Although it was decided to steal in the twelfth district, the word was not appropriate. There were no chickens or dogs here, nor game treasure chests. This place was poorer than the slums; it should be called a refugee camp.
Destitute, with nothing to steal but the garbage the owner collected and temporarily kept at home for processing, the dwellings reminded me of a reality TV show I saw in the "real world" called "Trading Spaces." It involved rebellious teenagers from rich families swapping lives with poor children from remote mountain villages for a period, to help the rich kids appreciate their good fortune and broaden the horizons of the poor children, motivating them to leave the mountains.
How poor were those children? One child said the best thing he had ever eaten was tofu skin. After the life swap, he ate an egg for the first time, but his stomach couldn't adapt, and he felt unwell.
One should be content; there are always people in this world who have it worse than you... However, there are also so many people who have it better than you. They don't need to strive from birth; they were born in Rome, living glamorous, easy, and free lives. While you toil your entire life and may never even see Rome, some will still say it's because you didn't try hard enough.
This world has more than one noble house, why did I have to be born into the Zoldyck family?!
Enduring the hardship of training every day wasn't enough; now there's mandatory "Trading Spaces." Life is so tiring.
No wonder Killua didn't want to be an assassin in the original work. This profession is too tough in the early stages. Forget about children; even I, a seasoned office worker, sometimes find it unbearable.
Later, "Trading Spaces" was exposed for deliberately creating conflict and intensifying the emotions of rebellious teenagers to generate buzz. The heartwarming "rebellious youth repent and renew" endings were mostly manipulated. The reality was that the production team threatened the rebellious teenagers, warning them that if they didn't "repent" on time, their return home would be postponed.
And many of the poor children did not, as the show claimed, realize the importance of studying hard and striving to change their destiny. Instead, they realized they were living in hell and began to harbor unrealistic expectations, desperately contacting their wealthy foster parents from the life swap.
The reality often falls short of expectations.
Therefore, that "Trading Spaces" approach is useless. It's better to go to Heaven's Arena; we can improve our strength there too!
Didn't Killua go there?!
You Zoldycks are so biased!!
Holding a grudge.jpg
The poverty of the dwellings in the twelfth district also broadened Illumi's perspective. After exploring ten residential units and fully experiencing the extent of poverty, he abandoned the houses, which were uniformly built from planks, sheet metal, and plastic, and set his sights on more upscale brick structures, like the church.
It was I who resolutely stopped him.
The church is a building with special attributes, a place where many people in Meteor City place their religious faith.
In a life of extreme material scarcity, it's difficult to endure without some form of spiritual sustenance.
Considering the number of people who come to worship at the church daily, if they knew we had plundered it, each of them throwing one stone could bury the two of us little ones.
However, the real reason Illumi changed his mind was discovering a more wonderful target in the twelfth district than the church – a general store.
The owner clearly had connections; the goods available for exchange were much richer than those in the thirteenth district's church. Perhaps there were similar general stores in other parts of the thirteenth district, but we didn't attempt to explore it extensively, being focused on advancing to other districts, so we're not sure.
The transaction rules at the twelfth district general store were similar to the thirteenth district's; it was bartering, with no currency used.
Oh, that's not important; we disregard rules. The important thing is that we observed the store during the day, planned what we wanted to steal, and infiltrated the store that night.
The simple anti-theft traps, like tin cans tied with fine threads, were child's play. With our excellent night vision, we moved as if through empty space, obtaining the prey we'd eyed during the day as easily as taking something from a pocket.
Before facing the harsh realities of society, we imagined it this way. We hadn't anticipated that a general store owner would also have a few tricks up his sleeve.
We got too arrogant after easily defeating random NPCs in the "Hunter Game," underestimating adults and forgetting our age, forgetting the limitations of being children.
Physical factors like stamina, endurance, energy, speed, and strength—under equal conditions—adults undoubtedly crush children. Although we were trained and our attributes were greatly enhanced, far surpassing those of our peers, compared to adults with combat experience, our attributes were simply insufficient.
Because we were little brats, the store owner, who caught us red-handed, didn't make things too difficult for us. He simply locked us in a cage for a whole day to reflect, took all our supplies, and... snatched my whistle.
Is this considered "not making things difficult"? We've been completely looted!
I grabbed the bars of the cage, glaring with burning eyes as the owner fiddled with the whistle he'd just stolen.
Illumi sat beside me, hugging his knees, as quiet as a mouse, perhaps still savoring the exquisite feeling of being instantly defeated by what seemed to be a commonplace, functional NPC like the general store owner.
"Oh my, such fierce little devils. Have you heard 'money is external to the body'? What that means is, the ultimate fate of everyone's wealth is loss," the owner said, casually tucking the whistle into his pocket. "No one in the entire twelfth district dares to target my store. Considering you're first-time offenders and just two ignorant little brats, it's already good that I didn't kill you both."
"..." I gnashed my teeth furiously in the cage.
It was all Illumi's terrible idea! Otherwise, I would have earned rewards through honest labor instead of kicking a steel plate, losing everything, and going back to square one overnight.
Losing my backpack, water, and food wasn't a big deal; those things could be replaced quickly. But my whistle was custom-made; it was the only one of its kind in the world. Once lost, it was gone forever.
The design and the designer are still alive, so I could just get another one made after returning.
No, that's different. It's not the same just because it's an identical shell, or even if it's more beautiful.
It is unique; it cannot be easily replaced; it is not!
In my eyes, its existence is singular.
I thought of my deceased hawk and felt an urge to strangle Illumi beside me.
My hands, gripping the cage bars, tightened and then relaxed. Reason ultimately triumphed over emotion. I withdrew my hand and chose to rest, conserving my energy.
In the "real world," besides handing over a thief directly to the police, there's another common way the public deals with apprehended thieves – tying them to a lamppost as a public spectacle.
The next day, the general store opened promptly at eight in the morning. Anyone looking into the store could see the iron cage containing Illumi and me.
Quite a few customers entered out of curiosity, most of them with a mocking attitude, laughing at the two foolish thieves who had picked the wrong fight, pointing and chattering.
"..." x2
In the cramped cage, Illumi and I both hugged our knees, looking at the ground in opposite directions, maintaining expressionless faces.
I don't know what Illumi was thinking, but I never expected the fate of a thief to be so humiliating!
It's all Illumi's terrible idea!
"Don't cover your faces, or we'll keep you locked up for another day," the store owner warned us beforehand.
This familiar threat had the "vibe" of the "Trading Spaces" production team.
"These two little guys can be sold for a good price, right?" a customer, who seemed to know the owner well, asked. "Will you treat me to a drink then?"
"They can be sold for a good price," the owner replied, bending down to look at our faces. "But I'm not a devil, am I? Besides, this is against the rules."
"Hahaha," the customer said dismissively, "There are plenty of ways if you want to."
"Haha," the owner laughed along, looking at us. "So you better remember this. Don't try to mess with me again; I won't be so accommodating next time."
"..." x2
When the clock in the store struck 6 PM, the owner let us out of the cage. Before leaving, we had to thank him for his "leniency."
"..." x2
When one is under someone else's roof, one must bow their head. Illumi and I bowed our heads together, "Thank you very much for your magnanimity."
"She can't speak," Illumi explained for me.
"That's a real pity," the owner asked. "What's the reason?"
"No vocal cords," Illumi said.
"Tsk. Since you can't speak, let's do it another way... Kneel."
His expression didn't suggest he was joking.
In the "real world," when I was demeaned and unfairly scolded, for the sake of survival, I bit my teeth in anger and endured it time and again. This wouldn't be the first time.
My mother could take her anger out on me, but I had no one to vent my frustrations on. I could only vent against the wall when I was alone, hitting it, kicking it.
The most incomprehensible time, I cried while slapping myself in the mirror, punishing my own incompetence.
I understand the feelings of those who choose self-harm because physical pain is simple and direct, but mental suffering is constant. It's a scar on your heart; you think it's healed, but one day, triggered by some event, it will reopen, causing you to weep uncontrollably.
I like my alone time.
I can cry without worrying about making a sound.
I can curse without worrying about anyone hearing.
I can also do things I'm not allowed to do.
I want to eat fried chicken nuggets, I want to eat egg tarts, I want to eat french fries, I want to eat late-night snacks, I want to eat egg fried rice, I want an egg in my instant noodles, I want to eat a lot of high-calorie food.
I want to play games, I want to read novels, I want to watch anime, I want to sleep in until I don't want to anymore, I want to do nothing while lying down, I want to be a lazy idler.
I don't want to study, I don't want to work, I don't want to wear that outfit, I don't want to continue revising a proposal that's already on its sixth draft, I don't want to spend money, I don't want to get married, I don't want to...
...I don't want to live.
[All tragedies in the world are caused by the inadequacy of the parties involved.]
Yes, no one is wrong but me; it's my fault for being too incompetent, too weak.
If I had a lot of money, I could move to a place where no one knows me, not have to work myself to death, eat whatever I want, and do whatever I want.
But I don't. My money is too little to fulfill my desires. Just like now, I am too weak to uphold my dignity.
Since when did the price list of food start affecting my taste judgment?
In the last period, food was equivalent to fodder. I ate numbly, simply because my body needed food to function. At that time, I thought starving to death seemed worth trying.
"..." I bent my knees.
If kneeling could solve the problem, it would be a rather easy solution, ending quickly, I thought.
"Fine," the owner said, turning to close the store.
I didn't get up immediately. I tugged at Illumi's sleeve, asking him to ask the owner a question for me, "Excuse me, how can I get the whistle back?"
"Equivalent exchange," the owner replied. "That whistle is a high-value item; don't think of exchanging it with garbage. Bring me equivalent precious metals."
"I'll find a way. Can you keep the whistle for now? The whistle is very important to me," Illumi translated my lip movements, adding on his own, "This is something mother left for us."
Good grief, a (deceased) mother's (left-behind) possession. Using such an intentionally ambiguous statement to evoke sympathy?
"That's only temporary," the owner said, crossing his arms. "You'd best do it quickly. Or you can offer yourselves, or your brother, in exchange. Beautiful children like you are rare." httpδ:/m.kuAisugg.nět
"Thank you, we understand," Illumi said in my stead, then pulled me away from the general store.
We walked all the way out of the residential area and found a corner in a garbage heap before we started talking.
"I think it's highly unlikely we'll get it back," Illumi said. "It's okay, sister; you can just get another one made after we go home."
It's different, it's different. Like a hawk, if you replace it, it's not the same.
"I'm going to kill him," I said with my lips. "I'm going to kill him and snatch the whistle back."
"With our current strength, we can't do it in a short time," Illumi said. "By then, he would have already resold the whistle."
"Then I'll go ask him every day if he's sold the whistle," I said with my lips. "No matter what, you and I should make killing him our primary objective. Don't forget why we are here. We're not here to pick up trash; we need to defeat strong enemies. He is our first strong enemy. Killing him will surely yield considerable experience points. In other words, if we can't even defeat the twelfth district's general store owner, we'll have an even harder time surviving in the preceding districts."
"..." Illumi thought for a moment before nodding. "Sister makes a lot of sense. Last time it was because we were overconfident. This time, we should carefully plan our assassination method, wait for an opportunity, and set traps."
"No," I raised my hand to reject his suggestion. "That won't give us much experience points. We should level up first, grind some NPCs with lower levels, and then challenge the twelfth district's general store owner once we've accumulated enough experience."
"Huh?" Illumi seemed not to have "understood" my lip movements.
So I decided to slow down and say it again.
"NPCs, Sister, are you playing too many games?" he said. "Reality isn't as simple as games."
You don't understand, of course you don't understand. You yourself are a main storyline NPC, within the game but unaware of it.
"I don't care what you think. If you're unwilling, then suit yourself," I retorted unyieldingly. "Just don't get in my way."
"...Alright," Illumi compromised, which was rare. "Then, going back to the beginning, I said we should have gone to steal from the church."
"..." You still want to steal?! If the nuns in the twelfth district's church were combat-type, wouldn't that just add another unprovoked hostile NPC?!
I gave him a light whack on the head.
"No stealing!" I declared sternly with my lips. "We should rob!"
"?!"