Tristan felt the urgent desire to throw up whatever was inside his stomach. He had not eaten that much yet, but witnessing (though he had not fully witnessed it as it was, for he had just heard it) what happened to the woman on the other side of the door is something that makes him throw up.
He failed to save another man’s life once again. If only he is much more better, if only he pushed the door much more harder, he could have saved that woman from the sure death. He could have grabbed her away from the monster who have—in whatever way it was—killed her. It twists his stomach to know that he could have helped her, but he could not. He did not. There is someone who have died just because he was a little clumsier of saving her. Someone’s life was wasted because he was weak.
It shouldn’
