Chapter 531

The person who spoke to him was a man dressed in a suit.

The area near the rooftop door was dark, so the exact color of the suit wasn’t clear, but it was surely in a dark tone.

Black? Purple?

“….”

What on earth was that man doing at this hour, in this place?

There was nothing, and no one, only darkness—there was no reason to be here at all.

[Hey, how about sharing your troubles with me?]

The man spoke to him from the shadows.

Spoke.

Was that a sound he heard?

Or was it ringing in his head?

It seemed like it traveled through a walkie-talkie, or maybe the sound was delivered through vibrations—

Or perhaps the meaning of it was just slammed directly into his brain.

There was a peculiar feeling about it.

“I don’t care.”

To shake off that peculiarity, he replied even more curtly.

If it were his usual personality, he wouldn’t have said something like this…but what could he say, he felt like it was okay to act this way towards the man before him.

Maybe it wasn’t just him that he could treat like this.

The overwhelming depression that weighed upon his entire body could be the reason for that.

If anyone passed by—say, a little kid with a bright smile waving ‘Hello!’—he might just respond like that too. Right now, he felt like a drenched, sagging piece of laundry.

If the wind blew or the line snapped—he would fall to the floor and be covered in dirt.

“Why don’t you just mind your own business and go away?”

But was it because a shred of conscience remained?

He even threw a curt warning, telling him to get lost right here.

Ah, then suddenly—maybe it wasn’t just due to a shred of conscience.

What would happen if that man went down below?

If he stepped outside the building, he might crash into him and get seriously hurt, or he might witness the fall directly. Maybe it would leave him with a truly terrible mental illness—his brother, a soldier, might end up traumatized from facing a crazy warrior in clown makeup on the battlefield, and then every time he saw a clown, he’d have a breakdown.

Oh, that could definitely happen.

Maybe he would see it from the window or hear it as a sound.

Thud—splat.

The sound was like a high-quality piece of pork being hurled to the ground, amplified by a hundred. Ah, it might not even be high-quality meat; right now, it could be meat covered in mold. No, it definitely was.

What value could it possibly hold for him?

But no matter what kind of meat it was, hearing such a sound would be horrifying.

It was clear that the meat hadn’t been properly butchered and that bones or entrails were still inside, and the contents would surely splatter everywhere like when a water balloon thrown by a neighbor’s child burst against a wooden utility pole.

Oh, if only it was just regular water, like what kids throw from rooftops, and sometimes a mix of leftover paint from school lessons.

If he fell, he wouldn’t be able to find even that small hope.

Isn’t that just how the human body works?

It wasn’t consideration.

Nor goodwill. Just selfishness.

It was the desire to die quietly.

To have complete control over it at the time of death.

Well, isn’t that not wrong?

When the moment approaches, a calmness settles, and an angel appears to guide him towards the gates of heaven.

Oh, such a perfectly fitting attitude towards death religiously.

So dying in silence shouldn’t be wrong at all.

Should it?

Of course, he might not end up in heaven—

What does it matter?

After all, this is hell.

Ha—ha ha.

[Ha ha ha— interesting words you’ve spoken.]

The man laughed at his words.

And clutched his belly, bending over.

As if he couldn’t endure the hilarity.

Or maybe he was mocking him, pretending to be amused.

No, that was mockery.

He sensed it.

Just like everyone else, he was laughing at the bankrupt man as if he were watching his neighbors on the brink of family disaster because they had no money!

That man was surely mocking him.

And so, he felt an urge to explode in anger at the man.

If it weren’t for the following words from the man, that is.

[Should I jump down like you?]

Jump down like him?

Hearing the man’s words, he suddenly felt clear-headed.

As if someone had turned on a flash in the dark.

As if someone lit a campfire with flint in a dark forest.

And suddenly, everything felt bright.

“What are you? A security guard?”

[Oh, security— not exactly, but not unrelated either.]

As his mind cleared, the man’s figure came into view.

A suit.

In one hand, a glass filled with alcohol.

In the other, a strangely shaped staff.

In any other place.

Had it been on a Broadway stage.

Had it been in a hall bustling with stand-up comedy, that man would have looked like a comedian—or someone aspiring to be one— or perhaps a character in odd clothing, trying to grab the attention of a star.

But being in this place looking like that was certainly strange.

How could someone walk around dressed in such an absurd costume without being a shaman in an outfit that made one’s eyebrows furrow?

Even in a massive mall in America, it would be rare to see someone dressed like that—

Hmm.

Actually, it may be more common than one would think.

That place had many people dressed in truly, truly bizarre outfits.

But still, the fact that he was wearing such an outfit in this place—

And radiating such an odd atmosphere, while speaking in a meaningful way.

That kind of being was obvious.

“Are you a shaman?”

A shaman.

An uncommon sight with fewer numbers, but they certainly made their presence felt. Even in movies or dramas, shaman characters appeared frequently and often came approaching with such meaningful statements.

Of course, it was said that whenever a shaman appeared, the tangled situations untangled easily—‘Is there really much difference between a Chinese character appearing in a mystery novel? Previously, there were many plots where a deity casually appeared to resolve everything. And now, it seems that shaman characters take on that role, too. Creators are said to need to struggle even more instead of using cheats like shamans,’—and were often criticized for it.

But oh, this.

This man before his eyes was real.

Not a character in a movie playing out on the screen of the TV he bought for $300 on Black Friday—not an actor, but a real person.

[Hmm. A shaman. Not exactly, but not unrelated.]

Tap.

The man tapped the floor lightly with his staff.

And then continued to strike the ground like he was drumming, or like someone stabbing his boss’s solar plexus with a knife repeatedly.

As he kept hitting it, he thought maybe the floor would break someday, or perhaps that fat guy from upstairs would yell at him for making too much noise.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tock-tock.

Tock-tock-tock-tock.

But why?

Listening to that sound made him feel oddly drawn in.

His knees trembled, and his legs lost strength—

It felt as if his body was heavy and filled with a sense of relaxation, like after an amazing experience.

Oh.

This feeling was just like when he went to see a heavy metal band in high school, following a friend.

Why was he feeling like this now?

[You know, back in the day, there wasn’t much difference between someone who had fainted and someone who had died. And when fainting got too severe—yeah, we call it a coma now. A person in that state was treated as if they were pretty much dead. Of course, it seems this still holds true today.]

He couldn’t take his eyes off the staff that the man kept tapping.

For some reason, seeing that long and thick thing evoked a strange feeling— a feeling—

[But that doesn’t mean I’m saying I would make you into such a state. I’m related to death, but I’m not the one who makes and controls zombies. That’s something for other Loa—or maybe those shamans with different sexual preferences, don’t you think? So what I’m trying to say is… Well.]

Tock.

Whirring!

[Have you ever lost your mind over a massive object?]

Splat!

*

The next day.

When morning broke, a man was found collapsed outside the building.

People thought someone jumped down again and were about to pass it off, but then they noticed he was still breathing. They simply called 911.

Once the man was transported to the hospital, his memories were hazy for several days, and a wound was discovered on his occipital region.

Since neither his wallet nor valuables were stolen, it was presumed that he simply slipped and fainted after banging his head somewhere.

The man ended up receiving just simple treatment and returned home.

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