side character

Once upon a time, I knew nothing of the world. At the tender age of four, my world consisted only of a white room and a few children's toys. I wasn't alone; other children, seemingly my age, were there too.

They played like fools, together. Unlike me, I only watched from afar. Even when adults tried to engage me in play, I pretended not to notice them. Even when they persistently spoke to me, I feigned deafness. Day after day, they called me "the deaf one."

I didn't mind; it made others give up trying to talk to me before they even started. But that was only at the beginning. As time went on, as I began to let go of my past, I developed a longing to play like the other children. However, I was too afraid of being called a liar, having lied for so long, that the fear paralyzed me, making me even more withdrawn. I was too ashamed to act.

So, I spent my time playing games that occupied my mind, strategic games like chess, which allowed me to escape reality, if only for a moment.

One day, I discovered the truth: the place I was in was an orphanage. I saw one of the children being taken away by an adult who had decided to adopt them.

I didn't care much. I was living comfortably enough: free meals, a comfortable bed, and all day to play.

But as time wore on, boredom set in. Even when a child approached and invited me to play, it was always childish games. I pretended to join in, but the next day, they wouldn't ask me again. I began to think I was bad at playing. From the start, I knew I couldn't play and smile and have fun like the other kids. Because in the past, when I did, my whole family disappeared.

Perhaps that's why, unconsciously, I avoided the games other children played. I felt responsible for what happened in the past. I could only cry when I realized I was the cause.

Therefore, I remained solitary and withdrawn, until one day, a man came and looked at me without saying anything. He's my father now, he adopted me without my consent. I didn't rebel; I simply didn't care, thinking it might be the best course for me.

However, I lost sight in my left eye shortly afterward. I don't know why; I didn't think much about it, but I realized my new parents were involved. I don't know how, I was suddenly sedated, and when I woke up, it was too late.

"I owe you, I'll make sure you're raised like a normal child."

I wasn't stupid enough not to understand the situation after my father said that. The debt was my left eye, the reward was being raised as his child.

The only thought that crossed my mind from that moment on was:

"Wouldn't it have been better if I'd stayed at the orphanage?"

Initially, I didn't understand, but as time passed, I realized my parents could be imprisoned for violating my rights. I hadn't agreed to any of this. But I also realized that the reason they were still safe was because my mother was a doctor.

After that, I started to wonder. Why was my left eye taken?

Sadly, I never know the answer until now.

One day, my patience wore thin. I was tired of their treatment, their apparent rejection of me. That's when I finally confronted them with the anger I had suppressed for so long.

During a family dinner, four years ago, on a night I wish I could forget.

"Father, why did you take my left eye?"

Everyone stopped eating. Maria, my father, and mother stared at me.

My father stood up and tried to take my hand, saying, "Let's talk privately."

"No! I don't want any more secrets. I'm tired of your lies!"

"Son? What's wrong with you?" my mother asked, her face a mask of worry.

"Stop putting on that false face! I know you're not worried about me at all!"

"W-what are you saying, son? I'm truly worried about you!"

"Then why did you take my left eye!?"

"I-it's...", my mother fell silent, clearly hiding something.

"See that? You can't explain it to me. You're always lying! You're always lying to me! Do you think I'm just a doll you can play with? I'm a human being!"

Maria, who had been silent until now, slammed her fist on the table, standing up, tears streaming down her face. I was shocked and confused.

"Would you be satisfied if your eye was returned?" Maria asked, her voice trembling with unshed tears.

"Th-that's not the point!"

"Then what is?"

"I-I just want the truth! Tell me!"

"Alright, I will tell you!"

But before Maria could say anything, my father stopped her, slamming his fist on the table and shouting, "Stop it!"

My mother looked frightened and frustrated; my father looked angry but was trying to restrain himself; and Maria looked shocked and sad. I didn't understand why they were reacting like this. Wasn't I the victim here? Why did they seem more distressed than I was?

I saw my mother clutching her chest, trying to calm herself, and pulling Maria away from the table to upstairs. My father took me to the living room, where I immediately understood he wanted to talk to me alone.

After observing the situation, thinking, and trying to understand, I realized I wasn't the problem; I was the problem. Strangely, I wasn't bothered by the loss of my eye, but I wanted to fix this broken family by revealing the truth. Because a family built on lies can never be happy.

I thought that clearing up this misunderstanding would make the family better. Instead, I unknowingly made things worse. Eventually, I realized that I was the real problem.

That's why I just sat there and looked at my father. My father also looked at me and remained silent. He clearly wanted to say something. I was prepared for the consequences, I even thought I might be thrown out. But I was wrong. My father ran away without saying anything, leaving me alone in the living room, while he sighed and left the house, only returning the next morning. Since then, my father became withdrawn, even more closed than before.

Returning to the dining room that night, I saw the scattered food, the mess on the table – all because of me.

I was hungry, and I assumed everyone else was too, but no one touched the dinner table for weeks. We ate alone in our rooms until one day, my mother tried to bring us back together at the dinner table, coaxing us.

But there was no conversation filled with lies as usual. There was only silence and my mother's rambling about strange and random things. I realized she was trying to break the silence, but I was too afraid to help, feeling I was no longer accepted in this house.

However, it seemed my father had kept his promise to me. I didn't know when I would be kicked out of this house, but I thought it would happen when he felt he had fulfilled his promise to me from the past.

Since then, I've pretended not to notice my mother's continuous efforts to repair our family bonds. She didn't give up on me. Although I doubted it was just another form of hypocrisy, I always hoped she truly accepted me.

But seeing their worried faces before I died on the doorstep made me realize: I was never unwelcome in this family; it was only my perception.

But that didn't change the fact that I destroyed my family for the second time. Only this time, they didn't disappear like my previous family.

Therefore, now, specifically after I rewound time and returned to the moment when my mother was choking me, what I wanted from her wasn't for her to stop. What I wanted was for her to know that I regretted my actions.

I fought back with whatever strength I had left. Although I was weakening, my breath ragged, I kept trying, also fighting back tears.

But in the end, I couldn't break free. I could only try to say, "I'm sorry," but to no avail. My throat was injured from her chokehold.

I tried to find another way, looking around the room. But I realized I couldn't do anything.

Then I remembered that I was a novelist. I had some paper in the drawer of my desk in my room. But at that moment, I was no longer thinking about escaping. All I wanted with that paper was for my mother to understand that I regretted what I had done.

However, I realized I couldn't do anything, causing me to cry instantly.

Faster than the previous loop, my mother released me, falling silent and not running away like before. She looked surprised by my sudden outburst of tears. In that brief moment, the only thing I thought about was preventing my mother from leaving the room. I ran to the door, locked it, and threw the key out the window.

This surprised and frightened my mother, who thought I might do something bad.

But I only wanted one thing, and it hadn't changed since the previous loop.

So I walked, pressing on my neck to ease the pain, crying my heart out. I didn't care if I was called a crybaby, a coward with poor social skills, a troublemaker.

I still took the paper from my desk drawer and wrote the words:

"I'm sorry."

I stood there, showing the note to my terrified mother at the door. I just stared at her with a smile, hoping she would understand me.