"Even if the probability was minimal, their imagination knows no limits. It's not worth the risk." The safest option was to give in.
With a slight sigh, I decide to give up my futile resistance. "Alright, I'll do it," I say, my voice flat and devoid of emotion, accepting her proposal only to avoid further complications.
"Even though I didn't want to be noticed to create unexpected variables," I think absently.
As soon as I finish speaking, Lira stops crying instantly. Her face, which moments before was streaked with tears, brightens with a radiant and sincere smile, as if sadness had never existed. It's as if the previous scene had been just a well-rehearsed act, a theatrical farce for which only she had the script.
Lira suddenly grabs my hand, holding it with a surprising strength for her slender figure.
"What—" I try to say something, but without success.
"Perfect! We're ready then! Let's go!" she exclaims with enthusiasm, as if she had just won a battle.
She laughs lightly, with a crystal-clear and childish laugh, as she drags me through the park with uncontrollable determination. Her fingers are tightly wrapped around mine, almost as if to ensure I don't slip away. The contrast between her sweetness and her energy leaves me stunned.
The park is bustling with people, families strolling and groups of friends chatting. Some observe us, some whisper among themselves. As my steps automatically follow hers, my mind is elsewhere, far from this apparent chaos.
We arrive in front of the machine, a bizarre colorful contraption lit up with blinking lights. Before me stands the "Super Random Ball Extractor 3.0," a huge machine filled with colorful capsules swirling around inside.
"This should be the Super Random Ball Extractor 3.0," *sigh* "Really a rather long name."
"I would have just called it Gacha 3.0." Then, without thinking too much, I pull the lever.
The mechanism immediately activates, producing a series of metallic sounds and whirling with uncontrollable energy. The capsules, colorful and vivid, mix frenetically with one another. The noise is deafening, like a whirlwind engulfing the entire environment. Finally, with a loud *click*, a white sphere drops loudly into the collector.
Calmly, I pick it up and hold it up, showing it to all the onlookers.
"Look, he got a white ball!" shouts a child from the crowd, pointing at me with a delighted expression. His high-pitched voice catches the attention of other children, and in no time I'm surrounded by a group of kids who watch me with mocking expressions.
"It's true, he got a white ball!" another child joins in, laughing and pointing. Gradually, more children approach, starting to ridicule me. They laugh and watch me as if I were the star of a comedy show.
As their taunts grow, one of them, the child who started the scene, is suddenly hit on the head by his mother's hand, a stern-looking woman with a tired air.
"Ugh…" The child groans in pain, rubbing his head and looking at his mother with dismay.
"Mom, why did you do that?" he asks in a plaintive voice, seeking comfort while continuing to rub his head with both hands.
"Isn't it obvious?" she replies, her tone stern and authoritative. "You don't mock others. I didn't raise you like this." Her voice is low but firm, and the child lowers his gaze, struck by sudden shame.
"But mom, that meanie made my sister cry. He deserves it!" the child protests, his voice laden with pride and resentment, casting a look of disdain towards me.
The mother, visibly annoyed by her son's response, grabs him by the ear and starts dragging him away forcefully.
"Let's go home. I'm taking you to your father."
"N-no, wait mom! I made a mistake!" the child cries, his voice full of terror. "I don't want to go to dad!" he pleads desperately, well aware that his father's punishment will be much more severe.