Whoever Now Walks toward Me

Attack

Amid the rustling of leaves, I heard him ask, “What did she say to you?”

She said a lot. The thing I care most about is that she said Helen died because of me. But would he tell me the truth? No. He’s not trustworthy. Maybe she isn’t either. None of them are. So where should I look for the truth and answers?

Or… should I just give up and ignore whatever anyone says—

“Whatever she said, don’t pay it any mind,” he said.

My eyes widened slightly.

But it seemed like a coincidence. He didn’t realize he had just synchronized with my thoughts. He continued, “If you weren’t here, she would have bonded with me. She doesn’t like you, so she’ll make fun of you.”

No, it’s not that she doesn’t like me and wants to make fun of me; she wants me dead. She bullied me. Helen always told me if someone was bullying me or making me uncomfortable when I was in school, I could tell her, and she would help me.

I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to ask him for help.

“Is there a big difference between 99% and 100%?” I asked.

“It’s not just a big difference,” he said. “It’s a completely different thing. Only you are my guide. The others are just something I have to endure.”

Chilling.

I disliked that “Eve” from earlier. She was full of malice toward me, but her loyalty, obedience, devotion, love, and enthusiasm for him—I saw it all clearly. Yet, to him, it was just something he had to endure.

Inhuman. A beast.

“You were too tense earlier. That was my fault for not warning you,” he said. “Are you feeling better now? Can we try again?”

Try… again? I was stunned. Did he mean that just now—that painful experience—was an attempt to bond?

“If we don’t succeed on our own within a week,” he said, “we’ll have to use medication. Believe me, you won’t like that. It’s very restrictive and will only make you want to kill, not bond.”

I stared at him as he spoke so persuasively.

“Although, I know,” he continued, “you might be satisfied with the drug’s effect that provokes aggression toward me. But if I lose control under its influence, you’ll die—so why not try a different approach first? Bond with me. Our bond will make you stronger, allowing you to unleash your full potential. You’ll become S-rank, I’m not lying. Then your attacks will actually work against me, right?”

For years, I was repeatedly told I was paranoid, schizophrenic, and a lunatic. Now, looking at him, I realized I was nowhere near as insane as he was.

Why? Because he believes that bonding with the guide with the highest compatibility will make him stronger?

No, that’s not it.

He walked over. He released his jellyfish. He gazed at me, his desire raw and open. Desire for me. Was it physical attraction? No.

He sat beside me. He held my head and kissed me. Bonding doesn’t require a kiss. Bonding requires relaxation, acceptance, exposing oneself, and accommodating the other. The first step is to set the atmosphere; the second is to release the mental tendrils. As much physical contact as possible, hugging, but no kissing.

“This time, you go first,” he whispered.

He opened himself to me. He was more cooperative than any sentinel I had ever guided. But he also terrified me more than any sentinel I had encountered. The jellyfish floated around us, its tentacles and ribbon-like tendrils stretching out. “He” longed to grab “me,” to devour “me.” “He” longed never to be separated from me again.

I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and tried to relax. I extended my tendrils. I wanted to know why.

So dark, so cold. A mental strength that is too vast, perception too sharp, and too much negative emotion accumulated. He had just been guided, yet it was still so terrifying. I was gripped by an icy sadness. Loss. Love. Loss of love.

I thought of my own loss. I thought of Helen.

It was as if I had been stung, and I pulled away from him in pain, collapsing onto the floor.

He remained motionless. I felt the jellyfish’s tendrils brush against my cheek, wrapping around my neck.

In that instant, I “saw” a crystal-clear truth: he knew Helen, and he hated her.

“Why?” he asked as well. He grabbed the hand I was desperately reaching toward the sofa.

So much pain. He shamelessly left his emotions intertwined with mine. I hate Helen—I don’t hate Helen! I love Helen!—I hate Helen!

“Get out!”

I hate you.

Tears streamed down my face. I saw him pull something from under the coffee table. He was assembling it. He stood up, holding a handgun, pointing it at me.

He pulled the trigger. Bang—bang—bang—bullets hit my long hair spread across the floor. Then he disassembled the gun again and put it back. He also withdrew his spirit ananianimal.

“What do you like to eat?” He looked down at me on the floor and asked, “I only eat nutrient solution. I can order something for you.”

*