Everyone dies eventually.
I'm the one who died early.
996, 007, 715, 1024, endless overtime, a role so insignificant it could be replaced at any moment, ingratiating smiles offered with trepidation, the fawning before receiving payment, a year's salary barely covering rent after essentials, mediocrity, overwork, illness, fading away, a bleak future for a salaryman.
…Not all of that is true.
In short, I died.
Worthless, unoriginal, escaping the torment of hell with a base sentiment.
As selfish as I am, I'm definitely going to hell after I die.
Whatever, it doesn't matter anyway, it's all hell, so no difference.
If possible, in my next life, I want to be a real bug, living and dying within a day, simple and uncomplicated, without having to think about anything.
Mentally prepared for being fried, roasted, and put through hell and high water, I never expected to be reincarnated into a manga I had read.
Huh? Isn't that a bit of a cliché development?
Actually, I can't quite believe that I, a "bug," would become the protagonist.
No way? It can't be that I didn't fall hard enough and became a vegetable, having a wild and ridiculous dream?
I'm sorry, if that's the case, it would be too much trouble for everyone.
A suffocating sensation in my throat, and after the instinctive panic, I felt a rational sense of relief.
This is fine, this is fine.
Whoever it is, even if this woman strangling me is "my" "birth mother," I'm relieved by her desire to kill me.
This is fine, let me end this absurd dream.
This is fine, let me end this life that is only left with weariness.
Breakfast. Work. Lunch. Work. Dinner. Work. Chores. Sleep. Work. Finally, looking at the pathetic balance on my bank card, I suddenly felt I'd had enough.
…This is fine.
The suffocating sensation disappeared, I opened my eyes, the scene hadn't changed, nor had the people. I felt immensely disappointed that the woman gave up halfway.
I heard the woman talking to another man. They said I "couldn't make a sound," in other words, I was mute.
Yes, I could understand their language. Not only that, I recognized them. They were characters from an unfinished manga, "Hunter x Hunter": the current patriarch of the highly popular assassin family, the Zoldycks, Silva, and his wife, Kikyo.
"..." I was long past the age of fantasy, no longer indulging in fanfiction, nor did I want to have such a ridiculous dream.
I only found myself laughable.
I want to jump again.
Extending my hand, I saw, with regret but not much surprise, a tiny infant's hand – this dream was quite meticulous in its details.
Unaware of the truth, "my" "birth father," Silva Zoldyck, had just given "me" a name: Mols.
Oh, it's a character name not present in the original work, so I'm the type of character that's gratuitously dropped in.
You're acting strangely, Silva.
Logically, shouldn't you be following the naming convention of the original work, playing that irumi, miruki, killua, alluka, kalluto name-chain game?
What about my name? Mors? Or Morse?
Why wasn't I included in the name chain game?
Here it comes, the psychological scar of being isolated is about to surface.
Let it be, it won't stop me from finding another chance to jump and end this absurd dream that I find shameful.
I'm a reliable adult woman; it's too embarrassing to continue having these x-dreams that only minors have.
No, no, absolutely not.
Continuing to listen to their conversation, I knew I couldn't make a sound because I lacked vocal cords.
This very point is what brought me trouble.
An infant's crying stems from various physiological needs, designed to attract the attention of caregivers. Since I couldn't vocalize, I required more meticulous and special care.
According to the original work's setting, one of the many labels of the Zoldyck family was "wealthy," possessing an entire mountain, Kukuroo Mountain, making them exceptionally rich.
Therefore, I was forced to "endure" more comprehensive supervision than even the most difficult patients with dementia, truly twenty-four-hour, seamless care.
As an infant, I couldn't find the slightest opportunity to "have an accident."
Despairingly, the passage of time was excessively normal, not a single second faster than the reality I knew.
Infant life is monotonous. Eat, drink, urinate, defecate, sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Tedious repetition. No idea where the end lies.
From despair to numbness, I thought, this must truly be hell.
Repeating the endless maze of my reality, from which I couldn't find an exit.
I thought I would find an exit by jumping… but I didn't.
This is probably my sin.
This is my hell.
I deserve this suffering.
An infant's physiology is beyond control. The shame of having my diaper changed had long been discarded. My heart was like stagnant water, waiting for another chance to find an exit.
I've made up my mind; this time, I'll jump from the summit of Kukuroo Mountain.
The height is supposed to be over three thousand meters, that should be enough.
It'll definitely be enough; I'm very confident.
"Young lady, this is too dangerous." The caregiver in the black uniform quickly scooped me up as I climbed onto the windowsill.
Alas.
I knew I wouldn't have a chance to find an exit before I could walk. I just wanted to climb onto the windowsill and feel the outside breeze.
Also, please don't talk to me. A dialogue box appears before my eyes… yes, that kind of box that appears at the bottom of the screen when you converse with characters in an RPG.
This really ruins the atmosphere of hell.