Beneath a metric ton of dead plant matter and solid water, we found the rock in its natural habitat. It was lurking in the depths, waiting for the perfect opportunity. All it took was just a tiny bit of stimulus and it would burst out and show the world how it really was. For now, it was patient, biding its time. It had all the time in the world and more. An undefeatable beast, a freak of nature, the one and only, the rock.

It had so many natural advantages that other creatures wouldn't stand a chance. It was immortal; nothing could kill it. Even if it was crushed to a fine powder, it would continue on in that powder until it bonded with something else and became a rock again. It was strong; humans even have a saying about things being as hard as a rock. Rocks are naturally dense and heavy, capable of killing creatures with ease given a push from something else. As for why it's the one and only, that was due to this story.

With this story, it was the protagonist and unique compared to the other rocks— I mean, unique compared to those petty stones. Without the story, it would be just another rock. It still was just a rock, but it felt special somehow. Being the protagonist counts for something, right? Of course, the narrator was even more important than the protagonist. That is, in the case where the narrator and protagonist aren't the same.

Just then, the sounds of footsteps crunching on the snow neared. It came closer and closer to the place where the rock set up the ambush. It stopped directly above the spot where the rock was buried and— nothing. It wandered off unharmed and the footsteps faded into oblivion. The rock had let it go. It was too small and the rock had bigger fish to fry. Going for something small simply because of a good opportunity and wasting the chance to get something bigger was an amateur mistake. However, this was the third one passed down. At this rate, winter will end before the rock finally strikes.