Chapter 145 – Trial (3)

An ordinary day. An ordinary routine.

I ate.
I blew up balloons.
We had dinner.
I chose a ring.
We watched TV.
We ate tangerines.

The next day came.

Mom went next door.

The fire started.

Everyone died.

***

Tap. Tap.

“Hey! Punk! Wake up! We gotta do this before Mom’s back!”

Again.

The same day, repeating.

I ate.
I blew up balloons.
We had dinner.
I chose a ring.
We watched TV.
We ate tangerines.

The next day came.

Mom went next door.

The fire started.

Everyone died.

Again.

***

The same day, repeating.

I ate.
I blew up balloons.
We had dinner.
I chose a ring.
We watched TV.
We ate tangerines.

The next day came.

Mom went next door.

The fire started.

Everyone died.

***

I ate.
I blew up balloons.
We had dinner.
I chose a ring.
We watched TV.
We ate tangerines.

The next day came.

Mom went next door.

The fire started.

Everyone died.

***

This time was different.

I left.

After two nights in the cold park, I returned.

They were all dead.

***

I went to the sixth floor. Confiscated the man’s cigarettes. Threw away his ashtray.

This time, an electrical fire.

Everyone died.

***

I removed the neighbor’s fuel cans.

A gas explosion.

Everyone died.

***

I stayed glued to Mom’s side.

The fire started.

Dad came.

He saved me first.

Then…

Everyone died.

***

I pressed the fire alarm.

It was broken.

The fire started.

Everyone died.

***

I doused myself in water and ran next door. Found Mom unconscious. Tried to drag her out.

Her charred arms crumbled.

Dad arrived.

He saved me first.

Then went back for Mom, still alive.

Everyone died.

***

I begged Dad not to go to work, clinging to him, sobbing.

The emergency call came.

I tried to stop him again. He yelled.

He left.

The fire started.

Everyone died.

***

The fire started.

We died.

***

Burning people smell like grilled fish.

Is it the fat?

Strange.

***

Sparks from a short circuit don’t kill.

Muscles contract, but that’s it.

But fire spreads.

On dry clothes.
On oil.
On Grandma.

On Mom.

***

Fire extinguishers expire. Old ones don’t work. They need replacing.

Where do you even get new ones?

***

There are liquid fire extinguishers. You throw them, they explode, putting out the flames.

Like a bucket of water against a raging ocean.

Eighteen barrels of burning oil. Impossible.

***

I heard Mom scream. For the first time. She screamed when the fire reached me. Even though she was already burning.

Why was my pain hers?

I don’t know.

***

Bones don’t burn easily. Thin ones disintegrate, but thick ones remain. But they crumble if you press them.

Hard to sift through the ashes. What’s left…

…fits in a smaller urn.

Just like before.

Mom’s was barely half full.

***

I didn’t sleep. Didn’t lose consciousness. I made it to the day after. The day I remembered.

Dad’s family came. His relatives.

They talked quietly about the insurance, the pension, clicking their tongues about how difficult it would be to access Mom’s insurance.

They offered me comforting words, empty platitudes.

They pointed out my burned eyes, my melted fingers—three on one hand, the deaf ear, the shattered knee, the severed nerve.

They argued over who would take me in.

I wanted to die.

But I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t die.

I’d wait until my arms healed. Then, I’d die.

***

Suddenly, the first day again.

An ordinary day. An ordinary routine.

I ate.
I blew up balloons.
We had dinner.
I chose a ring.
We watched TV.
We ate tangerines.

The next day came.

Mom went next door.

The fire started.

Everyone died.

Tears streamed down my face, an endless torrent.

Then, abruptly, they stopped. No more tears left to cry.

***

The first day again.

I decided to relive the past exactly.

I ignored Dad, feigning sleep.

No balloons.
No family dinner.
No ring.

The next day came.

I didn’t help Mom.

The fire started.

I went next door, too late.

Grandma was thrashing, then the bookshelf fell, crushing her.

Ignoring the screams, I opened the bedroom door.

Mom was conscious. Fresh burns layered over old scars. Blisters, oozing. But she held back her cries, worried about me. Her voice, gentle, urging me to leave.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled.

Crunch. Glass embedded in her flesh. She whimpered. I couldn’t lift her. No strength. I’m sorry, Mom.

Just like before, I dragged her.

Spilled fuel blocked our path. Mom, covered in glass, crawled to me and hugged me tight. It’s okay, she whispered. I love you.

Dad burst in, shielding Mom with his body. He placed a wet towel over my face.

The smell of burning flesh. Liquid dripping. Fragments, ashes, teeth.

But no screams. Just muffled words of comfort, of love, of promises to save me.

Mom’s voice faded. Dad’s grew stronger.

Still no screams.

The fire died. They came.

Then, Dad’s voice stopped.

They pulled me out. My legs were useless.

My mind was gone. Lungs ruined. One eye blind.

Three fingers on my right hand. Four on my left.

Dad’s family. The insurance money. Arguments.

And then…

…the beginning.

***

Death was inevitable.

So I did everything the same.

The fire started.

I went next door.

I pulled at Mom.

She held me.

Warm.

Dad arrived.

He held us both.

Warm.

Mom died first.

The fire died.

Then Dad.

Strange. How did he hold on for so long? What were his last, silent words?

***

I was taken in by a family. Confined to a room. Fed on schedule. Diapers changed regularly.

My body slowly healed. My arms moved again.

The door remained locked.

Phone. Computer.

I turned it on. Logged into Black Sun. Played.

The characters could do what I couldn’t. They weren’t weak like me. They could save people.

Just before the final battle…

***

A peaceful morning. Dad’s voice.

No. No. No. No. No.

Breakfast.

I should have died. They should have lived. Mom. Dad.

Balloons.

Because of me. Because I went back inside.

Dinner with Mom.

If I’d saved her… she’d be alive.

Choosing a ring.

Why am I alive?

The next day.

Why… this pain?

The fire.

Why? What am I doing?

Mom’s charred body. Scattered ashes. The necklace chafing my neck. Dad’s blackened corpse, his thick arms brittle branches, snapping. The silver ring glinting on my finger.

A voice in my ear.

– Open your eyes, Noah.

A voice in my mind.

– Everything is okay.

Pulling me back.

– Trust me. Open your eyes.

I breathed.

Lifted my head.

Opened my eyes.

“…Ah.”

The words, the sentences, the curse that had haunted me…

[The subject is a game character.]

Telling me this wasn’t real.

Tap.

[Noah, you are not a game character.]

Telling me I didn’t belong here.

Tap.

[Remember.]

Telling me not to forget.

[Our precious memories.]

Laughter, happiness.

[The time we spent together.]

Sleeping, sharing heartbeats.

[The promises we made.]

Forever.

[The names of those who love you.]

Shin Eunah. My mother.

Park Haseok. My father.

And…

“…Rubia.”

Tap.

“I’ve finally… found you.”

I turned.

There she stood.

“It’s been so long.”

Shimmering silver hair. Clear blue eyes. A smile like a blooming flower.

“My Noah.”

Rubia. Beautiful, radiant Rubia.