Chapter 88: 88 9

Only on Sunday, Shayyah's treatment changes dramatically.

Shaye, it's breakfast.

I smile and bring a treat into my room that my mother can't eat. It's usually in the diet, a myriad of nasty things and dangerous things that hurt your mouth will never get mixed up just that day.

Sharia is relieved too. Sunday is relieved of all pain.

Shayyah cheeks happily at my mother's treat. My mother is smiling at Shaye like that. I am delighted to see my child eat the dishes he has made that look delicious, that of a normal mother.

"What are we watching today? Movies or cartoons? Or do you have a book you want to read?

While dining with Sharia, my mother, who usually only speaks a nettine voice, inquires in a very gentle and clear voice.

It is decided that only two hours a day can watch TV, but only Sundays are unlimited. When it comes to life entertainment for Shayyah, that's all I have.

I've read some books, but I don't really like them. I mostly end up spending time watching TV with my mother.

Shayyah, who continues to be abused by his mother by the decisions of this world, but it was also the decision of this world that only Sunday would be loved all day.

Only on that day will a treat be prepared and plenty tender. Besides going outside the room, I can do most of the things I want. Most of all, Shayyah has never expressed his great desire to his mother on Sunday.

"Yes, gift of the day"

They give me a bag with a ribbon. Shaye decided that the inner flavor must be clothes. Soon after all, a gift destined to be discarded by his mother on weekdays, determined to be bloody and useless without waiting for the weekend. But Shayyah received with a smile and thanked him.

Shayyah understands that what it means to be so loved only once a week is not to kill your heart completely in despair. While I understand, I am eager for Sunday to come.

I've always wished Sunday would continue, and I've spoken out.

"Hey. I wish I could just be nice all the time."

In doing so, my mother said in a gentle voice as she stroked Shayyah.

"But... I can't. Only Sunday can be kind to Shayyah. That's how it's decided. There's nothing I can do."

What the hell does that mean? I don't understand Shayyah.

You didn't tell me when you asked my mother. However, I could see that my eyes did have a pitiful light in them.

While understanding what Sunday meant, Shayyah was aware of another fact. No matter how many Sunday breaks you prepare to connect Shayyah's heart so that it doesn't break, your heart is slowly breaking down.

I'm starting to feel less and less. It's getting dull. In pain, in pleasure. Even hatred for the world is diminishing.

Sharia had a hunch. Eventually, I guess I won't feel anything. That my heart would die before my body.

"Oh, you've had that cartoon since 9: 00. I totally forgot."

My mother turns on the TV.

The animated show that has been showing since Sunday morning at 9: 00 was what is making such Shaye most obsessed right now.

Shayyah prayed that his heart would not break, at least until he watched this cartoon until its final. The very act of prayer, etc., was the first time I was born. That's how much Shayyah was passionate about the cartoon.

The content of the cartoon itself is a stale substitute. Because of the battles that come and go, a pretty boy is the protagonist, the protagonist has a moderately thick and special power in righteousness, and inexhaustibly a female character comes out next, and for some reason the protagonist is a hottie, a story that fights the bad guys because of the power he has, though I don't know why.

I didn't find the story very interesting, but Shayyah liked the main character boy by the name of Mutsuki so much that he was hooked on the cartoon.

Night. During the hours of intense activity on the back streets, True was walking alone through the downtown area of Euthanasia City's excellent town.

Since I was free, I was on my way to the 'Tasmanian Devil', a bar that is a relaxing place for the residents of the back streets in and around Euthanasia City.

In the street, I felt the obvious killings unleashed against me, and the truth stopped me from walking. Right from the side.

I wonder if you're willing to dong pussy in a place like this. It is basically a taboo, although backstreet protests can occasionally involve the front streets. If we're going to kill each other in a way that involves front street residents in our urine, neither the hub nor the police are silent.

The Lord of Killer seemed to be right behind him. It's called distance from the other person, it's called position, it's called in the street, and if you're willing to attack me right away, the unfavourable conditions are too good. In addition, I can see that you are quite a user.

Patrol for a few moments. I looked back and thought about letting go of the preemptive attack without even considering the place in the public street, but I noticed something strange.

If they are quite a user, would they bother to tell you where they are with this kind of killing spirit? And in places like this, yes.

If you're going to assassinate me in a crowd, it's an impossible imitation. Or are you going to shield passers-by? I can't read one thing about their intentions.

The Lord of Killer is fast paced and fills the distance. Truth is stop walking. Cross your hands in front of your chest and reach for the gun behind your uniform.

"To an unpopular place..."

The killing was inadvertently fogged. At the exact same time, the Lord of Killer was clearly telling the truth. Other passers-by reacted to their voices and looked back, but they thought it had nothing to do with them and they were passing by as they were.

Truly at that point, I confirmed the appearance of the Lord of the Voice. A gang-dressed, full-body, white-knuckled man in a movie: a white softhat, a white three-piece suit, a white long muffler, and a white overcoat.

Then the taller is lower than true, besides the shorter legs, so it just seems funny, but only at a glance at its foot carriage than the rest of us realized that it is once again quite a user.

(The Great Valley hero from the sweeping vacation? You suddenly got a big shot)

I really knew that name. A famous killer. Among the killers of the sweeping vacation, alongside the Good Moon, is a powerful man who is said to be bi-perfect.

(So the sweep vacation is about protecting the Moon?

With a sense of exhilaration, True enters a strange name park called The Forest of the Admiral of Euthanasia with a hero. It is a large park outside the perfect town downtown, a place for citizens to relax with trees, promenades and more. but at night it is also used for backstreet residents' protests.

Walking as if the hero leads and the truth follows it, the two enter the dark woods.

Shields are available, but it's too dark. Space wrapped in black. The white light source of the street lamp is dependable, but it is still very difficult to see who they are. But the conditions are mutual.

"I can't believe you could have killed me on that spot, but you went out of your way to compete squarely."

I had been walking silently for a long time, but predicting that the hero had stopped, I called out from the true.

"It's not like that. Just in case you don't want to get involved."

The hero answers. Truth remains faceless, and I think of myself frowning in the back of my brain.

"Am I conflicted with what you're saying? Mutsuki has killed dozens of people on the street indiscriminately, so my life from the center is the only way to kill them."

"You're sick of him... Seeing a woman your age seems to boil an uncontrollable willingness to kill"

I can easily imagine that the hatred that comes from my former predicament will be the root of that killing impulse.

"Oh, and I want to say no for once"

Still showing no sign of pulling out the gun, says the hero.

"This is only a rampage by my discretion. If you beat me, keep that in mind."

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"Okay. But if I killed you before the Good Moon, wouldn't the sweep vacation itself be silent?

Truth be told, I had that feeling at the time a hero came to kill himself alone. It would be in the form of turning a whole group of top major homicide specialists, even in the back streets, into enemies, not just killing each other with True and Rapprochement Moon, but sweeping vacations.

A hero takes an outlet. Then keep each other facing each other, and be silent.

Both sides, don't try to move. But it's already started. In their heads, they make predictions of the other person's behavior at dizzying speeds, and they also make predictions of their own behavior to go with it.

Hundred battles smelled - each other recognized each other that way and were surrounded by comfortable tension. It was also understood that the person in front of me had come quite a long way through the training ground and was standing like this to this day.

We'll be bumping into each other's killing moves and industries by then, all of them now. There's never been a more exciting moment.

It was the hero who moved first. The comma moves true a few seconds late.

Heroes have stepped twice to the left before shooting twice.

Truth is, he moves one step to the right, pulls himself back, and fires two shots. Mutual aim goes off a lot.

The hero jumps big in the rear, lowers his posture like a true and shoots one shot. Truth is, I don't respond with a shooting, I just take steps in small pieces about three times to the left.

and there the true forward glowed greatly. It's a backlit streetlight that went out until then.

(Is that what you mean)

So I realized the truth about my situation. This can't be a coincidence. Obviously it's set up. From the outset, the hero guided the truth to an unfavourable position with a backlight.

While shooting in the back streets is fundamental to predicting the feint's multiplication and the opponent's behavior while constantly moving, this backlight is effective in making the opponent's movement difficult to see accurately.

Bad vision for true, works in favor of heroes. Even though he says he's the one standing on his arm, the interests of the earth are also taken by the other side, and the fear of death runs around scared of his true whole body.

(I can't wait to... this feeling)

Something cold that comes from the fear of death running from the neck muscle to the back. While I diligently enjoyed the general furrowing of my body and the likelihood of trembling, I truly remembered joy for the fear that came from within me.

I can't wait to be able to kill someone who has given me a strong fear for a long time. A grin spills on the true face, which is rarely capable of giving an expression.

It's fun because there's fear. There's no better comfort than the death fight that put each other's lives on the line. Kill him or he'll kill you. We do everything in our power to each other - hit everything in our lives and kill each other to put their lives to rest. Because of this, I can't really get away from this world.

Speed is almost mutual. The shape is also small for each other's small size. In the public, a man and a little one are told like a bad thing or a complex, which is not a very good impression, but in this world, in shootouts, it is advantageous to be short and small.

(It will only be detrimental to me in the long run. Let's come with enough intentions to decide in the next shot)

A true view of a hero lurking in the shade of a tree, dressed so callously that he has a chest on the ground, illuminated by a backlight.

Prefetching and shooting your opponent's movements is fundamental to a backstreet shootout. Moving around violently, I can't get the exact shooting I want at my enemies. No matter how good the user is, the aim goes crazy. If the opponent is moving violently, it's even worse.

But it was really possible. Extraordinary motor vision, the skills acquired in daily workouts, make it possible, no matter how intense the movement, to fix it precisely, without bracing only the hand holding the gun at all. I don't even brace guns at all the moment I shoot them. Only at that moment can it be completely fixed, as if it had frozen time.

Prepend the opponent's movements and also read the timing to the space where the opponent's steeple crosses.

(Right of the reflex, one for the body -)

Heroes calculate that the light of street lights is an unfavourable element for true. It's hard to imagine making a move to hide it with your own body.

True put it within the realm of calculation to predict the hero's movements, and as he ran around, precisely aligned timing and aiming in his head.

As soon as the hero moved according to true predictions and tried to cross the space that had been aimed in his head in advance, a single bullet that had been shot was piercing the bulletproof fiber of the hero's clothing, meat, and built-in.

On the falling edge, the hero was dropping his gun.

It is clear that it is fatal. My consciousness dimmed for a moment, but when I realized it, I was lying on my back and looking at the night sky.

"Beautiful night."

I inadvertently grumble about things that are puffy and out of place. A line that surprised me myself had naturally come out of the mouth of a hero.

I perceive the truth walking by in footsteps.

"Oh, I don't want to be stuck...... As long as there is life, I want to taste life. Including this pain and pain..."

While realizing the inescapable death, the unprecedented fear of death and obsession with life dominated the hero.

But I have no regrets. My heart is full.

"You'll still have time to die, and until then, can you be the chatter guy?

"It was seriously horrible. You were strong. Haven't had fun in a while."

In response to the words of a hero, the truth speaks with praise without placing his hair behind him.

"Still, we lost. We're not gonna talk about it."

A hero who laughs bitterly and then vomits blood.

"Well... he died after the battle... satisfied"

"Are you satisfied with that way of dying?

It's not an affront, it's not the usual pale talk, but an emotionally soft tone to ask. As the same killer, I had true respect.

"A nihil guy like that doesn't live very long"

"Sure... right. You're right... it's happened."

To the true word, a hero who spills a second bitter laugh.

"I'm sorry. No one will beat you, no one will kill you, and at the end of the day you will decorate the tatami."

In a tone that I don't think is a joke, a hero has true black eyes peeking into his little eyes. In the black eyes resides the light of tough will. In this world, and is it the word of those who make killing and so forth their business? No, the hero was convinced that it might be this result because it was serious.

"I wonder if Mutsuki... can do anything about it... Too bad I couldn't help him."

While I feel my consciousness fade, I still want to be in conversation with the person who killed me until the end of the day, and the hero keeps talking.

"I wanted to do something about his... seizures, too. But not me... I couldn't. I wanted to save him... in any way."

My voice is already plundering. I also truly found myself trying to force it to tell you something.

"If you see him... tell him... give me... I will..."

In the middle of the word, the vibrancy that remained of the hero was completely lost.

"If there's anything you want to tell me, have more guts, say it till the end, and then die."

When he told the remains of the hero, who dyed the white suit in bright red, the truth remained faceless, Kakon closed the eyes of the hero, who remained open.

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