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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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Camilla didn’t respond.
She just held my hand weakly, without any strength. Her world was crumbling.
The human heart has inertia; it doesn’t break easily.
But once shattered, it’s hard to rebuild. Maybe Hutr was like that too.
But I can’t let Camilla fall apart.
She’s mine now.
So, even if I have to force it, I push forward.
“What are you going to do now?”
“…What do you mean?”
Camilla’s eyes were unfocused, her face devoid of expression.
She was hearing me, but her reactions were mechanical.
“I mean, what do you want to do next?”
“Do next? What kind of stupid question is that? Obviously—”
Her words trailed off.
Like someone waking up from a bad dream, she scanned the room: the ceiling, the closed laptop, the CCTV on the wall.
“…What should I do now?”
“Okay. Let’s say it’s all lies. That woman Fulcrum deceived everyone, and somehow that goddess statue turns people into zombies. So what? What now?”
Camilla hesitated.
“Camilla, you told me you wanted to know what really happened with the Liberation Front and whether Hans was deceiving you. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“And you found out, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want this…”
I couldn’t give her time to think.
I had to push her.
Hold her up until she could stand on her own.
Rebuilding could come later.
I couldn’t let her lose herself.
“Yes or no? Did you find what you were looking for or not?”
“…I did.”
“Then let’s focus on that. You found something you wanted to know. It’s time for the next step.
“Camilla, you once told me you were trained to keep moving, even when your strength was gone. Remember?”
Camilla nodded slowly.
“Yeah, I remember.”
“How do you do that?”
Maybe it was muscle memory from harsh training.
Camilla replied almost immediately.
“One step at a time. Do only what you can, stay calm, and just keep moving.”
“This is no different. You didn’t do anything wrong. You wanted something, and you achieved it. Now you set a new goal and move forward again.”
Camilla bit her lip.
“…You know, I…”
But she couldn’t finish her sentence.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around me.
I held her as she began to crumble.
At that moment, static crackled from the ceiling speaker.
Even in a hastily built apartment, there were still basic systems.
“Attention, please.
In 30 minutes, rolling power outages will begin for energy conservation. Hampton City Hall has notified us that Zones 12 through 14, including this hotel, will experience a two-hour outage. The duration may be extended without notice.
Guests are advised to arm themselves in case of emergencies and prepare for potential intrusions.
Hotel staff will contact you before visiting your room. Do not open the door to unverified individuals. The hotel is not liable for guest injuries or fatalities.
For safety, CCTV will be active throughout all areas to deter vandalism, theft, and violence. Unauthorized actions will be dealt with physically without prior warning.
We repeat…”
The announcement continued, but the message was clear: our room’s CCTV would be active soon.
“Wait a moment.”
Camilla stopped me as I tried to get up.
I stayed.
The couch was large and comfortable enough for the two of us to sit half-reclined.
In my arms, Camilla fidgeted with my chest absentmindedly, as if it were just there.
“…It started with a carpet,” she murmured enigmatically. I stayed silent, letting her speak.
“It was a really busy day. Morning classes, a photo shoot in the afternoon… No time for lunch no matter how I arranged it. So I rushed through breakfast, and… spilled tomato juice on the carpet.”
A faint smile appeared on her face as she reminisced.
But her trembling voice hinted at the story’s ominous ending.
“It was a cheap, common rug, but I loved it. It was the first decorative item I bought with my own money after becoming an adult.
A white fabric with a brown teddy bear.
Its corners were worn out, and it shed dust whenever I cleaned it. My roommate hated it, but I insisted on keeping it.”
It must have been from her college days.
“But when I got back from the shoot, the carpet was spotless. I thought my roommate had replaced it. She liked things tidy and orderly too.
When she came back from her evening job, I asked her. She was shocked—she hadn’t touched it.
I inspected the carpet closely. There was no trace of the juice spill, not a single thread out of place. The worn corners were crisp. It wasn’t the same carpet. Someone had replaced it with a new one.”
Camilla’s body trembled.
I gently stroked her back, waiting for her to compose herself.
“After that, little things started changing. A pencil added to my pencil case, a small plant I’d never seen before.
I was young and naive then, so I just added more locks and filed complaints with the school.
But the day all my towels were replaced with red ones—I couldn’t take it anymore.
I brought the police and combed through the CCTV records, but—of course—those specific times were missing.
“The school and police told me nothing. All I heard was whispers: ‘She’s got a celebrity complex now that she’s modeling.’ Eventually, I moved out of the dorms. But the harassment didn’t stop.”
Her breathing grew erratic.
“No, it got worse. Shredded underwear left on my bed. Someone drinking from my fridge and leaving the cup out.
But there was no evidence—no sign of anyone entering, and the CCTV? Erased, every time. I sounded insane.”
“Not at all,” I said firmly.
“One day, I hid near my house, determined to see who was sneaking in.
I dressed in a disguise—wig, sunglasses, everything—and waited.
No one entered my home. But when I came back from the bathroom, two blank tissues were on my café table.
Two tissues. Not one, like someone might drop, but two. Deliberate.”
Camilla’s voice cracked.
“I screamed like a madwoman, but the café staff swore they didn’t know anything. It was always like that—someone was toying with my life, and I couldn’t stop it.
That’s when I stopped wanting to be alone.”
“Why do you think that happened?”
“Because I didn’t stay quiet. I posted on social media, sharing posts about Elza’s independence movement.
I was only a sophomore in college, but I had a big following from my modeling work. My post supporting Elza’s independence spread everywhere.”
Camilla wasn’t just lonely.
Someone—or some group—targeted her, deliberately and maliciously. Not her body, but her mind.
Breaking someone mentally can sometimes be far crueler than physical harm.
Making someone imagine what might come next can push them into a hell of their own making.
“You know, I tried so hard to keep going. I kept attending school, took on more ads, thinking, ‘Do your worst.’
I even worked with companies funding independence movements. I wanted to win.”
“You were brave, Camilla.”
“I was young and fearless. And I hated losing. Any athlete would feel the same.
But I didn’t know I was digging my own grave.”
She sighed deeply. I ran my hand gently through her hair, letting her nestle closer.
“If you could go back, would you make a different choice?”
Camilla hesitated.
For a long time.
The rest of her story was predictable.
Römmer had stolen her dream, swimming, from her.
Whatever she endured had likely been a continuation of what she described:
breaking her spirit without laying a finger on her—a much crueler form of torture.
Someone as strong as her must have been desperate to seek me out, unwilling to even be alone.
“…I’m not sure,” she finally admitted. Then, brushing my cheek, she whispered,
“When I think about it, I feel like I’ve been swept along my whole life. I thought I was living on my terms, but…
I just kept running from one place to another. And now I’m here, in your arms.”
“So, do you regret it?”
I teased, brushing her back and waist playfully.
Camilla poked my side and pulled me closer, holding on so tightly I could feel her breathing.
Her body began trembling.
She was crying—not out loud, but with silent sobs that shook her.
“…I don’t know. Everything… all of it…”
What I knew about Camilla wasn’t much.
She was someone whose faith had been shattered, leaving her unable to stand on her own.
I said to her what I wanted to hear myself.
“Take it back.”
Camilla looked up at me, wide-eyed.
“Your life. Your world. Take it back.”
“My life…?”
She repeated the words softly, shaking her head soon after.
“…I have no life to take back. The rest of my life is for burning Römmer to the ground. Killing them all.”
I wiped her tears with my thumb.
Camilla blinked, then closed her eyes.
“Start small,” I said.
“Like what?”
“Things you enjoy. Exercise. Cooking.”
“…Okay. That sounds doable.”
I kissed her forehead lightly, surprising even myself.
“Let’s take it slow. Together.”
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