a weak mortal or the blood of a cursed god, accept it all peacefully."

"This is the path you have chosen."

"Theresa, keep going."

Theresa also heard another version of herself answer at that time.

"I can't make a choice, I... I don't want to give up either side!"

At that time, also in a dreamlike world, another version of myself gritted my teeth and shouted at Lord Herbert:
"I am not a pure human, but I am not a pure monster either."

"I am not a monster, I am just me."

"A village girl with naive dreams, an outcast caught between two bloodlines."

"Without any one of these elements, I wouldn't be who I am today!"

These words from the two men really touched Teresa, and their impact was unexpectedly great.

"Mother."

The demonic bloodline that Teresa despised was, in fact, the only connection between her and her mother.

Unable to give up, unwilling to give up, absolutely unwilling to give up.

The other Teresa accepted the injustice of fate, endured all the torment, and waited for the happiness that belonged to her.

In that territory called Elda, she met her best friend Eunil, and they became best friends.

Although the young pastor really enjoyed teasing her, always saying things that made her feel embarrassed and annoyed, joking about the girl's affections, and occasionally showing overly loving eyes, unconsciously treating her like a child...

However, Eunice was truly a wonderful person, filling another void in Theresa's heart regarding friendship.

Compared to the tragic life of her other self, Teresa's life seemed far too wonderful.

Beautiful...

"It even seems fake."

Theresa spoke her long-held feelings, only to find herself surprisingly calm, as if she had already considered this possibility.

"Is this just a nightmare? Or... am I actually dreaming right now?"

This is a pointless question.

Ultimately, it was just a strange dream.

Once the dream ends, she will still be that happy country girl, and nothing will change.

And so, as always, Teresa fell asleep, leaving behind that strange dream.

"..."

But this time, waking up was a little different from before.

She didn't forget.

Theresa recalled everything she had experienced, including Herbert and Eunice.

She sat blankly on the bed, not moving for a long time.

Until the mother, noticing something was wrong, came to check on them.

"Theresa? Are you still in bed? If you're feeling unwell, you should tell Mommy."

"me……"

Theresa struggled to lift her head, her whole body trembling.

She looked at that familiar face, her lips trembled violently, and before she could utter a word, tears streamed down her face.

"...Mom, Mom."

Can't ask.

No, I can't ask... Absolutely, I can't ask!
With tears streaming down her face and her teeth clenched in pain, she asked, with unwavering resolve and almost in a daze, the question she would never utter aloud.

"Are you... really my 'mother'?"

This is a dream.

A beautiful, yet incredibly tragic dream.

"Mom" paused for a moment, then laughed, seemingly lamenting that Teresa had once again not woken up properly.

"Seriously, why would you ask such a strange question?"

She shook her head, walked helplessly to the bedside, pinched Theresa's cheek, and laughed, "What a silly child."

"Of course I am."

"I will always be your mother."

Theresa did not answer; she simply shook her head repeatedly, tears streaming down her face.

No, no... that's not how it is.

She didn't want to admit it, and she was even more unwilling to admit it.

However, we must admit it.

I absolutely cannot let myself fall into this state of depravity.

No matter how wonderful this dream is, we can no longer continue to wallow in it.

As the girl continued to shake her head, the woman's expression gradually changed. She lowered her eyes and sighed softly, "Oh, I see. You remembered..."

!!!

After her suspicions were confirmed, Teresa's tears flowed even more freely, soaking her clothes and the bedding on her legs.

"Oh, what a silly child."

The woman, whose "disguise" had been exposed, laughed again. Her smile was still gentle, no, it had even become more tender.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, raised her hand to tidy the girl's messy hair, and gently wiped her tear-stained cheeks with her sleeve.

"I've told you, I'll always be your mom."

Looking at her daughter, who was now completely sobbing, "Mom" said with gentle yet unwavering determination:

"Whatever you're thinking of..."

"And regardless of me..."

"Does it actually exist?"

(End of this chapter)