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When the old woman arrived, she ca pushing a wheelchair. That way, she brought her own seat; but the pregnant woman who ca later occupied two chairs by herself.
Even including the "sister" still cooking, there was always one person missing from the table.
One chair was always empty.
Seizing the opportunity, Annan stood up to examine the notes posted on the wall.
It appeared to be a ssage board.
It was the kind of board that one would occasionally see in stores around schools, covered with post-it notes filled with writing.
So used it as a confession wall, others as a place to show off their love, while so left check-in notes as mories. The shop owners could also regard it as a proof of popularity...
And the notes affixed to this ssage board were similar post-it notes:
"Today is the anniversary of my father’s death, and tomorrow is my birthday. He said he would co back for my birthday.
"He is a liar.
"He is also a hero, because sister said he died on the Battlefield. In a foreign land. He died where I can’t see him, and I don’t even know which direction to kneel to pay my respects. Anyway, he can never co back."
Such as this note, for instance.
It’s less of a "morial" and more like a diary of sorts.
The difference is that this diary is open for others to read—Annan had been looking at it for quite so ti, and others had noticed his actions, but none had intervened to stop this "old man" from prying into others’ privacy. From this, one might assu such behaviour is permitted here.
"...Huh?"
Annan suddenly noticed that one of the notes had a few dark red streaks on it.
It looked like dried blood—to be more precise, it seed to be bloody fingerprints. As if the person who pressed the note in place had not yet dried blood on their fingertips.
The first sentence of this note captivated Annan’s attention:
"Is this world... really real?"
The strokes contained fear, as if the note was written with sweaty hands, showing the moisture-wrinkled paper.
"Sothing feels off. Although I can hear the broadcast and it seems like there is a complete world outside; although in my mory, I still have childhood friends... But indisputably, I haven’t seen an outsider for so years now.
"Including myself, there are only eight people in this village. Where do our food, clothing, and shelter co from? Why is there only one worker in the factory? Where does that old woman sell the things we make?
"Therefore, I boldly conjecture: Our world is fake!
"When the sun rises tomorrow, I’m going to run away! I want to see if the world outside this village really exists!"
...What kind of talent is this?
If he’s a madman, his logic seems quite clear, and his concerns seem reasonable; but if he’s a wise man, this last bold conjecture is just a tad too abrupt...
Thinking, Annan turned back to look at everyone.
He rembered the "old woman" had been urging "Blondie" to go back to work tomorrow;
The "lady" was due to give birth tomorrow;
The owner of the first note would have their birthday tomorrow;
The person who wrote the second note planned to verify the reality of the world tomorrow...
If Annan had not guessed wrong, all eight present must be harboring so expectations for "tomorrow"...
—Or rather, fear.
"Dinner is ready!"
Just then, a gentle girl’s voice rang out.
Annan, hunching his back, turned around.
A girl wearing a goose-yellow turtleneck sweater, with soft black long hair spreading out, wearing glasses, walked out of the kitchen carrying the last dish.
Seeing Annan standing by the wall, she smiled gently, her cheeks showing two pretty dimples: "Uncle, let’s eat first."
"Okay."
Annan, still in the intelligence gathering phase, obediently nodded and took a seat at the table as they wished.
Undoubtedly, to Annan’s eyes, everything on the table was a delicacy. Moreover, every single one was sothing he liked to eat...
From smoked beef burgers, egg tarts, and half-cooked cheese to pork belly with preserved vegetables, cola chicken wings, boiled sliced at, and clay pot rice. Most outrageous was that there was also a large Battle Axe steak and a crisp-roasted suckling pig, which, by no ans, could be the cooking of a young girl using such a simple kitchen within a few hours.
It had been a very long ti since Annan had seen such food that carried both a sense of hotown and modernity.
But Annan couldn’t care less about using his chopsticks, as he was observing the girl called "Sister"—yes, there were actually chopsticks on the table, not just knives and forks.
She looked no more than sixteen or seventeen years old.
She also had a face similar to Annan’s, just like everyone else.
"Give it to , Sister."
A steady and robust man walked over and took the dish from the girl’s hand.
This man, who was at least in his thirties, was addressing a teenage girl as "Sister"... This made Annan feel a wave of strangeness.
But the others seed to notice nothing out of the ordinary, their faces showing no signs of abnormality. This sense of bewildernt gave Annan a strong feeling of unreality.
Sister glanced around and inquired, "Where’s the Philosopher?"
"He didn’t co!"
The first to pick up his chopsticks, the blond-haired man stuffed his mouth with food and hastily replied, "I haven’t seen him all day!"
...The Philosopher.
Annan heard the last person’s "na."
If everything was as expected, that should be the person who left the second note.
But another question arose in Annan’s mind—there were only ten people in the village. If the blond-haired man hadn’t seen him all day, then why was his note here?
"Uncle, aren’t you eating?"
Sister asked from the side.
It was an incredibly gentle, almost respectful tone, but Annan’s instinct sohow sensed a hint of hidden danger.
It was as if—sothing terrible would happen if he didn’t eat.
"I was a bit distracted, Sister."
Annan showed a simple and honest smile on his face and picked up the chopsticks.
He deliberately called her Sister to see how the others would react. The result was that nobody found it odd.
...Annan probably understood so of the nightmare’s rules.
Annan thought to himself.
But he still needed to gather so more information.
If he wasn’t wrong... the death news of the "Philosopher" should be coming soon.
—Is this the last supper?
The taste of the food was indeed as delicious as it looked. It was actually exquisite—each dish rivaled the peak monts in Annan’s mory, so wonderful that one could not help but praise.
Even Annan, who started off vigilant, couldn’t resist using his chopsticks more.
But even as Annan fully imrsed himself in the delicacies, he was still covertly observing his surroundings.
Although his abilities were mysteriously unusable here... the quality of Annan’s soul had not deteriorated. His instincts told him that soone was also observing him using a similar thod.
Nothing unexpected happened by the ti Annan had his fill.
"The sunset is beautiful today.
"How about I do a divination for you?"
The old woman lying in her wheelchair suddenly suggested with a smile, "Consider it entertainnt after dinner?"
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