Faust, after his short chat with Boss, began descending the mountain.He picked up his pace, deciding to catch up with Lieben and Mike.
(Branches keep slapping me in the damn face. It's been, what, fifteen minutes since they finished talking to Boss? Seriously—where… WHERE THE HELL COULD YOU TWO HAVE GONE?!)
He leapt over rocks, taking the final steps downhill under the glow of the moonlight. His cheap clothes fluttered with every stride—his tank top had ridden up enough to show his stomach, and his pants, without a belt, clung desperately to his hips, threatening to fall off any second.
Finally, he reached the village gates. His face was locked in an angry scowl, and because of it, no one dared to approach him.But what they didn't know—what none of them could see—was that behind that furious glare, the clenched jaw, the furrowed brows, stood a man calm and still... a man who was simply looking for his friends.Of course, only those who knew him could ever understand that. And how many were left who truly did?
He walked through the village streets, hurried yet somehow slow. The reason was obvious—he looked like a starving dog, jaw tight, almost frothing. His torn tank top and filthy pants didn't help either; he looked like some washed-up, drunken gambler of a father staggering home.
He stepped over cracked stones on roads that hadn't been repaired in a century.
It was a poor village—a miserable one.Falling apart.Rotting.No one cared. Because the rotting and the ruin weren't limited to the buildings. The people were just as broken.
And though Faust was one of them, it didn't matter. The people still looked at him differently.Differently—but still the same.They were all wretched, from their rags to their homes, from their homes to their food.
"No matter who you are, no matter what you are—appearance matters. Image... image is everything. It's one of humanity's greatest ideals. Even when I walk here without the slightest ill intent, their eyes never leave me. They can't. It's not something they can control. It's in their nature—the nature of people."
Despite the growing stares and silent judgments, there were exceptions.From behind, a weary yet somehow warm voice called out from a fruit stand:
"Hey there! Faust! How've you been? Long time no see! You hungry?"
The voice came from an old man—hunched, ragged, his beard mostly white with yellowed tips from cigarettes.
The moment the old man called, a few villagers turned their heads. People on the street started to watch.Faust didn't even turn around. He didn't flinch, didn't acknowledge him.As if he hadn't heard at all.But he had. He just didn't care. Not enough to react.
The old man, unfazed, shuffled closer.
"Faust! You look poorer than ever! You alright?"His tone was mocking, yet oddly kind.
Each time the man called, more eyes turned. The whole village was watching now. Faust could feel the weight of it—each glance pressing down, humiliating.
(Are you seriously planning to keep pushing me, old man? Have some shame. You're ancient. Can't you tell? I don't give a damn about you.)
His thoughts hardened with every second.
I want to refuse. I don't want to hear it. I don't. But… I do. I'm hungry. I want to walk past you like a stranger. Not because I hate you—but because I hate them. The others.
The old man took one last step forward and shouted louder than before:
"Faust!! I know you're hungry! This is your last chance! I won't say it again!"
Now every villager was watching. None looked away.Their faces were blank, but in their eyes—quiet judgment, silent questions.
(For fuck's sake, old man. Don't embarrass me like this. You're half-dead already, and still… still trying to feed me.)
Faust stopped walking.He put his hands on his hips, sighed deeply.
"Ugh… Fine! Stop shouting, you're drawing too much attention. If you're begging this much, guess I don't have a choice."
He dropped his head, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and started walking quickly toward the man.
(Let's just do this without making more noise.)
"YOU COMING, FAUST?"
"SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY, YOU GODDAMN WALKING CORPSE!!"
Faust reached him in a few strides, grabbed the old man by the arm to keep him from stumbling, and together they turned into a dark alley toward the man's home.
It's getting really late. I should head back… but there's nothing to go back to. The issue isn't being here—it's not being there. Maybe I really do need to change my way of thinking.
They'd been walking for about two minutes. Despite all the shouting and the attention, since they started walking side by side, neither of them had said a word. Finally, the old man's throat must have given out from all that yelling. Thank God.
He tilted his head up toward Faust, trying to meet his eyes."So, Faust, what're you doing out this late? You don't usually leave your usual spot, especially at night."
Faust tightened his grip on the old man's arm. His eyes flicked left and right; his free hand brushed against his stubbled chin.
"Ummm, well— I, uh—"(Shit! I can't talk. The words just won't come out. I didn't even do anything!)
The old man patted Faust's shoulder twice, gently.
"Relax, son. Don't worry so much. Something bothering you, Faust? You can tell me."
(I didn't even do anything to deserve this, so why the hell am I ashamed?)
Faust straightened his back, puffed his chest slightly, loosened his grip on the man's arm.
"Ha!? What could be bothering me? Even if there was, it's none of your business—or anyone else's!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the narrow alleyways.
"If you say so, you say so. I'm too old to argue with you anyway."
They walked in silence for a bit longer. Two more minutes passed until they reached what looked like a dead end.
They stopped.Faust looked around—walls on both sides, a wall in front, and behind them the path they came from.
(Uh… where's the house? Where's the door? Don't tell me—)
"Hey, you walking corpse! Don't tell me you're homeless now! You live in this dead-end, don't you?!" he blurted out, half-panicked.
The old man walked toward the wall on their right and pushed it.Turns out, what Faust thought was a wall was actually a door—so filthy and crusted with grime it blended right in.
When it opened, the light inside hit them both square in the face, making them squint.
(I've been here before. I remember. But… it's been a long time. Looks like no one's been cleaning since the last time I came. And the other problem is…)
"Sorry about the door, Faust. As you can see, there's no handle or lock anymore—but no one's rich enough to steal anything here anyway, so it's fine. I mean—what could they even steal?"
He chuckled softly and walked inside. Faust followed, closing the door behind him.
"It's fine, old man. Really, it is. So—how's Grandma doing today?"