Chapter 112
Chapter 112
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: How Sorry Are You?
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Searching through my memories, I had always lived in silence.
Bustling through crowds outside, expending emotions in a frenzy, only to return home to an empty, quiet room that greeted me.
To me, that place was a peaceful sanctuary where I could forget everything and sink into silence, but also a festering mark that slowly rotted my torn wounds.
Licking my own wounds while ruminating on solitude didn't last long. In the end, it was loneliness. The absence of someone to share the pain and empathize left only untreated, rotting sores.
Going out brought only wounds, staying in let them fester.
So I cursed that silence, that dark room. Unable to accept it or escape it.
Today was the same. The place I returned to was silent.
Buffeted by emotions, dragged along, even carrying a long gash across my palm.
No, not entirely the same. The cramped slum room was quiet enough to remind me of my old room, but now Betty and Han were with me.
We spent some time in wordless silence. Whether from exhaustion or the uncertainty ahead, no one spoke.
"………."
Blood droplets seeped from the open wound, trickling down my fingers. The drop clinging to my fingertip finally fell to the floor with a plink, plop.
Plink, plop.
It fell.
"Anis, you okay?"
"……Yeah."
"……Let's treat that wound first."
Han spotted the cut on my hand and pulled a first-aid kit from the cabinet. Its contents were meager: bandages, Band-Aids, and some antiseptic at best.
"Give me your hand."
I extended my hand to Han, palm up. The long, straight gash came into view.
Han soaked a cotton swab in antiseptic and dabbed at the wound.
"……Ow."
"Hold still."
After disinfecting, Han grabbed bandages from the kit.
"Wrapping it right away? Doesn't it need stitches?"
"I don't know how. Just deal with it."
"You're from the Association's special something-or-other, aren't you? But you can't do it?"
"I've never been hurt. Never had to learn."
"Bragging? Back in my day, I was so badass I never got hurt?"
"No. If it looked like I'd get hurt, I just ran."
"…Coward."
"…Yeah."
"Coward. Loser. Pathetic."
"………."
Like a brat throwing a tantrum, I hurled insults at Han. He didn't retort, just sat there wrapping my hand. A brief silence followed.
"…Sorry."
The silence broke as Han, mid-wrap, spoke quietly.
"…For what."
"…For pushing you like that."
"………."
I lowered my head to stare at my hand. The bleeding hadn't stopped. The bandage slowly turned red from the bottom up.
Han kept wrapping over it relentlessly, until no red showed.
"…It's fine."
I mumbled a reply. It wasn't entirely fine, but I forced myself to say it was.
It was still vivid. The moment Han pulled the trigger. The bullet hitting its mark, red paint splattering the bright sky.
And in between, Rena's voice blooming, her hand pulling me—it tormented me.
I understood Han's actions. We were in similar spots. Cowards, selfish, waverers who fled.
So we understood each other to some degree. He got me, I got him.
The only difference: I still had lingering attachments, while he had none left. Just that slight gap.
"……I'm sorry too. For being stubborn."
I'd been stubborn. Knew it was wrong but couldn't face reality, clinging to the past.
But now I admitted it. Even with regrets, going back was impossible.
"…I'm fine too."
Battered and beaten, circling back to the silent room. Misfortune or fortune, I wasn't alone like before. Betty was here, in a similar mess, and Han too.
Yeah. Same situation in the end. Shared pain, empathy possible. Like it or not, right or wrong, we'd lived together for three years.
Sometimes comforting each other, sometimes bickering over differences—like family.
To some, he might be a murderer deserving death. No, probably was.
But to me, he was both murderer and the friend, family greeting me in that empty room.
I couldn't hate him over some trouble.
Even if he'd crushed a girl's dream, tried to kill my precious past connection.
With nowhere else to go now, turning from him would leave me with just Betty.
"………."
Separately, the pain was unavoidable.
It hurt. My heart felt torn—maybe already was. Unsure if it'd heal someday, but it'd scar for sure.
Han kept wrapping my hand, binding the unstopping bleed tightly to force it to halt.
In the silent room, all he could do was sit and bandage. No medical knowledge, but he could tourniquet with pressure.
Eventually, the bleeding stopped. Not fully healed, but no risk of infection now.
A stinging pain rose from the tightly bound palm. I voiced it.
"…But it hurts."
"Sorry."
"…It really hurts. For real."
"…Sorry."
"…Fuck, my hand hurts. Stop bandaging already."
"Oh. Sorry."
Only then did Han stop. The tightness eased, and I could breathe.
"………."
"………."
An awkward silence, unusual for us. Han and I stared at the floor, heads down.
"………."
"………."
Silence.
Silence isn't good.
It always isolates, lets things fester.
The awkwardness dragged on. How long? Should I speak first? Act like nothing happened?
I wanted our old easy talk back. But my mouth wouldn't move.
"What're you two doing? Staring at the floor."
Betty's voice from the side shattered the silence.
"…Hungry."
Grrrooowl—
A loud rumble from Betty's stomach. Han and I chuckled in disbelief.
The awkwardness lifted a bit. Seizing the moment, I asked Han,
"…But Han. You said you're sorry to me."
"…Yeah."
"How sorry?"
"Huh?"
"How much sorry."
Han, listening seriously, tilted his head. I nudged his shin with my foot, urging.
He pondered briefly, then said,
"Mm. Very sorry."
"Be specific. How much."
"What do you want? Very, very, very sorry."
Han snapped lightly. The awkwardness vanished; we were back to normal.
"So what now?"
"Huh?"
"What're you gonna do from now on."
"……Dunno?"
"Prove it. Show me you're reflecting! Repenting to your bones!"
"…How?"
"Simple."
I stood, arms crossed, looking down at him. Han blinked up at me, dazed.
"Swear. You'll never do it again."
"…Oh. Yeah. I swear."
"Good. And… swear you'll do anything for me from now on."
"? Why should I?"
"You said you were wrong. Sorry."
"Sorry's sorry, what's that got to do with this."
"You gotta earn my trust back. Swear quick. You'll lick my feet if I command it."
"No."
"…Huh. Why."
I'd said it boldly, but his refusal was firm. A flustered note slipped into my voice.
I'd figured pushing would make him nod reflexively. Then I'd have him fetching food and water daily. Tougher than expected.
Han and I bantered back and forth.
Like old times.
"Listen, do you think you're my girlfriend or something? Why so desperate for a commitment. Quit nagging."
"Han, that's delusion. Think every girl in the world wants you? Big mistake. A cool beauty like me even talking to you—be grateful. You're too cocky."
"Not interested in flat-chested tomboys like you."
"…Wanna die? Not into long-haired pretty boys like you either. Hell, I hate men altogether."
"So?"
In the dark, lightless room, only the bickering man and woman echoed.
Our routine, repeating cyclically for three years.
"But what about Camilla…?"
Betty's sudden question got buried in our escalating voices.