101990775_ChaeeunGim_GAM20004

//We were trapped in the eternity of an ideological conflict vortex.// . . . . . (font:"Skia")[Who are you?] (set: $playerName to 0) (input: bind $playerName) (font:"Skia")[What would you call the person who try to kill you?] (set: $cursedplayerName to 0) (input: bind $cursedplayerName) (link-goto: "Done", "The field 1")[ (if: $playerName is 0)[(set: $playerName to "player")] (if: $cursedplayerName is 0)[(set: $cursedplayerName to "ie-ger")] ] (set: $intelligence to "?")(set: $initiative to "?")(set: $humanity to "?")

YOUR NAME: ? Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── //{(live: 1s)[ (either: "─KATATATA- !", "─TAT-", "─TATATata- ", "─CRACK!","─KAT- ","─TATATA- ","─TATatata ….") ]}// //{(live: 2s)+(transition:'dissolve')[ (either: "─WHIZzzzrrr......", "─BWUMP!", "─B-dOooooOM") ]}// The yellowish sand dust clung to my face. The noise of gunshots, cries, sand hitting feet, and bullets whizzing gave a shock beyond what humans can handle. All the humans in my sight, as if they had decided to give up being called ‘civilized humans,’ showed the disorder of soil, blood, and sweat like a pack of wild dogs eating meat thrown in the grass. They struggled for survival in uncontrollable madness, as if to prove my thought. [[I took my step ->The field 2]]

─ //Tramp- tap// The sad thing is, I'm not a bystander—I'm involved here. I, who have no difference from those moving their bodies with instinctive desire for survival, vague purpose, heroism, and no existence shaped by a deeply considered ‘sublime will,’ am literally like an animal. That’s right. In the midst of a huge clash of ideologies in the name of justice, it ultimately revealed that human beings are no different from animals fighting over territory. It was too late when we realized this. Since [[Where->The day before the uprising of peasant]] has it all been falling apart?

(set: $intelligence to 0)(set: $initiative to 0)(set: $humanity to 0) YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── " Teacher $playerName. " " Rodela? " " I guess I won't be able to attend class tomorrow. So, I’m just telling you, just in case. ” When I heard Rodela's words, I said, "Oh," but I soon comforted Rodela that it wasn’t a big deal. However, Rodela spoke as if she had been waiting for this, rather than feeling sorry. " You know, tomorrow is the DAY. The day to participate in the protest. ” For a moment, I swallowed my breath, looked at Rodela, and thought myself: They are really going to do it. Rodela is one of the students in the night class run by the union named “Long Journey” and a peasant suffering from excessive physical exploitation every day. Students in this night class are usually sent by poor parents who couldn’t afford expensive private schools, hoping their children might live a better life. But here, "adults who can't stand it anymore", such as Rodela, also take this class. In spite of working every day as a tenant farmer, Rodela attends class with diligence, spending the few moments of the time that remain. Of course, when someone asks Rodela, “Isn't it tiring?” Rodela always shrugs the stiff shoulders and says, “Adults shouldn’t hide behind children, should we? Like most older students here, Rodela is very serious in class. Leaving the farm is tantamount to debt—someone else must replace Rodela—therefore, Rodela must not waste a single second of borrowed time. Whenever Rodela's large, dark eyes focus with such responsibility on what I was lecturing, I always promise myself to give a better class to my students. Besides, maybe this is why Rodela won’t attend class that day. "But you know, $playerName - If anything happens to me and my husband, then—" ☞[[I keep listening to Rodela->Promise for Carlos]], tense for a moment. ☞[[I blurted out to Rodela. ->Promise to meet again]].

(set:$nameReveal to true) (put: $humanity+10 into $humanity) YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── “ If anything happens to me and my husband, then take care of my daughter, Carly- " " Look, Rodela. The class continues on Friday. " Rodela looked at me with a bewildered blink. I couldn’t stop myself from being rude, even if it was the last thing a parent should do with a child. Rather than comforting Rodela about the daughter, I promised we’d see each other again—attend class again, face the students again, and dream of the next step, once more. Rodela dropped her head, as if she understood my intentions after seeing the stiffness in my closed mouth and steady eye contact. Then Rodela lifted the head, her nose slightly wrinkled, smiling as she said, “Alright.” Rodela’s brown skin and eyes beneath the dark curly hair looked especially bright. [[Year of 1930, The Day of Peasant Protest->An uprising of the peasants]]

(put: $initiative+20 into $initiative) (put: $humanity+30 into $humanity) (set:$nameReveal to false) YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── " The class will continue on Friday ..! " Rodela looked at me with a bewildered blink. I couldn’t stop myself from being rude, even if it was the last thing a parent should do with a child. Rather than comforting Rodela about her daughter, I promised Rodela we’d see each other again—attend class again, face the students again, and dream of the next step, once more. Rodela dropped her head, as if she understood my intentions after seeing the stiffness in my closed mouth and steady eye contact. Then Rodela lifted the head, her nose slightly wrinkled, smiling as she said, “Alright.” Rodela’s brown skin and eyes beneath the dark curly hair looked especially bright. [[Year of 1930, The Day of Peasant Protest->An uprising of the peasants]]

YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── “thei—They already pushed our parents into this school!” “But they don’t seem to fire though..! Students in the classroom hung around in front of the window and looked out. It was class time, actually, but I didn’t think to stop the children, because I knew most of the protesters were the parents of students here. All the children here are childlike, energetic, pure, and barky, but they didn’t seem to know much about the world. Understandably, the children must have been aware that their parents had swallowed their anger and strengthened their resolve. [[Reminiscence]]

YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── By the time I was born, the whole country had barely emerged from imperialism—conflicts that felt like games of conquest, fighting over markets and resources through occupation and deprivation. When we wiped away the external wounds and began to heal the internal ones, only then we did realize the damage had long been festering inside. The colonization lasted around 150 years—never a short time. There were about three generational turnovers, many originating from capitalists of the invader's country. The wealth earned through exploiting aborigines and slaves in colonised country was naturally passed down to their children, and so the hereditary wealth gap continued. The government did not speak for the laborers. The more it tried to change “for good,” swept up in the “positive” trend of the time, the clearer it became that power would remain with the landlords and wealthy capitalists—not with the peasants and workers. To break the cycle of poverty and protect their children’s future, they began to form unions and take responsibility as parents for the next generation. Not only they, but also some intellectuals who recognized the injustice, joined the union—and so the secret society “Long Journey” was born. I heard from my mother that it had been established before I matured. Like many intellectual households, my family secretly joined the organization. My parents hoped I would help when I grew up. Following my mother’s wishes, and realizing the absurd conditions surrounding tenant farmers and the quiet refusal to ignore others’ suffering, I volunteered as a teacher in the night school and became a member of the organization. For a moment, I felt sentimental, leaning against the window and thinking that the protest might be the logical conclusion, based on my childhood memories, the books at home, and the stories my mother told me. However, suddenly, I began to hear voices from some of the children, just as they leaned close to the window. “There's a weird guy out there—!” “Na, not my parents.” “I don't think it's a cop either...” “Look but... wha—why is that coming this way..?” ─ //!!// There was a rumor I’d heard many times while serving with Long Journey: someone in the union might be reporting our identities to government officials. However, suspicion was more reasonably directed toward relatives rather than a whistleblower, since some union members regularly raised a considerable amount of money for the union. Nevertheless, that relief was short-lived. Some union members thought skeptical about the protest, as another rumor spread: the plantation owner and local police had colluded to manipulate public opinion when the union planned the protest against the new government's pro-plantation landlord policy. 'If it's true ··' As soon as I checked out the window, I have to ☞[[run out of the school to block him ->out of the building]] or ☞[[open the window to see the face ->inside of the classroom]].

(put: $initiative+30 into $initiative) ─ //Tat-tat-tat-tap// ─ //TA-BUMP// I hurriedly pushed out the door of the building and looked around for a stranger that the children looked at. I could find the stranger at once, and yet I had no choice but to walk behind due to suspicious appearance. The unstable walking, rotten meat-like odor, and the dark-black veins surrounding the chin spread like infected by parasite plant, made me hesitate to approach the stranger even close. [[The stranger looked at me ->Explosion of Esper1]].

─ //THUMP// I leaned out, nearly jumping, and searched for the stranger the children had seen. I spotted him quickly, but I had to pull myself back because of his disturbing appearance. The unstable walking, foul odor, and the black veins around his chin—growing as if a parasitic plant had taken root—made me want to keep my distance. [[The stranger looked at me ->Explosion of Esper2]].

The unstable person looked at me and smiled as if I were standing at the right spot. He turned his back to me and curled up as tightly as his body would allow. I reached out my left arm and screamed, "No way!" as a wave of random anxiety surged—something terrible was going to happen. But only a smoky dust storm swallowed me whole. I instinctively turned toward the children inside the building, but all I could feel was my body losing its balance and falling. [[After a while, I awoke up->Outside of building]].

I couldn’t see or hear anything. I didn’t even know if I was breathing. All my senses were blocked, and my body couldn’t move. What was I doing? I was just so tired. I guess I could think about it later—after a nap. (transition:'dissolve')+(transition-time:20s)[─ ending #1 THE ETERNAL REST ─] <end>

(if:$nameReveal is true)[(put: "Calry" into $nameOfStudent )] (else:)[(put: "the studnet" into $nameOfStudent )] ─ //WUUOOOOOoooooo········// "I'm sorry, so sorry $playerName.. I'm.. I’m weak… I - I couldn't do anything. Sorry" When I opened my eyes, feeling something wet on my face, $nameOfStudent was sobbing in front of me. I still couldn’t hear $nameOfStudent's words, but watching the mouth, it seemed like blaming itself. I didn’t understand why, but I tried to say something. (if:$nameReveal is true)[|choice>[☞ "It's all right, Carly. You're strong enough."](put: $initiative+30 into $initiative)] (else:)[|choice>[☞ "You're all right, kid. You're strong enough."](put: $humanity+30 into $humanity)] [|choice>[☞ “It's not your fault. I'm the weak one."](put: $initiative-30 into $initiative)]<!-- initiative 30 deduct --!> [|choice>[☞ "As long as you're safe, it’s fine. "](put: $humanity+10 into $humanity)]<!-- get humanity 30--!> (click: ?choice)[(link-goto:"I lost consciousness","Days of Running Away") soon with the feeling of burning my left arm. ]

YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── "Hey, did you see the morning newspaper? The teacher." "I thought the teacher was educated." "Oh my lord... There's no one I can trust. Isn't it—" It was Monday morning, and the sunlight felt especially sharp. At one of the lined-up stores, loud piano sounds flowed from the radio. Each person sitting at a table laughed and scraped their plates with knives and forks. The most annoying thing was the gossip—spreading like a gutter, their breath as disgusting as the words themselves. I waited for the bill for the bread in my hand to be completed, covering my head and face with a black cloth like a foreigner. The staff in front of me elevating his eyes several times while counting the money I’d handed over, but even more troubling were the voices outside. "I can't believe the teacher did business with such dangerous seed..." A person in a fedora—someone who looked like they'd wagered their life on luxury—spoke up, pretending to be naive. I clenched my fist tight enough to leave fingernail marks in my palm, wondering whether I should [[go out ->Outside of store]] or [[keep listening ->Inside of the store]] .

(put: $initiative+10 into $initiative) ─ BA-TANG "... you don't even know anything. “ I couldn’t stand their attitude—speaking so casually about an incident where countless people had died, sipping tea peacefully in a moment like this. So I opened the door and left, loudly enough for them to hear. After the armed struggle in front of the school, I felt like I was living in a completely different world. I saw it with my own eyes—an unidentified person had caused an explosion near the school building, and the school collapsed because of that person. However, |morningPaper>[in the newspaper of this morning], the accident was reported quite differently. (click: ?morningPaper)[Monday, May 5, 1930 The collapse of a non-accredited educational facility in the State. Last Thursday (May 1st), peasants rebelled against the government. A terrorist attacked school buildings during a confrontation with police. Casualties are estimated at around 200, with 13 crushed to death in the collapse, approximately 100 injured from falling outer walls and harmful gases, and 10 reported missing. According to police investigations, witnesses testified that the terrorist had contacted a person with long hair before the explosion. The identified accomplice, based on those accounts, is "$playerName". [[The price of innocent]] ](hiddenNewspaper|

(put: $intelligence+30 into $intelligence) " I heard that people in need these days are attracted to dangerous groups that have no reverence for God. ." " You—are—old-fashioned. In a world where science has developed like this, you still believe in God? " " Watch your mouth! Well, anyway, the person brought a pagan who was taught at the school. Has anyone heard of it? " "Gosh... You don’t know? The //$playerName//? That teacher who even set up a temporary classroom to teach writing to the labourers and peasants! ” Their target was just about to shift to me, like they’d found fresh gossip to chew on. According to the newspaper they are talking, the person responsible for the explosion was labeled a terrorist aligned with the peasants— someone who intentionally destroyed the school, causing casualties. But that’s obviously false. The stranger attacked the building, yes, but none of the children recognized him. Their parents—who had planned the protest—didn’t know him either. And the claim that I paid that person? Also false. " Why would the teacher do that? ” As they built a fictional narrative out of lies, twisting either my judgment or the article itself, someone dropped the poison: " Hew—maybe that’s why it happened to the teacher. " " What do you mean? " Everyone there swallowed that poison. " Sometimes, when a person is obsessed with their own sense of the sublime, they lose the ability to tell good from evil. " I thought it was just an insult— meaningless noise from mouths flapping for attention, like frogs flicking tongues at flies. As I left the store, I muttered that it was naive arrogance from people who knew nothing. It took me a long time to realize that it was a curse—sneaking in beneath their words and aimed at me. [[The price of innocent]]

YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── ─ Sqeak-qeak The general practitioner, wearing a white gown with his shirt awkwardly sticking out, sat down and straightened his posture nervously. Judging by the cobwebbed dust in the corner of the ceiling and the paper-strewn wooden desk the doctor leaned on, it seemed he managed this clinic alone, without hiring an assistant. The doctor examined my bluish, festering arm and flipped through the thick book on his desk, comparing the symptoms. "You.. are - " "Doctor, doctor! $playerName, Will $playerName be okay?! Doctor...! " A faint, trembling voice sounded desperate. Laura’s gaze darted across her own face, her messy hair falling loose. Her eyes rushed back and forth between my left arm and the doctor. The rough, dirt-covered fingertips were clearly the hands of someone who worked on the farm, yet those strong hands were now shaking—clasped together with quiet fear, exposing the class we belonged to. The doctor, who had opened and closed his mouth several times under Laura's pressure, finally managed to spit out the hard truth. "wu-Well, there's no other way but to amputate the left arm. I've never seen anything like it, but if we leave it as is, it'll spread to the shoulder.” The doctor quickly pulled the open book onto his lap and pointed at a large illustration. " You know, If you look at the picture and compare it with the patient’s arm, it resembles a third-degree burn. But there's something strange. Although the skin is damaged enough to expose the dermal layer... the wound seems to be healing by consuming undamaged skin around it. It’s like the arm is alive on its own. Like there’s a parasite. You need surgery before it’s too late. ” While listening to the doctor's explanation, I struggled to believe this was happening to my arm. For a moment, I doubted whether I’d heard it correctly— but Laura’s sobbing confirmed the truth. (color:#CD5C5C)[What should I] (color:#CD5C5C)[do now?] (mouseover-replace:"What should I")+(transition:'dissolve')+(transition-time: 2s)|hidden1)[What was I] (mouseover-replace:"do now?")+(transition:'dissolve')+(transition-time: 2s)[supposed to do at that time?] <!--과거형 글자가 끼어들어 덮어쓰는 형태로 나타나기. 카로슈가 회상하고 있으니까.--!> The certainty is that I had to choose between [[removing this decayed arm ->surgical decision]] and [[waiting little longer ->waste time]]. My fingertips, burning and throbbing, seemed to cry— as if they were still alive, begging me not to throw them away.

(put: $initiative+30 into $initiative) I didn’t hesitate to choose a day during the week and set a date for the surgery. Since the government had officially named me a terrorist suspect, I’ve been chased by local police officers. It felt like death throes trying to fill the void of a lost sense of accomplishment— because I could no longer live a normal social life. [I had to do anything, anything.] (mouseover-replace:"I had to do anything, anything.")+(transition:'slideup')+(transition-time: 2s)[I didn't want to stay in self-pity,] (mouseover-replace:"I didn't want to stay in self-pity,")+(transition:'slideup')+(transition-time: 3s)[I didn't want to wait for good luck.](show:?hidden) (mouseover:"I didn't want to wait for good luck.")+(transition:'instant')+(transition-time: 2s)[|hidden)[" If I have to do something… if it can change something in this way, I …" [[After a surgery]] ](show:?hidden)]

(put: $initiative-30 into $initiative) I searched for signs of recovery, or for another doctor who could tell me I didn’t have to cut my arm. I endured days on painkillers, hoping the wanted order would be withdrawn once they realized the witness had given a false statement. However, my patience brought no reward. I only saw the affected area gradually spread over my shoulder. Recovery remained out of reach, and no competent doctor appeared—just confirmation of what was happening, exactly as described by the doctor Laura had introduced to me. "It can't be like this..!! Why.." As soon as I removed the bandage in the bathroom to wash the affected area, a wave of frustration overcame me. The festering skin had visibly spread to the tip of my collarbone, rotting so badly that the stench was unbearable—even without turning my head. These pains and symptoms were consuming my time and my mind. " No, no way... Before it's too late—I need to cut it off...! Before it’s too late...! " Suddenly, I remembered the face of the person who had asked me to care for her child in the night school classroom. //Rodela//...I haven’t heard anything since that day. Overwhelmed by my own condition, I couldn’t even look around to know whether Rodela was dead or alive. " I can't lose again—just waiting in the background. I’m going to... I have to go on my own. ” I even forgot to re-bandage my arm as I [[went out of the house ->After a surgery]].

YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── After A Surgery "I - I didn't expect this $playerName…!" It was quite a harsh result not only for me, but also for Laura, who had gone out of her way to avoid people’s eyes while introducing me to the doctor, despite the poor medical conditions in this slum. " Even though I haven’t learned anything, I don’t have money, I don’t have any power… the only pride I had was knowing a doctor who would look after you... My arrogance made you fall into the depths...!! Ahahh... ” Laura cried as if she herself had cut off my arm. Which one is the real pity? (set: $dialogueChoice1 to "")(set: $dialogueChoice2 to "")(set: $dialogueChoice3 to "") |dialogueChoice1>[☞ It's not your fault.] (click: ?dialogueChoice1)[(put: $initiative-10 into $initiative)+(put:"It's not your fault." into $dialogueChoice1)+(goto:"Burn my boats")] |dialogueChoice2>[☞ Why do we have to shed tears so many times.](click: ?dialogueChoice2)[(put: $humanity+30 into $humanity)+(put:"Why do we have to shed tears so many times?" into $dialogueChoice2)+(goto:"Burn my boats")] |dialogueChoice3>[☞ Laura, you've only done what you can.](click: ?dialogueChoice3)[(put: $humanity+10 into $humanity)+(put:"Laura, you've only done what you can." into $dialogueChoice3)+(goto:"Burn my boats")]

Laura always speaks on behalf of my feelings. She always bursts out with my innocence and resentment before I can, so whenever I comfort Laura, it somehow feels like I’m comforting myself. I wrapped Laura’s arm with my only remaining hand and said—. (if:$dialogueChoice1 is "It's not your fault.")+(color:#DEB887)[" It's not your fault."] (else-if:$dialogueChoice2 is "Why do we have to shed tears so many times?")+(color:#DEB887)[" Why do we have to shed tears so many times?"] (else:)+(color:#DEB887)[" Laura, you've only done what you can."] Laura looked at my hand holding her arm, then at my left arm—no longer present at my waist. Laura caught her breath and gently closed her mouth again. "you- $playerName-, your left hand was the hand that taught me how to write carefully, when I didn’t know how. I was able to learn about the past, and I began to understand the present. Your hand showed us how to face the future. Even if we can’t complete it in our generation, it’s the hand that gave our children the strength to change the world. But... but... “ Unlike my intention to comfort Laura—who is suffering even more than I am, despite it being my loss— " Laura, Laura. Calm down. I appreciate you thinking about my efforts… but just because I lost my left arm, don’t make me feel like I’m dead. ” I chose to cut it off before things got worse, and now that it’s done, I have no choice but to look ahead. That decision meant I was no longer waiting passively in a safe place, hoping things would turn out fine. I felt I had to push myself forward—because it’s the only way I won’t fall into self-pity. "... I can't look back anymore. [[I have to move forward ->Opportunity]]."

YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── The train station, in a season when the sun was blazing and the heat pressed on, seemed to amplify the early summer’s sting—its trains and buzzing crowds pierced my ears. "What are you going to do, $playerName?" The voice was low and polite, yet clearly not trying to elevate me. Despite the heat of weather, the woman had the shirt firmly buttoned beneath the vest— an immediate hint of the upbringing. I answered the question by addressing Willana directly, knowing that someone with Willana's demeanor wasn’t called lightly. "Will... I've decided to stop waiting in my comfort zone. But... to be honest, considering that I cut off my arm like old boots, I'm stuck in the road." "But you don't seem to regret it." "Is that so?" I glanced at Willana's face, and this civilized person nodded. Willana had long supported the union financially and had seen me for long times as a member. My parents once said the morale had risen when Will shared the account holding a large sum during the peasant protest. Laura had told me that Willana wasn’t directly involved on the day of the protest, but Willana was caught by police simply for being nearby. Still, every union member claimed they’d never seen Willana or had any connection to the protest, so Willana was released unharmed. "You think I'm privileged." Willana spoke as if read my thoughts, though Will's face showed no offense. I turned my head and looked forward. "...Is there any difference between you and me? Watching people in crisp, wrinkle-free shirts rushing past, I thought: I used to be one of them. Now, with my missing arm, I felt an atmosphere that no longer belonged to me. I’d sensed class division before the accident, but now... //Rodela// and //Laura//... I realized that what my students felt all the time, I was feeling for the first time. It's different. I wondered if they had ever seen me like this. " Then let me make a suggestion to you—as someone like me. " Willana pulled a letter from the coat and placed it on the bench. " Money will give you a peaceful life. Letters will give you great power. Which one will you choose? " I nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of such a proposal, but I bit my tongue and bowed my head to hide the rising curve of my. Like, //money// or //power//? ☞ [[The amount of money that guarantees a peaceful life ->Nightmare]] ☞ [[Great Power ->Devil Whispering]]

(put: $intelligence+10 into $intelligence) (put: $initiative-10 into $initiative) (put: $humanity-10 into $humanity) But I had to face reality. What can I do without my left arm now? Losing my left arm—as someone who is left-handed—feels like a death sentence. I used to help the union, but now I need help from them. Yet being a wanted person and receiving their help only puts a burden on them. If I’m caught, the members of the union may be arrested just for hiding me. However, if choosing the money guarantees a stable life from now on... At least they might not be harmed. Perhaps someday, when the opportunity arises, I’ll be able to help the organization financially. I [[woke up from my seat ->What I really want.]] thinking about this and that.

(put: $initiative+20 into $initiative) (put: $humanity-30 into $humanity) I felt the difference in class, despite having just said there was no difference between us. I snorted—as if I’d given up—and admired Willard’s ability. But suddenly, a strange discomfort spread through my mind, like river dust rising to the surface after a stone is thrown. ' Laura had cried and suffered because she couldn’t find me a proper doctor, but this lady now waved something beautiful in front of my eyes— as if she was feeding it to a dove. ' Just as my thoughts reached that point, a whisper crept into my ear: ‘ Kid, you live in a slanted world. ' A sweet whisper, as if cradling my heart. In a corner of my chest, I felt ashamed to harbor this desire— wondering whether I should pursue something more "righteous". But that discomfort faded as soon as the signature on the letter etched itself into my thoughts. I picked it up and murmured: " Dream is… belongs to the power. To dream that, I will do anything. ” I [[woke up from my seat ->born yesterday]] thinking about this and that.

"$playerName, how could you be so lost? You're a bride!" "Oh, I am. I just remembered the past." As if I had just woken from a dream, the rush of noise from the staff felt fresh—like hearing voices for the first time. This staff moved busily, adjusting my clothes and styling my hair. The space was wide and white, full of bright light and flower sculptures. It was the kind of place where losing yourself felt easy— the kind of place made for leaving the world behind and settling down. " Again? You said you taught children, right? " " It's all in the past. " " Sure! It’s over now. Happiness begins! You’re so lucky—marrying such a good person who’ll support you for the rest of your life. I envy you. People usually close their minds with prejudice based on appearance. " As the staff carefully brushed color onto my cheek, she smiled broadly. Her long white hair shimmered. I found that quite lovely, and simply vibed with the mood. " You're right… I’m not exactly the preferred bride, being one-armed. Haha. ” I looked at her with a bitter smile. But the staff asked me directly, without any hint of embarrassment: "Speaking of your arm. What happened to you?" When the staff asked me, I couldn't say anything—like a baby with a pacifier wedged in its mouth. It wasn’t because she was rude. It was simply that nothing came to mind. The sight was familiar: nothing visible beneath the white lace covering my left shoulder. but strangely, the cause did not come to mind. One question filled my whole head. Why did I lose it for? As I kept digging into the bottomless pit of my own thoughts—falling deeper in search of an answer— a whisper began to ring in my ears. ‘[[I chose to stop ->Awake]] waiting in my comfort zone.’

─//!!// Suddenly, I felt my body popping and falling at the same time. I opened my eyes—it was the rattling of a train. The sound of iron grinding along the tracks wasn’t pleasant, but it felt good to return to the world. The passenger sitting in front of me was unfamiliar, yet the bobbing white hair—swaying to both sides with the train’s rhythm— and the posture, reading a book bathed in sunlight like it was sacred, caught my attention. "White… hair..." I felt embarrassed that I had dreamed about this stranger— just someone sitting with me on this train. I turned my head, pretending to admire the landscape outside the window, pretending I wasn’t thinking about anything. But suddenly, I remembered Will’s offer before I boarded the train, and I hurriedly checked my pocket. ‘No money. It's not money... That's not what I want. !’ As if the dream I’d instinctively had on the train was a glimpse of what’s to come, I searched my clothes urgently, hoping to find a letter— and finally felt a half-folded envelope in my hand. Seeing that it had no stamp, no money, I knew it wasn’t an account. Despite someone sitting right in front of me, I murmured in quiet relief: "Dr. Genevieve...” The view—an arm resting on the window frame—grew more cheerful with the speed of the train. Somehow, I felt like I couldn’t hear anything—like the passenger turning pages in front of me existed in another world. But I chose to enjoy the relief and the fragile excitement of hope. The train ran toward [[the destination ->born yesterday]].

YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── - //Merrick. Droool-// The room, lined with blueprint for prototype and books across the walls, carried the scent of paper and ink. Unlike the village doctor’s clinic— where I’d once had my arm examined—this space was so meticulously clean that even the thought of dust felt intolerable. I held my breath, afraid that even a misplaced word or gesture might offend the sensitivities of its owner. I sat in a rotating chair without a backrest, and the owner of the room turned the own chair to face me. It seemed the owner of this room heard the sound of my arrival, yet the owner hadn’t acknowledged it—too absorbed in the work to care. As the owner turned to face me, the grey hair appeared almost faded. But the sharpness in the owner gaze behind glasses, and the posture of the upright frame, still radiated vitality. A well ironed shirts, without any wrinkle on a upper body had an |embroidery1>[embroidery] on the chest. (click-replace: ?embroidery1)[(color:#79d2a6)[Dr. Genevieve]] "Hmm" Dr. Genevieve clapped the own head and scratched the neck— as if expecting me to offer some excuse for why I’d interrupted the doctor. The usual format of conversation that most people used didn’t seem to be common sense to this doctor. For a moment, I had to put aside my prejudices— and curry favor like every other person in this country. "Willana Krugman, introduced you. Here." I took out the letter Willana had given me at the train station, handed it to Genevieve, and sat down again on the chair. "Will... Will said you could help me.” It would be best if the doctor offered a miracle. But if not, at least I hoped she could help me to achieve something on my own. I could barely hold back the words “I’ll do anything”— pressing them down while watching the doctor reading the letter. I noticed that the hand holding the letter also held an ink pen. Still, I couldn't help the random anxiety creeping into my thoughts, especially since I couldn't see any reaction on the Doctor's face. I felt like I needed to do something else—anything—just to suppress the rising panic. |drGenevieve>[☞ Look at the doctor. ] (click-replace:?drGenevieve) [(color:#79d2a6)[ The doctor’s expression was hidden behind the letter, but the impression was clear: the doctor was the someone with having higher education, suggested by the clothes and guesture. It reminded me of Willana— like her, the doctor preferred to wrap the sleeves with wristlets and button the collar to the top. Even the moment reading the letter, revealed something controled and deliberate personality. ]] ☞ Look at the letter.(click-replace:"☞ Look at the letter") [(color:#edccab)[I just wanted to check what Willana had written in the letter, so when I tried to read the text using the light from the lamp behind the doctor, I caught sight of the neat |letterTrigger>[handwriting] that was not covered by the doctor's shadow. -------- (font:'Helvetica Neue')+(text-style:'mirror')[//It’s the season just before the rain. Doctor, it wouldn’t be strange if lightning suddenly struck hard. I’ll keep it short and get to the point. Doctor, the person I sent is $playerName, the victim who got injured during the coup in my country a few months ago. Right now, $playerName is wanted by the state and Bringing $playerName here was the best option. And yet…, those eyes still haven’t died, even after losing the left arm and being unable to return home. There are those who choose power to achieve their own ends. Such people would be helpful...// (if: $intelligence < 30)[(text-style:'blurrier')[to clean up our behind if we use their desperation.]] (else:)[(text-style:'smear')[to clean up our behind if we use their desperation.]] Above all, the case is … (if: $intelligence < 10)[(text-style:'blurrier')[one of our plan though, this person is unnecessary victim.]] (else:)[(text-style:'smear')[one of our plan though, this person is unnecessary victim.]] So let's make a good result. You can expect quite a lot from this kid. W.//] -------- There were some parts I couldn't peek at because they were covered by the shadow of the doctor reading the letter, but I felt my heart begin to race and my body grow lighter, because the letter seemed to be written in a very trustworthy way. ]] |room>[☞ Look through the room.](click-replace:?room) [(color:#009999)[ I became more interested in what I saw beyond the doctor than in what I couldn’t figure out, no matter how much I was staring at. I was confused when I sat on the chair a moment ago, but as I expected, the neatly arranged files, books, and drawings were like mirrors reflecting the owner of the room. In particular, the label paper attached to the ink bottle, pen, and glass bottle had a date and name on it— so I think it’s more a matter of mysophobia than mere fastidiousness. The label on the glass bottle read “ethanol dilution,” and given that it was already showing the bottom, with water droplets near the bottleneck, it was easy to speculate that it had just been used. ]] The doctor smiled lightly as she looked at me from behind the paper in her hand. Then, the doctor glanced at me and gestured for me to follow the doctor and [[got inside ->Born Yesterday 2]] walking toward the iron door next to the desk which was labeled “Authorized Personnel Only.”

The place I followed the doctor into was quite chill and wide enough to hear the echo of air— unlike the room I had sat in just before. It was also dark, so I had to rely on the shiny blue electric lights around me. The doctor stepped forward, familiar with the path, and the subtle blue lights—gentle on my eyes—turned on one by one, from far away toward us. It felt like someone had just opened the door from a bright place. After we passed four or five similar models of machinery one after another, an [[open space]] appeared.

Where we stopped, various small parts, aids, and power-driven "something"—showing its presence through stretched cables—lit blue beneath hemispherical glass embedded in metal bodies, just like any other machine here. It seemed to have a similar use to the crane I often saw during reconstruction, since the modernization craze began in my hometown. But I guessed it must be a more advanced form, since it moved along ceiling rails and had all unnecessary minor parts removed for smoother motion. “ That doesn’t mean it’s a whole new world. These are… quite likely to exist. Does it mean I haven’t known the world? ” As I looked back at myself and exhaled—realizing I’d been suspicious of the doctor’s identity just because I’d encountered something unfamiliar— Doctor Genevieve looked at me and said dryly. "Hurry up and sit down. You can look forward to it, because it will be the most useful and perfect technology you’ve ever had." I hope this choice I’m making is not in vain, and I hope I can dare to dream of a new beginning. [[Transplant Surgery]]

- //Wheeeeeze // After leaning against the examination table, I could hear the sound of the motor turning beneath my left shoulder for hours, smell the scent of something burnt, and see small sparks. My upper body was bandaged, and several parts of my chest and the tip of my right index finger were gripped by something similar to tongs. These were connected to the monitors on my right, allowing the doctor to check everything at any time. Each screen emitted a regular sound, like a clock ticking alongside a smooth, curved wave. ─//BEEP- BEEP - BEEP- BEEP-// After quite a long time, when my left clavicle began to ache as the feeling returned, the doctor stretched her shoulders and took off the safety glasses with satisfaction. "It's done. Move it." I tried to move my left hand, despite the ache in my collarbone. I closed my eyes, recalled the (color:#8B4513)[old memories] came to my mind, focused on what my senses felt like back then, and imitated what I had been doing months ago. (mouseover:"old memories")+(transition:'slideup')+(transition-time: 4s)[“You're left-handed, aren't you? I am same as you.”] (mouseover:"old memories")+(transition:'slideup')+(transition-time: 6s)[" Beautiful handwriting makes a beautiful mind. Always remember to write neatly."] (mouseover:"old memories")+(transition:'slideup')+(transition-time: 8s)[“Rodela, why don't you read this book? It's good for writing."] (mouseover:"old memories")+(transition:'slideup')+(transition-time: 10s)[“You don't have to feel that way, Laura.”] (mouseover:"You don't have to feel that way, Laura.")+(transition:'slideup')+(transition-time: 3s)["You're strong enough."] (mouseover: "You don't have to feel that way, Laura.")+(transition:'slideup')+(transition-time: 5s)["I'm the weak."] ─ //!!// " damn it, " I clenched my fist as hard as I could, without realising that my memory had flowed back to the point of the accident— digging into old memories to regain the sense of using my left hand. Then I finally opened my eyes and looked at my left arm. It seemed to be wrapped in full-length armor. The knuckles were covered with thick steel plates; the same material wrapped most of the arm, except around the wrist and elbow joints—allowing for free movement. There was a strange gap along the arm, a straight line from the inner wrist to the inner elbow. When I looked closely, I saw several wires crossing inside, and there seemed to be a humming sound. "The only difference is the appearance on the outside… Besides, due to the wire inside, it seems like blood vessels are passing through… like a real arm.” The doctor scolded me for clenching my fist and staring blankly at my hands. “Are you gonna just sit there and have fun? Pathetic! Aren’t you going to start rehab?!” The doctor sprang up, took out her notebook, and nodded at me to follow. Maybe I should've looked back. Was it really the right choice— [[just looking ahead? ->Current]]

YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── “ Come to think of it, who was the person looking at me? ” I was lost in the past, and now I remembered a word I could only call a curse: ' Sometimes, when a person becomes obsessed with their own sense of the sublime, they seem unable to distinguish between good and evil. ' The madness of the battlefield had become so familiar—almost numbing. But suddenly, I remembered an old memory triggered by the pain in my left hand. Even in situations where I could have died, I had no choice but to think about it every time my left hand hurt again— as if the memory resurfaced with the ache. //{(live: 1s)[ (either: " ─ KATATATA- !", " ─ TAT-", " ─ TATATata- ", " ─ CRACK!"," ─ KAT- "," ─ TATATA- "," ─ TATatata ….") ]}// By the time the distant sound of gunfire barely returned, I suddenly sensed something murderous nearby. Is there anyone who fights //to kill// instead of fighting to survive—, while the troops are all disorganized, and everyone is barely maintaining the front line, regardless of whether they are friend or foe? This is a residential area on the outskirts of the city along the river, but there are many places to hide since all civilians have already been evacuated. I could tell one of the enemies was hiding somewhere, targeting me with a gun. While I waited with every nerve on edge, leaning against the fence of an empty house, trying to calculate where the murderous intent was leaking from, luckily, the foe shot at me first. //{(live: 2s)[ (either: " twing", " Whieeeeee— z", " Click", " Pwhee—") ]}// Sadly, the bullet bounced off my left arm, giving me a good mark for the shooter's location rather than hitting me— so I could pinpoint where the enemy was hiding. Calculating the direction of the stray bullets, it was likely a remarkably high-rise house at 11 o’clock. I leaned down and moved from where I had been hiding. As the stray bullets continued gnawing at the fence I'd just left, I guessed the shooter wasn’t much of a cool-head—still unaware that I was heading toward shooter. After crawling far west, I quickly got up and jumped into the yard of the house where the enemy was, once I thought I was out of the shooter’s sight. Then suddenly, I heard a window open, followed by the constant sound of gunfire— as if the shooter was blindly searching for me. Behind the wooden door, I heard a few clicks of empty iron sounds, then the urgent thud of footsteps running away through the window. If I didn’t kill this enemy, it would kill one of my own. With that thought, I tried to keep enemy as far away as possible from the front line the enemy was attempting to reach— by shooting at enemy's feet or nearby objects to control its path. After repeatedly wearing the enemy down— mentally and physically, like a driven hunt— I barely managed to chase the enemy into an [[Alley]], far removed from the front line.

The enemy was severely shaking the gun aimed at me— barely able to cross the small wall. Whether it was fear of me or fatigue from the bleeding in the enemy's injured thighs, I couldn't tell. Every time I stepped toward enemy, its gun fired several times. However, the enemy sank to the ground, losing all will to fight after seeing a bullet bounce off my left arm— and screamed, dragging the bleeding legs as the enemy tried to escape, when the enemy saw me raise a knife with my left hand. That enemy realised that their crawling speed was far below my pace— even crawling as hard as they could— when the sound of my feet smashing sand and dirt grew louder in the enemy's ears. Eventually, the enemy turned and started swearing at me. The most frequently used word from that pathetic mouth was "barbarian", though it was hardly distinguishable whether it was meant as a curse, a defamation, or just a cry for life. Covered in the enemy’s final thoughts, I struck the enemy’s neck with the scimitar in my left hand. Blood splattered not only on the alley wall, the scimitar, and the hand holding it, but also under my chin. It was as if the dead's thoughts had been embodied and left within me— stained into my body. As if to reflect on the enemy’s final cry, lingering like a curse, I muttered what the enemy had said. "[[$cursedplayerName … |Lost name]]"

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── Since the last battle, I’ve been suffering from hallucinations and nightmares—regardless of time or place— and my leader recommended a long vacation after noticing my condition. Although the coup may have failed, the battle I was hired for ended in victory, with no injuries to our forces. Unlike the people of that country, the mercenaries were in a festive mood. Nevertheless, ever since I killed a man who called me //$cursedplayerName//, I’ve felt my mental state growing weaker, as if I had been cursed. I reluctantly asked for a long vacation, and the leader told me they would accept me back whenever I returned—so I should rest well enough. After receiving an prosthetic arm transplant from Dr. Genevieve, I trained for several months, then worked as a mercenary at the place Willard had introduced me to, in order to gather funds to re-establish the union. But since then, I haven’t been able to receive any news or contact from the union. Of course, I knew little about my hometown. Occasionally, I saw news that mentioned it in the papers, but aside from natural disasters, everything was filled with gossip about popular actors and politicians. Today, though, I saw a story I couldn't believe— even after wiping my eyes several times. |newsPaper>[October, 1934 | Alleged manipulation of public opinion by the Vargav government](click-replace:?newsPaper) [The Vargav government, which has been the most popular since the establishment of a democratic government, has become embroiled in allegations of public opinion manipulation— despite its reputation for neutral and wise diplomacy, and its efforts to ease emotional tensions between two classes. Reporters from some media outlets have gone on strike one after another, claiming they were forced by their superiors to write pro-government articles. According to an anonymous interviewee referred to as A, A claimed that all anti-government tendencies had been suppressed since the beginning of the government's establishment— including deliberately disguising Esper the day before the pro-landowner legislation was passed four years ago. In addition, some are calling for a reinvestigation into the terror attacks during the farmers' armed struggle, and a trial regarding excessive suppression during that struggle is scheduled for November— amid ongoing collusion between local police, plantation owners, and the government.] |hidden)["Finally... I can go back..." ] Many years had passed since that time. I thought I no longer had lingering feelings about my hometown after repeating the cycle of war— but as soon as I read the last sentence of the article, I realised I was wrong. I hurried to find the train to my [[Hometown]] and got ready to return there with excitement.

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── It’s been four years since I left here, and the train station in my hometown is very different. I’m half-covering my face in case anyone recognizes me, but the busy people at the station don’t pay me the slightest attention. However, as soon as I saw that my face was still attached to the flyer in front of the office door beside the train station, I was tensed for a second. But when I looked closely at the words, I realized it wasn’t a wanted flyer like four years ago— It was a [[missing person report]]. This difference makes me feel relieved that no one would recognize me. However, since the outcome of the trial has not yet been decided, I chose to delay meeting my family first—thinking it wouldn’t be bad to be cautious. Besides, I have [[someone]] who cared more than my family. I went to the night school from my memory, the place where we had promised to meet again— hoping I might find something [[there->Night School]] despite having no logical basis.

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── Sure enough, the school had collapsed, as if time had stopped on that day. Perhaps the crackdown on the Long Journey union had intensified since then, and many key members —including me and Rodela— had been arrested or were no longer able to return as before. That’s likely why it had become almost impossible to run a night school. At the same time, I felt heartbroken, because I believed the union had weakened a lot. “Should I... should I have come back earlier?" I felt guilty for not even paying attention to the state of the union. At some point, I had forgotten the motivation that led me to cut off my arm— and the reason I had chosen strength. I had only focused on raising money to help the union. I hovered around the concrete and steel bars of the collapsed building, and climbed on top of the remnants, wondering, "Should be around [[here->The Classroom]]."

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── ─ //······atatatATaTATATATAT// I finally caught my breath after reaching the cathedral. It was comforting to see that nothing had changed here. I pressed my hand to the door, heart trembling. It gave way without resistance— unlocked, untouched. When I stepped inside, my heart pounded. I stepped forward slowly, each footfall echoing the days, the scent of old wooden chairs and a trace of musty dust brought back memories of the days I used to come here for reading between lessons and labor. As I took a few steps forward, I heard someone opening the door behind me. I turned at the sound— And there, unchanged by four years of time, [[person->Rodela]] is calling my name.

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── “I'm sure they said she'd show up at this time.” After waiting about thirty minutes in a dark alley, no one appeared who matched the description given by the colleague who’d handed me the paper. I glanced around a few times, wondering if she was just playing with me— but then the [[stranger]] I’d been waiting for appeared.

Double-click this passage to edit it.

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── In this war, every soldier has their own story. Whether it's patriotism, money, family, or big aspirations, despite coming for various purposes, everyone repeats killing— just to survive. Obviously, the war I was hired for is a coup d'état against the dictatorship, but somehow, what I see in this dusty place is only slaughter, not ideology. If I don’t kill the enemy because I feel sorry for my cause, my troop dies. If I didn’t kill the enemy because I was naive, my troop had to bury blood with their own hands. Every time I repeated such a situation and took lives with my own hands —not to burden my troop— the weight of the karma I had pushed onto our forces in the first battle seemed to accumulate on me, one by one. By the time my name began to gain fame (or notoriety) as a mercenary after many battles, I was no longer able to reveal my name to anyone. I used to feel that hiding myself for the sake of helping others was unreasonable— but, as someone once said, I’m becoming unable to distinguish what’s good or bad. I just fought— so my team wouldn’t have to carry the burden. What was (if: $initiative > 50)[(link-goto:"my cause","ending#2")](else-if: $initiative < 50)[(link-goto:"my cause","ending#3")] for?

As soon as I managed to relax and turn my head, I realized that my reflection in the office windows and the photo on the flyer were very different— just like this train station. In the photo, my hair touched my shoulders, tied back, and tucked behind my ears as it fell to the sides. But what I saw in the window was a short haircut, revealing my neck and ears. [[Back ->Hometown]]

"Rodela..." Since the protest, I’ve been known as missing, but just as I am still alive, Rodela may also be alive somewhere. [[Back ->Hometown]]

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── " Here... this must have been a classroom once. It was here I made the promise—to keep teaching, to keep the light alive in those quiet hours. But I lost my arm—the one that used to hold the chalk for teaching. Though even chalk would crumble at a touch now, I still reach for it with this hand... as if the lesson might rise again from memory. " While expressing regret, bending my knee on the floor where class could no longer be held, I spotted a familiar [[book cover]] beneath the concrete debris at my feet.

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── ─ RATTLEe "...this is... It's the book I gave Rodela for writing...! “ I picked up the book, rifled through the pages, and stroked the cover. But suddenly, I caught my breath upon realising a startling fact. "This… no way. Four years buried, and it’s still untouched.. How could it still be this intact?" Nonetheless, this book had endured rainy seasons, cold winds, and snowfall across four seasonal changes— and yet its condition was clean, without a single mark of wetness or dried stains. That led me to conjure just one reason… and it swelled my heart. Maybe... maybe. I looked through the cover, the pages, and the very end of the book, searching for something ‘likely’. A few seconds later, I found a familiar form of a sentence— and as soon as I read it, I had no choice but to [[run]] straight ahead.

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── ─ TAT-TAT-Tat-tat-tat-ta " Rodela's alive... right here! " I ran toward my destination, carried by a swell of joy that nearly lifted me off the ground. What I found in the book was the address of the [[cathedral->Cathedral]] where the union members used to gather— now encrypted in symbols rather than letters, so that outsiders wouldn’t be able to recognise it. It struck me then— the book hadn’t simply survived the collapse by chance. It had waited. Hidden beneath concrete and silence, it had been left behind not to be forgotten, but to be found… by someone who would come back.

"...$playerName..?" The sunlight spilled behind Rodela like a quiet revelation— as though Rodela had come bearing the morning, the sun slung across Rodela's back like purpose. The light pouring down on me felt like it was saying something, so I simply wanted to stay still and listen. "We can start over here." ─ ending #2 REUNION ─ RESULT: YOUR NAME: $playerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── <END>

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── "Helena hatheman?" When I said the name written on the paper, the person with white hair draped over the shoulder approached, nodding as if it was indeed her name. Helena was slightly taller than me, but with her head tilted subtly toward the right shoulder, Helena looked me up and down— the eyes lingering on my arm. "Interesting." I couldn’t guess the meaning behind her words, and something about the way she said it unsettled me. Narrowing my eyes slightly, feeling a bit unpleasant, and spoke what I had come to say. "hwe... Glemens said you’ve got a good painkiller. Can I get that now?" Helena responded with a snort. “Ha! I guess it’s not the painkiller you should've looked for.” I frowned, still unsure of Helena’s intentions, and then Helena tossed me a tablet containing a blue capsule. I snatched it up, and when I tried to pay for it, Helena said: “ The cost— I don’t need the money. Just don’t forget to eat something before you take it. ” "... [[What are you up to]]?"

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── I snapped at Helena's 'kindness', but she turned by showing her back and walked forward as if nothing has happened. "Nothing. I'm just little sentimental that the victim of that day appears in front of me.” I still didn't understand, so wrinkled my nose and said "I don't get it.", then Helena smirked and turned around. “ The Esper. Remember? The crazy guy in front of the school. Well, that was my work. I thought everyone would be dead or maimed by the incident, but I didn’t expect to see you standing right in front of me. It feels like finally meeting again a child I once sent to an orphanage. Whoo-hoo." I still didn’t understand Helena’s arbitrary words, so at first, I assumed Helena was confusing me with someone else, but when I heard the [[last sentence]]— I couldn’t help but doubt my ears.

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── “ I knew there was a whistle-blower in the Long Journey union, or someone spread rumors that the government was shattering, so make the union wouldn’t carry out the rebellion on their own. But well. I couldn’t help it when 'you all' ended up opening the doors. We planned it— but it wasn’t MY plan. So I wanted you all to stay still. I must have killed //Fred Zutero//. Because I wanted Willana to take Fred’s daughter. ” "Tell me what the hell were you guys up to. Now. “ Helena brought up the names that were familiar to me as if she were making fun of me. Fred Zutero— Rodela's husband. The two had hope since their daughter is Esper, and one day their daughter would lead the Long Journey— even if they couldn't change the situation themselves. Hearing that Helena had planed to kidnap the child—who is the hope of the union—my head filled with blood from anger at Helena. I couldn’t even finish my sentence, only exhaled my breath. Meanwhile, the person in front of me, being gripped by the collar in my hands, just looked at me with no sign of discomfort or regret. “ I already knew the calculation wasn’t efficient. But my boss didn’t listen to me. By the way… ” Helena rolled her eyes, sighed, and looked at me again— as if studying each part of my face one by one. "Your face is all pinched and drawn. [[On the train that day]], you had a cute fleshy cheek, and brightness in your eyes." I felt distracted by the sudden shift in conversation, then Helena explained her reason— as if she's comforting a child.

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── "Four years ago, I was at the train station—where you lost your arm—and was given an offer by Willana. If you chose the '//comfortable life//', I was going to approach you and invite you to join the '//Group//'. But when I saw you sitting across from me and heard you shouting ‘Not the money!’, I had no choice but to let you go… because you didn’t choose the money." "...Don't be ridiculous." When I concluded that the terror at the school was not only Helena's work, but also that —had I made the wrong choice— I would have fallen into the depths without knowing a thing. My anger turned into fear, and I had no choice but to step back. Even though everything Helena said might not be true, I felt I shouldn’t listen to this woman any longer— the poison in her lips seemed to spread into me. As I stepped back, [[Helena said]] as she pulled herself from the wall and straightened the collar of her shirt, which had been held in my hand.

YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative Humanity: $humanity ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── “ If you’ve been introduced to me for painkiller pills… It seems the common stuff doesn’t work for you. Indirectly, I feel a little responsible, as someone who’s made your life miserable. I’ll give you medicine at no cost… Why don’t you work with me? Of course, as an individual, regardless of where we belong now. ” "... Don't be ridiculous. Do you think I wouldn't kill you right now!?" It was so obvious that Helena was trying to finish what she couldn’t do on the train four years ago. I warned Helena —as if warning myself— when Helena shrugged the shoulders, as if Helena wanted me to consider the offer. However, “ The next time I see you, I swear I’ll kill you. So you better not even think about showing up. ” Then I left, almost like running away. I felt as if I heard a murmur, mixed with ridicule, behind my back— but I chose to ignore it. I no longer wanted to hear this person’s voice. “My name, the place to meet, and my medicine. You have everything you need to find me again. So it's only a matter of time. See you, $cursedplayerName." ─ending #3 THE TRUTH OF THAT DAY─ RESULT: YOUR NAME: $cursedplayerName Intelligence: $intelligence Initiative: $initiative ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── <end>