I never thought I'd have a second chance to stroke the Lion King's head in my life.
But the thought that this was exchanged for my previous fear and tears left me feeling a little uneasy.
But what could I do? The other party had only made a careless joke, without malice, and had apologized immediately.
"..." Even if I didn't want to forgive, there was no reason on the surface not to accept the apology.
I could "forgive," just like my mother in the "real world," who, after losing her temper and venting at me without cause, would then apologize in a low voice once her anger subsided. My dissatisfaction couldn't last for more than three sentences, my expression couldn't be too bad, I had to seize the opportunity and not press the issue, otherwise, she would get angry again, and it wouldn't do me any good.
Occasionally, my mother would gratefully say that my heart was as vast as the sea, always tolerating her uncontrollable temper.
I would smile and say nothing, only I knew that I wasn't a vast sea at all; I was a silent punching bag, kneading her every hurt into sand that fell into my heart. I wasn't an oyster shell, and that sand wouldn't turn into pearls; it settled into black soil, covering my heart, concealing old wounds.
I wasn't good at forgiving; I forgave because choosing to forgive was good for everyone.
It was wonderful. Waking up the next day, seeing my mother's smiling face, I would smile too.
If she cried, I would feel sad and at a loss.
If she was angry, I would be scared and unable to speak.
She had her joys, angers, sorrows, and happiness; I couldn't.
She wanted me to be optimistic, cheerful, proactive, diligent, kind, and gentle. She didn't want to see me with negative emotions.
That was impossible.
I wasn't a person filled with goodness. I also wanted to get angry, to be decadent, to be negative, to indulge.
I had many, many bad things within me. I couldn't dig out the worm-eaten parts, so I hid them, just to live happily together with my mother.
Yes, happiness. My mother and I had many, many beautiful memories. We were so close that often, at the beginning of a sentence, we could understand the second half. We laughed together, discussed TV shows or news, and shared our thoughts. She would try her best to cook delicious meals for me, buy good snacks, and we would eat them with satisfaction. I couldn't eat too much; she didn't want me to get fat, which was the same as Kiu.
If only she didn't have sadness and anger, we would be very happy, happier than most people in the world. Although our income wasn't much, if we saved a bit, we could get by.
In the end, like her, I only wanted to keep the good parts and not accept the bad parts—but such a thing doesn't exist.
To get candy, you must taste the pain, unless you quit, but I can't quit.
I realized I was actually hollow, filled with deep desires, longing to be filled, like a game backpack that could hold an infinite amount of items, stuffing in, stuffing in, never enough.
The limit of 999 was a good thing, allowing me to maintain my bottom line and my sanity.
I liked that number; it felt complete.
Yes, there is no true completeness, no true perfection. I must accept, I must forgive, I must let go, I must forget. I have no right to demand perfection from others; this is pathological, an impossibility.
I should be sensible; I should be grateful.
Zebro had an excellent eldest son, a promising heir, and a second son skilled in technology. They each had their strengths and personalities were not as sensitive and troublesome as mine. He didn't need to pay too much attention to a decorative doll. Being born first was my greatest fortune. If the children were to increase, I would surely be the most overlooked one; I knew I wasn't likable.
To be willing to comfort me, to proactively let me stroke his head, this was so luxurious, so enviable.
Do you understand, Meruem?
You know how to respond. Hurry, don't disappoint him, don't let him down, or he'll never reach out to you again. He doesn't have that much free time to care about your overly sensitive feelings that don't belong in this world.
The Lion King's fluffy mane was like cotton candy, soft and loose, with a slightly rough texture. I really wanted to suggest he use conditioner to improve it… No, don't ask for too much. He's not your pet, and the texture isn't guaranteed. You know what's important is his expression.
After stroking his mane a couple of times, I withdrew my hand.
"Did this mission really not fail?" I confirmed again, feeling uneasy.
"No, it did not fail. You did very well, Meru," Zebro affirmed.
Did it really not fail? Zebro, you don't know, in the fanfiction world, there are so many characters with immortality as their ability. They don't die from decapitation or having their hearts crushed.
No, I'm thinking too much again.
"I did go too far this time. You decide how to forgive me," Zebro said gently.
"From now on... can you not make jokes like that again?"
That joke brought back too many bad memories. In the "real world," I was always a little short of reaching a perfect 100. No matter how carefully I proceeded or how many times I checked, there would be mistakes or omissions, just one point short, becoming 99, a number full of regret, my limit.
I also wanted to get first place, but my best result was third, not even second.
I had no particularly outstanding subjects; I was average. When the class test results were poor, the teacher said that only a few students in the class had passed all subjects and then called my name. I stood up, and my classmates all looked at me. At first, I was a bit embarrassed, but then pride filled my chest. As soon as I got home, I couldn't wait to share it with my mother. That was one of the few glorious moments of my student life.
Some say that education is a sieve that divides students into layers. The higher you go, the more excellent people you have around you.
Naturally, I gradually became buried. The further I went, the more I realized I was nothing. What I thought was something to be proud of was actually very ordinary.
Beyond my small hometown, the world was vast beyond my imagination. But no matter how vast, it seemed there was no place for me. I didn't have much money, nor outstanding abilities, and my mind wasn't great either. I wasn't the protagonist of the world; I was just a common extra, drifting around, searching for a place that might exist somewhere.
I also wanted to become an excellent person—optimistic, cheerful, proactive, diligent, kind, and gentle—until I discovered I couldn't. I couldn't grow into a towering tree; I was already rotten. My true self was sickening.
"Don't make meaningless requests," Zebro said. "If I want your forgiveness, it means I will never make such jokes again. You actually know this very well, Meru."
Once again, he was persistent in fulfilling my request. No, it wasn't about fulfilling it; it was about seeing my desires, because seeing desires means seeing weaknesses.
He had said he was always looking for my weaknesses, that he admitted he couldn't win, and yet he continued to do so.
Is this a common trait of the strong? The absolute need to win? You don't have to use me as your opponent; it's unnecessary, really.
Could I say, "I hope you'll only look at me from now on and give me all your warmth"? Absolutely not. Not even the most outlandish Mary Sue novel would write so foolishly, unless he were turned into my puppet, and he didn't just stroke my head but learned to hug me, not too tightly, but with a little distance, patting my back gently, speaking words of concern in a gentle tone, not mushy content, just simple, and let him press his cheek against mine, whispering intimately, his hair tangling with mine... but I am not an Emission-type Nen user.
So I disguised myself, kept my mouth shut, and let those bad things rot in my heart until I took them to the grave.
I just imagined it; imagining doesn't break any laws, doesn't hurt anyone, and no one knows.
It's not that I don't have desires, but my desires are either excessive, or immense, or deformed, or pathological, completely impossible to fulfill. Due to reality and reason, I choose silence. This way, I can interact with people normally.
Controlling desires, eliminating desires—this is something I'm rarely good at.
"Then..." then next time... if the mission fails, won't you hold me responsible for smashing the Zoldyck family's signboard? Ptooey, don't be so jinxed.
"Then..." I thought for a moment and started again, "Can you not take my commission from this mission's reward?"
Let's use money. Using money as my desire is the most practical, safest, and most secure.
"Okay, this mission's reward will not have your commission deducted," Zebro readily agreed.
"..." I remembered Zenon once saying Zebro was easy to talk to.
I suppose so. Anyway, problems that can be solved with money aren't problems. The taste was a bit complex.
Even so, someone like me... this kind of... this is indeed not the "real world."
"Come, wash your face. It's not appropriate to stay here all the time," Zebro took the handkerchief from my hand, pushed my shoulder towards the washbasin, dampened the handkerchief with tap water, and then wiped my face. "I said my daughter was angry with me and hid in the restroom, refusing to come out. I hope you can help me have a chance to reconcile sooner."
To solidify the reason, after wiping my face, he extended his hand to me. His hand was large, and I couldn't grasp it all, so I held his little finger.
A few steps led to the doorway, where a young woman in a uniform smiled at us with relief. Zebro nodded his thanks to her.
Zebro had indeed entered the women's restroom for a perfectly valid reason.
This low-level infiltration was nothing for a professional assassin.
No, please don't apply it to entering a women's restroom; I think it lowers the class.
I asked him how he knew I was crying.
He said he only knew when he saw me in person, because he felt the content of my speech was amiss, so he came to find me. "Meru, even if you really failed the mission, you don't have to say 'sorry' so many times. Once is enough. The key is how to make up for it with actions. Tell us, and we will help you. We are your family, aren't we?"
Oh, I fooled the current head of the Zoldyck family. My skill at hiding and crying was quite good.
I nodded and said I still didn't want the mission to fail.
"This is just a hypothetical. Meru, you still have a long way to go. What will happen in the future, no one can guarantee, no one can predict," Zebro watched me.
This was strange. A professional killer's eyes were remarkably clear, untainted by any bloodlust. When quiet, they were like those of a large feline. Though not easily approachable, one couldn't help but want to stroke them. And Kiu's children were even more delicate and beautiful, even innocent-looking. Once they contained their sharpness, they were completely indistinguishable from assassins. Well, except for the overweight Milluki.
"If there's a problem with the mission, tell me immediately. This is very important. The longer you delay, the more opportunities you lose, just like how I found you in time and knew you were crying. You won't show it, but you'll bury it in your heart, in a place I don't know. When I know it exists, I think some things will be too late. Meru, I know you are a child with a very good memory..."
He avoided my ribs and opened my chest.
Doing this much was easy; he had observed his prey for a long time. He was a top hunter.
"No matter what, you remember it very clearly." With the situation settled, he lowered his gaze, which wouldn't have any impact. "Whether you do it or not depends on whether you are willing, right?"
I heard my heartbeat leaking from between my chest and his fingers, losing its shell, revealing a moist, fragile, bright red.
"Trust me a little more, Meru. Even a little bit is fine. When you need it, I hope you will choose to reach out to me, don't cry silently alone." He raised his eyes. "Do you want to die alone and silently too, Meru?"
His fingernail scraped across, and sticky fluid oozed out. I felt a slight pain in my heart.
"Don't do this. We'll be sad," he said.
Don't say any more.
Don't say any more.
I know that those left behind suffer more than those who die, yet I still...
I am selfish. No one is more despicable than me. This is just how I am. This is just how I am.
"In our line of work, there's no need to pursue death. Look, I am alone." He smiled without much emotion. "I've long been prepared for everything. You just need to run forward, Meru. You'll see what you want, sooner or later. If there's any hope, I hope your luck isn't too bad. Our enemies are varied. Once, a Zoldyck was cut into 84 pieces and put into glass jars. It took a lot of time to find them all."
I remembered in the "real world," my mother and I saw a news report about a father who couldn't accept the grief of losing his son and preserved his son's body in a freezer for eight years. My mother said she could understand. If I died, she would also put me in a freezer. I smiled and said if the power went out and the ice melted, wouldn't I rot and smell? After saying that, as if finishing a joke, we laughed together.
I started to laugh, silently.
"This is not a joke," Zebro was still speaking seriously. "Don't worry, Meru. I will also find you and bring you home."
My mother also said that if I were to die, I should die at home, not outside. She was afraid she would never find my body and wouldn't know if I was alive or dead.
"Because we are family, aren't we?" he said.