The World's Most Unfortunate Girl
More than yesterday, less than tomorrow.
Zara is the most unfortunate girl in this world.
In the world of the game Endless, this was an absolute truth. No one born into poverty and starving to death could be more unfortunate than Zara. No grief from losing a loved one could compare to hers. It might sound a bit strange...
But "misfortune," in the end, can only be measured against one's own "happiness." The hunger of someone born poor is less tragic than that of someone born wealthy who loses everything and ends up on the streets. Misfortune is the absence of happiness—and only those who have truly known happiness can truly know misfortune. The misery of comparing oneself to others pales against the misery of becoming lesser than one's former self.
So.
The statement that Zara was the world's most unfortunate girl meant this:
"Yesterday was a luckier day than today..."
It meant that Zara had once been the happiest girl in the world.
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Zara heard hallucinations every night. They had pulsed alongside her heartbeat since the moment she was born, driving her actions.
— Kill that puppy. Its wagging tail pisses me off.
— You don't deserve to take a life.
— It wasn't my fault. The puppy tried to bite me first.
The name of that hallucination... was Zara.
It wasn't a hallucination. It was simply the thoughts that came to her every moment, every night.
She was born a villain.
"In my childhood, I was such a lucky person... I had a family that took care of me, and warm meals every evening..."
Zara's early years were affluent. She was the kind of girl who fit the phrase "raised in a good home without want."
— Kill that man. He bumped into me and didn't even apologize.
— You weren't watching where you were going.
— Why does that idiot have eyes? Just gouge them out.
— It wasn't my fault.
All that abundance was far too generous for a mere villain. She was born a villain. No excuses like "this poor soul had it rough" were needed. She simply had everything at her fingertips whenever she reached out, and she could destroy anything with a swing of her hand. That was all.
She was lucky.
More than today, yesterday.
Even more the day before.
"That happiness wasn't something I earned. It was just... how I was born. Lucky."
As a child, she thought that happiness was "natural." And then.
The world stole away the happiness she took most for granted.
"When I was little, my mother passed away. I cried my eyes out. I'd thought she'd always be by my side. That day, I first learned her love wasn't a given—that it was luck."
This world has orphans discarded in gutters from birth. People who never knew a mother's love, the warmth of her embrace, the comfort of her scent.
Happiness is never natural. Any happiness is nothing but absurd luck.
"Back then, I thought that happiness was natural."
She slowly recounted how privileged her life had been. How refined her mother was. How kind her father. How cute the dog they raised. How soft the bed, how warm the hearth, how sweet the cake, how gentle the nightgown.
In other words.
This was a list of everything she had "lost."
"The day before yesterday, I thought sleeping under a roof was natural. Only after the planks collapsed did I realize it wasn't."
In that moment when the planks gave way, she cursed the world. She resented their fragility. She pitied her roofless state. Better to die than live like this.
— Just kill that guy and take his house. You can sleep in a warm bed.
— A dump suits you better than a house.
— Trash who can't even stack planks right.
— Why not just bash your head on the planks and die?
She wanted to kill them all. Those lucky bastards living in intact homes. Those affluent fools who never knew dawn's chill.
And the "affluent person" she so desperately wanted to kill... was yesterday's her.
Childhood Zara.
"Who should I have been angry at? The one who dumped the rotten planks? The ants that gnawed them? Myself, for building a shoddy house with them? Should I have resented the world?"
She could have decided to kill the entire world. No—in fact, she thought it every night. Kill the bald man who treated her cruelly, kill the family who resented her for killing him, kill the soldiers who punished her for killing the family, kill the hero who came to deal with her for killing the soldiers.
It would have been as simple as a dream.
But.
She didn't.
She didn't curse the world and try to slaughter everyone.
"If I resent my misfortune and give up on everything... then I'd truly become an unhappy person. I couldn't get any more miserable. Tomorrow's me would be just as unhappy as today's. I wouldn't be able to say 'yesterday was a lucky day' anymore."
She resented the world... but.
The reason today's world pissed her off was definitely different from yesterday's. Today's world was more resentful than yesterday's. Tomorrow's would be even more so, probably.
That fact kept her from resenting the world. Because she knew this misfortune today was luck tomorrow's self couldn't even dream of.
"Isn't it shameful to take unearned happiness for granted but complain about unprovoked misfortune?"
— I resent this world. I hope tomorrow it all ends.
"I'm a shameful person. I always complain."
— I resent people. Kill them all.
"Yesterday's me was even more shameful than today's."
— I resent myself. I wish I'd just die.
Zara's hallucinations and Zara's voice echoed together. As her voice grew louder, the hallucinations faded.
"If this hallucination really is my 'inner self'... then my goal is to shame it."
In time, only one girl's voice echoed through the ruins.
"Today was a lucky day."
That voice carried deep self-loathing.
"Yesterday was luckier than today, and yesterday's me was more shameful than today's."
She didn't love herself. She didn't cry over her own sorrow. She didn't struggle with her own hardships. She didn't resent her own misfortune.
She was twisted. The warmth she showed the world was sustained by cold indifference toward herself.
"Happiness isn't natural. Luck isn't something to expect."
She was a venom born from devouring countless "inner selves." Zara didn't ignore the malice her inner self directed at the world. She simply swallowed it with even greater malice toward herself. Even devouring the Heavenly Murder Star or a demon king's bloodline.
A horrific, deeply rooted darkness.
She had forgotten how to love herself.
"So, I won't be persuaded. Tomorrow's me is going to be a better person than today's. Hehe."
And.
Most unfortunately for her.
The "Gigachad" standing before her.
"Eek?!"
Wasn't some "inner self" at all.
— "Cut the pussy bullshit. Yesterday's me was shameful? Today's misfortune will feel like luck tomorrow? That has jack shit to do with giving your all right now. You're not standing in yesterday or tomorrow. You're standing right here, right now."
"...Yesterday's me and tomorrow's me are both me."
— "Zarappi. Maybe you're right—you might be lucky. Hell, even this moment could be absurd luck. But Zarappi, that doesn't mean you gotta suck up every unfair treatment. Say what you hate is hate, what’s wrong is wrong."
"Staying silent on happiness but yelling about misfortune is cowardly."
— "If this world is so harsh you’re doomed to misfortune from birth, then fight to find happiness within that misfortune."
"That's... impossible."
— "It's a choice, Zarappi. Forget possible or impossible."
What kind of life the girl called Zara had lived didn't matter. The past is a trace, the future a fantasy. All we can touch is this moment now.
— "If you're owed twenty coins but get only eighteen, fight for the full twenty. Getting even one more is a win, and even if you don't, you're no longer the coward who stays silent on injustice. That's what 'becoming a better person' means. Doing what you can. Becoming a self different from the pussy I was."
Zara fell silent.
— "Even if you lose it all tomorrow, today's fight has value in itself."
The hallucinations stopped.
— "Don't seek meaning in yesterday's happiness or tomorrow's misfortune. That's what fucking idiots do. It means jack shit."
Gigachad's voice boomed through the ruins.
— "The meaning of your life? You gotta find it in yourself."
That night was cold and lonely.
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The next day, Zara spent her day as usual—foolishly kind to an absurd degree. She didn't rage at harsh treatment. She didn't vent at injustice. She didn't groan in pain from wounds.
— "Zarappi, you don't have to take that unfair insult lying down. Show that bald bastard the fucking lion inside you."
But one thing had changed.
She started listening a bit more to this bizarre hallucinatory voice.
More than yesterday, less than tomorrow.