There Is No Hidden Villain in This Novel Chapter 131

‘No person in this room can take the story outside.’

When the Dokkaebi said that, I remembered it placed a strange emphasis on the word ‘person.’ The words of a spiritual being, no matter how strange or frivolous they may seem, must not be taken lightly.

The statement that no person can take the story outside, conversely, means that a ‘non-person’ can take it out.

The declarations of great beings were more similar in nature to legal clauses, where misinterpretation could lead to disaster, than to the everyday speech one could take at face value.

Everyone here now has lost their memories. But I have not. My memory is perfectly fine. The conclusion, then, is simple. I am not a person.

I am not a person…

A faint smile appeared on my lips at the somehow familiar feeling. For some reason, there was a slightly stinging aftertaste, but it was a fundamentally familiar and nostalgic feeling.

Of course, this wasn’t meant in the sense that I wasn’t of the human species. There’s no way I’m some kind of monster or ghost, right? But I remembered.

‘…To receive approval from someone else like this.’

The familiar and nostalgic feeling spreading in my chest gradually, creepily, dispersed. Even as it did, the scary stories continued. One person spoke and everyone listened to their scars, and in the next moment, all the other kids lost their memories. Everyone saw it happen. Everyone began to share their own stories more and more comfortably, more and more specifically.

“The truth is, I…”

Hae Yuna, who had been on edge ever since this conqueror-brand group trauma therapy session began, seemed to relax once she failed to remember the fact that Lee Hyang had come up with a ridiculous story about an ancestral rite. Hae Yuna comfortably told the story of her childhood when she had witnessed her parents being murdered, and later she whimpered. People handed Hae Yuna a handkerchief, and then they forgot everything. When the next turn came, people were once again horrified by Capone’s desperate life, and then they forgot. The only thing they remembered was the fact that they had genuinely sympathized with Capone and felt sorry for him. They even forgot that Capone had cried as if screaming. They forgot everything, even the fact that Capone had finished his story, feeling a little ashamed but perhaps also a little relieved.

People reacted to the pressure Dietrich was under in their own ways. They sympathized or did not sympathize in their own ways.

As expected, the only thing they remembered was what they themselves had felt toward Dietrich.

‘I’m the only one who remembers everything.’

It was a strange feeling. The stories piling up one by one, the memories piling up one by one—all of them engraved it into me. That I am not a person. It was just never this blatant, but that truth, so familiar it was even nostalgic, built up in a corner of my heart.

Finally, it was Logan’s turn.

“My noona almost died because of me.”

This was the guy I had tried to figure out, even going so far as to do some stupid stuff with penalties and whatnot. I wondered what kind of story he would tell. Logan talked about his noona, who had almost died, and about his guilt over knowing nothing about her. The stories I had just heard were the most private lives of the three traitors. Their deepest and most fundamental wounds. And the moment you understand the other person, it becomes quite difficult to just curse them out blindly.

At least, that was how it was for me.

‘I was trying to hear their weaknesses.’

I was just trying to hear some weakness that I could wrap around their necks, that would choke them, that I could stab deep into their hearts.

Suddenly, I found myself arbitrarily understanding several lives.

However, I didn’t get too sentimental. The emotions were too deep to get completely immersed in and care about each and every one. It seemed like some of them just chose to become deeply immersed in others, but I, for some reason, felt a bit nauseous…

While I watched everyone, the stories continued. The person who started this time was Sunbae. Unlike his usual inscrutable expression, this time, a deep sense of longing was evident.

“I had a one-sided love… She was someone whose smile was truly beautiful. But a while ago, it became impossible to ever see her again, so I wanted to die over and over. Still, I’m going to keep waiting…”

One by one, the turns came around. Since I’m the very last one, that meant my turn was getting closer and closer.

‘I feel a little excited for some reason.’

I’m about to tell my story, so why am I excited? Because I’ve been polishing mine while everyone else was telling theirs? Because I’m confident I can tell it in a fantastically entertaining way? Is it because this isn’t actually a story about a wound, but just a fun memory?

‘I don’t know.’

In any case, there was no doubt I was excited. No, am I nervous and scared? But even if I’m excited, my heart can pound like this, can’t it? There’s no way I’d be scared just telling a story like this.

Though I can’t figure out why I’m ‘thrilled’ to tell a story of all things.

The ninth person finished.

“…That’s the end of my story.”

At last, my turn had come.

Everyone’s gaze focused on me. Most of the faces looking at me had dried tear stains on them. Those tears were shed for themselves, and some shed them for others. It seemed more than half of them had shown tears while listening to others’ stories.

‘Right, it’s not like conquerors are the type of people to ever go to a therapy session.’

After all, they’re all highly guarded.

The random people I had haphazardly thrown into the room seemed to have already formed some kind of bond. That was true even though they couldn’t remember anything. It seemed the Dokkaebi had only taken their memories, not their emotions. The emotions were real and easily contagious. One person felt another’s emotions, and thus, the trace of having understood the other person in some way could remain in their own memory. The hostile atmosphere among them had already softened considerably.

So the gazes directed at me were, surprisingly,

‘They don’t look like curiosity…’

Cassis de Millang. The young master of the de Millang family. As they called him, a person who had achieved great things. What could be the most devastating, miserable, desperate, and endlessly lamentable event in such a person’s life? At first, there were certainly signs of such curiosity. It was no different from the attitude of consuming a celebrity’s gossip.

‘Or perhaps even cruder.’

So when I declared ‘the scariest story,’ it felt like being surrounded by hyenas. For someone like me, I could just kill all those hyenas and be done with it, but that’s unpleasant, isn’t it?

‘Because they see me as prey.’

How dare they, so presumptuously.

There had certainly been people like that, but not now. The eyes of everyone here looking at me were not the eyes of hyenas. They were not hyenas licking their chops at the sight of prey. Perhaps…

‘Are these the eyes that see a person.’

It was a crazy thought, but it came to mind. The eyes that see a person. They weren’t seeing me as some famous person, some cool person, someone to worship, or someone to be jealous of. Instead, they were looking at me with eyes that saw a person who was about to talk about his pain.

Somehow, I no longer felt thrilled about telling this story. Is this thrill? Or fear? Terror? Anxiety? Looking at those numerous eyes, those eyes ready to sympathize with me, I was seized by this strange emotion.

‘Something is wrong.’

I just wanted to get out of here. I would have preferred it if they were hyenas. I wished the room was full of people sneering, thinking, let’s just hear what Cassis de Millang’s story is.

“Begin your story.”

As I remained silent for a long time, the Dokkaebi gently prompted me.

Right. Let’s begin ‘my story.’ This is ‘my’ story. I’m going to earn some mission fees with this story. I excitedly prepared this story, and I even put some effort into the presentation, so let’s get started.

The one who was not a person, who had stored up the stories of nine people in its memory, spoke.

“Once upon a time, there was a great-grandfather. The great-grandfather had a treasured granddaughter, but after losing her early, his mind started to wander…”

“…”

“Then, as luck would have it, a great-grandson was born who looked exactly like his granddaughter.”

Everyone was focused on me. There are so many gazes, I suddenly thought. I might have never imagined a day when this story would have such a large audience. Because this story was one that suited an empty, deserted square. But there were ten people listening to my story. Ten people. People who would forget everything anyway.

I began ‘my story.’ A great-grandfather from long ago, and next to him…

Jung Ian was there.