Chew Thoroughly, Savor Every Bite

Several days had passed.

I drank my own piss.

Without so much as an empty plastic bottle, I had no choice but to piss on the floor and lick it up. Felt like a total dog. Woof, woof!

Wait, no.

Even dogs eat shit; they probably don't drink their own piss. Most likely, anyway. That made me lower than a dog's bastard. Alas, you have suffered absolute defeat in the realm of existential dignity.

There was still nothing here. Not the Tutorial Fairy who had murdered me, not the people who had been summoned alongside me, nor a single crack or exit to crawl through. Nothing. I was completely isolated. And, very soon, I was scheduled to die.

"Wa... ter..."

My throat burned like a blast furnace. My gums throbbed with a dull ache. Every time I parted my lips, the precious moisture evaporating from my tongue felt like a catastrophic loss. It felt as though an iron awl had been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠driven into every single cell of my body.

Water. Water. Water.

The hunger that had been twisting my intestines into knots only a few days ago had burned away in the inferno of dehydration, leaving nothing behind but ash. Now, not even piss would come out. By the time it had turned dark brown, the agonizing pain of wringing out a few drops had far outweighed whatever relief it brought.

I wanted to drink.

Anything. Even if it was seawater. Even if it was piss. Even if it was liquid sewage. Anything—I just wanted something to drink.

"Fuck... ing... Healing Factor...!"

Immunity to death from bodily loss, my ass.

Does losing water not count as losing part of my body? Or are you planning to shove an IV into my dried-up husk and pump saline only after I finally mummify to death? Are you going to drain every last drop of blood from this meatbag, and then, once I'm reduced to withered rawhide, secretly refill my shriveled bladder with tap water?

If I could have just one sip of water right now...

I would sell my soul to the devil. I would sell my parents to my bitterest enemies. I would harvest all my useless organs and sell them to the mob. And still, I would feel an absurd, overflowing ecstasy, sobbing with gratitude for wetting my parched throat. Come on, Devil! Tempt me in the wilderness, you coward!

"Ah..."

I tried clenching my teeth, but I didn't even have the strength left to hold my jaw shut. My teeth slipped.

My slipping teeth clamped hard onto my tongue. Wait. Did I just bite my tongue? Did I actually have enough strength left in me to bite through it? Am I supposed to bite my tongue and die?

Ah. Seems like I did.

I tasted blood. Fishy, metallic, and... sweet.

I was squeezing my own tongue, wetting my throat with my own blood. It didn't taste disgusting at all. In fact, as it quenched the edge of my thirst, the taste was so teasingly intoxicating that I gnawed down harder to wring out every last drop. If I had a knife, I would have sliced the whole tongue off; if I had pliers, I would have ripped it out by the roots. Having neither, I made do with my teeth.

It was fine. My tongue's LP was already zero. The flesh was soft and fragile. And the blood flowed plenty.

Ah. So this... this was water...

I found a well! The well was inside my mouth all along!

"Ehehe..."

Haha. I wanted to laugh out loud, but with my tongue chewed to shreds, I couldn't even manage a proper chuckle. Now that I knew where the water was, all I had to do was dig this well as deep as humanly possible.

Crunch. Grind. Chew.

Delicious. Delicious. Delicious!

People say blood is at best ten times tastier than water... Aaaah! It's so fucking good!

Ah. My tongue came back. Healing Factor had drawn the line, deciding that was as much 'loss' as I was allowed. Bullshit. Tell it to go fuck itself. I clamped down and bit through my tongue again without missing a beat.

Grind, chew.

Tough. Having regenerated once, the muscle was slightly tougher. The ragged tears smoothed over.

Not enough. Still not nearly enough. Give me more water.

If I were a vampire, I would have driven my fangs into my tongue and sucked it dry. If I were a scorpion, I would have plunged my stinger into my own spine and drained my bodily fluids.

I was desperate. So desperately starved for my own blood. Desperate for a fatal wound.

"Urgh..."

Now that my thirst had abated just a fraction, the craving to quench it flared even hotter. A wound. I needed to carve a wound. A wound deep enough to bleed like a broken dam. And then, I had to drink that blood.

Any blood I spilled would just regenerate through Healing Factor anyway. An infinite water glitch!

Should I bash my skull against the wall? Should I tear into my wrists with my bare teeth? Anything that held moisture—I just wanted to jam it down this burning gullet and snuff out the fire.

"Ehehehe..."

Crunch. Crack. Squelch.

A sound rang out. The wet, predatory crunch of flesh that had no business coming from a human mouth. Delicious. I ate like a king.

Ah. A hearty feast, the first in god knew how long. I quenched my thirst and filled my belly.

Turns out, eyeballs weren't quite like jawbreakers. Not sweet at all—just briny and fishy.

A few more days drifted by.

I had grown fairly accustomed to drinking my own blood. And to plucking out my eyeballs and swallowing them down. Now I finally understood why Xiahou Dun swallowed his own eyeball after it got impaled by an arrow. It wasn't about filial piety—it was just convenient finger food. Nom nom.

Ah, fuck. I'm totally out of my goddamn mind.

"Do I really need to live like this?"

Sudden post-feast clarity slammed into me like a truck. Seriously, is surviving like this even the right choice?

When I was dying of thirst and starving out of my skull, gorging on my own flesh like a hungry ghost, I didn't have the luxury for existential doubt. But the moment my throat was wet and my belly full, conflicting thoughts crept in.

Ha. You've gotten soft, Kang Seonwoo.

"Might as well work out."

I had started exercising a few days ago. Trapped entirely alone in an empty void, a man really would go insane otherwise. The only hobby available was calisthenics.

I had even painted a face in blood on my severed head—the detachable model—and christened him Wilson. Can't say I felt particularly affectionate toward him. Why draw a face on something that already has one, you ask? Because my real face is so ridiculously handsome it feels unapproachable.

Oh, right. The fact that my severed head had mummified into a shriveled husk played a part, too. The moisture had drained away, yet it never rotted. With its hardened, cracked leather surface, it looked roughly like a coconut.

Man. Now this is hell.

I once heard about the Buddhist realm of hungry ghosts—the Preta realm. A hell of eternal, gnawing starvation. In that realm, the ghosts cannot endure their hunger and tear off their own flesh to eat, yet because they can never die, they eventually dwindle until nothing remains but a mouth. Maybe I had fallen straight into the Preta realm.

O Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva. Deliver this pitiful sentient being from this hell. Where in the world are you? Was your vow never to attain Buddhahood until hell was emptied a bald-faced lie?

Fuck! If I'd known this would happen, I would've gone to church instead of the temple during religious services in the military! I sold my soul for a single choco-pie and a burger.

Ah. I really want a hamburger... Yeah. A burger felt like a fair enough trade for a soul. Mom's Touch burgers were so damn good. Wait. Mom's Touch? Eating Mom?! Fuck! The unfilial son weeps! Boo-hoo!

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Ah. I had degenerated into a fuck-parrot. Everything was fuck this and fuck that. I had always been fond of foul language, but with nobody around to talk to, cursing was all that remained. 'Fuck' is practically an exclamation anyway. Fuck.

"The fuck?"

Wait. Is this for real?

"Huh? Wait, what?"

At that exact moment, the open clearing blazed with white light, and Wilson was enveloped in radiance before vanishing into thin air.

Gaaah! Wilson!

Before I could even mourn parting ways with Wilson, people began materializing across the clearing.

Wait, what? Humans? For real?

Heh. Actual people. Living people! And... that goddamn fly bastard I hadn't forgotten even in my nightmares. Hello! Long time no see!

"Hello! I am the Tutorial Fairy—"

"Aaaah—"

Ah. Aah. Aaaaah. Rage surged. A terribly familiar sensation. My forgotten illness had roared back to life. Looks like the incubation period was officially over.

Wilson. This isn't mere anger. This is an existential cry welling up from the depths of my soul... No, fuck that poetic bullshit.

I am going to murder that little bitch if it's the last thing I do.

"You—"

Ghk. My breath caught in my throat.

Wait. What's this? Come on, spit it out. Kill her. Charge in. Swing your fists. Aim for her head. Do what you always do.

My coiled, tense muscles locked up stark white. Like a ladybug paralyzed, unable to spread its wings unless it reaches the absolute summit of a leaf. Instinct clamped down hard around my ankles.

Heavy.

The air was suffocatingly heavy. Crushing. Breathing became an ordeal. The tunnel vision that had dyed my sight pitch-black slowly cleared. My severed rationality snapped back into place.

Ah...

Worthless little me, standing before a monstrous, goblin-like fly who could flick my head off with a single twitch of her finger.

The clamor of the people around me. Screams. Confusion. Pure panic. Every bit of it scraped across my skin as sharply as sandpaper. I was terrified.

I'm scared...

Anger management disorder. Medically classified as Intermittent Explosive Disorder. An illness where one cannot control their rage.

Contrary to the popular misconception that folks with this condition suddenly become 'great at managing anger' the moment they face someone stronger, I had always battered everything in my path until I collapsed from pure physical exhaustion.

At least, that was what I thought.

I believed it, the doctors diagnosed it, and the people around me who knew of my condition understood it as such. That was the kind of sickness it was supposed to be.

Turns out, that wasn't the case at all. None of them had ever literally died before, so none of them could have known.

I'm starving.

Reason screamed bloody murder inside my skull.

Please, play it safe. If you charge that monster right now, you're just going to drop dead again.

Then you'll have to die again. Starve again. Endure by devouring your own flesh like a hungry ghost. You will really, really, really die!

My rational mind shrieked at maximum volume.

Let's just live.

Let's just play along with this tutorial or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whatever and survive. Don't waste your life on something as petty as venting anger.

Eat normal food instead of eyeballs, drink clean water instead of blood, talk to real humans instead of Wilson, and survive, even if it's pathetic and ugly.

Ehehe. Lady Fairy, I am your humble servant of the Tutorial. Please, proceed with the Tutorial posthaste. I don't know what it entails, but it's bound to be better than hollowing out my own corpse. Hell, what wouldn't I do at this point?!

"!@#$^% Aaargh! Pl-Please send me back! My wife is in labor at the hospital right now! I have to go back immediately!"

With my reason restored, voices finally registered.

A genuine human voice, heard for the first time in an eternity. It felt almost moving. Ah. I must have been so lonely. Truly. I had missed human warmth so damn much. Being in agony completely alone is a truly miserable affair.

I strained my ears toward that voice.

A man was screaming at the top of his lungs, pointing straight at the fairy.

"You damn fly bastard! Put me back where I was right this second! My wife is having a baby!"

"Tsk. There's always someone making a nuisance of themselves. Well, fine. We needed an example anyway."

Wait.

That line sounds awfully familiar.

Fuck.

Ah. You brainless dumbass.

Once again, raw instinct conquered reason. I charged straight at the fairy.

"You motherfucker!"

I cocked back my fist and threw it with everything I had.

Just as my fist was about to hammer down on the fairy's skull—

"Oh? Well, doesn't matter either way. Just die."

Slice.

A sound rang out. A horribly familiar sound. The wet thud I had heard countless times in my nightmares—the sound of a ripe watermelon being cleaved cleanly in two.

Once more.

The sound of me plunging headfirst into the Preta realm.

"Gaaah!"

"A-A person just—"

"Eeeeeeeek!"

Ah.

The world tilted sideways. The angle was entirely familiar. I had always been a crooked, twisted bastard anyway. Crooked and zigzagging. Am I drunk?

I tried to gasp for breath, but with no neck attached, I was simply drowning in open air. Did I used to have gills? Where did they go? Excuse me? Anyone seen my gills?

I lost them.

Lost them lost them lost them lost them.

Lost...

Them...

All...

...

Kill.

My brain had ceased functioning, yet my thoughts soldiered on.

Kill her.

I had lived my entire life shrouded in darkness. Whenever I finally emerged from those long, suffocating tunnels, someone was always bleeding. I despised myself for it. I never wanted to hurt a single soul.

Tear her apart.

Now, things were different.

For the first time since contracting this disease... I embraced the very impulses I had loathed so bitterly. Violence. Rage. Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Pure impulse.

I want to kill.

A searing, all-consuming murderous intent.

That goddamn fly bastard—I want to slaughter her!

I want to chew her to pieces. Just like I gnawed on my own tongue, just like I popped out my own eye and swallowed it, just like I smashed my skull against the stone wall... I want to slaughter that little bitch, rip her apart, chew, taste, savor, and swallow her down whole.

Ah. Breath returned.

A chime echoed. Ding—a cheerful, blithe little tone that dragged out a hollow scoff.

Hahaha! Re! Sur! Rec! Tion!

Wow! Died twice in the tutorial already! How wonderfully pathetic!

"You... little... bitch..."

Fairy bastard, I will kill you. I will definitely kill you. Even if it takes countless attempts, I will tear you apart. Kill you.

I'll slam my skull against you as many times as it takes.

"Ptui!"

I spat the mashed remains of the tongue I had been chewing onto the floor.

"Aung-ae-ang."

Oh, right. Chewed off my tongue, so my pronunciation is completely fucked.

Status Window!

"Oho!"

A new skill unlocked.

No wonder my tongue sheared apart so easily earlier. It wasn't that my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tongue had gotten softer after all.

"Motherfucker."

Wondering if I could punch a hole through the wall with my enhanced chompers, I headbutted the stone surface with my front incisors. Without a shred of suspense, my teeth shattered into powdery dust.

Fine. Whatever, didn't really expect it to work anyway.

I gathered the chipped and dislodged tooth shards from the floor and piled them neatly in one corner. I'll use these to decorate Wilson later. Wait, didn't Wilson ascend into heaven wrapped in holy white light? Relax, he respawned literally seconds ago.

Behold Wilson No. 2, currently rolling across the stone floor. Must be the youth, but his skin is still tight and supple. Ah, No. 1 had glory days like that too... sob. Curse you, relentless march of time.

My tongue and teeth sprouted back into place. Feeling a bit peckish, I popped out an eyeball for a quick snack and resolved my thoughts.

The Tutorial? Fine. I'll play your fucking game.

My tutorial objective was officially decided.

Kill the Tutorial Fairy.

That was the tutorial trial I assigned to myself in this death game.

Alright. Let's see who breaks first.