"It's better to die doing good than doing bad." That phrase runs through my mind as I lie on the cold asphalt, face down, with blood gushing from a wound on my head. I can barely feel anything now, but before I succumb to the darkness, let's rewind a bit and see how I ended up in this sorry state.

It all began in my dimly lit room, with the soft glow of the monitor the only source of light. For what seemed like hours, I had been glued to my favorite game, completely immersed in a world far from the reality I despised. I couldn't tell you how long I had been playing—time just seemed to slip away.

But then, my stomach grumbled, pulling me out of my trance.

"Ahh, I'm starving," I muttered to myself, clutching my empty stomach. It felt like it hadn't seen food in days, and truth be told, it probably hadn't. I glanced at the corner of my screen and noticed the time—10 in the morning. Had I really been playing since yesterday? My body ached in protest, reminding me of the neglect I had subjected it to.

"I can't focus like this. I need to eat something," I groaned, pausing the game. I reached over to the small cabinet by my bed and grabbed my jacket. As I did, my eyes caught my reflection in the mirror.

Staring back at me was a man I barely recognized. An overweight figure with dead fish-like eyes, a tangled mess of unkempt hair, and a beard that had grown far too long. That was me—Nagi Travers, 20 years old, unemployed, and a proud shut-in. A month ago, I was fired from my last job. They called me incompetent, but I knew the truth: I was bullied. My coworkers would dump their work on me and then blame me for not finishing mine. I was trapped, and the only escape I found was in this solitary existence.

Sighing, I threw on my jacket and headed for the door.

Despite calling myself a shut-in, I still ventured out occasionally to buy essentials. My income came from winning online gaming tournaments—small cash prizes, but enough to keep me afloat.

As I stepped out into the harsh daylight, the memories I fought so hard to suppress began to resurface. The road ahead brought back haunting memories of high school—the very reason I became a shut-in in the first place.

"Forget it, forget it, forget it," I mumbled under my breath, forcing myself to focus on the path ahead. It was only a five-minute walk to the convenience store, but those five minutes felt like an eternity as the ghosts of my past clung to me.

"Hey! Isn't that chubby Nagi?" A loud, mocking voice cut through my thoughts.

I froze. I knew that voice all too well—the voice that had tormented me for years.

"You're right! He's still alive? I thought he died after graduation! Hahaha!" A woman's voice chimed in, dripping with cruel amusement.

Jake and Mary. The two people I despised more than anything in this world. They were the reason I had retreated into this isolated life. Back in high school, they bullied me relentlessly, turning every day into a nightmare. From childish pranks to outright cruelty, they did it all, and I bore it without complaint.

But why are they here? Of all places, why now?

"Hey, chubby Nagi! Long time no see!" Jake called out, sauntering over to me with that same arrogant grin I remembered.

I tried to steel myself, tried to pretend that I wasn't scared out of my wits. "Y-yo, Jake. Long time no see too. I think it's been… two years?"

"Huh! Who said you could talk to me like that, huh?" Jake's grin vanished, replaced by a menacing scowl.

"S-sorry, m-master Jake," I stammered, my voice trembling as I reverted to the coward I had always been in front of him.

"Give me your money, like you always did," Jake demanded, his smile returning as he extended his hand.

Mary, standing beside him, chimed in with a smirk. "Yeah, Nagi. Hand it over, or do you want us to remind you of the old times?"

My heart pounded in my chest, fear and shame battling for control. With shaking hands, I pulled out my wallet and handed it over. It contained all the money I had—my meager savings from online tournaments.

"Oho! You've got quite a sum in here! Thanks, chubby!" Jake grinned, his eyes glinting with greed.

I tried to walk away, the weight of humiliation pressing down on me, but Jake's hand clamped down on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

"Not so fast," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Tell me where you live now, so I can come by whenever I need some extra cash."

Fear gripped me, and before I knew it, I had given them my address. The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted it. Without another word, I turned and ran, tears stinging my eyes as I bolted from the store.

By the time I reached the front of my house, despair had settled in. "It's over," I whispered to myself, my voice hollow. "My peaceful days of gaming without worry… they're over."

The memories I had worked so hard to bury came rushing back—my miserable high school days, the torment I endured at work, the loss of my parents just two months ago. And now, the bullies from my past were going to make my life a living hell once again.

There was only one way out of this suffering, and I knew what I had to do.

Inside, I grabbed a rope and tied it to the ceiling. I placed a chair beneath it, my heart heavy with resignation. "After this, there'll be no more pain," I muttered as I stepped onto the chair and tightened the noose around my neck.

But just as I was about to take that final step—

"Ding-dong, ding-dong."

The doorbell rang, echoing through the silent house. My heart skipped a beat. Who could it be? What if… what if it's something that could give me hope? I hesitated, torn between despair and the slim chance of salvation.

Reluctantly, I stepped down from the chair and walked to the door. When I opened it, I found a delivery man standing there, holding a package.

"Your order's arrived," he said curtly.

"I… I don't have any money to pay for it," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

The delivery man's expression twisted with anger. "What a waste of time!" he snapped, his harsh words stinging like a whip. After a few more insults, he turned and stormed off.

I closed the door, my hands trembling. "Hope? What hope?" I laughed bitterly, tears spilling down my cheeks. "It's just more suffering…"

I walked back to the chair, ready to resume my grim task, but something outside the window caught my eye.

A little girl was chasing a ball that had rolled into the street. My eyes widened in horror as I saw a truck barreling down the road, its driver seemingly unaware of the child in its path.

Without thinking, I ran out the door, adrenaline surging through me. I sprinted toward the girl, my heart pounding in my ears. I reached her just in time, shoving her out of the way as the truck screeched toward us.

The next thing I knew, I was airborne, my body colliding with the hard pavement. Pain exploded in my head as I hit the ground, blood pooling around me.

I tried to move, to stand, but my limbs refused to obey. Everything was fading, my vision blurring as darkness crept in. I could hear the girl crying, the panicked shouts of the truck driver as he called for an ambulance. But deep down, I knew it was too late.

My body felt cold—no, it felt hot, burning with a pain I couldn't describe. This was what it felt like to die. But in those final moments, a strange sense of peace washed over me.

I had done something good. I had saved a life.

"It's better to die doing good than doing bad," I whispered to myself, the words echoing in my mind as I closed my eyes for the last time.

Sleep overtook me, pulling me into the endless nap I had longed for, free from suffering at last.