Actually, feeling nothing can be quite a blessing, especially when facing a boss who had just threatened to break my fingers, choke me to death, and blow my brains out.

  I acted just like GPT—nodding whenever he spoke, occasionally murmuring "I'm here" to indicate I was listening. When asked a question, I answered directly, and whenever silence filled the room, I simply stared down at my feet, avoiding eye contact to minimize my presence.

  Rafe kicked open the door heavily—I normally despised such crude noise, but this time it was like a heaven-sent blade slicing through the awkwardness.

  But when I clearly saw Rafe, my numbness born of helplessness peaked.

  "Why did you bring a knife and a gun?"

  Rafe didn't even glance at Roman Grane, as if the hunter supervisor's existence meant nothing to him. Holding an assault rifle casually in one hand, he approached me and offered its handle.

  "I know you too well—you said all that nonsense because you think I lied to you—and you're right, I did. I deserve this."

  What the hell was going on? At this moment, all I wished was for Rafe to pick up that damn gun and blow everyone's brains out.

  "This isn’t something you'd usually do. Has someone on Ainsworth territory been affected by a Collection? It couldn't possibly be a Resident, could it?" I slowly took the gun into my hands, feeling an excellent grip that nearly tempted me to pull the trigger—though certainly not now. "I really have no idea what you're planning…"

  "Look at it from another angle, because it's something you would want to do," Rafe continued, unconcerned that I'd already put the gun down, pushing the knife handle into my palm instead. "You thought a bullet entered my gut; that's the only lie I told you. I'm under no obligation to tell you everything Ainsworth clade does, so you can't get angry about something I didn't say, right?"

  Now that my brain couldn't produce the emotion of anger, I simply analyzed every second according to cause and effect, assigning responsibility clearly—and Rafe wasn't wrong.

  Like a patient hearing a misdiagnosis retracted, Rafe smiled with visible relief, lifted a corner of his shirt, and pointed at his abs. "If you put a bullet right here, I technically wouldn't have lied—only off by four hours. You wouldn't mind that anymore."

  "I won't shoot you in front of the Ainsworth hunter supervisor," I agreed with Rafe’s logic, but that was all. Out of the corner of my eye, the hunter supervisor sat quietly, observing as if this were nothing more than a dull soap opera.

  "I'm not angry with you, nor will I do anything to Otto—isn't that enough?" I didn't want to waste more energy on what had already happened. "I'm exhausted. Can we discuss trivial things like this later?"

  "You don't understand! I need you to be angry with me!" Rafe became even more furious. "This isn't trivial. What can I do to make you mad—or are you just refusing to answer me now?"

  "It's not that I refuse; I just don't have the energy to think about it right now. Once I've rested enough to think clearly—"

  "You'll discard me like garbage, don't even try to deny it." Rafe gripped the knife blade, pressing the handle into my hand. "You haven't used a gun and dislike loud noises, but it doesn't matter; if you stab deep enough, a knife works just as well."

  I shot a pleading look toward the corpse-like hunter supervisor.

  "As long as there's mutual agreement, we don't interfere with hunters' personal relationships, no matter how odd they may be." Roman Grane sighed, surprisingly standing up from his chair and walking toward the door. "Today’s donut day. If you're interested, I've saved you a few in room 3023."

  It was as if he weren't worried in the slightest about me turning Rafe into a donut.

  "I made this decision not just because of what just happened, but because I don't want to become the next Otto." I sat on the hospital bed, knees pulled to my chest, resting my chin on them and making one last attempt. "I can't accept what you'll eventually become."

  Rafe looked both relaxed and confused, sitting beside me and waiting for more details.

  I love all dogs, but Otto was the only one who shared nearly all my time—including sleep. It wasn't just my affection for Otto, but also his strong desire for human companionship. I was the only one who picked him up when he rested his head on my knee. Rafe just patted Otto's head and told him to behave.

  "He's a kid with lots of thoughts, yet you raise him like a fish—keeping him alive without starvation only makes him suffer." I couldn't help wondering what Otto was doing now. "You trap him painfully by your side, pretending you're the world's best owner."

  "Don't try to torture me like this, not a chance."

  Rafe rubbed his face, his silence so deep I felt like stabbing him to provoke a sound.

  "This is different. Otto isn't like you."

  "I'm not as cute as he is."

  "No, I mean Otto isn't completely a dog. No dog could live this long."

  Every word Rafe spoke was tinged with hesitation and pain, even making me hesitate. Knowing now wasn't the time for empathy, I nevertheless patted Rafe’s head gently, as comfort.

  "From when Otto was seven, he started losing certain things, giving me space to fill. I put into him feelings and thoughts I didn't need, things that didn't help our lives—things preventing me from finding answers and achieving what I should've accomplished."

  "You talk as if your current self is successful. You dislike parts of yourself enough to hate a dog too?"

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I barely understood Rafe’s logic, just that his Skill replaced parts of Otto's soul with his own.

  "How much of Otto is dog, how much is you now?"

  "Normal people would sympathize," Rafe glared sideways.

  Having made my choice, I no longer spoke words I didn't believe to maintain a friendly relationship. "You polluted a dog's soul with yourself—immoral as peeing into bottled water. Even Otto's shit is cuter than you. Get to the point."

  "Otto is an exception. You can't assume I'll treat others the way I treat him, especially you," Rafe said hopefully, voice lifting. "I won't mess up again."

  "Your reasons and methods for approaching me weren't correct. I doubt an incorrect start can lead to a correct result."

  "Fucking bullshit," Rafe muttered sarcastically.

  "Fine. Logic is for thesis writing, not reality. Take your clothes off—pants too. Wearing bloodstained clothes around is weird."

  Everyone dislikes themselves sometimes, selectively erasing parts—that's called compromise. Compared to Rafe, who stuffed unwanted feelings into a dog rather than discarding them, I was even worse.

  As for maintaining problematic relationships—I had several already, one more wouldn't hurt.

  Decision made, I jumped off the bed, picked up the finest item in the room, and realized how unfortunate it was I couldn't properly use something this good—a real human tragedy.

  “You need to tell me how to fire a single bullet instead of a burst, and at what angle a bullet can pass through your body without damaging your spine. I heard a puncture wound can perfectly miss all vital organs—I’ll assume you were the luckiest man alive when you were out at sea earlier.”

  Rafe stared at me dreamily, his expression dazed until I picked up the gun. Then he swiftly removed his shirt and hastily undid his pants, nearly stumbling over them as they tangled around his ankles when he jumped off the bed.

  “No need to stand. It'll save you from collapsing onto the floor. Just tell me how to fire that one bullet.”

  After helping me load a bullet into the chamber and removing the magazine, Rafe pressed the muzzle against his abdomen at a specific angle, his face filled with hesitation.

  “Are you sure about this? I could apologize in another way—”

  I pulled the trigger, feeling a sharp recoil as Rafe emitted a startled and furious scream of pain, both hands clutching his abdomen as he collapsed onto the bed, blood slowly spreading beneath him.

  A bullet hole appeared on the floor behind Rafe, confirming it had exited his body, conveniently sparing me the trouble of retrieving it. Taking a syringe from the first aid kit, I pierced my finger with the needle and wrote "painless healing" on the skin around the bullet wound.

  To ensure every bit of my Skill was precisely utilized, I drew an arrow pointing directly to the injury before activating the words’ power.

  “Where’s Otto? I want to take him out for something to eat.” I shifted my gaze from Rafe—he looked like spaghetti covered in tomato sauce, and I was trying hard not to laugh.

  “Oh, Otto, Otto, Otto, always Otto.” Rafe sarcastically wiped blood from his backside and thighs with an alcohol-soaked gauze pad. “Just once, could you care about me like a normal person would?”

  I had no interest in continuing this conversation with Rafe. Right now, only donuts and Otto stood between me and a good sleep—and if cuddling Otto while eating donuts meant shooting Rafe a few more times, I'd gladly do it.

  This place truly deserved its reputation as a hunters' hangout. Gunshots echoed from our room, yet nobody came to investigate—as if such occurrences were mundane, not even worth the curiosity. After wandering down the corridor for several minutes, I finally saw an evacuation route map.

  It wasn’t exactly deserted; I'd already passed several hurried individuals. But compared to greeting strangers or asking for directions, I’d rather spend extra time finding my own way.

  I was already on the third floor, no need for stairs, but the numbering of the rooms seemed utterly random. Within two minutes, I'd passed rooms numbered 3012 and 3276.

  Had I left a hole in Rafe's stomach, my Skill could've easily found the right path by now. Just as I was debating whether to abandon the donuts and head back to the infirmary, a woman opened the door to room 3344, poking her head out and calling to me.

  “You've passed by twice already. Just to give myself some peace, can I help you with something?”

  “Sorry to bother you. I'm looking for room 3023—the donuts?”

  Her tired, shadowed eyes suddenly widened.

  “It's you? It’s really you! I mean… just a moment.”

  The door slammed shut right before my nose, reopening abruptly before I could decide whether to leave. The woman, now with her curly hair clipped back, held a notebook and greeted me with a broad smile.

  “I’m Maya—Liv, right? Let me take you to the break room. Welcome aboard.”

  I knew this type of behavior well. Though unsure exactly why I had become such a fascinating research subject to this woman, I didn’t refuse her kindness.

  After enduring a walk filled with astonished and curious stares, I finally caught the sweet scent and saw the one "person" I most wanted to see in this world.

  “Oh Baby! I've missed you so much!”

  Otto launched himself joyfully into my arms, wiggling his rump and wagging his tail vigorously, burying his big head into my neck and licking me all over.

  Moments like this made it possible for me to tolerate whatever baffling antics Rafe might pull next.