Confession can mean many things.
Though the act of revealing something long hidden may be similar across situations, most people, upon hearing the word confession, think first of the whispers of love.
Setting aside the fact that confessions, outside of certain plausible scenarios, are often more about confirmation than anything else, Lime couldn’t help feeling flustered as soft hands reached out and firmly grasped her, claiming there was something that needed to be said in the strange atmosphere.
A sudden confession?
Lime cautiously glanced up at Lee Yoo-jin. Though the girl’s gaze appeared to drift somewhere beyond Lime’s presence, her cheeks bore a distinct crimson hue, as though bracing herself to share something deeply embarrassing.
At that moment, a bolt of realization struck Lime.
For an inexplicable reason, Lee Yoo-jin had fallen from above. It was Lime herself who had caught her softly enough to prevent serious harm.
Surely not…
Could she possibly be about to confess her feelings? Was it the aftermath of nearly dying that had stirred up such emotions?
Lime pondered this scenario, finding it oddly plausible.
She hypothesized that this could be a result of the “swinging bridge effect.” This wasn’t just a swinging bridge, though—it was akin to a bungee jump without ropes. The adrenaline surge Lime must’ve experienced would’ve dwarfed anything typical of the swinging-bridge phenomenon.
Thus, it didn’t seem entirely absurd to think Yoo-jin might have developed feelings akin to romantic attraction.
Even if Yoo-jin couldn’t see Lime’s appearance directly, the texture of Jelly in her grasp made it impossible for her to remain clueless about Lime’s existence.
Ah, this is awkward.
Embarrassed by her own assumptions, Lime began nervously fidgeting with the Jelly she held. It had been so long since someone had confessed to her—so long, in fact, that the memory was faint and distant.
What do I say? Ah… I can’t even reply. Is this what it’s like to receive a confession you cannot turn down? Wow, this is more complex than I thought—
But Lime’s musings didn’t last long.
“In fact… the ones up there and I, we’ve come to take you with us. You might know about the Call of Twilight… Are you hearing all this clearly? And that thing beside you—is it really there?”
Hearing these words from Yoo-jin, Lime froze.
Slowly digesting the meaning of Yoo-jin’s statement, Lime realized just how ridiculous her earlier thoughts had been, and a wave of shame washed over her.
So I must’ve been delirious for a moment. Yes, it must’ve been the fall messing with my head.
Clearing her throat,
Whoa… this is embarrassing.
Nonetheless, Lime felt relieved internally. If she had retained the ability to speak and voice such absurdities, she might’ve awkwardly proclaimed, “Confession… awkward,” while laughing.
Still, she couldn’t help but think that perhaps those giggles might have served her here.
After all, the look on Yoo-jin’s face as she began to reveal secrets from her heart, even despite Lime’s obscured presence, was hardly encouraging.
In any case,
After hearing Yoo-jin’s statement, Lime took a moment to ponder.
Suspicious characters, indeed. I suspected as much.
Setting aside the one incident where they handed her a roasted sweet potato, every interaction with them had left Lime in less-than-ideal circumstances.
Park Jin-soo had somehow stolen her deductions, and as for Lee Sang-yong…
It was a memory Lime didn’t wish to revisit.
The most shocking revelation, though, was that Lee Yoo-jin, someone who had always been moderately kind (?) toward Lime, was also a member of the Call of Twilight.
Lime, who harbored no affection for that decidedly middle-school-disease-smelling organization, now saw all of their intentions crumble to dust with this revelation.
Unless, of course, there was no other way.
Still reeling from the late realization that Yoo-jin was part of that group, Lime trembled with Jelly, uncertain of her own emotions.
Was it the feeling of betrayal from someone she’d trusted?
It seemed inappropriate to call it betrayal, given how little time they’d known each other.
And since Lime had somewhat anticipated dubious elements from the onset, it wasn’t exactly a betrayal either.
Then what was this odd feeling?
The question eventually boiled down to one thought:
Why was Yoo-jin suddenly unburdening herself to Lime?
If she had been a mole for the pseudo-middle-school gang all along, why was she confessing now?
Was it some kind of repentance after falling from such a height?
To Lime, it seemed plausible. Surely a fall from such a great height, enough to make one contemplate mortality, would lead to reflections and regrets in those fleeting moments.
Even as Lime congratulated herself on this reasonable deduction, she couldn’t help feeling uneasy.
As Lime’s movements quieted down, Yoo-jin began to feel uneasy too. Though she had exposed her secrets, the uncertainty of what would happen next weighed heavily on her mind.
What if this person just lets me be and leaves me here?
If the tiny singularity beside her was unaware of the group’s nature, it would’ve been a stroke of luck. However, if they were aware…
Lime would surely have a poor impression of them.
Especially when she considered what the others up above had done. No, even Yoo-jin might feel the same.
Which way would it go?
I don’t know.
Though Yoo-jin had been prepared to d*e when she jumped, now that her feet had safely touched the ground, the fear of d*ath slowly crept in. Being alive meant feeling fear.
The darkness shrouding her vision felt like a prophecy of an uncertain future, amplifying her anxiety.
In this deep darkness and fear, Yoo-jin began babbling aimlessly.
“Er, no… It wasn’t like I joined out of any specific purpose. I was forced to…”
Explaining why she joined that shady group.
“By the way, how exactly did you cushion my fall? I have a vague memory, maybe due to the impact…”
Asking about the previous event.
“Foundations or sects, they’re all the same I guess… Maybe it’s humanity itself that’s the problem. Honestly, why even bother…”
She eventually descended into self-pity.
Listening to Yoo-jin’s continuous chatter, Lime thought,
So this person actually talks a lot. She was just holding it in.
Sure is chatty.
Still, in a moment that would’ve otherwise been dull, Lime decided it was a pleasant diversion and quietly listened on.
After all, she couldn’t respond even if she wanted to.
As Yoo-jin kept talking, tension made her forget her initial discomfort and her speech kept flowing.
Had anyone been observing, it would’ve been a comical sight.
Even for Lime, her monologue wasn’t entirely useless. As she listened to Yoo-jin’s story, she recalled a similar memory from when she had briefly been abducted. Could the greedy eyes she had seen then belong to the curator Yoo-jin mentioned?
Upon closer inspection, it seemed likely that Lime’s current condition could be blamed on that very man.
Covering everything in the process, she eventually ended up becoming part of Singularity anyway—if she felt wronged, it was justified.
That being said, this assumption rested on the premise that Lime believed everything Yoo-jin said, which wasn’t entirely unwarranted.
Regardless, Lime found Yoo-jin somewhat trustworthy. She still vividly remembered the way Yoo-jin had acted protectively toward her.
“By the way, it’s incredibly… dark here. I can’t see anything. Can you see me at all?”
Lime was impressed by how long Yoo-jin could keep talking without water. A true talent for parliament, perhaps? She could probably carry a conversation alone for an entire day.
As Lime was distracted with Jelly, humming softly, she suddenly froze.
“Could… could you say something? Am I just talking to some vague softness? Am I alone here in this darkness…?”
Ah.
At last, Lime understood why Yoo-jin had kept talking. She realized Yoo-jin had likely been waiting for her response, or at least some kind of gesture.
Feeling somewhat sheepish for merely enjoying the monologue, yet unable to do anything about it with no restored vocal cords, Lime tried to imagine what speaking might feel like.
Even if my voice were to return, would I even know how to speak?
Ah, whatever.
This wasn’t important right now.
Noticing Yoo-jin’s growing anxiety, Lime gently squeezed her hand.
“Oh, you’re there. And… now that I remember, you can’t speak.”
Hearing Yoo-jin’s relieved voice brought a bit of comfort.
Compassion welled up within Lime as she continued listening to Yoo-jin’s mumbling. Her previous actions added extra points.
Yoo-jin had now voiced her disillusionment with the middle-school disease group, so there was no longer a need for enmity.
With one hand holding the wobbly Daesik and the other grasping Yoo-jin’s, Lime began to move.
“Ah, where are we going? No, anywhere is fine as long as you… don’t let go of my hand.”
Ironically, the situation had reversed from earlier.
Everything comes full circle, huh?
Though Lime wasn’t human anymore, the truth remains.
Spotting what seemed to be a passage in the dim view, Lime guided Yoo-jin towards it.
Hoping to find light at the end of the tunnel.
