Ch.2222. Farewell.

# 22. Farewell

Food that could last a month if rationed carefully.

Water boiled from clean snow and stored in several thermos bottles.

And warm shoes and clothes to endure the brutal cold.

“Hmm… I think I’ve packed everything I need.”

It had been just over a week since I arrived at the train station, and during that time, I had prepared to leave the city every single day without fail.

Whenever there was enough dim light filtering through to see without a flashlight, I would wander around the train station looking for useful items.

Then when night fell and it became so dark I couldn’t see an inch in front of me, I would return to the management office, take everything out of my bag.

And repeatedly reorganize to fit as many of the items I’d collected throughout the day as possible.

[If you can only move when the weather clears anyway, couldn’t you rest a little in the meantime?]

[Haven’t you already collected enough food? Even if you gather more, it’ll be too heavy to carry.]

Perhaps people found it strange that I kept moving without resting for even a single day or moment.

Whenever I was busy searching through my bag or moving things around, messages like these would occasionally come through, expressing their inability to understand me.

[She hasn’t taken a single day off since starting the broadcast, so I think she should rest a bit before heading outside.]

“You’re right. If resources were scarce, it would be different, but when supplies are plentiful like now… I don’t necessarily need to be running around this diligently.”

Their concerns weren’t wrong.

I was fortunate enough to be experiencing an unprecedented period of abundance thanks to the superstore being close to the train station.

I, who always had to count the remaining cans whenever hunger forced me to open one, could now eat without worry whenever I felt hungry.

And for the first time, I who used to wander the streets every night looking for even slightly warmer places to sleep, had a comfortable shelter.

In this situation, there was no need to strain my legs unnecessarily.

My bag was already full, and most new items I collected would have to be left outside anyway.

As I mentioned, I already had all the basic necessities for survival, so even spending all day searching wouldn’t yield much more to pack.

Logically, when conditions were this good, I should have been enjoying the rest I normally couldn’t afford and replenishing my strength for the journey across the snowfield.

But.

“I guess it’s habit… or maybe inertia. It’s not so easy to stop doing something that’s become second nature.”

Intellectually, I knew I could just sit still. Yet I found it impossible to sit and rest.

Even when I was lying back in a reclined chair enjoying a break, as soon as I saw darkness lifting from the city and buildings, my body would move as if possessed.

If I tried to suppress that impulse, an inexplicable anxiety would rise from deep within me, and though my body might be comfortable, my mind would become so distressed I couldn’t bear it.

“…It’s been several weeks since we started talking through this drone, right? And thankfully, during these weeks, I haven’t gone to bed hungry or shivering from cold. My bag always had extra food, and there was always a warm place nearby, even if it was a bit dirty.”

I once told the drone, with a smile, that my mood generally corresponded to how heavy my bag was and how much food was inside it.

I was in such a good mood then that I said it with a chuckle, so it might have sounded like a joke to those listening.

But… it wasn’t a joke at all.

“You know, being hungry with nothing to eat is really… really scary and painful. Of course, this might sound unfamiliar to you living in abundant environments, so you might not be able to empathize with what I’m saying.”

A hungry stomach moves beyond emptiness to pain, and the muscles supporting your body lose strength until you can barely walk with an empty bag.

As you approach your limit, your consciousness becomes unstable, your memory and vision repeatedly cut out and return, and the next moment after you think you’ve taken just one step, you find yourself collapsed on the ground.

Thinking you’ll surely die this way, you try putting anything—snow, paper, whatever—into your mouth, but that won’t bring strength back to your body.

“…Remember when I told you that after I first fell into this world alone, I shut myself away for a while, just hoping to wake up from this nightmare? This is from that time—I really thought I was going to die.”

How desperate I felt when I found the shelves completely empty at the convenience store I had struggled to reach, falling down repeatedly, thinking there would at least be something to eat there.

If I hadn’t miraculously found a can that someone had been clutching tightly in an alley near the convenience store, I would no longer be in this world.

“If I remember correctly, that can was ‘silkworm pupae’? It looked like some bizarre cockroach colony, but at the time it tasted like the most delicious food in the world.”

…Though now, if I tried to eat it, the moment I opened the lid, that shocking appearance would make me gag despite its nutty flavor.

“Anyway, after nearly starving to death, I realized something. Ah. If I want to survive even a little longer, I can’t just stay still. I need to move while the world is bright and I have strength in my body.”

A person’s way of thinking and behavior are heavily influenced by the environment they were born and raised in.

Of course, I wasn’t born in this world, but… since I had a new body and had to learn new knowledge in a completely different environment, couldn’t it be said that I was born again?

“And I’ve mentioned occasionally, haven’t I? Living in this world, I often doubt whether I’m really alive or if I’ve already entered the afterlife.”

Perhaps because it’s such a quiet world, when I lie still in a small room doing nothing, those thoughts intensify.

I’ve even bitten my nails until they bled or scratched my frozen, numb feet until I felt pain, just to get proof that I was alive.

“When I’m focused on something like fixing the drone or drawing maps, it’s somewhat better… but right now, there’s really nothing to do until the weather clears, right? That’s why I’m like this.”

My personality and behavior are clearly flawed.

But I hope you can understand a little… that in a broken world, this was the only way I could survive.

“Ugh, talking about my flaws is really difficult… and embarrassing.”

I got into a flow and kept talking, but now that I’ve finished, I suddenly feel embarrassed. I shouldn’t have said anything. What if they think I’m strange?

Well, I am strange in many ways… but I hope they don’t think I’m a bad person or someone they wouldn’t want to be around.

Fanning my flushed face, I look at the drone hovering right next to me.

Unlike human pupils, no gaze or emotion can be felt from the lens.

Yet strangely, when the drone is nearby, it feels like a real person is beside me, making me say all sorts of things without realizing it.

…They didn’t inject some kind of truth serum while I was sleeping, did they?

“Still—it’s nice that there haven’t been any painful or sad things since I met you all.”

Come to think of it, everything has gone smoothly since I met the drone.

I’ve never run short on food, nor have I wandered aimlessly without a destination.

“I haven’t always lived a life of scarcity, but this is the first time I’ve experienced such an extended period of comfort.”

[Really?]

“Oh, a new message… it’s like it continues right from what I was saying.”

Truly, when messages come like this, I can’t tell which of my comments from yesterday they’re responding to.

It must be coincidence, but the timing is impeccable, I think with a chuckle.

“Hah. Saying all this good fortune is thanks to you all… would that be exaggerating a bit?”

The reason I can wander around this train station alone without feeling lonely, the reason I can smile—it’s all thanks to the drone and the people behind it.

If the day comes when I actually meet these people.

I’ll have to tell them thank you.

Thank you for making me smile.

Thank you for giving me hope.

“Alright everyone. Finally, the day we’ve been waiting for—and waiting for—has arrived.”

Several days later, in the morning.

The snow that seemed like it would never end had stopped.

A brilliant blue that looked like it might disappear at any moment colored the horizon.

“How strange that the world that usually feels so gloomy can look so peaceful and beautiful just because the weather has cleared. Isn’t that fascinating?”

I can almost hear the sweet chirping of birds, the conversations of people enjoying the outdoors, and the honking of cars stuck on roads blocked by accumulated snow.

“When setting off on a journey, this is exactly the kind of weather you want. A day so bright it naturally brings a smile to your face.”

Giggling at the drone about how the long wait was worth it, I quickly returned to the management office where I had been staying.

“Thank you for providing warm nights all this time.”

I put on my bag, which I had packed every night so I could leave as soon as the weather cleared.

I say goodbye to the desk and chair I had grown somewhat attached to.

“We probably won’t meet again, but I hope you fare well.”

Every object and place in the world changes its form moment by moment, influenced by the passage of time and the touch of people who pass through.

But in this city, the people who should drive change have disappeared, leaving only what seems like an eternal winter.

After I, the last visitor, leave, it will maintain its current appearance until the buildings collapse with time, barring any special circumstances.

“This is a gift. I don’t usually do this kind of thing, but since we’re saying goodbye and I’ve been in your care for several days… I’ll leave it here like this.”

I took out a piece of paper, wrote several words on it, and placed it on the empty desk.

“Since this is a warm place where not even a breeze enters when the door is closed, it should remain here even without being taped down.”

If for some reason the paper leaves the desk one day.

That would be fine too, in its own way.

“Well! Now it’s really time to depart!”

.

.

.

The train station, which had briefly found some vitality thanks to the wanderer who visited after a very long time, fell into eternal sleep as she set off toward the next city.

The place where the wanderer had stayed—someone who walked her own path free from all entanglements—looked almost exactly the same as before she arrived.

The only difference was a single piece of paper left on the grayish-white desk.

[May you remember that we were here, as we will remember too.]

The words and memories left by the wanderer, who knew this might be her last visit, would.

As she said when leaving, remain forever in frozen time.