Chapter 9: Blindness
“—.”
Oh, this is bad.
I watched a green tendril rise from the center of a massive lump that had been subtly shifting moments ago, and the thought slipped out almost reflexively.
Even now, with the tendril aimed at me, it felt like I was just watching a bullet in a 2D game about to hit my character. A simple whoosh and thud. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t muster any deeper emotion.
People call eyes the windows to the world. So what was the world to me?
This persistent disconnect between my vision and senses kept making me forget I was in reality. No matter how much I tried to adjust, it never felt familiar.
After I’d snitched with a “It’s over there!!” and the hidden Invisible was pitifully sliced in half, another lump—the one the response team thought they’d already dealt with before I arrived—suddenly twitched.
I tensed, holding my breath, but the response team, the experts, didn’t react. They were busy, so I kept my mouth shut to avoid meddling. I’d already overstepped, and any more could’ve been a nuisance.
It reminded me of a fish at a market, still twitching despite being gutted. I figured it was something like that.
…Yeah, stupid thought in hindsight.
I should’ve learned from earlier that the response team couldn’t see the foggy veil around the Invisible.
Whoosh!
“—Ah.”
I must’ve forgotten that fact for a moment.
The green tendril sliced through the air with alarming speed.
Even my imperfect vision could sense its dangerous momentum. Or maybe it was because of my vision that I saw it so clearly.
If that hit me, my body would probably go boom and fly off. Not just me, but the injured woman resting her head on my lap would also get flung like she’d been hit by a truck.
It looked like a toy slime from a stationery store, but it had the power to kill effortlessly.
If I didn’t die, I’d be lucky.
In the end, it was my carelessness that caused this.
No matter the cause or result, I couldn’t say I was blameless.
If I’d been more alert, more cautious, more aware this was reality—if, if, if—
A few simple what-ifs could’ve prevented this.
Not entirely my fault, sure, but still.
So—
“—Bye-bye, Sehee unnie.”
“…Huh?!”
Thud—
I pushed the woman I’d been tending to with all my strength, shoving her aside.
She was a grown adult, and I was just an eight-year-old, but by giving up on escaping and using every ounce of my strength, even I could roll her away.
I saw her eyes snap open as her wound hit the ground, staring at me, but I ignored it. The bandages, now stained red with fresh blood, too—I ignored that as well.
Waa, I’m baby Cheong, the blind kid.
Not my fault, right?
My usual half-true “I’m blind” excuse was never more useful. It was the ultimate shield, deflecting even the harshest teacher punishments—like sitting in the “thinking chair” or losing sticker chart points—without a scratch.
It couldn’t block a variant’s attack, though.
The thick green tendril was now right in front of me.
Hana, who’d been tidying up, seemed to finally realize something was wrong and shouted in panic, but it was too late.
No time for greetings, help, or tending to Sehee’s wounds.
I silently wished luck to the poor Team Leader who’d have to clean this up—
Thwack!
“—.”
A massive impact hit me, sending me flying backward.
The crushing pressure in my chest forced the air from my lungs, stifling any scream. Shattered ribs stabbed like needles, and blood clogged my throat.
The pain was indescribable.
More specifically, it was like being crushed second-from-the-bottom in a kids’ hamburger game.
“…Hee, hee.”
Gurgle—
A small laugh mixed with bloody foam escaped my lips at my own witty analogy.
“—It’s dangerous here.”
“Who’s this unnie?”
Oh.
I wondered if that kid made it to the shelter.
As I flew, my still-functioning mind recalled the child who’d led me into the alley.
Her white hair, like mine, caught my eye and made her endearing. She walked her own path, as if deaf to the blaring broadcasts.
I tried talking, but her unique worldview didn’t mesh with mine. Still, having dealt with equally quirky kids my age, I figured out why she was heading deeper into the alley.
“—A dog?”
“Yeah. My dog’s waiting for me in there. Probably.”
She was looking for her dog.
What did “probably” mean?
It took a moment to parse, but seeing she wouldn’t leave without her dog, I offered to fetch it for her.
Skeptical, she stared silently before turning back the way I’d come, heading toward the shelter, likely to find her parents.
Not seeing her expression was my only regret.
“—.”
I might owe her a small apology.
I couldn’t keep my promise to find her dog.
But kid, that’s life.
Never trust promises from strangers.
And never sign as a guarantor, especially not a joint one. Dropkick anyone who asks.
“…Ouch.”
It hurts a bit.
And so, I, Shim Cheong, with just a touch of regret, lost consciousness in my fading vision.
The breeze carried the scent of blood.
Shim Cheong
Protagonist. Pushed someone.
Thinks she’s partly responsible since more caution could’ve prevented the accident.
One reason she threw Sehee was that. Others include her dulled sense of reality—thinking she’d survive a hit like that—and having lived once already, she has few regrets.
She doesn’t care much about unseen strangers dying but hates watching someone she knows, even slightly, die in front of her.
“So, do I die or not?”
She doesn’t die.
Shin Sehee
Supporting character. Got thrown.
The pain of hitting the ground snapped her awake.
The first thing she saw was the kid who threw her getting launched by a tentacle.
She might’ve been better off keeping her eyes closed.
“…Ah, aah…!”
Probably craving an iced Americano.