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Sitting on a rooftop alone when I could be surrounded by (mostly) supportive people feels a little silly. I know it's not their fault, but just being around them makes me jealous. I was angry, then jealous and now just sad.
It's a problem between myself and the universe, no need to avoid them. My feet hang off the side of the ledge as I look down at the NPC's walking through the streets. I feel like jumping again, all my attempts to run from my problems falling back on themselves.
I don't have actual potential here. I'm just a laughing stock for god to watch while the heroes save the day... just like the last world.
My greatest fear is being left behind, so to be put second by the literal universe hurts me. I should probably get therapy if I think that the universe is literally out to get me. I can see sword grandpa standing on the ledge next to me, his hands behind his back.
"Got anything to say or are you just going to stand there?" I ask, looking over at him. If he wants to speak, now's the time.
"Jump."
Whoa, Calm down there, bud. I was expecting reassurance or advice, but damn! This guy is way more cold hearted than I thought. Maybe I was right to judge him by his first impression. I lean back slightly, looking at the sky.
I'm the most defeated I've been since the start of my second life, like I remembered that problems still exist in a fantasy world. Escapism dreams are collapsing in on me and it's my fault.
"What's up with you? Ever since you first started showing up outside of the rain, you've been super mean."
He shrugs, looking back at the horizon. Gee, what a great answer, geezer. Very helpful, the advice is very human. He crouches down, getting eye level with me.
"I stopped putting up a pretense when I realized you weren't prophesied. At best, you're just a rusty tool," He states, looking directly in my eyes. "You're just another vessel to me. There's nothing special about you."
"If you didn't show me that combat art, I would've already thrown this sword into the trash," I respond, attempting to push his ephemeral figure. He transports his figure away before I can push him since I didn't have the element of surprise this time.
"You would've joined me shortly after. You're nothing without the art I taught you."
"I don't even use your shitty sword art. It's just flashy for the sake of flashy," I remark, standing up and pointing at him. I'm fed up with this old dude right now. "In no actual battle are you going to utilize a full combo string like that! The move set is so incredibly stale and slow that you become a no-trick pony!"
"Don't judge my skills when you lack experience, boy. You aren't the sword master here," He rebukes, crossing his arms like he did something. "You wield my blade and are guided by my spirit. You are in debt to me."
"Well I'm not the one who's been trapped in a sword long enough to be forgotten either, now am I?" I bite back, taking a step towards him. I'm fed-up with all of this talk about worth and destiny and a prophecy. "You're not a master! You're a washed-up has-been stuck in a second-rate blade!"
He appears genuinely hurt, but I think he deserves it here. He told me to jump without hesitation. Before either of us can interrupt each other again, I hear footsteps land on the roof.
I look to my right and spot the cause of the noise, Patricia Exors. In a normal situation, I would run to avoid conflict, but I feel so defeated right now. I must look insane right now, just yelling at what appears to others as thin air. It must look like I'm about to kill myself.
"Wait! You don't have to run this time!" She shouts it anyways, despite the fact that I'm clearly not running. "I know you aren't mindless or evil like Jerard said!"
"Gee, what gave it away?" I ask, crossing my arms.
To know that the dungeon de-humanizes us to the only people that can see us is demoralizing. Anyone from the outside just looks like a swirling mass of black mana, inhuman and scary.
She looks surprised that her shouting actually worked in preventing me from running. She puts her hands up as if she's calming an animal... it's patronizing. Still, to get this much respect when seeing what the dungeon makes me look like is... refreshing.
"Can... can we talk?" She asks, taking a small step closer.
"About what?" I ask, crouching down on the ledge and looking at her across the roof.
"Well... why are you and the other... people here?" She starts, taking yet another step forward. I didn't expect diplomacy from her considering how excited she'd get while chasing me.
"We were sent here through a dungeon..." I speak the words, but they jumble the moment I talk. It's gibberish, the lot of it. I sigh for a moment before looking back up. "I can't tell you. There's some kind of restriction placed on us."
"By who?" She continues, wanting to get as much info as possible. I'm not a big fan of these questions thus far, but it's better than being attacked.
"I don't know," This time, the words come out clearly. The censorship is kinda weird, honestly. "There's something we have to do here to leave... something ambiguous."
"Does it involve hurting people?" She questions, taking another step forward. Before I realized it, she was already right next to me.
"No... or at least, I hope not," I respond, sitting on the ledge and tucking in my legs. I'm just a ball of emotion right now. "I don't like hurting people... it makes me feel bad."
She nods, sitting next to me. Why am I letting a potential enemy this close? Am I really that defeated right now? The self-pity rolls in by waves. Falling backwards and off this building is getting tempting.
"That's good... you're a good person," She sounds more certain of that then I am, honestly. I feel her hand pat my back, like a long-time friend. "I think it's very commendable of you to dislike violence when you're surrounded by it... especially after seeing that other girl. May you tell me your name?"
"My name is..." I ponder for a second on which name to respond with, my original name or my new name. I've stopped differentiating between them long ago, now belonging to neither of the names. Neither of them have been actually me for... a while. "I don't really know at this point... you can call me Arthur, I guess."
She nods, patting my back once again. I can't tell if it's just pity or something rather than actual care, but the thought that it's all just out of pity scares me.
"We'll go with Art, then," She responds, giving me a nice little nickname. "Sometimes good people get put in bad situations for the people they care about. Sometimes the world feels unfair, and we get overwhelmed with this... this hate inside us. We feel broken and destroyed, but there's more than that."
"I get that, it's just... it's hard being alive. Being dead always seemed so much easier..." I mutter, looking at the ground. I feel her lean against my shoulder slightly, patting my back again. "So much less painful than all of this..."
"I understand... but an easy way out isn't a way that you should go, Art. I believe that you can get through whatever's troubling you if you keep pushing. Don't listen to whatever anyone tells you. The only person who determines how happy you are is you."
I lean against her slightly, looking at the sky. Is this what therapy is like? I never got the chance to actually talk about how bad I felt until now, but it's... nice.
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