Chapter 56

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Kirill leaned against the window, gazing at the distant mountains while deeply reflecting on yesterday's events.

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She thought that by sleeping, she could forget the unpleasant things.

However, when one is truly depressed, even sleep cannot bring peace.

Nightmares, devoid of malice, assault Kirill like a wave.

"Congratulations."

She pretended to be happy.

But who would ever want such a thing?

When a person with bad behavior performs a small act of kindness, they receive high praise from those around them.

The worse the student's attitude, the more they are favored by the teacher.

Humans are such creatures.

It's better not to be expected.

Because no matter how much better you are than others, if you can't meet those expectations, the judgment from others will be cold.

"Being chosen by Origin, that's amazing, Kirill."

For several years, she had been learning how to grow potatoes from her parents.

She was given a dedicated space in the corner of the field, and finally, she was able to produce crops that could be sold.

It was fun.

Today, she planned to use the harvested crops to make some sweets and serve them to her parents.

They would laugh and say, "Delicious," and pat Kirill's head.

It was a happy time.

"Don't worry about the field, just fulfill your role."

Her father said this with a smile.

Her mother nodded.

To meet their expectations, Kirill forced a smile and responded.

At that time—had she cried and said, "I really don't want to," would something have changed?

She had such a bad dream.

She woke up.

A bad reality spread before her.

Kirill, lying on the cold, hard ground, opened her eyes slightly.

Despite it being morning, it was dark and chilly under the shadow of the buildings.

She was in the back of a store on the east side of the central district.

It was a place where they had sought out a location out of sight of others.

Kirill, staring blankly at the gray landscape before her, observed the small insects desperately seeking food and muttered, "Envious."

No, he must have his own struggles—yet at least he lives for himself.

But she could no longer do that.

When she tried to act for herself, her rationality would halt her.

She feared hurting important people, betraying others' expectations, and running away without atoning for her sins.

"Are you awake?"

Mute's voice was heard.

She, who had woken up earlier, was sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall.

"...Yeah, I'm awake."

Since meeting her, they had exchanged words many times.

Mute asserted:

"Human, only self. Others, impossible to understand true desires."

And it is also impossible to meet everyone's expectations.

But still—Kirill fears being looked at with disappointment.

"Kindness, justice, anger, hatred, and all others... words are different, but meanings are the same. All for self."

This world is formed by everyone's self-satisfaction.

Even the feeling of caring for others, when pushed to the extreme, is hypocrisy.

The act of giving and receiving, when the two channels happen to align, is called "kindness."

"Living for others, one day, you will break."

Kirill is on that track.

Atoning for sins and blaming oneself are, in a sense, just self-satisfaction.

Even if she does such things, the people she has hurt won't heal.

So, follow your own desires—Mute continues to preach this.

Still, Kirill did not change.

Her emotions, sunk to the bottom, were chained by guilt, preventing her from rising.

"Let's start soon. Follow me."

With that, Mute stood up and started walking in a certain direction.

Kirill, still groggy from sleep, rubbed her swollen eyes and followed the small back of the girl.

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What they were going to start, Kirill asked, but Mute did not speak.

Both of them, as usual, were wrapped in dirty robes, with hoods pulled deep over their faces.

As they approached the eastern district, the number of wealthy people increased, and their appearance began to attract attention.

When Kirill looked around nervously, Mute approached a man in his twenties who was approaching from the front.

"Mute?"

Kirill, confused, called out, but Mute did not stop.

She stopped in front of him and grabbed his shoulder.

Of course, the man glared at Mute.

But she remained calm and—activated her ability.

"Empathy."

There was no visible change, but at that moment, Kirill heard the man's will disappear from his eyes and a wet sound.

Mute released her hand from him and, as if he was no longer useful, walked away without a word.

Kirill, looking at the man who had stopped moving, followed her.

After that, Mute entered a park and, touching people, whispered "Sympathy" and repeated this.

"Hey, Mute, what are you doing?"

Even if she asked, Mute did not answer.

But watching the people who stopped moving as soon as Mute touched them, a sense of fear arose that something terrible might be happening.

Of course, Kirill did not know who Mute was.

She had never even imagined that she had such an ability.

If she had known, Kirill would have tried to stop her.

After going around the area, Mute left the park through a different exit.

Then, moving to a position where the park's situation could be confirmed, Mute finally turned to Kirill and spoke.

The collar of her robe was, for some reason, red and wet.

"Preparation is done. Let's start."

"What do you mean by preparation?"

"Empathy. Connect consciousness, de-individualize, unify. Consciousness, muddled. Self, lost. From the beginning, such a thing, Origin, pour. I, control."

"Unify? Origin? Control? Sorry, can you explain it in a way I can understand—"

"Watch. Then, you will understand."

Mute said this and pointed to the park.

Kirill, as told, directed her gaze in that direction.

Then—men who were taking a walk began to bite their own fists.

Of course, they couldn't fit them in their mouths.

Still, they forced them in, cutting the corners of their lips, and as their faces and throats deformed, they swallowed up to their elbows.

"...What?"

Kirill couldn't understand what was happening to him.

Swallowing his own arm, he fell into respiratory distress, thrashing about like a fish out of water.

But his arm was not pulled out, and eventually, he suffocated and stopped moving.

"He's... dead?"

Human death.

Unusual.

It was happening right in front of her, without any warning.

Perhaps because it was too unreal, Kirill did not panic.

But the calmness of her heart would only last for now.

A woman standing next to the dead man suddenly began to bang her head against the hard ground.

Even as her forehead split and blood flowed, and something squished, she did not stop.

Even as her arms lost strength, she desperately rubbed her head against the ground.

This act continued until she was completely dead.

"A... aah..."

A boy who was walking nearby began to tear off pieces of flesh from his arm like bread.

Even as blood flowed, he showed no signs of pain.

Then, he threw the clutched flesh into his mouth.

Continuing, he tore off more pieces and chewed them.

"W-What... what is happening...!"

The boy's mother, using her fingers, dug out her own eyeballs and threw them away.

Then, she tried to mix her brain by forcefully inserting her hand into the gaping hole.

"Mute... could it be that you're making them do this...?"

"Yes, I made them."

Kirill finally realized.

And Mute answered immediately.

She had brought her here—what she wanted to show—was this, this mad scene.

Everywhere in the park, people were destroying their own bodies and losing their lives.

What could possibly be the meaning of such acts?

"Do what you want. Others, irrelevant. Proof of life, leave scars."

"That's not right, that's crazy!"

Kirill raised her voice and glared at Mute.

But her face was hidden by the hood, making it hard to see.

"There's nothing wrong. There's no right. I am me. Fulfill my desires."

"But people are dying! Such selfishness can't be allowed!"

"Others' eyes, irrelevant. Selfishness, fine. No reason to stop."

Indeed, she had said such things.

Live for yourself, fulfill your desires.

Still, Kirill could not think that it was right to kill others for that.

"Kirill, if you want to stop me, then kill me."

"That... that's..."

"I can't defeat the hero. Kirill, you can kill me. I die. Others live."

As Mute said, if Kirill drew her sword, some of the strangers writhing in agony there might survive.

A hero should do that.

But—killing Mute and pretending to be a hero would not save Kirill.

Nothing would change.

She would only end up killing herself, crushed by expectations.

"Ugh... aah...!"

Kirill groaned, her right arm trembling.

Her palm did not grip the sword.

If she didn't kill Mute, she would surely be plagued by guilt for abandoning the people.

But if she killed Mute, she would bear the sin of killing her, lose her place, and be thrown into a dark, lightless void.

No matter which she chose—both were hell.

The number of victims continued to increase as she agonized.

The only relief was that no cries of agony could be heard.

Calmly, the sounds of flesh tearing and bones breaking echoed from the park.

"Killing... but, but... what should I do...!"

Kirill, on her knees, lamented.

Struggling in the quagmire, she sank deeper and deeper.

"Decide for yourself. All for yourself."

"But... I don't know how to do that—"

Kirill looked up at Mute, clinging to her.

Then, the face hidden by the hood was visible from below.

Plop.

What was there was not the face of a seemingly innocent, vacant girl.

It was a grotesque face, as if her face had been gouged and scraped off, and filled with some kind of flesh.

Moreover, it was alive.

It pulsed, writhed, spiraled clockwise, and spewed blood.

"H..."

Kirill exhaled and stopped speaking.

No, not just speaking, she couldn't even breathe.

Why was Mute—why did she look like Maria, whom she had seen for the last time?

Her ability to make people commit suicide and her identity—what was she?

What kind of beings were they?

What had she been dragged into?

"Ah..."

She finally regained her voice.

But confusion, fear, despair, and a nauseating mix of red and black emotions clouded her mind.

On the other hand, the grotesque Mute, without a word, continued to pulse and stared at Kirill.

"Ah, ah, aah...!"

In her mind, consciousness and emotions swelled in an instant.

"H, hu... ah, aah...!"

There was something she had to say.

She should stop her actions.

Such a sense of justice did exist.

However, in the face of overwhelming fear, such a petty sense of justice was meaningless.

Shaking her head, stepping back, and clutching her head—

"A, aah... aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah, aah