"Damn it, speak! How did you do it!?" Chitose demanded, pouring sand over my head.
I was currently tied to a chair—just like what happened to Takao earlier. My vision was pitch black and have slightly damp sensation, thanks to Roka's dark cloak draped over my head. On top of that, Sakura was pouring water on me non-stop like some cheap torture tactic. Honestly, all of this torture was just to make me confess.
I admit it—I got cocky. After winning twice by rolling the same number again and again, I forgot to be cautious. I should've expected their suspicion. But still, I'm not the type to yield so easily now that I get caught. So now, I was fighting back the only way I could: with sheer stubbornness.
"I just got lucky," I said calmly. "I think you guys are misunderstanding something here..."
"Misunderstanding...? No way. You clearly did something—you cheated!" Chitose snapped, not buying a word. "I don't know how you did it, but I'll make you talk!" she added, pressing her barefoot against my face.
"Heh..." I chuckled under the cloth. "It's because of the card you gave me. Pervy—he's hated by everyone, and yet I accepted him wholeheartedly. That selfless acceptance blessed me with immense luck. What you're experiencing is karma."
"..."
Does it work that way? Obvious don't, what I'm doing this just a little bit twist of their psychological state.
"If you don't believe me," I continued, "why don't we settle this tomorrow? I'll switch from Pervy to one of your character cards. You can even monitor me the whole time—check for any signs of cheating."
The three girls glanced at each other in silence. After a moment of mutual understanding, Chitose reluctantly untied me.
"Fine... We'll settle this tomorrow. But if we catch even a hint of dirty tricks—prepare yourself for the consequences."
"Very well..." I replied, standing up—still wearing the sack on my head like a worn-out prisoner.
Takao and Kenji had already left after the first round. Everyone lost miserably, though only Kenji accepted the outcome with grace. Since he wasn't interested in playing anymore, he left without hesitation. I, on the other hand, had no such luxury. They insisted on another round and ended up losing.
Splash!
Drip, drip...
I cupped my hands together, forming a small bowl. I watched the smooth stream of water flowing from the faucet, letting it fill my palms. Once I had enough, I splashed it on my face, washing away the traces of mud.
A few droplets trailed down my flushed, pale skin, clinging briefly to the strands of my damp hair. I gently ran my fingers through it, brushing it back and shaking off the excess water. The droplets scattered, some landing softly on my already-soaked polo, darkening the fabric further.
"Sigh... That so-called torture wasn't exactly painful," I mused. "How do I even describe it? It felt more like... bickering with a close friend."
Although I'm speaking from my own perspective, it's not like I actually experienced something that extreme.
It's more of a comparison—an attempt to put the feeling into words through empathy.
I just thought of it as the closest thing I could relate it to. That's why I tend to use analogies—to make sense of things I haven't fully lived through but can still feel.
"How do I know? How do I understand? Even without experiencing it... it's just a mutual feeling."
I went through a lot, so I've gained some understanding of things. Not deep or profound—but enough to relate. Even if it's vague and can't be measured, there's still something there. That's what I call sympathy.
"Umm… are you okay? "
While I was lost in thought, reminiscing about the past, a gentle voice called out behind me. It was soft—like a kind mother worried for her child. The way she spoke tickled something inside me. It's very comforting and warm. Even as a stranger, I felt I could trust her.
I slowly turned my head, my brown eyes blinking away the lingering droplets of water. When our eyes met, I was momentarily stunned. Her appearance was... striking. A soft glow framed her face—not blinding, but ethereal. It gave the illusion that no evil could exist in her presence. For a moment, I simply stared, observing her in silence.
She had short black hair tied in pigtails with light purple ribbons that matched her gentle eyes. Her pale skin seemed to emit a soft light even in the dark, making her look like a goddess sent to guide the lost.
"You're… Funabori," I murmured without realizing.
"Ah… You know my name? " she asked, surprised.
"Huh? It would be weird not to recognize my own classmate," I replied.
She turned slightly red, clearly embarrassed. "W-Well… that's true," she mumbled.
Maybe someone once failed to recognize her. Or maybe she just didn't think highly of herself. Whatever it was, she radiated a warmth that made something inside me soften—like ice slowly melting.
"…By the way, can I hug you? " I asked, gently holding her soft hands.
"Eh? E-Excuse me? "
She looked around, checking if anyone was nearby. Finding no one, she hesitantly agreed for some unknown reason, "…S-sure…"
It felt strange to be hugged by a girl (?), but her kindness overwhelmed any hesitation.
"Thanks…"
I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, soaking in the warmth.
In my previous life, I never knew who my parents were. I was raised by an old woman I called Grandma. We weren't blood-related—she just found me wrapped in dirty rags in a trash heap.
Abandoned. Left to die.
Maybe my parents were just careless teens who couldn't afford a child. Or maybe I was the product of something darker—trauma, guilt, and resentment. I'll never know. I've given up trying. All I had were bitter guesses and empty anger.
After Grandma died, it felt like the world turned its back on me. I started fights, lived violently, and buried myself in hatred. I refused kindness and rejected love. I locked my heart in chains and dropped it to the bottom of the sea.
Yet… there was someone who kept chasing after me. Someone who didn't give up.
I never appreciated it. To me, only one person ever mattered—my grandma. No one else could compare. So I kept pushing her away… until one day, I realized I was falling in love. But before I could say anything, she died.
She knew she was dying. She chose to spend her last days with me. And the reason she was saved by me is so she hopes she could save me too.
And I hated that.
Why didn't I see it sooner?
Why didn't I appreciate her?
All I have now is regret. Even when I hurt myself, it's just a hollow act to soothe my loneliness. Still, I beat the weight, keep on stocking the pain until I finally collapse.
That was my life—before I woke up here.
In this new life, I have a loving mother and siblings who care. But I'm conflicted. Distant. I even considered selling off the bitcoins for money to live alone. Just like before.
But wouldn't that be repeating my past all over again?
I tried to stay, to act differently. But my heart stayed cold. I couldn't bring myself to show love or concern—not openly.
And yet… little by little, something is changing things I didn't even notice.
Funabori—just by being near her—makes me feel safe. Like if she were my mother or lover, I'd never want anything more.
Without noticing, I started crying.
"You… You're crying. Is something wrong? "
Her voice struck me like lightning.
"Huh?"
I hadn't even realized it. All these years chasing pain… was I really just searching for comfort?
I lost trust in everything. I believed love only comes when you're hopeless—when there's no one left and you're at your lowest.
So I set a condition that could never be met.
And now… my heart was beating fast. Blood rushing. Breath ragged.
'This is so embarrassing…'
I looked away and pulled back from her.
"I-I'm sorry. I lost control," I stammered, trying to compose myself even as panic gripped me.
If anyone else had seen me like this, they'd be shocked. But she was the only one here… and she was kind.
"S-Still… thanks to you, I feel like the thorn in my heart is finally gone. Thank you, Funabor; I'm truly grateful."
"…Hmm." Funabori smiled gently. "I don't know what happened, but… I'm glad I could help."
I clenched my chest and took a step back, grinding my teeth.
I didn't hate that feeling—but it was still unbearable.
If I had to describe it, it'd be like… your bully older sister catching you watching incest porn. That kind of shame. That kind of exposure. The feeling of exposing your secrets to the person you wanted to hide them from the most.
"I-I'm going first," I mumbled, then turned and ran off without looking back. She tried to say something, but I didn't catch it. For now… I just wanted to be far away.